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  Friends Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve, Rhodes, and Bruce had their eyes on him in rapt attention as Thor got up from his seat around the circular table and picked up a black marker. Three days ago, Thor, as well as the other Avengers, had returned to Midgard, and, upon Tony’s suggestion, those that had come to be called the Rogue Avengers had moved back to the Avengers Compound, for it made for a perfect lair that hid them right under the noses of their enemies.  Upon Loki’s suggestion, Thor, Loki and the Valkyrie had moved for a few days to the Compound, leaving, once again, Heimdall to manage the immediate affairs of their people (which, Thor would admit, he did a wonderful job of doing). Loki had taken back from Heimdall his Tesseract almost immediately upon arrival, and argued that should a dire situation arise, Loki could always teleport them back to where their people resided. Thor noted that his brother was using his seidr more freely, something he often reserved only for the direst of times—a sign of how tense he truly was. In the past two days, however... Thor didn’t need his brother’s knack for reading people to see the tense atmosphere in the Compound as clear as day—and truly, Loki’s attempts at skirting any and all possible interactions with Thor ever since he’d nearly gotten himself killed again like Thor had feared he would, that absolute self-sacrificial idiot, wasn’t exactly helping. Thor had noted that Loki hadn’t much interacted with the rest of the Avengers save for Tony, and occasionally Bruce, either—even though Thor was sure he was keeping an eye on all of them.  Loki had taken notice of Wanda, however; noting that while her power was immense, it was untrained—a recipe for disaster. Young Wanda had shown interest in Loki’s seidr, and Thor guessed they were probably in the training rooms comparing magical skill, right now. Loki had always loved to show off his tricks to those with the same interests.  Barnes and Clint, he supposed, were likely playing with Barnes’s kitten, who, Thor would admit, was adorable, and reminded him of the many times his brother had taken a feline form for causing some new mischief or the other—though Loki had always preferred forms of a darker colour when turning into a cat, often paired with eyes of green or gold, similar to his choice in clothing. The Valkyrie was… only the Norns knew what she was currently up to. Drinking, probably. Which left Tony, Steve, Rhodes, Natasha, Sam, and Bruce, who had currently gathered around to learn from Thor about the rest of the Nine Realms upon the request of Rhodes.  Thor plucked off the lid of the marker in his hand and turned towards the board over which he could illustrate and note information of import, and began. It was well past time Midgard’s heroes learnt properly of those they shared the cosmos with. “The Nine Realms—eight now, I suppose—Vanaheim, Alfheim, Midgard, Svartalfheim, Nidavellier, Niflheim, Jötunheim and Muspelheim: parts of what was once Asgard’s empire, one of the greatest in the cosmos,” Thor began, drawing on the board a simple diagram of Yggdrasil, and marking on its branches the realms' locations. The drawing was rough and not particularly well-done, unlike the sketches he had often seen in Loki's notes; he would admit he wasn't the most proficient at neither art nor cosmology, but he supposed he was good enough: Jane had certainly seemed to enjoy his explanation. “Foremost is Vanaheim," he began, circling on the board the realm in question. "Vanaheim is where the Aesir truly originate from—many millennia ago, my great-grandfather Buri, a renowned warrior of the Vanir, our sister-race, conquered over an ancient Celestial of immeasurable magical power and out of its heart carved out Asgard, where many of Vanaheim’s bravest came to reside over the centuries,” he explained, remembering nostalgically the hours he had spent by his brother’s side in the libraries, learning all he could of the exploits of his forefathers. There were several confused glances shot at him, but when no one spoke up to ask a question, Thor continued. “Vanaheim itself is a realm of water—mighty seas span nine-tenths of the planet, even its largest lands interspersed by vast rivers into fjords. The Vanir solar system has two other planets of note: Ria and Nornheim; the latter is where the Vanir Sanctums of the Mystic Arts are, and also where our beliefs are said to have originated from.”  Indeed, it was also the place where much of the adventures of Thor and his friends took place; unlike the Sanctums of Alfheim, most of the temples of Nornheim were open to all—aside from those that guarded knowledge forbidden to all but the highest of its priests, of course—and while Loki loved to spend his time inside them conversing with mages or devouring books, Thor and the Warriors Three took the opportunity to explore—not always with the most benign of results. Queen Karnilla didn’t particularly like Thor’s lot, to say the least. “It is ruled currently by King Njord, my maternal grandfather, although I imagine the crown shall soon be passing to Freyja, the younger sister of Freyr of Alfheim as well as my mother,” he added. While he had been confused earlier, Loki had made it amply clear to him that King Njord had always favoured his own daughter, and had only declared Odr the crown prince due to diplomatic pressure, so with Odr, quote, conveniently out of the way—and Thor heard the implication of possible foul play loud and clear—Njord had little reason to not crown Freyja. Truth be told, Thor liked Freyja better too. “Now,” he continued, “I imagine you would not require being acquainted with Alfheim, since you have already seen it for yourself?” Several of those in the room nodded, so Thor moved on. “Next: Nidavellier,” he said, marking it on the board. “It is not a planet or a solar system; instead, it is a system of neutron stars surrounded by massive structures that harness their power. It’s the only place in the cosmos where Uru is obtained from, and the birthplace of my hammer,” he said, and resisted the urge to chuckle when Tony sat up straighter, his attention thoroughly on Thor’s words now. Truly, however, Tony would immensely enjoy touring their vast forges. Thor wondered if there was any way he could take the Midgardian inventor to meet his Dwarven counterparts for a moment, before moving onward in his explanation. “It is inhabited by the Dwarves: master blacksmiths that operate its forges, who are one of the longest-lived races in the Nine—they can easily live up to ten to twelve millennia. Some say that the Dwarves actually originated from Svartalfheim, but I am unsure of the veracity of this claim.” “Well, I’m pretty sure Dyson Spheres can’t create themselves and then evolve life, but at this point?” said Tony, eyes sparkling with interest, “I’m not willing to bet on it.” Thor chuckled. The inventor was right, however; the Dwarves had to have to come from somewhere. "Moving on: Nidavellier lacks the rule of a King—its forges are governed instead by a collective whose leader is chosen on the basis of skill for a period of five centuries. Their current chief is Eitri, who, I have been told, was the one who crafted Mjölnir. The Dwarves value skill and honesty above all else; they are very unforgiving of treachery, and hold grudges for the entirety of their very long lives,” he added. It was one of the reasons the Dwarves had always liked Thor: they had found him artless and frank, and conversely, Thor had oft liked them for the same. It was consequently also the reason they had never approved of Loki, thought Thor, remembering with a grimace what had become of Loki as a consequence of his attempt to intervene in their politics. How the Allfather had decreed that Thor himself hold Loki down as... Shrugging the distasteful memory off, he continued forward, underlining the realm next in amongst the branches of the World Tree’s illustration. There was no time to wallow on hurts of years old. “Next is Svartalfheim, the Dark World. The Svartalfar, despite the name, are not biologically related to the Ljosalfar as a species; I am told, however, that the two races used to have extremely close relations with each other until the treachery of the Dark Elves stabbed their counterpart in the back ten millennia ago. And it was to be expected; their name is earned, for they are creatures of dusk and shadows, who once sought to use the Aether—the Reality Stone—to plunge the rest of the realms into blackness, five millennia ago. However, my Grandfather Bor defeated their ravenous ruler Malekith and rid the realms of the Svartalfar once and for all." Only, he hadn't. "Or… or so we thought,” he added, his gaze finding solace in the tiles on the floor instead of meeting those of his friends. “Only a few years ago, Malekith and his wretched kind resurfaced with the Convergence. The ensuing battle was won and the realms saved, but… my mother was slain by Malekith’s blade.” If only Thor had stayed with Frigga instead of foolishly venturing into the dungeons blaming Loki for the prison break-out in his misguidedness. If only he had arrived to her aid a few seconds earlier, his mother wouldn’t have…   Thor shook his head and turned around; he had not the time to wallow in his grief.  Blinking away memories of that day, Thor moved on. “There isn’t much to say of Niflheim, for it has been dead for millennia,” he said, crossing out said realm on his illustration of Yggdrasil. The most he could think of that was of note was that Hela had been imprisoned there, and that it was once an important mining hub that supplied the rest of the realms with resources, but even that had stopped seven millennia ago when its ores had dwindled by overuse. “Moving on; Muspelheim, a realm of fire, raging volcanoes, and lakes of acid, is the home of the Eldjötnar—the Fire Giants," he proceeded. "They were split into a multitude of warring factions for aeons before Queen Sindri united them all under her banner with the aid of Odin, and made the realm retreat into isolation from the rest, save for, interestingly, the Frost Giants.” The Fire and Frost Giants were unrelated as species too, as far as he knew, their prime similarities ending at the fact that they both grew to great heights, but that was perhaps solely because a generally lesser gravitational pull of their planets necessitated heavier and consequently larger bodies to stay functional upon the ground. The two species would find the other’s planets inhospitable, of course, but Thor had heard there was once flourishing trade between the realms: each supplying the other resources that their extreme climates could not naturally form on their own planets. He continued: “I had to sneak my way into the realm to vanquish Surtr—who had once been Queen Sindri’s greatest foe in their era of relentless warfare—after I was granted a vision that Surtr would bring about Ragnarok.” Which, indeed, he had.  The prophecy had fulfilled itself, Thor the instigator as well as the cause of all of Asgard turning to dust in the vengeful fires of Surtr. Being swallowed in flames upon his word. “That, excepting Asgard, Midgard, and Alfheim, covers eight of the Nine. Which brings us to the last: Jötunheim,” he said, pointing with the marker in his hand to his illustration of the icy realm.  “Jötunheim is a planet covered almost completely in ice, too far from its star to witness true summers but just close enough to be capable of supporting life. It's home to the Jötnar—Frost Giants—beings of winter and darkness over ten feet tall, with deep-red eyes and azure blue skin," he explained, remembering with distaste the raging blizzards that veiled the planet in an icy blanket and the deep crimson eyes of its inhabitants shining in the dark with unmistakable bloodlust. They could be terrifying, truly. No wonder Loki had been driven to madness on learning that he was kin to them by blood; Thor couldn’t even begin to imagine how much pain it would have caused his brother. If only he had been there to reassure him it didn’t matter. While Thor had been shattered at the revelation that his brother had been one of the Jotnar, and had raged at Odin for keeping it a secret for all their lives, Thor was truly grateful that Father had rescued Loki from his birthplace and raised him as an Aesir. Loki was nothing like them, and Thor was glad he didn’t have to suffer a life under the Jotnar—not that they had wanted him in the first place, Thor thought with anger welling up within him, for who abandoned their own child for merely their short stature? "They are some of the more primitive races in the realms, and perhaps the most violent," he continued, the knowledge of their gore-filled ways amassed from several detailed history lessons throughout his youth as well as from true accounts from those old enough to remember the war flashing through his mind, and he wondered if primitive and violent were too euphemistic to be correct descriptors of their ways.  "In fact," he added, remembering that the great Aesir-Jötun War’s primary battlefield had been Midgard itself, "one and a half millennia ago, they attempted to brutally conquer Midgard and usher in an age of nought but ice; were it not for Asgard and her warriors protecting your realm, the Giants would have turned it into a second frozen fortress, and massacred all humans. Indeed—” “Indeed what, Thor?”  Thor froze. Loki stood at the door, fists curled into tight balls and face hardened into a sneer brimming with contempt. Flaring anger welled within his eyes, and yet Thor could see them lined brightly with tears. Thor gaped, realizing that Loki had heard all his words about the Jötnar. No, Loki may be a Jötun by birth, but he was Asgardian in every way that truly mattered, of course. Surely he knew that; surely he knew that Thor didn't regard him any less for the circumstances of his birth, over which he could exercise no control? That Thor was glad Loki had lived by his side as his brother, and that nothing could change that?  Loki couldn't possibly think Thor meant him as well, could he? Oh, but he did.  "And yet you lecture me on needing to change," Loki snarled, eyes radiating fury behind unshed tears, and for once even Thor felt the need to shrink under that relentless glare. "When you have grown not one scintilla of sense in the past few years, and still remain the same violent oaf that wished to slay all the Jötnar down!” It was hidden well, but Thor heard the accusation implied underneath those words loud and clear, and Thor couldn’t begin to believe it. How could Loki ever think that—that Thor could ever possibly think of hurting Loki just because he was born a Jötun?! "Loki, there is no need to twist my words," Thor warned, tone brimming with equal parts indignation and disbelief. "You know that I did not mean you—" “No, you said ‘primitive’ instead of ‘savage’. You said ‘violent’ instead of ‘monstrous’," Loki cut in, voice shaking with rage, but Thor could hear the hurt behind it more amplified now, and a part of him wished to reach out and comfort him right this moment, but knew it would only be a fool’s endeavour. " Congratulations on learning the most meagre bit of discretion, but you forget who it is you seek to fool, Brother.” “Loki, wait—” Loki stormed off, and Thor flinched as his brother slammed the door shut. Silence reigned for a moment. “Ah, fuck,” muttered Tony, finally breaking the tense quiet. “FRIDAY, keep track of where Loki’s going. Try to ensure he doesn’t leave the Compound, and alert us immediately if he lashes out and there’s property damage, or if he tries to hurt someone or himself.” “On it, Boss,” replied the artificial intelligence. “... What just happened?” questioned Natasha, frowning. “Not that your description wasn’t very offensive, but Loki was—why did he just snap? ” Thor did not know what to tell them.  “That’s because Loki’s Jötun himself,” Tony answered in his stead, sneering at Thor. His voice was cold, acerbic. “Honestly, I wanted to interrupt the moment you started spewing your whole ‘primitive and violent’ bullshit, and in hindsight, maybe for once I shouldn’t have kept my trap shut.” Bruce gaped, eyes darting between Tony and Thor before settling on him, expression one of horrified incredulity. “Thor, you were saying all that about your own brother ?” What? How could they—" No, of course not! Loki may be born of Jötunheim, but he has lived all his life in Asgard, and that makes him Asgardian, not Jötunn, no matter what anyone else says."  “So you’re telling me he’s an exception because he was raised in Asgard? That’s—honestly pretty fucking racist of you, buddy,” Sam said, and Thor found himself confused. “And I can’t be the only one here to whom his entire description sounded like imperialistic ‘civilizing mission’ bullshit, can I?”  Several others nodded brusquely in agreement, while Bruce declared, “I think I should leave,” and excused himself, his temples tinting a distinctive green colour. “I—I do not understand,” Thor mumbled. Everyone else in the room was quite evidently offended by something, but Thor did not mean Loki, of course he didn’t! And he had stated so plainly! If they were provoked on Loki’s behalf, there was no need to, and what other reason they could have Thor could not grasp. Rhodes groaned loudly. “Great, how do I explain this?” he questioned rhetorically, before turning to him in earnest and saying, “Okay, all right: Thor, tell me this—Heimdall and Valkyrie are darker-skinned than you and Loki are; does that make a difference in what you think about them?” What? “...No?” Thor replied, even more confused now. “They’re both Aesir—what has the colour of one’s skin got to do with anything?”  "And with the Jötuns it does?" No, of course not! The Jötnar weren’t merely blue, or crimson-eyed—Thor could not see how that alone would ever be a cause of discord, although it did make them look rather hostile—they were a very different species: they were born of a practically inhospitable planet shrouded in darkness, compared to Asgard’s eternal spring and radiant sunlight; most of them were towering giants who wielded ice, compared to the noble people of Asgard; it wasn’t their appearance that made them despicable, although perhaps it certainly matched their proclivities. Certainly, the Jötnar did not deserve to be extinguished, for they weren't inherently monstrous by blood, not when Loki, who had their blood but not their culture, absolutely wasn't. Thor had been misguided to call them beasts who deserved to be slain, but he failed to understand how simply being worthy of life as all beings were put them, as a species and a culture, on par with Asgard or even Midgard.  "No, of course not, they aren't merely different in their appearance—they're a separate species!" he pointed out. "I fail to see the merit in what you're trying to say: the Aesir are all the same race, and any superficial difference in skin tone is inconsequential, as, I think, it is for Midgardians. The Jötnar, however—they're... different. And I've been to Jötunheim. They—their way truly is savage." That was not to say that Thor believed what Hela had done to the Realms as the Executioner of the King was correct--no; Thor would still intervene to stop the killing of innocents, regardless of what race they belonged to, but that didn't change the fact that every child knew they were barbarians who feasted on the Aesir—all right, perhaps that was not true, Thor couldn’t truly know, but they had abandoned his brother due to nought but size as an infant! Was that not heartless? “Your cognitive dissonance is blowing my mind,” said Tony. “Actually, you know what? All right, I’ll take your word for it; just answer one question: this Jötunheim is light-years away from Earth, isn’t it?” “Of course it is; hundreds, in fact,” replied Thor, confused. What had distance to do with anything? “Which means the Jötnar would have had to travel hundreds of light-years to get to Earth for their conquering business,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘ever thought of that? ’ Thor’s eyes widened in gradual realization. Being able to traverse hundreds of light-years meant... Rhodes picked up from where Tony left off. “Which means they have—or did, at one point—mastered interstellar travel to a scale that allowed them to bring entire armies to another planet. Which does not exactly sound very primitive or savage of them.” Thor could argue that magic allowed them to traverse rifts in time and space, but at such a large scale, even Thor knew it to be impossible, unless very large amounts of technological input was provided to stabilize the gateway. Or they made something akin to the Bi-Frost, which, arguably, was even more advanced, and... Rhodes and Tony, Thor realized, were… right. The Jötnar must have needed a high level of technological advancement to have attempted to conquer another realm. "You're right... but—" “Rhodey is always right,” Tony cut in. “The point is, you’re being what we on puny Earthgard call being ‘racist as fuck’, and it’s generally considered a dick move by anyone with a shred of decency.” “But... even if they are, or were capable of such things as interstellar travel, it does not change the fact that they used their advancements to slaughter innocents," he reasoned. Merely technological advancement did not make them inherently good, did it? "I do not understand why you are so keen on defending the Jötnar at large—they tried to turn your realm into a frozen wasteland.” “Yeah, and I made billions off of levelling entire cities to the ground!” retorted Tony. “I am right up there, Thunderstruck; a lot of us are.” It was true that Tony’s family had built his empire of riches on selling weapons that had massacred innocents--Wanda’s parents were one of thousands of victims, but… that was… different, wasn't it? “Hold on, hold on a sec—" interrupted Rhodes, "you mentioned Niflheim has been dead for millennia, right? Dead for millennia isn’t the same as ‘never had life in the first place’. What happened to its people?” Thor frowned, confused by the apparent non-sequitur. “I—truthfully, we were never told that," he answered. "The realm has been barren of life for as long as I’ve lived, only used as a mining hub that supplies the rest of the realms with resources, which too, stopped a few centuries back.” “Oh yeah?" Sam questioned, eyes narrowing. "And what came out of Niflheim?” What was primarily extracted from Niflheim was... Thor's eyes went wide. “...Gold.” Gold came out of Niflheim. The same gold that, Thor knew, had built Asgard's palaces. “Would you fucking look at that: Asgard just added ‘Conquistador’ to its resume,” grumbled Sam, holding his head between his palms, looking just as disconcerted as Thor felt. “Fucking wonderful.” “Now think for a moment, Big Guy,” snarked Rhodes, but his tone entirely lacked humour. “I know you are capable of producing coherent thoughts.” Thor...  remembered the murals Hela had uncovered. His father and his sister slaughtering everyone who stood in their path, leaving behind a trail of blood and corpses. The palace built from the blood and sweat of thousands of slaves from all over the Nine. Mjolnir wielded not as a tool to build but as a weapon to destroy, with sickening results.  Asgard had… built its empire on indiscriminate killing of thousands, Thor had known that, but… but wiping out an entire planet was not the same as honourably culling enemies on the battlefield.  “Asgard…” he breathed, realization dawning upon his expression, “may have wiped out an entire planet in its greed.”  And all of it, too; not just its warriors, but innocents, children. Not even just its sentient people, but all life, for Niflheim stood barren of even the barest of flora and fauna today. Obliterated, all of it, and no one ever bothered to remember it. Remember that people must have surely lived on it, once; people who, the murals suggested, had been crushed under Asgard's merciless heel. Was that—were they any different from the Jötnar, then, who had attempted to do the same to Midgard?  Were they any different from Thanos? “More than once,” pointed out Tony, “if you pay attention to what you said about Svartalfheim.” “But…” Thor began, but trailed off, shaking his head. When his sole source on the Svartalfar was someone who chained his own daughter and painted Asgard’s entire history a pure and just white to hide the bloodstains it was drenched in, he couldn't know, could he? “No, perhaps you truly are right. Perhaps what we were taught of the Svartalfar was just another untruth as well.”  For if Loki’s heritage and Thor’s status as the firstborn and Asgard’s entire history were nought but a lie, was it too much of a stretch to wonder if the tales he had been told of their last war with the Svartalfar had been woven from untruths? The murals had quite literally shown him that whatever the Allfather had called the Jötnar monstrous for doing, Asgard had done who knew how many times, in manners more brutal than Thor could ever imagine. The truth had been laid bare in Thor’s face again and again and again, and Thor, in his idiocy, had looked away every single time. Even when you had two eyes, you were blind, Odin had said to him.  And wasn’t that precisely what you wanted, Father? Thor questioned in his mind. Wasn’t it you who made me blind and willfully ignorant to all your injustices and cruelties? Weren’t you the one who shrouded our history in darkness and kept all of us oblivious to the blood it was written in all our lives until your secrets became our undoing? “Look, what I’m getting at is that—” Sam began, but sighed of exasperation. “You know what? The country you are currently standing on, is built on the graves of millions of massacred people; hell, most modern countries probably are. Hate to break it to you, pal, but your Frost Giants didn’t invent violence, or war, or genocide. They ain’t special.” “The point he’s trying to make, Rhodes added, “is that Thor, buddy, pal? The Jötuns are probably no more and no less monstrous than you and me.” Thor… couldn’t know if what he had been told of the Jötnar was true; couldn’t know if they truly threw their own children to the wolves if they were small in stature or otherwise undesirable; didn’t even know if anything Odin had told him about his own brother’s heritage held any veracity.  And… perhaps what he had learnt was true, but didn’t Asgard have its own set of wrongful prejudices: its disdain for those with seidr, or for most women who attempted to take up warfare, or for those who deviated from established norms of gender? Of customs he knew many of those in realms such as Alfheim found downright horrifying, especially in what punishments Asgard often deemed appropriate for certain crimes, many of whom even Thor had come to find repulsive and disproportionate?  Sam and Rhodes were right; even if the Jötnar were monstrous, weren’t the Aesir just the same? “It’s only that… for one and a half millennia, I was taught nothing but horrible things about the Jötnar, and—I find it hard to come to terms with the fact that all that I had held true about them for all my life were, if not outright lies, then at least greatly mistaught.” And how much more of what he knew of the world was a lie fed to him by his own father? He'd had enough for a lifetime. Steve sighed, but he looked sympathetic. “I get it—I was raised in a time when prejudices against people who looked like Sam and Rhodey and Valkyrie and Heimdall were much, much worse, and I can’t claim that I wasn’t affected by them,” he said. “Even now, I sometimes find myself surprised at how much the world has changed. It’s hard to let go of what you have always been taught as fact, but if your beliefs are hurting people, there is absolutely no excuse for not changing them.” “Look—it’s very easy to be blind to injustices that don’t affect you, to injustices that you directly or indirectly benefit by,” Rhodes pointed out. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not there, okay? And it doesn’t mean that they’re not wrong, and that they don’t need to be erased.” Thor bit his lip, closing his eyes in shame. He still failed to grasp how he could have been so blinded by Asgard's golden facade, but Rhodes was right, in that it was about time he changed, truly. For wasn't that what Ragnarok stood for? For burning away all their wrongful prejudices, and beginning anew, more accepting; rebuilding back better? He nodded in understanding, and was about to voice his assent when— "Boss," announced FRIDAY suddenly, startling Thor. "Mr Loki has just disappeared from all live surveillance footage, likely using magic to become undetectable to my cameras." He had— “Well, shit,” put Tony succinctly. Loki had hidden himself from FRIDAY’s gaze, which could only ever herald terrible news, Thor knew. For all his cool wit, Thor knew how irrational Loki tended to be in the grip of his emotions, and that he had veiled himself from all he did not wish to encounter in the midst of such emotional upheaval was a terrifying thought. For Loki had heard Thor, in his blindness to the prejudices that he was raised with, call his own kin savages. For Loki had been raised for the past one and a half millennia to believe his own skin repulsive and his own blood lesser. For Loki believed Thor thought him a monster. Norns, what had Thor done?  

Minhyuk had left after he had said his piece. He had told Jimin to think about it before he came to a decision. But Jimin didn’t think there was a decision to make. He wouldn’t talk to Jooheon. He wouldn’t try to fix this. Why shouldn’t he let his mate come back and tear Jooheon limb from limb?    What could he even do? Jooheon had been conditioned for years to hate Jungkook, so what would a five minute conversation even do? Jooheon had already made up his mind when he had invaded Jimin’s pack. He had made his decision when he hadn’t let go of the hate that wasn’t even his in the first place.    Jimin’s head throbbed. He didn’t understand any part of it. He didn’t understand why he had to always be the one to pick up the pieces of everyone else’s lives. He became the Head Omega in Jin’s place without ever being asked about how he felt about it. He would never blame that on Jin, it wasn’t his fault, not in the slightest. But he wished he would have been consulted or asked about it. He was the one who had to defend himself against his adoptive mother, to explain to her her transgressions because everyone else was too afraid to. He took all of the blame for it. He was the one to put his father into his place because no one in his old pack cared that he beat a child. And now, some unknown intruder wanted him to forgive and forget and talk to a brother he had never known? Just because they shared the same shitty father? Just because they were brothers? To talk him out of killing the only person who had ever shared the weight of Jimin’s pain without judgement, without looking at him like he's just his title?   Jimin felt his eyes burn and his shoulders sagged as the weight of his name pressed him down. Head Omega Jimin. For the last eight months of his life, that’s all that he’s known. “Act this way, be this, do that. You can’t go to the lake with your friends, you can’t play in the dirt, you can’t laugh so hard it's unsightly, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t”. Jimin felt his throat burn as a sob made its way out of his clenched jaw. Once the first tear dripped down his cheek, many more came. “I’m just a kid…” Jimin gasped out. He felt his arms begin to shake. He couldn’t breathe. “Please… I’m just a pup, I’m-” wrenching sobs tore through the room. He grabbed at his biceps and tried to calm himself down. His chest felt like ice and he was losing feeling in his arms. He couldn’t breathe. His heart slammed against his chest and his head throbbed.    His hands reached for anything he could get them on, something, anything to calm himself down. Fur. He grasped onto it and shoved his face into it, and everything went still. He breathed in the scent that was barely clinging onto it. Visions flashed through his head. Warmth. Water. Grass. Worn down spots in the grass, sun heated rocks. Long talks.    Jimin breathed. In and out. He rubbed the fur against his face. “I need you…”Jimin breathed out against the blanket before taking one last breath, one so deep it filled his lungs to the brim, filled them almost painfully. Then he breathed out.    He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Okay… okay.” He jerked his head to the side to pop his neck. He fisted his hands. “Okay.”   …   “I’ll talk to him.”    Minhyuk’s face brightened, and Jimin thought he was quite pretty in that moment.  He put his hand up.    “It doesn’t mean it’ll work, or even do anything. I hate him for what he is putting my pack through. I just want this to be over. I’m not doing it for you. He’s not forgiven and I hope to never see any of you people ever again.”    “I’m sor-” Minhyuk tried, but Jimin only shook his head sharply and clenched his fist.   “Don’t.” Jimin went to rub his head, but the bandage was in the way. Could someone die from having a headache for too long? “Just take me to-”    SLAM   Both Jimin and Minhyuk jumped, the latter’s hand going to his stomach. Jimin’s gaze drifted to it, and for the briefest moment he felt guilt and sorrow for the unborn pup. Would he be condemning it to death if he didn’t at least try his best? But he then felt a sort of numbness take hold of his heart. He would try, but did he even want to succeed?    SLAM   “What in the gods name is that?” Minhyuk asked. He stood from his chair and went to the door. It sounded like whoever was in the next room was desperately trying to get out. Jimin lifted himself slowly off of his bed, his legs shaky and his head swimming.    “Who is in the room next to mine?”    Minhyuk looked confused for a moment, his dark eyebrows creased in the center. “An alpha… he was taken down by four other wolves, but Jooheon seemed to recognize him. He kept him in the house because he didn’t want any plans to form…”    Jimin looked at the wall as if he could see through it. Why would Namjoon be so agitated? He usually kept his calm in situations like this. He would only get this way if…    Jimin felt his heart plummet. He grabbed Minhyuk’s arm. “Jin!”    Minhyuk shook his head and opened his mouth, but Jimin shook the other omega. “The pregnant omega that was here! Where is he?”    The color in Minhyuk’s face drained away. “He’s in the room across from this one. We kept a beta with him, but-”   “There’s something wrong, I need to see him!” Jimin yelled, striding to the door. He felt his heart in his throat.    Minhyuk grabbed Jimin’s shoulder, “But Jooheon-”   Jimin couldn’t take this anymore. He turned so quickly he made himself dizzy, his eyes bright silver, his teeth elongated. He ripped Minhyuk’s hand off of his shoulder, and yanked the other omega forward so they could see eye to eye. “If my brother or his pup dies, I will let Jungkook rip Jooheon limb from fucking limb until there is nothing left, do you understand me!”    Minhyuk swallowed and scrambled to get to the door. Jimin flew past him and practically threw himself against the door to the other room. What he was met with would have been comical in any other situation, but at the moment it made his blood boil.    The beta that was in the room with Jin was shaking in the corner as Jin wielded Namjoon’s cane at her, his face pinched with anger and fear. He was breathing heavily and he looked like he could barely keep himself standing. His pants were stained.    Jin’s water had broken.   Jimin grabbed the beta by the shoulder and hurled them out of the room, and he growled at her when she tried to protest. He took Minhyuk’s wrist and pulled him into the room before slamming the door shut in her face. When he turned back to his brother, Jin had all but collapsed back into his bed, his hands around his stomach. “Jimin-” he gasped.    Jimin felt almost all of the tension leave his body and he ran to Jin’s side. “Jin,” he soothed, sweeping the others sweaty bangs off his face. “What do you need? How can I help?”    Jin grit his teeth as another contraction hit his body. “Jimin, it’s too early- what do I do, this can’t be happening right now, I-” Jin cried out as another wave of pain hit him.    “”They’re so close together, the pup will be coming soon.”    Jimin whipped his head to Minhyuk. He had almost forgotten about the other omega. Jin clutched onto Jimin’s arm and groaned. Jimin grit his teeth. This was the last thing he wanted. But he had no idea how to help. He hadn’t been taught any of this. He was never given the opportunity. He swallowed and closed his eyes.  “Help me. Please.”    Minhyuk didn’t respond to Jimin, but he turned around and opened the door. The beta was still standing there. Jimin turned his attention back to Jin as Minhyuk whispered something to the beta.     “Okay.” Minhyuk said. He came and stood at Jin’s other side. He smiled slightly at the omega below him. Jimin felt another wave of guilt. Minhyuk seemed so warm. “This isn’t going to be pleasant for any of us, but you can do this. Are you ready?”    Jin growled and shifted. “No!”    “Great! Let’s get started.”    ...   It had been hours. Jimin could barely stand up. Minhyuk was slumped against the wall in exhaustion. Namjoon had quieted down about halfway through. It had been hours of screaming, yelling, hot water and soiled towels and pure adrenaline. Jimin could taste it in his mouth. He was running on empty.    He looked up at the soft gurgling of his newest family member. It was a boy. A little alpha. He smelled like milk and gardenias. He was so small, so fragile. Jin couldn’t look away from him.    Jin himself was a mess. His hair was everywhere, his face was red and splotchy and he couldn’t lift up his head, but he looked so… peaceful. Jin softly touched the pup’s dark hair.    “He looks just like you,” Jimin said, his voice came out scratchy and dry. It felt like all the life had been sucked out of him. He couldn’t even bring himself to smile.     “He’s a baby, he looks like a potato.” Jin mumbled, his eyes drooping. Jimin stepped forward and gently took his nephew from Jin. “Hey, that’s mine.”    Jimin gently laid the pup on a mat they had brought in. “You need to sleep.”    Jin hummed and nodded, his eyes never leaving his pup. “So do you.”    “I will,” Jimin whispered. “Don’t worry about me.”    “I always worry, and I always will…” Jin’s eyes slipped to Jimin, and Jimin took his brother’s hand in his own. “I love you.”   Jimin nodded and rubbed his thumb against Jin’s knuckles. “I will make this better.”    Jin nodded again, his eyes closing. He was asleep in seconds. Jimin glanced at the pup. He was asleep too. Jimin met Minhyuk’s eyes.    “Bring me to him.”  ….

∞ “Why’s it always so fucking cold in here?” Louis asks no one in particular while he waits for the water to boil. The one thing he hasn’t given into in the six plus years that he’s been living in the states is the coffee obsession. Sure, he likes a latte now and then, but he mostly sticks with tea. Sometimes it seems like it’s the only thing in his life that hasn’t changed. He actually heard the word y’all come out of his own mouth not even a week ago and subsequently spent the entire weekend in front of the television watching BBC America, talking back to the screen, and intentionally strengthening his Yorkshire accent. “Thirteen thousand people working in the entire facility. Can’t make everyone happy. Or comfortable. Drink your tea and let’s go,” Niall says and flips his hair out of his eyes. It’s less of a command and more of a speech he’s repeated numerous times over the last six years, and the practiced nature of the spiel brings out his southern California accent. He’s standing in the doorway with a can of Dr. Pepper in each hand and Louis can see Liam just behind him in the hall. Louis finishes making his tea, gives it a final stir, leaves the spoon in the mug, then follows Niall and Liam down the hall to the smaller conference room for their briefing. This is the smaller of two official briefings about their mission, but this one is more important. This is the real briefing, the one later today with all of the higher-ups isn’t actually about their true mission. Louis rolls his eyes all the time at the ridiculous secrecy of it all, the steps they take to assure that no one knows what’s really going on, and what he sees as a waste of time and resources. Malik and Doctor Franklin are already seated at the conference table when they walk in. They nod their greetings and get down to business. “Gentlemen,” Doctor Franklin begins. From the chair beside him, Niall mutters, “If you say so.” And Louis barely contains his grin. Doctor Franklin clears his throat and continues, “You know why you’re here, no formalities, just a review of the procedures. Before we begin, I just want to say that when we asked the three of you to join this program, we hoped that this time would come. It’s been my lifelong dream to reach this point and I know for a fact that you three are the best we could’ve chosen. Now, onto the rest. Zayn?” He turns and gestures for him to take over. Louis peers down into his tea and takes a sip. He knows what’s coming, has heard it all before, has it memorized, in fact. Doesn’t mean he agrees with all of it and doesn’t mean he won’t make that known. It’s why he and Malik don’t get along and never have, that and Malik’s always been standoffish and weird around Louis, even though Liam and Niall both like him. They’re too quick to toe the line sometimes. Too ready to take orders without question, which is actually probably for the best in these sorts of programs, considering the situations they could find themselves in. Sometimes Louis wonders why he was chosen for this at all. “You all know what you have to do. Nothing I’m going to say is new, but I have to say it. So here goes.” And even though it’s informal and the rest of them are all sitting around the table in their jeans and NASA t-shirts, Malik—in his ever present fully buttoned long sleeve shirt, tie, and lab coat—stands up from his chair and takes a step back from the table. “First, I need to say thank you. Doctor Payne, without your work with subatomic particles and superheavy elements, we wouldn’t have the element we need to build the equipment to contain the wormhole when it opens.” Louis nods and sees Liam salute and then adjust his invisible jacket and tie out of the corner of his eye. Malik continues, “Doctor Horan, without you, we wouldn’t have a stable wormhole to work with. I know that you and I have worked together with exotic matter, but it’s down to you.” This time, Louis turns to watch Niall’s reaction just in time to see him wink and point finger guns at Malik. It’s Louis’ turn now, so he meets Malik’s gaze. “Tomlinson, the planning, engineering, and execution of the Chronocylinder couldn’t have gone better. Thank you all.” That’s it. Louis narrows his eyes and stares at Malik, hoping for him to look over again because he may as well have insulted Louis and his work and his place in the program. As if the cylinder is all he’s worked on. But Malik keeps his eyes focused elsewhere while he says, “While every test we’ve run has been perfect, there is always the chance for error. Of course, you’re all aware of that. In order to keep this mission as safe and accurate as possible, you’ll need to use the skills you’ve learned in meditation to clear your mind before and during the test.” Malik turns to look at Louis and says, “The chances of landing inaccurately are minuscule. The calculations have been done again and again, and will be further calculated with the specific stats and information the on-site Chronophysists gather from you. We’re virtually positive that you will all land correctly. However, on the off-chance that an error does occur, all facilities have been built in what research and history tells us is virgin territory, yet within a few hours’ walk to civilization.” Louis coughs into his fist and takes a deep breath. “I have something to say.” “Of course you do.” Malik rolls his eyes and gestures for Louis to go ahead. “The fact that we aren’t better prepared for an inaccurate landing is ludicrous. It very well could happen, but we’ve treated it as almost an impossibility, Malik.” Louis leans forward in his chair and says, “All I’m saying is a little more research should’ve been done.” “Everything that should’ve been done, has been done, Tomlinson.” Malik crosses his arms over his chest and stares him down, and for a second, Louis wants to jump up out of his chair and scream, but he takes a deep breath instead. Niall reaches over and pats Louis’ forearm. “It’ll be alright, man.” “Tomlinson, we’ve prepared for every possibility and impossibility. So tell me, what do you do if there’s an error in your landing?” Malik asks. Louis sighs and leans back in his chair, swiveling it back and forth before saying, “First, I make sure I’m in one piece. Vision, hearing, pulse, mobility. Then, I walk. You do realize that I would be shit out of luck, right? Like, no job, no money, no phone, nothing. And what if I’m not in one piece?” “You’ll be fine. Like I said, the chances are minuscule and if you follow procedure, there shouldn’t be a problem.” Louis clenches his jaw, then says, “Yeah, but we’re not allowed to contact NASA because we could disrupt the timeline, chaos, confusion, et cetera… If we’re lucky, we might eventually be able to find someone trustworthy to help us? And even then, we’re supposed to follow orders and keep our mouths shut. We’re literally expected to build a life from scratch and just wait.” Malik takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose, his flaring nostrils the only sign that he’s irritated. “It’s unlikely. So unlikely that if it happens, you can say ‘I told you so’ and I will personally apologize to you, Tomlinson. May I continue?” For a few seconds, Louis just stares at him, plainly letting his disdain show on his face, then he says, “Yes, sir.” And goes back to his tea because this conversation has been played out a hundred times and nothing will convince him that Malik isn’t just a cocky arsehole at this point. So sure that all of his calculations are correct that there’s zero chance for error. It’s infuriating. The rest of the briefing goes smoothly. There’s no reason for it not to, even Louis’ interruption was probably accounted for ahead of time if he knows anything at all about Malik. Louis can’t help but zone out a little. He and Niall and Liam have time for lunch after this, then they have to change into their official gear for the second briefing with the President of all people, and then he has to go home, stop procrastinating about packing the empty bag that’s been sitting on the floor beside his bed for two weeks, and get some sleep. His flight to London is early tomorrow morning, and that’ll be followed by the long drive to the Chronofacility in Doncaster, where he hasn’t been in six years. After that, time travel. ∞ Louis yawns into his hand and his mouth stretches so wide that his eyes close. He left his flat in Florida before the sun came up and by the time he landed at Heathrow, waited on the runway, and made his way through the airport to the waiting car outside, the sun was on its way down once more. And now he’s almost on the other side of the three-hour trip from London to Doncaster. At least he has a driver—though he knows that the driver has security clearance and probably doesn’t typically spend his days driving people from the airport—and has been able to stare out the window and zone out. It’s been six years since he’s seen any of this, and as they pass by The Dome and, a few minutes later, the park that his mum likes to take his siblings to on Sundays, it strikes him as strange that most of it looks exactly the same. He’s not sure why he keeps looking, except that he knows that in just a few minutes, they’ll pass by the row of shitty, old, brick flats where he and Harry used to live. In the six years since their breakup, Louis has built up certain techniques and methods that work very well to keep him from thinking of Harry. The most extreme part of his plan has been to avoid the U.K. completely—out of sight, out of mind does work after all—and it’s been worth it, even though he sacrificed time with his family. Instead, they Skype and FaceTime all the time and he’s spent quite a bit of his savings flying them over to visit him, taking them to Disney World and Universal Studios, and paying for their hotel stays. Still, worth it. The rest of his efforts have been more along the lines of typical post-breakup, brokenhearted behavior. Keeping his life clear of any and every possible reminder of Harry and just generally keeping busy. For six years. Maybe he took it a bit far, what with erasing every reference to Harry and the fact that they’d ever been together from his phone, computer, home, office, car, and flat. His general philosophy was “if it makes me think of Harry, throw it out” and that extended to every aspect of his life. He even replaced a good chunk of his wardrobe, as well as the expensive leather wallet that Harry gave him at Christmas just before he left for the states. The canvas and Velcro official NASA souvenir wallet works just as well. As far as keeping busy, he doesn’t need to, really. He’s busy enough with the whole ‘astronautical engineer working for NASA’ thing. That was the root of the problems between them in the first place and he only got busier when he was selected for the Chrono Exploration Program. He was thankful for the time-suck that his career became, especially after Harry made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested in working things out. During the first month or so after their breakup, Louis called, texted, and emailed so often it should have been embarrassing. But Harry never answered, and when he returned the package containing Louis’ Christmas gift for him unopened, Louis gave up. Now, he’s staring open-mouthed as they pass by the door to their old flat, and he’s having a hard time keeping the memories from overtaking him. At least he can say that he didn’t ask the driver to stop, but that’s probably only because he knows that Harry left town about a year after they broke up. His mum made sure to tell him as soon as it happened, and after that he asked her not to mention Harry anymore. Louis sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the seat. He tries to clear his mind, pushing all thoughts of Harry and everything else out, focusing on the emptiness until it’s all that’s there. The facility is a relatively small, nondescript, two-storey building. It has to be so as not to draw attention and, since it serves only one purpose, there’s no need for it to be large. Louis remembers Doctor Franklin suggesting that they make it look like a factory, but Louis was quick to squash that idea because the people of Doncaster would wonder who was working there, especially once they realized that none of the locals were hired on. There’s no sign and there’s no fence lining the property, it simply looks like a small office building. The car pulls around to the back and directly inside one of the garage bays, but Louis waits until the heavy steel door is shut behind them before climbing out from the back seat. He slings his bag over his shoulder and follows his driver inside. When they pass through the door, one of the Chronophysicists is waiting, iPad in hand, and waves the driver ahead. “Tomlinson?” She asks briskly without looking up from the screen. “That’s me,” Louis responds, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice. The flight took more out of him than he expected, though he didn’t sleep well the night before either, and he briefly thinks of Niall and his longer flight to Perth and hopes he’s alright. They tried to take jet lag into account, but Louis wonders if twenty-four hours will be enough time to recover before the hop. “Any trouble on the way in?” “Nope.” Louis wonders if she’s military. She sounds like it. And he wonders if his lack of formality is bothering her. If it is, she doesn’t let it show as she continues her line of questioning, “Anything of note?” “Nothing,” he answers and shakes his head as an image of Harry standing out front of their old flat flashes through his mind. “Follow me,” she says and turns to walk down the hall. She never checks to make sure he’s following, and Louis gives himself a second before he does. Yep. Definitely military. Sometimes he thinks about the fact that he’s literally the only non-military member of the entire Chrono Exploration program and he wonders if there’s a reason they picked him. Both Niall and Liam spent time in the Air Force between high school and college, and Doctor Franklin was a Marine. To be fair, Louis doesn’t think Malik was ever involved in the armed forces, but he doesn’t count. Niall says they picked Louis because he’s the best astronautical engineer at NASA, but Louis doesn’t think that’s true. Sure, he’s good, but he worked with many of the others, went to school with a few. No way was he top of his class. Liam says they chose him because he’s not military, that they need someone who’s as close to a civilian as they can get to be involved as well. Maybe that’s it. He follows her up a flight of stairs and down another corridor, letting his mind wander all the while. He’s tired and his legs and back are a bit sore from all of the sitting, first on the plane, and then in the car. “Tomlinson,” she says, startling him out of his tangential train of thought. She’s standing in a doorway, holding the door open for him to walk through. “You’re expected downstairs for breakfast at zero-seven hundred. Testing begins at zero-eight hundred. It’s important that you’re well-rested before the hop, so please let us know if there’s anything you need to make yourself comfortable.” She gestures to the keypad by the door and says, “Just press the call button and we’ll bring you whatever you’d like.” “Thanks, um…” “Lieutenant Edwards.” “Thanks, Lieutenant Edwards. I should be fine. See you in the morning.” Louis nods and pushes the door closed. It’s a small room, like a tiny one-room flat rather than a military-style quarters, which is what Louis expected. The bed is small, but actually looks rather comfortable, so Louis does a few sets of body weight squats, push-ups, and planks, then showers quickly in the small bathroom to get the plane off of him, pulls on a pair of boxers, and climbs into bed. He only needs a few minutes before he’s asleep. Breakfast is simple, a balance of protein, fat, and carbohydrates that makes Louis think that it’s been planned and weighed down to the gram. The testing is nothing new. A quick run on a treadmill—nothing long or fast, blood pressure before and after, a few small vials of blood, body temperature, height, weight, and that’s it. Still, it takes a few hours, and by the time the testing is complete, it’s time for lunch. Afterward, Lieutenant Edwards leads Louis back to his room where, after sending one last message in their WhatsApp chat to Niall and Liam wishing them good luck and safe travels, he powers down his phone. For the rest of the day, he’s expected to rest, meditate, and wait. The problem is that those things won’t take the rest of the day, and there’s only so much Louis is permitted to do. He’s not to exercise, read, or sleep. His phone is to remain off, so he can’t call anyone. So, eventually his mind wanders. He thinks about his family, who don’t know that he’s currently only a few miles from them. Dishonesty doesn’t come easy to him and the last six years have been rough on him; sometimes the guilt feels like it’s dissolving him from the inside out. Louis sighs and presses his hands against his eyes. The guilt was easier to stomach and things were easier to compartmentalize when he was thousands of miles away, but being back home, seeing their old flat… Hell, even hearing the Lieutenant’s surname has him thinking of Harry. He’s never regretted anything more in his life than the way things ended with Harry, well, except for the fact that they ended at all. He lets himself think about Harry for a little while, wondering where he is now and what he’s doing. He hopes that Harry’s happy; that’s all Louis ever wanted for him. The remaining hours drag by, and when the dinner hour passes, he starts to get irritable. It’s understandable that he isn’t allowed a meal this close to the hop, but it doesn’t make it easier. He considers taking a shower, but there’s no reason to, since he’ll have to shower downstairs right before the hop. Instead, he waits impatiently for eleven o’clock to arrive, and when it does, he follows Lieutenant Edwards downstairs. “Everything you’ll need is on the table just inside this door.” She walks him through the room, showing him his hop-suit—which is still in its airtight container, reminds him to remove any jewellery, goes over the procedure he needs to follow as he washes, then points to the row of lockers. “I’ll meet you and Lieutenant Harold on the other side of that door.” She gestures to the door across the room on the left marked ‘DEPARTURE’, steps back into the hall, leaving Louis alone with this thoughts again. Louis glances to the right side of the room at the door marked ‘ARRIVAL’, shakes his head, and drops down onto the bench beside the lockers. He needs to get his head on straight. There’s absolutely no reason for Harry to be on his mind right now. The chances that he’d end up with a Lieutenant Harold and Lieutenant Edwards have to be small. Maybe he’ll do the maths when he returns from his hop. In the meantime, he needs to forget about it. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, willing his mind to clear. It doesn’t. After a moment, he gives up and pulls his own clothes off, balls them up and shoves them into a locker, briefly wondering if he needs a lock like the locker beside it, then he steps into the shower stall and scrubs his body from head to toe twice over. Once he’s completely clean and dry, hair included, he steps into the drawstring cotton trousers, pulls the cotton tunic over his head, and sits down to put on the warm cotton socks and the booties over top of those. Then he takes a few minutes to clear his mind and center himself. It’s one of the few things that he and Malik agreed on, the meditation. A clear mind should make it easier for the transporter to do its job. The last thing they need is a Chrononaut thinking about dinosaurs or something and somehow interfering with the hop. Not that they’re worried about accidentally traveling to the Mesozoic Era, but there’s no way to be sure, plus it seems like the best way to focus on the task at hand. Louis takes one last deep breath and opens his eyes, stands up, and pushes through the door. “Tomlinson,” Lieutenant Edwards says and nods before looking back down at the control board and computer screens in front of her. The man on the other side of the room—Lieutenant Harold, Louis presumes—turns and crosses the floor, waiting until he’s just a few feet away from Louis before he speaks. “If you’ll take your place on the table, we’ll get started. I’m sure you’re sick of it by now, but you’ll have to recite your assignment.” Louis blinks a few times in an effort not to roll his eyes. He knew this was coming after all. As soon as he takes his place on the table in the center of the room, Lieutenant Edwards presses the button that will record the entire process for history, and Louis takes a moment to collect himself and to push away the idea that he feels almost like he’s having an MRI. It doesn’t help when the table starts to move inside the massive metal tube. He begins, “Louis William Tomlinson, Chrononaut. Mission Two. Traveling from the Chronodeparture Chamber at zero-hundred hours, Friday 14th of October 2023 in Doncaster, UK to the Chronoarrival Chamber at zero-one hundred hours, Saturday 14th of October of the year 2018 in Doncaster, UK. Procedure requires that I remain in the Chronoarrival Chamber for one hour for debriefing and testing. At zero-two hundred, Saturday 14th of October 2018, I am set to return here, to this time and place.” “If the mission should go wrong, sir?” “If I don’t hop far enough back, I am still to follow procedure and allow for the hour of testing, and then I am to return here, to this time and place. If I hop too far back, I’m on my own.” “Do you understand what you’re about to do, Tomlinson?” “Yes, ma’am.” Lieutenant Harold watches Louis for a moment, then says, “It’s an honor to work with you again, sir.” The ‘again’ throws Louis off for a second, maybe he’s met this Lieutenant before and doesn’t recall, but he blinks and is back to his clear mind. Distantly, he can hear the lieutenants speaking to each other, but he pushes it away. Nervousness is to be expected, in fact, Louis has wondered if he might vomit or if it’s possible that time travel might cause loss of control of certain bodily functions, but centering himself helps ease the worry. He breathes, counting slowly, in and out. He’s aware that they’re performing last-minute calculations, plugging in coordinates and his own stats into the formulas, running the transport program that will cause the hop. He’s seen Malik perform some of them in one of the world’s most boring PowerPoint presentations. He even understands a good bit, it’s just that it’s not really his thing. Not his area of interest. So he zones out, which is probably for the best at this stage. Lieutenant Harold’s voice echoes inside the tube. “Counting down from five to begin. Five, four, three, two, one.” Fleetingly, a thought of Harry enters his mind, but it disappears just as quickly. Louis blinks his eyes open and stares at the inside of the hollow tube. It seems like the hop might be beginning, if the tingling in his limbs are any indication. He tries to keep track of all of the physical and mental sensations for his debriefing after the hop. The low murmur from the control station suddenly grows louder, and it’s distracting, so Louis opens his eyes and lifts his head to peer out of the end of the tube in time to see Lieutenant Edwards jump from her seat, scowl and turn away, her voice rising, “Lieutenant Harold!” The shout startles Louis and he frowns. His mind jumps to Harry, then darts to the oddness surrounding him, the coincidental names and date. Saturday, 14th of October, 2023. He closes his eyes again, trying to bring his focus back to his landing point. Saturday, 13th of October, 2018. Louis breathes deeply, trying in vain the bring his thoughts under control. Friday, 13th of October, 2017. The day after Harry called him in the early morning before he left for work and said he needed a break from their relationship. The day that Harry called again, wanting to take it all back, to apologize, to work things out, and the day that Louis ruined everything for good. As if from the other end of a long tunnel, Louis hears the lieutenants’ voices. And then he hears nothing at all. Apparently, the time travel hop is like being put under for surgery with general anesthesia because it starts off with a little tingling in his limbs, all of his senses seem distant, like he’s hearing, seeing, smelling through someone else’s body, then suddenly there’s nothing. Just as abruptly, Louis’ eyes shoot open, his heart pounds in his chest, his entire body feels sore and exhausted as if he just finished one of the heavy workouts that the trainers at NASA make them do, but his mind is alert and becoming more so with every passing second. He’s lying down, but he’s definitely not in the tube in the Chronoarrival Chamber. The pricking of dry leaves and cool grass against the back of his arms and neck, along with the dark sky dotted with stars and partially obscured by trees and clouds that he sees once his eyes begin to focus, tell him that much. The second Louis’ arms stop tingling, he brings his hands to his face, neck, chest, stomach, inspecting every part of his body to make sure that everything made the hop intact. When his legs feel normal again, he slowly pushes himself up to sitting, crosses his legs, closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and tries to calm the racing mess that is his mind. Rather than try to focus on nothing, Louis goes through the list of possibilities. He’s almost positive that he landed in the wooded area where the facility will eventually be built, so he knows where he is. He just doesn’t know when, though he thinks it’s autumn because he estimates the temperature to be between 15ºC and 18ºC and there are dried leaves on the ground all around him. It’s likely that he didn’t hop too far into the past, hopefully it’s not more than a few years because the prospect of waiting to return to his own time is enough of a hardship. With no money, no identification, and no way of contacting anyone, he really doesn’t want to live multiple years or even decades over again, all the while avoiding bumping into his family, friends, neighbors and his past self. He knew something like this would happen and they should’ve been better prepared for the eventuality. They would have been, if Louis’ opinions were taken into account, but they were always overridden by Malik. Louis sighs and stands up, brushing the dirt and leaves from his trousers while he takes a look around. It’s definitely the spot where the Chronofacility will be built, and if he’s not seeing things, through the trees, he can see modern streetlights in the distance. He walks towards them, slightly unsteady at first, but growing more stable and stronger with each step, and when he reaches the road, he turns towards town, for once thankful for the required workouts that he’s had to do for the last six years. While he walks, Louis curses Zayn Malik, his arrogance and, for good measure, his stupidly beautiful face. If there’s anything fair in this world, at this very second, Malik is cutting himself shaving, developing a rash of unknown origin, and running face first into a brick wall. All three at the same time. When he finishes cursing Malik, he goes over what he knows. He knows it’s sometime before 2018 because they built the Chronofacilities that summer. Louis makes a mental timeline of what will happen. Malik comes to NASA in April of that year, Niall and Liam in May, shortly after Louis is asked to join the Chrononaut program. It all happens at a blinding speed after that. Liam will discover his superheavy metal element, Niall will work with Malik to stabilize and expand wormholes, and once they do that, Louis will design and engineer a tube out of Liam’s metal that is the perfect size to contain one of Niall’s wormholes. They almost work in sync with each other as if it’s choreographed ahead of time. Now, all he has to do is wait. They’ll reach back through the wormhole to the time and place where he’s supposed to be, so he’ll just have to be there. Louis turns left at the corner, following the road, searching for something, anything, that will give him a clue as to when he is. It must be late, after midnight, if the quiet, dark, empty streets are any clue. And that’s good because that means that he landed on at least one correct coordinate, the day, date, and year are proving harder to determine. He walks on, because it would do no good for him to stop, and when he finds himself at a crossroad, he realizes that if he turns right, he’ll end up at his parents’ house. With his mum, stepdad, and however many children are in existence at this time. Shit. Without knowing the year, there’s no way to know if his past self is still living at home. So he turns left, towards town, keeps walking, and eventually he zones out and his subconscious takes over. His feet take him along familiar roads until he finds himself standing on the pavement outside their old flat, except it’s still their flat, staring at the beat up, old Volkswagen that he easily recognizes as Harry’s, complete with the NASA decal on the back window. It’s sometime after he moved to Florida for what was supposed to be a two-year contract with NASA. Louis closes his eyes and braces himself because somehow he just knows that he wasn’t lucky enough to land sometime before their breakup. In fact, he’s almost positive that he knows precisely when he landed. If he’s correct, which he assumes that he is, he landed at one o’clock—like he was supposed to, on a Saturday—like he was supposed to, in October—like he was supposed to. Except it’s the fourteenth instead of the thirteenth, and it’s 2017 instead of 2018. He estimates that he’s walked for approximately two hours, putting it near three in the morning. Louis shakes his head and tries to loosen the clenching of his jaw, but there’s no place for him to direct the anger welling up inside. He can’t scream or he’ll wake the whole street, he can’t punch or kick anything unless he goes after Harry’s car or the brick side of the building, and he doesn’t even have proper shoes on. He wishes he knew where Malik was right this minute because he’d love to funnel all of his rage directly at him. As it stands, from what he can remember, before he joined their mission at NASA, Malik was still a student at Leicester working on his Master of Physics. It’s one of things that Louis has never understood and one of the things he continues to hold against Malik to this day. He’s been given far too much leeway for a person with zero experience, fresh out of school. Rumor said that when he was recruited, he still had one term left and finished it in his off-hours. Leicester is too far to walk. Louis takes a step back and sits down on the kerb. His muscles ache and he just wants to sleep, but he has to figure out what to do. He spends a few minutes sitting, stands back up and starts pacing, then realizes that if anyone looks out of their window, he’ll not only be visible, he’ll look like he’s about to cause trouble. So he sits back down on the ground behind Harry’s car where the chances of being seen are slim, at least until the neighborhood starts to wake up in a few hours. Approximately an hour later, he’s got nowhere. He knows that his best chance is to ask Harry for help because he lives alone and he’s definitely trustworthy, but Harry probably hates him right now. It was six years ago for Louis, but he remembers it like it was yesterday. He hated himself back then too. Still does a little bit. A door closes somewhere behind him and Louis’ entire body stiffens. He leans over until he can see under Harry’s car to look at the row of flats. It’s about four in the morning which is when Harry leaves for his job at the bakery. He’s standing there fiddling with the temperamental lock on the door, but as soon as it catches… Louis scrambles around to the other side of the car on his hands and knees, his heart races with adrenaline and when Harry’s in the car, ready to drive away, the decision is made for him. So he stands up beside the passenger door and knocks on the window. He’s just glad that Harry’s scream is muffled by the metal and glass of his car. Harry fumbles with the door handle, but finally gets it open, and he’s already shouting as he clambers out of the car and stands up to face Louis. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He’s shaking, Louis can see his hand tremble when he brings it up to comb his fingers through his hair. Louis holds his hands up, and while they’re still moving, his eyes dart from side-to-side checking to see if any curtains are being pulled back, but thankfully it seems like Harry didn’t wake anyone. Still, he holds a finger to his lips and shushes Harry. “Fuck you! Don’t tell me to be—” Harry seems to remember that it’s four in the morning because he hisses out the last word. “Quiet.” “Sorry,” Louis says instinctively, but he knows it was a mistake as soon as the words leave his lips because Harry flips his middle finger up, shuts the car door, turns around and walks back to their flat. Louis follows, not because he expects to be allowed inside, but because he can hear Harry muttering to himself and he wants to know what he’s saying. “Should’ve known better than to get out of bed… Stupid, stupid, stupid… What the fuck? Why… I hate this fucking lock…” Automatically, Louis reaches for the key. It’s something he always used to do when he lived there because Harry would just get more and more frustrated with the lock until he was literally stomping his feet. “Let me?” Harry scowls at him, unsuccessfully jiggles the key a few more times, then huffs out a breath, blowing his hair off his face, and steps aside. “Fine.” It takes Louis a bit longer than it used to, but he gets it unlocked, pushes the door open, reaches inside to flip on the lamp by the door, and stands back so Harry can go inside first. He watches Harry lean against the wall to pull off his boots and asks, “Aren’t you going to work?” “No. I mean, I was.” Harry turns around in the doorway and Louis can see now in the lamplight how tired he looks, but it takes his breath away how beautiful he is. Six years later, and Louis thinks he could still stare at Harry for hours. “They told me to take the day off, but I couldn’t sleep, so I was going to go in anyway, but… Did you seriously fly here to grovel? I told you, it’s over. We’re over.” “No, um… actually, I—” “What the hell are you wearing? You look like a nurse or something.” “Oh, I—” Louis looks down at himself. The tunic and trousers do resemble nursing scrubs, especially with the weird fabric shoes on his feet. “It’s a work thing.” As soon as he says it, he closes his eyes. Maybe it’s a side effect of the hop that he can’t avoid putting his foot in his mouth. “A work thing. Right. Heard that a million times. ‘NDAs mean I can’t talk about it, even with you, Harry.’ Anyway… Did someone drop you off? Can you, like, call them to come pick you up?” “No, I… No one drove me. I can’t call… Look, um… Can I come in?” Harry takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare when he exhales, but he nods once and steps aside so that Louis can come through the door, then he disappears down the hall. Louis takes a quick look around, and it’s just like he remembered. The sofa that they got third-hand from Gemma, the odd collection of secondhand chairs around a folding table in the kitchen, the coffee table that they’d decided to build themselves on a whim one weekend. It’s nowhere near level and is made of more nails than wood, but the memory of them building it together makes Louis smile. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t really feel like talking to you right now, so…” Harry says from the end of the hallway and Louis looks up just in time to catch the pillow and bundle of blankets Harry throws at him. “You can sleep on the couch. We can talk in the morning.” Louis watches him walk away and just as Harry closes the bedroom door behind him, Louis realizes that the aching in his chest isn’t an effect of the hop or a symptom of his complete exhaustion. The longing that he has been able to conceal from himself for the last six years is out of hiding, back with a vengeance. The couch is a shitty place to sleep, but it’s better than the backseat of Harry’s car, which he was contemplating breaking into just before Harry came outside. Louis wraps himself up in the blanket and rests his head on the pillow, suddenly surrounded by the comforting smell of home and Harry. With his eyes closed, he goes through the process of clearing his mind and relaxing his body and soon falls asleep. His brain doesn’t stop working while he’s sleeping, and when he wakes up it’s with a clear head and a better idea of what he needs to do. He’s curled up on his side, so he stretches his legs out and blinks his eyes open, trying to adjust to the light that floods the room through the open curtains. “Your hair is different,” Harry says and Louis almost jumps out of his skin. He’s standing behind the couch, looking down on Louis, and it’s been hours, but he still looks as tired as he did at four in the morning. “What time is it?” “Almost two.” Louis sits up quickly and feels around for his phone for a moment before he remembers that it’s not there. He scrubs his hands over his face, then pushes his hair back out of his eyes. “Surprised you let me sleep this long.” “Yeah, well, I tried waking you, but you were… I don’t know. Thought you were dead for a second. Checked your pulse and everything, but no, just sleeping.” Harry walks into the kitchen and Louis just stares after him. “Oh,” Louis says and files that information away for his eventual debriefing. “Right. So,” Harry says, and he sounds so businesslike that it makes Louis’ stomach churn. He sets down two cups of tea on their wonky table, sits down on the other end of the couch and frowns at his hands in his lap. “I didn’t realize your hair was so long. I guess I couldn’t see it when we FaceTimed.” “Um, yeah…” Louis looks down at his lap and twists his fingers together. This is going to be a hard conversation to have. He didn’t think it’d start with his hair. It’s much longer than it was six years ago. Louis knows that, he just didn’t think about it. There are quite a few changes that he wonders if Harry will notice. Some of them are hidden, like the fifteen pounds of muscle that he’s put on because of the Chrononaut training program, and the tattoo in the center of his chest underneath the words across his collarbones. Three clocks. Past, present, future. Some of the changes are visible now, if only Harry would look at him. But he noticed the hair, maybe he’s just looking when Louis isn’t looking back. In his peripheral vision, he sees Harry’s hand reaching out for him. He grabs Louis’ chin and tilts his head to the side, and Louis knows what he’s looking for, but he won’t find it. He’s patient though, and lets Harry look without moving. Even when Harry rubs his thumb a little too roughly down the side of Louis’ neck and asks, “Did you cover it with makeup?” “No, Harry. There’s nothing there.” “Fuck you, Louis. I know what I saw and I know what guilt looks like on your face, so don’t try to lie to me about this shit.” Louis shakes his head and sighs because, now that he finally has the chance, he doesn’t know whether or not to try to explain what actually happened that night six years ago. “Do you have plans today?” Louis asks, hoping that Harry will go with the subject change. “No. Like I said, I was scheduled to work, but they, um… Well, yesterday I was kind of a mess, so they sent…” Harry wraps his arms around himself and looks away. “I don’t have plans.” “Ok. Good. I, um… I have to tell you some things. Work related. But it’s like… It’s really complicated and—” “Of course, Lou, you know me, stupid bakery employee, barely able to count change, there’s no way I’ll—” “Stop it. Don’t… I’ve never thought you were stupid. You’re not stupid at all. You’ve kicked my arse at pretty much every trivia game in existence. Why… Never mind. Just… We’ll have our tea and then, um, we can talk.” Harry nods, but he still isn’t looking at him. “Okay, and then I’ll explain. Everything. It’ll probably take all day. Can’t believe I slept so long. I’ll have to write that down.” “Hmm?” Harry finally turns to look at him, and he wants to reach out and smooth the line between his eyebrows. Despite the way it happened, it’s good to see him again. “I’ll explain. I promise. And I’ll answer any questions you have about anything, I swear.” Louis waits for Harry’s response, but all he does is nod and pick up his tea, so Louis does the same and they sit on the lumpy old couch in silence. In the almost three years that they were together before Louis took the contract with NASA, Louis could’ve counted on one hand the times that he felt uncomfortable and unsure around Harry, and all of those times were within the early stages of dating, when he didn’t know Harry all that well and couldn’t tell what he was thinking at a glance. He feels more hesitant and anxious now than he did when he was trying to work up the nerve to ask Harry out the first time. His tea is gone, but he puts the cup to his lips anyway and pretends to take a final sip, then he sets the mug down on the lopsided table, pulls one leg up onto the couch and turns towards Harry. “What’s the big, complicated, work thing?” Harry asks before Louis can gather the words to start to explain himself. “Um…” Louis bites his lower lip, trying to decide whether to just blurt it out or go into the back story first. “You know what? No,” Harry quietly says and shakes his head, then he continues and the anger starts to bleed through. “I actually don’t care. What I want to know is how you can dare show up here like this? You cheated on me. I know it and you know it and I want to know… I…” “I didn’t though,” Louis says, voice as soft and gentle as he can make it. Harry scoffs. “You have a love bite on your neck, Louis. I saw it yesterday when I FaceTimed you to apologize. I called you because I wanted to work things out, but you didn’t even wait a day before you… you went and found someone else.” “I didn’t. Harry, please. Can you—” Harry reaches for Louis’ neck again and squints. “Where is it though?” Apparently they aren’t going to get anywhere until he clears this up. Louis takes a deep breath and tries to remember. “You told me… Thursday? Thursday. You said you thought we should take a break. That the distance was too hard and that you didn’t know what you wanted anymore.” “I know what I said, but I—” “Let me finish? Please?” Louis waits until Harry nods, then says, “You called me Thursday morning before I went to work. Which made for a shitty start, by the way.” He keeps his focus on Harry, trying not to get caught up in how awful that entire day was, even though that afternoon, his team found out that one of their shuttle designs would be used. “Everyone was going out to celebrate this successful design we came up with, but I just wanted to go home.” Harry looks away at that, rubs his hands over his thighs, then glances back at Louis and gestures for him to continue. “They dragged me to a bar, got me drunk, pulled me onto the dance floor. I was wasted. Some of them knew something had happened with us, but not what, and they just kept feeding me shots of tequila. I was dancing. Just dancing. With everyone, really. And then there was this guy—” “I don’t want…” Harry closes his eyes tight and shakes his head. It was horrible. The whole night Louis could think of nothing but Harry. They hadn’t seen each other in months, getting by with Skype and texts and phone calls, but up to that day, missing him was like a constant, low-level ache. That night, he felt hollow and broken and he still doesn’t like remembering it. Louis lowers his voice until he’s almost whispering. “He reminded me of you, and I missed you. So I danced with him. That’s all.” Harry looks at him and rolls his eyes, clenching his jaw, ready to argue, so Louis holds up his hand, gesturing for him to wait. It was so long ago, but even as drunk as he was, he still remembers every detail. “I was dancing with him, thinking of you, and he… Well, you saw. And I swear, it was like he was a Hoover or something. No lead up, we didn’t even kiss, he just sucked on my neck, hard. I was so drunk that the shock of it took a little while to process and then I pushed him away and I—” “Stop,” Harry whispers and holds up one finger. “Okay.” Louis waits for a few seconds, watching Harry while he seems to gather his thoughts. “There was…” Harry pauses and shakes his head. “I know there was a love bite on your neck. I just saw it yesterday when we FaceTimed and you said—” “Do you believe me?” Louis can’t stop himself from interrupting because, while he was expecting Harry to be angry, instead Harry’s voice is quiet and even and he seems to accept Louis’ words as the truth. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I want to, but…” He looks at Louis, then closes his eyes and bites down on his lower lip, and for a moment Louis wants nothing more than to reach out and run his thumb along that lip until Harry releases it. But he can’t. Instead, he decides that the absolute truth is the only thing that makes sense. “Okay. I’m going to say something and you’re probably going to think I’m lying, but I’m not. I just… I want…” “Just say it.” Louis nods and, as quickly as he can, says, “I’m from the future.” Harry takes a deep breath in through his nose, lets it out through his mouth, and says, “Right. Well.” He rubs his hands over his knees, stands up, gathers their tea cups, and asks, “When are you flying back to the states?” over his shoulder as he walks into the kitchen. “I’m not… I don’t… Do you not believe me?” He can’t help but feel offended at the thought. “Of course not, Louis. That’s probably in the top three stupidest things I’ve ever heard.” Though he knows that, in the same position, he wouldn’t believe it either, Louis is somehow still surprised. He feels his mouth hanging open and promptly closes it. “I… Okay. I can prove it.” “Sure. Go for it,” Harry says distractedly. He’s not even looking into the living room. Louis can easily see into the tiny kitchen and he has his back turned, rinsing their cups in the sink. Something about Harry’s complete dismissal of him riles him up. He’s getting irritated, which is probably unnecessary, but he can’t help it. It’s not as if he’s a known liar or a dishonest person and Harry knows that. So he pulls the cotton tunic of his uniform over his head and stands up, waiting for Harry to turn around. It’s oddly satisfying when he does. Harry’s eyes go wide and he gasps so loudly that it’s almost comical, then he walks towards Louis with his hand outstretched. “What is… When did you get this? This wasn’t here yesterday when I saw…” He trails off and doesn’t finish his sentence and Louis has an idea of what is running through his mind. “Got it in 2018. Right after we…” Just then, Harry’s fingers brush against Louis’ skin and he stops speaking and waits for Harry to say something. Harry traces the tip of his index finger along the lines of Louis’ tattoo. “Praeteritum, praesens, futurum,” Harry slowly reads aloud and looks up to meet Louis’ eyes. “Latin?” “Past, present, future.” “I…” Harry closes his eyes and brings his hands to either side of his head. He lowers himself to sit on the couch and massages his temples, then he lets his head drop back onto the couch cushion. It’s so quiet, but Louis doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence, so he watches Harry and after a moment, he picks his shirt up off of the floor so he can pull it back over his head. He freezes when Harry speaks again. “You, um… You… Do you…” When Harry doesn’t say anything else, Louis pulls his shirt on the rest of the way and says, “Do I what?” Harry’s eyes search his face, then he clears his throat and asks, “What are you doing here? Like… 2017?” Louis shrugs and settles back into the couch, taking a moment to think about what to say because he doesn’t want to believe that his own distraction caused this. “Not sure. I was supposed to hop to 2018, but… I don’t know. Something happened. The lieutenants in the departure room were shouting. I was distracted. Not focused… Kept thinking about you… Maybe that’s it?” Harry raises one eyebrow and looks at him for a few seconds. “What kind of half arsed operation are you guys running at NASA?” Then he snorts and loses it. Louis watches him cracking up and slapping his knees until he can’t breathe, and it makes his heart swell. He’s missed this so much. A few seconds later he’s bent over in a fit of giggles and wiping tears from his eyes. When the laughs peter out, Louis sighs and says, “I honestly don’t know. I blame Malik.” “Who?” Louis rolls his eyes and props up his feet. “He— Wait. Are you… Fuck. Okay, first I need to ask you a favor.” When he was first offered the position at NASA, he was floored. There isn’t much of a call for astronautical engineers specializing in spacecraft design and structural engineering at the UK Space Agency, and he thought that when he finished his master’s degree, he’d go into research at his alma mater or maybe education. It felt like settling, but he didn’t think there was much of a chance for him to get on with NASA when the field of applicants was so large. Still, he applied anyway. Harry knew about it at the time, encouraged Louis to apply and wouldn’t hear it when Louis called it a pipe dream. He even managed to hide his surprise fairly well when the offer came in. Neither of them really thought it would happen and didn’t consider the reality of a two-year contract with NASA and the toll it would take on their relationship. And they weren’t given much time to think about it after the offer was made because Louis was expected to respond within two weeks. There was no question as to whether or not he’d do it. If Louis tried to decline the offer, Harry would know it was because of their relationship, and he refused to be the reason that Louis didn’t pursue his dream job. The issues came afterwards, once Louis accepted the position, signed the contract, and moved to Florida. With the time difference and the long hours and the deadlines and the fact that he couldn’t really talk about what he was working on or who he was working with, their relationship went from almost effortless to really hard work. “Alright, so, I don’t have a phone or money or ID or anything. I literally only have the clothes I’m wearing.” Louis pulls on the hem of his shirt, then points at the socks on his feet. Harry doesn’t sound impressed. “And?” “You don’t have to say yes—” “Obviously,” Harry interrupts. “The protocol for screwing up the time hop like this is to wait until the facility is built, then they can return me to 2023. The problem with that is that I have to lay low. I can’t go to my parents’ house because there are too many people living there. All the kids and… I can’t compromise the timeline like that.” Harry crosses his arms and hums like he’s just waiting for Louis to get to the point and he probably is. Probably knows what Louis is going to ask before he asks it, actually. “Bottom line: I trust you.” Slowly, Harry crosses his legs and laces his fingers together over his knee. “So?” Louis holds his gaze steady and hopes he sounds suitably pitiful because he doesn’t think he has any other options and there isn’t another place he’d rather spend the next year if he’s completely honest with himself. “Can I stay here?” “No,” Harry spits out instantly, shaking his head. “No?” Harry tilts his head to the side, studies Louis’ face for a moment and says, “Maybe, then. I have conditions.” “Conditions?” “Yes. Conditions.” Harry holds up one finger and says, “First, no secrets, no lies. I’ll basically be, what? Harboring a time fugitive?” “Um… I mean, I haven’t broken any laws or anything, but…” Louis sucks in a breath through his teeth. It is similar. He has to be sure that no one else knows he’s here. There’s no way of knowing what the repercussions could be. “Sort of.” “Right. So, no secrets and you can’t lie to me. Anything I ask, you have to answer. Truthfully.” Louis nods. He’s always hated that the classified nature of his job drove a wedge between them. Keeping secrets from Harry was one of the hardest things he had to do. “Alright. Second, you sleep on the couch. And third, you have to clean up after yourself. I’ve spent the last year not cleaning up your messes and I’ve got used to it.” “Yes, of course. All of it. What… um… Did you want to ask anything?” “Yeah, I want—” Harry turns his head as “Spaceman” by The Killers starts to play from his phone. “Oh, um… It’s you.” He holds the phone facing out so that Louis can see the screen and, sure enough, 2017 Louis is calling. Harry smirks and lifts the phone towards his ear and Louis’ knee-jerk reaction is to grab the phone and decline the call. Harry snatches his phone back. “What the fuck, Lou?” “Sorry, sorry. I, um… You never answered when I called.” “Oh,” Harry says and lays his phone down on the table. “I’m sorry.” “I mean, you had, um… have every right, so…” Harry taps his finger against his lips. “I just… I… How do you know that…” He stands up and walks to the window, closes the curtains and turns back to face Louis. “How can you know that I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to answer? Like… How do you know that I didn’t answer because you took my phone and wouldn’t let me?” “I…” Louis doesn’t know what to say because Harry has a point. One of the things that really ate at him after their breakup was that it seemed so out of character for Harry to refuse his calls. At the least, he expected Harry to allow him to apologize, but he never did. He drops his head into his hands and groans, “Fuck.” “Wow, really?” Harry sits back down and shoves Louis’ shoulder. “I figured you’d have thought of things like that.” “No, well, I mean… This wasn’t supposed to happen. Malik swore—” “Who’s that? You said his name earlier.” So Louis explains as well as he can, though he skips over the beginning and hopes that Harry doesn’t notice. He tells Harry about Zayn, the program’s assistant director from Bradford via the University of Leicester; and Niall, the blond from SoCal who surfs when he’s not working; and Liam from upstate New York, top of his class at Syracuse, and the heart of the operation. Louis complains about the Chrono Exploration Program and Zayn’s arrogance and how he swore that this was so unlikely to happen that they didn’t really need to prepare for it. “But how…” The little wrinkle between Harry’s eyebrows deepens and he asks, “Is this what you’ve been doing the whole time? Were you ever working on the new shuttle prototype? I thought that’s—” “No. Yeah, I mean… I did work on the shuttle. I guess, um… 2017 Louis still is. It was a few months after…” Louis looks away and scratches at the rough upholstery on the couch. There will probably never be a time when he’ll be comfortable talking about their breakup. “A few months into 2018 that I was asked to join the Chrono Exploration Program. Had to sign all sorts of things—more contracts, new NDAs, what have you—before they’d even tell me the truth about the program.” “What all do you do then? What’s your job like now?” Instinctively, Louis clams up because he’s never been allowed to talk about his job. But he can, for once, or he feels like he has to tell Harry, and a sense of relief settles over him. “I do work on the engineering part of it. For a while there, we thought we’d need something tangible, like a ship of sorts, to time travel, but we don’t. There’s a lot of maths—much more than I ever wanted to do in my career, if I’m honest. Oh, and part of it’s training, like, physical training. They make us work out like crazy, which, I don’t know… I hated it at first, but I don’t mind so much now.” “They make you work out?” Harry asks, eyes wide as his eyebrows slowly climb and he leans back. “Yeah, like run, lift weights, body weight stuff like push-ups and pull-ups, things like that. We’re supposed to stay in top form.” “I thought you looked different with your shirt off, but I was distracted by the tattoo,” Harry says as he looks him up and down and Louis actually feels a bit shy. It’s not as though he’s boasting, but he is in much better shape than he was six years ago. All of the sitting he was doing working on the shuttle design on his computer wasn’t doing him any favors. “So, um… tell me about the tattoo.” “Oh, we all three—Liam, Niall, and I—wanted to get something together. We spent months on this one problem, right? We were able to work out sending things—organic matter, like plants—into the past, but we couldn’t figure out how to bring them back to the present again. Then, one day it just hit me that we were trying to reverse the process, when we should’ve been doing the exact same thing, but on the other side of the wormhole. And it worked.” He’s still so proud of that moment that he can’t help but grin and sit up a little straighter. “That’s when we knew it was only a matter of time before we’d be able to send humans. We all wanted a variation of something time-related and Liam’s friend’s an artist, so he drew up the sketches and we had them done.” “It’s a gorgeous tattoo, Lou,” Harry says, and his eyes practically bore through the thin cotton of Louis’ tunic and Louis’ hands involuntarily come up to cover his chest, so he smooths the fabric and changes the subject. “Thanks, um… Back to what you said before when I said you never answered.” It’s embarrassing to even remember, but to say it out loud to Harry is causing his stomach to churn and his entire body to heat up. “I, well, 2017 me is going to call you again and it’s really important that you don’t answer.” “Oh? When? So I can be prepared.” Harry picks up his phone and looks at the screen. Louis can see the voicemail notification. Louis scrubs his hand through his hair and feels the sweat beading at his brow. He really shouldn’t be this self-conscious. It was a bad breakup and it was six years ago. For him, anyway. “Um… Shit. Okay, like every day for a week or so? And then… Maybe once a week until the end of December.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Sorry. Just… Listen, Harry, this is really weird for me because our breakup… Thinking that it’s actually possible that you didn’t answer because… This is just really confusing.” “Yeah…” Harry nods and bites the corner of his lower lip and Louis has to look away. The breakup and the possible time travel issues related to it aren’t the only disconcerting things. Even though it’s been years since he’s seen it, Louis knows that look on Harry’s face. “I called you a lot. And I’m sorry because I’m pretty sure I crossed the line from heartbroken and pining to creepy.” Louis holds up his hand when Harry starts to interrupt, probably to say something else that will further distract Louis from the topic at hand. “I also emailed you. And texted. And I sent you Christmas gifts. You can’t… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but… You never responded to anything and you sent your gift back unopened.” “Lou…” Sorrow is plain on Harry’s face and it tugs at Louis’ heart. The urge to make it better, to tell Harry that everything is alright, is strong. “I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I’d… This has to be the reason. You coming here from the future and telling me this is the reason I don’t—didn’t answer or return your calls… I wouldn’t do that.” Louis doesn’t respond at first. He’s incredibly embarrassed thinking back over his behavior. Most of his downtime was spent with a drink in his hand and the first few months after their breakup were, to this day, the lowest point of his life. It’s so hard to reconcile this Harry with the one who ignored him every time he reached out, but one of the things he struggled the most with and one of the reasons that he kept trying to talk to Harry long after he should’ve stopped, was that it seemed so unlike him to cut off contact like that. “You could be right. This is such a mind-fuck,” Louis says, then he rests his chin in his hand and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what to think. “Can I, um… Can I shower?” Harry sits up straight, he must not have realized that he was leaning closer and closer to Louis as they talked. “Yeah, ’course. You, um… Some of your clothes are in the dresser still.” ∞ It’s strange, showering in Harry’s bathroom. Though by October 2017, Harry’s going on a year of living alone, there’s still a collection of partially empty bottles of Louis’ toiletries under the sink. Which is convenient, even endearing, but also confusing. Everything about this situation is confusing, and it makes sense that it would be, what with the whole time travel thing. Louis quietly chuckles and steps forward into the weak spray. He just showered before the hop, less than twenty-four hours ago on his own personal timeline, but he feels like he’s wearing a week’s worth of dirt and grime and dried sweat on his skin thanks to his long walk. There’s so much to think about, so much to consider, and Louis wants to sit alone with some peace and quiet and do just that for a while, but he knows that’s close to impossible in this flat. It was always a bit of an issue when they lived together. The flat’s small and they were always tripping over each other when they were both home. Back then, he had school and a part-time job and study time at the University of Sheffield and a thirty minute drive there and back every day, so he still got some time alone, but now… He has to lay low for a year. His entire family lives a few miles away, so it’s not like he can just pop out to the shops or go kick the ball around at the park. He’ll be lucky if he gets to leave the flat at all. At least he and Harry seem to be getting along alright. It’s going better than he would’ve expected. Not that a few hours spent together is really any indication of what things will be like long term, but at least they haven’t argued much. It’s difficult to wrap his mind around the situation with Harry. Louis struggled so much after their break up, feeling abandoned even though, technically, he was the one who left. For more than a year he walked around with a gaping hole in his chest that no one else could see, and even after he started to move past it, he continued to feel Harry’s absence. Some days he’d be fine, but then he’d be walking to the break room or driving home after work or doing laundry on the weekend and, out of nowhere, the ache would overtake him. Even years later, whenever Harry crosses his mind, it eats at him, the way that he immediately severed all contact with Louis. And now… Harry’s theory that he only refused to communicate with Louis because 2023 Louis told him not to… Louis dries off, wraps the towel around his waist, and walks into the bedroom where Harry’s waiting for him. “Hi,” Harry says from his perch on the edge of the bed. “Hi.” Louis stupidly raises his hand and waves from the doorway. He tries not to cringe at his awkwardness and points to the pile of clothes on the bed beside Harry. “Those mine?” Harry nods, then instead of leaving Louis to get dressed, he leans back, props himself up with his hands, looks Louis up and down, and says, “Missed you.” Louis coughs for no reason other than to spare himself from having to say anything right away. He crosses over to the bed and picks up the t-shirt off the top of the pile and pulls it over his head with the towel still wrapped around his waist. Harry lays the rest of the way down on the bed, so Louis takes the joggers off the bed and steps back until he’s pretty sure that Harry would have to sit up again to see him, but he still keeps the towel secure as he steps into the joggers and pulls them up. Once he’s dressed, he sits down beside Harry and says, “We should talk…” “Yeah? Okay.” Harry rolls over onto his side, so Louis turns and pulls his feet up onto the bed, crossing his legs to force some distance between them. Louis rests his hands on his knees and closes his eyes, trying to find the words because he feels like such an arsehole. Technically, he and Harry just broke up, or at least 2017 Louis and Harry did, and Harry’s spent the last few days being so upset that the ladies at the bakery sent him home for two unscheduled days off. He’s still trying to get his thoughts together when he feels the bed move and then Harry’s warm hand lands on his knee. Louis’ eyes fly open and he’s unable to speak as Harry slowly slides the palm of his hand up Louis’ thigh. It’s something he never thought would happen again and the weight of Harry’s hand feels good. And familiar. Even though it’s been years since Harry’s touched him like that. “Harry,” Louis says and wishes he could hide the strain in his voice. Their eyes meet and Louis can see the desire in them. Part of him wants nothing more than to lean over, push Harry down onto his back, climb on top of him, and just look at him. To touch him again, feel the heat and the press of their bodies together, feel Harry’s lips against his own again… Harry sits up the rest of the way, tilts his head, and moves closer. He lays his hand on top of Harry’s and squeezes it, then whispers, “Harry… We can’t.” Harry opens his eyes and watches Louis for a few seconds, and Louis doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t blink, while Harry searches his face. While he knows he looks young for his age and that he was blessed with his mum’s DNA, there are visible signs of that past six years. Wrinkles around his eyes that don’t disappear when he relaxes his face, some grey interwoven with his light brown hair. He does wonder what it is that Harry sees because he seems so cautious as he removes his hand from Louis’ leg, sits back and nods. He drops his hands into his lap and looks down at them, twists his fingers together, and mutters, “You’re not him. Not really.” “Yeah… I’m sorry. I… I don’t really know what to say.” “It’s alright.” Harry sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I just miss you… him? Is that strange?” Louis shakes his head. “Not at all. He misses you too. You’ll see when he won’t stop calling,” Louis says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I really can’t talk to you—I mean, him? In your time, you haven’t talked to me in what? Six years?” “Mmhmm, yeah. Six years.” “Lou… That’s…” Harry lets himself fall backwards onto the mattress and presses his hands to his eyes. It’s overwhelming even thinking about time travel and the whole situation is odd, so Louis understands how Harry feels. At least, he thinks he does until Harry’s hands fall to his mouth to cover it, even as sobs escape past his fingers, and tears leak from the corners of his closed eyes. It’s automatic, Louis doesn’t even think about what he’s doing when he lays down on his side next to Harry and gathers him into his arms. He doesn’t speak, just holds Harry close and strokes his hair while he cries against his chest until the fabric of Louis’ t-shirt is soaked with tears. When Harry’s sobs turn to quiet whimpers and his breathing seems steady, Louis says, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have come here. I… I’m sure I can figure something out. It’s not fair to you for me to—” The palm of Harry’s hand covers Louis’ mouth with a slap, though not hard enough to hurt, and Harry pulls away just until Louis can see his entire face. Red eyes, blotchy cheeks, skin damp with tears. He hiccups as he lowers his hand from Louis’ mouth and rubs his knuckle against his eye, then he sighs, and says, “No, Lou, stay here. I think this is… I think it’s what has to happen, if that makes sense?” Louis nods. It does make sense. He can’t think of another place to go or anyone else to tell about this without compromising the entire thing. “I’m still sorry. I didn’t think it through…” “It’s okay. We’ll, um… figure it out. It’s a year, right? So, we’ll be flatmates.” Harry sits up and wipes his eyes again and pushes his hair off his face. It’s longer than Louis remembers, but then again, he only saw it over Skype or FaceTime for months and that was forever ago. He watches while Harry pulls it up and wraps a hair tie around it so that it sits in a messy bun on top of his head. “We were friends before we dated. It’s not a big deal, really.” “Harry…” Harry shakes his head. “No, Lou, listen. If you can live through six years of nothing between us, I can handle a little weirdness and be your flatmate for a year. I’ll be fine. Besides, I probably need you here to remind me not to pick up the phone when you call.” The corners of Harry’s mouth turn up at that, because he’s right and Louis knows then that he’ll stay. It won’t be the worst thing in the world, living with Harry, even before they were together, they were friends and Harry was one of his favorite people. They’ll just have to have boundaries and respect them. Harry’s right. It’ll be fine. ∞ It actually is fine. At least for a little while. Harry goes back to work and Louis stays at the flat by himself, reading, working out as best he can inside and with no equipment, keeping himself busy by trying to do absolutely nothing to disturb the timeline, which is actually harder than he thought it would be. He almost opens the door when a package is delivered one day, but stops himself just in time, then watches the delivery man leave it at the front door. A few weeks later, Louis is so bored that he thinks he might lose it, so on Harry’s next day off, they decide to chance a trip out of Donny. Nothing big or hugely public, in fact, they drive all the way to York because it’s an hour away and neither of them can think of anyone they know who lives there, and then all they do is go to a different Tesco. Still, it’s like a holiday of sorts for Louis. He’s been living in Florida for so long, depending on his mum to send him his favorite teas and snacks whenever she feels like shipping him a package. They’re almost finished crossing things off of Harry’s list before Louis realizes that he’s just been tossing things into the basket without thinking about how he’s going to pay for them. So he tries not to draw attention to himself as he attempts to sneak the items back out of the basket one at a time and slip them onto shelves as they pass by. “What are you doing?” Harry stops walking and grabs the Branston’s pickle that Louis just slipped onto the shelf beside a tin of beans, then tosses it back into the trolley. Louis shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “Forgot I can’t buy all that.” “It’s fine, Lou. I can buy you some pickle now and then if you want them. We’ll think of some way for you to pay me back,” Harry assures him and then he winks. He fucking winks and Louis’ mouth drops open and then Harry sputters out an apology and says, “I meant, like, you could do my laundry or something.” Louis hums and raises his chin. “Right.” “Shut up.” Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s clearly embarrassed as he quickly pushes the trolley away from Louis and leaves him standing in the middle of the aisle. The next month or so passes by in what seems like slow motion for Louis. He actually starts to miss Florida and he misses his family so much. Even though they didn’t see each other in person all that often, they held a big family Skype session at least every other week, and he spoke to his mum as often as he could. He knows that technically 2017 Louis is still doing all of that, but the thought of missing his family for a year is hard to swallow. By the time December rolls around, he’s begging Harry to go to the library for him, to entertain him when he’s home, to do something. He even considered attempting to cook a traditional American Thanksgiving the week before, but Harry refused to buy him a turkey. Not that Louis can blame him. He doesn’t know the first thing about cooking one, they’re not exactly inexpensive, and a whole turkey is a lot for two people to eat. “Sorry. I know I’m annoying,” Louis says and doesn’t try to hide his pout. “You don’t have to spend your time with me, you know. You should hang out with your friends.” “Yeah… About that, um…” Harry leans over the kitchen sink to rinse the last of the dishes, then hands it to Louis to dry. “They’ve been pretty cool about giving me space because of the, um, breakup.” “Oh.” Louis stands there holding the casserole dish feeling like such a prick. He’s been so concerned about being bored, reading trashy novels from the library, watching telly all day, and not thinking about Harry’s life outside of the flat at all. “They, um, they said they’re going to let me have December, but after that I’m not allowed to sulk anymore.” “You’ve been sulking?” “I have been when I talk to anyone else. It’s weird, Lou. I can’t not be heartbroken.” That hurts. Louis didn’t realize or maybe he’s been intentionally avoiding thinking about it at all, since Harry seems fine when they’re at home. “Harry… I’m sorry.” “It’s fine.” Harry shrugs one shoulder and reaches into the fridge for a beer, then kicks the door shut. “I’m a little quieter than usual and I pout a little bit. It’s not a big deal.” “It is though. I don’t…” “It’s not hard to pretend, really.” “Wait, so you’re not actually sad?” “No,” Harry scoffs. “Why would I be?” “Why would you be?” Louis’ eyes go wide and he takes a step backwards, feeling the sudden need to get away from Harry. “I don’t know, maybe because our relationship ended? Maybe because six years ago, I was fucking obliterated by our breakup? Maybe because right now, I’m—2017 Louis, I mean—is barely coping? Jesus. This is fucked up.” He crosses his arms, trying to keep himself from gesticulating anymore. As if losing his temper isn’t bad enough, flailing his arms all over the place and raising his voice… He turns to leave the room, but the only place he can go is the fucking bathroom because their bedroom isn’t theirs, it’s Harry’s. “Lou, wait. I’m— I’m sorry.” Harry grips Louis’ shoulder and tries to get him to turn back around. Louis can’t though. Or won’t. He’s mortified at his admission of how much their breakup hurt him, especially seeing that it’s not really affecting Harry, but he knows he has no right to tell Harry how to behave. “Hey, listen, okay? I didn’t mean… It’s hard to get my feelings, like, in order. Just the fact that there are literally two of you in the world right now is fucking mind-blowing. It’s hard to always remember that.” He sounds desperate to explain, so Louis slowly turns around, and after blinking to clear his eyes, he meets Harry’s gaze. Harry drops his hand to his side and takes a step closer. Too close probably. He lowers his voice as he continues, “And you are here. We may not be together, but you’re living with me and I’m talking to you and seeing you every single day. It’s like relationship limbo or something. And, yeah, it’s hard to feel heartbroken about losing you when I know that you… that some version of you is here with me right now.” “I’m not—” “I know, Louis. I know that my Louis is in Florida, probably thinking I’m a real dickhead right now. I know that you’re… shit, you’re almost thirty! I know—” “I’m twenty-nine.” Louis crosses his arms and taps his foot. “That’s what I said.” “Is not.” “Whatever, Lou.” A little smile creeps onto Harry’s face and he shakes his head. “I’m just saying, I get it. As much as I can get it, anyway. Okay? I’m trying.” “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. I probably overreacted. A little. I know this is a strange situation.” “Just a bit.” Harry nods once, then reaches out and pokes Louis in the chest. “I wanted to ask you about Christmas.” “What about it?” Louis asks and pokes him back. Hard. “Well, I was planning to go home.” Harry punctuates each word by poking Louis in a different spot and Louis lets him. “Yeah?” Louis uses both hands, circles them around in the air between them and Harry takes the bait. He starts to back away and raises his arms to block Louis, who keeps his arms moving, letting Harry think he’s looking for an opening to poke him in the stomach. Harry’s eyes dart around as he tries to watch Louis’ hands and face at the same time. “Yeah, my parents want me to come visit, so I—” Both of Louis’ hands connect with Harry’s wrists just as Harry’s heels knock into the wall behind him. Perfect timing. Louis immediately switches his grip to hold Harry’s wrists with his left hand, lifts them up, and presses them into the wall above his head. Then he proceeds to poke and tickle Harry in all of his most sensitive spots until he’s laughing so hard that he can barely breathe and he begs Louis to stop with tears in his eyes and a massive grin on his face. Christmas is forgotten as they both fall onto the couch, giggling until they can’t anymore. ∞ “Did you want to do anything for your birthday?” Harry asks while he stirs a pot of soup on the stove. “I mean, it wouldn’t be on your birthday, but maybe Friday?” “Hmm? Oh, I didn’t…” Louis steps down from the stool where he’s been standing so that he can wrap a strand of fairy lights around the top of the window. “I guess I assumed I’d just do nothing.” “That’s boring. Don’t you want to celebrate? Thirty’s a big one.” Harry walks into the living room and watches Louis fasten the lights over the window. “It’d just be me and you, Harry. There’s no need. And we still have Christmas.” “Yeah, but I’m leaving Saturday. Early. And I won’t be home until Tuesday.” “You’re leaving?” Louis asks, immediately disappointed. Not that he thought they’d be able to do much more than what they do every day, but… alone on Christmas. With his mum right down the road. Harry nods slowly. “I told you. My parents want me to come home for Christmas.” “Oh… I forgot. I…” Louis climbs down from the stool and, with a heavy heart, he says, “It’s fine. Technically, I already turned twenty-four in 2017. So…” “That’s true. What did you do?” “I… I’d rather not say.” Louis presses his lips together. It wasn’t a good day. “Though, I suppose you should be on the lookout for a package. I shipped your gift in enough time for it to get here and for you to send it back by Christmas Eve.” “Oh, Lou… Sorry.” “It was a long time ago. Don’t apologize. I mean, apparently it’s my own fault anyway.” “True.” Harry chuckles quietly and asks, “So, what was the gift?” “I’d rather not say.” “You’d rather not say? Is that how they teach you to respond to questions? Your canned answer?” Harry lets out a short, derisive laugh and walks back into the kitchen. “You’d rather not say what you did on your birthday and you’d rather not say what my gift is, even though I can’t open it.” Louis shakes his head. Harry doesn’t really need to know either answer. After one last stir, Harry turns off the cooker and joins Louis in the living room. Silently, he helps finish putting up the last few decorations, but Louis can feel a slight tension in the air. It’s been years since he’s been around Harry, but he can still read his moods. When Harry finally speaks, Louis should’ve anticipated his words. “Condition number one was no secrets or lies,” Harry says, watching Louis carefully through slightly narrowed eyes. Louis sighs and deflates a little. “It was.” “Mmhmm.” Harry nods and taps his toe. This could turn into a shitty night if Harry pushes him and he says too much. "But I’ll give you a break. You only have to tell me one—what you did on your birthday or what my gift is—and it’s your choice.” “Right.” Louis lowers himself onto the couch and stretches his legs out to rest his feet on the crooked coffee table. “Just so you know, this doesn’t feel like much of a choice.” Harry smirks and sits down next to him, smugly crossing his arms like he thinks he’s won an argument. “That’s the price you pay, Lou.” It’s not funny, is the thing. And he knows this is like a litmus test. Harry only wants Louis to tell him the truth, it just so happens that he picked two sensitive subjects. Louis didn’t consider anything like this when he promised to answer whatever Harry asked. There are parts of his past that he won’t tell and, hopefully, Harry won’t ask. Maybe Harry isn’t thinking things through properly. Maybe he drank more wine while he was cooking than Louis noticed. But it’s an impossible choice and it comes down to which is less humiliating. Louis opens his mouth to tell him about his birthday, then closes it again and shakes his head. There’s no way he’s telling Harry that after receiving his returned Christmas package on Saturday, the day before his birthday, he went out to the closest club—the one more well-known for its toilets than its dancefloor—and drank what probably amounted to half a bottle of gin by himself, went home with the first taker, and ended up getting fucked over the back of some red pleather couch. He was so wasted that he couldn’t get hard, despite trying for far too long, and ended up not coming at all, taking an Uber home at four in the morning, and spending the entire day of his actual birthday in bed, alternating between feeling sorry for himself and feeling disgusted with himself. Not his finest moment. Louis clears his throat and he picks at the fuzz on his joggers, then mumbles, “Just some jewellery.” “What?” The hard part is lying, because he’s horrible at it—he’s never had a convincing poker face. But he thinks he can swing it if it’s a lie of omission. “Just like, a necklace.” “Oh,” Harry says and smooths the fabric of the blanket that’s thrown over the back of the couch. “That’s, um… Thank you. I’m sure it’s lovely.” “Yeah… I, um… I still have it.” Louis bites his lip hard enough that he hopes he can stop himself from saying anymore, but the words keep coming. “When I get back, I could send it to you or something. If you still want it.” Harry looks at him for a moment and Louis can practically feel his stare boring through him. If he keeps it up, he’ll see all of Louis’ thoughts laid out in front of him like a book. He blinks and nods, then heads back to the kitchen to fill their bowls with soup. Dinner is almost silent, except for the alarm bells going off in Louis’ head. That’s the first time that either of them have mentioned what happens after Louis gets back to his own time, though it’s been in the back of his head. “Lou, um… What… What do I… Fuck.” Harry drops his spoon into his empty bowl and it clangs against the ceramic. “Can you tell me anything about me, like, after… you know.” Louis stands up and takes their bowls to the sink and washes them while he thinks it over. He’s not sure what he would even tell Harry, since all he knows for sure is that Harry moved away from Doncaster about a year later. Any other information, he’s purposefully avoided in his quest to rid his entire life of anything Harry. “You don’t stay in Donny.” “Shocking,” Harry deadpans. “Yeah, well, that’s all I know. So…” Louis dries his hands on the tea towel and leans back against the counter. “Don’t make me remind you of the conditions again.” Louis rolls his eyes and says, “I’m serious. Christmas a year after we broke up, I flew my family in for two weeks, and it was the first thing my mum said when she got off the plane. Harry’s left that little flat of yours and moved to the city. And I asked her not to mention you anymore after that.” “The city? Which one?” Louis shrugs. “No idea. Which one do you want it to be?” “I don’t know, Lou. I… I haven’t even thought of moving, to be honest. I was waiting for you, um, well, the other you to come back. The NASA contract has another year, so… I mean…” Harry pushes his chair back and stands up, then heads straight for the couch which he sprawls over immediately. “Something to think about.” Louis tosses the tea towel onto the back of one of the dining chairs and follows Harry, squeezing his body into the remaining space and folding his legs up so he can wrap his arms around his knees. “I wonder what you do… Like, do you go to uni? Become a pastry chef? A photographer? A teacher? An accountant? What?” “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. I mean, if, um… if we’re not together, then I’m not waiting for you to come home, and I…” Harry’s voice trails off, weak and cracking on his last few words. Louis tries to move quickly, though he’s not sure what good it’ll do, but by the time he gets his legs untangled, Harry’s already shot up off the couch and disappeared down the hall into the bedroom. A few minutes later, Louis follows and knocks on the open door. He knows that Harry doesn’t want him around while he’s upset, but it’s his fault that Harry’s upset in the first place, so he feels like he has to at least try to help. He’s not sure what to do though, so he just leans against the door jamb and watches Harry. He’s sitting on the edge of the far side of the bed with his back to the door, looking at his phone, but he must know Louis is there because he doesn’t raise his voice at all. It’s barely above a whisper when he says, “I keep forgetting. And then I remember and it’s like it’s happening again. It tears me apart all over.” “Harry…” Louis steps into the room, but stops when Harry speaks. “I haven’t thought about moving or leaving the bakery or going back to uni or anything. I haven’t thought about my future because I was planning it with you and… and I keep forgetting that we don’t have a future together anymore.” Harry finally turns to look at him over his shoulder and it makes Louis’ throat tighten to see the tear tracks on his face. “It’s so easy to ignore with you here, but I guess when you leave, it won’t be.” “Yeah, I… I keep apologizing and I’m kind of worried that the words I’m sorry have lost all meaning. But, Harry, we… we can…” Louis takes a step towards the bed and offers, “If you still want to, my number’s the same, so you can call when I get back.” Harry turns the rest of the way around and drops his phone onto the mattress and Louis can see that he was scrolling through his pictures, looking at the album full of the two of them together. For a moment, Harry just stares at him, unblinking, then he asks, “How will I know when you make it back?” “Well, um… Like I said, you can call. Or text. If things go the way they’re supposed to, I’ll be back Saturday, the fourteenth of October.” “2023?” “Yeah. 2023. I think… I don’t know what the return hop will be like, but I think it’ll be worse as far as side effects go. You saw me when I got here. I was exhausted and slept for almost half a day.” Louis shrugs and reaches up to scratch at the back of his head. He’ll probably fall asleep as soon as he gets back and wake up a week later or something crazy like that. “They’ll want to debrief me, so that’ll take a while, I’m sure. And then they’ll probably fly me back to Florida ASAP to meet with Malik and Doctor Franklin. Hopefully not the President again, that—” “Louis.” “What?” “Get to the point.” “Oh, sorry. Um… I suppose that if you do call or text me, I’ll get it as soon as I have my phone. I left it in my room at the facility with the rest of my stuff.” “Okay. I’ll, um… text you. October fourteenth. Probably at like five after midnight.” It’s just a few steps to the bed, so Louis is there in a second, and sits down across from Harry. “I know this is hard for you. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. And I’ll… I’ll understand if you forget, um… If you don’t remember or if you don’t want to. Six years is a long time.” Harry just shakes his head and lays down on the bed, flat on his back with his hands resting on his stomach. “I think I’m going to go to bed. Need some sleep.” Louis stands back up and watches as Harry rolls over onto his stomach and pulls the duvet over his body, resting his head on his folded arms. Just as Louis is about to close the door, he hears Harry say, “I’ll remember.” ∞ When Harry’s gift arrives, he brings it inside, drops it onto the sofa cushion beside Louis and leaves the room without even saying hello. While he’s been expecting it, it still sends his stomach plummeting and for a second he considers throwing caution to the wind and opening it, ripping into the cardboard box and giving the gift to Harry, fuck the consequences. But that prospect is slightly more frightening than irreversibly disrupting his own timeline, so he leaves it. It’ll have to go to the post office to be returned though, which means Harry’ll have to do it, unless he wants to drive Louis an hour or so away to some random post office. Knowing Harry, he’d probably rather do that. Surprisingly, Harry doesn’t mention it at all, but the next morning when Louis wakes up, the package is gone, and when Harry gets home later that day, he leaves the receipt on the coffee table. Though Harry insists that they do something to celebrate Louis’ birthday before he leaves for Holmes Chapel, that Friday—the day before his birthday—passes with very little fanfare. Harry does bring two cupcakes home from the bakery, though there are no candles and he simply says, “Happy thirtieth, Lou.” It’s melancholy and quiet and they end the evening on the couch watching It’s a Wonderful Life, pretending they’re not crying, and Elf, which Harry falls asleep part way through. Early Saturday, Harry packs his bag and the gifts he bought for his family into the car, then comes back inside to fill his water bottle for the drive. He stands by the door, twirling his keys in his hand, and watching Louis with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, obviously wanting to say something. So Louis waits. He leans his shoulder against the wall, crosses one ankle over the other and shoves his hands into the pockets of the old pair of Harry’s jeans that he found on the floor that morning. “While I’m gone, um…” Harry coughs into his fist and looks away, then offers, “You can sleep in the bed, if you want. Give the couch a break.” He was planning to anyway, but he doesn’t tell Harry that. Instead, he nods and says a quiet thanks. Without warning, Harry moves from the doorway into Louis’ space, almost knocking him over when he circles his arms around Louis’ shoulders. Eventually, Louis gets his hands out of his pockets and returns the hug, pulling Harry close. “Happy Christmas, Lou,” Harry says and when his lips lightly brush the skin of Louis’ neck, he takes a quick step back. “You too, H. Have a good time with your family.” Louis follows him to the door and, after Harry shuts it, Louis stands there, resting his forehead against the wood, while Harry fumbles with the key in the lock outside. His birthday and Christmas suck. Louis misses his family, his mum especially because she always makes his birthday special even from across the Atlantic, and he feels incredibly lonely. He spends Christmas Eve—his thirtieth birthday—unable to think about anything other than precisely what 2017 Louis is doing at each moment throughout the day. It’s not something he’d ever mention to Harry, but as difficult and painful as it is for Harry to ignore the texts and calls, Louis thinks it’s harder for him. Because every time it happens, Louis remembers how increasingly broken he felt with each passing day. He misses his mum so much and he spends most of the morning working out as hard as he can so that he can’t dwell on it. Turning thirty all alone. He does press ups until he drops, squats and lunges until his legs feel like jelly, and sit ups until he can’t actually sit up and has to roll over to get up off the floor. Then, he tries to get wasted along with his past self, though he only has Harry’s collection of supermarket wine to drink his way through, so by the time he’s in the middle of his second bottle, he falls asleep on the couch. When he wakes up, he knows he’s going to be sick eventually, but it’s a slow moving hangover, so he’s able to take his time getting to the bathroom because every muscle in his body is screaming. Then he takes the longest hottest shower he can stand, and passes out again, still damp, in Harry’s bed, which is where he spends the remainder of Christmas Day. It’s so comfortable that Louis never wants to leave Harry’s bed again. His bodyweight workouts and stretches and general anxiety about screwing up his own timeline (and somehow making his future self disappear or something like in Back to the Future) have kept his discomfort from sleeping on the couch at bay. But now, he knows he’s going to hate going back to sleeping in the living room. He doesn’t feel well enough to do anything until long past dark, so he eats some leftovers and takes the opportunity to go on Harry’s laptop, that he left behind so that Louis could watch Netflix, and mess around. It’s been an adjustment to get used to not having a phone on him at all times. He’s completely unconnected to the world, which is for the best, but he misses it. He can’t call his mum and he can’t log in to any of his social media or his email, lest he alert his past self that something is going on, so he settles for checking up on his coworkers. Niall is laughably easy to find on every single social media platform in existence, and Louis can almost hear his Southern California accent saying that he’s got nothing to hide. He clicks around for a bit, then goes to the Caltech website where he knows that 2017 Niall is currently involved in research and experiments on expanding and stabilizing worm holes. There’s a little blurb about him in the news section and Louis can make out his little blond head in the back of one of the photographs. Louis smiles at the knowledge that in just a few months, the longshot position at NASA that Niall just applied for will be his. Of course, Liam is more difficult to find in anything other than a professional capacity, so Louis doesn’t bother looking after the first few searches turn up nothing. He goes straight to the Syracuse website and even then it takes him a little while to find a trace of Liam there. He’s in his first year of the Aerospace Engineering PhD program, which… that doesn’t seem right. He’ll be in Florida in less than a year, bringing his research on subatomic particles and superheavy elements with him to work on the Chrono Exploration Program. Louis stares at the screen, but there’s nothing he can do and not much information out there about Liam. Even once he joined them at NASA, Louis was never able to find anything more about him than what Liam wanted him to know. Louis shakes his head and opens a new tab to search for Malik. Just the thought of him makes Louis clench his teeth and he doesn’t bother looking for him anywhere other than the University of Leicester’s Physics and Space Science program. He’s there, easy to find, and Louis chuckles quietly when he sees that while the master's degree he’s pursuing is in the sciences, for his undergrad he double majored in Physics and Maths only after spending an entire year in the Fine Art Painting and Drawing program at the University of Northampton. It’s not that it’s funny or that there’s anything wrong with a degree in art, it’s that Malik has always come across as this uptight, nerdy, know-it-all. Casual Friday means that everyone else wears jeans and NASA t-shirts, and Malik shows up every Friday in his lab coat, with jeans and a button-down, but no tie. Niall and Liam act like it’s this hilarious joke, but Louis knows it’s just one more way that Malik thinks he’s better than the rest of them. With his unfinished degree and his top level security clearance. Louis wrinkles his nose and closes the open window, then reopens it to clear the browser history, shaking his head at himself for almost forgetting. He tries to watch a film, but barely notices what’s on the screen, too busy thinking about Liam’s PhD and later, thinking about Harry. He kind of wishes he kept up with Harry from a distance. Surely his mum knows where Harry moves to when he leaves Donny. She might even know what he’s doing. And whether or not he’s single. Louis takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out to exhale. He can’t afford to think of Harry that way—talk about a guaranteed mess. Instead, he makes himself consider all of the things that Harry might actually be interested in doing once he no longer works at the bakery. He remembers when Harry first started working there part-time. At that point, he was still planning to pursue a degree in accounting because he didn’t know what he wanted to do and it was the first thing listed on the University of Sheffield’s courses page. It didn’t take him long to decide he was wasting time at uni; he dropped out partway through his first year and slowly worked his way to full time employee at the bakery in the hopes that they’d let him actually bake something. Harry always thought he was keeping that ambition to himself, but Louis knew right away that Harry was more interested in mixing flour and sugar than in counting change back to customers. Maybe he’d still like that. There are a number of culinary schools in London. Louis files that away to bring up the next time Harry wants to talk about his future. Sober and huddled under the duvet on Harry’s bed is a wildly different experience than passed out cold and so hungover that he had to close one eye to read the label on the paracetamol to make sure that was what he was taking. It’s cold, of course it is, it’s Christmas in Doncaster and the heating in the flat is shit and even with socks and joggers and one of Harry’s hoodies, Louis still pulls the covers over his head to collect every warm breath that he exhales. In his quest to rid his life of anything that could possibly remind him of Harry, he even switched his laundry detergent, but cocooned in Harry’s bed, in Harry’s clothes, with Harry’s pillow and Harry’s sheets, it’s like he’s submerged in Harry’s scent. Memories from the first time they spent the night together, both of them were so nervous that they laughed into each other’s mouths more than they kissed, and after they pulled it together, Harry accidentally bumped Louis’ balls with his knee. It couldn’t have gone worse, and yet it was the best night of Louis’ life up to that point. Flashes of them doing laundry together, arguing over whether or not to wash sheets with towels, Louis sitting on top of the tumble dryer poking at Harry with a coat hanger to make his point until Harry snatched it out of his grasp and kissed him to shut him up. In Florida, opening packages from Harry and ignoring the contents for a few minutes just to inhale the scent of him that lingered inside the box. The spot on Harry’s jaw, right underneath his ear that Louis used to nuzzle and lick and bite, where he would press his nose against Harry’s skin, close his eyes and just breathe him in. Agitation creeps up on him. In the two months that he’s been living on Harry’s couch, he’s managed to mostly avoid these thoughts. When, inevitably, his mind has taken him down paths tangentially connected to… the more intimate aspects of their relationship, Louis has veered in the extreme opposite direction. When that didn’t help, he exercised. And it’s worked. Now, though, alone in the flat and inescapably surrounded by innumerable sense memories, Louis gives in. Harry won’t be home until the following afternoon, so there’s plenty of time to wash the sheets. ∞ When Harry returns in the early afternoon on Boxing Day, Louis has a bit of a revelation. He missed him. And not just because he’s the only human he’s interacted with since the day they drove to the out of town Tesco. He missed him. Because seeing him walk through the front door of the flat is like… all of the boring and dull and empty spots in his life instantly disappear. “I thought you’d be back late,” Louis says, reaching for one of the bags in Harry’s hands, then snatching his arm back, and watching Harry struggle to get through the door with them all. “Figured you’d want to spend Boxing Day with your family.” “I guess, um…” Harry drops all of the bags onto the couch and turns to look at Louis, pinching and pulling on his lower lip before he says, “I probably would’ve if you weren’t here. Don’t, you know, don’t be mad. I don’t think it changed the future?” Harry scrunches his nose and Louis snorts and then smiles so wide that his vision goes a little blurry because, of course, Harry actually considered something like that. He tries to reign it in, forcing a slight scowl to balance the smile that might have given too much away. “Too late now, isn’t it?” “Probably.” Harry shrugs and says, “Missed you. Sorry. I know I’m not supposed—” “It’s alright. I might have missed you too.” Louis grimaces as he turns away, embarrassed at his inability to hide his feelings from Harry. He leaves the room without another word, hiding out in the bathroom, taking an unnecessary shower, and avoiding Harry as much as possible for the rest of the day. By the end of the night, he’s exhausted from second guessing every word he says and making sure he doesn’t reveal too much with his actions. ∞ Moving back to the couch after sleeping in Harry’s bed makes the couch infinitely more uncomfortable. Louis tosses and turns through three nights and then, on Friday, he’s so sore and irritable that it’s the first thing Harry notices when he comes home from work. “What’s your deal?” Harry asks, still wearing his coat, and scowling at Louis where he’s sitting on the floor, grumbling and trying to stretch his back. Louis groans unnecessarily loudly and pushes himself up off the floor. “My back is bothering me a little. It’s fine.” Harry hums and nods and leaves Louis in the living room while he goes to wash off the flour and sweat from the bakery. When he appears again, he’s in grey joggers and nothing else, except for the towel wrapped around his hair. Louis blinks and blinks and finally squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds before he reopens them. But now, instead of walking toward him in those joggers that literally draw more attention to his dick than if he was fully nude (especially because he is clearly not wearing pants), Harry’s in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter beside the kettle, towel in his hand instead of on his head. His hair is still wet enough that drops of water are sliding down his chest. Louis blinks again and his mouth goes dry because he can see the outline of Harry’s cock, like details, and he wonders if Harry bought these joggers specifically because of this… feature. “Sorry, what?” Louis asks, because Harry said something, but he has no clue what. He stares hard at the kettle on the counter for fear that if he tries to focus elsewhere, his eyes will immediately drop to Harry’s crotch. Harry clears his throat and Louis chances it, puts all of his effort into raising his gaze to Harry’s face, only to find Harry watching him with a knowing smirk. He crosses his ankles, but Louis stays strong and doesn’t look down, even though in his peripheral vision he can see Harry’s dick bounce around with the movement. Slowly, Harry repeats himself, “I said that it’s up to you, but you’re welcome to sleep in the bed. The couch is shitty and old and uncomfortable to sit on, so I know it’s worse to sleep on. Just, um… I know you’re—we’re—trying to keep some boundaries between us, so we can like, use different blankets? Sleeping bags? A year on that couch is going to kill your back, Lou.” The only way he can speak is if he does it with his eyes closed. “I’ll think about it. Now, can you please put on some actual clothes.” Harry snickers into his hand and nods, but on his way out of the kitchen, he takes exaggerated, purposeful steps that intentionally jostle his cock, and Louis can’t help but look at it. When he passes Louis, Harry knocks their shoulders together and says, “Make tea?” “Yeah, yeah.” Louis shakes his head and reaches for the cabinet where they keep the cups. That night, Louis sleeps in the bed with Harry after a longer than probably necessary conversation outlining exactly how it’s going to work. In the end, they dig through the top of the closet and the boot of Harry’s car and underneath the bed until they find their sleeping bags and they go to sleep that night completely separate with the throw pillows from the couch lined up between them. When Louis wakes up the next morning, he’s alone and facing Harry’s empty side of the bed. He has a throw pillow cuddled to his chest and a sneaking suspicion that he’s missing something. ∞ A car horn sounds from right outside and Harry’s standing by the door, checking his pockets and putting on his coat. “Eric and Andy are picking me up so I don’t have to drive, and Emily said I can stay over, so I don’t know if I’ll be home or not.” “You don’t, um… Thanks for telling me. Have fun and, um, be safe.” Louis holds up his hand and gives Harry a little wave before he disappears into the bedroom just in case Harry’s friends decide to come to the door. After the disaster that was his solo Christmas, Louis decides to spend New Years Eve sober. Which, oddly enough, is exactly what 2017 Louis decided as well. It’s stupid, but he mirrors his younger self again, and does nothing but watch sappy romcoms on Harry’s laptop until he can’t keep his eyes open. It’s after one in the morning, and Harry must’ve decided to stay at Emily’s, so Louis puts the laptop away, tosses the sleeping bags into the corner, climbs under the duvet, and falls asleep. A burst of cold air wakes Louis from a deep sleep, but before he can pull the duvet tight around him, the mattress is moving because a very drunk, naked-except-for-his-pants Harry has just fallen onto it. He flings the duvet over himself and scoots closer and closer until he’s only a few inches from Louis and they’re face to face. “Lou,” Harry whispers and Louis can smell the alcohol on his breath. “You awake?” “No,” Louis grumbles. He does not want to deal with a drunk Harry philosophizing about who knows what. At least not when he’s trying to sleep. “Lewis, you’re not supposed to lie to me! Condition number one!” “Shut up, Harry, oh my god. You reek of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Did you…” Louis can see him fine since he left the door open and the hallway light on. In fact, if he’s going to get any sleep, he’s going to have to get up and turn the lights off. He reaches his hand up, gently touches Harry’s hair, and it’s wet. Louis sniffs at it because who the fuck knows what Harry’s been up to all night, but it’s… “Is there champagne in your hair?” “Probably. Someone… Someone shook up a bottle and sprayed it everywhere. Emily was so mad. And I kept laughing, so she said I couldn’t stay.” Harry sticks his lower lip out in a ridiculous pout, so Louis pinches it. “How’d you get home? You didn’t drive in this state.” “No, no, someone… There was…” Harry closes his eyes and for a second, Louis thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then he says, “Someone was sober and drove me home.” “Good.” Harry shakes his head and drops of champagne hit Louis’ face. “Not good.” “Okay… Not good, then. Are you going to be sick?” “Tomorrow. Not now…” “Alright. It’s your hangover. Go to sleep, Harry.” “’Kay. Night, Lou.” As soon as he’s asleep, Louis’ll head for the couch. Harry wiggles even closer and Louis probably should’ve anticipated it, but he’s half asleep still, and he’s nervous being this close to Harry, under the same blanket, with Harry in nothing but a tiny pair of briefs, but Louis is taken completely by surprise when Harry presses his champagne flavored lips against his, and murmurs, “Love you.” Louis remains frozen in place with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead, his heart about to leap out of his chest, holding his breath, and waiting to see if Harry immediately passes out. He does. Carefully, Louis extracts himself from the duvet, grabs one of the sleeping bags, turns off all of the lights, and goes to sleep in the living room. ∞ Louis doesn’t mention it. There doesn’t seem to be a reason to bring it up when Harry stumbles out of the bedroom and into the bathroom and stays in there long enough that Louis finds himself knocking on the door to make sure he’s alright. Which he is. Just hungover. So Louis brings him water and paracetamol and leaves him alone with his hangover. Harry doesn’t mention it. Probably because he doesn’t remember it. And if he does, he’s pretending it never happened because, other than the bitching and complaining about his hangover, he seems the same. “Glad you had fun at your party,” Louis says, then worries for a second that Harry will ask about his own night in. “It was alright. Never want to drink champagne again though.” Harry sticks his tongue out and manages to look adorable while also looking disgusted. “Understandable.” “I, um…” Harry turns a little to face Louis on the couch, but then he looks down at his hands like he can’t hold eye contact and says, “I have to tell you something.” Louis nods. Here it comes. He really thought Harry was too drunk to remember kissing him and, fuck, saying he loved him. Please don’t let it be awkward. “Last night, um…” Harry finally looks up at him and rushes out, “I didn’t mean for it to happen, and like, I know that we aren’t a couple, but I just… I feel guilty.” “Harry, it’s fine. You were drunk. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. “Did I tell you last night? I mean, Phillip’s cool, and I mean, he’s not a bad guy, right? But I wasn’t expecting him to kiss me at midnight. Was just surprising and, like I said, I feel guilty about it.” He gestures at the space between them and Louis watches his hand wave back and forth, trying to focus on the movement instead of the wave of confusion followed by sudden understanding. Louis coughs and clears his throat. He forces down the jealousy that threatens to bubble over and ignores the part of his brain that’s jumping and shouting that Harry kissed him last night, that Harry said he loves him. “I… I don’t know what to say.” “Are you mad?” Harry asks and he actually looks worried that Louis might be. “No.” Lie. He’s mad, but not at Harry. “What about the other Louis? My Louis? Would he be mad?” “I… I think he’d probably be sad, Harry. I don’t want to talk about that—” “Sorry. Sorry. I just felt like I had to tell you.” They sit in silence for a moment. Harry’s fidgety and Louis is sweating even though it’s not warm at all. Finally, he gets to the point where he has to say something, so he asks, “Is he someone you want to date?” “What? No! What?” “I just thought… You said he’s cool. Why don’t you ask him out?” There’s probably something Louis can do to stop the things he keeps saying, like shut his mouth, for instance. Or leave the room. “I don’t… I’m not…” Harry huffs out a breath and crosses his arms, scowling at Louis from his end of the couch. “I hardly know him. I’m not going to ask him out. I don’t want to date anyone right now.” Relief settles over Louis and he wonders if Harry can tell. But then he has to be sure, so he asks, “Because I’m here?” “No, Lewis. It’s because I just got out of a long-term relationship and it ended badly and I’m kind of fucked up about it, okay?” “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean—” “It’s fine.” Harry turns away and leans his head back to look at the ceiling. “Let’s just drop it.” ∞ In mid-January, Harry doesn’t come home right after work one day and it throws Louis into a panic. When he realizes Harry is half an hour late, he makes himself a cup of tea as a distraction. He starts pacing the living room about an hour after Harry usually walks through the door. By the time Harry does get home, Louis is shaking and sweating and scared after running every possible negative scenario through his head. “Where the hell have you been?” Louis shouts as soon as the door opens. Harry hasn’t even taken his key out of the lock before Louis is standing inches away from him pulling him into the flat with his hands on either side of Harry’s face. “Sorry I’m late,” Harry tries to say, but it comes out muffled because Louis is holding so tightly to his jaw. “Are you alright? What happened?” Louis finally releases his hold on Harry and steps back, now that the adrenaline rush that accompanied Harry’s arrival is fading, his embarrassment at his unnecessary worry has his stomach swirling. “Nothing. Nothing happened. Sorry. I, um… I drove up to Leeds.” “Leeds? Why?” Harry starts to shrug his coat off and that’s when Louis notices the stack of papers in his hands. “Um, well, it was slow at the bakery today, so after I cleaned everything, I started thinking about what we talked about before.” “Before when? We talk every day. About all sorts of things.” “About my, you know… future.” Harry shuffles the papers in his hands and walks over to the kitchen table to sit down. “I figured Leeds is a city, right, so maybe I move there? I don’t know, but it’s not too far, so I just… drove there. To the University.” “Oh. Did you…” Louis takes a deep breath and mentally pops the bubble of elation that floats up when he realizes that he’s glad Harry wasn’t with someone else. “What’d you think?” “Not sure. I got some information. I’d rather have brochures to look at than go online, just feels more real to me, I guess. But I went to the library there and they had stuff for a bunch of schools, so I got…” Harry glances down at the stack of papers in his hands and shrugs. “I don’t know, I probably got a little carried away.” He lays them on the table and fans them out so Louis can see them. There are brochures for Sheffield, Leeds, Manchester, and Bradford, plus at least half a dozen London Unis. “What courses are you thinking?” Louis asks as nonchalantly as he can make himself sound, while he spins one of the London brochures around and around on the table, finally stopping and flipping it open. Chef Academy of London. “Patisserie and Bakery Course?” “Maybe. I don’t know. I got one on Leicester’s Physics and Space Science program for you. Thought you might miss it or something.” Harry rifles through the stack and slides one across the table to Louis. He does miss it. The engineering side of things, building, crafting, planning from tiny ideas to actually bringing something into reality. He misses it all the time. What he would never have expected is that he misses the other bits. The calculations, the theories, the equations, the maths. Predicting patterns and watching them play out. The computational side. The stuff that he always considered the stumbling block or the stepping stone that he had to get over before he could get to the fun part. For someone who’s always said he doesn’t care for maths, he sure has the sudden urge to read up on whatever research Malik’s doing for his masters. Maybe he can pick something up, learn something, so that when he gets back to his own time, they’re on more even footing. “Thanks, Harry, I… Well, I can’t exactly drive down to Leicester, but maybe there are online courses.” “Maybe. I’m overwhelmed by the options here. There’s so much to look at.” “Yeah, well, what do you like? Start with that and go from there.” Harry nods, then leans forward and rests his cheek on his hand. He walks his other hand across the table and pokes Louis’ knuckle. “Sorry if I worried you.” “I hate not having a phone.” “What if… Why don’t you set up an email account and then you could at least send me emails and I’ll get them on my phone. Not the same, but close?” Louis shakes his head fondly and smiles. “You’ve always been the brains of this operation, Harry. I could’ve been sending you memes and grocery lists and annoying you with emails this whole time.” “It wouldn’t annoy me. I like talking to you. Hearing from you. You know that.” Louis does know, though he tries not to think about it. Every time Harry says something like that, something kind or sweet or sincere, Louis laughs it off or makes a joke or changes the subject. It’s bad enough that he has to live with Harry, sleep beside him every night, spend all of his time with him… He has to fight it because he can’t let on how easy it would be to fall back in love with him. It’d end badly. There’s no way around it. Because when Louis leaves in nine months, he’ll be gone for the next five years of Harry’s life. Five years that Harry hasn’t lived yet—Harry’s future—and neither of them know what’s coming. Louis can’t fall for Harry again when he knows it’ll end in heartbreak. Once was enough. ∞ After the idea is planted in his head, Louis can’t stop thinking about it. He misses his work, all of it, and so he starts studying. Some books he can get at the library, but most everything is easily found online. There are even classes available for free from MIT back in the states. Some of what he studies is review—the applied physics, especially, but most of the maths is new to him, and it surprises him how little he struggles with it. When he was in school for his masters degree, he gave little attention to his maths classes. He did what he had to do to get a passing grade, but he didn’t focus, always procrastinated his work, and would cram to memorize formulas and equations right before exams and forget them as soon as he didn’t need them anymore. He throws himself into it and it’s fun, it takes up most of his day, and quite suddenly he goes from bored out of his mind and watching the seconds tick by, to the point where his days are flying past. It’s always dark before he realizes that he hasn’t eaten lunch, Harry comes home after work and surprises Louis almost every time he hears his keys in the lock. It’s probably annoying Harry to no end because Louis has easily slipped back into his default behaviors, the ones that come out when he’s busy: he stops cleaning up after himself, stops making their dinners. He’s just distracted. Why would he think about housekeeping when he’s reading up on Liam’s research at Syracuse and Zayn’s work at Leicester and Niall’s projects at Caltech and wondering how they all come together to invent time travel of all things. Because, that’s part of the mystery of it. He knows generally how it works, he knows the engineering part, the things they had to build for the Chrono Exploration Program. The table that was really no more than an operating table, and the hollow tube that everyone said looked just like someone plucked up a sewer pipe and dropped it off at NASA. Except that they were both made from an alloy meant to protect the Chrononauts from radiation exposure. He was there when Niall gave his presentation on expanding primordial wormholes. Poor Niall was so nervous, he had no idea that Malik and Franklin already planned to bring him on. His research into wormholes was one of the most important parts of the program, that along with Liam’s work in superheavy elements, and Malik’s study of quantum field theory and exotic matter. Louis frowns while he looks through what he can find about Malik’s work because there’s nothing about exotic matter in any of it. His published papers are all related to boson particles and he mentions further research involving the Large Hadron Collider. And that’s not right. Of all of the things Louis wishes he paid closer attention to, Zayn Malik’s research career has never been on the list. He’s almost positive that Malik never went to Geneva to work with the particle collider because his focus, as far as Louis knows, has always been exotic matter. “Louis, what the fuck?” Harry’s standing in the doorway with his hands full of shopping bags and he looks pissed off, so Louis closes the laptop and forgets about Malik. “What?” Louis asks, but then looks around at Harry’s sweeping gesture. The flat is a mess. There’s clean laundry piled onto the side of the couch that he’s not sitting on, his empty cup of tea is stacked on top of his old take-away container from lunch, and the dishes are still in the sink from the night before when Louis was supposed to make dinner, but got caught up reading and lost track of time, and Harry ended up cooking after Louis promised he’d clean up. “Sorry. I’ll do it now.” He starts in the kitchen, and thankfully, Harry folds the laundry and puts it away while Louis does everything else, so they’re finished soon enough. “Harry?” Harry grunts from behind the university brochure that he’s reading. “Are you mad at me or something? I’m sorry about the mess.” “No, no… I’m just…” Harry sighs and lets the brochure fall to his lap. “I’m tired of working at the bakery. I used to think I’d eventually learn more than just how to clean up the kitchen and work the till, but… I don’t even know if I want that anymore. I do get to do some of the baking, but it’s like… biscuits and muffins. It’s boring.” “Well, you don’t have to do it, you know. There are probably two dozen brochures in there for different programs. What are you into?” Harry huffs and tosses the brochure he was looking at onto the coffee table. It’s the one from the University of Leicester that he brought home for Louis. “You going to study physics?” Louis teases and plops down next to him. “Was just curious what you’re reading all the time. It’s not like what you were studying when you were in uni.” “Um… Okay, so top secret time travel stuff coming up. Let me know if you’d rather I shut up now.” Harry shakes his head, so Louis fills him in on all of the new things he’s learned. About Niall’s research and Liam’s oddly-timed PhD program, Malik’s papers and hints at moving to Geneva for his doctorate, and then he tells him everything else. All of the work they did to build the tube itself, and the steps they took to finally open and stabilize a wormhole, and finally the experiments they ran and ran and ran in order to be able to safely transport objects to a specific set of time coordinates. “Wait… Why is this Malik person going to Switzerland if he’s supposed to be going to Florida?” “I don’t know. He’s still at uni for now, but… I wonder what changes his mind. Like, what in the world happens to make him drop and walk away from his work on the particle collider? What makes him decide to research exotic matter? It’s such a niche field…” Harry hums and stretches his legs out, propping his feet up in Louis’ lap. “You’re cooking tonight.” “I know,” Louis says and starts to work the pads of his thumbs into the arch of Harry’s foot. There’s a chance he’s never going to drop this thing with Malik’s research. He doesn’t want to have to keep tabs on him, but he has to switch concentrations and he has to move to Florida and he has to work for NASA or Louis is going to be fucked. Later the following week, Harry’s up at dawn even though he’s off work, and Louis finds him at the kitchen table with the laptop and Louis’ physics books spread out all around him. When Louis walks into the kitchen to flip on the kettle, Harry nods, but doesn’t say anything, just keeps reading whatever he’s found interesting on his laptop. Louis makes them both tea and joins him at the table, but Harry’s still quietly looking back and forth from books to brochures to his laptop without acknowledging Louis. “Morning, what are you—” “Lou, I think you have to go see this Zayn Malik person.” “What? Why?” “Well, I was reading more about what he’s working on and I found his Twitter too.” Harry points to his laptop and Louis scoots his chair around to peek at the screen while Harry scrolls. “He’s constantly tweeting about going to Geneva, Lou. Apparently, he went there a few years ago before he started at Leicester. He studied art, believe it or not.” “I know… I mean, I didn’t know about Geneva, but I knew about the art thing. But I can’t go see him. I can’t fuck with the past, Harry. That’d definitely screw something up.” “No, I think… Okay. Hear me out?” Louis nods and sips his tea. Harry was never this into his own studies at uni and never cared much for Louis’ engineering courses. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen Harry this interested in anything before. “Okay, so I was thinking about Christmas, right? And how I came home early on Boxing Day. I was worried the whole time I was driving that I was messing up time or something, but then I thought about it and I think… I think that all of this has happened already. Like, for you.” He punctuates his sentence by poking Louis in the arm. “Right. I agree. Was there more?” “Yes. I mean, no. I don’t think you get it. Basically, it doesn’t matter what you do because you’ve already done it. I’m ignoring calls and texts from my Louis because you said I have to.” Harry raises his eyebrows as if Louis is going to try to argue that point with him. “I came home early on Boxing Day because of you and I’m thinking about uni and moving away and none of that would’ve happened if you weren’t here. So what I’m saying is that you need to go find this Zayn Malik person because that’s what you have to do.” “I don’t…” Louis frowns and stirs his tea. “Why? I’m trying to be open to this idea, but I can’t just interfere with the past. I need to know what the purpose is.” “You were looking into all the guys you work with, right? And most of it makes sense, most of it works for what you remember the future is like. Except Malik. You were asking, um… You wanted to know what was going to make him change the track of his master's.” Harry looks at him like he’s waiting for a response, so Louis nods and he continues, “The way you said it, it seemed like it had to be something huge. Something major has to happen to make him want to switch over to studying exotic matter. Right?” “Yeah…” “You’re the something huge. You’re the major thing that happens. You have to go find him and tell him what you know.” It fits. The logic is slightly flawed, but it’s time travel. Logic doesn’t really apply here. More than that, it feels right. Louis tries to imagine himself in Malik’s shoes—his polished wingtips—and then he tries not to roll his eyes. How would someone convince him that this was all real? What would a perfect stranger have to do or say to Louis to make him believe that they were from the future? He’s not sure, but he’ll figure it out. He’s positive of that. Especially if, as Harry says, he’s done it all before. “You’re a genius, Harry. I think you’re right.” “Not a genius. It just makes sense. Doesn’t it?” “I suppose. I mean, it definitely does, but… It’s like you have a special way of looking at things. This all seems logical to you, but I don’t think it ever would’ve occurred to me. Or any of the people I work with at NASA. This is like, I don’t know… Time Travel Logic. It’s different from what people typically consider logical behavior.” Louis nudges Harry’s arm, smiles, and leans in a bit. “This is a pretty big deal.” “Yeah?” “Definitely.” ∞ Louis waits until Harry’s in the bathroom, standing there shirtless in his black skinny jeans and boots, carefully shaving his face before he asks, “Where are your friends taking you out tonight?” It’s easier to hide the disappointment that he already feels about Harry’s birthday if he doesn’t have to worry about Harry reading the expression on his face. He can’t buy him anything, can’t take him out anywhere, can’t even bake him a cake because he knows the ladies at the bakery will do that. Harry wipes the foam off of his chin and double checks his face in the mirror before he answers, “Just to dinner, I think. Emily’s picking me up and Eric and Andy are meeting us. I don’t want to stay out too late.” “Why not?” Louis asks and slides out of the way so that Harry can pass by him, then he follows him into the bedroom. “Didn’t you take tomorrow off?” “Took the next three days off. But I worked this morning, so I’ve been up since half-three. I’ll be ready for bed after a few glasses of wine.” Harry opens his drawer full of t-shirts and pulls out a plain black one, then goes to the closet to rifle through his nicer shirts. Louis watches him from the doorway, but as soon as Harry turns around, he looks away. He used to do this all the time, in fact, it was almost a ritual for them when they’d go out. Go anywhere, really, because there were plenty of times that Louis watched Harry get dressed for work and then fell back asleep afterwards. Or laid on the bed and watched while he pulled on joggers and a hoodie to run out to the shops. But it’s a step down a path that is closed to him. Instead, he busies himself by unnecessarily straightening their sleeping bags on the bed and fluffing their pillows. “It’s your birthday, though. You don’t want to—” “Lou, thanks, but I’m… I’ll bring you leftovers.” Harry slips into his coat and jingles his keys, then peers behind the curtain. “Emily’s here. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Louis nods and waits by the door while Harry locks it. Twenty-two. It shouldn’t have taken him almost four months to realize that he’s almost a decade older than Harry. When they first got together, Harry made a big deal about the fact that Louis was two years older, though after a little while he stopped mentioning it as often. The few months between their birthdays, especially right after Christmas when Louis was temporarily three years older instead of two, were… Well, Harry would bring it up then. Repeatedly. And that always led to rather enthusiastic sex. Which was saying something considering that their regular sex life had never been boring. That was a hell of an adjustment when he moved to the states. Phone sex and Skype sex were an inadequate substitute, though he never complained about it to Harry, figuring he could only blame himself. Louis sighs wistfully and sprawls across the couch on his stomach, letting his hand drag on the floor. That wasn’t the smartest trip down memory lane. For about an hour, he lies on the couch like that, alternating between thoughts of Malik—how to approach him, what to say or do to convince him just to listen—and thoughts of Harry, which he pushes aside as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, and forces himself to think of something else. Eventually, he gives up and takes a shower and wanks. While he’s drying off, his mind drifts to Harry again, to his way of looking at time travel and Louis’ place in it. It’s simple to say that he’s done this all before, so he just has to do it again, and the way Harry talks about it, he expects Louis to do whatever seems like it needs to be done. But to what and how far does that extend? If he wants to go outside—which, at this point, he’d pay top dollar for an hour of doing nothing but laying on the pavement in front of the flat—does he just go outside? Fuck the consequences? Or does he plan it out like they’ve been talking about for their drive to Leicester? As it stands, it’s not much of a plan. It’s just Harry going out to start the car and making sure no one’s around before Louis darts out, jumps in the back seat, and lays down covered by a blanket, until Harry determines it’s safe for him to climb into the passenger seat. Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure Harry said all of that just to fuck with him because they’re planning on leaving early Saturday morning before any of their neighbors are typically awake. So, if Louis feels like he needs to just walk outside and not worry about being seen on their way to find Malik, then it should be fine because he’s done it before. He nods to himself, as if that solidifies the notion. With Harry’s laptop and a fresh cup of tea, Louis sits down at the kitchen table to make a list. On the left side of the paper, he writes down what he knows from 2023 about each of the guys he works with. On the right, he puts everything he’s found out so far that’s true about them in 2018. In between them, he lists all of the possibilities he can think of to get them all from point A to point B, including any interference from himself. He needs to figure out the deal with Liam and why he’s in the wrong PhD program, but it won’t do any good until he finds Malik. Louis taps his pen against the table and chews his fingernails and tries to tell himself that he’s done all of this before, so finding Malik will be easy and convincing him won’t take that much effort. On a fresh piece of paper, he writes I’ve done all of this before over and over again until there’s no space left and he’s writing over top of what’s there. In the back of his mind while he scribbles the words, he wonders if Harry kissed him on New Years Eve before. If Harry told him that he loved him before passing out cold before. If they spent almost a year sleeping together without touching before. If he fell in love with Harry again before. If his heart was irrevocably shattered when it was all over, once more. Louis jerks awake to the sound of the door to the flat slamming shut. He apparently fell asleep at the table, his face is still stuck to a piece of paper, and he hopes there’s no ink on his cheek. The clock on the cooker shows just after midnight, so Harry’s definitely later than he said he’d be, but it’s not as though Louis has any claim on his time. “Have fun?” Louis asks. He stands up and stretches his arms over his head and leans side to side, then starts to clean up the things he has spread out on the table. “Yeah, it was alright, I guess. I, um… Well, Andy and Eric were late because they were arguing again. Emily and I waited at the bar for more than an hour, and then, when they finally showed, they had Phillip with them, so we had to get a bigger table…” Harry sighs and turns towards the couch, where he sits down heavily. He pushes a container onto the coffee table and says, “I brought you the rest of my steak.” “Oh, thanks, yeah… I didn’t eat, so…” Louis sits next to him and opens the box. He’ll just eat it with his hands while he pretends not to hate every bit of the way this conversation has started. “Do you not like Phillip or…?” Harry looks over at him and Louis hates that he can read his expression. He’s clearly worried about something, chewing on his lower lip like that. And he wonders if that little line between his eyebrows turns into a more permanent wrinkle by 2023. Harry finally lets his lip go and says, “He’s the guy from New Years. They all, um… They were trying to set me up with him tonight. He wasn’t in on it or I would’ve been back here immediately. It was just weird. And I’m not very happy with any of my friends right now.” “It was okay, though?” Louis asks and hopes he hides his feelings about Phillip well enough. As if he didn’t remember him. “You had a decent time?” “Decent, yeah. He asked me out.” Harry eyes flicker up to meet Louis’ and back down to his hands in his lap. “Oh?” Louis’ voice goes high, then for some reason, he decides to keep talking, and, not only that, he claps his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You should go out with him, mate.” Harry clearly didn’t expect that. His eyebrows shoot up and he blinks owlishly for a few seconds. “Really?” “I mean, sure, yeah. I think it’d be good for you to go on a date.” Louis takes a big bite of steak to keep himself from saying anything else. Mate. Honestly, he’s surprised he hasn’t called Harry ‘bro’ already. “Are you… Are you dating someone?” Harry asks and it sounds like he surprised himself with the question. He combs his fingers through his hair and pulls on the ends and says, “I didn’t even think… I didn’t think to ask. Do you, um… have a boyfriend in, um…” Louis shakes his head and whispers, “No.” “I thought maybe that was why…” Harry pauses and narrows his eyes at Louis before continuing. “Right. Okay. I will then. I’ll just text him and let him know.” He stands up and pulls his phone from his back pocket, taps at the screen for a bit, then Louis hears the unmistakable whoosh of a message being sent. “First dates on Valentine's Day are a bit unusual, but maybe that’s what I need.” Harry drops his phone onto the coffee table and starts down the hall. A door shuts, a bit too loudly for the time of night, and a moment later Louis hears the shower turn on. He scrubs his hands down his face and lets out a little growl. Stupid moves all around today. From wanking to thoughts of Harry to trying to come up with excuses to convince himself it’d be alright if they messed around to trying to convince himself that that’s all it would be between them to telling Harry to go out with some other guy on Valentine’s Day. Also known as the anniversary of their own first date. As quickly as he can, he cleans up his food, turns off the lights, and climbs into his sleeping bag without brushing his teeth. He tries to fall asleep before Harry gets out of the shower, which he should be able to do considering he’s in there for a long while, but he can’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes closed and his breathing steady and pretends while Harry gets ready for bed. He has to know that Louis is faking. He certainly doesn’t try to be quiet—slamming drawers and turning the overhead light on instead of the lamp on his nightstand, and finally bouncing around on the mattress as if he needs to situate himself that much to get comfortable. It’s going to be a long two weeks to Valentine’s Day. He can only hope that the date goes badly. As he drifts off to sleep he wonders if he’s done all of this before too. The days leading up to Harry’s date are worse than Louis imagined in some ways and better in others. The first day is bad. Things are icy between them from Harry’s end and standoffish and annoyed from Louis’ end. It’s not his fault this Phillip guy asked Harry out and he isn’t sure what he was supposed to say or what kind of reaction Harry expected from him when he told him about it in the first place. It’s possible, probable even, that Harry was testing the waters and trying to see if Louis would be jealous, but he can’t be jealous when his Harry broke up with him six years ago. He’s had all of this time to get over the end of their relationship. The fact that he actually is jealous is irrelevant. After the first day, Louis expects Harry to give him the silent treatment indefinitely, but on Saturday morning, he wakes up to a somewhat normal Harry. Which shouldn’t be unsettling, but it is. They’re careful around each other, very polite, almost like brand new flatmates who hardly know each other. Harry makes them tea in travel cups and doesn’t say anything when Louis simply pulls the hood of his sweatshirt forward to shield his face, walks to the car and climbs in the passenger seat. Grumbling to himself, Harry backs out of the driveway. The ride to Leicester is about an hour and a half, which they spend not speaking, but thankfully at least they have Harry’s phone and they can agree on some music. It’s definitely not a comfortable silence though. Louis chews his nails the whole way, tries to ignore the churning in his stomach, and triple checks that he has all of his notes and everything else that he thinks he might possibly need when he talks to Malik. Harry won’t let him say if he talks to Malik because he says it’s already happened and Louis isn’t about to argue with him. There aren’t any master’s level physics classes that meet on Saturdays, but Harry seems sure that Malik will be easy to find because he has a habit of tweeting throughout the day and every single Saturday since he’s been in the space science course, he’s tweeted about spending the day working in the library. Louis isn’t clear if this means that he actually works there or if he means that he’s studying instead, but he figures they’ll find out when they get there. Harry maneuvers his car into a space near the entrance, climbs out, and walks through the entry doors without waiting for Louis to gather his things. He still has his seatbelt on. Louis fumbles with the buckle, almost drops the stack of books and papers he’s had in his lap the whole way, curses himself for not asking Harry for a bag or something to put everything in, and trips when he tries to step up onto the pavement, almost losing his grip on everything again. By the time he makes it through the library entrance, he’s red-faced, sweaty, and angry. Harry’s a good twenty feet in front of him and he’s not slowing down, so Louis hurries to try to catch up. It seems like Harry has some idea of where he’s going, or maybe he’s just doing this to torture Louis because he bypasses the lifts and starts up the stairs. Louis pauses at the bottom for a second and scowls at Harry’s back, then he climbs the stairs behind him. When Louis finally steps off the last stair onto the fourth floor, he’s sure that Harry’s fucking with him because, on the second floor he walked all the way across the library to another set of stairs and started up those and now he’s heading back in the other direction. Louis can’t see any valid reason for him to do that. At least he’s still in good shape from all of his training at NASA, plus all of the push-ups and squats and shit that he does at the flat to distract himself. He hasn’t been on a treadmill in months, but other than that he feels alright. Just annoyed. Louis finally catches up to him halfway across the fourth floor. “Where to now?” He keeps his voice low since they’re in a library, but he hopes he gets across how pissed off he is. Harry looks back over his shoulder, rolls his eyes, and just keeps walking. They pass a row of tables and Louis can’t help but notice that they’re all completely empty. No one is up here. “Harry, I’m not doing this. I’m not following you anymore until you talk to me.” After a few more steps, Harry stops and turns around, crosses his arms and taps the toe of his boot against the hard floor. “Around the corner up there is a little alcove and I think that’s where he is.” “Why in the world would you think that?” “Because, Louis, I told you that he tweets about the library every Saturday. And he’s posted pics a few times too, of this courtyard from above, and I’m positive that he has to be up here.” “Oh.” Harry nods once then starts walking again, but a bit slower this time and Louis catches up to him easily. They round the corner and there’s a short hallway with a few tables, but only the one in the alcove on the very far end is occupied. And it’s not Malik. Louis grabs Harry’s elbow and whispers, “It’s not him. Let’s go.” Harry frowns and looks down at Louis’ hand on his arm. “You can’t even see his face. How would you know?” “I can see his arm, Harry. That’s enough.” It’s absolutely covered in tattoos. Louis can’t tell what any of them are from the distance, but there’s hardly an inch of skin that isn’t inked. “Whatever.” Harry shakes off Louis’ hand and keeps walking, leaving Louis with no real choice but to follow. When he reaches the table, Harry turns and Louis rolls his eyes when he sees the smile on his face. It’s his second best smile, the one with dimples and too many teeth, and he leans down a bit and says, “Hi, um… You don’t know me, but my name’s Harry Styles. You’re Zayn Malik, aren’t you?” Louis’ mouth drops open when the guy nods and shakes Harry’s hand. There is no way that’s Malik. Buttoned up, lab coat, shiny shoes, arrogant, possible (but unproven to Louis, at least) genius Malik doesn’t have tattoos. And he doesn’t have a pink streak in his hair either. “What?” Louis asks when they both turn towards him and he can finally see the guys face. Malik’s face. With the same tone of voice he’s heard him use on Louis’ youngest siblings, Harry says, “Louis, this is Zayn Malik. I was just telling him how impressed you were with his latest published paper and he said—” “That I’ve never met a fan before,” Zayn finishes Harry’s sentence, stands up and extends his hand to Louis, who obviously has to shake it. His mum would kill him if he didn’t. “Nice to meet you, Louis.” Louis nods because he can’t think of anything to say other than the word tattoos because it’s repeating inside his head and he wonders if this is something he’s done. If, by hopping back too far, Louis somehow managed to screw up something and change Malik’s… propensity for body modification. There’s a hoop in his nose and a bar in his eyebrow and Louis thinks he might pass out. So he sits down. Across from Malik at the table, he can see for sure that it’s him. Not some long lost twin or something like that. Just him. There’s a scar on the back of his hand that Louis remembers noticing whenever Malik would give one of his self-congratulatory speeches in the break room. Liam and Niall would always fall over themselves to listen to him, but Louis would block out his voice and focus on his tea and what he convinced himself was the one physical flaw Malik possessed. There’s no time to waste thinking about tattoos. Louis has probably thrown away five minutes already, but it’s not like he can lead off with the subject of time travel. “I found your last paper on Boson particles interesting,” Louis says and nods at Harry, silently thanking him for bringing it up. “Have you ever thought about applying your work in quantum field theory to exotic matter?” Malik shakes his head. “Nah, man, not much into strictly theoretical. The collider is amazing. They’re doing great work up there. Hopefully, I’ll be doing my own research and experiments there after graduation.” Louis nods because it’s not as if he’s going to convince Malik to jump on board the time travel express right away. It’s going to take effort. And time. Hopefully not too much. They discuss Malik’s latest paper, the collider, some of his newer research which he only talks about in vague terms, which is understandable. And Louis talks to him about the engineering work that he read about on the collider, as well as the maths he’s been studying on his own every day when Harry goes to work at the bakery. Harry watches them the whole time. Louis can see him out of the corner of his eye and he’s so focused on the topic at hand. He seems to love it and it makes Louis stupidly proud, not that he has any right. They’re just about to finish up and say their goodbyes, Louis is trying to work up the courage to ask Malik for his email or his number so they can keep in touch, when Harry, who’s been relatively quiet, asks, “What about the idea about supersymmetric theories that you put forth in your paper? Couldn’t you apply that to exotic matter?” “I…” Louis starts, but trails off, staring at Harry’s earnest expression. Malik hums and taps his fingers on the tabletop. “Maybe. I don’t know much about it, but it’s an interesting thought. Are you in an MPhys course?” Harry shakes his head. “Just read what he studies sometimes. Got to keep up my end of the conversation.” “Yeah… You should think it over,” Malik says. “Maybe. I find it fascinating, really.” Harry reaches up to pinch on his lower lip and says, “All of the theoretical bits. But I might be more interested in the experimental side of things, I think.” Malik nods his understanding and it’s clear that their conversation has petered out. They end up exchanging email addresses and Louis convinces Harry to take the lift down, so he decides to call the day a win, even though things are almost immediately awkward again between them as soon as Malik is gone. In the car, Harry goes back to icily ignoring Louis’ presence and Louis grumbles to himself, but they don’t argue, which is a relief. Louis has enough on his mind as it is. After an hour, he has to say something out loud. “He has so many tattoos!” “You have tattoos, Lou.” “That’s not what I mean. The Malik I know does not have tattoos. He’s such a… a…” Harry looks over at him and Louis says, “He has a conservative way of dressing.” That pulls a laugh out of Harry and Louis smiles back at him. Harry hums and fiddles with the radio, finally turning it off when he decides there’s nothing he wants to listen to. “Zayn seems pretty cool. I don’t know why you dislike him so much.” “He’s… He’s not like that at all at NASA. If he was, we’d be friends, for sure. No, he’s always been cold to me. Kind of a dick, but not in an obvious way? So I can’t call him out on it. Something changes. Or something changed. The Zayn I know is not covered in tattoos. I can’t even… I never call him by his first name. He’s Malik to me at NASA.” Louis looks over and Harry’s focusing on the road, but he’s worrying his lower lip, so Louis gives him a second to think before he speaks. That second turns into a minute, and those keep piling up until they’re back at the flat. It isn’t until they’re in bed that night—bundled into their separate sleeping bags—that Harry says, “How much does Zayn know? That’s a question I didn’t consider before. And how much do you tell him?” Louis sighs and stares at the ceiling in the dark. So many questions. And none of them have concrete answers. Harry’s asleep before Louis can respond, though he doesn’t know what he’d say anyway. ∞ With their focus on their meeting with Zayn, the next couple of weeks pass by without a single argument, which is surprising. Louis really expected at least one more heated discussion before Harry’s date because he knows that Harry’s still angry. It’s not as thought Louis wants Harry to go out with Phillip, especially on Valentine’s Day. He knows what that day means to Harry because even all of these years after their break-up, the entire month of February is pretty much the worst. He thinks of Harry more during those four weeks than he probably does during the other forty-eight. And Valentine’s Day is an especially sore subject. Niall gave him a heart-shaped box of chocolates one year and Louis stared at the package in his hand for so long, without moving, that Niall snatched it back without a word. It’s not even a weekend, Valentine’s falls on a Wednesday and Harry starts getting ready for his date as soon as he gets home from the bakery that afternoon. He soaks in the bathtub for so long that, at one point, Louis thinks he might have fallen asleep and knocks on the door to check on him. Harry’s snotty “What?” is all the answer he needs, so he sets himself up on the bed with Harry’s laptop. There’s an email from Zayn, so Louis replies to that, and then he settles in to watch The Office. Halfway through an episode that he’s seen at least twice before, he hears the tub emptying and then the shower turning on, and about the time the next episode starts, Harry enters the bedroom naked with a towel wrapped around his head. “Jesus, Harry. Put on some pants.” Louis squeezes his eyes shut tight because the last thing he wants to see right now is Harry’s dick. It’s bad enough seeing him walk around the flat with nothing but a pair of worn joggers falling off of his hips. He peeks out through his eyelashes and he’s still standing there, hands on his hips, slight scowl on his face. “Fuck off. It’s my bedroom.” Harry turns away and Louis frowns at his back while he digs through his drawer. Before he can turn back around, Louis forces himself to focus on the episode playing on the laptop right in front of him. “Besides, what do you think I’m doing?” Louis lifts his eyes from the screen just in time to see Harry pulling pale pink satin and lace up his thighs. His eyes almost fall out of his head and a strangled grunt gets stuck in his throat, as he slams the laptop shut, shoves it to the side, clambers out of the bed, then he rushes out of the bedroom and slams the door. He goes straight to the kitchen and chugs two glasses of water back to back, then flops backwards onto the sofa. Since he left the laptop on the bed, he picks up one of his books and starts reading. And reading. He reads section after section about wormhole theory and black holes and wormhole engineering and exotic matter until he thinks his head might explode, but at least his dick is distracted. His heart, on the other hand… Chances are that Harry is just fucking with him. Chances are that Harry still doesn’t want to go on his date with Phillip. Chances are that Harry will wear his absolute best (read: worst) date outfit anyway. When Louis hears the muffled ring of Harry’s phone from behind the bedroom door, and then the sound of a car pulling up outside, he sits up and starts to get up to go hide in the bathroom so Phillip won’t see him. But the bedroom door opens and Harry says, “I told him to wait in the car.” Louis sits there and watches him slide his coat on and adjust his hair, and he can’t move. As Harry walks outside, he turns around and tells Louis not to wait up just before he closes the front door. He was right. Harry is wearing exactly what he predicted. Seeing it in his memory is nowhere near the same as seeing it in person though. And underneath that sheer black shirt and those tight black jeans he’s hiding the baby pink satin and lace boyshorts that Louis gave him for their third anniversary, the last Valentine’s Day that they were still together. He’s never even seen them in person until today. He ordered them online and had them shipped straight to Harry, who put them on immediately and Skyped him right away. Louis falls to the side, rolls over onto his stomach, groans, and presses his face into the seat cushion of the sofa. He stays there until he has to pee, and after that, he goes to the bedroom to sulk. And wank. He’s long since given up the idea that he can live with Harry and sleep next to Harry and, for fuck’s sake, see Harry’s cock covered in pink satin and lace without fantasizing about him too. He manages to not get drunk while Harry’s gone on his date. It’s a hard sell, he thinks about it for a while before deciding that he should probably be sober in case he needs to go pick Harry up if anything goes wrong. And then he hates himself a little bit for being so responsible and for caring so much, but he can’t help it. He loves Harry. It’s a shocking revelation that he spends the rest of the evening trying to deny. He’s still sitting there on the couch when he hears Harry fumbling with the key outside, so he gets up, unlocks the door, and opens it. Harry’s still holding onto his key which is stuck in the lock, and he practically falls through the door and onto Louis. “Alright, baby?” It just slips out, but maybe Harry didn’t notice. Harry shoves Louis’ shoulder and brushes past him, struggles to get out of his coat, but won’t let Louis help him, gets his keys caught in his hair somehow, and all the while keeps up a grumbling conversation with himself that Louis can’t quite make out. Finally, he extricates himself from his coat, untangles his hair from his keys, throws everything down on the floor and points a shaky finger at Louis. “Don’t say that.” “What?” Louis hasn’t said anything while Harry’s been stomping around in circles, but as soon as the word leaves his lips, he knows what Harry’s talking about. “You don’t call me baby. Not your baby. You… You… You absolute wanker. Can’t even bring anyone home with me because of you.” “You weren’t going to bring him here,” Louis says dismissively. Because he knows that. Harry didn’t sleep with him until their third date. There’s no way he was planning to have sex with Phillip. “I was. His roommate has a bunch of people over or we would’ve gone there.” Harry swings his arms wide and spins around in a circle. “And you’re here. So you know what?” “No.” Louis tries to contain his eye roll, but he’s already past being annoyed. Thinking about and trying not to think about Harry on a date all night has irritated the hell out of him. “What?” “Next time I have a date, you have to leave. Go be somewhere else so I can bring him here.” Harry makes a shooing motion with his hands, then sits down heavily on the couch and starts taking off his boots. “I’m not going anywhere.” Louis widens his stance, crosses his arms and looks down at Harry. “You shouldn’t be… I don’t think you really want to fuck that guy anyway.” “Yeah? Well, I do. I need to get laid. It’s been far too long and, to be honest…” Harry struggles with his boot and finally pulls it off and tosses it across the room, then he shrugs. “Same old, same old for years, you know? Gets stale. And it’s been just me and my hand for a while now, so—” “Fuck you, Harry.” “No, Louis, that is precisely the problem. You don’t want to, but Phillip does. There’s no reason not to. He’s single, I’m single. And from the way he was kissing me and—” “He kissed you?” Louis asks, but he’s not sure why. He doesn’t want to know about this. “Yes. I said—” “He shouldn’t kiss you.” Harry stops and watches him for a second, then he asks, slow and steady, “Why not? Why shouldn’t he?” Louis turns his head away and stares down the hall. He has no claim over Harry. No right to be upset or jealous. Harry can kiss whomever he wants, have sex with whomever he wants. Louis feels his face grimace at the thought. “You’re mad, Lou. Why?” Louis closes his eyes and shakes his head quickly, then takes in a slow breath to try to calm himself down. It’s not working. “Tell me why you’re angry. Tell me right now why you don’t want me kissing or dating or fucking—” “Because I’m jealous, okay?” Louis spits out and finally opens his eyes to look down at Harry sitting on the couch and staring up at him. “I know you already know. I know you’ve known that I’m jealous. I can’t help it! I hate seeing you going out on a date with someone who isn’t me. I really hate that you wore that fucking underwear for someone else. I hate the thought of you with anyone. But it doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head and looks away, wishing he could disappear. “Sure it does.” Harry reaches up, lightly grips Louis’ folded arms, and squeezes. “Your feelings matter.” “They don’t. Not when I can’t be with you.” “You can though. You know I didn’t wear those lacy things for Phillip.” Harry drops his hands to his lap and pulls the waist of his jeans down so that the black elastic of his briefs shows. “They were for you. I took ’em off as soon as you slammed the door earlier.” Louis presses his hands to his eyes and sighs. “We can’t be together. For a million reasons. I’m sorry.” “Fine.” Harry stands up and stalks toward the bedroom, returning a moment later with Louis’ sleeping bag and pillow. “You can stay out here tonight. I don’t want you spooning me in your sleep tonight.” “I don’t—” “Every single night, Lou.” Harry drops the sleeping bag and pushes the pillow into Louis’ chest. “I wake up every morning with you holding me like that and I get up every day and shove a pillow into your arms so that you won’t know. Because you don’t want that. I… I… I’m going to bed.” Louis’ mouth falls open and he watches Harry disappear behind the bedroom door. He can’t believe his body has been betraying him like that. A million reasons that they can’t be together, and the first one is that Louis isn’t supposed to interfere with anything while he’s in the past. But so much of his reluctance is due to his own broken heart. It’s something that he’s learned to live with over the last six years, and part of the process of getting to the point where he’s felt okay with the situation, has been laying at least part of the blame at Harry’s feet. Not that he’s made Harry completely responsible, but that they were equally at fault for what happened to their relationship. At least, intellectually, Louis is aware of this. Emotionally, it’s another story. Because Harry hurt him. Harry abandoned him. And even though he knows the truth now, he can’t let go of those feelings. Especially when 2018 Louis is experiencing it all for the first time. ∞ In his effort to somehow convince Malik to switch his concentration over to exotic matter, Louis spends more and more time researching on his own. His days of napping and watching Netflix and being bored morph into days spent treating Malik like his job. They email each other at least once a day, though typically they’re back and forth from morning until long after Harry gets home from work. Louis uses all of Harry’s paper. All of it. And ends up begging Harry to buy him a stack of spiral notebooks so he can keep his work in some semblance of an order. He’s always hated maths in general, but it’s growing on him, he just needs to be able to do it with a pencil. Of course, that leaves him taking pictures of his work with Harry’s laptop and emailing those to Malik to look over. Which he does. He’s nothing if not patient with Louis and he’s even more so with Harry when he offers his thoughts on whatever they’ve been working on. Sometimes Harry’s opinions lead them down another path and they end up emailing back and forth until Malik insists on going to bed. Louis refuses to Skype with him and he tells him it’s because he’d rather work things out by himself and wait for Malik’s opinion and that he likes to read over the emails again and again in case he misses something, but it’s really because it freaks Louis out to see Malik’s face. And to call him Zayn. He’s trying though. It’s early March when Harry suggests that they go back down to Leicester Saturday to spend the day working at the library with Zayn. The drive isn’t as uncomfortable as it was the last time, but it’s not as easy as it could be. Louis knows it’s his fault, but he doesn’t know how to be around Harry anymore. It’s almost six months since he hopped too far back into the past and found himself on Harry’s doorstep, but things are more strained between them than ever. Harry’s polite. He’s kind. But that’s it. He treats Louis the same way he’d treat anyone else whom he didn’t really like but was forced to get along with. They don’t really have fun together anymore and he won’t even sit next to Louis on the couch for the duration of a film now. His smiles rarely reach his eyes and the only time he seems excited about anything is when he talks to Zayn on the phone. Because they do that now. Once or twice a week, Harry will call him with questions about some formula or theorem that he’s read about, even though he could easily ask Louis. Every now and then, his mask will slip and he’ll grant Louis a genuine smile or even a laugh, but he always catches himself and it disappears. It isn’t what Louis wants, and he has to remind himself almost constantly that he can’t have what he wants. And he’s getting to the point where he thinks that the rest of his year spent with Harry is destined to be stiff and uncomfortable and just sad. Sometimes he wonders if he’s done all of this before, and if so, how he came out in the end. If Harry truly ends up hating him, if he breaks both of their hearts again, or if it’s just his own that gets destroyed this time. Malik is happy to have them in the little alcove on the fourth floor of the library, especially Harry who asks interesting questions and runs to get them books when they need them or brings them tea. And Louis is happy because Harry’s being nicer to him than he has in weeks. Sure, it’s only because it would be obvious if he didn’t do the same favors for Louis as he does for Zayn. Because he’s Zayn now. By the end of the day spent sitting across from each other at the same table, Louis finds that he even thinks of him as Zayn now. That’ll be uncomfortable when he gets back to 2023. On their way out of the library, Harry asks Zayn to join them for dinner, his treat, so they all pile into Harry’s car. They end up at Nando’s because Zayn doesn’t want to cost Harry any money and it’s close by and they’re all really hungry. Louis opens the door and lets Zayn and then Harry go inside and he follows, resting his hand on Harry’s lower back out of some sort of muscle memory or ingrained habit. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t mention it, but he does make sure to sit down across from Louis and not beside him. Still, Zayn asks, almost as soon as they sit down, “How long have you two been together?” At the same time that Harry says, “Four years,” Louis starts to say, ‘Oh, we’re not.’ He only gets the first word out before Harry kicks him under the table. “Yeah. I thought so. You guys seem to know each other. Fit together well.” Harry nods and says, “Thanks, Zayn.” Louis is too busy rubbing his shin to respond. They eat without much conversation and when they’re done, Louis gets up to refill his drink. When he gets back, he slides into the seat beside Harry instead of making Zayn move in. “So, I noticed your tattoos,” Harry says, sounding not at all nonchalant. “Yeah?” Zayn asks and raises one eyebrow. Louis is already embarrassed and the conversation hasn't even taken place yet. “You’ve both got ’em too. They’re good. I like ’em.” Zayn nods at Louis and his hand comes to his chest where his clock tattoo is. Not that anyone can see it. Not that anyone has seen it, other than the boys when they got them, and Harry. And a few… other people. But they don’t count. They start for the car, all three of them pulling on their jackets or hoodies against the cold. Louis holds the door again, but is careful not to touch Harry, then follows them outside. “I’ve got more that you can’t see.” Zayn turns around and pats at his chest and stomach and says, “And a few in the works. Planning on a hand tattoo. And there’s something I want on the back of my neck.” Louis nods and hums noncommittally and tries not to stare because he’s just noticed that, in his hoodie with it zipped up, Zayn’s tattoos are completely concealed. He offers Zayn the passenger seat and squeezes in behind them, but he’s quiet while they drive him back to his car, only speaking when he’s directly addressed, otherwise keeping silent. His mind is a mess. They drop him back off in the library car park, and even then Louis remains fairly quiet. They’re almost all of the way home when he finally asks, “Did you notice his tattoos?” “What? Yeah, we were talking about them for a while, Lou.” “No, I mean, they’re all easily concealable. Put him in a long sleeve, button down shirt, and they magically disappear. Except for those hand and neck tattoos he’s planning on.” “That’s— Wait. That’s true. Why would he…” “Not sure. I, um… I have an idea, but I think… I’d like your opinion.” “Yeah, sure. What is it?” “You keep saying that I’ve done all of this before, right?” “Yeah… Oh… Shit.” Louis doesn’t say anything. He wants Harry to let it soak in and then he wants to see where he takes it. He watches Harry drive, squeezing the steering wheel, frowning and biting his lip, for a few minutes. “Fuck. Okay. Fuck.” Harry shakes his head and says, almost with complete surety, “He knows you. He’s going to go work for NASA and meet 2018 you, but he’ll have already met this you.” “Yeah. I think so.” “It fits.” Harry nods and stares at the road ahead. They don’t speak for the rest of the drive and when they get back to the flat, they go about their evening routine in contemplative silence. They’re laying in bed that night before either of them speaks again. Louis whispers into the dark, “I have to tell him the truth.” ∞ One of the ladies at the bakery broke her ankle tripping over her Chihuahua, so Harry’s been working longer shifts and more hours in general. Six out of seven days, he’s there, and part of that time is actually spent in the kitchen, learning how to make everything. They’ve hired a kid to work the till on the weekends and they make do the rest of the time. It’s not ideal, but they manage, and the customers are patient and understanding. Louis misses him, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead he tries to fill his time, and he’s successful. He wants to talk to Niall and Liam, bounce some ideas off of them and not just Zayn and Harry. Sometimes he feels like there’s something lurking just outside of his peripheral vision, but when he turns to catch it, it’s gone. It’s driving him crazy because it feels like it’s important, but he doesn’t know how to capture it long enough to see it. His email exchange with Zayn continues, and more often than not, they talk about exotic matter, but it’s in a theoretical this-is-just-for-fun way because Louis is afraid to cross that line. He knows he needs to be honest with Zayn. It’s the only way he’ll get back to his own time. At least, he thinks so. But as much as Louis likes the impersonality of email, he knows he needs to talk to Zayn in person for this. With Harry working all of the time, Louis will have to go alone. He finally decides to just drive down to Leicester one Saturday in early April to meet Zayn at the library. Harry says that he’ll get a ride home if Louis drops him off at the bakery, so he takes him to work and heads straight down to see Zayn. They spend the morning reading quietly, sitting across the table from each other. Louis checks and rechecks some of his work, reads over the latest from California on expanding wormholes, and pretends that he’s not about to talk about some off the wall sci-fi shit. Louis pushes one journal aside. The article inside is about the new elements on the periodic table and the stable superheavy metal that they’re predicting will occur within the next ten or so elements. It hits too close to home, but without any new information, and it only makes Louis miss Liam and Niall, and then that leads to worrying about their hops and whether they made it to their destinations. He scowls at it once more and Zayn happens to look up and catch him when he does it. “What’d that physics journal do to you?” Zayn picks it up and flips through to the back, then opens the contents page and scans it. “Oh, this… He’ll like this. I’ll have to email Liam.” “Who?” Louis sits up straight in the uncomfortable wooden chair he’s been in for most of the day so far. “Oh, friend of mine. Known him since I stayed with his family when I studied abroad in the states for a year before uni.” Zayn waves the journal around, then lays it flat in front of him to snap a picture with his phone. “Where?” There’s a buzzing in Louis’ ears and he’s pretty sure it’s his blood pressure. “Hmm?” Zayn taps the screen of his phone and sends the picture of the physics journal off to some satellite where, presumably, it will bounce around until it lands with his friend Liam. Which is a perfectly normal, if not common, name. “Oh, Li? Yeah, he’s from upstate New York. At Syracuse now for aerospace engineering, I think? But he’s into this shit. Like how Harry’s into physics. Loves it, but it’s not his focus.” Louis is speechless. Absolutely speechless. This is… not right. Zayn and Liam aren’t friends. They don’t know each other. They both… just happen to join NASA at the same time. Coincidence. Except that Louis isn’t stupid and he knows that’s his Liam that Zayn is talking about. He takes two deep breaths. One for oxygen, because he thinks he forgot to breathe for a bit there. And another one to give himself a second to gather his wits about him. A third deep breath and he must sound like he’s hyperventilating because Zayn looks up at him, clearly concerned. “I have to tell you something,” Louis says and it comes out steady. He doesn’t sound nervous or scared or crazy. Zayn just nods at him and gestures for him to go on. “Okay, well, first of all, we’ve known each other for a few months, so remember that. I… um, okay. I work for NASA.” Louis looks up at him and holds his gaze steady. “Really? What the fuck are you doing here?” “Um…” Louis bites his lip and tries to get the words in order inside his head. “Are you trying to recruit me?” Zayn chuckles and sits back in his chair. “Sort of? I don’t have any kind of… power there. But I do know some people who do.” “Yeah?” “Yeah, and I think they’d love to have you.” Louis nods knowingly. Maybe he doesn’t need to tell Zayn anything more. “If you switch your study to exotic matter.” “Nah, man. It’s dead end science. Not interested.” Fuck. Okay. “Alright. I want to tell you… kind of a story. True story though.” Louis tells him about the shuttle engineering program that he started out working on, then he tells him everything. They both have pens and paper out on the table and Louis keeps doodling whenever he gets anywhere close to the mention of actual time travel. He draws lines and squares and circles and eventually a little clock. Most of what he says, he knows comes across as theoretical because for the longest time, it was. He never flat out says that he’s actually from the future. After hearing how unbelievable those words sounded coming out of his mouth when he explained everything to Harry, he’d rather just keep hinting heavily. “So, I’ve worked there at NASA for seven years,” Louis says it like it’s just extra information tacked onto the end. Like it doesn’t matter at all, when it’s the most important thing he’s said all day. Zayn points his pen at Louis with a smirk. “You just said that you started there about a year and a half ago.” “Yeah. I did. I started there in January 2017, I was twenty-three years old. I turned thirty in December.” “Nah, man. Good try though.” Zayn rests his forearms on the table and grins at him. “You had me going with the NASA bullshit.” Louis laughs, too loudly for the library, and it sounds hollow to his own ears, but he can’t hold it in. Of course he thinks it’s a joke. Who wouldn’t? “Right? I thought I had you all the way. So I jumped back through time and I landed wrong. Was supposed to land this coming October, but I was a year off. Not sure why exactly, though I’d love to blame Harry, but…” Zayn nods along and snickers appropriately at the funny bits and Louis just tells him the absolute truth. He say the words time travel more than once and there’s no gasping, shocked reaction. Because it’s that ridiculous that there’s no way anyone will ever believe him and he feels close to tears at that realization. The pen in Zayn’s hand moves over the paper and Louis watches it. His mindless doodles would take Louis all day just to trace over. He’s talented. The art courses weren’t a bad road for him if he actually decided to go that way. Swirls and circles and lines and Louis focuses on the tip of the pen until his eyes start to blur. “Your tattoos… D’you draw any of ’em?” Louis asks without looking up from the paper. “Mmhmm. Most of ’em. Did some for a couple of friends too. Why? You want me to draw you one?” Zayn asks with a bright smile and drops his pen onto the table. He stretches his arms overhead and Louis can’t stop staring at the paper in front of him. It’s upside down, but he actually recognizes it better that way. “Yeah, um…” Louis coughs and looks up at the ceiling and thinks I’ve done all of this before. “When we were working for the Chrono Exploration Program we—” “That’s such a geeky name. Who came up with it?” “You did, Malik. I told you. You’re one of the lead scientists.” Louis tries to keep his voice light, but he can hear the faint desperation. He clears his throat. “So we realized… It was this coming August, actually. We had a major breakthrough. Construction was almost finished on the facilities in the states and Australia and here, up in Donny, but we were stuck… This one theorem… And it was because we kept taking gravity into account… And…” “This is so detailed, mate. I love it.” “We wanted to celebrate, like mark the occasion with tattoos. One of the guys—funny enough, his name’s Liam—he got a friend of his to design our tattoos, right?” Louis stands up from his chair and, while he lifts his shirt, he keeps talking. “This is mine.” Even without looking at him, he knows that Zayn sees it. Knows that he recognizes it as his own artwork. It’s the fucking sketch on the notepad right in front of him, but it’s tattooed on Louis’ chest. And it’s obviously not new. “What the fuck? What… How… What the fuck…” Louis drops his shirt down, ready to explain further, but the look on Zayn’s face is anything but amused or curious. He’s shoving his things into his bag, not looking at what he’s doing, just sweeping things off of the table. “I gotta… I have to…” He turns and sprints off out of the alcove, leaving Louis standing there in his dust. Louis stands there for a few seconds, then the reality of what’s happening hits him. He can’t let Zayn go. He glances down at the table, but Zayn took everything. None of Louis’ notebooks are there, just the piece of paper with the sketch of the three clocks. He shoves it into his pocket while he runs. Even though the lift is open and waiting, he doesn’t catch him. Zayn’s car is gone from the car park and Louis can’t control the scream that escapes him. This is not the way that things are supposed to go. Fuck. His hands shake as he unlocks the car door and the entire ride home he alternates between trying to talk himself off the ledge and screaming nonsense while he slams his fists against the steering wheel. Fuck. He doesn’t have a phone, can’t call Harry, doesn’t even know if Harry’s home or at work or gone out with his friends or what. It’s not as if he tells Louis what’s going on anymore. It doesn’t matter. Harry believes him. Harry knows the truth. Louis needs to get home and see him and tell him what happened. Because Zayn is his lifeline. Zayn is the key. Without Zayn, Louis is probably stuck here for eternity, doomed to live the rest of his life hiding from his past self, his family, his friends. It’s the longest hour and a half of his life and he’s in tears, hysterical, barely able to breathe, by the time he pulls up at the flat and throws the car into park. He can’t get the key to work and he starts down this paranoid thought tangent where, if Zayn doesn’t help him, then Harry won’t either, and that maybe he’s fucked it all up enough that Harry’s gone now and doesn’t even live in the flat anymore. Christ, what if he isn’t there. What if he’s gone. What if… What if the hop didn’t work and Louis didn’t land a year too far and instead is stuck in some intermediate time bubble that doesn’t actually exist. What if he died during the hop? Louis slams the palms of his hands against the door, his shoulders shake, a broken sob escapes his mouth, and the door opens. Relief floods Louis’ body at the sight of Harry standing barefoot in slightly rumpled joggers and an old ripped t-shirt. “Lou, what’s wr—” He throws himself at Harry, wraps his arms around his waist and his momentum carries them both back into the flat. The door clicks shut and Harry’s hands are warm and heavy on his back as he whispers in Louis’ ear that everything is alright, but it’s not. “It’s not, Harry. Nothing is alright.” Louis pulls himself away from Harry and wipes his face with his shirt. “It’s all fucked up. Everything is fucked up. I’ve ruined it.” Harry scowls at him. “What do you—” “Time! Zayn! All of it! I told him and he thought it was a joke, so I went along with it. Fuck. It was easier to get it all out if I pretended it wasn’t real.” He shakes his head and continues, but instead of getting easier, it gets harder to say and he stumbles over his words, fighting to get them out, stopping to make himself breathe in between. “I… I was talking and we… we were doodling. You know, just lines and circles and shit, but then he started drawing. And Harry, he drew this.” Louis slaps his hand against his own chest, then he yanks his shirt up. “He’s never seen it. But I started talking time travel and he drew it. Exactly this. And I told him. I told him we got the tattoos when we fixed that fucking theorem and I showed it to him and he fucking ran. He bolted. I chased after him, but he was gone…” “What?” Harry stares at him wide-eyed and lays his hands on Louis’ shoulders. “Deep breath, babe. Come on.” He slides one hand down to Louis’ chest and lifts one of Louis’ hands to lay right over his own heart. They stand that way for a few minutes, breathing together. Louis can’t stop his tears, at this point they’re flowing down his face, but he can breathe again. Finally, he says, “I’m stuck. I can’t go back in October without Zayn and I… Fuck! As much as I’d love to stay here with you forever, I can’t. I’m… I’m fucking up your life, Harry. I’m ruining your future and I can’t—” “Shut up.” Harry’s hand on Louis’ chest clenches into a fist, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. Louis looks down at Harry’s hand and takes another deep breath. Harry lets go of his shirt, then points at him and pokes him in the center of his chest, right in the middle of his tattoo. “What do I keep saying? You’ve done all of this before. If your tattoo isn’t proof of that, then what is? So what if he ran off? I would’ve too, probably, but I promise you that he will come back.” “You can’t say that. You don’t know…” “Nobody knows, Louis. But I’m right. I can feel it. You’re not stuck here.” “I… I… I wish I could be so certain. I just… I don’t want to ruin your—” “Stop it! Fuck you if you think you’re screwing up my life. How dare you stand here and tell me that you’d love to stay with me forever when you won’t even—” Harry pushes his hair off his face and turns away from Louis, but before Louis can apologize or try to explain, he spins back around. “You’re not ruining my future, Louis. You are my future. And I don’t care what sort of noble bullshit you’re trying to pull, okay? Don’t tell me what I want and don’t tell me that you don’t want me either. I’m sick of it.” “I do though… Of course I want you, Harry. I just can’t—” “You can! You can have me, Louis. How many times do I have to tell you that you have done all of this before. The only reason that Zayn and Liam and Niall and Doctor Francis—” “Franklin. Doctor Franklin.” “Whatever. The only reason the whole stupid Chrono Exploration Program happens is because of you. You’re the one busting your arse, poring over those papers and journals and books sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. You.” Harry shoves Louis’ chest with the tips of his fingers, then drops his hands to his hips and tucks his chin to his chest. Louis combs his fingers through his hair and walks to the other side of the room, but he’s back in front of Harry in a few seconds, and Harry grabs his hand when he tries to start pacing. “Lou, I love you. I know you know that.” Harry pulls Louis’ hand and he trips forward, close enough for Harry to take his other hand. “And I know you love me. I can tell. You’re not good at hiding it even when you want to. And don’t tell me that you can’t, okay? Not when I know that you can.” Harry lifts both of Louis’ hands up to his face and kisses his knuckles. “Harry…” “You’ve done all of this before, Lou.” Harry keeps his eyes on Louis’ as he brings their lips together and it’s not a drunken kiss that he won’t remember in the morning. It’s full of intent and love and everything that’s gone unsaid between them over the last few months. When Harry drops Louis’ hands and gently cradles his jaw, Louis falls into it. And as they stumble into the bedroom, Louis repeats it again inside his head. I’ve done all of this before. We’ve done all of this before. And he lets himself believe it. ∞ As soon as he opens his eyes the next morning, Louis’ heart rate skyrockets from the slow, steady resting rate that it’s been at all night. The entire previous day comes flooding back at once and he can’t handle it. Then he realizes that he’s naked and draped over Harry’s back and he starts to panic all over again. “Stop freaking out, Louis,” Harry mumbles into the pillow in front of him, then shifts and turns around until they’re face-to-face. “Are you worried about Zayn or me?” Louis closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Harry’s reaction. “Both.” “Right. Of course. Well… I can’t say I didn’t expect this, so…” Harry rolls onto his back and reaches towards the nightstand, grabs his phone, and holds it up where Louis can clearly see the screen. There’s a split second where Louis thinks Harry’s going to call or text Phillip and jealousy flares inside his chest. “Zayn texted last night after you fell asleep. ‘Tell Louis I’m sorry I ran off. I just need some time to think about this shit.’ and I’d like to take this opportunity to say I told you so.” “Why didn’t you wake me up?” Louis asks even though he thinks he knows the answer. Harry rolls his eyes and says, “Like I wanted to deal with you panicking about us having sex in the middle of the night. Please. It’s enough that it’s happening now.” “I’m not panicking. I’m just…” “I swear if you say that you’re concerned for my well-being or something condescending like that, I’ll scream.” “Harry… You’re twenty-two. I’m thirty.” “I know.” Harry raises one eyebrow, smirks and says, “It’s hot.” “It’s not funny.” “It really is. You’re so concerned about what? My innocence? Guess what, babe? When you and Zayn figure out this whole…” Harry twirls his hand in the air. “Time travel thing, and you magically appear in 2023, you’ll be twenty-nine again and I’ll be twenty-seven.” “So?” Harry moves onto his side to face him again. “Louis, I’m only two years younger than you. Don’t act like I’m some immature child. I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. And in five years, I’ll still be two years younger than you.” “I’m sorry. I’m just looking out for you.” Louis starts to reach up and tuck Harry’s hair behind his ear, but stops himself and lets his hand fall to the mattress. “I don’t really understand what you mean to say though.” “Alright, let me spell it out for you. In 2023, I will be twenty-seven and you will be twenty-nine and I will still be as in love with you as I am today.” “You can’t say that.” Louis shakes his head and tries to roll away, but Harry’s hand on his shoulder keeps him where he is. “I can say whatever I want. It’s not like you can stop me.” “Harry… I can’t ask you to wait for me.” “You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.” “I don’t… I don’t know…” “Lou,” Harry whispers and moves closer, brushing his lips across Louis’ forehead. “I’m asking you to trust me. And if you can’t do that, then I’m asking you to give me until October.” “What does that even mean?” “It means that until you leave, I want you to pretend. I’m living with the knowledge that my Louis is heartbroken and unhappy in Florida of all places, and that I could call him up and change all of that in seconds.” Harry stares at him, tears starting to gather in his eyes, and Louis can feel his resolve start to crumble. “But I won’t because you’ve asked me not to. You’ve asked me to trust you, and in doing that, I have to do things that are literally hurting my Louis right now. And I know that I hurt you, Lou. I can see it when you look at me. But I can make you happy if you’ll let me. Give us this.” Louis lifts his hand and brushes away the first tear to fall. He did this to them, the least he can do is give Harry the next six months. Slowly, he nods and moves his hand to rest on the side of Harry’s neck. They lay there and watch each other in silence for a moment, then Louis says, “I do love you. I don’t think I ever stopped. I tried… I tried really hard to get over you. And I… I did some dumb shit in the process. I…” “I don’t care.” “But you don’t know—” Harry shrugs his shoulder and it knocks into Louis’ hand which he reaches up and grabs hold of. “I don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter.” Louis shakes his head and moves forward slightly until their noses are touching, then he closes his eyes. “Pretend for me,” Harry whispers. “Until you go back.” He nods and bumps his forehead against Harry’s who laughs, and when Louis opens his eyes, his heart beats harder as he presses a kiss to Harry’s lips. ∞ There’s an email from Zayn waiting for him when he opens Harry’s laptop and it’s full of very specific questions about how he fits into this situation. Louis can’t answer any of them with any certainty. What he can do is tell Zayn what he knows, then maybe they can figure it out together. Louis finally agrees to Skype and, since it’s Harry’s day off, they sit side by side in the bed with the laptop half in both of their laps. “Sorry again for running off,” Zayn says in lieu of a greeting. Louis shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same, mate. I still don’t like to think about it and it’s me that’s hopped backwards in time.” “Yeah, don’t get him started, Zayn.” Harry elbows Louis in the ribs and says, “You should explain the tattoo thing.” “Right.” Louis nods. “I guess first, um… I think my Liam and your Liam must be the same Liam. Only, he comes to NASA right after you. I didn’t know he was your friend, but then again, I don’t really, um… I don’t hang around you. Like, at all.” “Really? Why?” “You’re a prick.” “Fuck off,” Zayn laughs. “No, for real though. I think… I think you have to be. The Zayn Malik I meet, um… in a few weeks, is…” Harry pipes up, “You act like a conceited arse, but I think it’s because it’s something that Louis hates. People who think they’re better than others. So, and this is just my thoughts, not like I’m an expert—” “Shut up, Harry,” Louis and Zayn say in unison. Louis smirks and says, “We want your thoughts.” “Okay,” Harry scrunches his nose and takes a breath. “Zayn, you have to wear pleated corduroy trousers, button down shirts, ties, and lab coats all the time.” The look of utter disgust on Zayn’s face makes Louis burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry. Just… You keep your tattoos covered too. When we first met at the library, I thought I’d fucked up time or something because you’re covered in ink. I had no idea.” “For how long?” “I guess, well, you don’t have to dress that way all the time. I’ve never seen you out at the shops or anything. And we don’t hang out outside of work, so you’re probably fine to dress however you want outside of work. But, um… until I come back, so from the time you get to Florida until I get back, which should be 14th of October, 2023.” “Fuck. That’s more than five years.” Zayn holds his hands up in front of his face and says, “Guess I’m putting my hand tattoos on hold.” “Yeah, I know. Sorry, again. I don’t… You don’t have to…” “Man, you’re not talking me out of the opportunity to work with exotic matter that actually exists. And time travel? Yeah, I’ll dress however you want.” Zayn tugs on the neck of his jumper and pulls the sleeves down until they cover his arms completely. “Now talk to me about Liam.” It’s such an odd thing to do, telling Zayn what’s about to happen. He feels like a fortune teller. “Liam discovers the next superheavy metal element. He theorizes that it’ll be number one-twenty-six and he’s right. They name it after him. Paynium.” Zayn cackles and falls backwards out of the sight of the screen. Louis snorts quietly and Harry starts to giggle. It takes them a few minutes to quiet down, then Zayn shakes his head and says, “Of course he does.” Louis sighs. “Are you sure you want to drop out of uni?” “Whatever I’ve got to do, I’ll do. You said the head of the project is named Franklin?” “Yeah, Doctor Franklin. I know how to get you in to see him, but past that… I’m not sure. I think we have to have something concrete to bring to the table. I need to crack it. We work out the maths, you take it to Franklin, and he’ll believe anything you say.” “What, like I met you when you time traveled?” Louis rubs his chin and hums. “Maybe? I think you should be vague about it. Say you met one of his guys, because he treats us all the same.” They talk over Skype for hours, both of them scribbling in notebooks while Harry records their conversation to play back later in case they forget anything. From floor plans for the separate facilities to Franklin’s email address, they try to cover it all, though there’s no way to touch on everything in a single day. It’s long past dark when they finally say goodbye. Harry closes the laptop and stands up to stretch while Louis lays flat on the bed and watches him. In the months that he’s been living in their flat again, he hasn’t allowed himself to look at Harry for more than a few seconds at a time. He still feels like he’s not supposed to, but he forces himself not to look away. All those years he thought that this boy broke his heart. “Hey.” Louis pats the bed and Harry flings himself down onto the mattress beside him. “I have to tell you something.” “I love you,” Harry says it so easily, like it’s not scary at all. He rolls over and crawls sideways until he’s laying half on top of Louis with his face tucked against his neck. Louis wraps the arm that’s underneath Harry around his shoulders and rests his other hand in the dip of his waist, inhales the scent of Harry’s hair and kisses the top of his head. His hair tickles Louis’ lips when he whispers, “I need you to know something.” “Told you I don’t care what you’ve done since we broke up.” “No, no. It’s not about that. It’s about the hop forward in time. I, um… One of the things that was made very clear to us before we signed on to actually do this was that there’s a huge risk, especially on the return hop.” Harry lifts his head and catches Louis’ eye and now that he can, Louis reaches up and rubs the line between Harry’s eyebrows with his thumb while he asks, “What do you mean?” “I… I… There’s a chance that it won’t work. I mean, it’s time travel. And it’s already got fucked up once. There’s just…” Louis bites his bottom lip and tilts his head to the side. This is the part he doesn’t like to think about. With all of the secrecy surrounding the Chrono Exploration Project, Louis wasn’t even able to warn anyone that something might happen. If he disappears somewhere in time and doesn’t make it back to 2023, his family will find out nothing more than that his life was lost in the course of his work on the space shuttle. “I suppose there’s no guarantee, so…” “Then stay here.” “You know I can’t, Harry.” Harry pouts and lays his head back down on Louis’ chest. “So, you think you might end up in 2025 instead?” “No, um… That’s part of the problem. When we started sending organic material into the past, it took us a while to get to the point where we could return it to its original time. Sometimes it disappeared completely and we… we don’t know where it went.” “But you figured it out.” “Yeah, we did. And then all of the tests were fine. But, Harry,” Louis brushes his fingers through Harry’s hair and tucks it behind his ear. “It’s already gone wrong for me once and I… I could not be. I could not be fine. I just… I want you to know everything.” Harry shakes his head and says, “No, Lou. You can be worried from now until October about this, but I’m not. You’ll get home fine. And I’ll see you when you do.” “What do you…” “I’ll see you when you get there. 2023.” “Harry, you can’t… I don’t want you to wait for me. That’s… That’s five years, baby, and no promise that I’ll be there at the end of it.” “Not up to you.” Harry kisses the side of Louis’ neck and his lips brush against Louis’ skin as he talks. “I know you don’t want me to get hurt and I know you’re worried about breaking my heart, but you’re going to have to get over it.” Louis sighs and closes his eyes. Harry’s stubborn, he always has been. “What about… Would you compromise? Sort of?” Harry lifts his head again and narrows his eyes. “How?” “Well, let’s say that sometime during the five years that I’m gone, you meet someone. They pique your interest. Go out with them.” “That’s stupid, Lou,” Harry huffs and rolls his eyes. “Why would I?” Louis watches him warily. Harry’s getting annoyed with him, so he has to tread carefully. “What are you going to tell your family? Your friends? That you’re waiting for me to time travel, but it’ll be a while?” “Whatever,” Harry mumbles and leans down to bite Louis’ shoulder. “I’ll think about it. Not making any promises.” Louis takes a deep breath. He’ll count this as a win. “I honestly didn’t expect anymore than that.” ∞ Together, Louis and Zayn finally crack the formulae they need for sending inanimate objects backwards through time. They need to be able to prove them, and they’ll still need Niall’s wormhole research and Zayn’s eventual discovery of a usable exotic matter, but it’s enough for Zayn to hand over to Doctor Franklin when he gets to Florida. The second he leaves the airport, he texts Harry’s phone a string of angry emojis, a comment about the sticky hot weather, and a demand that Louis buy him drinks for a year after he gets back to 2023 as payment for the stifling nature of his required wardrobe. “I can’t believe Zayn just dropped everything and moved to Florida because I told him to,” Louis says after he texts back that he’ll buy Zayn whatever he wants as long as he gets back in one piece. Harry reaches across the bed and smacks Louis on the chest. “He didn’t do it because you told him to, he did it because he worked that theorem out with you. He knows the maths are solid.” “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Still shocked I did the maths, to be honest.” Louis grabs Harry’s hand as he starts to slide it down, stopping him before he gets close enough to pinch his nipple. “I wonder what happens now.” Harry scoots closer and rests his head on Louis’ shoulder. “Guess we’ll find out. Zayn’ll call tomorrow after he talks to Doctor Franklin.” Slowly, Louis trails his fingers along Harry’s arm, up to his shoulder, and back down to his hand. It’s late and for a while, they’ve been lying there in the dark, but Louis’ mind is too busy to sleep. He waits until Harry’s breathing evens out, then he whispers, “I miss my mum.” “I know, babe.” Harry pulls himself even closer to Louis’ side, kisses underneath his chin, then rubs his thumb over Louis’ jaw. “Maybe we can figure something out. Talk about it tomorrow.” “Okay. Didn’t mean to bother you. Thought you were sleeping. Sorry.” “Don’t be, Lou. I want you to talk to me about all of this. I know it’s shit, being stuck here, not able to be yourself, really. Or live your life. But… We’ll do what we can to make it as good as possible.” Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek and runs his fingers through the hair at his temples. It needs to be trimmed, but he’s not sure if Harry will want to do it. “I want to… I want to make you happy. I… It’s hard to fathom living without you. I know it’s going to happen and I know you’ve done it. I just want to remember this… while you’re gone.” “Baby… I’m sorry I—” Harry’s finger against his lips quiets him, but the idea of leaving him here, the thought of Harry missing him for five years… waiting for him… “No, don’t, please. Just…” Harry lifts his head and leans down to kiss Louis slow and sweet, then he snuggles back up against his side. “Let’s sleep.” ∞ It’s hard, keeping his distance when he and Harry are literally tripping over each other, but he tries. When Harry wakes up early every morning, Louis sleeps in, and at night, he works or reads when he knows Harry’s about to go to bed, so that he can avoid any late night conversations about their relationship. After about a week of Louis being increasingly distant and moody, Harry comes home early from work on Friday, smiling and in a good mood when he walks through the door, to find Louis sitting on the couch attempting to meditate. He’s out of practice and he knows it. He’s just been so busy working that he’s neglecting himself, and he’s not going to talk to Harry about his worries, not when their relationship is up there at the top of the list, so he’s doing what he can. As soon as Louis heard Harry pull up in his car, his focus was broken, but instead of opening his eyes and greeting Harry, Louis sits cross legged and pretends he’s meditating, hoping that Harry will ignore him and go shower and give Louis more time to be alone. Not that he needs time alone. The tension between them has been building all week and as much as Harry tries to pretend Louis isn’t being grumpy and withdrawn, Louis knows he notices. With his eyes closed, he listens as Harry puts his keys down and pulls off his coat, then he waits for the sound of his footsteps as he walks back towards the bathroom. Instead, the couch rocks when Harry drops down onto the cushion next to him, and Louis turns to him, clenching his jaw and glowering as he unfolds his legs. Harry gives him a slow, appraising look, and says, “Gorgeous weather today. The sun is actually out.” “Must be nice,” Louis says, rolling his eyes and adjusting his socks for something to do with his hands. “It is. We should go for a walk or, I don’t know, just go somewhere.” “Can’t ‘just go somewhere’ or did you forget?” “No,” Harry says slowly. “I know we’d have to be careful, but—” “Go somewhere by yourself,” Louis snaps. He stands up and starts for the bedroom, but Harry jumps up and grabs his arm. “Let me go.” “Fine.” Harry lets go of his arm and says, “But I’ll follow you.” Louis stops and turns around. “Did you get off work early just so you could annoy me?” Harry leans back a bit and narrows his eyes. “If I’m so annoying, why don’t you leave? I won’t stop you.” “I can’t fucking leave! Are you serious?” Louis turns and points to the back half of the tiny flat, then gestures all around him. “I can’t go anywhere! I can’t do anything! I can’t even fucking meditate properly anymore. I’m tired of being alone all damn day. I miss my mum and my family and I’m worried about the boys’ hops and wondering if they had trouble too. I’m fucking, like, stuck in this shitty flat all day with only my brain for company and I hate it!” “I…” Harry closes his mouth and frowns. Now that he’s begun, Louis can’t stop himself from continuing, and he thought they’d probably end up fighting at some point, was almost looking forward to them yelling at each other so that he could let off some steam, but rather than doing that, he keeps throwing all of his feelings at Harry nonstop. “My mum is right down the road, but I can’t go see her. And you know how often I usually talk to her, but I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in months!” Harry holds up one finger and opens his mouth to speak, but Louis talks over him. “I miss you when you’re at work, but I don’t want to be around you when you’re here ’cause I can’t keep from thinking about how much I fucking love you and then I feel guilty for even feeling that way! Jesus. I keep thinking about the me in Florida and how he’s getting royally screwed over by this whole...” Louis waves both of his hands between them, leans his head back, and growls up at the ceiling. “Lou—” “No. You… You don’t… I keep remembering things that I don’t ever want to think about. And I hate it.” Louis points at Harry and shouts, “I hate it and I hate you and I hate myself and I get to feel this way! I get to feel like I’m ruining your life, even if I’m not!” Before Louis can get his last words out, Harry crowds up against him, wraps his arms around Louis and crushes him to his chest. “I didn’t realize… Babe…” Harry tries to put a few inches between them, but Louis grabs Harry’s waist and holds tight. “We’ll work on it, okay? Like, you need to get outside. Maybe we can drive somewhere. I don’t know, but you need to take care of yourself. I’m not used to you doing, um… meditating? It’s new to me, but I can tell it helps you, so… We’ll figure it out. And I know you miss your mum. Maybe there’s something we can do, like… I don’t know what, but we’ll figure that out too.” Harry turns his head slightly and kisses Louis’ temple. Louis takes a deep breath and blinks away the tears gathered in his eyes and mumbles against Harry’s t-shirt, “I don’t hate you.” “I know,” Harry says and Louis can feel him smile. “You don’t hate you either, but you can be irritated with us both.” They talk about it later that night. It takes Harry convincing him that he’s probably done it before for Louis to agree to see his mum. Somewhere he can remain hidden, so he can just see her. Without her seeing him. After the youngest twins were born, his mum started making the entire family go to the playground near their house on Sunday mornings as soon as they finished breakfast. He knows his mum and he knows how much she loves routine. When Louis wakes up on Sunday, he’s nervous. This is the first time he’s actively planning to do something that he knows could disrupt his timeline just because he wants to. There’s no reason to think this is something that he has to do, like staying at the flat with Harry or finding Zayn. But he’s going to do it anyway. For once, Harry doesn’t wake up before the sun, so when Louis is too fidgety to fall back asleep, he slips out of bed and goes to the kitchen to make tea. Even after drinking it, he still has so much nervous energy that he cleans the kitchen, but when he’s ready for a second cup, he makes two, takes them back to the bedroom with him, and wakes up Harry. They spend the early morning in bed, which is where they’ve been spending most of their days lately. Not that it’s actually surprising, but in addition to his small obsession with Louis’ current age and the whole older man thing, Harry spends an inordinate amount of time ogling Louis’ body. The physical training was always just practical, and needed for his job, until the first time he and Harry had sex in the middle of the day with the lights on and Harry spent a good half-hour just looking at him. Really, it’s only fair because Louis turned around and did the same thing to him. Relearning Harry’s body, seeing all of him, trailing kisses over the same skin that he tasted so many times before, touching him exactly the way he likes to be touched, drawing moans and whines from his lips with practiced ease… makes Louis want to cry from happiness every time because he thought he’d never be with Harry like this again. The contrasting emotions he experiences make his head spin. While he’s admitted to Harry more than once that he didn’t handle the end of their relationship well at all, and that even in the following years he made a number of poor decisions, he’s gone along with Harry’s request and hasn’t got into the specifics with him. Harry thinks he means that he went out a lot, got drunk, and slept with strangers, which he did, but… Moving to Florida put an enormous strain on every facet of his life. The pressure of his new job as an aerospace engineer working on the new shuttle design was incredible, and though he got along well with his colleagues and superiors, he constantly felt like the new guy, especially being one of the few shuttle engineers from the U.K. Growing up in Donny, and even when he was at uni, Louis was always close to his mum and siblings. They had dinner together almost every Sunday, and he was able to help out with the girls, and the baby twins when they were born. And, of course, they all loved Harry. Four thousand miles of mostly water between them, the five hour time difference, and long hours spent working at home on top of his forty hour week at NASA, meant that Louis spent more time alone than he had before in his life and his close personal relationships became phone calls and Skype conversations. After the first couple of months, Louis wanted nothing more than to get on a plane and fly home. Harry kept him going, kept him together. Their conversations were constant over Whatsapp. Louis woke up every day to a good morning message from Harry and every night before bed he made sure to type out something for Harry to see first thing. And they did everything that they could to FaceTime or Skype daily, even if just for a few minutes. It was hard, but it helped him feel connected, made it all seem temporary and like it was something that they were in together. Almost a year in and Louis thought he was getting the hang of it. They had a routine. They were almost at the halfway point of his contract with NASA. It was tough, but it was working. And then it wasn’t. At first Louis dealt with things by drinking and smoking and fucking. Three things that at least made him feel good for a little while, and he was able to almost balance it with work. But only a few months later, he spiraled into depression so fast and so hard that he wasn’t doing anything at all except work. He stopped going out, but he didn’t start doing anything else. And he was barely sleeping. Eating only when he remembered to, which was maybe once a day. After he ignored two weeks worth of phone calls, texts, and Skype conversations with his mum, she flew in to Orlando and showed up at his condo unannounced. He took sick leave from work and stayed home while his mum took care of him. Never in his life had he felt like such a child, unable to do much more than get himself to the toilet and back to bed, but she let him continue on like that for a few days, then she made him get up one morning, made him shower and get dressed, and she made him talk to her. She helped him find a doctor, who helped him figure out what kind of meds he needed, and then he started seeing a therapist once a week. Gradually, he started to get better. He worked on it the way he’d worked on maintaining his relationship with Harry, he worked on getting through the day, he worked on a routine, on taking care of himself, and eventually he worked on building a life that was solely his own. All of these years later, it’s something that he still lives with. Deals with. And while it isn’t as heavy, pressing, or constant as it once was. It’s there. These are all of the things that he thinks of when he looks at Harry and sees love looking back at him. These are the memories that make the roiling ball of guilt spin in his stomach. Because now he knows that he put himself through all of that. He’s doing it now. 2018 Louis is spinning out of control and 2023 Louis is lying on his back in bed, looking up at Harry, completely enraptured by every detail. The sweat beading on his upper lip, the line between his eyebrows where they’re drawn together in concentration, and the flex of his biceps when he levers himself up using Louis’ knees. The goosebumps that spread all over his body when Louis rakes his fingernails up through the hair on his thighs, the pebbled skin of his nipples, and the trembling of his abdominal muscles. The pink of his lips and the white of his teeth biting down. The tendrils of hair that have fallen out of the bun that he tied his hair in before he climbed on top of Louis and slowly sank down onto his cock. Every part of Harry is beautiful and every second that Louis spends in his presence is like some sort of cosmic redemption. It’s such a mind-fuck. He lived through all of that because of this. He lived through all of that to get to this. And he can’t stop the fear that takes hold of him when he remembers that one of the major contributing factors in his depression was the sense of being abandoned. He wishes he could do more to prevent Harry from feeling that way when he leaves in October and he hopes that Harry will forgive him. ∞ “I won’t drive past it more than once, Louis. Your mum probably hates me and Lottie is pretty scary, so if they see me…” Harry pulls a green beanie over his hair and slides on a dark pair of sunglasses, then pulls on a flannel shirt. “I’ll drive slow, but it’ll be easier for you to see if you’re in the back.” Louis rolls his eyes and pulls his hood down. His hair is so much longer now than it’s ever been and his beard is much thicker, so he’s pretty sure that they wouldn’t recognize him even if they saw his face, but he’ll do as Harry suggests. He only wants a glimpse, really. Though he did consider sneaking into the house while they’re all at the park just to sit on the sofa and breathe in the smell of home. “Ready?” Harry asks as he opens the front door and peers outside. “Yes,” Louis says as he yawns and covers his mouth his hand. He’s nervous, mostly because he shouldn’t be attempting to see anyone who knows he’s supposed to be in Florida, but also there’s a general undercurrent of anxiety that’s been there since Zayn left for Florida. “Oh, wait. Neighbors.” Harry shuts the door again and turns around to lean back against it. “We’ll give them a minute. They’re getting out of their car.” Louis shrugs and steps between Harry’s legs, puts both hands to his cheeks and kisses him hard enough to knock his head back into the door. Immediately, Harry grabs Louis’ arse, then moves his hands up slightly and slides them past the elastic waistband of his pants, digging his fingertips into the bare skin beneath and lifting him slightly until Louis is standing on his toes and pressing their hips together. Nothing else distracts him as well as Harry. Louis tips his head back and nudges their noses together, kisses him once more and says, “They’re probably gone now.” Harry lets his head fall back and loosens his hold on Louis’ bum, but doesn’t completely let go, just enough to lower him back down onto his heels. “We just had sex.” Harry laughs and kisses Louis’ forehead. “Why are you grinding on me?” He lets him go and adjusts his sunglasses where Louis knocked them askew while Louis peeks out the window. When Louis gives him the all clear, Harry opens the door. They’re on the road and almost to the park before Louis answers the question that was most likely rhetorical. “I know we’ve sort of silently agreed not to talk about it, but I’ve missed you for a long time, so I’m… It’s like I’m trying to get as much of you as I can before I have to leave.” “Babe…” Harry slows down as he approaches the park and Louis slouches down in the back seat until he can just see through the bottom of the window and hopefully isn’t noticeable to anyone looking over at the car. They’re all there. His stepdad is pushing both twins in the swings, standing in front of them and tickling them every time they swing forward and he can reach them. The older twins are over by one of the larger flower beds and he watches them take a selfie together. It’s bizarre seeing them so much younger and his heart hurts to think of everything that he missed that year. They walk around the flower bed and down the path, so Louis lets his eyes wander, looking for his mum and Lottie and Fizzy. Harry turns the corner to drive by the football field and all three of them are there, walking near the fence along the outside of the field. They’re so close that Louis’ heart starts to beat a little faster and he stares at them until his mum lifts her head and looks their way and he slouches down completely out of sight. He rests his hand on his chest and closes his eyes. Seeing them makes missing them feel like two distinct emotions because, while he did miss this time with them in 2018, he actually misses them the way he remembers them from 2023. The babies are nowhere near babies anymore—they’re almost the same age as the older twins are here, Phoebe and Daisy are at uni, Fizzy isn’t even in the U.K., and Lottie’s engaged to marry a man that she hasn’t met yet. He misses them, but not this them. It makes him long for the future for the first time. “Shit.” Harry quickly glances back over his shoulder at Louis. “They saw me. Not that my car is inconspicuous, but your mum looked right at me. Did you see?” “Yeah, I don’t think they saw me though.” Louis lifts his head to see if they’ve passed the park, then sits up and crawls between the two front seats and drops down into the passenger seat. “Where to?” “You said they started construction, so I want to check it out.” Harry looks over at him quickly, then looks back at the road, reaches over and grabs hold of Louis’ hand. “I’m not complaining about all of the extra attention, just be prepared for the same treatment when you do get back because I’m the one who’s going to go without for five years.” “Don’t say that.” Harry just shakes his head a little and squeezes his hand again. He doesn’t slow the car as much as he did at the playground because there isn’t much to see. The foundation and framing are done and there are pallets of bricks waiting for the bricklayers. Construction is perfectly on schedule. Everything seems to be going well, actually. According to Zayn, it took him three meetings with Doctor Franklin to convince him to even look at their work, but once he did, and checked the maths, he was on board. It’s as if he was waiting for something like this to happen because it’s the United States government and they don’t do anything quickly, but once Franklin set the wheels in motion, things started happening fast. They offered Louis the transfer out of the shuttle engineering division, hired Niall, and convinced Liam to leave New York within the first two weeks. Having the facility locations already picked out cut down on the amount of research, though there was some argument from Louis about building the one in Doncaster. Zayn must have pulled rank or just ignored his complaints because he hasn’t heard anything else from him about it and, though it was early in the program, Louis remembers being so angry that his opinions weren’t listened to, at all. It’s one of the first things that he and Zayn argued about. Louis lets go of Harry’s hand, reaches over, and pats his leg. “Thanks for helping today. I feel a little better having seen them.” “Welcome, babe. Anything else you want to do?” “Can we just drive around for a bit? It’s nice being out of the flat.” Harry nods and keeps driving. Now that they’re not meeting Zayn at the library anymore, Louis is back to spending his days alone in the flat. The cabin fever isn’t actually as bad because he has so much work to focus on and he’s impressing himself every day with the improvements in his maths skills. They ride around for hours, not really talking, Harry turns wherever he gets the urge since there’s no destination. It wasn’t at all what he expected, seeing his family. It dulled the ache a little, but not enough. Because his way of missing them has changed from sadness at their absence in his life to almost mourning the possible permanent loss. He can’t get it out of his head, the knowledge that there’s a chance he won’t make it back. Sure, the chance is small, but he doesn’t know what the probability is that something will go wrong in that vein when a similar error has already occurred. If you take them as independent events, it would be the same, but there’s no way to know if they are independent. If it isn’t random and the problem is with the facility or the machine or him, he won’t have any way of knowing. And if he’s the loaded die in the equation… It sticks. Long after they return to the flat, it’s there. The idea that on Saturday, the thirteenth of October, he’s going to lay down inside that giant metal tube and disappear into nothingness. ∞ As the summer wears on, Louis is able to push his more morbid thoughts to the side and focus on Zayn. At first, they’re able to work during the day—morning for Zayn and afternoon for Louis—but a few weeks in, they’re discussing a theory of Zayn’s about expanding exotic matter when Louis—2018 Louis—barges into his office unannounced, loudly demanding that they send him to Doncaster to observe the work on the facility as it’s being built and Zayn has to slam his laptop shut. After that, either they Skype around midnight for Louis or around six in the morning for Zayn. Either way, one of them is tired and not performing at their peak, so they alternate weeks and they make it work. “Z, explain Liam.” Louis taps his pencil against his notepad and chews his lip, then scribbles down another formula. “Why can’t you use a tablet and a stylus like everyone else. It’s like the dark ages, you and your pencil, man.” Louis scoffs and holds up his notebook for Zayn to look at his work. “You screenshot it?” “Yes, old man. What do you want to know about Liam?” “Why didn’t I know that you were friends?” “Easy. I told him that we needed to seem to be strictly colleagues because I was concerned that you and Niall would think he was being favored. Then I told Franklin something similar, so he’d keep the connection to himself. He likes secrets. It wasn’t a problem.” “I think I would’ve picked up on it if I hadn’t hated being around you so much.” “Maybe. This Louis is a prick though. I know he’s going through some personal shit, but damn, mate.” “Listen, about that. Can you… I need you to do me a favor.” It’s a shitty thing to do and a shitty thing to ask of Zayn, so it’s unsurprising when he tells Louis that he’ll have to think it over. He just can’t have Harry waiting around for him when there’s a good chance he’ll never get there, but he doesn’t know how to convince Harry to move on with his life. He’s stopped discussing it with Harry because it just pisses him off and then they fight and then Louis ends up sleeping on the couch, so he wants Zayn’s input. Maybe he can think of something. The next time they talk, Zayn tells him no. Harry is stubborn and Zayn is busy enough with work now that he doesn’t have time to try to convince him to give up on waiting for Louis. And he doesn’t understand why Louis would want him to. It’s not as though he wants to hurt Harry. Actually, it’s the exact opposite. Imagining the loneliness that Harry will feel once Louis leaves is enough for him to agonize over. But the notion of him waiting all of that time, putting his life on hold, probably counting down the days until they can see each other again, only to be crushed if Louis never reappears… As much as it pains him to think of Harry with someone else, he hopes that Harry meets someone wonderful who sweeps him off his feet and makes him forget all about waiting for him. Since there’s nothing that he can do right now to dissuade Harry from waiting, he throws himself into doing all that he can to make sure that the Chrono Exploration Program is successful. If he’s done all of this before, he figures that it can’t hurt to give Zayn every single detail of the last six years. He starts by making an outline for each year, listing all of the major occurrences within the program. Then he goes back and fills in anything he can think of that might be important in the lead up to certain events. The hardest part of that ends up being his personal bullshit, but he includes it because it’s necessary. If anyone is personally responsible for screwing up his hop backwards in time, it’s him. Towards the end of August, Zayn calls while Louis and Harry are in the middle of eating dinner, which means it’s only the afternoon in Florida. They’ve been sitting around in their pants since Harry got home from work that afternoon and dragged Louis into the shower with him. Harry answers and at first all Louis can hear is half of the conversation, but a few seconds later, Harry puts his phone on the table and taps speaker. “Alright, Z, you’re on speakerphone now.” “Right. Thanks, Harry. Louis?” “Yeah, mate.” Louis leans over the phone and rests his forearms on the table. “What’s so urgent?” “Who figures out the gravity thing? Remember taking it out of the equation? I’m trying not to interfere too much, like we planned, but you guys are struggling with this theorem and I kind of want to scream.” “Oh, that’s, um… that’s me. I… It’s really stupid.” Harry shoves his shoulder and says, “Just say it, Lou.” “Fine. I was in the break room making tea. Today’s Thursday the sixteenth? Oh, shit, yeah so today then. I go to make tea every afternoon around three. Anyway, that shitty little telly that they keep in there that’s always on, but it’s muted?” “Yeah, there’s been a Friends marathon all week. I was just down there.” “Yes, exactly! The episode where Rachel’s ex-fiance says he’s still in love with her was on—” “The One With The Evil Orthodontist.” “Thanks, Harry. Do you have them all memorized?” Louis asks, but he shakes his head. Zayn clears his throat and says, “Get to the point, please.” “Sorry, sorry.” Louis purses his lips and taps his finger against his mouth. “Oh, right, so I was making tea and someone had turned the volume up. Right at the beginning of the episode, Phoebe yells about Ugly Naked Guy getting gravity boots. And I don’t know. It set off something in my brain.” Louis and Harry stare down at the phone for a second, but then the screen says call ended and Harry picks it up. “He hung up.” Harry frowns and checks again to be sure. He’s still looking at it when it pings with a text from Zayn. Had to run to the break room and turn up the volume. It was still on mute! Skype tonight? Harry slides his phone over and Louis reads it again before responding. Tomorrow night. You have tattoos to draw. “This is so weird. I know I said you’ve done all of this before, but just… Imagine if one little thing didn’t happen. If Zayn hadn’t noticed that the telly was muted or if it was another episode…” Harry stands up from the little table and takes their plates to the sink. “What happens now?” “I’m getting my tattoo.” Louis rubs his hand over his chest and looks over at Harry. “We’ll start sending simple solid elements back. Then compounds and eventually organic matter in a couple of years.” He gets up and walks over to help Harry clean up, waiting for another question, but it doesn’t come. Harry washes and Louis dries and while he puts the dishes away, Harry quietly watches him from his spot by the sink. “Lou, how do they send you back to 2023 in two months if they haven’t sent anything anywhere yet?” Harry asks and turns to rest his hip against the countertop, folding his arms across his chest. He wishes he knew exactly how it works, but it’s one of the things that he and Malik butted heads about. Louis still has trouble reconciling them as the same person when he thinks back on all of the times that they disagreed or argued or, well, Louis threw a fit. “I don’t know precisely how they do it. There are two rooms, side by side, arrival and departure. No one on the team has been allowed in the arrival chamber other than Zayn. There are people who work there, but we’re not allowed to talk to them. All I know is that they open the wormhole in 2023 and pull me through it from there.” Harry frowns and raises his hand to his mouth to pinch his lower lip. “Have you told Zayn this?” “No.” Louis exhales loudly, puffing his cheeks out. “I have to tell him a lot about the chambers, actually. And about the lieutenants who were over my hop. I have to make a detailed outline for him.” Harry holds his hands out towards Louis, wiggling his fingers until Louis grabs on and lets Harry pull him in. He steps between Harry’s legs and leans against him chest to chest and rests his forehead on Harry’s bare shoulder. The warmth and weight of Harry’s hands as he slides them up and down Louis’ back is almost hypnotizing and he loses track of how long they’ve been standing there until Harry mutters, “Stop pushing me away.” Louis holds his breath and opens his eyes, blinking slowly, but unable to see much of anything except shadow and Harry’s pale skin. Harry’s hands don’t stop their soothing movements up and down his back and after a moment Louis feels like he can breathe again. “I’m not. Not really.” “You are.” Harry lets one hand rest on Louis’ lower back and brings the other one up to play with Louis’ hair where it falls on his neck. Harry seems to like touching it, he sometimes falls asleep with his head on Louis’ chest and his fingers in the ends of his hair. Louis shakes his head, but doesn’t raise it from Harry’s shoulder. “Whenever we Skype with Zayn and he mentions you—Florida you, I mean—you get distant. You withdraw. You don’t… I asked him not to bring him up anymore unless it’s necessary.” That gets Louis’ attention. He lifts his head and leans back so that he can meet Harry’s eyes. “When did you do that?” “Few days back. On my way into the bakery.” Harry drops his hands from Louis’ back and rests them on the edge of the countertop on either side of his hips, lifts his chin in defiance and Louis takes a half step back. “Called him and told him that I thought something was eating at you, but you weren’t talking to me about it. Asked him if he’d let me know if he thought something was going on.” Louis takes another step back and crossed his arms tight across his chest. “And?” “Well, I told him that about not mentioning Florida Louis. And I said whatever was bothering you didn’t seem like a physics or maths related thing. So what’s left, Lou? Your family. Me.” Slowly Louis closes his eyes and breathes, then blinks and tries to hold his gaze steady on Harry’s. “What did he tell you?” “You’re not getting rid of me, babe. I don’t even care to prove it to you at this point. Two months and you’ll know. But…” Harry looks down and says, “I wish you’d told me how bad things were. Zayn said that a couple of weeks after he got there, you took medical leave. He’d only just met you and could tell something was off, like really badly off. Said you’re better now, but still a dickhead.” He’s torn between wanting to comfort Harry, because it’s clear that he’s at least partially blaming himself for the state that his Louis is in, and wanting to scream at him. Maybe he’s just got used to being alone since he moved to Florida. His mum is the only person who knows firsthand what it was like at its worst and they don’t discuss it. They get as far as her asking how he’s doing with a certain tone and a meaningful look, and he’ll answer that he’s fine or that things could be better or that he’s having a really good couple of weeks. “You said you didn’t want to know and I really didn’t want to tell you, so…” Louis shrugs and scratches at his beard. “It wasn’t just about you. It was my entire situation. Things really are better now. Mostly.” “Mostly.” “Yeah, I mean…” Louis turns and walks out of the room. He can’t stand there in the kitchen and watch Harry refuse to look at him, so he crawls into bed and lays on his stomach with the duvet pulled over his head. It jostles him when Harry climbs onto the mattress beside him and finds his way under the duvet and onto Louis’ side of the bed, practically laying on top of him. “You should stop punishing yourself.” Harry’s breath is hot against his ear and his body is heavy, holding him down. “This whole situation is basically one inescapable loop. There’s nothing you could have done then and there’s nothing you can do now.” Louis turns his head and Harry moves his body so that he’s only half way laying on top of Louis and they can see each other. “I’ve done all of this before, but I hate it, baby. Look at what it did to us. To me. I feel… like I’m damaged. And I made myself this way.” “Don’t…” Harry shushes him and combs his hair back off his forehead. “You’re wonderful. You’re different, not damaged. And you… you’ve done so much.” “Right. Screwed up time travel.” Louis scoffs and turns to bury his face into the mattress. Harry pinches his ear until Louis turns back to look at him. “For such a clever man, you’re rather stupid. The only reason that time travel exists is because of you.” Louis laughs and rolls onto his side to fully face Harry, dislodging him from his spot on his back. Harry scowls at him. “I’m serious. If you didn’t travel back too far, how would Zayn end up in Florida?” “I…” “How would they figure out that gravity didn’t need to be considered in that equation?” Louis gapes at him, unable to speak. “Would Liam decide to focus on subatomic particles and superheavy elements if Zayn didn’t push him in that direction? And Zayn would never have done that if not for you.” “But…” “You’ve seriously been so set on blaming yourself for fucking something up that you haven’t noticed that you didn’t actually fuck anything up at all. Babe.” Harry pushes Louis onto his back and crawls on top of him, resting his forehead against Louis’ and Louis just blinks up at him. “I thought you knew and were just being stubborn.” Louis shakes his head, reaches up slowly and taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “The brains of the operation.” ∞ The last two months before he leaves, Louis spends almost every waking moment compiling list after list and frantically filling Zayn in on every tiny detail that he can think of. Harry opening his eyes to the truth of the situation helped pull him most of the way out of the funk he was letting consume him, but he still has his moments where the guilt overtakes him. There’s nothing he can do to rid himself of that feeling, just like there’s nothing he can do about its causes. The harder he tries to convince Harry not to wait for him, the more determined Harry seems, so he agrees not to mention it again as long as Harry promises not to instantly dismiss every possibility of meeting someone else. And he still can’t shake the idea that he won’t survive the hop. That’s the one thing that he hasn’t done before. Still, even the most seemingly insignificant bits of information get written down in his notebook, then either emailed to Zayn or discussed over Skype. From his driver taking him past the flat and the names of the lieutenants working at the Doncaster facility, so that he’s sure to think of Harry during the hop, to pushing for the exercise program and guided meditation. It’s just really difficult for Louis to accept that he’s basically led the Chrono Exploration Program from the start. All of the things about it that have pissed him off, all of the requirements that he’s thought of as annoying or silly, his anger at being kept out of the loop as far as what goes on in the arrival chamber, every single aspect of the program that he’s hated has been something that he’s insisted Zayn implement. It’s literally his fault that he has to say chrono instead of time and chamber instead of room. Zayn laughs so hard at Louis’ dumbfounded expression upon that realization that Louis closes the laptop and doesn’t answer when he calls back. Ever since they offered him the position in the Chrono Exploration Program, Louis has wondered why they chose him and, while Liam and Niall have both offered their thoughts, there has always been the idea in the back of Louis’ head that it was a mistake and that at any time, someone high ranking would appear to tell him that his services were no longer required. Occasionally, he wondered if he was unknowingly involved in some sort of experiment. He just never felt like he fit in and he’s curious what things will be like when he gets back to his own time. If he survives the hop. Louis is sitting on the floor behind the couch, trying to meditate and not think about dying, when he hears Harry struggling to unlock the front door. He hurries to open it before Harry gets frustrated with the lock and, when he does, Harry has his phone to his ear and his finger to his lips. He mouths “Gemma” as he wiggles his key free from the lock, so Louis shuts the door and lets Harry have the front of the house to pace around while he talks to his sister. He’s lying starfished across the bed on his back, eyes closed, and halfway attempting to fall asleep for no reason other than to see if he can, when he hears Harry saying goodbye to Gemma. “Lou?” “Yeah?” Louis blinks his eyes open and lolls his head to the side. “What’s up?” “Thought you were sleeping.” Harry crawls onto the bed, still in his coat and boots, with flour in his hair and a smear of pink icing on his cheek, and kneels between Louis’ legs. “Gemma wants me to move in with her.” “In London?” Louis props himself up on his elbows and watches Harry as he chews the inside of his cheek and then starts pinching his lower lip. “Is that what you want?” Harry shrugs and Louis pushes himself up the rest of the way. He sits back a bit and grabs for Harry’s legs where they’re folded underneath him, tugging on them until he straightens them out and lets them lay over top of Louis’ legs. While he waits for Harry to answer, Louis takes off his boots and socks and tosses them to the floor, then pulls one of his feet into his lap and starts massaging his heel. “I don’t know.” Harry pushes his coat back off his shoulders and wiggles until it falls behind him, slipping off of the mattress and onto the floor. “Can’t believe you’re touching my sweaty, gross feet.” “You have icing on your face,” Louis says and sticks his tongue out at him. “London’s definitely a city. Gemma’s moving?” “Her roommate is leaving soon. Couple of weeks. Oh… What am I going to do without you to rub my feet?” Harry flexes both of his feet and pokes Louis’ thigh with his toe, then he rubs at his cheek with the back of his hand, but misses the icing completely. Louis hums and says, “Have to learn to do it yourself. Maybe you can pay Gemma.” “Maybe.” Harry leans back on both of his hands and looks up at the ceiling. “She says there’s a coffee shop she goes to every morning that’s always hiring. Not sure what that says about the management, but…” “What about school?” “Dunno. I want to go, but I don’t know what for. I like helping you and Zayn with the maths and physics, but I don’t want to do that. I’ll think of something.” Harry decides to go visit Gemma after Louis leaves, but he’ll stay in Donny until the lease on the flat is up in December, then he’ll go to his family’s Christmas, then back down to London with Gemma. That way he can still help the ladies at the bakery until they find someone else and he won’t be in a rush to move. ∞ The week leading up to Louis’ departure is bittersweet. Harry takes as much time as he can off of work, stocking the fridge so that they don’t have to go out at all, and they only leave the bed when they absolutely have to. He keeps Louis busy enough that he doesn’t have the time or energy to worry about Harry and tries to make him focus more on preparing as best as he can. It’s unfair and Louis knows it, to feel sad for himself about leaving Harry, so he hides it as well as he can. After all, Harry’s the one planning to wait for him. Harry’s the one who’ll be left alone. Harry’s the one willingly living the next five years of his life not knowing whether Louis survives the journey to 2023. For Louis, those five years will pass in a matter of seconds. There’s no logical reason for him to feel sorry for himself, so instead he gets frustrated and angry with himself, which is even harder to keep from Harry. “Can’t believe you’re leaving tonight,” Harry mumbles, his lips brushing against the skin of Louis’ chest. He’s laying almost completely on top of Louis, resting all of weight on him, and they’ve been in this same position for almost an hour, just spending time as close to each other as they can. Louis sighs and, even to his own ears, it sounds sad. Harry crosses his arms on Louis’ chest and props his chin up on them so that Louis has to tuck his chin a little if he wants to look at him properly. “Why are you so down? I know you’re worried about me, but you’re going to see me like, tomorrow or the next—” “Hopefully.” Louis shrugs as best as he can under Harry’s weight. When he sees the confusion on Harry’s face, he bites his tongue. He had been so good at keeping that fear under wraps. Harry gasps and scrambles up and off the bed, grabbing clothes from the floor and rushing out of the room before Louis can untangle his legs from the sheets. In nothing but his pants, Louis follows Harry out of the bedroom, and finds him already dressed in the same grey joggers and ripped white t-shirt that he always wears as soon as they’re clean. While Louis watches, he shoves his bare feet into his trainers, leaving them untied, snatches his hoodie off the back of the sofa, grabs his keys, and is halfway out the door before Louis realizes he’s leaving. “Where are you going?” Louis manages to ask through his confusion. Slowly, he turns around and Louis gasps quietly at the sight of tears welling up in his eyes. He looks down, but Louis can see that he’s blinking rapidly and it makes his heart hurt. “You still don’t trust me,” Harry says and he walks outside, leaving the door open and Louis standing there in his pants. “Fuck.” Louis sprints back to the bedroom, picks up the first piece of clothing he finds on the floor—Harry’s jeans—pulls them on and runs through the flat and outside, throwing open the door to Harry’s car as he backs out of the drive. “Get out.” Harry’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly and he’s staring straight ahead with his foot on the brake, but the car in reverse. Instead, Louis pulls the passenger door closed and turns in his seat to fully face Harry. “Baby, I…” “Jesus. Fine.” Harry shifts into park, but leaves it running, climbs back out of the car, and slams the door. Before he chases after him, Louis turns off the ignition and pockets the keys, then he climbs out of the car and follows him down the road, yelling, “Wait, Harry! I’m sorry! I…” Harry spins around, stumbling over the laces of his untied trainers, and catches himself. With his arms crossed tightly over his chest, he rubs his hands over his biceps, and takes a deep breath. “You have no reason… no right… I can’t believe you don’t trust that I’ll be there.” “It’s not that.” Louis slows to a stop in front of him. “It’s not… I do trust you. I do. I don’t want you to be unhappy waiting. I don’t want you to… to resent me.” “How can you…” Harry shakes his head and clenches his jaw, looking away as he asks, “Do you resent me?” “What? Why would I?” “For not answering your calls? For returning that package at Christmas? For cutting you out of my life?” He looks back at Louis, throws his hands in the air and shouts, “All of it!” “I could never hold any of that against you, Harry. None of that is your fault.” Louis looks down, surprised to see that his feet are bare and all he’s wearing are Harry’s jeans, which aren’t even fastened and are barely hanging onto his hips. He pulls them up and buttons them, wraps his arms around himself, suddenly aware that he’s shivering. “It’s my—” “I’m so tired of this. At least, with you gone, I won’t have to hear you trying to blame yourself for something that is literally no one’s fault.” Harry sighs and takes his hoodie off, handing it to Louis. “Put it on. You’re freezing.” Reluctantly, Louis takes the sweatshirt and pulls it on. “Thanks.” “Lou, I wish… I wish you’d believe me. Five years? It’s going to suck, yeah, but I’ll survive. I’ll be fine. I’ve got Gemma, London, a new job, school eventually… If I have to, I’ll work two jobs while I’m in school to keep myself busy.” Harry steps closer, the line between his eyebrows deepens, and as always, Louis wants to rub it away, so he reaches up and does, briefly wondering how much deeper that line will be in five years and he hopes he gets to see it. “I love you, Lou, and that’s not going to stop. Especially knowing that you’re basically going to wake up tomorrow, five years in the future, just like this, loving me the same way… I’m not giving that up.” Louis closes his eyes and whispers, “I don’t… I really don’t deserve you.” Harry’s hands squeeze his shoulders tightly and Louis looks up at him just as he growls, “You do.” “I…” “You do.” Harry uses his grip on Louis’ shoulders to turn him around, steps as close as he can behind him, and walks forward, forcing Louis to walk with him or fall over. They must look ridiculous, and Louis belatedly thinks about the neighbors and hopes that none of them have looked outside to see what all of the racket was about. He lets Harry march him back to the flat, up the steps, and through the door before he says anything. Once they’re inside, while Harry kicks off his trainers, Louis says, “I’m sorry you thought I didn’t—” “Do you really think you don’t deserve to be happy, Lou?” Harry frowns when Louis doesn’t answer right away and nudges him to walk towards the bedroom. “Get undressed and get in the bed. I’m grabbing another blanket.” There’s no point in arguing, and if there’s a chance that he’ll die tonight, he wants to be close to Harry while he can, so Louis quickly strips back down to his pants and climbs under the duvet. Harry unzips one of the sleeping bags and throws it over the bed, takes off his joggers and t-shirt, and joins Louis under the covers. “You deserve everything, Lou. The most happiness.” Harry cuddles closer until they’re breathing the same air, wrapping himself around Louis, somehow still warm despite the cold outside. “I know we haven’t talked about it. I mean, not since… you know. But I’m basically planning to marry you and have babies with you and make you happy for the rest of your life, so… adjust. Get used to the idea.” Having everything he’s ever wanted seems so impossible, and yet he’s living the impossible, so maybe happiness isn’t truly out of reach. He’s still shivering when Harry kisses him, but soon they’re both warm enough that they push the sleeping bag onto the floor. Louis rolls them over so that he’s laying on top of Harry, settling between his legs and kissing his Adam’s apple. “What do you want, baby?” Louis asks, and sucks at the soft skin at the base of his neck until it’s sure to leave a mark, a reminder of him after he’s gone. Harry runs his hands up and down Louis’ back, gently trailing his fingertips over his spine. He wraps his legs around Louis and says, “Want you to fuck me. Just like this.” Louis nods and reaches for the nightstand, crawling sideways and grabbing lube and a condom out of the drawer. “Can we, um… Can we not use…” Harry bites his lip and looks away like he’s afraid to finish his sentence. Or afraid that Louis won’t want to. “I, um… We can.” Louis drops the condom back into the drawer and sits back between Harry’s legs, smoothing his hand over the hair on his inner thigh until Harry looks up at him again. “You don’t like it bare though.” “Not normally, no. But I just…” He shakes his head. “I don’t care about the mess right now.” Louis smiles and brushes Harry’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear. Then he leans over and presses a soft, slow kiss to Harry’s lips. He always takes his time with Harry, loves how tight he is at first and loves feeling his body relax around his fingers. If he does it right, Harry can come from only Louis’ fingers, and it’s scorchingly hot when it happens. Harry writhing on the bed, usually with one hand clawing at the sheets and the other tangled in his hair, pulling it hard whenever Louis hits his prostate dead on. Louis only considers it for a few seconds because that’s not what Harry wants tonight. By the time Harry is riding four of his fingers, hands pressed against the headboard, head thrown back as he whines and begs Louis to just fuck him already, Louis is sweaty and grinding down on the mattress. Louis gingerly pulls his fingers free and Harry’s body seems to melt into the mattress, his legs fall completely open and he sighs quietly. After he slicks himself up, Louis leans over and licks along Harry’s crack, fucking his tongue inside and making Harry jerk at the unexpected sensations, then sitting back again. “That’s not your cock,” Harry murmurs and Louis cackles and pinches his bum cheek, then he gestures for Harry to lift up so he can put a pillow underneath his hips. When he lines up, he has trouble keeping his eyes away from Harry’s face as he pushes against Harry’s rim and his body pulls him inside. Hot and tight as always, but the drag without the condom is enough to make him pause halfway, worried that he’ll come too soon. Harry lifts his arms again, pushes against the headboard and meets Louis’ hips. With his hands on either side of Harry’s chest, Louis lowers himself down and kisses Harry gently, keeping eye contact as he pulls out and slowly fucks back inside. He keeps his thrusts slow and deep, gazing into Harry’s eyes and trying to convey everything that he feels but can’t say. How much he loves him, how beautiful he is, how he’ll miss him even though he won’t be gone for more than a few days on his own timeline. How he hopes that Harry does wait for him while simultaneously wanting Harry to find happiness however he can. How he hates that he’ll miss five years of Harry’s life, how afraid he is that Harry will have grown into a different man in that time, how he expects it at the same time that he wishes he could prevent it from happening. He slips his arm under Harry’s leg and lifts it, plants his hand on the mattress so that Harry’s knee is to his chest, and pistons his hips, fucking him harder, hitting his prostate, and telling himself that the tears pooling in Harry’s eyes are just a physical reaction and not his sadness at Louis leaving. Resting all of his weight on that hand, he fists Harry’s dick, fast and rough, but lets go and drops his hand to the bed to support his body when his orgasm overtakes him. Harry takes over, steadily stroking himself as Louis erratically thrusts into him, coming inside, making him wet. Louis circles his hips, grinding against Harry’s arse and when his cock rubs against Harry’s prostate again, he comes, clenching around Louis and bringing his arms down to hold Louis and pull him down on top of him completely. With his face against Harry’s neck, Louis can feel where his tears slid down and into his hair. He kisses him, tasting the salt, and kisses him again and again until the tears are gone from his skin. Carefully, Louis pushes himself up and back, pulling out as he sits up to look down at the mess they’ve made. “Shower, baby?” Louis asks quietly and tugs on Harry’s hand until he nods and lets Louis pull him off of the bed. In the shower, they stand under the weak spray and Louis washes Harry from head to toe, stopping to lick him out until Harry’s legs are shaking so much that Louis worries he’ll fall. He stands back up so that they’re face to face, and Harry wraps his hand around them both, wanking them while Louis reaches around and plays with Harry’s hole, fucking his fingers inside gently and making sure he’s completely clean. After they’ve washed, they stay there, clutching at each other. The water of the shower washes away their tears. ∞ His hop uniform has been sitting folded in a drawer for a year and it’s strange to look at it again. He slides it into a shopping bag and shoves his feet into Harry’s shoes for the last time. He’ll leave them, along with the rest of Harry’s clothes that he’s wearing, in one of the lockers. At least he doesn’t have to walk to the facility and Harry can drive him there. It’s all he can muster as far as positive thoughts. Louis heaves a sigh and knocks his knuckles against the passenger window to the low hum of the music, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach that’s causing him to feel slightly lightheaded. It’s not working. He lets his head rest against the seat back and closes his eyes, breathing slowly in an effort to calm himself down. The weight of Harry’s hand on his thigh makes him open his eyes and he lays his hand on top, curling his fingers underneath, but not holding tight. Just knowing he’s there is enough. It’s not a long drive at all, just a few miles, and Harry drives as slowly as he can to still get Louis there by eleven o’clock. Louis and Zayn have discussed it and they’ve decided that three hours is more than enough time for everything that’ll be required of him before the hop to 2023. “Just drive up to the garage?” Harry asks after he pulls off the road towards the facility. Louis nods. “Yeah. Zayn says they’ll be watching the security cameras for your car. They’re supposed to open the bay, you drive in, then we’re supposed to go inside for debriefing…” Harry hums and chews his lip, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. It’s just like an interview of sorts. And you heard Zayn. He promises no more than an hour. Just, um… be honest, answer their questions, and…” Louis trails off when he looks over and sees a tear rolling down Harry’s cheek. “Baby…” “Shhh… I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m just going to miss you. And I don’t like the idea of answering personal questions about us. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” Harry pulls up to the garage door, it slides open, and he drives inside. “Don’t… If they ask anything too personal, tell them to fuck off.” Louis shrugs. “I… I guess we should get out of the car.” The door swings open and Lieutenant Edwards nods and asks, “Tomlinson? Styles?” and when they both answer, she says, “Follow me.” Louis clasps Harry’s hand tightly and leads him into the building, then hands over the bag with his uniform. They trail a few yards behind Lieutenant Edwards through the corridor, upstairs, down another corridor, past the room that Louis stayed in—will stay in, to what look like two offices directly across the hall from each other. “You two may say goodbye out here. Tomlinson, you’ll go across the hall. Styles, you’re in here with me.” She nods again, then disappears behind her closed door. “You okay?” Louis asks quietly, turning to face Harry and grab hold of his other hand. He’s quite obviously not, with tears streaming down his face, but he nods and lets out a watery laugh. “Don’t want you to worry…” Harry sniffles and when his breath catches, throws his arms around Louis’ shoulders, burying his face against his neck. “I’ll be okay. Promise.” Louis holds him, his arms around Harry’s waist and his forehead resting on his shoulder. They stay there, losing track of time, just standing as close as they possibly can, touching from head to toe, breathing in sync. “Love you,” Harry whispers. “Love you so much, baby.” Louis lifts his head and Harry follows suit. “I guess, um… I’ll see you soon?” Harry brings his hands to cradle Louis’ face, tilts his head, and takes one last, slow, sweet kiss, then he nods and steps back, waiting with his hand on the doorknob. Louis reaches for the opposite door, turns the knob, and when Harry waves him on, he goes inside. The debriefing interview lasts almost two hours. Louis is annoyed and tired by the time it’s finished, but at least he knows that Harry was only interviewed for about forty-five minutes, because that’s when Lieutenant Edwards joined in on Louis’ interview. It only bothers him so much because he spends the entire time repeating things he’s talked to Zayn about numerous times. He knows they only want to get everything right, but it’s frustrating. All he can think is that he could’ve had two more hours with Harry. When they’ve finally exhausted themselves of questions, they take him to another room to run tests. The physical tests are the same: a short jog on a treadmill, blood pressure before and after, a few small vials of blood, body temperature, height, and weight. And when he’s finished, the lieutenants lead Louis back downstairs to the locker room, where his uniform is laid out, freshly cleaned in the sterile laundry room on site. There’s a large zippered plastic storage bag where he’s to put Harry’s clothes and shoes that he’s wearing, and a resettable combination padlock that looks oddly familiar. After he’s undressed and folded Harry’s clothes, carefully placing them and his shoes into the bag, Louis reaches for the nearest locker and freezes with his hand in midair. Then he moves his hand one locker over and opens that one instead, setting the combination as Harry’s birthday, and locking it securely. He showers the same way he did the last time, scrubbing his entire body twice over, and drying his hair before getting dressed. The whole time, his mind keeps drifting back to the lock and the fact that he’d seen it before his hop back. He shakes his head and checks the clock on the wall. He has a few minutes before he has to go through the door on the right marked ‘ARRIVAL’, so he sits on the bench and meditates. Or tries to. It’s not that he’s nervous, because he’s past that point and now just feels a sense of resignation. It’s that, as much as he tried over the last few weeks, he hasn’t been practicing as regularly as he used to, so it’s not as easy. Still, he sits until it’s time. The room is almost identical to the departure room, except that it’s missing two major elements. The tube and the table. He wonders what might be in the departure room now, but decides it probably looks the same minus those two things. It’ll be a couple of years before they get to that point and he hopes that he gave Zayn all of the information that they might possibly need to get it right. Instead of the heavy metal tube and table, there’s a simple rectangular aluminum platform about three inches high. Louis crosses the room and looks down on it. “Tomlinson,” Lieutenant Harold says and gestures to the table. “If you’ll lay down, we’ll get started. You’ll need to recite your assignment.” It’s not deja vu because Louis knows it’s standard procedure. It’s just a little bit amusing that he’s basically having the same conversation as he did a year ago. Or five years from now. Louis takes a deep breath and begins, “Louis William Tomlinson, Chrononaut. Mission Two, return trip. Traveling from the Chronoarrival Chamber at zero-two hundred hours, Saturday 13th of October 2018 in Doncaster, UK to the Chronodeparture Chamber at zero-two hundred hours Friday 14th of October 2023 in Doncaster, UK.” “If the mission should go wrong, sir?” He blinks, then closes his eyes, and lets his mind fill with memories of Harry. “If the mission goes wrong, it was nice to meet you, Lieutenants.” Lieutenant Harold nods and says, “It’s an honor, sir. Counting down from five to begin. Five, four, three, two, one.” Louis works to relax his body and mind while they wait. There’s nothing for the lieutenants to do but watch and there’s nothing for Louis to do but hope for the best. The technology transporting him five years into the future isn’t in that room or even in that time. It’s five years in the future, reaching back and pulling him forward in time. At first, the sensations are familiar. Tingling limbs and all of his senses seem distant, but instead of the sudden disappearance of consciousness, all of his senses come back at once. Louis feels nauseated and achy. His body is sore all over, but tolerably so, until excruciating bolts of pain zip through his body and he finds that he can’t move. There’s a faint humming sound that grows louder and louder and Louis wants to cover his ears, but he can’t. He wants to scream, but his mouth and throat are paralyzed, and he wonders what will happen if he does vomit because the nausea is increasing. Lights and colors flash behind his eyelids and then his body feels like it’s being torn apart and burned at the same time. And then it stops. For a blissful few seconds, he feels absolutely nothing, and then the nausea hits him again, along with an agonizing panic because he’s going to be sick. There’s no question. His eyes fly open and he rolls to the side and violently empties his stomach, falls back down and blinks up at the ceiling. A hazy image floats in his vision and he registers it a split second before he passes out. Zayn. ∞ When Louis comes to, he’s in what looks like a hospital room, though he’s almost certain it’s not. There’s an IV in his arm and a catheter in his dick and he’s definitely not happy about it. He feels like absolute shit. Every muscle in his body hurts and he’s exhausted. But he’s alive. He lets his head rest back on the pillow and looks to the side, then pushes the red button by his hand and waits. Two nurses rush into the room, followed by a harried looking Zayn, who stops just inside the door to stare wide-eyed at Louis. “You’re awake,” Zayn says and takes a step closer while the nurses check the IV and Louis’ blood pressure. “I’m awake. I’m alive. Did we do it?” Zayn nods. “You made it. Do you need anything?” “Yeah.” Louis turns to the nurse closest to him and asks, “Can we lose the catheter?” While the nurses take care of removing that and the IV, Zayn steps out of the room, returning with a tray once they’ve finished. “Hungry?” Louis nods and sits up a little. Zayn pushes the tray table over so that Louis can reach it. It’s a bowl of plain porridge and two pieces of toast with a cup of water. “Sorry, mate. You’ve been out for two days. IV fluids only. Have to take it slow. They said you’re fine. Your body is exhausted—” “I could’ve told you that.” Louis takes a bite of toast. It’s better than nothing. “You have to stay for twenty-four hours now that you’re awake. After that, regular food, regular clothes, and we go home.” “Home?” “Florida. Niall’s on his way from Australia now. He and Liam weren’t in as bad shape as you.” Louis nods and tries not to hear what Zayn isn’t saying. “Missed you, mate.” “You have no idea. I feel like I’ve been part of some long-running performance art and I can finally drop the mask.” “It’s weird seeing you all buttoned up.” “Kind of feels like I have a secret identity. I might keep the clothes.” At Louis’ raised eyebrows, Zayn giggles and says, “Kidding, mate. I didn’t know if you’d have memory problems or what, so I figured this is how 2023 Louis knows me.” “So weird… You can get your hand tattoo now.” “Yeah, I guess I can.” Zayn smiles and reaches over to pull Louis into a hug. “We have so much to talk about, but, um… We’ll talk later. You get some rest, if you can.” There’s another short debriefing about the hop forward, but other than that, Louis spends the next twenty-four hours bored out of his mind, eating boring food, finally drinking tea after he begged for it, and actively not thinking about Harry. When they let him out on Wednesday, Zayn walks with him down to the locker room. “Your things are all still in your locker. Glad we decided I needed to follow you out here on the next plane or you would’ve puked on someone else’s shoes.” “Sorry—” Zayn shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. You were only technically gone for an hour, and then you were out for two days. Get a shower, change. I’ll get your bag from upstairs. Text me when you’re done.” “I don’t—” Zayn pulls Louis’ phone out of his pocket and hands it over. “I picked it up from Lieutenant Edwards just before I came to your room.” Louis takes the phone and nods, turning it over in his hands. “I’ll text you.” After showering as quickly as possible, Louis steps back into the locker room with dripping wet hair and a towel around his waist. He turned on his phone just before his shower and left it sitting on the bench and he peers down at it while he finishes drying off. No messages. His clothes are there, but he leaves them alone. Instead he slowly turns the dial on the locked locker next to it, holding his breath until he turns the final number and pulls. The lock falls open and Louis slides it free, opens the door and finds the zippered plastic bag inside. There’s a fine layer of dust on the bag, so he wipes it off with the towel, but if the bag did it’s job, the clothes should be fine. He opens the bag and pulls Harry’s clothes and shoes out, sets the shoes on the bench and sits down with the clothes in his hands, burying his face in them. Five years and they still smell like Harry. Louis dresses in Harry’s joggers and shirt, pulls Harry’s hoodie over his head, and Harry’s socks and shoes onto his feet. Then he takes his own clothes and stuffs them into the plastic bag, unlocks his phone, and sees a text from an unknown number. It’s Zayn. Realized you can’t text if you don’t have my number. Louis texts him back that he’s ready. Zayn meets him in the hall with Louis’ bag in his hand and Louis takes it, opening the top zipper enough to stuff the plastic bag of his clothes inside, then he follows Zayn down the corridor. When they step down into the garage, Louis taps Zayn on the shoulder, and when he turns, Louis throws his arms around Zayn’s neck, overcome with emotions that he’s been too exhausted to experience. Zayn squeezes him tightly and Louis laughs almost hysterically while tears stream down his face onto Zayn’s starched button-down shirt. When he catches his breath, Louis loosens his hold on Zayn, steps back a bit, and yells, “I didn’t die!” Then immediately falls into another fit of uncontrollable laughter. There’s a mixture of relief and exhilaration and regret and sorrow and Louis’ body and mind don’t know how to handle it. “You didn’t die,” Zayn agrees, smiling and laughing. ∞ On the drive to Heathrow, Louis and Zayn discuss plans for a proper celebration later on, but Louis is still tired, so he nods off before they get to the airport. He sleeps through most of the flight to Florida, still sleepy when he gets off the plane, and when Louis steps out of the airport in Orlando, he’s almost knocked over by the heat and humidity. Zayn tells him that he has the rest of the week off, though he will have to come in Friday morning for yet another debriefing, but they’re giving him the time off to recuperate. If he wasn’t so tired, he wouldn’t want it. He still doesn’t really want it because time alone will lead to thoughts of Harry and he’s not sure how much of that he can handle. There’s still no text or call from him and there can only be one reason for that, but Louis is too embarrassed to ask Zayn. After all, he made Zayn swear not to mention Harry if he made it back to 2023, so convinced at the time that Harry would find someone else and give up waiting. Louis wishes he’d called Zayn one last time to change his mind, but it’s too late and he’s too stubborn. Zayn drives him to his flat and offers to help him up the stairs, but Louis waves him off. It’s only one bag and it’s not heavy. He fishes his keys out of the front pocket and turns to looks at Zayn. “Thanks, mate.” “Call me later, yeah?” Louis nods and climbs out of Zayn’s car, then slowly makes his way up the stairs to his flat. Condo. Whatever. As he reaches the door, he realizes that his place is in the same state it was when he left a few days ago. Clothes all over the floor of his bedroom, dirty dishes in the sink, no food in the fridge… Louis sighs. He’ll deal with it later since he has the time off of work. And he’ll order take away tonight. The key slides easily into the lock and there’s a slight pang of loss at the memory of the flat in Donny and the temperamental lock on the door. He pushes it open and hangs his key by the door, drops his bag on the floor, and leans back against the door to close it. All of the lights are on, which is strange, he could’ve sworn he turned them off, but maybe not, since he was in a hurry and half asleep that morning. He bypasses the kitchen and heads for his bedroom, wanting nothing more than to curl up under the duvet and feel sorry for himself and a little angry with Harry. When Louis opens the bedroom door, it’s dark and it takes him a moment to kick off Harry’s trainers, then he opens the bathroom door and screams. Thoughts flash through Louis’ head. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s still recovering from the hop. Maybe he didn’t make it at all. Maybe he’s in the wrong flat. Louis takes a deep breath. “Sorry, mate, sorry. Must have… Must have the wrong flat.” He backs up and shuts the bathroom door, spinning around in confusion because this is his bedroom. The floor is suspiciously clear and the bed is made, but that’s his bed, that’s his duvet, those are the shitty posters of the space shuttles that he hung up on the walls when he got rid of Harry’s framed photographs… The bathroom door opens behind him and he turns around, ready to scream again, but stops and stares at the man in the doorway. “Harry?” “Lou, oh my god…” Harry moves towards him, but Louis can’t speak, completely frozen in place. Harry takes another step and all at once, Louis tries to absorb everything. The last four days of assuming that it was over between them, of thinking that Harry moved on with someone else, of fighting against the heartbreak that wanted to consume him… He was wrong. Harry’s changed so much in five years—short hair and more tattoos, a broader chest, more muscular arms, and that line between his eyebrows is deeper. Louis’ eyes roam over Harry’s face and body and he opens his mouth to speak, but only a broken sob comes out. Their eyes meet and Louis sees that Harry’s crying just as he registers the tears streaming down his own face and they come together, embracing. Harry holds him so tightly that it hurts, but he doesn’t care. With his arms around Harry’s back he can feel his uneven breathing, how his body shakes, and they stand there like that, overcome with emotion and clutching at each other, crying on each other’s shoulders until the tears slow enough that they’re both able to breathe normally again. “You’re here. How?” Louis’ voice comes out scratchy and rough from crying, so he clears his throat and, when he slowly lifts his head, Harry does the same. Harry’s gaze roams over Louis’ face for a moment. “I said I would be. You still didn’t believe—” “You said you’d text and you didn’t. I thought you’d found someone else.” Louis opens his mouth to tell Harry it doesn’t matter, but Harry interrupts him. “I forgot. Shit. I wanted to surprise you. Zayn got your spare key from Liam. And like, he said you’d be here a couple of days ago, but then he called and said that even though you were okay, they were keeping you for a few days. I’ve been going stir-crazy waiting for you.” Harry leans down, rests his forehead against Louis’ and closes his eyes. “I didn’t. I went out on dates every now and then to get everyone off my back, but I didn’t… I could hardly handle it. Felt like cheating. One guy kissed me—a peck on the lips—and I... I just couldn’t… I know you wanted me to try, but I couldn’t, Lou. I’m sorry.” “No, don’t be…” Louis leans back and shakes his head, then brings his hands up to rest on either side of Harry’s neck and finally takes a good look at him. If possible, he’s even more beautiful at twenty-seven than he was at twenty-two and Louis closes his eyes in thanks for the opportunity to be there with him at twenty-seven and, if it’s up to him, the rest of his life. He lifts his hand and combs it through Harry’s wet hair. “Your hair…” “It’s short. I know. I, um… I donated it and then, well…” Harry shrugs. “It looks okay?” “Looks amazing, baby.” Louis glances down and puts a little distance between their bodies when he sees that Harry’s actually standing there naked and still wet from the shower, his towel having fallen to the floor at some point. Though it’s only been a few days on his own timeline, the little changes in Harry’s appearance make Louis want to lay him out on the bed and just drink him in. “You… Are you wearing my clothes?” Harry asks and shuffles back to see. Louis nods. “Five years in a sealed bag and they still smelled like you, so yeah.” Harry smiles at him, so clearly endeared, then he scrunches his nose the way he always does when he’s trying not to act overly fond of Louis. “I missed you. I know that’s like, the obvious thing to say, but, Lou…” “Well, I know technically it’s only been about four days, but I’ve missed you too.” Louis bites his lip and looks down at Harry’s naked body, at the ink that’s been added to his arms and chest. “New tattoos? Tell me about them?” “I have so much to tell you. And I want to hear about you. How did everything go? I, um, I emailed you. The account you set up back then? And I logged into it every now and then so it’d stay valid. But yeah, hundreds of emails. I sort of used them as a way of talking to you. Sorry.” “Don’t be sorry, baby. I can’t wait to read them. I want to know everything. And, um… I’m tired. Everything went okay.” “I… okay, but can you do that later, ’cause, like, I haven’t seen you in five years and I’m dying here.” Harry slips his hands under Louis’ t-shirt and runs them up the sides of his body, over his ribs and around to his back. “Want to touch you.” Harry tugs Louis’ shirt up and over his head and pushes him towards the bed, watching him as he scoots backwards up the mattress. From that distance, and with the waning daylight coming in the window, Louis can see more of Harry’s body and it’s breathtaking. As Harry crawls onto the bed and looms over him, Louis can focus better on the new tattoo in the center of his chest and he gasps, reaching out to touch it. The script is small and the words form a circle around a clock face with no hands. “Praeteritum, praesens, futurum,” Harry says. “Zayn drew it for me.” “Baby…” Louis traces the tip of his finger around it, then looks up to meet Harry’s gaze. “I…” “I love you, Lou. Still, I mean. That’s you. My past, present, future. Always.” Louis stares up at him and Harry’s words are so sincere, so heartfelt, that even though he’s laying on top of him naked, Louis can’t stand to wait another second. “Off. Get off.” He smacks at Harry’s shoulder until he rolls to the side and Louis clambers off of the bed. “What—Are you alright?” Harry asks, frowning up at him, halfway to sitting up. “Stay.” Louis holds a hand up to stop Harry from getting off the bed, then turns and opens his closet. He pushes up onto his toes and feels around in the top of the closet until he finds it. Even though it isn’t breakable, Louis cradles the package in both hands as if it is, carrying it over to set it on the bed in front of Harry. “You still have this?” “I told you I did. Open it.” Louis reaches out and rips at the plain brown paper still wrapping the package he sent to Harry all those years ago. Harry looks from the package to Louis and back again, then he slowly unwraps it. It’s not a large box, just big enough to lie about what’s inside, and it’s stuffed full of packing peanuts that go everywhere as soon as Harry opens the cardboard flap. He rolls his eyes and chuckles quietly, then sticks his hand in to feel around for his six-year-old Christmas gift. It’s a small, rectangular, velvet box and Harry glances up with a grin before he opens it to find the small, square, silver charm attached to a thin silver necklace. He gently lifts it out of the box to inspect it. It’s lovely, Louis knows, because he had it made for Harry. The charm is the Aquarius constellation, filigreed and the stars inlaid with tiny amethyst stones. When he first had it made, Louis planned to send it to Harry for Christmas, saving the other gift to give to him when he came to visit a few months later. After things ended between them, as a last ditch effort, he packed both gifts into the box and shipped them off. “It’s beautiful, Lou. Thank you, but I don’t understand…” “There’s another gift in there. Taped it to the bottom so you’d find it last.” Harry reaches his hand back inside, spilling more packing peanuts onto the bed, until he finds it. It’s a smaller box, and Harry’s eyes go wide when he pulls it free. “Lou…” “Just open it.” Louis taps the top of the box and waits. Slowly, as if he’s expecting something awful to pop out, Harry lifts the lid. It’s a simple silver band with a square cut turquoise stone bezel set in the center. Louis had it made by the same man who made the necklace. “Oh… Louis, it’s beautiful.” Harry’s beautiful. And though he originally intended it as a sort of promise ring, a substitute until he finished his contract with NASA and returned to Harry, he finds that he doesn’t want to wait anymore. “Marry me?” “What?” Harry squawks and fumbles with the ring, almost dropping it, but catching it between both of his hands before it falls. Louis shrugs one shoulder and reaches out to take the ring. “I… I didn’t want to wait.” He holds the ring between his thumb and forefinger and asks, “So… Will you marry me?” “Yes.” Harry lunges at him, knocking him onto his back, and kissing him senseless. Louis grasps the ring tightly so that Harry doesn’t make him drop it and laughs when Harry starts kissing him all over his face. When Harry seems satisfied with the number of kisses he’s given Louis, he sits up and holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers. The ring fits perfectly. Harry grins mischievously and pushes Louis down onto his back. “Gonna suck you off.” With a groan, Louis closes his eyes and then tries to relax while Harry kisses over his chest and ribs and stomach, but he can’t. “Baby. Baby, wait. I want… I want to touch you too.” “You said you were tired.” Harry leans down and blows a raspberry against Louis’ stomach, then yanks his joggers and pants down and gently kisses the head of Louis’ half-hard cock. Louis hums at the touch. “I am, but I want… Turn around and lay down next to me.” “Sixty-nine?” “Yeah, lay on your side.” Louis pats the bed beside him and kicks off his pants and joggers. They arrange themselves so that they’re resting their heads on each other’s legs, and Louis kisses the soft skin of Harry’s inner thigh as he adjusts himself. “Missed you,” Harry mumbles, barely loud enough for Louis to hear, as he cups Louis’ balls and strokes Louis with a loose fist. When Louis looks down his body, he asks, “Were you talking to me or my dick?” “Your dick. But I missed you too. Just… Shh…” Harry sucks the head of Louis’ cock in his mouth and Louis tries not to lose himself to the bliss. He forces his eyes open and wraps his hand around the base of Harry’s cock, then tries to give as good as he gets. It’s been so long for Harry and Louis wants to give him the best blow job of his life to make up for five years without, but it’s hard to concentrate when Harry’s swallowing him down. He moans around Harry’s dick when he feels his own nudge the back of Harry’s throat and the sound must do something for Harry because he bucks his hips. Louis does his best, licking firmly along the underside of Harry’s cock and sucking on the head the way that Harry likes. He strokes Harry’s dick with one hand and tugs on his balls with the other, then presses and massages firmly just behind them before sliding his fingers along Harry’s crack. There’s no lube, but his skin is still damp from the shower, so Louis circles his rim with the pad of his finger, sliding the tip inside when Harry pushes down on it. Harry starts to move faster, bobbing up and down on Louis’ cock, sucking hard on the head before dipping his tongue into the slit, then taking him down again. Louis watches Harry’s balls draw up and pulls back, sucking on the head until he starts to come then lets him slip from his mouth. He closes his eyes and wanks him, as Harry shoots off all over Louis’ face. When Harry finishes, he crawls around, pushes Louis onto his back, and kneels between his legs, jerking him off and staring at the mess across Louis’ cheeks and lips. Louis’ hips stutter up and he whines, coming over Harry’s fist and onto his stomach. “Fuck, Lou. That was so fucking good.” Harry sighs happily and Louis’ body jerks when Harry tongues the tip of his dick. “No, baby, I’ll shower. I’m too… I’m too sensitive.” Louis can’t see him through closed eyes and come on his eyelashes, but he knows Harry’s pouting anyway. “Lead me to the bathroom. I’m blind.” Harry snorts and grabs Louis’ hand, pulling him off the bed and into the bathroom. He cleans Louis’ face while the water heats up and joins him in the shower, even though he just got out. They don’t linger too long because Louis keeps yawning and Harry apparently used most of the hot water earlier, so as soon as they’re clean, they get out and dry off and climb under the covers. “Want to read your emails,” Louis mumbles, his face pressed against Harry’s chest. “Tomorrow.” Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ wet hair and, once again, Louis thinks he should probably get it cut. “We have all the time in the world.” ∞

"Where is he?" Akashi's soft voice danced across the open space. Each person shivered in fear, the pure vicious anger palatable in each word that was spoken. They couldn't even speak for fear of that anger turning on them. Though there was one that finally stood up from the bedside of his 'brother' to just point in the direction. The purple haired giant was ignored after that as Akashi strode by, Murasakibara automatically going to his knees as he passed. Bloodlust was pouring off of him as he finally found the person that had incurred his wrath. "Haizaki, you dared to ignore my orders, but worse than that you hurt one of your brothers. You have been rallying behind my back for a month now and I was lenient because you were one of my first to be changed yet I realize that was too merciful for you. How will you atone for your sins?" Haizaki whimpered as he cowered, but anger and hatred flooded him as he gained strength from his other. He sneered down at Akashi, "Why should you be the King just because you were made first? You are weak giving into your human urges." The others in the room paled at the look of calm fury on Akashi's face. No one had a chance to move before Akashi gripped Haizaki's throat and slammed him into the wall on the other side within a second while baring his fangs. Sounds of struggle came from Haizaki but it was no use, Akashi was absolute. "So you think you are worthy to take my place? Hmm?" Akashi's eyes burned brightly and he slid his finger down Haizaki's face slowly, drawing another whimper from his mouth. "If you think you are so worthy to rule you will get it." Confusion showed in his eyes, Akashi would not simply give up his throne and everyone knew it. "Haizaki you are to hereby be banished to the Witherworld from henceforth until your dying day. No one shall be able to speak your name or look upon your face for fear of death or banishment. You will rot in that wasteland for all eternity. There will be no release of suicide for you for you will not be able to harm yourself." And with that Akashi's claws scraped down over Haizaki's face making him scream in pain and hatred for the one he once called King. "This is the mark of betrayal so everyone will know that you are to not be trusted." Haizaki slumped on the floor once he was released and dragged toward the portal to the Witherworld, where all useless and unwanted things dwell. Once he was thrown through and the portal slammed shut the silence was deafening. A pink haired girl dared come closer to Akashi as he finally relaxed some of his intimidating pressure now that the threat to his throne was dealt with. "Akashi-sama, I do not doubt your knowledge or judgment, but why did you just not strip him of his powers and send him to ash?" Akashi's heterochromatic eyes turned to the girl by his side, the others were behind her still by the bedside but they all had the question reflected in their eyes. "We may be monsters, but we are not monsters enough to hurt our own. Haizaki will face his fate in time, but first I want him to suffer, death is too easily a release. All in good time Momoi." They turned back to face the others, Murasakibara was still sipping on his vile of blood while Midorima was looking over Aomine who was still breathing heavily and in the throws of the sickness called blood poisoning. There was a long scar from his left shoulder all the way down to his right hipbone. It would heal in all good time but the thought of one of his own hurting another put more fire to his anger, but Akashi suppressed it. Kuroko appeared by his side and waited for Akashi's nod before giving him the report, "Kise-kun has just returned from the New World. He spoke of a brewing war between the two ruling factions; his estimations put it as another year before it comes to blows. We may have to set up limitations of immigrants. What are your orders?" Akashi faced away from them to look over the balcony of his mansion, "Set up the limitations you suggested Tetsuya, but leave the path open for those who have family here or relatives. Also for the pureblood vampires, it would not be good to hurt our relations to the factions, but they must come under the orders that they cannot create violence here. Tell Ryouta to pull out his emissaries from the New World; there is no need for them to be there any further. We will not be providing anything for factions at war as per our laws." "Very well sire." Kuroko nodded and disappeared after looking towards Aomine to confirm that he was still as well as he could be. "How is Aomine, Midorima?" Midorima pushed his glasses up his nose before answering, "He is as well as expected. The blood poisoning is slowly disappearing, but it is still up to Aomine whether he can last long enough for it to leave his system. We have been steadily feeding him blood but he still rejects it. His outcome is out of my hands." The red eyes narrowed on Aomine's trembling form. "He will pull through. Well done Shintarou." They all sighed in relief, if Akashi said he would pull through he would, he was absolute after all.   On the other side of the world in Witherworld lightning flashes on the horizon as a figure stole across the ground picking up random things as he went. Garbage and blood was splattered all around and shacks and dwellings of random creatures littered the area. A groan was heard and the figure paused in his ministrations. He crept closer to the sound and to his immense surprise he found a form of a man with cornrows and high-end clothing with the mark of betrayal slashed into his face. "Ooo, someone was naughty," the figure giggled. "You may be useful to me, someone must've been very angry with you." His pale green eyes flashed in the failing light as he picked up the figure to take back to his run down lair. As he set him down on the table his eyes flashed open and he growled at the figure standing over him. His claws and fangs came out as he tried to attack but shackles were holding him there. "Release me." The figure giggled in amusement, "All in good time, Haizaki."

There was a cluster of cadets in the square as Uhura exited the computer science building. This wasn’t unusual, not by a long shot, but instead of the shouts and teasing that would normally come from a group of what was essentially a bunch of jumped-up college students, they all seemed faintly uneasy, exchanging quick glances and whispers.   She had fifteen minutes before she was supposed to meet Gaila in the library, might as well make the most of it. Just as she managed to gently push her way into the loose circle, she noticed the sniffling little girl stuck at the center.   She’d be more annoyed if it wasn’t obvious that the kid was panicking. Apparently the best and brightest of StarFleet couldn't handle a crying kid. She rolled her eyes at the nearest Cadet, who looked torn between stepping forward and running to the nearest building for cover. How were these idiots supposed to operate in a crisis, goddess above .   Nyota took a step forward, noticing out of the corner of her eye another Cadet doing the same, crouching before the little girl and removing his hat so that they were eye to eye.   “Hello there Ma’am. Are you looking for a particular building?” She was not surprised that Jim Kirk was taking charge of the situation. Frankly, he usually stepped up before things, whether it was a training sim or a party, got out of hand. But she hadn't expected him to be good with kids. She didn't expect any cadet to be good with kids, since mostly they were overgrown teenagers themselves.   But the little kid wiped her eyes again and mumbled “I’m not a Ma’am,” sniffling into her palms again.   Kirk rocked back on his heels, letting his blue eyes go wide. The result was an almost comical expression of surprise, “You mean you aren’t an officer of StarFleet?” he rounded out the display with a hand pressed against his heart, looking like he might faint away in surprise. She could admit that he was non-threatening and friendly, even if he was clearly laying it on thick. The kid giggled at his antics, shaking her head no even as tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes.   “Well you must be someone important. Are you a doctor? A scientist?,” the girl kept giggling at each ridiculous suggestion, and he finally leaned forward as if he was going to tell her a secret. “Are you the lost princess of Mars?” The girl clapped her hands over her mouth, laughing so hard her eyes squeezed shut and the last of her tears ran down her cheeks. She was, objectively, adorable.   “No,” she almost shouted, “I’m Elise!”   Jim grinned at her and held out his hand. “Well Elise, I’m Jim. It's nice to meet you”   Elise shook his hand very seriously, “it’s a pleasure to meet you Cadet Jim.” Jim squinted at her and tilted his head. “ Saaaay Elise, are you sure you’re not an officer?”   Elise started playing with one of her pigtails. “No, my grandpas an’nad - n’Admiral. His office was around the corner but I got lost and couldn’t find it again cuz I wanted a snack from the repl’cator but he only has coffee in his office one.”   Jim nodded along, very serious. “I see. You had a snack emergency. What’s your grandpas name, maybe I know where his office is.”   Around her, the cadets started drifting away. There wasn’t a lot of free time at the academy, no doubt they were glad someone else was dealing with the problem and would rush off to their next classes. To their credit, a few took the time to glance back over their shoulders, but most seemed happy to let Kirk deal with this on his own and took off as fast as humanly (and sometimes otherwise) possible.   “Grandpa Archer has a big office in a building with lotsa windows, near the water.” She hadn’t known Admiral Archer had a granddaughter, but really, it made sense. Although she suspected a kid this young would be a great-grandaughter, at the very least.   Kirk, for his part, didn’t react to the name. Despite Archer being everyone's hero, not to mention the best person to be impress by returning a wayward grandchild to. He looked around, seeming oddly nervous for someone who would be getting thanked by the Admiral Archer in a few minutes. He relaxed slightly when he noticed that the only person left hanging around was Uhura, but he still gave her a heavy glance, eyelids low over his calculating blue stare. She felt like he was measuring her for something, and the slight nod as he turned away was the only indication that she had, apparently, passed.   “I bet you’re grandfather is getting worried. Do you want to call him?”   Call him? She didn’t think Archer gave his comm to Cadets. Actually she knew he didn't give his comm frequency to cadets. Plenty of her classmates had tried. She wasn't sure what they thought they would do with it, but they had tried. They usually got instructions to walk his dog and a pat on the head for their troubles. Incidentally, Uhura liked Admiral Archer.   Kirk already had his comm open and dialing.   “Jim,” Admiral Archer sounded frantic, “Jim, now is not the time, I need you to -”   “Hey Uncle Archie! Look who I found!”   Wait - Uncle Archie???   It was impossible to forget that Jim was a legacy, that the Kirks had been in StarFleet almost as long as it had existed. But then again, Kirk was never the one who reminded anyone. No, now that she thought about it, it was always the professors and other cadets and visiting lecturers who made sure to point that out. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised, given that Jim himself wasn't interested in spreading his connections around, even when he clearly had them. But still, Uncle Archie ?   Elise was smiling and waving at the screen. “Hi Grandpa! Cadet Jim found me cuz I got a little bit losted on the way back to your office but he said he understood that it was snack emergency and that you would also, it really was, I was hungry, but I’m sorry I got lost and made you worry and he says I should apologize and then you'll take me for ice cream…”   Uhura hid a smile at the way Elise was rambling at her clearly very, very relieved Grandfather, and at the way she gave killer puppy eyes in the hopes for a treat, despite having wandered off.   “Maybe - “ Jim interrupted gently, “I said maybe he’ll have time to take you for ice cream, when his meetings are over”   Elise sighed in the overly dramatic way only little kids can, all wide eyes and bottom lip hanging out. “Oh-kaaay. But Grandpa, all your meetings are so boring.” She brightened suddenly, and Uhura knew, the same way she knew this kid had Admiral Archer wrapped around her pinky finger, that someday Elise would make a fantastic negotiator. “Hey Cadet Jim, you can take me! Right Grandpa? Cadet Jim can get me ice cream!”   And, yup, wrapped around one pudgey pink finger, Admiral Archer melted. “Well, Elise, I’m not sure Jim has time right now, you know that being in StarFleet is pretty busy..”   Jim, for his part, just laughed. “It’s ok, I have a free class now. I’m sure I can drop off these padds with Cadet Vro and take Elise for some ice cream”   Both the Admiral and Elise perked up, giving Kirk the same happy wide eyed expression. “Thanks Jim, I’ll comm you when this is done, shouldn’t be more than an hour.”   Which was how Uhura found herself teaching Orion nouns to an excitable five (and a Half!) year old while Jim and Gaila giggled over their pronunciations and shared a giant banana split. But that’s another story.

  After ringing her and asking her to come over he gets started on yet more oatmeal raisin cookies— which, ok, bribery. He can’t even pretend it’s anything otherwise. Like, worst case scenario if she decides she doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore because of the Billy thing she might change her mind if he offers to make her cookies all the time, right? They are good. He’s not just kidding himself. Is he? No. No. He could almost believe the others were just being nice, but Billy— When Robin arrives it’s to the smell of cookies in the oven and a cup of coffee all ready for her. He admires her for a moment— not in a creepy boy way— just in a happy to see her way. Her fashion choices now that they’re free of the terrible Scoops uniform continue to be both practical and cool in ways he’d never have thought of. Like today— black jeans, a t-shirt with some band he’s never heard of’s logo on the front— and she’s got what looks like the spiky black collar of what must be the tiniest, fiercest chihuahua ever wrapped around the bun on her head. Wow. If she hates him after this— He is not sure he’ll be able to cope. He sits her down at the table— ‘Ok, dingus. What’s wrong? You look like someone just gave you a puppy— only to take it off you and run it over in front of you instead.’ His face scrunches up automatically at the image. He can’t look that bad. He’s pretty sure that he— like every sensible person— would either be crying on the floor or chasing the puppy murderer with his bat at that point. ‘Don’t be mad at me—’ is how he begins. Because that is the number one concern he has right now. ‘Ok, that is not how I want to hear a sentence start— ever. What’s wrong Stevie? Is it Tommy H. and Carol—? You didn’t— did you?’ ‘No, it’s not—’ what, is she thinking they came around and he accidentally sucked Tommy’s dick or something again? ‘No. No— I think they’re still—’ he shrugs, kind of uncomfortable. Avoiding him. Yeah, aside from Carol in the Big Buy looking at him like he’s filth she just scraped off her shoe— fuck. Also, why the hell did Tommy attack Billy? Talk about suicidal. Tommy’s a lot of things but he’s actually not stupid. His grades are like— almost up there with Nancy’s— Enough avoidance. ‘You know how I’m bisexual?’ She nods. ‘Don’t worry, I have not forgotten that Steve Harrington is a bisexual.’ ‘Ok, but maybe can you not be like that about it—’ when she’s all Steve Harrington is a bisexual/can cook/is an amazing dweeb/likes, like, the worst Queen songs he always feels like Steve Harrington is someone that he’s never met before and probably wouldn’t want to hang out with him anyway. ‘Um—’ probably best to get it over with, ‘—IhavethestupidestcrushonBillyandIdon’tknowwhattodobecauseheisseriouslysoconfusing—’ He sees her brows twitch, eyes flicking back and forth as she tries to work out what he just blurted, before— ‘Ah.’ Wait— She does not look surprised. ‘What do you mean “Ah”?’ he demands. ‘Do you want me to pretend I didn’t notice?—‘ she asks, tilting her head and looking at him, ‘Because that’s what I originally planned to do, but I seem to have— Ok. I blew it. I admit it.’ His brain kind of stalls for a minute before suddenly all he can think is if she noticed what if Billy noticed too— and then he starts panicking. He says— something— but honestly she’s probably got as much of an idea as he does at this point, and he has no idea what the collection of blurted syllables that just escaped his mouth actually mean— It takes her a moment to work out what he’s panicking about, but then she immediately rushes to reassure him that just because she noticed doesn’t mean Billy has any clue. ‘You’d know if he knew, Stevie trust me, you would know—’ she keeps saying. She’s right, of course, because Billy would kill him— but when he tells her that she just laughs at him. ‘No, no— Stevie don’t look like that—’ she manages in between chuckles. ‘—He wouldn’t kill you. I mean— I don’t think he’d kill you— it’s more that I don’t think he’d know what to do, like, at all. I think it’d break him—' Which— actually, that kind of hurts. And she must see that, because she keeps trying to say she doesn’t mean it like that— but then not explaining how she does mean it. The cookies are soon ready, so he can distract himself getting them out of the oven, shifting each one to the cooling racks with kind of jerkier than he’d like movements. He kind of wishes he hadn’t invited Robin over— Then she’s wrapping her arms around him from behind and saying, ‘Sorry Stevie’ softly, with her face buried in his still unstyled hair. ‘You’re right though,’ he concedes. ‘He wouldn’t know how to handle it. It’d— He’d be so disgusted. Creeped out. He’d think I was— a pervert and a freak and—’ She snorts out a breath against the side of his neck, still hanging off him. ‘Who cares what that jerk thinks? What do you see in him anyway? He’s like, psycho— you heard what he did to— actually, no, now is probably not the best time to— or ever— but— um— yeah, I mean, I know everyone thinks he’s hot— but it’s not just you being shallow, is it?’ she sounds almost hopeful. He shrugs, hiding behind his hair, trying to avoid her gaze on the side of his face. She pokes him in the ribs, making him squirm. ‘Come on Stevie, tell your aunt Robin why you think that Hargrove boy is so dreamy—’ a pause and then she shudders. ‘Wow— that was just— a dead on impression of my aunt Marge. I did not know I could do that.’ He grabs one of the cookies and waves it at her. ‘If you stop asking about Billy I’ll give you a cookie—’ he offers. ‘You’ll give me one anyway, don’t kid yourself,’ she says, and, ok, he does, but that’s just because she snatches it from his grasp and he lets her have it in the hope that if she’s stuffing her face she’ll forget he basically invited her over to tell her he has a crush on Billy and now doesn’t want to talk about it. She leans against the counter next to him as he transfers the rest of the cookies to the cooling rack, snatching another one when she’s finished the first. He still can’t quite look at her. He feels kind of guilty and wrong and sick. He doesn’t want to break Billy— The next thing he knows she’s waggling a white cylinder under his nose and his brain is thinking, what, weed? but before he can snatch it from her she’s pulling it back out of his reach. ‘Nah-uh,’ she says. ‘This— and the others— are getting lit only when you give me even one good reason why Billy Hargrove is worth having a crush on.’ He makes a plaintive noise at her. It’s been— ages. He has missed getting high— but Carol used to be the one who’d buy it for the three of them and after he’d suddenly found himself in the awkward position of being too much of a loser for any of the cool kids to seem to want to sell to, and too much of a “cool kid” to know which of the so-called losers to ask. Anyway, he’s got his parents’ wine cellar, all the bottles he’s rescued and hidden, all that cheap but good wine from strange little European vineyards no one has ever heard of that his mother buys and then his father demands be removed from the house before someone sees and thinks he can’t afford the good stuff. ‘Come on Stevie, tell me—’ she teases, waggling the joint at him. ‘Robin,’ he whines, making gimme hands. She does not relent. She doesn’t even hand it over when he offers to trade her for a cookie— though she does look a bit torn— and in the end he blurts out something like, ‘I don’t know, sometimes he’s nice to me.’ He is, that’s the thing. The worst thing. Like— part of him thinks it would be enough to have someone who was sometimes nice to him, who’d hold him like Billy did the night before— not all the time, that’s probably asking too much really— who wouldn’t call him names and would acknowledge they were a thing and wouldn’t tell him he’s bullshit or cheat on him— and maybe who would let him get them off every now and then. It’s been feeling more and more like expecting anything more is— yeah. Probably not going to happen. That would be about as good as he’s ever had it anyway. He could feel Nancy was one step out the door pretty much their entire relationship— and God, it used to make him feel sick sometimes— and the stuff with Tommy and Carol— ‘That can’t be it,’ she says, looking at him with big, kind of sad, eyes. ‘He beat your face in, and even if he didn’t he’s not that nice— you can’t just like him because he’s nice to you. That can’t be what nice to you looks like— I’m nicer to you— not that I mean— you know what I mean— Surely he can’t be so much nicer to you than, like, everyone else. Come on. Give me another reason—’ He shrugs, but doesn’t go into the way that Billy has been so much nicer to him than almost everyone recently. Ok, not her, but— There’s too much— There’s stuff he doesn’t want to say out loud, or admit to her, there. So, what’s another reason he has a crush on Billy—? ‘He smells nice?’ he offers. ‘He’s— even you admitted he’s hot.’ ‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to lick him or anything,’ she says, face scrunching up at the thought. He feels himself go red. Mind going places he never wants to tell her about. Thinking about Billy’s dick— and it is such a nice dick. It’d probably feel really good in his mouth— He feels his own twitch. Blood headed where he doesn’t want it right now— At least the terror had kept it at bay last night and this morning, but without Billy in front of him to remind him of why it is such a bad idea— Even as scared as he was part of him had kind of wanted to, when Billy was still asleep, still wrapped around him, dick hot and hard under his thigh— but aside from the fact that Billy would have pretty much murdered him the moment he woke up, that’s not the sort of thing you should ever do without asking. Without them saying yes— You’d think that would be obvious, but then you’d also think he’d never had to help remove guys from parties who hadn’t gotten the message. Thinking about stuff like that makes him tense. Tenser. So he tries, ‘And he’s got, you know, nice hands,’ in case that’ll convince her to hand over the weed. She gives him a look. ‘What’s so nice about them? They just look like hands to me.’ Big, strong hands with broad palms, short nails, and practical fingers. The kind of hands that look like they can do things. Things like fix the sink or move furniture or chop wood for the fireplace instead of calling someone in to do it— Manly hands. Billy’s so strong. Billy’s— ‘Robin, come on,’ he whines. ‘I have given you—’ he thinks back, counting, ‘Four reasons why I think Billy is hot— hand over the weed.’ ‘I said one good reason—’ she begins, before relenting, ‘But I suppose four not really good reasons might as well count as one good one.’ They take some of the cookies with them into the den, curling up together on the couch while she fusses with the joint and a well-used book of matches, the striker almost worn bare. It makes him think of Billy’s Zippo— the effortless cool of the way he lights his endless cigarettes. He groans, resting his burning face against her shoulder. She manages to get the joint lit, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and waving it at him once she’d done with it. He takes it from her, shaking his head when she asks, ‘You wanna put on some music or something?’ Hah. If anything he kind of wants to fucking disappear right now— He hates the thought of being something that could break someone, anyone, but Billy— Funny. He’s never really been ashamed of liking guys before. He probably just didn’t think about it, think it through— Later they’re on the floor, Queen on the stereo—because he’s boring, ok Erica, he gets it— and she curls herself around him and keeps telling him she didn’t mean it, not like that, that she’s sorry, and he tells her it’s ok, because it is. It’s all ok. He’s ok.

  -- / 03 / 2017   “Come on Jihoonie, please!” Seungcheol lifted his head as he heard Jun whining from the living room, taking off his shoes and closing the front door behind himself. “No way.” Jihoon quickly replied. “I told you, I’m not doing it.” “But it’ll be fun!” The taller complained while Seungcheol slowly made his way into the apartment, spotting the two on the couch. Jihoon sat on one end with his laptop, while Junhui took over the rest of the couch, half draped onto Jihoon while his other half stretched over the cushions. “Maybe for you.” Jihoon frowned, looking back at the other. “For me it’ll just be one long headache.” “No, you’ll like it! I promise.” The older insisted. “I mean, it’ll be hard at first but it’ll be worth it!” “…Do I wanna know?” Seungcheol asked out from where he stood by Jun’s feet, the two of them now looking up at him. Not to be misunderstood, he fully supported his two friends together. In fact, it was about time. But there were some things he’d rather not know about. “Get your mind off the gutter.” Jihoon grunted, while Jun looked like the innuendo clearly went over his head. “It’s nothing like that.” “I’m trying to convince Jihoon to give me hacking lessons.” The taller replied with a smile that reached his eyes. “Hacking lessons?” Seungcheol’s brows furrowed with the question, his hands slipping into the front pockets of his jeans. “I told him that’s not a thing.” Jihoon mumbled, the stubbornness showing in his tone. “But you could make an exception for me!” Junhui whined once again. “Please, Jihoonie. It’s so boring here. I wanna help with something.” He tried to make his point by tugging on the boy’s sleeve. It didn’t look very effective, though. Now that made sense. Seungcheol hadn’t even thought much about it, but Jun couldn’t train while he was still recovering. In fact, he couldn’t do a lot of things, according to Joshua. The leader was sure part of it was just him being overprotective, but Seungcheol really couldn’t judge anyone for that. “Why don’t you ask Wonwoo?” Jihoon suggested, looking at the taller. “Because I wanna spend time with you!” Seungcheol smirked at how the hacker clearly tried to keep a straight face, though his blush sold him out. “Plus, Wonwoo said something like ‘I value my mental stability too much for that’ or some shit.” “Then go ask Seokmin to teach you medicine or something.” Jihoon shrugged lightly, almost getting Junhui off his shoulder, yet that didn’t seem like enough to push him away. “Jihoonie, be realistic.” Jun frowned slightly. “I can’t learn medicine in weeks.” “And you can learn hacking?” Jihoon raised a brow, clearly offended. “I don’t know, I can at least learn how to read those number thingies or something.” Seungcheol could’ve sworn he saw Jihoon physically cringing at that. “Hyung, please.” Jihoon looked up at him with pleading eyes, and for Jihoon to call him hyung, he must’ve been truly desperate. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” The leader shrugged, trying not to laugh at the shift from shock to pure betrayal in Jihoon’s stare. “I’m being serious! I mean, it wouldn’t be bad if we all tried to learn a bit more, you know?” “No, I don’t know.” Jihoon’s stubbornness was letting itself be known again in his frown and slightly raised voice. “Do you mean like, teaching each other stuff?” Junhui asked with a blink. “Yeah, exactly. Like, I could learn a bit of thieving, and maybe some of the guys could learn some fighting.” Seungcheol explained, bringing a hand up to scratch the side of his neck. “It’s good to know those kinds of things just in case something happens, you know?” Jihoon pursed his lips, clearly struggling between keeping his opinion or admitting Seungcheol was right. “I guess that wouldn’t be an entirely bad idea.” The younger finally granted, in his own way. “Good.” Seungcheol grinned proudly. “I’ll gather a meeting later to let the guys know.” “Awesome! Does that mean you can teach me now?” Junhui asked once again, smile beaming and warm in Jihoon’s direction. The younger was about to deny, Seungcheol could see it, but he settled with a sigh and a glare in the leader’s direction. “I hate you.”     ——     “Alright!” Soonyoung cheered, clapping his hands once. When Seungcheol had told them about learning and teaching new skills, Soonyoung had honestly been quite excited. He was one of the few who was actually looking forward to it, but still, he stood by his opinion. He’d have the chance to teach thieving to the others, and that seemed like a lot of fun. What could go wrong, anyway? “Thieving is very simple.” Soonyoung began, puffing out his chest proudly. “Figures, since you do it.” Jihoon mumbled, Hansol and Jeonghan snickering at his remark. “As I was saying,” Soonyoung cleared his throat, sending a sharp stare at his shorter friend. “Thieving is very simple, but it requires a lot of skill. Finesse, if you please.” Soonyoung nodded, brows pushed together in determination. “Finesse?” Hansol raised a brow, incredulous. “Of course!” Soonyoung gestured as he spoke, adding flare to his presentation. Alright, maybe he was enjoying this a bit too much, but that wouldn’t hurt anyone. “You need to be as light as a bird, as quick as a cheetah, as cunning as a…” He wet his lips as he tried to remember the metaphor, ignoring the bored stares aimed at him. “Stone fish!” “Stone fish?” Jeonghan raised a brow, incredulous. “Yes! They’re those fish who hide pretending to be a stone, then BAM!” He clapped his hand again, startling Hansol. “They eat whatever passes by.” “How does that have anything to do with thieving?” Jihoon questioned now, leading Soonyoung to shake his head. “Oh, Jihoon, my poor, naive little friend.” Soonyoung sighed, pitying the other’s lack of knowledge. “Little?” The shorter frowned, making Soonyoung gulp. Alright, maybe he got a little bit carried away. He could reel it back. “I just mean, you need to work with your environment.” Soonyoung explained. “Camouflage, blend in.” “Can’t we just get started already?” Jeonghan complained, but Soonyoung took it as his way of showing initiative. “Of course!” Soonyoung grinned brightly, nodding quickly as he called them over to the back of their training gym. There, he had a small set up with four metal rods of about his height, placed in the form of the corners of a square around a small table, with about 12 feet between each other. On that table was a small and quite humanoid plush toy. “Is that Bongbong?” Jeonghan frowned slightly. The Bongbong he referred to was a creation of Mingyu’s to serve as their mascot. “Yes, you must rescue Bongbong!” Soonyoung nodded proudly. “Rescue him from what?” Hansol blinked a couple of times, looking around. Ah, he was so, so glad he asked. With a mischievous grin and an over the top gesture, he pressed the switch on one of the metal beans, activating what looked like a whole set of lasers surrounding the small round table. “Lasers!” “Seriously?” Jihoon raised a brow. “How did you even set this up?” “Woonwoo helped me.” Soonyoung smiled, rubbing his hands together. “And yes, seriously. We face them far more often than we wished, so it’s only fair we start with them.” “But hyung, won’t we like, get burnt or something?” Hansol asked in concern, though Soonyoung quickly shook his head. “No no, Hansolie, don’t worry. These are just lights, they can’t do anything. But if you touch any of them, a buzzer will sound and you’ll have to start over.” “Alright, sounds fun.” The younger gave off that 200 watt smile, showing off his eagerness. See, this is why he liked Hansol. “Great!” Soonyoung clapped once again, not noticing the annoyance in Jihoon’s expression. “Whoever gets Bongbong will get a prize.” Hansol seemed to already start analyzing the lasers, seeing where was the best place to enter the string figure of green lights. Soonyoung smiled to himself before spotting Jeonghan still standing in the same place. Jihoon seemed to be looking around as well, so Soonyoung would let them try it out first before giving any advice. “Aren’t you gonna try it out, hyung?” Soonyoung asked the older, to which the boy only shrugged. “Nah.” Jeonghan sighed. “Looks like too much effort.” “But- Like, it’s for you to learn new things!” Soonyoung tried to make it sound exciting. “What if you get to a room and it’s all lasers?” “Then I’ll find another way.” Jeonghan shrugged. “But there might not be another way.” Soonyoung pointed out, looking back at the buzzing he heard. Hansol had touched one of the lights, apparently. “So I’ll just get someone else to get the thing for me.” Jeonghan reasoned, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. “What if a guard shows up or something?” Soonyoung licked his lips, hearing the buzzing once again. And once again, Hansol was the culprit. “Then I’ll convince them to get it for me.” The eldest insisted, as if it was the obvious answer. “How will you get a guard to get it for you?” Soonyoung frowned, growing annoyed at the other’s resistance. And at the constant buzzing. Okay, Hansol clearly needed some help. “If you have to ask that, you clearly don’t know my skills.” Jeonghan frowned in returned, sounding a bit insulted. Alright, Soonyoung understood where he was coming from. Jeonghan could probably lie his way out of any situation, but Soonyoung would never admit that. Especially not now. “Then why did you show up if you didn’t wanna learn?” Soonyoung asked with a groan, followed by another buzz. Seriously? “I thought you’d teach us how to pick pocket or some shit. This is too much work.” The older gestured at the cage of lasers. “Plus, Cheol made me choose between thieving and fighting, and there’s no way I’m risking harming this beautiful face.” Soonyoung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine, hyung, but can you just-“ “Here.” Jihoon shoved Bongbong against him, making Soonyoung blink as he took the doll. “What’s the prize?” “Wait,” The thief paused for a moment before smiling brightly. “Jihoonie, that’s incredible! How did you do it?” The younger shrugged, acting nonchalant. “I deactivated the lasers.” “You de- What?” Soonyoung blinked yet again, looking back at the table. Indeed, all the lights were turned off now, and Hansol was standing a couple of feet away from the table with a disappointed pout. “Yah, Jihoon-ah!” Soonyoung groaned, looking back at his friend. “What? I got Bongbong.” Jihoon reasoned, and Soonyoung chose to ignore the grin on Jeonghan’s face. “But you were supposed to go through the lasers!” The thief whined, clutching the doll to his chest as if it was the only one he could trust. “You didn’t specify that.” Jihoon shrugged once again. “You just said who got Bongbong got the prize, and I got Bongbong. Does it really matter how?” “But it’s not– the point wasn’t– Aaahh!” Soonyoung groaned in despair before finally giving in, reaching inside his jacket to hand out the chocolate bar. “Fine, just take it.” He grumbled, pushing his black hair back. That wasn’t all he had prepared, they had a few exercises ahead of them. But between Hansol’s inability, Jeonghan’s laziness and Jihoon’s stubbornness, Soonyoung had to admit he was a little bit less excited.     ——     Cooking wasn’t exactly a required skill for what they did, but it was certainly something that needed to be taught within their group. There were about three of them that could cook properly, Mingyu included, and there were some of them who shouldn’t even be allowed in the kitchen. Needless to say, they needed more cooks. Thankfully, both Chan and Seokmin looked eager to learn. That made Mingyu a bit more confident, tying his light purple apron behind his back. “Okay, so we’re gonna learn how to make japchae today.” Mingyu grinned brightly, straightening out his apron as a way to keep his nerves under control. “It’s a simpler recipe, not so much in it so it’s pretty easy to make.” “Awesome!” Chan returned his smile, visibly excited. “Alright. First, we need to marinate the meat for a bit. Kyeommie, can you cut the stake? It’s gotta be thin.” Mingyu asked, handing him the chopping board with the meat and a sharp knife. His friend nodded determinedly, placing the cutting board on the counter and beginning to cut the slices. He was a bit slow, but there was no hurry. “Dino, you can start making the sauce, okay?” Mingyu asked as he turned to put the pot of water to boil to speed things up. “It’s one clove of garlic, one tablespoon of sugar, two tablespoons of soy sauce…” “Wait, slow down a bit hyung,” Chan asked, taking a glass bowl to start pouring in the ingredients Mingyu told him to. “How much soy sauce?” He asked again. “Two tablespoons.” Mingyu repeated. “And one tablespoon of sesame oil. Then you can just mix it all together with a spoon or something.” The older instructed. “Seokmin, how’s it going?” He decided to ask, stepping over to his friend’s side. “Okay, I think, just… Is the beef supposed to bleed this much?” Seokmin asked, glancing back at Mingyu. “Bleed?” Mingyu raised a brow, noticing the vibrant red liquid running down the other’s hand. “Uuh, Kyeommie… I think that’s your finger.” “Oh, okay.” Seoming nodded a couple of times, taking a moment to fully understand what exactly was going on. “Oh, oh!” Only then did his eyes widened, bringing his hand up and looking back at the cook. “What do I do?” “I don’t know, you’re the doctor–“ Mingyu blurted out. It didn’t look that bad, and given the other hadn’t even noticed the cut, it probably didn’t hurt so much either. Still, Mingyu felt a bit guilty for making him cut the meat. “Oh, right!” Seokmin nodded quickly, heading to the sink to wash off the blood. Mingyu followed him, noticing the small cut on the tip of his right index finger. Good, it really wasn’t that bad. Mingyu left the other by the sink to get the first aid kit from the cabinet on the corner. “Dino, can you put the noodles in the water? Careful not to burn yourself.” He asked as he got a band-aid for Seokmin, the other mumbling a small “thanks” as he put it over the cut. “Yeah, sure.” The youngest once again did as he was told before joining the other two, leaning over the counter next to the sink. “You okay hyung?” “Yeah Channie, I’m fine, don’t worry.” Seokmin smiled brightly, though it quickly shifted into a small pout. “But we can’t use the meat now, can we?” “Not unless your a fan of your own blood.” Mingyu chuckled, patting the other’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we can do it without the meat.” the tallest reassured him, heading back to the stove to take a look at the pasta. “I’ll go chop the veggies. Can one of you stir the noodles so they won’t stick?” Dino nodded and followed the other’s instructions once again. With the three working together, and more carefully now, it didn’t take long before the whole dish was done. Despite their first incident, it all went pretty smoothly. Sure, there were a few bumps, like how Mingyu had noticed Dino had thrown an actual entire clove of garlic into the sauce instead of mincing it first. It was okay, it was his own fault for not telling the younger anyway. Still, once they were done, it did look like japchae. They called Jihoon, Jisoo and Seungkwan over to try the final result, the three eagerly sitting around the kitchen table. Mingyu wasn’t sure if they were excited for them or simply hungry. Probably the latter. “Here you go.” Seokmin beamed as he put down the bowl of japchae in front of the three along with the metal tongs. Chan placed a small plate in front of each, allowing them to serve themselves. While the three tried the food, the other three waited, Mingyu picking at the skin around his nails. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, he had barely done much of the cooking. Well, he had done more than he originally intended. However, it was Chan and Seokmin’s dish. It was their achievement. “It’s good.” Jisoo nodded lightly, pressing his lips together. He didn’t look that excited about it, though. “Yeah, it’s uh, unique.” Seungkwan added, yet he too didn’t seem to be eating much more. In fact, the only one who was still eating was Jihoon. “Unique?” Mingyu raised a brow. “It’s the same recipe is always. Just minus the meat.” “Yeah, sorry about that.” Seokmin chuckled, showing the bandaid on his finger. “Oh, yeah, of course. It’s good, hyung.” Seungkwan nodded, eating more of the food. Yet this time Mingyu actually saw him struggling to keep it down. “Okay, what’s wrong with it?” The tallest frowned, leaning over the table a bit and stealing Jisoo’s chopsticks to try some of the food. As soon as the pasta touched his tongue, he knew something was wrong. It was… Salty. Extremely salty. At least for japchae. “What the-“ The cook licked his lips. “I don’t get it. You put sugar in, right Chan?” The youngest nodded quickly as Mingyu looked back at him. “Yeah, I even put in a bit more because I like it a bit sweeter.” Chan admitted with a sheepish grin. “Are you sure it wasn’t salt?” Jihoon asked, finally looking up from his bowl. Why he was still eating was beyond Mingyu. “Yeah, I took it from the blue tupperware.” Chan blinked. “….You mean the purple one, right?” Mingyu asked. Because the blue one was the salt, it had been that way since the beginning of times. “Uuh, no. The purple one, next to the rice.” Mingyu couldn’t help but groan out loud then, head hanging back. “Chan, that’s the salt!” Everyone knew that was the salt. Or everyone would know, if Mingyu wasn’t the only one in that whole damn apartment who actually cooked. “…Oh.” The youngest pressed his lips before letting out a small chuckle. “Sorry?” Mingyu groaned once again, taking off his apron and throwing it on the floor in resignation. “Hyung, don’t be upset. It happens.” Seungkwan reasoned, reaching out to rub his arm. “What are we gonna do with a whole bowl of that, though?” Mingyu whined, shoulders slumping. It was all going so well, he was so proud of himself, and of them, but it was all just a lie. Fate had deceived him once again, betrayal saltier than the sauce on his tongue. Alright, maybe he was being a bit too dramatic, but he took cooking seriously. “It’s still edible.” Jihoon shrugged, putting his own empty bowl aside to take the bigger dish, the rest of them staring at him in disbelief. “You’re really weird, you know that?” Mingyu asked out, too disappointed in himself to fear the repercussions. Jihoon only shrugged again though, licking his lips before eating more of the japchae.     ——     While Soonyoung was quite happy about the whole sharing knowledge things, Minghao was one of the more reluctant ones. And with good reason. It started with Seungkwan wanting to learn how to fight. He didn’t know who had suggested that to the boy, given he had the fighting ability of a leaf bug. Regardless, Minghao figured it wasn’t bad to learn some self defense. So he tried teaching the younger some moves with the nunchucks, easy things. Well, it goes without saying that it didn’t work very well. Seungkwan ended up with a bump on the back of his head and Minghao almost had to get new nunchucks, given at some point they flew out of a window. A closed window, by the way. Seungcheol was not happy about that. So Seungkwan had given up on the self defense thing. However, Mingyu was annoying him beyond compare. His friend insisted he wanted to learn some moves. And once again, Minghao knew it would probably be useful to him, given he went into many missions. But this was Mingyu they were talking about. The guy who managed to break three phones in less than half a year. “Okay, let’s start with the fighting stance.” Minghao begrudgingly advised, watching as his friend held both fists up to his chest. Well, it could be worse. “First of all, bend your knees a bit.” The Chinese boy corrected him by lightly kicking the back of his knees, hiding a grin as Mingyu looked back at him with a glare. “Fists are further up. Both by your chin, but not too close. Hold your dominant hand a bit further out.” “What’s my dominant hand?” Mingyu raised a brow, looking back at him. “The one that screws up less.” Minghao snickered, watching as his friend looked at both hands, trying to decide. “The one you write with, genius.” He added, standing by the other’s side to fix his left hand a bit further out. “How did you know I write with that one?” Mingyu blinked, genuinely surprised. “Contrary to some people, I pay attention to my surroundings.” Minghao pointed out, stepping back to let his friend face the punching bag. “So you pay attention to me?” Mingyu grinned, making something stir in Minghao’s stomach. Thankfully, the younger willed himself not to throw up. “Shut up.” He grumpily replied, ignoring the mirth in the other’s stare. “Just punch the bag already.” Mingyu nodded to himself, closing his fists tight before throwing a punch at the bag. If that could even be called a punch. Minghao was sure the boy moved more than the actual target. “You’re supposed to punch it, you know, not stroke it.” He pointed out with a brow raised. “I did punch!” The other whined, a pout beginning to grow on his lips. “You barely picked up any dust.” Minghao snickered. “Come on, you can’t call it a punch unless some dust comes off.” “That’s gross, you know?” Mingyu frowned, relaxing his stance a bit. “Don’t you guys ever clean this thing?” “It’s a punching bag, not a dining table. Now come on, we ain’t got all day.” Minghao nudged his knee with his foot, making the other huff. Mingyu tried again, this time with a bit more strength, Minghao would grant that. Still, he was holding back far too much. Not to mention that, for some reason, he seemed to be closing his eyes whenever he threw a punch. “…Are you scared?” Minghao blinked, watching as the other paused. “Uh?” The taller looked back at him in confusion. “Of you? A little bit…” “No, idiot, of the bag.” Minghao snickered. “You keep closing your eyes, what’s with that?” “I am?” Mingyu looked honestly surprised, which confused Minghao a bit. He kept himself from groaning, knowing he had far too much to teach the other. “Yeah, and if you close your eyes while punching someone you reduce your chance of actually hitting them by like 70%, you know?” Minghao pointed out, crossing his arms. “Not to mention it makes it much easier for them to hit you.” “But this is a punching bag, it’s not gonna hit me.” Minghao took a deep breath at the other’s defense, resorting to the bit of patience he had left. “But you’re not gonna be hitting punching bags out there, are you?” The younger sighed, pushing his hair back. “Just, do it like this.” He then stood next to Mingyu, quickly getting into his own fighting stance to punch the hanging bag. It wasn’t an extremely hard punch, it was just to show technique. How his knees bent a bit more, how he used his elbows to stretch out his arm quickly. The punching bag moved nonetheless, Minghao’s eyes fixed on the softly swinging figure as he hit it a couple more times. “See? It’s not as hard as it seems.” He stood up straight again, gesturing to his friend. “Now you try it.” Mingyu pressed his lips together, nodding twice before trying once again. The bag didn’t move, but at least he didn’t close his eyes. “Bend your knees a bit more and hit harder.” Minghao coached as the other did as he said, at least some specs of dust flying off now from the impact. “Don’t worry, you won’t hurt yourself.” The thief assured him. “Again, harder.” He ordered, analyzing his form as he threw another punch, this time the bag seemingly moving an inch. “Harder.” Minghao repeated, watching as Mingyu continued. The taller was throwing punches on his own now. His form was still a bit clumsy, but he was taking Minghao’s notes pretty well. He seemed to be controlling his strength a bit better as well, the bag swinging a little more with every hit. “Good, good.” Minghao complimented, hoping Mingyu wouldn’t get too cocky. It was a habit of his, getting slightly too happy whenever the Chinese boy gave him a compliment. “Now, just a few more and we can–“ The younger was interrupted by the loud thud of the four feet tall punching bag falling down to the floor. The two stayed where they stood, the chain where it used to hang from swinging broken and idly, the bag lying pitifully on the floor. Minghao wasn’t sure how long the two stayed in silence before he spoke. “You broke the punching bag.” Minghao stated, as if the scene in front of them wasn’t evidence enough. “How the hell did you break that punching bag?!” He frowned then, turning to his friend. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” The older whined out his automatic response, activating the puppy eyes. “It wasn’t my fault!” “You were the one punching it!” Minghao let out, gesturing towards the bag on the floor. “Because you told me to!” Mingyu argued, pointing at his friend. “I told you to punch it, not break it!” The Chinese boy complained, scowling as he pushed his brown hair back. “You know how much those things are?” “I said I was sorry!” The taller pouted, and fine, this time he really looked sorry. “You know I break things. I can’t control it!” And yes, that was an unfortunate truth. Mingyu had a talent for breaking things, and it seemed to be beyond his control. Did that make it less of an inconvenience? Not, it definitely didn’t. “We’re done for today.” Minghao announced, crossing his arms like an ‘X’ before turning to leave the training room. He’d take care of the bag issue later. “But what about the training?” Mingyu questioned, following the other like a pitiful dog. “I can’t train anyone else for today without the risk of strangling someone.” Minghao scowled. “And I’m hungry, so you’re cooking.” He turned to poke at the other’s chest a bit too strongly. “Ow– Why me? I’m not hungry.” He frowned, rubbing the sore spot on his chest. “Because you broke my punching bag and I’m mad at you.” Minghao concluded, turning back around and heading for the door. “…Bulgogi?” Mingyu asked as he followed a few steps behind. Minghao pulled the metal door open so strongly it banged against the wall, storming out of the gym. “Damn right, bulgogi!”     ——     “I give up!” Soonyoung announced as he stormed into the apartment, followed by Jeonghan and Wonwoo. The hacker, instead of heading to the living room, decided to stop by the kitchen first, Seungcheol didn’t know what for. “Why? What happened?” The leader blinked from where he sat on the arm chair, thought sat wasn’t quite the word. The eldest was laying sideways on the chair with his back against one arm rest and his legs over the other. “Nothing happened, that’s the problem!” Soonyoung complained, throwing himself onto the couch next to Minghao, who didn’t seem that cheerful either after a session of undercover lessons from Mingyu. Seungcheol hadn’t much idea of how that went, but given Minghao’s grunts of “terrible teacher” and Mingyu’s complaints of “stubborn head”, he figured it could’ve gone better. “What do you mean, nothing happened?” The leader questioned as Jeonghan nudged his leg to give him some space. Seungcheol shifted then to sit up more properly with his back against the back rest, Jeonghan half sitting on his thigh while leaning against the arm rest. “He’s just being overdramatic.” The blonde rolled his eyes, to which Soonyoung frowned further more. “I’m not being dramatic! He wouldn’t do anything, hyung. Anything! ” The thief exclaimed while Wonwoo returned with an icepack against the side of his neck. That wasn’t a good sign. “You mean, he couldn’t?” Seungcheol raised a brow, looking up at Jeonghan now. “No, he just wouldn’t! Seriously, he didn’t want to go through the lasers, he simply refused to try to squeeze into the ventilation pipes, and don’t get me started on how he got Vernonie to climb the rope for him!” As much as Seungcheol would like to defend Jeonghan, it all sounded a lot like something he’d do. “It was all just so much effort!” Jeonghan complained, his thin lips turning into a small pout as he made his claim to Seungcheol. Damn it, Jeonghan knew the he couldn’t get angry when he gave him that look. “I just don’t get why I’d go through so much trouble.” “But Hannie, you were supposed to learn a couple of thieving things…” Seungcheol pointed out, tone softer than he intended. He blamed it on the damn pout. “But it doesn’t make any sense. If I can get Hansolie to get something for me, why would I do it myself?” Jeonghan shrugged, Seungcheol snickering at his antics. “He has a point, you know?” Wonwoo reasoned, head tilted to the right as he now rested on the couch next to Soonyoung. “At least he didn’t pull a muscle.” “I told you to use your legs and not your arms.” Soonyoung spoke in a way that made Seungcheol realize it was probably not the first nor second time he had said that, yet it still had a touch of apology to it. “Do you see what I had to put up with?” He sighed, looking back at their leader. “What about Jihoon and Hansol?” Seungcheol wondered, his hand now settling by Jeonghan’s waist. “I kicked Hoonie out on the first day because he wasn’t playing by the rules.” Seungcheol made an effort not to snicker at Soonyoung’s frown, though Minghao surely didn’t bother hiding his amusement. “And Hansolie is well intentioned, but he’s a bit… Well… He can learn, but I think it’ll take longer than a few weeks.” “Tell me about it. He asked me to teach him some flips yesterday and he almost sprained his ankle.” Minghao added, looking a bit more relaxed now. “Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.” Seungcheol reasoned, lips pressing together. “Oh no, it was pretty bad. I mean, he was better than Mingyu, but still.” The Chinese boy insisted. “Just admit it hyung, this was a terrible idea.” Wonwoo groaned as he turned his head a bit too much, Soonyoung patting his hair in a form of comfort. “Yeah hyung. I mean, I hate to agree with them, but this didn’t really work out as well as we predicted.” Soonyoung pouted slightly, his eyebrows pushing together as well. “Well, okay, it didn’t go so well, but it wasn’t terrible.” Seungcheol argued, feeling a bit of disappointment in the failure of his plan. “Tell that to the punching bag.” Minghao grumbled. “And the window.” “And my old laptop.” Wonwoo almost winced at the memory of trying to teach Seokmin some hacking. “Fine, fine, it could’ve gone much better.” The leader granted. “But still–“ “Guys, guys, look!” Junhui interrupted the eldest as he rushed into the living room holding an open laptop with one arm, his other hand on the keyboard. “Yah, careful with that!” Jihoon scolded as he followed the other, standing next to him. “What is it?” Soonyoung blinked, looking at the two that stood in front of them from across the coffee table. “Just, wait a second.” Jun grinned, typing a few things down while muttering some commands. Jihoon didn’t say another word either, just standing on the tip of his toes to look at the screen over the top of the boy’s shoulders. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was a bit messier than usual, but he didn’t look as grumpy as he usually did when he was tired. “I don’t get it. Are you gonna show us something?” Minghao frowned slightly in confusion, motioning to get up. “Just, hold on…” The taller stretched out the last word as a plea for them to wait. “And… There!” He pressed down decisively on a key Seungcheol couldn’t spot. At the same moment, all lights in the living room turned off, the only source of light coming from Junhui’s laptop. Or better yet, Jihoon’s laptop that the older boy held. “Uh?” Jeonghan blinked, looking around in the dark. “What happened?” “Is it a power cut?” Soonyoung’s question followed. “I did it!” Junhui cheered brightly, his grin wide under the blue-ish light coming from the screen. “Now… Let there be light!” Their Chinese friend announced, pressing a key once again and turning on all the lights. “I can’t believe you actually said that.” Jihoon muttered, cheeks slightly tinted from second-hand embarrassment. Or maybe something else. “Wait, you’re doing this?” Minghao blinked, looking at the two. Junhui giggled, nodding a bit. It would never fail to amuse Seungcheol, a guy as tall and broad as Junhui giggling over the smallest things. “Yeah. I mean, Jihoonie helped me.” “I just told him what to do, but he did it on his own.” Jihoon explained, giving credit where credit was due. “Huh.” Wonwoo hummed, watching as the lights went on and off once again. “Nice job.” The boy looked genuinely impressed, which seemed to make Junhui grow even giddier. “That’s so cool, Junnie!” Soonyoung finally seemed to match the other’s excitement, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Good job!” “Thanks!” The boy’s grin grew wider. “Yeah, now come on, let’s stop before you blow a lightbulb.” Jihoon mumbled, reaching out for the laptop that was quickly raised higher than he could reach. “No, wait, I wanna show Hansol and Channie first!” Jun announced, quickly making his way to their bedroom. Jihoon sighed deeply, gathering his energy before following the other once again. “Huh.” Jeonghan looked back at Seungcheol now. “Didn’t see that coming.” “See?” The leader grinned proudly, patting the other’s back. “It wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”    

Inumaki never had the opportunity to express himself. Not truly.   Sure, his friends could decipher his onigiri language with relative ease, but that only scratched the surface of what Inumaki wished to express. Speaking strictly through rice ball jargon wasn’t sufficient enough to explain the intricate feelings and emotions that ran through Inumaki’s mind.   In this way, he was always left out.   It never bothered him much. After all, he was used to it. He understood that learning a language took both time and commitment, and no matter how much his classmates wanted to learn sign language, Inumaki knew that the one thing jujutsu sorcerers lacked was time.   So when Okkotsu Yuuta suddenly asked Inumaki to teach him sign language one crisp early-autumn day, he was surely surprised.   At first, he believed that Okkotsu said it merely in passing, like a way to keep the conversation going. They had just bonded on their first mission together, so Inumaki assumed that Okkotsu just said what he thought Inumaki wanted to hear.   But, as it turned out, Okkotsu hadn’t asked as a simple courtesy at all. He actually wanted to learn, and he wanted Inumaki to teach him.   “Well, I just thought it’d be nice to speak to you more. Uh, not that we don’t speak already, but, uh, I guess... better?” Okkotsu fumbled through his words, nervous and hesitant. “If you don’t want to, that’s cool too. I just thought it’d be fun to learn.”   Inumaki, with wide eyes, managed a simple “shake,” in return.   No one had ever offered to learn sign language to better communicate with him. The intent was heart-warming.   Many late nights after missions were spent holed up in Inumaki’s room, YouTube pulled up on his laptop as both boys laid on Inumaki’s bed following the instructions of the woman who was teaching the basics of JSL. For the most part, Okkotsu did a good job following along. Occasionally, Inumaki would intervene, cold fingertips brushing against Okkotsu’s warm hands as Inumaki fixed his form.    Inumaki paid no mind to the contact until Okkotsu made a simple passing comment about how his hands were really cold.   Inumaki made a move to pull away in protest, but Okkotsu was faster, gently coiling his hand around Inumaki’s smaller one and muttering out “we’re a good match,” with a shy, sheepish smile.   The comment left Inumaki embarrassingly red.  Other nights, like tonight, they would ditch the lessons all together and spend their nights the way normal, non-sorcerer students do.    You’ve never seen the Office? Inumaki signed out, slow and tentatively considering Okkotsu’s beginner level JSL   Okkotsu took a moment before responding. “No. Is that bad?”   “Shake,” Inumaki nodded, wondering how in the hell he’s known Okkotsu for four months now and still has never introduced his classmate to the wonderful world that is the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company.    Inumaki began from season three (his personal favorite season), the hues from his laptop being the only source of light in his room. He snuggled against Okkotsu, head resting against the older boy’s shoulder—because being short had its advantages too—and let the episode play. Being like this is nice , Okkotsu thought, his attention more on the (now) sleeping Inumaki resting against him and not on the American sitcom playing on the laptop.    The closest word Okkotsu could use to define this moment was home. Being with Inumaki felt like home.   The concept was strange, and in all honesty, he didn’t even understand what feeling like home meant—his own relationship with his parents was distant at best—but anything less seemed unfitting. Inumaki is home.   Was it really okay to be this happy? Did he deserve it? Maybe not. Okkotsu didn’t consider himself an inherently bad person, but sometimes he wondered what he did in his past life to meet someone as kind and beautiful as Inumaki in this one.   “Inumaki,” he whispered. It was getting late, nearing three am. They had a mission tomorrow, and if he let Inumaki sleep like this then the younger boy would surely wake up with a crane in his neck. “Inumaki,” he tried again.   Okkotsu sighed, eyes glazing over his classmate’s resting face. How is it possible for someone to be so beautiful? It was rather unfair for Okkotsu’s poor heart.   “Inumaki,” he tried once more, though he wasn’t exactly sure he could call it trying anymore. His voice came out in nothing but a whisper, like he wanted to wake Inumaki up but he actually rather let Inumaki keep sleeping on him.    A thought crossed his mind, heart beating faster than it should. Maki does it. Gojo-sensei, too. And so does Panda. So maybe it’ll be okay if I do it too. He attempted to reason, hoping his heart would stop pounding so much because it was just one word.    “Toge,” he muttered, voice unexpectedly coming out louder than previously. “T—“   Just then, Inumaki’s eyes sprang open. He looked up with curiosity. Okkotsu couldn’t help but panic.   Did he hear me?   “Tsuna mayo?” Inumaki asked, voice soft, hands coming up to wipe away at his eyes. What time is it?   “It’s late,” Okkotsu supplied, panic only partly subsiding. “Did you fall asleep?” Wow, what a great question, he internally scolded.    The younger boy nodded, reaching forward to shut his laptop and move it to the nightstand. The moonlight shining through the window now being the only light to keep Okkotsu’s vision intact.   “Tsuna?” Inumaki yawned, snuggling down into his bed. Want to sleep here?   Okkotsu could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He was thankful the room was too dark for Inumaki to see.   While the greedy part of him wanted to lay down and sleep next to his friend (so bad), the rational part of him knew that would be too selfish. It would, because now Okkotsu knew that his intentions were impure. It wouldn’t simply be two friends having a casual sleepover together. No, it wouldn’t be that, because Okkotsu didn’t want to be just friends with Inumaki.   “I-I think I’ll go to my room,” he stuttered, slipping out from under the blanket, feet landing on the cold hardwood floor.    Inumaki might have grumbled something in response, but he couldn’t be sure since he rushed out of the room, maybe a little too obvious. Inumaki was fond of the snow. Even though it got sluggish and mushy and was overall entirely inconvenient for everyday living, he enjoyed the activities that came along with it.   One such activity was making snowmen. As a kid, he often made complete stories out of little snow people. It was entertaining enough, like filming your own movie or writing a book.    Okkotsu, once learning of Inumaki’s fascination with snow activities, decided to ask him to make snowmen one night during a study session.   Which is how they ended up outside, in the middle of the night, wrapped in winter clothes to attempt to shield them from the cold winter air, playing like children.   “Why won’t mine stay up?” Okkotsu pouted, watching as the second snowball slid off the first for the third time that night. “Is there some sort of trick to this?” He turned his attention to Inumaki’s snowmen (because yes, Inumaki had created multiple snowmen—was now on his fifth one), and sighed.   “Okaka. Tsuna,” Inumaki disagreed, poking holes into his fifth snowman to create the illusion of buttons. No trick. Just skill.   “What are you making?”   Family, Inumaki signed, hands finally free to use. He pointed to each of the snowmen as he listed their names.    Maki, to the snow creation wielding a (poorly made) cursed weapon and wearing glasses that were too large for such a small snow head.   Panda, to the one that had two extra snowballs added to the top to indicate height. Deep lines were intended to mark the circles that surrounded Panda’s eyes and belly.    Gojo, to the next one. Gojo, even in snow form, still managed to look devious. How Inumaki managed that, Okkotsu didn’t know. Maybe it was the smirk Inumaki drew on him. Definitely devious, he thought.   Inumaki, the younger boy self-narrated. Okkotsu held back a laugh, noting how Inumaki made his snow-version the same height as Gojo when Inumaki, in reality, was much shorter than their sensei.    Yuuta, to the last one. Buttons along the stomach—or whatever the stomach of a snowman can be referred to—to match Okkotsu’s uniform, with a skinny pile of snow along the side to mimic his katana. His hair stood spikey and messily as a clump on the snowman’s head.    Okkotsu tried not to think about how his snow counterpart was more detailed than the rest.   Family, the younger boy concluded.    It was strange to think of himself as part of a family. Even so, the thought was welcomed.    Though, he hoped that Inumaki didn’t see him as a brother. That thought wasn’t welcomed. “Seriously, you two are idiots,” Maki grumbled, taking the thermometer out of Inumaki’s mouth.   Currently, Okkotsu and Inumaki were slumped on the couch in the common room that all the first-years shared, fevers running high.   “What fucking possessed you idiots to go out in the middle of the night and make fucking snowmen for three hours?”    “Tsuna mayo,” Inumaki mumbled, sinking further into the couch. It was fun.   “Why didn’t you guys invite me?” Panda said, coming from the kitchen where he went to retrieve medicine. “I can’t get sick.”   “Sorry, Panda,” Okkotsu offered. “It was a late-minute decision.”   That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Panda, but he did hand the pill bottle to Maki—so she could uncap it and hand each of the boys a pill—without much protest.   “Well, you two are going to have to suffer the consequences of your weak immune system because Panda and I are going out for an all-day mission today. And fortunately for you guys, Gojo has some business he needs to take care of too, so you probably won’t be seeing that idiot much either.”    Okkostu smiled. He wasn’t as bothered by Gojo’s precense as his classmates were, but the thought of spending time with Inumaki, even in their rather poor condition, did swell something in his chest.   His two healthy classmates set them up well with blankets and food and Marvel movies playing on the tv before heading out.   “Okaka,” Inumaki said after a while. Okkotsu wasn’t sure what he tried to convey there. Maybe the fever was messing with his brain more than he thought.   “Sorry,” Okkotsu responded instead, feeling guilty. “I guess I didn’t think things through. I didn’t mean for you to get sick.” It was true. When he mentioned the idea to Inumaki last night, he did so with the intention of doing something fun—something childish that they both needed. Something that Inumaki would like.    “Okaka,” Inumaki repeated, shaking his head. He blinked over at the older boy. Not that.   “Oh?”   I had fun, he signed. I don’t regret it at all.   “Oh.” That was good. “I don’t either.” Not that he could ever regret spending time with Inumaki.    He watched, rather intently, as Inumaki shifted around, moving closer to Okkostu. He let his own blanket fall to the floor, breaching the distance between him and the older boy as he crowded under Okkotsu’s blanket, snuggling into him, head resting against Okkotsu’s shoulder in a move that was so distinctly Inumaki.    Okkotsu hoped his heartbeat wasn’t as audible as it felt. Though, all hope for him and his poor heart was lost when Inumaki’s hand found his own, cold fingers interlacing with his own warm ones.    Now this, Inumaki has never done.    Once again, he tried not to think too deeply about the implications of it. Inumaki was a naturally touchy person, so he shouldn’t go thinking that he's special. (But he wished, really wished he was special to Inumaki).   Inumaki adjusted, his hair tickling Okkotsu’s neck as the younger boy further leaned into Okkotsu. Everything that Okkotsu was feeling was new. Being with Inumaki was so, so distinctly different from what he felt with Rika.    Maybe it was a little unfair to make such a comparison. He was a kid with Rika—small and immature and completely delusional of the real world. What would a kid like him known about love? After Rika, Okkotsu never thought about love. He didn’t care much for it—there were bigger problems in his life after Rika—but love seemed impossible.   But he wanted so much. Wanted to be happy, wanted friends, wanted his family, wanted and wanted and wanted. But love was simply something he never yearned for.    Until he met Inumaki. Now he yearns and yearns and yearns and it’s all he wants.    Is this normal?  It’s not like the answer would change anything. Okkotsu had it too bad—was in too deep to stop this feeling.    He didn’t want to stop at all. But what was he supposed to do with all these feelings?    He pictured the scenario in his head, playing it out in a million different ways. It would be a late-night, maybe after a mission or during one of their study sessions, and Okkotsu would finally stop being a coward and work up enough courage to confess to Inumaki, and Inumaki would stare back at him, surprised and questioning, but then he would smile, because Inumaki’s nice like that, and kindly reject him.    Reject him in a kind, delicate manner that would fit appropriately to Inumaki’s personality. And then Okkotsu and Inumaki would continue like normal, except things would certainly not be normal. Okkotsu’s mere presence would make Inumaki uncomfortable, and even though the younger boy would never admit it because he would never hurt Okkotsu like that, Okkotsu would know. And things would never be normal between them again.    Being rejected, although not a pleasant thought, wasn’t what scared Okkotsu about confessing (well, maybe, but that wasn’t what stopped him from confessing). What stopped him was the realization that his confession would make Inumaki uncomfortable.    He couldn’t do that to Inumaki. These were his feelings. He would deal with them. He wouldn’t put the burden on his classmate. He must have dozed off, because the next thing Okkotsu knew, he's awakened by the sound of a shutter—a camera shutter. Did someone take a picture? Who would—   “How cute,” he hears a voice swoon. Ah, Gojo. Of course. “They get it from their loving sensei,” he continued, as if he was speaking to some third party when they were the only ones in the room.   Inumaki stirred beside him, fast asleep. Okkotsu moved his right hand up (his left hand, he noticed with a thump, was still connected to Inumaki’s under the cover) to make a shussing motion. “He’s asleep,” he whispered to his sensei.   Gojo replied with a smirk, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Right, Right. I was just coming to check up on my lovely students, but as I can see, you're both doing well.”   Okkotsu spluttered, his mind finally catching up, registering that Gojo just took a photo of them. I should ask him to send that to me later, he thought.   “Well, it looks like I’m being a third wheel here,” Gojo, once again, smirked.    Before Okkotsu could probe him on what the hell he was talking about, Gojo was out of the room in a blink of an eye, quite literally.   Okkotsu sighed, looking down on a still sleeping Inumaki. He’s a heavy sleeper. And a cute one. Was that weird to think? But it was true.   Yeah, he was definitely going to ask Gojo for that picture later. Okkotsu never thought he had a jealous side to him.    Fushiguro looked intimidating, similar to Maki in that sense (which made sense, given that they were cousins). Still, the young boy was kind. He greeted Okkotsu with a bow and unwavering eyes. Gojo proudly proclaimed that he raised the boy. Fushiguro groaned in response, though he didn’t bother to disagree.    The first-years—plus Fushiguro—were currently lounging around in the common room. Maki was going over simple introductions. Okkotsu nodded along, listening as she boasted about her cousin’s technique.    “Tsuna?” Inumaki called out from the kitchen.   “No thanks, senpai,” Fushiguro responded. “I ate before getting here.”   Okkotsu looked between the two, curious as to how well Fushiguro knew Inumaki. They didn’t seem that close, but they had to have a considerably good relationship for Fushiguro to understand Inumaki’s onigiri jargon.   As if reading his thoughts, Panda added, “out of all of us, Megumi understands Toge the best.”   Huh?  That… didn’t sit right with Okkotsu. It made something dangerously possessive flare within him. A weird, sickening feeling that he never experienced before.    “Oh.”    Well, it shouldn’t be such a surprise. After all, Fushiguro knew Inumaki longer than Okkotsu did. Still, it didn’t make him feel all that better. That possessive side of Okkotsu, flaring and uncontrollable, wanted to be the one who understood Inumaki best. (A selfish wish, but still a wish.)   “Shake,” Inumaki agreed, walking over from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and joining the rest of them on the couch, occupying the spot next to Maki.    Okkotsu didn’t miss the way Maki eyed him. “That’s cool,” he finally settled.    Endgame played on the screen.    Okkotsu’s inner turmoil didn’t settle.  Okkotsu tried to understand his own feelings, but that task was easier said than done.    That day, after meeting Fushiguro, left him with a lot of questions. If things continued like this, then one day, Inumaki would find a partner, get married, and have a picture perfect family because that’s the kind of person Inumaki was.    The thought of Inumaki with someone else made Okkotsu uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable to be considered normal. But it would happen.    So, what exactly did that mean for him? Should he let that selfish part consume him—confessing to Inumaki his feelings and potentially ruining the great friendship they had because of his own egocentric desires? No, he couldn’t do that. Not to Inumaki.    Then should he just resign himself to unrequited love? That seemed like the most liable option. But it hurt. A lot.  “You’re avoiding him,” Maki huffed, taking a swing of her water.   “What?” Okkotsu plopped to the ground, sweating and sticky.    They were sparring, like they often did, and, for the first time ever, Okkotsu won (just barely, but he’ll take it).   Okkotsu was getting better in every sense of the word—taller, stronger, faster. He was starting to earn the title of special-grade. He had a long way to go, but this was a start.   “Avoiding who?”   “Toge.”   Okkotsu twitched at the name, freezing for a moment, and then proceeding to wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Why do you think that?”   “Are you not avoiding him?”   “No,” he sighed. Okkotsu was good at avoiding things, but he wasn’t a liar. “I am,” he hesitantly admitted.    “Because?”   It wasn’t intentional at first. Okkotsu was just tired—tired of not understanding himself. Tired of not understanding what he wanted to do. As a result, he would skip the occasional study session with the cursed speech user. But it spiraled from there. Okkotsu stopped going to any lessons with Inumaki, period. (Though, he still made sure to practice JSL, burrowed away in his dorm room at night with earphones plugged in as he watched YouTube videos.)    Okkostu recognized that he was being a coward. But he was only dealing with his feelings the best way he knew how.   “Hypothetically—“   “Ugh,” Maki groaned, rolling her head back.   “You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Okkotsu defended.   “You know it doesn’t count as a hypothetical if the situation is actually happening to you, right?”    “Okay. Nonhypothetically hypothetical—”   “That’s not even a word.”   Okkostu sighed, slightly irritated at his own inability to properly express himself. “Fine. Let me start over.”   “Go ahead.”   “I like Inumaki. A lot.”   “Okay,” Maki listened. She looked over at him, a sign that she was paying attention.   “Wait, I don’t think you get it,” Okkotsu said, surprised from Maki’s reaction (or lack thereof). “I like him, like—”   “I get it,” she intervened. Then, again, holding his gaze, she repeated, “I get it.”   “Oh,” he answered. “You do? Since when?”   “Since Megumi. You reeked of jealousy that day.”   That’s why she was staring at him so intensely that day. Okkotsu just thought he was being too awkward and that she was silently scolding him for it.   “Okay, then you know,” he continued. “I like him and he doesn't like me.”   “Did you get rejected?”   “No.”   “Did you confess?”   “No.”   “Then why are you moping around like you just got rejected?”   “You want me to get rejected?”   “No. That’s—” she groaned, her mouth pulling into a tight frown. “You are so fucking annoying.”   “Sorry,” he offered. What had he done to piss her off?   A long minute of silence stretched between them. Okkotsu nervously picked at his katana that was sprawled out across his lap.   “Listen,” Maki began, recomposed. “If you haven’t confessed to him, then how in the fuck would you know that he dosen’t like you back?”   He shrugged. “I just do.” There was no intricate way to think about it. Okkotsu knew Inumaki didn’t like him the same way you know that putting your hand in a fire would leave you burned.   “You can’t know if you don’t try,” she shook her head disapprovingly.    “I do know,” Okkotsu countered. “My feelings would just make him uncomfortable, and I don’t want him to feel bothered because of my own selfishness. These are my feelings and I will deal with them.”   Maki glared, then she stood, slowly walking over to the door.   “Yuuta, if you honestly believe that, then you really don’t know Toge at all,” she said over her shoulder. “Do you truly think that he would treat your feelings so lightly?”   Okkotsu pondered that for a second. Lightly?  What did that even mean? Is she saying that Inumaki would accept him out of obligation? He didn’t want that.    Before he got the opportunity to ask, Maki was already out the room, shutting the door behind her with a loud slam. He thought more and more about what Maki said. He still didn’t understand, and it didn’t help that she would completely ignore him when he brought up the topic.   Six days later, Okkostu found himself standing outside Inumaki’s dorm, onigiri in hand that he purchased after his mission with Gojo. He lightly knocked on his classmate’s door, nervous when Inumaki’s face popped out from behind the wooden barrier a few moments later.   “Takana?” He yawned, eyebrows furrowing together. He stepped out.   Right. It was the middle of the night. Inumaki was probably sleeping, and here Okkotsu was knocking on his door and shoving a rice ball towards the younger boy like a total weirdo. Nice timing, he internally reprimanded himself.   Inumaki looked down at the food wordlessly being shoved towards his chest. “Uh, this,” Okkotsu wiggled the onigiri in his hand for emphasis, “is for you. I thought you might be hungry.”   “Tsuna?” Inumaki carefully took the rice ball. At midnight?   “Yeah. I guess I forgot it was so late.” Which was the truth. Gojo and him passed a convenience store on their way back, and the only thought that popped in Okkotsu’s head was maybe Inumaki’s hungry.   Skeptically, Inumaki signed out a light thank you.   “No problem.”   Okkotsu let the quiet surround them, teetering on the balls of his feet nervously. He had it all planned out, what he wanted to say, but implementing the plan was harder than he thought.   “Uh, Inumaki,” Okkotsu scratched the back of his head, trying to find something to do with his hands. “I’m sorry.”   Inumaki cocked his head in wonder.   No, that’s not all he wants to say. Not even close. “I’m sorry for skipping out on all our study sessions. It’s not that I’m going back on my word or anything. I still want to learn sign language. I’ve been practicing almost every night. But I’m sorry for always making excuses and… avoiding you. I just…” Okkotsu rushed out, trailing off at the end. No, still not it. That’s not all he wanted to say.    “Tsuna mayo?” The younger boy blinked. Why’d you avoid me?   “Why?” Because I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you and I’m so scared that my feelings will only be a disturbance to you. I’m scared that my feelings will make you uncomfortable. I’m scared that my feelings will make you hate me. I’m scared because I love you and all my love has ever done is curse and curse and curse, he wanted to say.   I’m just so scared.   “I guess I’m just a bad person,” he replied instead, with a laugh. That was a fact. He ignored Inumaki, and now he couldn’t—was afraid to—tell him why. “I’ll let you get back to sleeping, Inumaki.” Okkotsu made a move to leave, to trudge back to his dorm room at the end of the hall, but a tentative hold stopped him, keeping him back.   He looked down, Inumaki’s small hand gently wrapped around his wrist.    “Okaka,” the younger boy said. Stay.   His heart thumped heavily in his chest, like it always did around Inumaki.    “I—” he shouldn’t. His intentions were impure.    “Okaka,” Inumaki said once again, voice firm. “Tsuna.” Stay. I want you to.   His heart might’ve stopped then. It didn’t, but it felt that way.   “Y-yeah,” Okkotsu stuttered, pink coloring his face. “I—okay. I would like that.”   In the end, they ended up sharing Inumaki’s bed, rice ball sitting forgotten on the nightstand.    “Takana?” Inumaki asked, nestled under the covers. Okkotsu laid a good distance beside him. Not sleepy?   “Huh?” Had he been staring? Probably. It was hard to concentrate when Inumaki was looking at him like this . “I’m just—I guess not.” How could he sleep with his blood surging, heart pounding loudly against his ribcage?    “Sujiko?” What’s wrong?   Nothing, really. But also a lot of things.   “I’m just thinking.”   “Tsuna mayo.” You do that a lot.   “I do?” Well, it’s not like that’s a bad thing, he thought. It’s gotten him this far.   “Shake.”   “Does it bother you?”    “Okaka.”    A beat passed.   Inumaki sighed, big eyes still trained on Okkotsu. “Tsuna mayo.” You’re a loud thinker.   “Sorry. I’ll try to think less loudly.”   Inumaki smiled, a soft, innocent laugh spilling out and warming Okkotsu’s entire being like a fire sprouting in his chest. Inumaki shuffled, moving closer until his head laid on Okkotsu’s chest, arms wrapping around the older boy's abdomen, legs tangling with Okkotsu’s as he found a comfortable position.   If Inumaki could hear how loud his heart was beating, he didn’t say anything.   “Tsuna mayo.” Sometimes, you don’t have to think so much.   Okkotsu’s arms pulled Inumaki in, enveloping the smaller boy, cheek resting on top of the small boy’s head.   Just for tonight. Just for tonight, he would allow himself the guilty pleasure to pretend. To pretend that they were something more.  ( Sometimes, you don’t have to think so much.   Okkotsu wasn’t good at doing that—not thinking.   But he would try.) Inumaki liked to draw.    The first time Okkotsu found his sketchbook had been by accident. Okkotsu was taking a look at Inumaki’s relatively tiny collection of novels stuffed in the corner of his room. While not much of a selection, Inumaki did have a variety of media on that little bookshelf. Manga, poetry, mysteries, romances, thrillers—just about every genre.    Okkotsu took notice of Inumaki’s collection before, but he just now had the chance to inspect the media closely. Wondering, he pulled out the only book from the pile that was utterly blank. No spine with the author’s name. No cover with the title. Just a plain, black book.   He opened it up.   Doodles filled the first couple of pages. Line drawings of ice cream, onigiri, and cats dominated those pages. Inumaki’s drawings, Okkotsu recognized as he continued to flip through the book. Honestly, they weren’t the best drawings. Inumaki drew like a first-grader—messy, incomplete, and bold. It was cute.    He skipped along, analyzing various pages, trying to make sense of what they were.   A dragon? Unicorn? Lizard? Are those wings? Is that a tail?   Okkotsu stifled a laugh. Maybe in the future these drawings would be considered Picasso-worthy. For now, they definitely weren’t. Okkotsu flipped to the most recent drawing.   Family, Okkotsu was reminded as he examined the five stick-figures on the sheet.   Maki was distinguishable by her oversized glasses. Panda was obvious—he was the only one drawn with circles instead of straight lines. Gojo’s eyes were scribbled out, which was probably to indicate his blindfold. Inumaki was next to their sensei, his snake and fangs seal drawn as simple swirls. And next to Inumaki was Okkotsu.    The drawing reminded him of Inumaki’s snowmen. Okkotsu’s hair was drawn tall and spiky, katana (was that a katana?) in his right hand and a smile plastered on his face. Inumaki is so cute, Okkotsu admired once again.   “Takana?”    Okkotsu bit his bottom lip, attempting to hide the big smile he was wearing (to no avail). “You like to draw, Inumaki?” He asked, turning around with the sketchbook in hand.   Inumaki blushed—actually blushed—nodding his head in affirmation. Don’t laugh, he signed.   To the contrary, Okkotsu laughed. “They’re cute.” Like you, he thought.   The younger boy rolled his eyes. Shut up.   “Can you draw something for me?” Okkotsu returned the sketchbook to its rightful place, walking over and taking a seat at the edge of Inumaki’s bed.    It’s going to cost you.   “Really? I don’t get the friends and family discount?”   “Okaka.”   “How much?” The older boy teased.   Inumaki contemplated, hand coming up to his chin as he pondered the question.    Onigiri for life, Inumaki finally answered.   For life? Knowing how much Inumaki likes the food, that would surely suck Okkotsu dry of money.   “Deal,” he found himself saying instead. He just couldn’t deny Inumaki.    If Inumaki asked for it, Okkotsu would bring down the moon and her stars for him. Possibilities be damned.  Two days later, Inumaki gave him his drawing.    Inumaki and Okkotsu—drawn in the version of stick figures—standing side by side, holding hands.   He smiled, promising to frame it.   The deal was totally worth it. Okkotsu made a definitive decision about what he was going to do on a snowy, late afternoon.    Weirdly enough, he came to such a conclusion in the midst of his mission.    Going on missions alone was not fun, but they were required from someone of his status. Okkotsu especially hated away missions where he would have to travel far and spend a night in a random hotel miles upon miles away from his friends.   He leaned into the bed. The hotel in itself was nice, save for the bed that creaked too loud at the slightest move. He’d much rather be in his own bed.   He’d much rather be in Inumaki’s bed.   Okkotsu blushed at the prospect, mind flashing back to the night in Inumaki’s room with the younger boy laid about on top of him and snuggled close. The feelings he felt then were indescribable. It was perfect and comforting and all Okkotsu ever wanted, ever yearned for.    Sometimes, you don’t have to think so much.   Ironically, Okkotsu thought about that phrase a lot, trying to understand what Inumaki meant by it.    Thinking was good. Thinking was safe. He thinks and thinks and thinks himself into a hole and as miserable as that was, it’s kept him alive so far. But maybe that’s it. Okkotsu didn’t just want to be alive. No, not just alive. He wanted to live. He wanted to stay beside his friends. He wanted to laugh with them when they were happy, cry with them when they weren’t. He wanted to be someone strong—to protect them, even though he’s more than aware that his friends are not weak.   He wanted more.   He wanted Inumaki. Now, tomorrow, and every day after that.   Sometimes, you don’t have to think so much.   Yeah, maybe he doesn't. For once, he was going to take that advice. You’ve gotten a lot better, Inumaki signed, sudden and unexpected.   “In JSL? Or as a sorcerer?”    Both.   Okkotsu beamed, heart swelling at the compliment.    Outside was an ugly shade of gray, snow turning into slush, slippery and soggy. They were cooped up in Inumaki’s room—like most days recently—as Inumaki scrolled through Netflix for something to watch. Inumaki liked to watch comedies, and Okkotsu liked anything Inumaki liked.    “Tsuna mayo?” Inumaki asked, hands being occupied by mindless scrolling. How was your mission?   “It was good. I finished pretty quick, so I spent most of the day in the hotel room,” he said, recalling the mission from three days ago. “It got kind of boring.”   “Sujiko,” Inumaki baited. Because I wasn’t there.   Okkotsu couldn’t avoid it anymore. It’s been eating at him from the inside out. Inumaki won’t take my feelings lightly, Okkotsu thought, reassured by Maki’s words.    No matter what happens, even if Inumaki did reject him, Inumaki would acknowledge him. Inumaki would acknowledge his feelings. They will still be friends. They will continue on like this. Inumaki wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with him. And even though Okkotsu wants to be with him (so, very bad), this would be enough. As long as he had Inumaki by his side, then that would be enough.   “Inumaki,” Okkotsu began, sitting up straight, fidgeting with his hands, looking down at them, then deciding not to and looking back up. Inumaki’s attention was still focused on the screen. “Inumaki, I—like—I, uh, don’t want to be friends.” Shit. What the fuck. That’s not how this was supposed to go. How could he still manage to mess up when he’s been rehearsing this for days?   Inumaki looked over, face contorting into confusion. Carefully, he pushed the laptop off his lap, attention now undividedly on Okkotsu.    “No, that’s not what I meant,” Okkotsu continued, trying to fix the damage. “That’s not what I meant to say.”   “Takana?” Inumaki’s face further contorted, more confused.   Okkotsu took a breath, recomposing his thoughts. He can’t just blurt this out.    “Inumaki, I don’t want to be just friends because I like you,” he started again. “I like talking to you, and watching shows with you, and learning sign language with you, and making snowmen with you. I like it because I’m with you. I like you, and it’s different than the way I feel for Maki and Panda. I like them as friends. I like you like… not like a friend. Something more.” Something a lot more.   Inumaki stared, wide eyes and eyebrows raised, processing the onslaught of information that Okkotsu had just attacked him with.    Okkotsu stared back for a moment too, allowing himself a second to compose his thoughts again. “You don’t have to respond,” he assured. “I just wanted you to think about it.”   And then, almost instantaneously, “Okaka,” Inumaki answered, shaking his head.    Wait, was he being rejected? This fast? What was he—   “Okaka,” Inumaki said again with extra emphasis, interrupting Okkotsu’s thoughts before they spiraled out of control. “Okaka.”   “I’m—” a lot of things, but mostly confused. “—I don’t understand.” Maybe Maki was right when she said he didn’t understand Inumaki, because now, no matter how hard he tried to decipher what the younger boy meant by okaka, his mind pulled a blank.    I don’t need to, Inumaki slowly signed.    Okkotsu could barely follow along with how distractingly his blood was rushing to his ears.    “You don’t need to?”    Inumaki nodded. You like me?   “I, uh. Yeah. I like you, a lot,” he was flushed pink. His own naturally nervous nature was begging him to look away, look anywhere but Inumaki. But he didn’t. He held the younger boy's gaze, steady and determined. Which is why he picked up on every microexpression that flashed across the smaller boy’s face.    Inumaki blinked (three, no, four times), smiled (it was different than Okkotsu had ever seen. A faint smile, but different . Still beautiful. Always beautiful. Just different), and leaned in, his hands flattening against the bed in support as he closed the short distance between Okkotsu and him and laid a soft kiss on the older boy’s cheek.   It was a fleeting moment, but Okkotsu felt his heart flutter like the wings of a trapped bird. Inumaki’s lips—the lips that he had dreamed about so, so many times before—cold and soft against his skin and a lot better than his fantasies because this, this was the real thing. Inumaki pulled back, but only slightly, and it sparked something within Okkotsu to see the shy wreck that Inumaki was, colored red and twinkling eyes.   I don’t have to think about it, Inumaki shakingly signed out. I don’t have to think about it because I like you, too.   Did… did he read that right? Did Inumaki just say that? Were those the signs for I like you ? Suddenly, Okkotsu was seriously doubting his JSL skills.   “Again,” he said. His voice came out needier than expected, but honestly, that was the last thing he cared about.    Inumaki laughed. I like you, he repeated.    “You like me?” Okkotsu mimicked. He just needed one more confirmation.    Inumaki rolled his eyes, grabbing the sides of Okkotsu’s face, squishing his cheeks together in a rather uncomfortable fashion.    I —Inumaki began to mouth, his movements big and unhurried as he enunciated the words so Okkotsu couldn’t doubt anymore—like you, Yuuta.   “I wike wou, too,” Okkotsu muttered, his face still mushed into an awkward position, making his words come out messy. Inumaki grinned, small teeth displayed in a small mouth, releasing his grip from Okkotsu’s face. “I like you too,” Okkotsu declared again, properly now.   You already said that.    “Oh.” That was true. He had said that about one-hundred times tonight. “But I do. I really like you, Inumaki.” Correction: one-hundred-and-one times. Okkotsu couldn’t stop himself. Now that he said it he just couldn’t stop.    He confessed. He was scared, but he did it. And most importantly, above all else, Inumaki accepted him. Inumaki told him he liked him too. How was Okkotsu supposed to contain such excitement? Easy, he couldn’t.   So, then what are you going to do about that? Inumaki challenged, a smirk playing on his face.    Does this mean…? Okkotsu studied Inumaki’s eyes for confirmation. Inumaki’s eyes glowed daringly. Still beautiful. Always beautiful.    And this time it was Okkotsu leaning in, fumbling fingers latching to the base of Inumaki’s neck and pulling the younger boy in to meet him the rest of the way.   Inumaki’s lips were soft and cold—like before—and all Okkotsu could think about was wanting to warm them up with his own. Inumaki reacted a second later, small mouth slotting to fit perfectly against Okkotsu’s.   Was this really happening? This isn’t a dream?   As if to confirm that this was in fact, very, very real, Okkotsu deepened the kiss, wanting to taste more and more of Inumaki. Inumaki’s hands found their way to Okkotsu’s collar, using the older boy as support.    Eventually, after who knows how long (though it felt too little. Or maybe Okkotsu was just too greedy for Inumaki), they pulled apart, breathing hard and heavy.   The younger boy turned away, embarrassingly flushed, though he looked cute more than anything.    “T—tsunsa…” he stuttered, his hand coming up to hide his face. T—that was…   Inumaki was usually composed. Only on the rare occasion had he seen Inumaki so dazed. Knowing that he did this, that he caused this Inumaki before him, made a multitude of emotions swirl in him.   “That was your first kiss?” Okkotsu asked, just as breathless.   Inumaki blushed harder, if that was even possible    It wasn’t like Okkotsu had much expertise in the area, either. He kissed Rika once when he was eleven. She had given him the ring, and they sealed the deal with a kiss. But they were children then. The kiss was a mere pressing of lips, a quick peck, lasting only half-a-second.   With Inumaki it was different. Everything was different with Inumaki. Because of Inumaki.    “...tsuna,” the younger boy coughed nervously. ...maybe.   And that fact, knowing that he was Inumaki’s first kiss, made a whole new realization hit Okkotsu.   He wanted to be Inumaki’s firsts. All of them. As many as he could. They didn’t end up watching anything that night. Not that Okkotsu would be able to pay attention to anything besides Inumaki right now, anyways.    Inumaki nestled in Okkotsu’s arms, like he did many nights before.    This still seemed too good to be true. It still felt like a dream. But the Inumaki in his arms was real. The Inumaki who accepted him was real. He couldn’t be happier.  “What the fuck did you two do?” Maki asked, scanning the sight before her.   In their defense, it wasn’t like Okkotsu and Inumaki intended to make 144 cookies. It just sort of happened.    It was Inumaki’s idea. He got the idea from a popular baker he watched on YouTube. The only baker that Inumaki watched on YouTube, because the cursed speech user typically preferred prank channels. But that’s besides the point.   Inumaki thought it would be fun to bake sugar cookies and decorate them. Okkotsu joined because… well, there didn’t need to be a reason when it came to Inumaki. They initially planned to make twelve cookies. They Googled a simple recipe online, and yet, somehow, they ended up with twelve times their original amount.   Not to mention that they were each coated in ingrediants—Okkotsu, for such a prestige sorcerer, was quite clumsy. He accidentally dropped a bowl of flour on the floor. Yet, it just so happened to drench Inumaki, head-to-toe, in the substance (how that happened, Okkotsu wasn’t sure). And, because Inumaki was a little troll, he grabbed a bowl filled with egg yolks and threw them at his boyfriend in retaliation.    Though, Maki didn’t believe any of it.    “How the fuck did you idiots not realize you were making more than twelve fucking cookies? Did you guys not think you were using an absurd amount of ingredients for just twelve cookies?” She growled, actually growled in anger. “You guys are fucking idiots. What the fuck are you guys going to do with a hundred cookies?”   “I can help with some,” Panda suggested. “And maybe we can give some to our senpai’s too. And maybe sensei would like some.”   Okkotsu sent a silent thank you to Panda.   “Whatever,” Maki sighed, “I’m losing brain cells by being in here, so I’m going to train for a bit. This,” she pointed to the mess in the kitchen, “better be cleaned up by the time I get back.”   Inumaki saluted, mockingly, but it didn’t appease Maki. She sighed again, louder, audibly furious, and stomped out of the room.    “Maki seems really angry,” Panda commented. “I would hate to be you two,” he laughed. “And as much as I would like to help out, cleaning is not one of my skills, so I think I’m going to join her.” He moved to reach over the counter, grabbing a deformed cookie off the tray before making his leave. “For what it’s worth, these are really good!” He shouted over his shoulder.   “Shake,” Inumaki agreed. I am the best.   “The best at making a mess,” Okkotsu said, glancing over himself, then Inumaki, then the cookies, then the kitchen.    “Tsuna mayo,” the younger boy shrugged. You started it.   Okkotsu smirked, shaking his head, taking two steps forward and pulling Inumaki in by the waist, catching the smaller boy off-guard.    Like this, it was obvious to see how much Okkotsu had grown since coming to Jujutsu Tech. When he first met Inumaki, he had barely been an inch taller than him. Now—now he had to look down to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. And he wasn’t done growing, either. Inumaki acted like he hated it (but he didn’t. He loved having a tall boyfriend, even if he would never admit that to Okkotsu directly).    “You are really, really annoying,” he teased.    Inumaki nodded. Then I guess I’m lucky to have such a stubborn boyfriend who will put up with me.   That was wrong. Okkotsu was the lucky one. He was the luckiest person in the whole entire world because he had Inumaki. That was all he needed.    Okkotsu kissed him.    “Sujiko,” Inumaki pulled back, scrunching his face in disgust. You taste like raw egg.   “And who’s fault is that?”    Yours, he signed, pulling Okkotsu back down before he could protest.    Needless to say, they weren’t done cleaning by the time Maki returned.    She was livid.  Okkotsu was ready for summer vacation. They would still have curses to kill, but they would be on a break from school, which equaled more time with his friends. More time with Inumaki.    But those hopes and dreams were all crushed down when Gojo pulled him aside one day and announced, with a booming voice, that Okkotsu would be sent abroad.    No matter what questions Okkotsu asked, Gojo responded vaguely.    “How long will I be gone?” He asked.   “Maybe a few months. Maybe a year. Maybe more. Maybe a couple of years. Who knows?”   “Where?”   “All over! You get to explore the world!”   “Why?” “It’s a favor for your precious sensei.”   To be fair, Gojo did look a little sympathetic, but that did little to make Okkotsu feel better.   Gojo announced the news later that day, and the response from his classmate’s was underwhelming, to say the least. Maki and Panda asked questions out of curiosity. But, truthfully, as much as Okkotsu would like to say that he was paying attention to the others, that would be a lie. His eyes were glued to Inumaki. And Inumaki, in return, was listening intently to the answers Gojo was giving.   “You don’t make any sense,” Maki said. “You’re the one sending Yuuta halfway across the world and you don’t even know for how long?”   “Or where he’s going?” Panda added.   “Now now, don’t be jealous, my lovely students,” Gojo answered instead.    “Jealous?” Maki scoffed.    The exchange went on for a while. Unsurprisingly, the conversation was filled with bickering. Gojo just couldn’t help but push Maki’s buttons, and Maki always took the bait.    Hours later, once the conversation ceased and night fell upon them, Okkotsu ended up in Inumaki’s room like he so often did. Strangely, Inumaki hadn’t mentioned the recent development since they’ve been alone. He merely watched The Office play on the screen.   “Hey… Inumaki?”   Said boy peered over at him. Okkotsu hesitated.   It kind of hurt. It’s not like Okkotsu wanted Inumaki to feel sad, or angry. But Inumaki not having any reaction to Okkostu moving thousands of miles away made Okkotsu feel unimportant to him. It hurt really bad. Did Inumaki not care that he was going to be gone? He might be gone for years, and Inumaki doesn't care? They won’t be able to see each other—not in person, at least—for a long time. Did Inumaki not care at all?   “Takana?” The younger boy frowned.   Okkotsu took a breath. It was difficult to manage words when his brain was working in overdrive. The younger boy closed his laptop, moving it to the nightstand. Inumaki took Okkotsu’s hand, leaning so that his head laid in the crook of Okkotsu’s neck. An Inumaki-classic move. It used to make Okkotsu’s heart beat out of his chest. Now, it did a good job of calming him.   “It’s just… you haven’t said anything about it,” he muttered. “Do you not care?”   Inumaki glanced up at him, big, amethyst eyes meeting his own.    “Okaka,” he answered. “Tsuna mayo.” I care a lot.   “Oh.”   Inumaki sat up, hand slipping out of Okkotsu’s. He immediately missed the contact, reaching forward to pull Inumaki back, but the younger boy stopped him. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to worry you, he signed.   “Worry me?”    Inumaki nodded. You want to get stronger. Going abroad, this is a good chance to get stronger, right?   “I guess?” Among the vaguely dubious answers Gojo had given Okkotsu, he had made it clear that he’ll get a lot more experience with a variety of sorcerers and curses. Despite how strong Okkotsu already was, and as much as he had improved during his short time at Jujutsu Tech, he still had a lot of untapped potential, according to Gojo.    It is, Inumaki confirmed. And I don’t want to hold you back from that. I don’t want you to stay because of me.   That was the reason? So it wasn’t because Inumaki didn’t care for him? Relief washed over Okkotsu. “Damn it, Inumaki,” he blushed, ashamed that he let his insecurities consume him. “You had no idea what crazy things I was thinking.”   Didn’t I tell you that you don’t always have to think so much?   “It’s hard.” Okkotsu was trying, but it was hard to fight against an instinct that had been instilled in him since he could remember.    I’m going to miss you, Inumaki smiled. So much. But I’ll be here, waiting for you. So you just have to promise me that you’ll come back.   “I promise!” Okkotsu answered, too quickly, taking Inumaki by surprise. He angled forward, forehead resting against Inumaki’s. “I’ll always come back to you.”   That went without saying. Wherever Okkotsu went, he would always come back to Inumaki, no matter what.   “Inumaki,” he mumbled. For once, the younger boy wasn’t so cold. He felt warm. “I love you.” He closed the last bit of distance between them, enveloping Inumaki’s lips with his own. “I love you so much, Inumaki,” he repeated against the younger’s lips. A deep, intense, fiery red love that Okkotsu couldn’t control.   “Y—Yuuta.” Okkotsu might have heard. He wasn’t sure, the sound being swallowed out by their kiss, but it still sent a shiver down his spine.   “Toge—” Okkotsu was so, undeniably, utterly in love with him.  “—I love you.”   There weren’t words to describe how in love he was with this cursed speech user.    But this was a start.  The day of his departure was a dejected one.   Not much of a goodbye was needed for Gojo. His sensei could come visit him any time he chose (which, as he reminded Okkotsu, would be often. Okkotsu didn’t know if he should believe that, but the insinuation that Gojo could pop up at any moment would surely keep him on his guard even across the ocean).   Panda gave him a bone-crushing hug. Okkotsu’s katana dug into his spine painfully, but he didn’t complain. He was going to be gone for some time, so he could handle all the aggressive affection from Panda today.   Maki, in spite of her tough exterior, bid him farewell with watery-eyes. Okkotsu had to do a double take because what the fuck. Was Maki actually crying for him? When he brought it up, he was given a stern punch on the shoulder as she spat I’m not fucking crying, you idiot! Bad idea to mention it.   Saying goodbye to Toge was, as expected, the hardest of all. He didn’t know how he would survive off of simple texts and video calls with Toge for months, but he would have to. He has to come back to Toge. He would come back to Toge. Always.   “Toge, I—” the younger boy shut him up with a kiss, having to stand on his toes to reach Okkotsu's height.   Inumaki pulled back, shaking his head. “Okaka,” he said, voice raw. “Tsuna mayo.” Don’t grow any more while you’re away.   “I can’t make any promises.”   Inumaki, again, shook his head.    There were a lot of things that were going to change. It was a scary fact. Things were already changing. But Toge will still be Toge, and he will still be Yuuta.   I love you, Toge signed. I love you and you better not forget your sign language while you’re away because then I’ll kill you.   Toges loves me? He said other stuff too, but all Yuuta could focus on was that Toge loves him.    “Again,” Yuuta said. Just to be sure he interpreted right.   I guess I don’t have to worry much about you forgetting JSL while you’re gone, since you seem pretty bad at it now, Toge rolled his eyes, grabbing Yuuta’s face in a similar manner to when he accepted Yuuta’s confession months ago.    I, Toge mouthed, love you, Yuuta.   Fuck. Why did he have to leave now? (Why did he have to leave at all? It was so unfair.)   “Tsuna mayo,” Toge said, ruffling Yuuta’s hair. They're waiting.   Yuuta sulked. “You can’t just say that when I’m about to leave, Toge. You're so mean.”   The younger boy stuck out his tongue mockingly.    So mean and so cute, he thought. “Kiss me again,” the older boy practically demanded. “I need something to get me through my trip.”   Toge did kiss him, but it wasn’t exactly the way he wanted. Yuuta wanted a kiss, a real one. His boyfriend kissed him on the cheek because he’s a tease like that.   You can have another one when you come back, Toge signed, like an insurance to make sure that he came back. Which was stupid, because Yuuta would come back to him no matter what.   Yuuta stole a kiss—a real one—anyways.    And it would have lasted longer, gone deeper, if it wasn’t for Toge’s playful shove pushing him away. Yuuta made a noise to protest, but Toge was determined.    “Sujiko. Tsuna mayo.” If you don’t go now, I might not be able to let you leave.   Yeah, Toge was really mean.   Eventually, the younger boy lead him outside to where everyone was waiting. Maki looked approvingly. Panda, too. Gojo, of course, made annoying remarks that only worked to fluster Toge.    He slid into the back seat. Gojo called shotgun to accompany his precious student to meet Miguel (who, as it turns out, Yuuta will be traveling with. His sensei just happened to mention this rather important detail two days before), and Ijichi in the driver’s seat to take him to the airport.   Yuuta waved a short bye to his classmates, eyes selfishly stuck on Toge’s fading form as they drove further and further away from the school.   Was it possible to already miss someone you just saw minutes ago? Well, he certainly missed Toge, so the answer must be yes. These months will be hell.    But he will come back. He will always come back to Toge.

Thanks to the portal, the boys had ended up in Wild’s timeline, and were peacefully resting inside Wild’s house in Hateno.   It was also one of those days where the effects of the portal were so bad that Four had to split.   Fortunately, thanks to the shelter, the chain was thrilled to not have to deal with any monsters or other problems.    Wild cooked up a pot full of Cream of Vegetable Soup for everyone. Hyrule had attempted to help him but was promptly dragged away by Twilight, who muttered under his breath that, “No one should ever let Hyrule near a stove.”   It was all quiet. After all, the brothers had spent most of the evening sharing light banter and relaxing.    Then out of nowhere, Red clapped his hands and exclaimed, “We should all talk about our love interests!”   Warriors choked on his drink and started coughing loudly.  Wild almost dropped the pot he was cleaning. Green sputtered and started blushing. Hyrule, Twilight, Vio, and Wind just looked at him as if he grew a second head. Time simply rolled his eyes.   Blue, strangely flustered, hissed, “You can’t just say that Red!” Sky, however, was already waving his hand saying, “Oh! Pick me! Can I go first?”   Legend growled, “No Sky. If we let you talk, you won’t shut up unless you’re knocked out by one of Wild’s lynels.”   “But Sun is so-!”   “WE KNOW!” Legend exclaimed, exasperated.   Warriors smirked. “Are you jealous of Sky, Legend? Do you have someone back home?”   Legend’s glare rivaled Time’s Disappointing Face™, which made Warriors shrink back a little bit. “How about you, pretty boy? Got any girls to go with your looks?”   Without lifting his gaze from his book, Vio said, “Hey Legend, is that your best attempt at a pick-up line?”   “Oh please,” he waved him off, “pretty boy ain’t my type. I’ll have you know, I’ve already got someone,”   Shocked silence.   Then Legend’s eyes widened right when he uncharacteristically flushed a dark red that crawled up from his neck, to his face, and to the tips of his ears as he realized his mistake.    They were no longer in shocked silence.   “WOAH LEGEND HAS A GIRLFRIEND?!”   “OH COME ON, I WAS SO SURE I’D WIN THAT BET!”   “I would have never guessed.”   “She could never be cuter than Sun though.”   “SKY!”   “But is she cute?”   “Of course not!”   “Leg’s got a girlfriend!~”   “Statistically speaking, that’s impossible.”   Green spared a glance towards Vio, who still hadn’t looked up from his book. “Vio, you’re out to get Legend today, two roasts in a row!”   “Hm.” Vio closed his book, which caused several heads to turn. Silence, once again.   Then he smirked. He walked towards Legend with a slow, steady pace and very much audible steps. Suddenly, he shoved his index finger into his chest. His voice dripping with sarcasm, Vio said, “I’m sure we all want to know who your boyfriend is.”   Even more silence. No, wait, that’s a lie. The chain couldn’t handle it anymore. Most especially Legend.   The chaos that ensued could be heard from the Hateno Ancient Tech Lab. Wind’s audible gasp was the loudest sound to come out of his mouth ever--”A BOYFRIEND?!”--Green caught secondhand embarrassment, Blue yelled at Vio asking him why he “always had to be dramatic” while Vio shrugs, Time looked up and prayed to Hylia for patience, Wild demanded Legend to tell them who Legend was dating whether it was a guy or a girl, Sky was in his own world thinking of Sun not listening to the conversation but once Vio spoke, he joined Wild in stealing information out of Legend. Oddly enough, so did Twilight.   As for Legend, he adamantly tried to maintain his pride by deflecting Wild, Sky, and Twilight.   “My love life is not something I advertise, and it’s definitely not something I’m telling you three idiots.”   “But Legend,” Wild insisted, “Who could possibly love someone as callous as you?”   “WILD I SWEAR TO HYLIA-”   But at that moment, they all felt a tug in their gut and a portal showed up above them.   More specifically, above Legend.   “................aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”   BOOM!   “Ow ow ow ow…”   With a familiar, purple rabbit costume with the hood covering his face, Ravio was now sprawled out on top of Legend.   Ravio looked up as he rubbed his head removing the hood in the process. His green eyes scanned the room before they widened with excitement as they fell on the group of Hylia’s chosen heroes of courage.   With a gasp, Ravio exclaimed, “MR. HERO’S FAMILY! If you guys are here, then where’s Mr. Hero?”   With an expression that said “Just end me now,” Time motioned with his hands towards the veteran, suppressing a sigh.   “R-Ravio, you’re squishing me.”   At that moment, Ravio noticed that he was lying across the veteran. “Oh my!” Ravio promptly scooted off of him. “How long have you been there?”   Legend sat up and brushed imaginary dust off of his shoulders. With an unnaturally calm voice, he said, “You were the one who fell right on top of me. I’ve been here the whole time.”   Using both of his hands, Ravio grabbed Legend’s own and brought them close to his chest, pulling the veteran face-to-face with Ravio. With a saccharine smile that enhanced his cheerful features, he exclaimed, “It’s nice to see you again, Link!”   Like a goldfish out of the water, Legend’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Then closed again. For the first time since they’ve met the veteran, he was at a loss for words.   Slightly confused, Warriors broke in saying, “So Legend, who’s your friend?”   Instantly, Legend’s face burned an even darker crimson. His widened blue eyes darted back and forth in an attempt to avoid Ravio’s enthusiastic gaze, and he tried his best to softly push Ravio away from him.    Unfortunately, Ravio wasn’t going to let go of his close friend that easily. “What are you going to do tonight, Link?” he asked enthusiastically. “Are you free to hang out?”   “Um,” Wind interrupted, “Ravio, right?”   Ravio whipped his head around with shock because he forgot all about the other heroes once he set his eyes upon Legend. “Oh my goodness, I forgot about you all!” He quickly let go of Legend’s hands to introduce himself to Wind. Legend visibly deflated, his shoulders losing all tension from being in close proximity with Ravio.   Ravio adjusted his scarf as Sheerow softly landed on his head. With a short bow, Ravio said, “I’m Ravio, a traveling merchant for the lands of Hyrule and Lorule! Link here is my boyfriend!”   The veteran tensed up again just as the chain turned to Legend and screamed, “THAT’S YOUR BOYFRIEND?!”   As if his brain short-circuited and went on auto pilot, Legend pivoted and ran out the door, much to Ravio’s confusion. “Hm? Why did he leave? Does he have to use the restroom?”   Hyrule stood up from his seat. “Wait up, Legend!” He grabbed his sword and ran out the door to follow the veteran.   “I should go too,” Twilight announced. He also took his sword with him and followed the traveler out the door.   He smiled at Twilight, “Thanks, Twi. Now let’s see where Legend ran off to.” Why is he here why is he here why is he here why is he here why is he here-   Legend just ran away. He couldn’t take the humiliation anymore. First Red decided to mention relationships, then Sky--oh Hylia, Sky could talk about Sun until the day he died--and then Ravio showed up out of nowhere.   He just couldn’t catch a break. The others most likely noticed how out of character his actions were when Ravio fell on top of him, and then he also had the audacity to pull him closer than necessary. Sure, they were in a relationship, but Ravio was the one who confessed. Why did Ravio like him of all people? He only accepted because he thought it would’ve been rude to decline. But then he realized what he had signed up for, and for fear of history repeating itself, he’s now terrified of being anywhere near him.   Him, scared? Hylia’s probably laughing her ass off at me right now, that jerk.   Caught up in his thoughts, he was startled when he found that, at some point, he had tripped and fallen face first into...a pond? Spitting out water, he brushed his soaking wet hair with his fingers in an attempt to neaten it up before taking a good look at his surroundings.   It seemed that the pond he was in resembled that of a broken heart. Almost too perfectly, as if it were intentional. The rock in the middle of the pond created the jagged line that splintered the heart in two. The clear water most likely only reached up to his knees in depth, and the dark green lilies adorned the top of each piece of the broken heart delicately.   It was as if nature itself was mocking him. What were the chances that he was going to fall into a pond shaped like a broken heart to remind him of his severed friendships?   What truly took his breath away was the stunning view of the sky. There were stars all across the sky, which enhanced the painted sunset red-orange that spread across the western horizon. The milky white crescent moon embellished the night sky as it watched over the vast land of Hyrule with its peaceful rivers and its colossal mountains. When he looked at what was below the mountain peak he was on, he saw the soft, amber lights that illuminated each building in Hateno Village.   Legend stood there, taking in the view when he heard footsteps. Two sets of them.   With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he spun around and yelled out, “Who’s there?”   His intense grip on his sword relaxed when he saw Hyrule and Twilight gasping for air at the other end of the pond.   Wheezing, Hyrule forced out, “We...didn’t know...you were going to...hike up this...entire mountain.”    Once he finished catching his breath, Twilight asked, “Why did’ya run off like that, Legend? You’ve never gone up here.”   Why did he run off? Sure he was nervous around Ravio, but despite that, he’s used to being around him. This time was no different, even if he did get a little too close for comfort around his friends.   “I…”   His throat closed up as if a scarf was wrapped tightly around it. Words seemed to fail him, because how else could he say this without shaming himself?   ...Light rain began to fall around them, the smell of something unidentifiable filled the air as the beautiful sky that was once seen moments ago disappeared from view.   Suddenly, Twilight’s hand fell on his shoulder, startling Legend. With a soft smile, he said, “Do you get anxious around Ravio?”   Sheepish and unable to say anything himself, the flustered veteran simply nodded.   Twilight, being the older brother that he is to Legend, asked him to lie down on the grass with him. He lied down in between Hyrule and Twilight, and closed his eyes.   “Peaceful, ain’t it? Despite the rain?”   As a cool breeze on the mountain picked up, Legend answered, “Yeah.”   This place did make him remember how peaceful things were back before he started his adventures ten years ago. Because he never lived in the castle with Fable, he could go out to his own front yard and lie down on the grass with his uncle. He would tell his crazy stories from when he was a knight, and Legend would tell stories from his own daily ventures with some of the village kids.   All of that changed one fateful night, when his uncle was murdered inside the castle.   It’s been ten years, so he’s gotten over his death, but he can’t help but miss him some days.   ...More clouds came in, summoning more rain from the skies above.   “Tell me, do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?”   Legend opened an eye to look at him. “What makes you say that?”   Twilight’s wink was the only indication that he heard what Legend said, as if saying let me finish . “They say it’s the only time when our world intersects with theirs. The only time we can feel the lingering spirits who have left our world. That is why loneliness always pervades the hour of twilight.”   A pause. He felt his heart tighten with each word he spoke.   Then Twilight sighed. “It’s one of the most memorable things that my dad Rusl told me just before the start of my journey. At first, I only thought that the two worlds were ours and the Twilight Realm. Now, I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”   Rolling onto his side, he turned to face Legend. “While I do believe he was originally referring to the Twilight Realm, I don’t think it’s limited to those two worlds. There are different ones out there, after all. In addition to my Twilight Realm, there’s your Dark World, or Lorule. It could also refer to the afterlife, or the land of our dreams.”   The last one made Legend flinch. D-does he know?   As if he really did know something the veteran didn’t, Twilight continued, “Sure you’re anxious around Ravio, but is that really anxiety...   ...or is attachment really that frightening to you?”   Legend froze.   …   ...The rain came down harder now, the sunlit sky now a dreary gray, a shadow of what it once was.   ...   Dammit Twilight, don’t call me out like that.   ...   Quietly, he confirmed with a soft nod. His cheeks promptly flushed a light pink, more ashamed of himself than embarrassed.    He wouldn’t have said anything more, but something inside him broke like an overflowing dam, making him unable to stop his words from flowing out of his mouth.    It almost felt like the sky surrounding him was weighing down on him.   “I’m just not sure what to do. With Ravio I mean. We’re together but I feel like there’s something wrong. I-I don’t know how to explain it! I think it’s me. Y-you’re right. I think I really am s-scared of being with him because the second I try to find some kind of semblance of a normal life, Hylia decides, ‘Hey errand boy, you need to go save my world again’ after all I’ve done. It’s frustrating! You’d think that after six adventures I’d finally get a break and maybe not curse everyone I’ve ever loved, which so far has really only been four people in my entire life, two of which are dead. Gone forever. Maybe I should just stay away from everyone, that way they can at least stay alive and to hell with this world-“   He felt a sudden weight rolling onto him. A smaller figure, too short to be Twilight, was giving him a tight hug. Oh wait, that’s Hyrule.   Legend completely forgot that he was venting to Twilight with Hyrule-- his successor --listening as well. Does Hyrule think less of him now because he’s been such a crybaby? Hyrule has it much worse than him, with his entire Hyrule a complete, desolate wasteland full of monsters still roaming around for the hero’s blood. Hyrule must’ve found out that the great Hero of Legend is nothing but a weakling who can’t handle slight inconveniences like losing two of the closest people he’s ever met to the hands of death.   Could this day get any more embarrassing?   But then, Hyrule spoke. “Legend. Can you hear me?”   He slowly nodded, but Hyrule insisted, “Legend, you have to talk to me. I’ll ask again, can you hear me?”   “...yes ‘Roolie, I can hear you.”   Hyrule chuckled and breathed in his shirt. “It’s okay to have feelings, y’know. Everyone has them. There’s not a single person in this world who isn’t afraid of something. For me, it’s reviving Ganon again because the Eyes of Ganon got too much of my blood. For Twilight...well, I suppose it would be getting exiled because of Wolfie. But you, Legend, for you, it’s losing people close to you. I truly find that admirable, because most people would think about themselves first before they thought about others.”   Confused, Legend mumbled, “Isn’t me asking for people not to leave me selfish though?”   Hyrule shook his head. “Legend, wanting people by your side isn’t selfish. Wanting Ravio by your side isn’t selfish. Your fear is that Ravio will leave you just like the other two people you’ve mentioned. That won’t happen again, Legend. Ravio wants to be with you. From what I can tell, he’s smitten and would do anything to keep your love and affection.”   “B-but,” Legend tried to refute, “they...they told me that they would never leave me, and yet t-they b-both d-did a-and-”   All of a sudden, Hyrule sat up from being slumped over Legend and pressed a finger to the veteran’s lips to silence him. He stared back into Hyrule’s surprisingly fierce brown eyes, shocked that Hyrule would resort to something so bold for him. In a smooth, yet strong voice, Hyrule spoke, “Legend, listen to me, and I will only say it once. Loneliness is poisonous, one that, when untreated, spreads like wildfire until there’s nothing but ashes left in its wake. So, I want you to go to Ravio tonight, and talk to him. You can’t keep this to yourself because that’ll only make things worse. Just talk to Ravio, tell him how you feel without holding anything back, and then let either of us know how it went.”   Hyrule paused, then his gaze softened as he gave him one of his trademark smiles. “Please listen to me, Legend. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot better once you get that out of your system.”   ...The rain slowly began to calm, the gloomy clouds slowly fading away to nothingness.   The traveler rolled off of the veteran, leaving him with a vacant feeling of yearning in the absence of where Hyrule once was.   Legend felt almost…completely alone in that moment.   Looking up at the stars and the remaining clouds in the sky, he decided that he would try to open up. Even just a little bit, to some of his closest friends. To Ravio, especially. Praying, even to Hylia that they wouldn’t be taken from him.   The thought still terrified him. But he will do better.   ...The rain and the clouds were now gone. Only the sunset and the stars remained.   Just before Hyrule stood up to leave, Legend grabbed Hyrule’s hand, surprising both him and his successor. “Hyrule...thank you. For the advice, I mean.”   Unaccustomed to seeing his predecessor’s vulnerability, Hyrule simply stared at him for a moment before breaking out into a warm grin. “No problem, that’s what friends are for.”    Legend’s thoughts drifted back to Ravio. After hearing Hyrule’s guidance, Legend was filled with a little bit more fortitude than before. Maybe...just maybe, he could pull this off and conquer his fear. He was a hero of courage after all.   He stood up from his spot on the wet grass next to Twilight, who, at some point in the conversation, had turned into Wolfie without him noticing. Glancing down from the mountain, Legend replied with a hint of softness, “Well then, I guess I should try to play a better part as a friend...or maybe even a little more than that.”   Wolfie nudged Legend’s foot affectionately with his snout as if saying Just go talk to him already.   He chuckled, “Fine, fine, I’ll get going.”   The group of three slowly made their way back to Hateno Village, closer than they were the hour before.   …   ...The broken heart of Ebon had morphed into something greater. What remained was a heart that wasn’t quite healed, but a heart that had grown with the rain.    ...Perhaps more than one broken heart had been filled that day. “Sooooo…you guys are Mr. Hero’s family?” Ravio questioned, in an attempt to break the silence.   “Uh...yeah, something like that.” Red replied with a light chuckle. It was complicated after all.   “Um, Ravio, what exactly do you mean to Le-Link?” Wind remarked, slightly worried about Legend. “I mean, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen him scramble out the door all flustered like that.”    Red saw Ravio’s expression flicker into something more somber, before it returned to the cheerful state it was as if it never changed.   “Well, Link is someone I really care about.” He simply stated.    Time pulled out a chair, offering a seat to Ravio. “I’m honestly surprised he never mentioned you, considering that you two are...you know.” Ravio offered a small smile as he gratefully sat down.   “That isn’t too surprising actually,” Wild reasoned. “Like, have any of us heard Legend talk about his personal life?”   Silence.   Wild leaned back in his chair. “I rest my case.”   Ravio is the only one that seemed unsurprised by the comment. “Mr. Hero has never been one for talking about personal matters.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. His smile faded as he continued, “To be honest, I sometimes wonder why he ever agreed to becoming anything more than friends considering that he always tries to avoid any relationships.”   Red curiously asked, “Has he always been like this around you? Oh, I-I don’t mean to intrude on anything that isn’t my business,” he quickly held up his hands before continuing. “It’s just…he didn’t seem to greet you differently than anyone else.”   Ravio looked puzzled for a moment before he chuckled. “We never exactly made any arrangements like ‘normal relationships.’” He used finger quotes for emphasis. “Sure, Link means a lot to me, but we’re taking things at our own pace.”   Blue didn’t seem to like that much. “At your own pace? If you two like each other why don’t you just go for it? Stop dancing around each other ‘cause that’s dumb.”   Ravio paused, as if considering his next few sentences. Then he admitted, “As much as I want that, I don’t think Link is ready for such a big commitment. He might still be stuck in the past.”   Suddenly, the air seemed to get so tense that Red could cut it with a knife. He didn’t want to know anything that Legend wasn’t prepared to share, after all.   “Stuck in the past?”   Red internally sighed. Of course Vio had no such reservations.   Ravio smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes the way it normally did. “One of his adventures...was not kind to him. To make a long story short, he fell in love with a girl who was eventually...taken away from him. I won’t go into details, but that’s the main reason why he’s afraid to open up and accept anyone else’s love. He’s still traumatized from that adventure. I don’t think he’ll want to start anything with me because nothing I’ve done could ever compare to her love for him and his love for her.”   Red was taken aback at how Ravio could talk about himself like that. Sure Legend must’ve gone through some awful situations, but that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t be able to find happiness with Ravio.   “What do you mean by that?” Red snapped. “Do you honestly think that Legend doesn’t love you back? Because of some mystery girl who’s no longer here?”   Everyone blinked. They didn’t expect Red of all people to be the first to oppose Ravio’s reasoning. Red couldn’t bring himself to stop however. He needed to get this through Ravio’s thick head.   He took on a tone of voice that Red would use to reprimand Blue. “Maybe Legend hasn’t moved on yet, maybe not. But that doesn’t give you a chance to put yourself down! You, of all people, should know how distant Legend is with everyone! If you stay away from him for fear of not being enough for him, then he’ll think that you want to leave him too! Don’t jeopardize your friendship, your relationship, whatever you wanna call it for something that stupid, Ravio!”   Cowering under Red’s righteous rage, Ravio squeaked, “But what if he doesn’t want to be with anyone anymore? What if he doesn’t see me in that way?”   “You don’t decide that yourself!” Red stepped closer to him. “You don’t know whether he sees you as a romantic partner or not.” Another step. “None of us do, actually.” Another step. “Legend is the type of person who doesn’t reveal anything about himself, so make him talk to you!” He stopped right in front of Ravio, cornering him with his back pressed against the wall. In a final, accusatory voice, Red yelled, “Ask him out! Make it clear to him! Let him know for sure what your feelings for him are, and be sure to ask him back and get an answer!”   At that moment, the only thing that could be heard in that room was the sound of Red heaving for air. He never liked being angry at other people, but after years of living with Blue in his head half the time, Red had gotten better at defending his beliefs.   Ravio took a few moments to absorb Red’s argument. He took a deep breath, and exhaled. Then another one, and exhaled. One final one, and exhaled. Ravio then looked up, made eye contact with Red, and gave him a soft yet trusting smile.    “Thank you for yelling some sense into me. T-Truly, I’m grateful!” He waved his hands to ease Blue’s disbelieving glare. “I’ll talk to him, you guys. I’ll tell him the truth.”   Red brightened up and smiled back at him. “That’s great, Ravio! I’m glad I could help!”   Warriors nodded. “Yes, truly that’s great and all, but...” He smirked. “Have you two ever k-” “Committed arson together?” Ravio finished with his eyes sparkling with excitement and a smile.   …   “T-that’s not what I was going to ask but now I’m curious,” Warriors said with a hint of concern.   Clapping his hands together, Ravio exclaimed, “Well, it all started when-”   All of a sudden, the front door slammed open to reveal Legend, Hyrule, and Twilight, looking like drowned bokoblins.   Goodness, did it rain at some point? Red was too caught up in his conversation with Ravio to notice.   Staring straight into Ravio’s eyes, Legend hissed, “Ravio, no-”   “Ravio yes,” Ravio countered with a cheeky grin. “You have to admit, Link, it was a blast.”   Slightly growling due to the pun, Legend walked briskly past the others and got up close to Ravio’s face. “Ravio,” Legend warned, “do I need to tell them about the day you lost-”   Slapping a hand over the veteran’s mouth, Ravio begged, “No! Please! Anything but that!”   Finally noticing the close proximity, Legend’s face blushed a deep crimson. He looked like he was going to book it, but seemed to decide otherwise, and relaxed. But then he abruptly grabbed Ravio’s wrist, blurted out a short “Come with me,” and promptly yanked him out the door and closed it behind him.   Wind turned to look at the others with a smug grin. Unfortunately, Red knew that the look on his face couldn’t mean anything good.     Once Legend pulled Ravio out of Wild’s house, he turned left and took him to Wild’s backyard where there was a small pond and a tree for some privacy.    Still holding Ravio’s wrist, he stopped just underneath the tree.   “Um, Link?” Ravio nervously asked. “Are you okay? What do you need to talk about?”   Legend took a deep breath. He took Ravio outside for a reason, and he wasn’t going to back out now. Hyrule and Twilight would scold him for doing so when he had such a perfect opportunity.   He exhaled, and without turning around, he asked, “Ravio…can you be honest with me?”   Though he gave Legend a confused expression, Ravio reassured him, “I’ll always be honest with you, Mr. Hero!”   A blush crept up to his face, but steeling himself once more, he let go of Ravio’s wrist and began, “Is it selfish of me to want people to stay with me?”   Not expecting such a question, Ravio blinked a few times before saying, “Could you be more specific for me? I’m not sure if I understand exactly what you mean by that.”   He almost didn’t elaborate. He almost gave up. He almost wanted to laugh it off and say that it was nothing and that he was being dumb, but once again, he was reminded of Hyrule’s words to him on top of Ebon Mountain.   “From what I can tell, he’s smitten and would do anything to keep your love and affection.”   If Ravio was truly in love with him, he would be able to give Legend a solid response.   Once again, he gathered up his courage, and Legend spoke.   “I’ve been adventuring for ten years. I’ve met loads of people, but I’ve never gotten close to them because they would always leave me or pretend I never existed after I saved their lives. In fact, during my first adventure, I was accused of kidnapping Zelda and had a bounty on my head. Because of that, I’ve always been alone. That was, until you came along.”    Finally, Legend turned around and made eye contact with Ravio. “At the start of my fifth adventure, you showed up from Lorule and asked to stay at my place. Ever since that day, I’ve never truly been alone anymore. But…” he paused as the main purpose to why he wanted to talk to Ravio approached. Shaking his head, Legend continued, “I-I’m scared. Scared that one day you’ll leave me too like the others. Scared that one day I wake up and realize that this was all a dream and that I’m just going insane and that you and the others were never real to begin with. I don’t want this to be a dream. I want this to be real. All this kindness that I never had for ten years, I want it to be real. Is...is that selfish of me, Ravio? To wish for this to be real? To wish for people to stay with me? To wish that they wouldn’t leave me all alone ?”   It wasn’t until Ravio approached him and gingerly wiped tears from his eyes that Legend noticed he had started crying during his monologue. Soon after, Ravio threw his arms around Legend and pulled him into a tight hug. Gradually, Legend comprehended that Ravio was trying to comfort him. As foreign as the idea of someone comforting him was, Legend was certain that Ravio meant it. Slowly, Legend lifted his arms with slight hesitancy before settling around Ravio’s waist, and pulled him in tightly in a warm hug.    They stood there embracing each other under the silvery crescent moon with only the stars and the flora around them as witnesses.   After what seemed like hours later, Ravio carefully unwrapped his arms from around Legend’s shoulders to softly clutch them instead. He gave him a gentle smile and said, “Link, let me tell you a story.”    Legend almost had to do a double take, but he knew Ravio was being genuine, so he nodded and decided to go along with it.   Ravio took a deep breath before he spoke softly, “There once was a purple bunny.”    He blinked. “...Is this going to be a serious story or one that you would tell a child?” Legend said with his normal level of sarcasm slightly lower than normal.    “Just listen to me, Link,” Ravio shook his head lightly before continuing. “This purple bunny lived an average life. He wanted to live, but was too cowardly to put others before himself, and because of that, he had always been alone. Occasionally stealing something, selling things off for a decent profit, always fending for himself without relying on anyone’s help. That was, until he saw a bunny like him. Well, not exactly like him, but we’ll get to that.”   Legend raised an eyebrow but said nothing.   “This pink bunny was a hero, and not just ‘Oh that bunny saved the princess from certain death!’ He was a real hero. He was willing to sacrifice himself to save everything. He was living an honest life, too. He didn’t steal from others because he helped others without expecting anything in return time and time again. The purple bunny had never seen someone like that. Someone who was the embodiment of courage. The embodiment of a true hero.”   At this point, a slight blush adorned Legend’s face as he realized what--or rather who --this story was about.   Ravio continued, “While the purple bunny always ran from his problems, the pink bunny always fought them head on, no matter how difficult they were. The purple bunny admired that trait of his. So, one day, the purple bunny decided to try and gain some of that courage. The pink bunny was always busy with one quest or another, so once the purple bunny saw him going through so much, he did something that he hadn’t done before because he had always been too afraid to do so; to finally let himself love.”   Ravio held a warm smile directed at Legend as he finished his sentence.   After a few moments, Legend spoke quietly, something barely above a whisper, something meant to only be heard by Ravio.   “Th-the pink bunny had his own secrets and fears, too, y’know. He always tried to help, sure, but he was--and had always been--afraid of losing those important to him.”   Legend inhaled before he continued, “He met the purple bunny purely by chance. Living with him was a choice, but growing to love him was out of his control, and that terrified him.”   Ravio listened patiently but after hearing that last sentence, his eyes flickered up to meet Legend’s.   Even though his voice wavered, Legend pushed on, convincing himself that he needed to do this. “The pink bunny had never told the purple bunny about this fear, and as fears do, it slowly grew worse over time. He was afraid of being ignored or rejected, but when the purple bunny confessed his feelings, the fears that went through his head were even worse. What if he didn’t mean it? What if he leaves? What if he realizes I’m not who he thinks I am? The same pattern, over and over again.”   Legend closed his eyes as he finally admitted, “Which is why, the pink bunny ran from his feelings--or rather, the cause of his feelings.” He opened his eyes once more and met Ravio’s.   “The pink bunny eventually got some much needed advice from his friends on the top of a twilit hill. With what some would call courage, he stopped running from his feelings for fear of the past repeating itself and let himself finally admit three simple words. Those three simple words of…”    He smiled freely.   “I love you.”   Ravio immediately burst out into a bright smile at the confession. Legend felt the weight on his chest fully disappear, as if the world was letting him bask in the feeling of finally releasing his bottled up emotions from inside himself.    This feeling only increased as he felt Ravio pull him into a chaste kiss, and time seemed to have skidded to a complete stop. It conveyed everything Ravio had been wanting to tell him ever since they met, and it told him all the words he hadn’t told him yet; his feelings, his wishes, his willingness to simply be with him and ask for nothing more.   It was so warm and full of complete and unbridled love.   The kiss didn’t last long, but the residual happiness the kiss had caused lingered as Ravio lay his head in the crook of Legend’s neck. “I love you too, Link. I love you more than you could ever imagine.”   After some time, the two sat down at the trunk of the tree, Ravio sunk down to the base and leaned back onto the tree and let themselves relax.   Ravio pulled Legend onto his lap. The flustered veteran attempted to hide his embarrassment by nuzzling his head into Ravio’s chest.    They stayed there in silence for a few minutes, just cuddling peacefully under the stars.   That was, until Ravio commented, “Say, did we ever finish that story?”   Legend wasn’t expecting that comment. “...did you get attached to the story itself and not the message it was conveying?” he replied with a hint of amusement.   Ravio replied, “I mean, I get that it was symbolic of us and all but was the story really over?”   “Well,” Legend thought out loud, “I suppose our story isn’t over yet, either.”   “Do you think we’ll get a happy ending to our story?”   Legend chuckled and turned his gaze to wink at Ravio. “Don’t worry, Honeybun, I know we will.”     \\\\\\Bonus//////   “Have they kissed yet?!”   “Red stop pushing!” Blue hissed.   “Guys look-! They're actually talking to each other! This is too cute-” Twilight replied.   “Wild, can you take a photo of this? I want to tease Legend about this later since they're just being too darn cute.” Warriors commented.   “Don’t worry Wars,” he said coolly, “I’ve been recording everything.”   “C’mon we need to give them some privacy.” Sky said, attempting to not so subtly get a glance at the pair in the process.   “Wait, wait wait wait- look! THEY’RE KISSING!!!” Hyrule blurted out.    That caught Wind’s attention, “They are?! Can someone lift me up? I can’t see them.” Wind cried, while cursing at his small stature.   Time then pulled the curtains to cover the windows from view, “Alright children, let’s give them some space. Besides,” he smirked, his inner child seeping through his serious walls, “We’ll have plenty of time later to tease them. Pun one hundred percent intended.”   \The End\

Zenkichi relaxed into the barstool, a wry smile fixed to his face as Sakura eyed him warily. Ren had told the older gentleman only the bare bones of their summer adventure, but he had made sure to include Zenkichi’s name amongst his list of Thieves. He wasn’t too sure he wanted that spread around, but Sakura was sort of the kid’s guardian. And the curry - no longer a banned substance for him - certainly didn’t hurt either. Speaking of, Sakura dropped the steaming plate in front of him with a very final sounding click. “So,” he drawled. “So?” Zenkichi prompted after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Those kids got to you too, huh?” the older man shook his head in mild disbelief. “Heh. Guess so.” Sakura didn’t seem particularly bothered by the lack of detail, flicking a lighter open. Cigarette smoke lazily drifted between them, glowing embers flickering briefly as he took a drag. Zenkichi waved it away. “You do that around all your customers?” “You hardly count.” Heh. Rude. But the gruffness was charming in its own way; a sure sign that the other was comfortable - or trying to be - in his presence. It was a far cry from being all but thrown out the door. It was quiet for a few minutes, the only sound a gentle clink of cutlery as Zenkichi ate. He was pretty sure LeBlanc had been empty the other two times he’d stopped in as well. How on earth did Sakura pay the bills like that? “So what do you want with Ren this time?” Sakura asked, drawing the inspector from his idle musings. He blinked. “Huh? Oh. Nothing, really. Just heard he was back in town for winter break and thought I’d check in.” At the rate they were going the kids would probably poke another viper’s nest and unleash some other god-like being to fight, and Zenkichi would much rather stay on top of news like that, thank you very much. Once was bad enough, but when Ann had cheerfully filled him in on their past exploits… well. Three beings trying to take over the world in their own way and Zenkichi had only known about one of them. It had been a lot to unpack. ‘Damn kids are gonna be the death of me.’ Sakura snorted, features relaxing into something almost amused. He settled into a comfortable slouch, breathing out a pale cloud of smoke. “Guess I can’t fault you for that. Pretty sure Ren could find trouble in his sleep if he put his mind to it.” Considering how hard the police had been gunning for him when he hadn’t even done anything yet just that summer, Zenkichi could wholeheartedly believe it. Soft footsteps sounded from the stairwell. Speak of the devil. “Hey Zenkichi,” Ren greeted. “I didn’t know you were in town. I - oh, hold on a second.” Deft hands slid along his buzzing phone’s lock-screen. Morgana peeked down at it from over his shoulder. Sakura shook his head. “Always on that damn phone, I swear.” Well, to be fair, it hadn’t been so long since that phone had been inhabited by an AI so advanced it had been indistinguishable from any other human being. Zenkichi wondered if Sakura knew about that and was just about to ask when - “Hey, Dad.” Zenkichi would swear on his grave that the next words out of his mouth were purely reflexive. Because of his daughter. “What’s up, kid?” “Yes?” Dead silence. Ren stared at them from where he was holding his phone to his ear, presumably speaking to his actual father, matched by the bright blue eyes of the talking cat ever at the kid’s side. Zenkichi glanced awkwardly at Sakura, who was studiously ignoring the world in favor of his cigarette. And then Morgana, the little traitor, started laughing. “Sorry I have to call you back in a minute,” Ren breathed out in a rush, flicking the end-call button with a sly smirk spreading across his face. The evil expression of someone about to capitalize on a moment of sheer stupid. “Don’t say it-!” Zenkichi blurted at the same moment Sakura barked out a hasty “No!” “But Daa~ad,” Ren sing-songed, “What will Futaba and Akane think? How could you have kept this secret from them for so long? Joint adoption is a pretty big step, you know. I need to let my sisters know!” Sakura pinched his nose, muttering something despairing about bugs under his breath that Zenkichi didn’t want to think too hard about. “I can still arrest you,” Zenkichi said flatly, brow twitching. He set his spoon down slowly, fully prepared to lunge after the brat. Ren just laughed, darting toward the door with a cat cackling in his ear. “We’re meeting in Akiba today if you want to join us,” he said instead, taking mercy on the two surprisingly easily. “You should come. I’m sure the others will be happy to see you too.” Zenkichi paused, caught off-guard at the invitation and a little touched by the admission they liked having him around. Then paused, squinting at the boy. “Don’t you dare tell them-” A phone buzzed and Sakura groaned. “Too late,” he grumbled and - bugs. Futaba. Of course. Except he kind of did still want to check on the other Phantom Thieves. “Ugh. Fine.” He turned toward Sakura. “How much do I owe you?” Sakura just sighed and waved him off. “Like I said, you’re hardly a customer. Go on, do some damage control. God knows those kids need a responsible adult around.” He seemed to think about this for a second before adding, “Though I’m not sure how much you count for that either.” Zenkichi spluttered, both touched and offended, and followed the sounds of laughter trailing out the door. Ren glanced back at him, teasing smirk still firmly in place. “Maybe we can swing by Untouchable on the way back. If Iwai’s in I can introduce you to Gun Dad, too.” What. “What?” Ren just laughed again, staying a good three steps ahead as he weaved through the afternoon crowd towards the station. “Keep up, Gramps!” Zenkichi groaned. Today was going to be a trial. Even so, trailing after that bright sound, he didn’t quite regret it.

“I can walk,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. It’s your last year of high school, you’re an adult now, freshly eighteen, you can walk yourself to school, damn it. “Let me drive ya,” Osamu says, grabbing the keys to his car. “Ya won’t let me make ya lunch anymore, let me at least drive ya to school. We can stop and get breakfast.” “I can walk, Osamu,” you say, glaring at the older man. Osamu stops dead in his tracks. “What was that? What did ya just call me?” You scoff, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “You’re not my dad and I’m not a kid anymore.” You grab the door handle but before you can open it, Osamu has you spun around, facing him. His face is dark and the grip he has on your wrist is bruising. “O-Osamu, you’re hurting me,” you whimper, trying, and failing, to pull your wrist from his iron grip. “There ya go again,” he says. He tuts and shakes his head. “Go sit on the couch. I have to make a few calls real quick.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so you walk across the living room with all the shame of a scolded puppy. Osamu is already speaking by the time you sit on the soft couch. “Hi, this is Miya Osamu, Hanamiya Y/n’s father. She’s feeling a little under the weather today, so she won’t be able to make it in.” Osamu says. He pauses for a moment. “I’ll be around to pick her work up sometimes this afternoon, thank ya. Ya have a good day.” Before you can speak, Osamu is dialling another number. “Hey, it’s Osamu. Y/n is sick today, so I need ya to watch over the restaurant. Call if there’s an emergency,” Osamu says. He hangs up quickly, and dials yet another number. “Hey, {mother’s name}, Y/n is feeling a bit bad so I’m going to stay home with her today.” He pauses. “It’s no problem, stay at work. If she gets worse I’ll take her to the doctor.” You can barely hear your mother on the other side of the phone, but you hear her small ‘I love you’. “Yeah, I’ll see ya after work.” Hearing him so clearly dismiss your mother has you seething. You almost want to throw something at him as he hangs up. “You’re such a dick,” you say as he walks towards you. “You don’t care about her at all. Fuck you.” Osamu laughs as he sits in the chair next to the couch you’re on. “Fuck me? Oh, no, little girl. I’m gonna make ya regret those words. Come here.” “Fuck you,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’ll give ya until the count of three,” Osamu says. “One.” You don’t move. His face darkens. “Two. I’m not kidding, little girl. Come here. Now.” His voice is more serious than you’ve ever heard it. A shiver runs up your spine as you stand without a second thought. You take a few steps until you’re standing directly in front of him. “Good girl,” he praises. The words roll off his tongue like honey, and, unwittingly, your pussy throbs. “Now, bend over my lap.” You nearly laugh. “No way, there’s no way. I’m not a child.” “One.” You’re bent over his lap before he gets to two. “See, ya can listen,” Osamu says. His hand runs over your too short school skirt, flattening it down. Your cheeks burn with humiliation. You can’t remember the last time anyone had you bent over their lap, much less Osamu, who preferred other punishments. “Osamu, please, I’m sorry,” you whisper. He lands a heavy hit across your ass, his large hand catching both cheeks. You let out a loud cry as you jerk forward. “That again,” Osamu says, shaking his head. “Ya know that hurts my feelings, little girl? Calling me by my name? Like I didn’t raise ya. Now, tell me why ya decided to hurt daddy’s feelings like that?” Tears burn at your eyes. “I-I hate you!” You cry, tears spilling down your cheeks. Osamu tuts and lands another heavy handed slap on your ass. “And why is that, little girl? Tell daddy what’s wrong.” He rubs your burning bum soothingly. “Y-you’re mean to mom!” You sob. “An-and I hate you for it, Miya Osamu!” Two consecutive slaps land on either cheek and you hiccup a sob. “That’s where yer wrong, baby girl,” Osamu says, once again rubbing soothing circles on your bum. “Me an’ yer mom had an agreement. It’s not my fault if she gets her feelin’s hurt. She hasn’t said anything to me about it.” You open your mouth to speak but cry out instead as Osamu spanks you three more times in quick succession. “An’ anyway, that’s adult business,” Osamu adds. “No place for a little girl’s nose.” “Osamu, it hurts,” you whine, squirming around on his lap. You freeze when you feel something hard poking against your stomach. “There we go again,” Osamu sighs. He spanks you no less than five times, each harder than the last. Your body shakes from your sobs. “Daddy, please!” You cry, tears and snot covering your face. “Please, I’m sorry!” “There we go,” Osamu says, smiling widely. “That’s my good girl. What’s my name, again, sweetheart?” “Daddy,” you whimper, sniffling. You rub your face with your sleeve as Osamu rearranges your body so you’re straddling his thighs. “Daddy’s sorry for spanking ya, sweetheart. I know how my little girl get sometimes,” he says, hugging you to his broad chest. “Ya get so bratty, daddy just can’t help himself.” “‘m sorry, daddy,” you sniffle. You can’t help be be acutely aware of Osamu’s hard erection pressing against your sore ass. “D-Daddy, your...” “What is it, baby girl?” Osamu asks, gently pulling you down, pressing his cock further into your plush ass. You hiss in pain. “It-it hurts,” you moan. Truth be told, it hurt so good. Each slap against your ass had your pussy clenching around nothing and now that you knew Osamu was clearly turned on... well it was making your heart beat faster. “Want daddy to make ya feel better?” Osamu asks. He thrusts his hips smoothly, grinding his cock against your pussy. You think about your mom. How heartbroken she would be if she found out about this and how your relationship would never be the same. Osamu’s lips attach to the base of your neck and thoughts of your mother melt away. “Daddy,” you moan, rolling your hips to feel more of him. “Daddy, please, I wanna feel better.” “I know, baby, I know,” Osamu mumbled against your skin. “Daddy’s gonna make ya feel better, okay? Daddy’s gonna make everything better.” Osamu lifts you easily. You wrap your arms and legs around him as he carries you to your room. You try not to think of the bedroom right across from yours that he shares with your mother. Osamu tosses you on your bed and you immediately reach out for him. “Wan’ you,” you whine, your hands grabbing at nothing. Osamu pulls his shirt off and tosses it across the room before climbing on top of you. “My little girl is so needy for daddy’s cock, eh?” Osamu asks, rocking his hips against yours. You moan and wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers in his hair. “Daddy, want your cock so bad,” you moan. He pulls back, drawing a long whine from your lips. “Stop whining,” he orders. Long fingers come up to your shirt buttons, nimble as they unbutton each pearly white button, exposing the peach-coloured bra you were wearing. Your cheeks burn, suddenly wishing you’d chose matching underwear this morning, or at least something more mature. “So cute,” Osamu coos, throwing your shirt away. “Yer so adorable, baby girl.” Osamu pushes your bra up over your breasts and leans down. He gently takes your left nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue against it as he teases the other with his fingers. “Daddy,” you moan, clenching your fingers in his hair. He pinches your nipple and grazes his teeth over the other. “Cute little nipples,” he mumbles, leaning up and tugging on both nipples one last time. He presses a kiss between your breasts and trailed down, leaving soft kisses down your stomach until he reaches the hem of your skirt. He looks up at you. You nod. “Please, daddy. I-I want you.” Osamu makes quick work of your skirt and pink panties. He kneels between your legs, spreading them wide. “Look at ya, such a pretty pussy.” Osamu arranged your bodies until he was comfortably facing your cunt. “I could just eat ya up, baby girl.” “Daddy, I want you to touch me, please!” You cry as he teasingly runs his fingers through your wet folds. “I am, baby,” he says, smirking wickedly. “More! Want you to really touch me, daddy!” You say, impatiently bucking your hips up against his hand. “Settle down, baby,” Osamu says, pushing your hips against the bed with his free hand. “Daddy’ll make ya feel real good, darlin’.” Before you could say anything, Osamu rubs his thumb in a circle over your clit. Your words get lost in a moan. Your head falls back against your pillow as Osamu leans down. He presses a soft kiss against your inner thigh before wrapping his lips around your clit. “Samu!” You cry, back arching off the bed as he inserted a single, long finger in your cunt, all the while suckling at your clit. He landed a sharp slap to your thigh without pulling away. He adds another finger roughly. “What’s my name, little girl?” He asks. He pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly. “Daddy,” you whimper as he licks deep into your cunt. “Good girl,” he praises before leaning back down. He scissors his fingers, slowly stretching your walls. He ate you out in earnest, switching between slurping up your juices and suckling on your clit. “Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you moan, gripping the sheets below you. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart,” Osamu says, pulling his fingers out. He rubs figure-8s over your clit and fucks his tongue in and out of your throbbing heat. “Daddy!” You cry as your orgasm hits you. You cum hard, juices squirting on to Osamu’s face. He continues rubbing your clit until you start squirming from overstimulation. When he looks up at you, his eyes are dark and his chin is covered with your cum. “Taste so good, baby girl,” he says, crawling over you. He grabs your chin and kisses you roughly, not even letting you attempt a fight for dominance. The taste of yourself on his lips has you thrusting your hips up, eager for more. “So impatient,” Osamu tuts. He grabs your chin again. “So you’ll take anything daddy gives ya, right, baby girl?” You nod, desperately waiting for something, anything. “Open yer mouth,” he orders. Your mouth falls open without a second thought. You can see Osamu gathering spit in his mouth and you let your tongue lol out in excitement. “My baby is so desperate,” Osamu coos. “Ya want daddy’s spit that bad, baby?” You let out a pitiful whine and squeeze his forearm. You moan when his spit finally hits your tongue. Your eyes close as you savour it for just a moment before swallowing. “That’s my good girl, swallowing before I even tell ya too,” Osamu praises. “Tell me what ya want, sweetie.” “I wan’ you,” you whine. You tangle your fingers in the back of his hair and pull him into a brutal, sloppy kiss. “Fuck me, daddy, please.” Osamu pulls away from you, breathing heavily, lips swollen and eyes dark. He quickly kicks his sweat pants down and off the bed. “Come on, use yer words,” he says. “What do ya really want, baby?” He uses one hand to trace his cock along your slit, teasing your clit and clenching hole. “Want your cock in me, daddy,” you say, hooking your right leg around his waist, pulling his hips down to meet yours. “Please, I want it so bad.” You bite your lip as your eyes burn. “Aw, is baby gonna cry for daddy’s cock?” Osamu teases. He pushes the fat head of his cock past your folds. You moan loudly. “Please,” you moan. “Want more.” Osamu pulls your right leg up and over his shoulder and inches his cock in your wet heat. He moans lowly. “So fuckin’ tight, baby girl,” he says. Your eyes water as his fat cock burns as he slowly stretches your walls out. “Fuck, look how well yer taking me, baby.” You glance down to where your skin melds together. You let out a low whine once you realise he’s barely halfway in. “More, more,” you whimper, rolling your hips up. Every movement has him hitting another spot in you that has you clenching around him. “Gonna take it all? Gonna be my good girl and take my cock?” He grunts as he pushes deeper. By the time he bottoms out, the head of his cock is pressing against your cervix and your thighs are shaking from the stretch. “Oh, daddy,” you sigh as he stills. He’s stretching you in a way no one has before, and the burn just adds to the pleasure. “Yer so fuckin’ full of me,” Osamu says, marvelling at the bulge in your lower stomach. He presses down on it lightly. He moans. “Gonna fill ya up real good, baby. Gonna make ya swollen with my seed.” “Move,” you moan. “Want you to fill me up, daddy.” Osamu pulls out slowly. He tosses your other leg over his shoulder and grabs your hips tightly. “Oh, baby, yer not ready for me,” Osamu smirks. Before you can ask what he means, his hips pound against your ass, his cock going even deeper than before. A moan rips from your lips. “Daddy!” You call, digging your nails into his shoulders. Osamu doesn’t slow as his fingers meet your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in small circles. Your walls clench around him as your first orgasm hits you suddenly. “That’s it, sweetheart, cum on daddy’s cock,” Osamu says. His hips and fingers don’t slow down as you gush around his cock. His pace seems that much more brutal with your overstimulation. “Hurts,” you choke out. Your thighs tremble as Osamu continues his bruising pace. “You can take it, sweetheart,” Osamu says. “Yer such a good girl for me, darling.” Tears roll down your cheeks as another orgasm racks your body. Osamu’s eyes roll back as your walls milk his cock. “Good girl,” Osamu rumbled. “Creaming around my cock so well.” You cry as Osamu speeds up. “S-so good, daddy,” you sob as he grabs your legs and spreads them wide. You cry harder as he fucks into your cervix. “Fill me up, please, daddy! Want you to breed me!” “‘m gonna fuck ya so full of my cum,” Osamu grunts, pounding into you slower and deeper. “Gonna knock ya up. Ya want daddy to get you pregnant, huh? Wanna be swollen with daddy’s seed?” You nearly bite your tongue nodding. “Want your cum, daddy,” you whine as your legs start to ache. A high-pitched whine fills the room as you cum yet again. “Fuck,” Osamu swears, his pace speeding up again. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” His cock twitches inside you. “Please, daddy, please. Want you to fill me up, breed me! Want your baby. Want your cum, need your cum! Please, fill me up, daddy!” You babble uncontrollably as Osamu’s hips stutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Osamu moans as he paints your insides white. One last orgasm hits you as you milk his cock. “Daddy,” you breathe as his cum fills you up. “So good.” “Yer such a good girl, sweetheart,” Osamu says. He pulls out slowly. “No, no,” you whine, clenching around nothing. “Want you to stay in me. Don’t wanna lose daddy’s cum.” “It’s okay, baby, daddy’ll fill ya up over and over again,” Osamu says. He moves until his arms are wrapped tightly around you and you’re laid across his chest. He hums with satisfaction as you trace your fingers across his chest. “Ya were such a good girl, darling. Took my cock so well,” Osamu praised. “Yer daddy’s best girl.” “Better than your other girls?” You ask. “Yer the only girl I care about, sweetheart,” Osamu says. “I love ya, little girl.” “I love you, too, daddy,” you mumble. You yawn. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you fall asleep, baby,” Osamu says. He easily carries you to the bathroom, sitting you on the edge of the tub as he starts the water. You frown as you catch sight of your mother’s robe and reality hits you. “Oh, god,” you whisper. You look down at Osamu’s cum leaking out all over your thighs. “Oh my god.” “What is it, sweetie?” Osamu asks. “I’m gonna be sick,” you mumble, covering your mouth. “Mom’s gonna hate me.”   Oh, she’s really going to hate you in three months, when a small bump forms between your hips and you refuse to admit who the father is. Osamu’s smug face whenever it’s mentioned doesn’t miss you. You tap your fingernails against the porcelain sink as your phone counts down from five minutes. Each second seems slower than the last and at this point, four minutes and 52 seconds, you’re ready to throw your phone across the room. “What does it say?” Osamu asks through the door. You want to scream. “Nothing. It doesn’t say anything yet,” you snap. You take a deep breath and continue. “It takes five minutes. Four and a half minutes left.” “Can I come in?” He asks, softly. You hesitate before slowly unlocking the door and letting him in. The already small bathroom feels that much smaller with Osamu’s large frame in it. You try not to feel claustrophobic as Osamu grabs your hand. “It’s all going to be okay, no matter what the test says,” he says. You’re overcome with the urge to laugh, cry, and scream all at once. Of course he thinks it’ll all be okay, he’s not the one possibly pregnant with his step-father’s baby. Three minutes and 48 seconds. Your mother was going to be crushed. Her only child, knocked up at eighteen by none other than her step-father. You bite your lip to hold back tears as you think of your mother. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Osamu asks, pulling you into a tight hug. You want to cringe at his touch but your body instinctively relaxes in his hold. “Mom…” you say, “she’s going to be crushed.” “And what about ya? How do ya feel?” He asks. “Sick,” you answer shortly. “Anxious. Like I’m going to throw up any second now. How could I do this to her?” Osamu doesn’t respond, just continues to rub your back as the seconds count down. Your heart stops when your timer goes off. “It’s ready,” you say, pulling away from Osamu. You grab the pregnancy test and take a deep breath before glancing down at it. Positive. You drop the test like it’s bit you. Oh god, it’s positive. You’re pregnant with Osamu’s child. Osamu picks the test up right as you shove past him to vomit into the toilet. “Yer pregnant,” he says. You gag. “We’re going to have a baby.” You wipe your mouth on you sleeve and look at him. His eyes are glossy and his lips are stretched into the happiest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes you want to vomit again. “Why are you smiling?” You demand. Your throat burns as the acid in your stomach threatens to come up. “I’m going to have a baby,” he say, grabbing your shoulders. “I’m going to be a father.” You want to attack him. “How could you be happy about this?” You hiss. “This is terrible. I don’t want this.” “That’s not what ya were sayin’ when I was balls deep in yer cunt last night,” Osamu says. “Or any night, for that matter.” “Do you not care at all what my mom is going to say?” You demand. “Have you thought for one second about anything but yourself? You’re my step-father, for fuck’s sake!” “That hasn’t stopped ya before,” Osamu says. “I don’t care about that. I care about you and this baby. Our baby.” You’re face softens at his words. “Other people care. My mom’s going to care. She’ll go crazy when we tell her. What if she calls the cops? What are we going to do?” “What we do isn’t illegal,” Osamu says. “Immoral, maybe. But not illegal.” “She’s going to hate me,” you whimper. Osamu sighs and pulls you into his chest tightly. “What do ya want, sweetheart?” He asks, softly. “Daddy has to know what ya want so he can get it for ya.” “You. I want you,” you say. Osamu squeezes you lightly. “I just want to be with you all the time, daddy.” “Ya know daddy can’t say no to ya, baby girl,” he says. “We’ll tell yer mom tonight, okay?” “Everything?” You ask, looking up at him. He nods. “She’ll kick us out. Let’s just tell her I’m pregnant, not everything yet. Let’s just wait.” “Whatever ya want, baby girl,” Osamu says. “You just tell her yer pregnant and I’ll support ya if she gets mad.” “I need to lay down,” you mumble, pulling away from him. Osamu carefully leads you to your bed, helping you down slowly. “Can we cuddle, please?” You ask softly. “Do you want me to make you something to eat first, sweetheart?” He asks. You shake your head. “Jus’ wan’ you t’ hold me,” you say through a yawn. “Wan’ daddy.” “Of course, baby,” Osamu says. You move over to make room for his large frame in your small bed. “Daddy’s got you.” He wraps strong arms around you and presses a kiss to your forehead as he holds you tightly. *** Your mom comes home to you and Osamu on the couch, you with your head casually in Osamu’s lap as he combed his fingers through your hair. This wasn’t an uncommon sight, and your mom went straight into telling the two of you about her day. “This patient was crazy, literally! He’s outside smoking a cigarette, meanwhile his blood sugar is through the roof! Like, this man is dead, he just doesn’t know it yet!” Your mom exclaims, slamming the door behind her. “Hey, mom,” you greet, sitting upright. “Dinner’s ready whenever you want to eat.” “We decided to wait on ya tonight,” Osamu added, standing up with a stretch. “You two are too sweet,” she says, smiling widely. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know I’m okay eating alone.” “Well, I have some big news for after dinner, so I convinced Daddy to wait,” you say. “Ooo, sounds exciting! Well, let’s eat so you can share your news!” Your mom says, excitedly. The table is already set perfectly, plates of your mom’s favourites filling empty spaces and a bottle of her favourite wine in the center. “Goodness! All my favourites? Y/n, you’re not trying to butter me up, are you? I’d almost think you were going to tell me you’re pregnant or something,” she says, taking a seat. You and Osamu both let out forced laughter as you join her. “It’s just what you deserve, Mom,” you say. “Well, thank you, sweet pea,” she says, beaming at you. “And thank you, too, Osamu. I’m sure you cooked most of this.” “It’s no problem,” Osaka says. “Let’s eat, yeah?” “Itadakimasu.” The three of you fill your plates and glasses, you pointedly turning down the wine your mom offers you. She gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. “So, what’s the news?” Your mom asks as she finishes her last onigiri. You glance at Osamu. “Mom, I’m pregnant,” you say. “Pregnant?” Your mom asks. “Goodness, I-I need a minute.” She steps out the back door, sliding the door shut behind her. Osamu looks over at you. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asks. You nod. “She’s handling it better than I thought,” you say. “I thought I’d be packing my bag right about now. I think I’m going to step outside with her.” Osamu kisses your forehead before letting you walk out the back door. Your mom is sitting on the porch swing, face in her hands. “Mom?” You call. When she looks up, you can tell she’s been crying. “How did this happen?” She asks. “Didn’t think I’d have to explain the birds and the bees to you, Mom,” you tease, halfhearted. “Do you have some secret boyfriend I don’t know about?” She asks, ignoring you. “It was just some dumb, one night stand,” you say, sitting next to her. “Hell, I can barely remember the guy’s face.” The lies slip off your tongue easier than they would’ve before you and Osamu became involved. You think of every night you’d said you were staying with friends when you were really in some cheap motel with Osamu and wince. “What’s his name?” Your mom asks. “Does it matter?” You ask. “He won’t be involved at all.” “Do you even know his name? God, I didn’t think you’d be so dumb,” your mom says. Her words hit like a punch to the gut. “It was…” you hesitate. “It was a mistake.” As if anything you and Osamu had done was a mistake. The words taste like bile in your throat. “A dumb mistake.” “We taught you better than to just sleep with random people. Or at least, I thought we did,” she spits. “At least let me know the name.” “I’m not going to apologise for being human,” you say. “And I won’t be telling you the name.” “You’ll tell me or you’ll leave,” she says. Her threat rolls off of you like water. “Then I’ll leave,” you say, standing up. You open the back door. “If you leave, don’t come back!” Your mom exclaims. “Gladly!” You shoot back. You slam the door behind you. Osamu is immediately at your side. “I’m leaving!” You exclaim. “I should just tell her the full truth, see how she likes that! She couldn’t blame me for it, after all, I’m too dumb!” “The full truth?” Your mom asks, sliding the door open. You turn on your heel to face her as Osamu stands between you two, ready for a fight to break out. “Oh, you’d fucking hate it,” you taunt, crossing your arms. “It’s dirty and perverted and so fucking good!” “You probably got knocked up by some pervert on the streets! That’s why you won’t tell me his name, you probably don’t even know it!” “Miya Osamu!” All three of you freeze. “Huh?” Your mom blinks slowly. She looks at Osamu, then at you. “The. Two. Of. You? The father?” Your mom seems to buffer as she continuously looks between you two. “Get out.” “Mom, wait, I can explain,” you beg, grabbing her hands. She jerks away from you. “I didn’t mean it!” “You’re sick,” she says, lip curling. Her face pales as she looks at Osamu. “You raised her, you bastard! From a little girl! Oh my- oh my god, she calls you ‘daddy’.” Your mom’s face turns a sickening green. “You get off on that, don’t you, you sick fuck?! My daughter!” “Mom, it’s not like-“ She cuts you off. “Y/n, did he force you? Has he been grooming you this whole time?” She turns to face Osamu again. “Get out of here, you motherfucker!” “Mom, I love him!” You shout. She freezes and robotically turns towards you. “He raised you,” she whimpers. “He’s probably been grooming you since the day you met.” “Mom, he’s never done anything I didn’t want,” you say. “I’m the one that holds the power.” “I love her, too,” Osamu says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I know it’s sick, but I can’t help it.” Your mom stays silent for a moment. “I need you both out,” she says. “You can pack a bag but you both need to be out within the next fifteen minutes.” “Mom, I’m sorry,” you say, wiping away a stray tear. “I never wanted to hurt you.” “Give me time,” she says before retreating to her bedroom. You sniffle as you wipe your face with your sleeve. “Come on, let’s get you a bag packed. Atsumu already has his guest room set up for us. We’ll be okay, baby,” Osamu says, holding your shoulders. He kisses your forehead before leading you to your room. Your mom doesn’t reappear until Osamu is already carrying your bag to the car. “You’re my daughter, and I’ll always love you, Y/n,” she says, standing across the room from you. “But this isn’t something that we’ll be able to overcome. You and Osamu can get the rest of your things tomorrow while I’m at work, but I don’t want to see either of you again. Leave your keys on the table when you leave.” “I’m sorry this happened,” you say, unable to stop your tears. “I really am, Mom. If I could change it, I would. I love you.” “I hope you find happiness,” she says. Osamu’s hands land on your shoulders from behind and your mom’s face crumbles. “Goodbye.” She watches you and Osamu leave the house. The lock clicks behind you as soon as the door closes. “I wish this hadn’t happened like this,” Osamu says as he starts the car. You nod. “I didn’t want to tell her like this,” you mumble. “She deserved the truth, but not like this.” “I love you,” Osamu says, bringing your hand up to his lips. “I’m sorry this happened.” “I love you,” you say, smiling sadly. “I guess I wouldn’t change it if that meant not having you.” *** Atsumu’s apartment is much smaller than your mom’s house. “There’s my favourite niece!” Atsumu exclaims, hugging you tightly and spinning you around before placing you back on the ground. “Or my favourite sister-in-law? I don’t care, yer my favourite girl.” Despite how sad you feel, Atsumu manages to pull a genuine smile and laugh out of you. “Uncle Tsumu!” You exclaim as Osamu passes you with your bags. “Ah, so I still get t’ be Uncle,” he says, smiling. It doesn’t shock you with how nonchalantly Atsumu takes the news. “Of course,” you say. “If Daddy still gets to be Daddy, you’re still Uncle.” “Come on in, little one, let’s get ya out of the night air before the bugs get ya,” Atsumu says, leading you in. Osamu already had your pajamas in hand when you walked in. After showering and changing quickly, you join the twins on the couch, squeezing in between them. Your hand ghosts over Osamu’s thigh before he grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers. “So… I think it’s gonna to be a girl,” Atsumu says, draping his arm across your shoulders. “Any bets?” “With our luck?” Osamu chuckles. “Twin boys.” You rub your hand over your stomach. “I don’t really care one way or the other,” you say. “But I want twins.” “What do ya think it’ll be?” Osamu asks. “I think maybe one of each,” you say. “But that might just be wishful thinking.” Atsumu let out a loud yawn. “Well, it’s time for me t’ go t’ bed. I have practice in the morning. Help yerselves ta anything in the fridge,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Let me know if ya need anything, little one.” “Thanks for letting us stay here, Uncle Tsumu,” you say. “Anything fer my favourite girl,” he says. He leans down and kisses your forehead. “G’night, little one.” “Night,” Osamu says. “Good night, Tsumu,” you say. Atsumu stumbles away with another yawn, leaving you and Osamu in the television-lit living room alone. You climb into Osamu’s lap as soon as you hear Atsumu’s door click closed. He wraps his arms around you firmly and looks down at you. “What do ya need, baby?” Osamu asks. “I know yer wantin’ something, baby girl.” “I’m so tired, Daddy,” you say. You let out a small yawn. “I just want to be close to you.” You innocently shift in his hold, grinding against his soft dick. It twitches lightly. “Ya wanna sit on Daddy’s cock, huh? Is that what ya want, sweetheart?” Osamu asks, rolling his hips. His cock hardens under you almost instantly. “Yes, Daddy,” you moan softly. “Want your cock in me.” “Yer such a naughty girl,” Osamu says. “Wantin’ yer daddy’s cock where Uncle Tsumu could walk in any minute.” You let out a small moan at the thought. “Oh? Ya want Uncle Tsumu to catch us? Want him to see Daddy filling up yer cute, little cunny? Or maybe you want Tsumu to fill ya up, huh, baby girl? Both of us at the same time, fillin’ both yer little holes so well.” “Please, please,” you gasp, grinding against his thighs. “Wanna be full. So full, Daddy, please.” “Such a little slut,” Osamu says, guiding your hips. “It’s not enough to fuck yer daddy, you wanna fuck yer uncle, too? Just tryin’ to get the whole family, huh?” You nod. “Want Daddy and Uncle Tsumu!” You exclaim. Osamu claps a hand over your mouth. “Uncle Tsumu is bein’ so nice t’ let us stay here and you wanna wake him up? I thought my little girl knew how to be polite,” Osamu says. Your thighs shake as a knot forms in your stomach. “Daddy,” you whine, rolling your hips faster. “Close.” “Is my baby gonna cum on Daddy’s thigh like a bitch in heat?” Osamu coos. “Come on, baby, cum on Daddy’s thigh like a good girl.” “Daddy,” you moan. Osamu kisses you hard as you moan louder. “Fuck, yer soakin’ me, sweetheart,” Osamu breathes as you cum on his thighs. You bite your lip to keep quiet. “Ya want Daddy’s cock now, sweetie?” You nod. You stand on wobbly legs to kick your pajama shorts and panties off as Osamu pushes his shorts down just enough to reveal his heavy cock. “Daddy, I wanna taste you,” you say, falling to your knees in front of him. “Please, Daddy, you look so good.” “Go ahead, baby,” he says, patting your hair as you wrap your fingers around his hard cock. You lean down to lick along the throbbing vein that runs down the left side of his cock before you take the purpling tip into your mouth. “Fuck, good girl,” he hisses, tangling his fingers in your hair. He isn’t pushing down (yet), but his hands left no room to pull back. You circled the tip, moaning as a spurt of precum landed on your tongue. “Come on, suck it like a good girl,” he grunts, forcing your head lower. You gag as he hits the back of your throat and Osamu lets out a long, low moan. “Might just fuck yer face since ya can’t listen.” You place your hands on either of his thighs, signaling for him to go ahead with his plan. “Oh, yer such a good girl for Daddy,” he groans. He holds your head in place as he thrusts in to your open mouth, moaning when your throat tightens around his length. “Fuck, so good,” he grits out. He pulls your head back and moans at the sight of your swollen lips and glassy eyes. “Tongue out.” Your jaw drops and your tongue lols out. He pats his cock against your tongue seconds before cum spurts out, landing on your lips and in your open mouth. “Swallow for me, sweetheart,” he moans. You swallow the cum in your mouth before licking your lips for the extra that didn’t quite make it in your mouth. “Wan’ your cock, please, Daddy,” you whine as Osamu wipes cum off your chin. He sticks his cum-coated thumb in your mouth and you suck it clean. “Come ‘ere,” Osamu grunts, lifting you up into his lap. He slowly inched you down on his cock. “More, Daddy, more,” you beg as he slowly bottomed out. “Fuck me.” “Be good and sit on Daddy’s cock for a minute,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head. You whine as you squirm around, trying to get Osamu to finally fuck you. He slaps your ass as you fidget. “The more ya move, the longer we’ll stay like this,” Osamu says. “Now be good and be still.” You pout as you relax into Osamu’s chest. It was agonising as his cock stretched you. Your walls were throbbing and fluttering around him, desperate for even the smallest movement. “Daddy, please,” you beg, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I need you.” Osamu presses down on your lower stomach where his cock was deep inside you. You moaned. “Feel how deep Daddy is?” He breathes, thumb circling your clit. “Look how swollen ya look with just my cock. In a few weeks, you’ll be swollen with my baby.” You moan. Osamu’s thumb moves faster on your clit. “Daddy,” you whine. “I-I feel weird.” “Hold on just a second, baby,” Osamu says. You gasp as he presses on your clit. The feeling in the pit of your stomach heightens. You almost feel like you have to pee. You open your mouth to tell Osamu when he rolls his hips. You let out a loud moan as your juices squirt out, soaking Osamu’s shorts and part of his shirt. “Fuck, look how messy ya are,” Osamu growls. You moan loudly as your pussy gushes again and you fall limp into Osamu’s chest, tears streaming down your face. “Squirted all over Daddy like a good girl,” Osamu praises. His thumb hasn’t stopped and you still haven’t stopped cumming on his cock. “Fuck,” Osamu growls. He grips your hips tightly and fucks into you roughly. Your skin burns where his slaps against yours. You cry out as your head falls against his shoulder. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he grunts. The nasty squelching sounds only highlight his words. You moan as Osamu plays with your overstimulated clit. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you cry as he fucks you. “Open,” He orders. Your mouth drops open without a second thought as he shoves wet fingers down your throat. You gag as you suck on them. “Good girl.” Tears stroll down your face as Osamu relentlessly thrusts into your cunt. “Gonna fill yer sloppy, little, cunt up,” Osamu grunts. Your walls clench around him. “Oh, Daddy’s messy slut likes that, huh?” Your walls clench again. “Fuck, gonna fill you up,” he groans. His cock twitches deep inside you seconds before he cums. “So good, daddy,” you moan as you ride him through his orgasm. Osamu hisses once you’ve milked him dry, overstimulated and sensitive. “How’d’ya like the show, Tsumu?” Osamu asks. Your head jerks around to see Atsumu standing across the room, palming his cock through grey sweatpants. “Oh, it was great,” Atsumu says. “Liked that part at the beginning. Something about taking us both at the same time?” “How’d’ya like the show, Tsumu?” Osamu asks. Your head jerks around to see Atsumu standing across the room, palming his cock through grey sweatpants. “Oh, it was great,” Atsumu says. “Liked that part at the beginning. Something about taking us both at the same time?”   “U-uncle Tsumu!” You exclaim, still sitting on Osamu’s softening cock. “What is it, doll? Tell Uncle Tsumu what ya want,” Atsumu says, coming up behind you. His hands run down your sides and back up your shirt, cupping your breasts.  “Want Uncle Tsumu to fuck me,” you breathe, bucking your hips as he pinches your nipples. Osamu hisses from the overstimulation under you. “Yeah? Ya want this?” Atsumu asks, moving one hand to grab his bulge. You nod. “Want you to fill me up, too, Uncle Tsumu,” you say, rolling your hips. Osamu’s cock twitches deep inside you, beginning to harden again. “Want me to cum inside yer ass while Samu fucks yer cute, little cunny? Ya said ya would take both of us, doll,” Atsumu says, twisting your nipple. You moan lightly and grab Atsumu’s forearm. “Wanna be full,” you moan as Osamu bounces you lightly on his fully hard cock. “Is daddy not enough for ya, doll?” Atsumu asks, pulling your shirt off and tossing it across the room. “Tsumu,” Osamu growls, squeezing your hips tighter. “Daddy fills me up so well,” you say, running your hands down Osamu’s muscular chest. Osamu thrusts into you hard, pulling a broken moan from your lips. “Stop hoggin’ her,” Atsumu says, pulling you up and off of Osamu’s cock. You let out a gasp at the sudden emptiness. Osamu’s cum pours out of you, running down your thighs and your eyes burn. “Daddy!” You cry, reaching out for him. “She’s not a fuckin’ toy, Atsumu,” Osamu sneers. Atsumu rolls his eyes as he carries you to his room. “Are ya comin’ or not? How are we both supposed to fuck her on the couch?” Atsumu calls.  “Damn it, Atsumu,” Osamu swears, tucking his wet cock into his pants and following. “Feel empty,” you pout. Atsumu lays you on his plush mattress gently. “Don’t worry, doll, I’m gonna fill ya up real nice,” Atsumu says. He spreads your legs wide before pushing them up to your chest, revealing your messy cunt. Osamu’s cum oozes out of you, running down to Atsumu’s sheets. “Daddy,” you whine as Osamu appears next to Atsumu. “What is it, baby girl? Tell daddy and Uncle Tsumu what you want,” Osamu says. Atsumu catches the cum leaking out of you and slowly pushes it back in. You let out a small moan. “I think I want her sloppy cunt, ‘Samu,” Atsumu says, sliding two fingers in you. “Uncle Tsumu,” you moan as he scissors his fingers, needlessly stretching you out.  “Why don’t ya prep her ass, then?” Osamu suggests, pulling his shirt off. “Bet her little hole is so tight. Ya got lube, Tsumu?” “Middle drawer,” Atsumu says, pointing at his nightstand. “Bet I won’t need it. She’s so fuckin’ wet, she’s makin’ a spot on the sheets.” Atsumu pulls his fingers out with a lewd, squelching sound and presses one finger against your tight asshole. “Ts-Tsumu,” you choke as he slowly pushes his pointer finger in. “H-hurts so good.” “She’s so fuckin’ tight,” Atsumu grunts. “She’s suckin’ my finger in like a slut.” “Relax, sweetheart,” Osamu says, squeezing your thigh as he hands Atsumu the lube. “Lube. Now.” “I think she likes the pain,” Atsumu says. “Is that right, doll? You like it when it hurts.” You nod. The burn only makes everything feel so much more sensitive, and before long you’re fucking yourself on to Atsumu’s finger, begging for more. “More, want more, Uncle Tsumu,” you whine, grinding your hips down, trying to get more friction. The burning is all but gone and you find yourself missing it.  “Do ya want the lube, baby doll?” Atsumu asks. You shake your head.  “Wanna feel you,” you say. “Are ya sure, baby? I don’t want you to hurt too bad,” Osamu says.  “Wan’ it to hurt,” you moan. “Feels so good.” Atsumu breathes deeply before slowly adding another long, thick finger. You let out a high-pitched moan, fisting Atsumu’s white sheets tightly. “Fuck, she’s so tight,” Atsumu groans. “Almost wanna fuck her just like this.”  You clench around his fingers at the thought of him taking you with barely any prep. Your virgin hole stretching around his cock, with only Osamu’s cum and his own precum as lube. You moan as Atsumu scissors his fingers, stretching you out. “Ah, she likes that,” Atsumu says. “Ya wanna take my cock just like this? Feel it for days, doll, ya wouldn’t be able t’ sit without feelin’ me.” “Wanna be full,” you whine. You moan as Atsumu roughly twists his fingers deep inside you.  “Samu, why didn’t ya tell me yer little girl was such a pain slut? Look at her, practically beggin’ me t’ fuck her dry,” Atsumu sneers. He adds a third finger suddenly. The new stretch knocks the breath out of you, your back arches off the bed and you gasp as Atsumu quickly pumps his fingers in and out of you. “Hurts,” you moan. Your eyes roll back as Atsumu gathers spit in his mouth and spits directly into your hole.  “Aw, the little baby can’t take it, huh?” Atsumu coos, using his spit as lube. “Do ya need lube, sweetheart?” Osamu asks, staring down at you worriedly. “She can take it,” Atsumu says, fingers not slowing down. “Look at her, practically fuckin’ herself on my fingers.” Your hips were meeting his fingers with every thrust. The stretch was burning all the way to your core and your juices were mixing with Atsumu’s spit, lubing his fingers in the process. “She likes it so much, she’s creamin’ around nothin’,” Atsumu says. “Rub her clit, Samu.” Osamu rubs his fingers through your wet folds before rubbing figure-8s over your clit.  “Oh!” You gasp, back arching. “More, more, please!” Atsumu leans down and licks over your hole boldly before adding a fourth finger.  “What a slut, taking four fingers with no lube,” Atsumu sneered. “Bet ya could take my whole fist, isn’t that right, doll?” “Atsumu,” Osamu warns. “Shut the fuck up before I end this.” “Daddy, ‘m close,” you whine, walls clenching around nothing. “Wanna cum!” “Go ahead, baby,” Osamu says. “Cum for daddy and Uncle Tsumu.” You cum with a loud cry. Neither twin slows down, milking every last second of your orgasm. Your thighs twitch with overstimulation.  “I think she’s ready,” Atsumu says, pulling his fingers out. You whine at the empty feeling. “Fuck me, please, I want it so bad, daddy, Uncle Tsumu,” you beg. “You heard the princess,” Atsumu says. “How do ya want to do this?” “Want daddy to hold me,” you say. “I’ll be on bottom, then,” Osamu says. He leans against Atsumu’s headboard and pulls you on top of him, legs splayed out over his thighs. “Ya gonna be a good girl and take us both?” You nod as you lift your hips. Osamu drags his cock along your slit. You moan as his cock catches your hole.  “Fuck me, daddy, please,” you whine, bucking your hips. “Please, I want you in me.” Osamu lines his cock up with your hole, “Go on, sweetheart, take what you want.” You slowly sink down with a low moan. “So good,” you breathe. “So deep in me.” “Ya ready for me, princess?” Atsumu asks. His bare chest is warm against your back and you can feel his cock pressing against your ass. “Please,” you say, arching your back slightly. “Wreck me, Uncle Tsumu. Make me hurt.” “Fuck, yer sayin’ just what I want t’ hear, princess,” Atsumu groans. The fat head of his cock presses against the rim of your asshole. “Ya want it t’ hurt, huh? What’s the matter, daddy doesn’t give it to ya hard enough?” “Yer a dick, Tsumu,” Osamu snaps. Atsumu ignores Osamu as he pushes the head of his cock past your rim. You gasp and jerk forward unintentionally. Atsumu clamps down on your hips with an iron grip. “Nah, princess, ya said ya wanted it t’ hurt,” Atsumu says. “I’m only givin’ ya what ya wanted.” “Atsumu,” Osamu warns. You shake your head as tears burn at your eyes. “More,” you grunt. “Hurts good.” You were more stretched than you’d ever been and Atsumu was barely in. Any pain you would’ve felt was washed away by the excitement of having both twins seated deep in you. You could already see the way your lower tummy would bulge once they were both balls deep. A shiver of excitement ran up your spine. “Daddy’s so soft with me,” you say, slightly pushing back on Atsumu’s cock. “Want someone to fuck me until I’m broken.” “Oh, I’m about to fuck ya until yer dumb, princess,” Atsumu says. You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Daddy’s gonna remember that, little girl,” Osamu whispers in your ear. Your walls clench around him at the thought of punishment. “Might wanna hold her still,” Atsumu says, slowly sliding out. His grip on your hips hasn’t loosened and Osamu wraps his arms around you, holding you firmly to his chest. Atsumu leans down and presses a small kiss right below your ear.  “Still want it t’ hurt?” He asks, lips brushing against your earlobe. Before you can say anything, Atsumu’s cock is buried in your ass in one, quick movement. You lurch forward, trying desperately to escape the painful stretch. There’s no relief in the motion since you’re caged in by identical iron grips. You let out a squeak of pain as tears cascade down your cheeks. “So pretty when ya cry, princess,” Atsumu says, turning your head to the side. “I thought ya wanted it t’ hurt?” You swallow a sob before you can reply. “S-so full, Uncle Tsumu. Gonna tear in half.” “She’s fuckin’ chokin’ my cock,” Osamu moans. “She liked it. Her walls are just milkin’ me.” “I told ya, ya had a little pain slut on yer hands,” Atsumu says. “She’s clenchin’ me so tight I can’t pull out.” “Let her adjust a little, Tsumu,” Osamu says, “she’s already cryin’ like a little baby.” “‘m not!” You protest, burying your face in Osamu’s chest. “Oh, princess, ya shouldn’t’a said that…” Atsumu says. His hands tighten on your hips. “‘Cause if yer not cryin’, well then, I’m just not goin’ hard enough, am I?” You hiss when Atsumu pulls out of you slowly. “No, no, ‘m sorry, Uncle Tsumu!” You cry. “I’m crying!” “It’s okay, sweetie, daddy’s got you,” Osamu says, holding you tightly. Atsumu slams into you with a near thunderous clap . Your back arches as you dig your nails into Osamu’s stomach and you let out a loud yelp. “Ts-Tsumu!” You cry as he pounds your ass relentlessly. The intense pain brings more tears to your eyes. Atsumu reaches around and roughly grabs one of your bouncing breasts. “What’s a matter, princess? Too hard for you?” Atsumu grunts, rolling your nipple between his pointer and middle fingers. You moan loudly. “Hurts!” You exclaim. “So good!” A sob wracks through your body. Atsumu moans as you tighten around him. “What a pain slut,” Atsumu says. You nod as you cry. Osamu gently thumbed your tears away, pulling you down for a soft kiss. “Yer such a good girl, takin’ us both,” Osamu whispers. “Move, daddy, please,” you beg. Atsumu’s hard thrusts were pushing Osamu’s cock deeper in you but you needed more. Osamu’s hands wrapped around your sides as he lifts you slightly off his cock. You whimper as Atsumu’s cock abuses you at a different angle. Osamu’s slow, deep thrusts were just enough to cancel the persistent pain caused by Atsumu’s hard and fast ones. You threw your head back in ecstasy as the twins fell into a brutal rhythm. “Daddy,” you moan, hands running up Osamu’s thick chest. Atsumu grunts and twists your nipple. “Tsumu, ‘m so full.” Your hand drifts down your own abdomen, tracing around the bulge where Osamu was seated deep in you. You moan before letting your fingers drift a little more until they reach your clit. “Gonna cum,” you whimper as you rub the sensitive nub. Your legs twitch from all the stimulation. “Go ‘head, baby, cum for daddy,” Osamu says.  Atsumu knocks your hand away, placing his own fingers over your clit, rubbing vicious circles around it. You moan loudly. “Cum for me , princess,” Atsumu says. “Right. Now .” You let out a high pitched moan as the coil in your stomach finally snaps. You gush around Osamu’s cock, walls squeezing around him as he moans. “Fuck, squeezin’ me so tight, yer milkin’ my cock, sweetheart,” Osamu moans. His hips falter as his cock twitches deep inside you.  “Fill me up, daddy, please,” you moan, bouncing on his cock. “Want your cum in me.” “Yeah? Want me to fill up yer slutty, little cunt?” Osamu asks. You nod. “Come ‘ere, sweetheart.” Osamu pulls you into a breathtaking kiss as he pumps you full of his seed. “That’s enough o’ that,” Atsumu says. He pulls you up off of Osamu and into his chest. He easily manipulates your body until you’re face down in his mattress and your ass is up in the air. “Gonna fuck ya real well now, princess.” “Fill me up, please, Uncle Tsumu,” you beg, arching your back. “Cum in me.” “Fuck,” he swears. “Wanna cum in that sweet cunt o’ yers.” “Please, please,” you moan as he continues to fuck your ass. “Want you to cum in my cunt.” Atsumu looks at Osamu with the question written on his face. “Go ahead, fill ‘er up, Tsumu,” Osamu says.  Atsumu pulls completely out, leaving your knees weak. He wraps one strong arm around you and plunges into your pussy.  “Oh, fuck!” Atsumu swears. “So tight, even after Samu’s filled ya up twice.” “Fill me up, Uncle Tsumu,” you moan. “Cum in my tight, little pussy, please!” “Whatever ya want, princess,” Atsumu moans. His hips stutter as you clench around him. “Fuck, gonna fill you up so good. You gonna cum for me again, princess?” You nod as you reach down to play with your clit. “Want your cum in me, Uncle Tsumu,” you say. “As soon as you- fuck!- as soon as you cum around my cock,” Atsumu says. “Want you gushing around me, milking my cock, princess.” “So close, Uncle Tsumu,” you breathe. “Need more.” Atsumu pulls out, flipping you over, before pounding back into you. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you into his chest. You moan loudly as he hits that spongy, little spot inside you head on. “Cum on my cock, princess,” he whispers in your ear as you wrap your legs around him. You nod as he fucks you deeper than before. “Fuck, fuck,” you moan, digging your fingers into his shoulders. You drag your nails down his skin as you cum hard, juices gushing, mixing with Osamu’s cum. “Please, fill me up, Uncle Tsumu! I need it, I need your cum in me!” “Fuck,” Atsumu grunts as his cock twitches deep inside you. You roll your hips and your walls flutter around him as he paints them white. “So, full,” you breathe as Atsumu fucks you through his orgasm. Your walls milk him until he hisses from overstimulation. “Fuck, yer such a good girl, princess,” Atsumu says, laying you down next to Osamu.  You frown as you feel cum leaking down your thighs.  “It’s leaking,” you whine. “Wanna be full.” Atsumu spreads your legs wide and leans down, licking a broad stripe up your messy slit. You gasp as his tongue pushes his cum back inside of you.  “Just gonna clean ya up, princess,” Atsumu whispers, pushing your legs up to your chest.  You clench around nothing, pushing his and Osamu’s loads out of your cunt. Atsumu licks it up with a low slurping noise. “Come on, give me more, princess,” he says. He uses his thumb to rub circles over your clit. Your walls spasm from overstimulation.  “Tsumu!” You cry as you cum. Your juices squirt out, drenching his face.  “That’s my princess,” he praises, licking his lips. Atsumu wipes his face off before climbing up his bed to lay on your other side. “Come here, princess.” You twist out of Osamu’s arms to face Atsumu. He grabs your chin gently and pulls you into a slow, soft kiss. “I love ya, princess,” Atsumu mumbles, cupping your cheek. Your cheeks burn. “I love you, too, Uncle Tsumu,” you say. Osamu’s arms tighten around you. “I love you, too, daddy.” “I love you, sweetheart,” Osamu says. You yawn cutely and snuggle into the soft sheets below you. Atsumu yawns and tosses an arm around your waist. “Next time, I get her cunt,” Atsumu says, closing his eyes. “You’ll get what I give you, dumbass,” Osamu says. “Bastard.” “Bitch.” You smile as the sound of the twins arguing fades as you fall asleep. Next time… “I’m just… so tired,” you said. Tears burned at your eyes as you bounced one of the wailing babies in your arms. Osamu nodded in agreement as he bounced the other. “I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night,” he said. The baby in his arms was finally quieting down. “Oh, that’s my boy.” Osamu carefully laid him in the crib and held his arms out for the baby in your arms. “Here, let me try,” he said. You eagerly handed the baby over to him. “Hey, princess,” Osamu cooed, rocking her in his arms. “What’s the matter, huh? Yer so tired, I can see ya fightin’ sleep.” You rubbed your eyes furiously as she began to quiet down. What was so wrong about you that you couldn’t even get your own babies to stop crying? “You go on to bed, I’ll put her down,” Osamu whispered. You nodded, fighting back tears. As soon as the nursery door clicked shut behind you, tears spilled down your face. Here you were, nineteen years old with two three month olds and a boyfriend/ex-stepdad that was nearly twenty years older than you. Not the life you’d imagined for yourself as a child. You couldn’t even get your babies to sleep, for god’s sake. You collapsed on yours and Osamu’s bed face first, sobbing into your pillow like a child. It was times like this that you just wanted your mom to comfort you. If only you hadn’t betrayed her in the most awful way. You sobbed harder. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Osamu asked. The bed dipped from his weight as he sat next to you. “I-I’m a t-t-terrible m-mother and, and an ev-even worse daughter!” You wailed. “Hey, that’s not true,” Osamu said, rubbing your back. “Yer a great mother. Yer just exhausted and on edge and the babies can sense that.” “So I am a bad daughter!” You cried, shoving your face back in the pillow. “As the man who raised ya, I don’t think yer a bad daughter,” Osamu said. “I think yer fantastic. I think anyone would be lucky to have you as a daughter.” “Except anyone who didn’t want their husband stolen,” you mumbled. “Hell, maybe next time I’ll steal somebody’s wife.” “Ya didn’t steal me,” Osamu said. “If anything, it was my fault. Feeling the way I felt for ya… It was wrong. But I couldn’t help it, yer too irresistible, sweetheart. Something about ya made me fall for ya. Seeing ya become a mature, young adult…” “We shouldn’t be together,” you said, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. “It’s wrong. It’s sick. My kids should be calling you grandfather, not dad.” Your face twisted up as you fought not to sob again. Osamu’s face dropped. “Do ya- do ya regret bein’ with me? Do ya regret the kids? Everything?” You looked away from him. “Answer me,” he said. You stayed silent, staring at the wall. “Look at me, Y/n. Damn it, why won’t ya just answer me!” You could hear the tears in his voice, and it made your heart hurt. “It was stupid,” you said. “It was a stupid mistake I made. And now I’m paying the price.” Osamu stood up abruptly. “I would never- never- tell ya ya were a stupid mistake. Do ya even know how being with ya has affected me? Do ya even care? Everyday, I leave our home and get called sick and disgustin’ and a terrible person, just for loving ya. And I’ve never once blamed ya or been mad at ya for it. Maybe it is my fault, I know- I know, I shouldn’t’ve felt those feelin’s for ya. I know that makes me a sick, twisted person. Who falls in love with the child they raised? Fuck, I’d rather ya just cut me open. It would’ve hurt just the same.” You blinked away the tears in your eyes. “I’ve lost everything. My friends, my family, my home. All for you.” “If it’s such a fuckin’ struggle for you to even look at me- Look at me, damn it! - If it’s such a fuckin’ struggle to even be near me, then just leave,” Osamu said. You stood up and stared at him from the opposite side of the bed. “I’m sorry,” you said. Osamu’s bare chest was heaving and tears were running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Osamu.” You wiped your eyes and walked around the bed. Osamu opened his arms wide for you. “It’s okay, I just-“ “No,” you said, reaching around him to grab your keys. “I’m sorry I’m leaving.” Osamu’s arms dropped to his side. “No, no, I didn’t mean it,” he said as you turned away from him. “Sweetheart, Y/n, no, I didn’t, I didn’t mean it.” “I know,” you said. “I know you didn’t. But you’re right. I should just go.” “Please don’t go,” Osamu whispered. “Please.” “I’m sorry,” you muttered. You slipped on your shoes and closed the bedroom door behind you. More tears rolled down your cheeks as you ignored the sounds of crying babies from the nursery. As you turned the door knob to leave, you heard Osamu in the nursery. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. Mommy’ll… Mommy’ll be ba- Daddy’s here. I’m here. I got ya, and I’m not gonna let ya go, okay?” With a heavy heart, you close the door behind you. You drive around town aimlessly, listening to nothing except the sound of midnight traffic. It’s weird, you think, this is the first time in months you’d been in a car by yourself. You keep checking empty car seats in your rear view mirror. One of Osamu’s necklaces hang from the rear view mirror. Just a simple gold chain he’d hung up, saying it was his good luck charm and that he’d leave it in the car, just for you and the babies. You swallow tears at a red light. You’d ruined everything. Osamu would never hold you again, would never even look at you. You come to a stop. You hadn’t even realised where you’d been driving. Home. Your mom’s car was sitting in the driveway and you could see the kitchen light still on. Before you knew it, you were marching up to the front door. You pointedly ignored the new name plate that no longer said Miya and knocked. After a few seconds, the door opened, revealing your mother. You immediately crumpled to your knees. “I’m so, so sorry,” you said, tears falling as you bowed, forehead to floor. “I messed up. I’m sorry. I know what I did was wrong. I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Your mother stared down at you. “Come in, I’ll start some tea,” she said. You shuffled inside and took a seat at the table. It was silent as your mother made tea. “So, what happened?” She asked after setting your cup in front of you. She sat across from you, and sipped from her steaming cup. “I had twins,” you said. “A boy and a girl.” “You’re overwhelmed,” she said. You nodded and broke into tears. “They wouldn’t stop crying tonight,” you said. “No matter what I did. Then Osamu waltzes in and they immediately fall asleep in his arms. And I’m so tired, all the time, Mom. I haven’t had a full night sleep in months. And I just lost it. I told Osamu that we were sick and wrong and that it was a stupid mistake! I couldn’t even look at him. And then he tells me that he hears that all the time, but that he doesn’t care because he has me. And I just basically ripped his heart out. And then he told me that maybe I should just leave if I can’t stand being around him and so I just abandoned my kids and the love of my life!” Your mother sipped her tea. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest,” she said. “Do you resent Osamu for… seducing you? For lack of a better word.” “No. I just, I regret that it hurt you,” you said. “The guilt I feel… I would do anything, anything if it would make you feel better. It’s eating me alive.” “So you don’t regret being with Osamu?” She asked. You shook your head. “I could never. Regret how it happened, maybe. But I could never regret being with him. I’m sorry.” Your mother stared at you. “I wish I hadn’t married him. Of course, I never knew that one day he would steal my only daughter from me and father my grandchildren. But I wish I hadn’t married him because I wish this was easier for you. I’ll always wish for you to be happy, even if it comes at the price of my own happiness. I’d do anything to make you happy.” “Even after I betrayed you?” You asked. “After I stole your husband?” She shrugged. “Motherhood is strange.” You sipped your tea. “Go to bed, you need a good night’s sleep,” your mom said. She finished her tea and stood up. She rinsed her cup in the sink and placed it on the drying rack before making her way back over to you. “I love you, sweetie,” she said. She hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead. “Your bed is still made up.” You swallowed back your tears and nodded. “I love you, too, Mom.” She shuffled away down the hall, leaving you to finish your tea in silence. You rinsed your cup before turning the light off and taking the familiar path to your old bedroom. Like she’d said, it was the exact way you left it. Even the few clothes you’d left were still hanging up. You climbed into bed and tried to ignore the unnatural feeling of sleeping alone as you drifted. *** You don’t wake up until nearly noon the next day. Your mom had left fresh miso soup and rice out for you and a clean set of clothes. You ate slowly and showered before getting dressed. You took a deep breath as you stared at your reflection. “You can do this,” you said, running your fingers through your hair. “Just go and apologise and explain how you really feel.” You breathed deeply again and grabbed your keys before leaving the house. The drive back to yours and Osamu’s house was maddeningly silent. No radio station matched your vibe and connecting your phone wasn’t an option since you’d left it behind at your house. Stepping up to your own door was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. It took five minutes before you could bring yourself to knock on the door. You knocked three times before taking a step back and waiting. Osamu looked exhausted as he opened the door, a twin strapped to both his front and back, both of them crying. “Let me help,” you said, completely forgoing your original plan to grovel at his feet for forgiveness. He silently handed you the baby from his back. You smiled down at the tiny boy. “Hey, baby,” you cooed. “Did you give Daddy a hard time last night? Mommy should’ve been here to help. She’s so sorry.” Osamu ignored you as he held a pacifier to his baby’s lips. She pursed her tiny, pink lips before taking the pacifier and quieting down. Osamu disappeared into the nursery. “Hey, buddy, Mommy really needs you to settle down so she can talk to Daddy,” you said, bouncing him. As if actually understanding you, he stopped crying and gurgled before his eyes fluttered shut. You carried him to the nursery, where Osamu was standing over the baby girl’s crib. “Can we talk?” You asked after setting the baby down. Osamu brushed past you without a word. You followed him to the living room where he sat down on the couch. You stood in front of him. “I shouldn’t have left,” you started. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it when I called you a stupid mistake. I love you more than anyone in the world, besides those two babies in there. I’m just, I was scared. I’m only nineteen. I’m just a kid and I’m already so in love with you and we have two kids and this is just not where I saw myself at nineteen. I’m sorry I ran out on you like a, like a coward. Please, please, forgive me, Osamu.” Osamu stayed silent for an uncomfortably long time. “Ya don’t think I get scared? I fell in love with my stepdaughter and then got her pregnant with twins. I’m terrified everyday that you’ll wake up and not want me anymore,” Osamu said. “And last night was my nightmare come true.” “I know, I know,” you said, tearfully. You grabbed his hands and kneeled in front of him. “I’m sorry. I can’t ever express how sorry I am for walking out on you. That was my real mistake. Not you, never you or the kids. I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that.” Tears rolled down your cheeks as you brought Osamu’s hand up to your lips. “I am so, so sorry, Osamu,” you murmured against his skin. “I love you.” “I’m sorry for yelling at ya last night,” Osamu said. “And tellin’ ya to leave when I didn’t mean it.” “Already forgiven,” you said. Osamu pulled you up so you were straddling him and cupped your face in his large hands. “That’s enough tears,” he said, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. You let out a teary laugh. “For you too,” you said, wiping away his own tears. You cupped his face and just looked at him for a moment. “I really do love you more than anyone.” “And I love you more,” he said, grabbing your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against it. “Not possible,” you said, smiling. He pulled you into a bruising kiss. “I don’t think so,” he said, biting your bottom lip. “I think this means we get to have make up sex,” you said, unable to stop your hips from grinding against his dick. “I think you might be right, sweetheart,” he said, kissing you again. “Hopefully the babies will stay asleep long enough.” “They better or they’re grounded,” you said, wrapping your arms around Osamu’s neck. You squealed as he easily lifted you. “Ya better never leave me again, little girl,” he growled, pressing you against the nearest wall. “Otherwise next time I won’t be so nice when ya come back.” You shuttered as a chill ran up your spine. Osamu’s teeth dug into your neck, pulling a moan from your lips. “Daddy,” you moaned. “Gonna fuck ya so good ya won’t be able to even think about leavin’,” Osamu said, rutting his hips against yours. “Won’t be able to walk after I’m finished with ya.” “Gonna make it hurt, daddy?” You asked. “Make me feel it in the morning?” “Oh, yeah,” he said, smacking your ass as he carries you down the hallway. He kicked the bedroom door open and closed it with his foot before tossing you into the center of the bed. “Daddy,” you whined, grabbing for him as he pulled his shirt off. He leaned down and slapped your thigh. “No whining, little girl,” he said. You bit back the whine threatening to escape. “Daddy’s in charge here.” “Yes, sir,” you said, biting your lip as he kicked off his boxers. His fat cock bobbed, tip red and leaking precum. “Wanna taste, sweetheart?” He asked. You nodded and scrambled off the bed to your knees in front of him. “Wanna really apologise,” you said, pumping his cock a few times with both hands. “Then ya better take it all, sweetheart, so daddy knows yer really sorry,” Osamu said, watching you take the tip in your mouth tentatively. You hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue around, slurping up the salty precum. “‘m sorry, daddy,” you mumbled. You forced yourself down on his cock, fighting the urge to gag as he hit the back of your throat. Your eyes watered as the corners of your lips burned as they stretched around his cock. “Good girl, yer almost there,” Osamu groaned, tangling his fingers in your hair. “Jus’ a lil’ more.” You gagged around him as your nose pressed into a neat patch of pubes. Osamu moaned loudly and pulled your hair as you pulled back for a breath. Spit ran down your chin as you took him back in your mouth, bobbing your head as he tugged your hair, forcing you to take his cock deeper and deeper. “Fuck, choke on this dick,” he said, forcing you to take all of his cock down your throat again. You moaned around him. His cock was hot and heavy on your tongue as he used your mouth. “Cum down my throat, please, daddy,” You begged as you breathed. “Fuck, take it all, baby girl,” Osamu grunts, thrusting his hips forward, forcing his cock down your throat abruptly. You gagged around his length, thighs clenching together as he fucked your throat. You reached up to cradle his heavy balls, gently squeezing and rolling them around your hand. “Ready for my cum, sweet girl?” He asked, laughing slightly at the way you drooled around his cock. You hummed in response. “Daddy wants ya to swallow all of it, okay? If ya waste any, I’ll spank yer ass until it’s red.” You moaned as his balls tightened in your hands. His hot cum shot down your throat. You fought back the urge to gag as you swallowed the slightly bitter liquid. “Good girl,” he groaned. His head fell back and his hands tightened in your hair. Your eyes burned with tears as you struggled to swallow his cum fast enough. “Swallowing every drop for me.” Osamu slowly pulled back, stopping you from following him by tugging your hair. You whined as a few drops of cum ran down your chin. “Daddy,” you whined, wiping the few stray drops up with your tongue. “Ah, what did I say?” Osamu asked, wiping one stray drop up with his thumb. He shoves his thumb in your mouth, gagging you. “Every last drop.” “‘m s-s-sorry!” You cried. “I tried, daddy, please!” “It’s okay, baby, you didn’t waste any,” Osamu said, helping you up to your feet. “My good girl.” Osamu laid you back against the bed and you giggled as he hovered over you, leaning his forehead against yours. “My sweet girl,” he murmured, gently kissing your lips. “I love ya so much.” “I love you so much more,” you said. “Osamu, I really am so sorry. For leaving and for calling you a mistake. I could never  regret you.” “I know, sweetheart,” he said, slowly pulling your shirt off. “But I don’t think it’s possible for ya to love me more than I love ya.” He slowly peeled away your clothes, leaving you bare beneath him. “Just wanna feel ya,” Osamu said, kissing down your throat and down the valley of your breasts. “What d’ya want, sweet girl?” You felt lightheaded as Osamu laid a few kitten licks against your clit. “Oh, daddy,” you breathed, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Please, please.” “Please what? Tell daddy what ya want,” he said, slowly inserting two fingers in your core. “Eat me, please, daddy, want your tongue,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his face. “Easy, sweet girl,” he said, pushing your hips down. He spread his fingers open and licked deep in your wet heat. You squirmed and moaned, fisting his hair. “Daddy!” You moaned. Osamu wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. “So close.” “Already? Little girl already wants to cum on daddy’s face, huh? Go ahead, sweetheart, let daddy taste you,” Osamu said. He leaned back down and shoved his tongue deep in you. His nose bumped your clit as he ate you out with vigour. “Fuck, daddy!” You cried as your stomach tightened. Your vision went white as your juices gushed out of you, flooding Osamu’s face. When you opened your eyes, Osamu was over you, chin glistening with your juices and licking his lips. You pulled him down into a sloppy kiss, drool covering your lips and rolling down your chin. “Fuck, gotta be in you,” Osamu grunted, kissing you again. “Tell daddy how you want it, sweet girl.” “Like this,” you said. “Wanna see you.” “Good girl,” he praised, lining his cock up with your entrance. A shiver shot up your spine as you felt his fat head press into you. “Daddy, please,” you cried as he teased you. “Need you in me.” “Yeah?” He asked. You nodded. “Whatever my baby wants.” Osamu thrusted his hips forward, bottoming out, head pressed against your cervix, threatening to push right past it. You moaned loudly. “Daddy!” A few tears escaped your eyes as he thrusted again, just as deep. “G-gonna knock ya up again, little girl,” Osamu moaned, pounding into you. “C-can’t run if yer always pregnant.” “Breed me,” you moaned. “Want your babies, please, daddy!” “Oh, sweetheart,” Osamu groaned. “Gonna make ya my cute, lil housewife.” “Please, please,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to rest his forehead against yours. “Wanna be your housewife.” “Takin’ me so well,” Osamu said, thrusting deeper and slower. He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. “So pretty wrapped around my cock, sweet girl.” “Daddy,” you breathed against his lips. You sighed as the head of his cock pressed against your cervix with each slow thrust. “What is it, sweetheart?” He asked. “Tell daddy what ya want.” “Want you deep inside me,” you said. Osamu carefully pulled out of you and rearranged your bodies so that he was leaning against the headboard and you were leaning on his chest. “Ya just wanna keep daddy warm, yeah?” he asked. You nodded as Osamu slowly guided you onto his cock. You sighed happily as the fat head of his cock rested against your cervix. “So good,” you moaned, looking up at Osamu. “So deep in me, daddy.” “Yer clenching so tight, sweetheart,” Osamu said. “Ya really just wanted to be close to daddy, huh?” You hummed in agreement. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss that had your back arching and hips rolling slightly. With every small motion, his cock dragged against that spongy spot inside you and his tip brushed against your cervix. “Daddy,” you moaned softly as he kissed down your throat, sucking light bruises onto your soft flesh. “D-did you mean it when you said I could be your little housewife?” “Of course, baby,” Osamu said, lips brushing against your skin. “You won’t have to worry about anything except our babies. Daddy’ll take care of everything.” “Wanna be your housewife,” you whispered, rolling your hips with a little more purpose. “Want to be pregnant with your babies.” “Yeah? You want daddy to breed you, sweet girl? Want daddy to put more babies in you? Wanna be swollen and round with daddy’s babies?” Osamu asked, bracing his feet against the bed as his fingers wrapped around your hips. His hips slowly moved, meeting each of your little thrusts with a small slapping sound. “Please, please,” you moaned, reaching down to rub your clit in tight circles. Osamu gritted his teeth as his cock twitched inside your warm, pulsing walls. “Fuck, yer so hot around my cock, gonna cum too soon,” he grunted. You rubbed your clit faster. “Wanna cum with you, daddy,” you said. “Gonna fill you up,” he said. He bit his bottom lip, trying desperately not to cum yet in your wet heat. “Fill me up, daddy,” you moaned as the knot in your stomach tightened. “Want you to breed me again.” “Fuck, so tight,” Osamu spat through gritted teeth. Osamu’s eyes rolled back as you tightened around him. “Daddy!” You cried as you came around his cock. “Fuck,” Osamu breathed as he painted your insides white. His eyes closed and his grip on your hips tightened, surely leaving bruises. “Fuck, so good for daddy.” You fell limp against his chest, head resting on his thick shoulder as his head fell back against the headboard. “Come ‘ere,” Osamu said, pulling your head back by your hair. You looked up at him. “Ya wanna be my housewife? For real?” “I want to be the one you come home to every day and wake up to every morning,” you said. “No running away when things get rough?” He asked. “No running away,” you confirmed. Osamu let your hair go and leaned over to his bedside table and shuffled around in the top drawer, pulling a box out. You gasped. “I wanted to give ya this more romantically,” Osamu said. “But I figure this is as good a time as any. It fits us, ya know.” Osamu opened the box and turned it towards you, showing you a beautiful silver ring. You sniffled and grabbed the box, looking at the ring closely. “You really want to marry me?” You asked. “Even after last night?” “I’ll always want ya,” Osamu said. “Then yes, I’ll marry you,” you said, smiling widely. He carefully placed the ring on your finger and kissed your hand. “Beautiful,” he mumbled against your skin. You cupped his cheeks and kissed him hard. “I love you,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “I love ya,” Osamu echoed. He pecked your lips. “I love ya, I love ya, I love ya.” You giggled as he kissed your face between each “I love you.”. “Round two in the shower before the twins wake up?” You asked as you felt him hardening in you again. “Sounds like a—“ A high pitched cry sounded from the nursery and you sighed happily. “Okay, round two later tonight?” Osamu suggested, pulling you off of his cock. You gasped as his cum flooded out of your hole. “I’ll hold you to it,” you said, smiling. “You go check on the twins, I’ll be right there.” You carefully rolled off the bed and wandered to the bathroom, quickly cleaning yourself off and pulling on Osamu’s t-shirt before joining him in the nursery. “Hungry?” You cooed, taking the crying baby from Osamu’s arms. Osamu smiled at you as you took a seat in the rocking chair. “Bottles are already heating up,” Osamu said. You nodded as the fussy baby in your arms squirmed and wiggled around. Osamu disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two bottles in his hand. “Here ya go, angel,” you cooed, holding the bottle up to the baby’s puckered lips. He greedily suckled the rubber nipple into his mouth, quickly sucking down the formula. “There we go,” Osamu said, holding the other baby in his arms. The little girl was drinking just as greedily as her brother. “I don’t know how I left last night,” you said. “How could I ever leave you three behind?” “Ya came back,” Osamu said. “That’s all that really matters.” You looked down at your baby. His eyelids were drooping and his little arms were falling limp at his sides. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I came back.”

      Aaron slept funny last night. Weird dreams, half-baked, sort of sexy, had him tossing and turning. It’s shown all day today not only in the bags under his eyes but in the tuft of hair sticking up from the back of his head—some twenty strands of hair that just won’t cooperate. And they have a performance on MusicBank today, too. He’s tried smoothing it down with water, with gel, with pomade, and even with his own spit (which made him feel like someone from the musical Grease) but looking into the mirror now with the stylist at his back teasing it over with another fine comb before she shrugs. “Hold still, I need to get the hairdryer.” She runs off to another fitting room, and Aaron sits there waiting for something to happen. “You’ve got something of an attention hog on your head today, don’t you?” Minki says, sauntering over. And with a deft hand he slicks down Aaron’s hair with a slip of apple-scented hair gel. “That’s better,” Minki says, admiring his handiwork in the mirror—Aaron’s hair, perfectly coiffed—before walking off. It clicks. Aaron realizes what the cowlick has been trying to tell him. He sits there, dazed by his cosmic realization, until the stylist comes back. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “It’s fixed.” And with that taken care of, she busies herself with the rest of his hair and ten minutes later she’s done. But his feelings aren’t done. They’re just getting started. Aaron watches his reflection in the mirror. Has he always been this dumb Or maybe his feelings were always this way to begin with and he just only realized it now, like the dumbass they’ve always thought he was? He covers up for the sudden rush of adrenaline by jumping out of his chair to practice their stage choreography. Dongho is on his phone on the couch, and usually he wouldn’t emerge from the haze of whatever dopamine-addled click high he’s on, but apparently Aaron’s physical dance outburst is so sudden that even he does a double-take. “You still nervous?” Dongho asks. “It’s like, our fifteenth time doing this.” “Yeah, but,” Aaron says, because suddenly everything has changed and he’s not sure if this is some kind of alternate reality and if he even remembers anything he’s supposed to. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had, like, three dogs instead of two, and one of them had two heads. Maybe that was the way it always was, and he just never noticed it. God, he’s so dense. Minki has sat down for a final round of touch-ups before they go live on stage. He’s got his eyes closed and his brow is slightly furrowed. The makeup assistant carves out his cheekbones in a bronze contour and Minki absorbs it, his lips slightly pursed, tongue peeking out from between his lips. He looks like he’s getting in the zone. Aaron can see his eyes flicker behind his eyelids, and knows that Minki is practicing the choreography in his head. He kind of loves watching him when he gets like this. Silly Minki, always on, except when he takes himself seriously, except when the spotlight isn’t on him, and then he’s just normal, he’s just Minki, he’s just beautiful and considerate and gentle and hardworking and just like anyone else. Ever since he came back from LA and they spent the whole year touring and building up Nu’est W—Minki has become more and more comfortable with himself. They all have. And somehow, through it all, they’ve become even closer than they were before. There’s no one he’d rather spend late nights talking to and creating music with, debating concepts, trying out melodies, discussing costume ideas— It’s just professional, right? Some part of him thinks. But his heart beats a different story. Eventually, though, Minki lets out a big yawn, and Dongho gets up from the couch. “It’s go time.” “It is?” Aaron says even as he stands up and stretches. Looking normal. Not looking like every assumption he had about himself just went up in smoke. “Yeah,” Dongho stretches. “If we don’t go, Jonghyun’s gonna—“ In that moment Jonghyun comes in through the door, dark face. “You guys, it’s time to go. I’ve been waiting for the last five minutes. Minhyun’s already in place.” “You guys are always overachievers,” Dongho smirks. “You’re a bad influence on the team,” Jonghyun says, only half kidding. Dongho looks half wounded. “You’re a bad influence on the team,” Dongho parrots, sticking out his tongue. “Don’t talk to your leader like that,” Minhyun says, reaching out to grab Jonghyun by the ear as he drags him out the door. “And you. Stop starting things right before we get on stage.” Aaron laughs and, a little more awake, dodges Jonghyun and jogs the rest of the way to the stage. Jonghyun rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling, and the rest of them follow Aaron backstage. The producers smile at them — the friendlier ones, anyway — as they take their places stage right and stage left. Minki stands in front of Aaron. The nape of Minki’s neck is pale and exposed; the oversized shirt he wears leaves him looking fragile and vulnerable. Minki is looking at his nails, probably trying to prevent himself from picking at his cuticles. Aaron wants to take Minki’s hands in his and tell him not to worry. But Minki gets embarrassed when Aaron shows him too much affection in public. Maybe Minki has known for a while about what Aaron has only realized now. It’d be like Minki to notice; it’d also be like him not to say a thing. Watching Minki like this—from just far away enough—far away enough that it won’t look creepy, that it won’t look like staring—the crowds might be cheering for the current act on stage, they might be waiting with some nerves. It’s normal for them. But here he is. It’s something like seven or eight in the evening on another Saturday and Kwak Aaron is in love with Choi Minki. He’s been in love with him for a long time, probably, if he thinks about it, since he first got to Seoul and Minki was the first to help him with Korean lessons, the first to take him out shopping, the first to take him out eating. The realization should leave him reeling, but he’s strangely calm. Loving Minki just feels right. He steps up to Minki on autopilot and wraps his arms around him from behind. It’s not a singular moment, existing only now. It feels like it could be any moment, any one of many moments, in all their time together. “Oh,” Minki says, and instead of shrugging him off like he’s wont to do when there are cameras in their faces, leans back, catching Aaron’s arms in his hands. He turns and whispers, “good luck.” Aaron leans a little closer so he can kiss Minki on the cheek. Minki drops his hands, and the illusion breaks. It’s jarring, and panic blooms in Aaron’s chest when he realizes the weight of what he’s just done. “Um,” Aaron says, dropping his arms and taking a step back. Minki whirls around. Aaron can’t read his expression, which is not exactly rare, but is also no longer common. Minki looks left, looks right. Then when the lights turn off onstage—the peak of the song—Minki grabs Aaron’s shoulders, pulls him down, and kisses him on the lips. After a startled second, Aaron kisses back, and the universe slides back into place. They break apart just before a producer turns around. “You guys are on in one minute,” she says, and scurries away. “I want this forever,” Minki says when they part. “Kissing?” Aaron asks with a smile trembling so hard it might twist off his face. “No,” Minki says with a brief flash of annoyance. “Well, that, too. But I mean—” He gestures helplessly. “—this. Onstage, offstage. Just. Being with you.” Aaron smile softens. “I love you, Minki.” “And I’m really, seriously in love with you, you idiot. Took you a while.” “Sorry,” Aaron says, and presses a kiss to the back of Minki’s head. He settles a hand lightly on the small of Minki’s back and Minki leans back ever so slightly. It’s perfect. “You’re both on in ten!” The producer calls. “Oh,” Minki says, pulling away. “What is it?” Minki turns around. “Your hair.” He reaches out and combs his fingers through Aaron’s hair, smoothing down what Aaron imagines to be another cowlick gone wild. “That’s nice,” Aaron says dumbly, because he can’t think of anything else to say. “What would you do without me?” Minki winks, and right on cue, walks out onto stage. Aaron waits his beats and then follows. He doesn’t have the answer right now. But Minki probably does. He’ll just have to ask him about it later.        

OCTOBER     ...       Victor barely closes the door behind himself when Makkachin leaps and knocks him back into it. He coughs out a winded laugh and gives her curly-haired head a pat. Back in Hasetsu, Makkachin's enthusiasm had knocked Yuuri over more than once, as the photos on the 'v-nikiforov' Instagram can attest. Victor would attribute his own ability to remain upright to superior balance. But he suspects that Yuuri's problem was more likely that he kept seeing his small Vicchan in her. Right up until he hit the ground. At least she'd had the decency not to injure his skater before any competitions. "Makka, do you want to see Yuuri again?" Victor asks. She lolls her tongue in what is obviously a 'yes'. Victor doesn't bother taking off his coat or shoes. Just grabs his phone and drops back onto the couch. "Well, come join me then." He gives the cushion a pat. She quickly jumps up and gives a little whine. "Ah, you are enthusiastic. I can't blame you," Victor tells her. Victor move his feet up over the armrest so she can settle her head on his stomach. He opens Twitter and taps on his saved tweets. "I know, I know. This isn't as good as if he were here, but at least it's a new one this time, Makka!" Victor decided long ago that if he is going to succumb to insanity, at least he can bring his dog down with him. He finds the tweet that had popped up under the #katsukiyuuri tag earlier today and opens the YouTube link. The title and description are all in Japanese. Victor doesn't know more than a few written words, but he knows the victory-pure-courage-benefit kanji almost as well as he knows his own cyrillic name. He's practiced them enough times, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Makkachin twists over and Victor takes the hint to give her chest a scratch while the video loads. The Japanese announcer -- M-something? -- breaks the silence in the apartment and she scrambles back onto her belly, dog eyes on the small screen. The announcer finishes his question and the camera pans over Yuuri. His eyes flick to the camera, making something akin to eye contact, and Victor's heart aches. The last time he'd gotten to meet those big brown eyes was for the painfully brief seconds on Yuri's Facetime a month ago. Over a month ago. Of course, Victor has the pictures. Victor starves for them and he saves them all. Even the ones that make him want to die. Like last ones from a week ago that show Yuuri knocking back at least two different drinks at a bar. By the second one (which Victor suspects was more than second), Yuuri's arm is wrapped around another man's shoulders, and the other man's hand is wrapped around his waist. In the interview, Yuuri's voice is as gentle as Victor remembers it. Interrupted only by a brief bursts of impassioned resolution. But there's still something different about Yuuri here. Maybe he's just older than in the interviews Victor and Makkachin binge-watch in the early hours of the morning. He doesn't look older, though. Even if his features aren't as soft as Victor's used to. His hair is gelled, not back but in a way that keeps it from going completely astray on camera. His eyes aren't hidden by glasses. His gaze is steady, without the hesitant wavering from his old interviews. It would be nice to believe that Yuuri has finally gained the confidence he deserves. But, if anything, his gaze is more flat than self-assured. Victor lets his eyes trail down Yuuri's delicate neck to the collar of the suit Victor had bought him in Barcelona. The camera insists on filming only as low as his shoulders, so Victor has to fill in the lithe lines of his body from memory. Makkachin paws at his thigh and Victor realizes he's played the interview on loop enough times for her to get bored. And Victor hasn't even been paying attention to the words. "Last time, Makka," he promises her, even if it's probably a lie. M: ... Well, all right. xxx, Katsuki-senshu, aren't you the xxxxx xxxxxxxx? xxx xx xxx xxxxx xxx xx xx xxxx for your programs? Katsuki: xxxx xxxxxx I won the medal, I xxxxx have a lot xx xxxx xx xx. Many people xxxx xxxxxxxx in me xxxx xxxxxx they had no xxxxxx to. xx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xx xxxxx this year, it means I will try to be xxxxxx of their xxxxxx xx me. The one xxx I xxx xxxx them this is with my skating. For them, I will try my best in the Grand Prix xxxxxx! M: You have brought xxxxx xxxx to Japanese figure skating and we are xxxxxxx to have you xxxxxxxxx us again this year. Even if your home rink is elsewhere. You are in Canada now, is that right? Katsuki: <nodding> M: Tell us about your xxxxxxxx xx xxxxxx coaches in the xxxxxx of last xxxxxx. Katsuki: Victor Nikiforov was my coach last year. He was one of the people who xxxxxxxx in me xxxx xxxxxx he had no xxxxxx xx. He has been my xxxxxxxxxxx starting when I was twelve years old and, ever since then, he's xxxxxxx everything for me. xxxx and xxxx xxxxx, he's never xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx me. I am very xxxxxxxx I got to xxxxxx him from xxx xxxxx, xxxx for a xxxxx time. I wish him good luck xxxx xxxxxx. I am xxxx he xxxx xxx this year but I will do my best! M: Again, Katsuki-senshu, you xxx xxxxx that you won the World Championships? The same xxxxxxxxxxx where Mr Nikiforov xxxxxxxx a silver medal. Katsuki: That was only because he coached me and xxxxxxxxxxxxx my programs. I xxxxx xxx xxxx won without him. M: Well, xx xxx xxxx, your new coach is Allison Chang, who also coaches the American xxxxxx skaters Leo de la Iglesia and Natalia Kovach. Katsuki: Yes. I am xxxxxxxx that she was xxxxxxx to xxxx xx xx as one more xxxxxxx. She has also xxxxxx me a lot xx xxx and I am very xxxxxxxx for her coaching in the Grand Prix this year. M: What do you say to the xxxxxx that you xxx xxxxxxxx xx xxxxx fourth quads in your xxxxxxx. Katsuki: Um ... How Victor could have missed Yuuri saying his own name while looping through the interview earlier is beyond him. He quickly slides the bar back to that part again. He's able to make out a few more words.  M: Tell us about your xxxxxxxx to change coaches in the middle of last xxxxxx. Katsuki: Victor Nikiforov was my coach last year. He was one of the people who xxxxxxxx in me even though he had no xxxxxx xx. He has been my xxxxxxxxxxx starting when I was twelve years old and, ever since, he's changed everything for me. xxxx and xxxx again, he's never stopped xxxxxxxxxx me. I am very xxxxxxxx I got to xxxxxx him from xxx xxxxx, even for a short time. I wish him good luck xxxx xxxxxx. I am xxxx he xxxx xxx this year but I will do my best! M: Again, Katsuki-senshu, you xxx xxxxx that you won the World Championships? The same xxxxxxxxxxx where Mr Nikiforov xxxxxxxx a silver medal. M: That was only because he coached me and xxxxxxxxxxxxx my programs. I would not have won without him. The habit of typing texts to Yuuri is so ingrained that Victor finds himself scrolling down to their conversation, which is still stuck back in April, and writing out, What does 'xxxx' mean? This might be the most pointless draft text he's written so far. He taps on the backspace key. But then, when it's half-erased, he pauses. And has a dangerous thought: Would it be so terrible to press send? Yuuri probably won't reply. But he also doesn't reply to the messages Victor doesn't send. Victor has lived with that for half a year. Or Yuuri could reply and tell him not to text him again. But that's what Victor's been doing anyways. Nothing would change and Victor would survive that, too. Yuuri's not the first person who's left him. Victor knows how live without, even if he's never quite learned how to move on.   He waits for a reply. There isn't one.   Eventually, he forces himself up. If nothing else, the familiar messaging screen now has a new line at the bottom. Makkachin jumps off the couch and follows him over to the front door. Victor hangs his fall coat on the rack. He unties his shoes and sets them neatly in the closet. If Yuuri were here, would everything be this neat? Yuuri's desk in Hasetsu was perpetually cluttered, but the rest of his room had never been a mess. In hotels, though, he tended to kick off his shoes and let them land wherever they wished. If Victor was lucky, it would be somewhere out of the way. If he was unlucky, he would trip over them and Yuuri would spend a solid 45 seconds apologizing. The effect would be broken by him touching Victor's bald spot -- Victor's fictional bald spot -- but it was still adorable. Victor's kitchen windows overlook dusk falling over the city. He opens the fridge door out of habit instead of hunger. It turns out to be lucky because there's nothing more than some old studen jelly and half a bowl of cold soup. One of the assistant coaches usually stops by and fills it with Yakov's approved foods, but apparently she hasn't been by. Victor's never seen Yuuri cook. He'd think Hiroko-san would have let him if he was any good at it. But Victor still suspects that Yuuri would insist on having actual food in the apartment. If he was here, Yuuri would be good for him. Victor, if he had the chance, would try very hard to be good for Yuuri.   Still no reply. He takes Makkachin out for a walk. They wander around the sleeping city until the bridges over the Neva River, one by one, split in half and raise up to the sky.   Victor wakes at four thirty in the morning. There's nothing unusual about that. He has as much trouble staying asleep as he does getting there. But he doesn't wake just to his own dreariness this time, but to the ding of a message. No one he knows in Russia wakes up this early. Switzerland is two hours behind. Thailand Victor isn't sure about, but it's certainly ahead of Moscow Standard Time. A text from Phichit would be about Yuuri. A text to Victor wouldn't be anything good. Victor hesitates long enough in pressing his thumb to the sensor that it dings again, to Makkachin's groan of protest. As Victor blinks against the phone screen in the darkness, he murmurs an apology to the old dog. Makkachin's already suffering enough from Victor's long late night walks. Victor's eyes have barely adjusted to the glare when he reads the message-- Yuuri: believed Victor scrambles to sit up in bed. He's staring at his phone dumbstruck when another text comes in. Yuuri: Sorry. My flight just landed. Two messages. Two messages. And, yes, right, it is the start of the Cup of China tomorrow. Yakov and Georgi had just flown out the day before. Victor wants to write back 'call me'. He wants to ask him to open a video chat so he can see his face. He wants to tell him, 'I love you'. He wants to beg, 'Please change your mind'. He wants to buy the next ticket to Beijing, no matter how many layovers or how many of legs of the flight are coach, and wrap himself around Yuuri's thin shoulders. He wants to confess: 'This message is the best thing that's happened to me in eleven months'. But he doesn't know how not to break this fragile, fragile thing. So he pulls up the video again. Katsuki: Victor Nikiforov was my coach last year. He was one of the people who believed in me even though he had no xxxxxx xx. He has been my xxxxxxxxxxx starting when I was twelve years old and, ever since, he's changed everything for me. xxxx and xxxx again, he's never stopped xxxxxxxxxx me. I am very xxxxxxxx I got to xxxxxx him from xxx xxxxx, even for a short time. I wish him good luck xxxx xxxxxx. I am xxxx he xxxx xxx this year but I will do my best! He types and holds his breath: What does 'xxxxxx' mean? The reply comes right away this time: Yuuri: reason He tries it again, pausing at each word he doesn't recognize typing it into poorly transliterated romaji. To Yuuri: 'xxxxxxxxxxx'? Yuuri: inspiration To Yuuri: 'xxxx' Yuuri: over To Yuuri: 'xxxxxxxxxx' Yuuri: surprising Victor replays the video again. Makkachin stirs with a small whine. He says to her, "Sorry, love. Go back to sleep." To Yuuri: 'xxxxxxxx' Yuuri: grateful To Yuuri: 'xxxxxx' Victor runs a nervous hand through his sleep-messed hair. Yuuri: borrow To Yuuri: 'xxxxx' Yuuri: world To Yuuri: 'xxxxxx' Victor can't believe this is still happening. His heart is pounding over just a few translated words. Yuuri: season To Yuuri: 'xxxx' Yuuri: sure To Yuuri: 'xxxx' 'xxx' Yuuri: will win Victor runs through the video again and when he gets past the part about him, he rubs the sting out of his eyes. He laughs a laugh that isn't amused, exactly. Isn't happy, exactly. It's the kind of laugh you laugh so you don't have to cry. He types: 'You don't have to borrow something you already have'. He holds down the backspace key. He types: 'The world was never what I belonged to'. He holds down the backspace again. As he starts typing again, another message comes through: Yuuri: In that interview, I also said my theme was Potential. So he knew what Victor was having him translate. Of course he knew. Victor doesn't know the right thing to say to that. He says nothing instead. When he falls asleep, he sleeps all the way into the afternoon. Sleeps through Makkachin's dog walker coming and going. Sleeps through the texts from Yakov, because apparently the junior coaches told on him for not showing today. Doesn't wake to any more messages from Yuuri, but this morning's were so much more than he had hoped for.    

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Ms. Potts,” Jarvis informed as the portal closed behind Tony. “Patch her through.” Tony padded over to the coffee machine. He made himself a long black as he waited for the call to connect. He had assumed Pepper called for Stark Industries business until her concerned expression appeared on the screen. Anything that could raise the concern of Pepper Potts was never good. “Tony, we have a situation,” the current CEO of Stark Industries said. She skipped the formalities and brought up front page headlines from several minor newspapers. Tony lowered his coffee. Plastered in the centre of every article were photos of him and Stephen during their walk in Central Park. Many of the articles showed them holding hands, but almost all of them led with the photo of their hug near the lake. Judging from the blurriness, they were likely taken by the same person from a distance. Stephen’s face was clearly visible. Tony was in disguise, but to the public that knew him inside and out, his goatee was a dead giveaway. Tony selected an article at random. IRONMAN GAY?! The headline screamed.     It was disclosed by an anonymous source yesterday that Tony Stark, a.k.a. Iron Man had been spotted strolling in Central Park with a male companion. The couple acted intimately, holding hands as they enjoyed the sparsely populated landmark. Their date ended with a passionate hug near the lake; how romantic! Tony Stark has kept busy between public appearances and his work as Iron Man, but his packed schedule wasn’t enough to curb the budding romance. Our favourite superhero might’ve never had a public relationship with a male lover before, but writers here at Insight Magazine have not forgotten his infamous afterparty orgies featuring strippers of both sexes. Since the reveal, we have received hundreds of calls from male ex-lovers claiming to have dated Iron Man. Fans around the world have expressed their shock over the new fling. Granted that Tony Stark was the world’s most eligible bachelor and voted Sexiest Man Alive for two consecutive years, his new-found relationship is bound to shatter the heart of millions…     The article went on to summarise a list of people Tony had openly dated. He stopped reading. “These photos were leaked to the media after you were seen in Central Park. The editors at the major papers called to warn me, but they couldn’t stop the smaller firms from publishing them. #IronMansBoyfriend is now the number one trending topic worldwide. To make matters worse—” Pepper paused, giving Tony time to adjust. “Someone from Metro General Hospital identified Stephen two hours ago. It’s gone viral, there’s no containing it.” Tony considered the articles. The days of Iron Man being a media push-over were long gone. Nowadays, when he spoke, it was through a designated paper. No major player in the industry dared to publish anything without first consulting Stark Industries publicists. Stark Industries was the largest tech conglomerate in the world. The name of Tony Stark had weight, and he was no longer afraid to throw it around. “Call a press conference. I’ll go over what to say with Stephen. Thank the ones who stayed quiet during this, as for the ones who didn’t…” There was a cold gleam in Tony’s eyes. “Tell them to stay in line, or else I’ll make them.” Pepper smiled. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Stark?” “That would be all, Ms. Potts.” Tony ended the call. He stared blankly at the far wall. Objectively, he knew Stephen could handle it. The pressure, the judgement, the circular arguments… Stephen was used to it. He had been a celebrity neurosurgeon long before their relationship. But subjectively, Tony knew that when Pepper had been dating him, a large part of her stress had come from obnoxious commentators. They’d assumed that she had no merits other than being cunning enough to sleep with Tony Stark. With Stephen’s injuries taken into consideration, a lot of ugly rumours would spread if Tony didn’t contain them. Stephen deserved better than to be brushed aside like some desperate gold digger. He was an important part of Tony’s life.  Tony waited until night time at Kathmandu to call Stephen. From there they planned their next move.     ----------     Stephen stood by Tony on the podium. Beside him, Tony passionately spun the edited version of their blossoming romance. He went on and on about the importance of Stephen in his life. Stephen’s face was lit red by a hot blush, but not from shyness as many would suspect. Stephen was about to double over in laughter. As time ticked by, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from falling out of character. Tony, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing. He was giving The New York Time’s bestselling romance a run for its money. The events he brought up were mostly true, but when Tony fabricated them into a story, Stephen no longer knew the two men involved. They did work together for the prosthesis project, but there was no ‘love at first sight’. Stephen had been by Tony’s side when he underwent surgery, but he never ‘slept at Tony’s side out of worry’. Stephen did have an accident, but he hardly ‘cried because he could no longer operate on Tony’. Tony was the definition of health. The removal of the arc reactor had no negative impact at all. And when did they have a romantic declaration of love over candle-lit dinner? Tony blurted that out over homemade pasta. The conference ended with Stephen removing his gloves to show the scars on his hands. He was blinded by camera flashes. Tony stood by his side and looked on wistfully. Stephen fought off the goosebumps on his back. Their sob story was well received. Fans debated over their ship name and blogs were created in their honour. Curiosity sated, the world moved on. Stephen returned to Kamar-Taj to train, while Tony carried on as Iron Man and the owner of Stark Industries.     ----------     On the 5th of October 2011, a Russian oil team discovered the remains of Valkyrie in the Arctic Ocean. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents seized the wreckage within twenty-four hours of the discovery. Tony watched them carve out the body of Captain America through the eyes of a Legionnaire. They might have once fought side-by-side. Might have once been friends. It had been tempting to muddle with the captain during his sleep, but in memory of what once was, Tony had resisted the temptation and kept vigilance on behalf of Steve just in case Hydra found him in this timeline. That was the last thing Tony would do for him. From now onward, they were strangers. Tony had spent the past year carefully organising the pieces on the chessboard. This time, they were going to play by his rules, or find out exactly how manipulative and influence mongering he could be. After all, if he was going to be labelled by those terms, he might as well turn them into a real advantage. Inside the Stark Tower labs, Tony and Stephen’s anti-magic project hobbled along. None of them had previous experience in the field. Tony squeezed visits to Kamar-Taj into his schedule, and bit by bit, he built up his database by recording new energy signatures. Stephen routinely raided the Kamar-Taj library. He read in his sleep using astral projection. As a result of their shared determination, they began experimenting on magic-proofing Mark Fifty before Christmas. It was efficiency at its finest. Outside of the lab, Tony’s attention was split between attending board meetings, making public appearances and liaising with the U.S. Armed Forces. He kept a firm grip on the Iron Legion and watched the world with sharp eyes until the holiday season arrived. Once again, Tony found himself spending Christmas and New Year’s with the same people. Stephen, Pepper and Rhodey gathered on the roof of Stark Tower for Tony’s improved fireworks. As a shell burst open, Tony met Stephen’s gaze in unspoken understanding. Stephen had changed much during the past year. He wore comfortable lounge clothes as compared to the stiff three-piece from last year. The smile on his lips was warmer, and the look in his eyes less sharp. Two streaks of silver decorated his temples, evidence of the days he’d spent worrying about his hands. Or they could simply be growing old. Tony himself had begun to spot white in his hair. Day by day, the rich chocolate brown inched closer to resembling how he remembered himself from his past life. Tony wondered how long it’d take for him to age with the Super Soldier Serum. Another golden flush of light flooded the roof. In that moment, Tony wondered who Stephen saw standing across the platform. Was he the same man Stephen had met at the gala, or had he transformed into someone else too? Stephen approached him. Tony looked around, Pepper and Rhodey were nowhere to be seen. “I swear they can teleport,” Tony quipped. He twirled a lock of Stephen’s hair in his hands. “You are going grey, old man.”  “It adds sophistication.” Stephen ran a shaking hand through Tony’s hair too. Fireworks lit up the night sky around them. Tony was unsure as to who leaned in, but their lips met. The kiss consisted only of soft, gentle pecks. It was the way someone would kiss the person they loved. “You are a sappy fool,” Tony said as they broke apart. He was getting jittery from the warm, buzzing feeling in his chest. The feeling seemed to associate itself with Stephen. Tony never felt cold in Stephen’s presence. Stephen withdrew the hand tangled in Tony’s hair and lifted his chin. “Allow me to rectify that.” With a wave of his hand, a ring of amber sparks appeared beside them. Stephen pushed Tony through it. Tony landed on his back. The mattress was soft beneath him. “Show-off,” Tony grumbled. It was all flash and no heat. Stephen grinned wickedly. Jarvis dimmed the lights.     ----------     One of the first people Tony visited in the new year was Vasily Karpov. He had been running facial recognition to find the man since Siberia. At long last, Jarvis found a match in Cleveland. Not that Tony was fond of the spryly fellow, but Karpov had something Tony wanted. Namely, a little red book and two blood debts to repay. Once Tony located the Winter Soldier Manual in Karpov’s lakeside cabin, he crushed the man’s skull into pieces. Tony was not done with eliminating Hydra yet, but hunting down the man who had overseen the Winter Soldier Program and arranged the assassination of his parents was a good start. There would be no mercy, not from him, and not this time around. Tony presented the manual to the last remaining Winter Soldier. He asked once again if Barnes would like to leave with the book, and once again, Barnes said no. Satisfied that he had the Winter Soldier’s full consent, Tony set to work. He programmed B.A.R.F. sessions to undo trigger words one at a time. Some were easier, and some required multiple sessions, but in the end, Barnes got there. He was free of Hydra conditioning once and for all. On the day Barnes successfully endured Tony reciting all his trigger words without relapsing, he cried. They were silent tears and Tony didn’t acknowledge them, but Tony had a stuffy feeling in his chest too. After recovering from his emotional outburst, Barnes went outside for the first time in months. The ex-Winter Soldier closed his eyes as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. To celebrate, Tony cracked open two beers as they observed the sunset from the roof of the safehouse. “Thank you,” Barnes muttered as he took in the view before him. “No problems.” Tony took a swig of his beer. “So, where to now?” “I think I’d like to travel, catch up on what I’ve missed.” Barnes took a swig of his beer too. “Give living as ‘Bucky’ another shot.” “That sounds good.” The day following their chat, Bucky left the safehouse. After making sure all those involved in the program were either dead or cured, Tony destroyed the Winter Soldier Manual. As he combed through the facility to prepare for shutdown, he noticed a burner phone sitting on his desk. If you need me, call me. The note under it said. Tony cringed at the outdated technology, but he did take the ex-Winter Soldier’s gesture of goodwill. He had a feeling he might need it one day, if the rate of which Captain America tried to corner him at Stark Tower was anything to go by. Thinking about the other Super Soldier, Tony rolled his eyes so hard it near disappeared into the back of his skull. A month or two after the captain was defrosted, he began requesting to speak with Tony. Tony could guess what S.H.I.E.L.D. had told the captain even with two hundred points deducted from his IQ. Having more important issues to deal with, Tony had instructed his secretary to decline politely. Tony was under no illusion that Steve Rogers of all people would respect his wish to be left to his own devices. He was biding his time until circumstances dictated that he must deal with the captain. Tony had been hoping it’d be never. He doubted his wish would come true, but a man could dream. Steadily, the months ticked by. Between monitoring pet projects Tony was stuck doing press for Stark Industries. They were preparing for the launch of a new line of Stark tech with holographic interface. There had been a time when Tony avoided dancing for the media like he’d avoid a brain plague, but after getting a taste of public adoration, Tony begrudgingly admitted that some things were simply easier with the people on his side. And as always, when there was a shortcut, Tony took it. He flaunted his good angle for the cameras, flashed his showman grin so wide it hurt his face. He made flying around New York in armour his new favourite pastime. Iron Man’s public mailbox was flooded with fan mail from all across the globe, many sending Tony heartfelt thank yous for saving their lives one way or another. A recurring theme had been gratitude over the Iron Legion for their role in disaster relief. One of Tony’s publicists came up with the brilliant idea for Tony to take a photo with all those he had saved, either directly as Iron Man or indirectly through the Iron Legion. Hundreds showed for the event from the U.S. alone. In the photo, Tony smiled in casual attire as he was surrounded by a sea of people. The photo trended number one globally for a week straight. Its most popular comment read: Iron Man, saving the world since 2008. Tony got a personal call from President Ellis later. Ellis joked that if Tony kept up the good work any longer, Iron Man might as well replace him in the White House. Tony used the publicity to promote his charities. Aside from the Maria Stark Foundation, Tony created another self-funded charity dedicated to a much broader range of people in need. From victims of natural disasters to domestic abuse, when the people needed hope, Tony would be there for them one way or another. He named it the ‘Iron Spirit’, in sentiment of his past life. On the evening of April 30th, Jarvis informed them of an energy spike detected from the Tesseract. Tony, who had been sitting in his lab waiting for the past twelve hours took a deep breath. This was it, the moment he had been planning toward. Tony calmly called Fury. “Stark.” The director greeted as per usual, but the speed at which the call was picked up hinted otherwise. “Save it,” Tony said. “Move the Tesseract into the desert and clear the area, I’ll call you when I get there.” Tony wasn’t worried that Fury would ignore his advice. He had been sending the director analysis for the past six months asking for the project to be shut down. Tony knew he was asking for the impossible. What he had been really meaning to do was plant a seed of doubt in Fury’s mind. When the portal collapsed in his past life, it had taken out the entire research facility with it. None of the other researchers could have predicted this outcome because they had been studying the Tesseract in its dormant form. But being one of the most scientifically capable individuals on the planet, if Tony painted the Tesseract as a dangerous artefact, ready to backfire at any minute, knowing Fury, he’d come up with contingency plans for his contingency plans. Tony smirked when the reading of the Tesseract began to move on his GPS. “Are you sure about this? I should come with you.” Stephen stood beside Tony in full sorcerer getup. In the past eight months, he had raised to the rank of Master in Kamar-Taj and was granted the honour to wear custom robes. Despite Stephen's protests, Tony had gone to town designing gear for his boyfriend. “Nope. Remember, you’re the card up my sleeve,” Tony said as he suited up. “Tomorrow’s final rehearsal, I need you for opening night.” Tony leaned in for a kiss. “Now give me one for good luck.” Stephen reluctantly gave Tony a smooch. “I’ll be watching the feed from here, but if you get pummelled, I’m coming over,” Stephen said as he taped his Sling Ring on the table. “Honey, I’ll be the one doing the pummelling.” Tony closed his helmet with a wink. “Now if you’ll do the honour.” Stephen rolled his eyes. He opened a portal to the Mojave Desert a few miles away from target. “Be careful,” Stephen cautioned. “Don’t stay up.” Tony fired the suit’s thrusters and took off. When he entered the desert, his sensors indicated that Veronica has entered the Earth’s atmosphere behind him. Tony smiled. He was going to throw Loki one hell of a welcome party.

Dean awoke to the sound of running water, which quickly made him realize he had to piss like a racehorse. He sprung up and noticed the blanket was... stiff. He gagged a little and headed to the bathroom, knocking on the door. "Can I come in and pee?" he yelled through the door. "Of course!" he heard over the water. He opened the door and walked past the toilet, pulling back the curtain slightly and poking his head in. "Hey!" Cas said, instinctively covering himself for a moment before dropping his arms back to his sides. "What are you doing?" "You said to conserve water. You've already got it running in here," he said as he began peeing into the left side of the tub, smiling to himself at Cas' reaction. "What the hell, man?" Cas said. "You could've just not flushed the toilet. It's only pee." He grabbed the showerhead as Dean finished and sprayed it all along the bottom of the tub. "Can you grab me a towel? I'm done anyway." "Then what the hell were you doing in here?" Dean asked with a smirk. "Nothing!" he said defensively. "I had just finished rinsing off." Dean grinned and pulled his shirt, the only article of clothing he was still wearing after their romp last night, off over his head. "Uh-huh. Leave the water running, I need to shower, too." He climbed in as Cas climbed out and wrapped a towel around his waist. "So what's the plan for today?" Dean asked loudly over the water as he lathered shampoo into his hair. "First and foremost, breakfast," Cas responded, peering into the mirror as he shaved. "The furniture is supposed to be delivered between noon and two. Then we have to run out and get whatever tools we need to put it all together." He ran the razor along the underside of his chin. "Sounds fun," Dean joked, rinsing his hair. "I've heard putting IKEA furniture together is a good relationship test." "Huh?" "It's difficult and frustrating," Cas elaborated, turning on the water briefly to splash his face. He grabbed a hand towel from the edge of the sink, wiping the water and any remaining shaving cream off of his face. Dean stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, drying himself off. Cas exited to get dressed in the bedroom, freeing up the counter space for Dean to shave. When Dean had finished getting dressed, he found Cas in the kitchen, cooking eggs on the stove. "We don't have much yet," Cas explained. "Anything you make is always amazing, Cas. Really," Dean said, standing awkwardly a few feet behind him, as they had no chairs yet to sit at the island. Cas scraped the eggs into two bowls, shoving a fork into each one and handing one to Dean. They stood in silence in the kitchen, Cas leaning on the counter and Dean leaning across from him on the island, eating their scrambled eggs. "You know what," Cas said, swallowing his last bite of food and placing the bowl in the sink, "I'm going to check craigslist for some stuff." He pulled out his phone and began typing. "What else do we still need?" Dean asked. He couldn't believe they still weren't done. He had no idea how much stuff- and money- you needed to furnish an apartment. "A television. And a stand." He looked up at Dean. "And chairs for that island." Dean nodded, pushing himself off the counter and walking past Cas to put his bowl into the sink. It was already ten, so they ended up waiting for the delivery guy while Cas browsed craigslist. As they smoked in the bedroom, Cas was reminded they needed a washer and dryer by the mess on the blanket. "I'm spoiled," he said, lying on his back, phone held above his face, scrolling through listings. "I'm not lugging my shit to a laundromat." Dean laughed. "Do we even have a hookup?" "Yeah, right across from the bathroom door. There's a big space and a hookup behind those two bi-folding doors." He squinted at his phone. "Awesome," Dean said. They'd just finished a second joint when the doorbell rang. Cas jumped up to answer it, Dean trailing behind. Cas opened the door to reveal a tall man with shaggy blonde hair standing on the doorstep. He had dark green eyes, a day or so's stubble, and was wearing gray Dickies pants and a matching work shirt. "Mr. Novak?" he asked, looking up from his clipboard. Cas nodded. "Delivery, can you sign please?" He handed the clipboard and a pen to Cas, who signed Castiel J Novak at the bottom. "I'm Rich. Where do you want everything?" the man asked. "Living room is fine, thank you," Cas said. "Do you need help?" "That would be great, thanks. My co-worker called out today. Just don't hurt yourself and sue us," he joked as he turned to walk back to the truck that was parked in the driveway behind the Impala. Cas smiled. "Of course not." He turned to Dean and nodded his head in the direction of the truck, and they followed him out. Once they had brought all the boxes in, Rich looked around. The boxes they had unloaded were the only things in the room. "You guys got nothing, huh?" "We just moved here," Cas explained. "Yeah? Where from?" he asked. "Kansas," Dean replied. "What brings you guys over here?" "School," Cas said. Rich nodded. He glanced around the living room again. "Is there anything you guys still need?" He paused, unsure if was overstepping his boundaries as both someone on the clock, and a complete stranger. He decided to continue. "My cousin has a farm out in Sunol, he has all kinds of crap in pretty good shape. He's kind of a hoarder. Hates to see stuff fall apart or be thrown away if someone could be using it. He holds onto it until he finds someone willing to buy it." "We do actually need quite a few more things..." Cas trailed off. "Like a washer and dryer... and a TV stand. I was just on craigslist but didn't find much." "He's got all that shit," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "You sure aren't fitting it in that car out there though." Cas frowned. "Yeah." "If you can throw me some gas money, I can take you up there in my pickup." He paused. "Load up whatever you want." "That would be great," Cas said with a smile. "Thank you for offering." "Yeah, no problem. He needs to get some of that stuff gone," he laughed. "I get off at five, I guess I'll pick you two up here?" Cas nodded. "That's fine. Thanks again, we really appreciate it." "No worries," he said as he moved towards the door. He grabbed the door handle and gave a quick wave. "I gotta get going though. See ya later." He slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Dean turned to Cas with a raised eyebrow. "Okay, what the fuck? Why is everybody we've met been so nice?" Cas shrugged. "We've only been here for three days. But maybe Kansas is just filled with douchebags." Dean scoffed. "Apparently." Cas pulled out his phone to check the time. "So, it's only one. Let's check out these instructions and go get the tools we need." They opened all the boxes, pulling out the instructions packets. Cas made a list of what they needed and they made a quick run to Home Depot. It took them a minute to find what they needed, as neither of them had ever stepped foot into a hardware store, but eventually they located everything and headed back home. It was now two o'clock and they had to get a move on putting the furniture together. Dean helped Cas install the air conditioner into the bedroom window to cool down the house before they began assembling furniture. Cas had insisted on putting the bed together first. He'd said if he had to sleep on the floor one more night, he felt like his spine would crumble. Dean laughed, but he felt bad for Cas. It took them about forty-five minutes, but they got it put together and placed the box spring and mattress on top. They then moved on to the couch. It took about the same amount of time. It was almost four, and they only had the coffee table and two nightstands left to put together. They spent another half an hour putting together the two nightstands. Cas then dropped his screwdriver onto the floor, plopping back onto the couch. "Well it didn't collapse into a pile, so I guess we put it together right," he laughed. "I'll be the judge of that," Dean said as he plopped down to his right. The couch squeaked but didn't budge. "Sweet." He lifted his arm up to rest it along the back of the couch. Cas looked over at him. "We did good. The furniture is assembled, and we didn't kill each other." He flashed Dean a wide smile. Dean laughed, leaning in to press their lips together before letting himself slide down into Cas' lap. He laid there as Cas carded his fingers through his hair, his head back on the couch and eyes closed. They were just drifting off into sleep when the doorbell rang.

one day someone will love you the way you deserve to be loved and you won't have to fight for it - Ruby Dahl   *   Soon your friends will be dead. No. Let your anger fuel you. I won’t. My apprentice. Please, anyone. You are mine, now. Help. Now, young Skywalker. Please, help. You will die! Help me!   *   Luke woke up gasping, hands clutching desperately at his throat in search of air. He was sweat-drenched, legs tangled in his sheets. Sheets. Moonlight. Bed. I’m in my bed, on Coruscant. He familiarized himself with his surroundings – the bookshelf of sparse Jedi texts, his lightsaber under his pillow, R2 charging in the corner – convincing himself that he was no longer on the Death Star, no longer in the presence of that monster. Luke managed to catch his breath, desperate gasps turning into slow, even breaths. It had been well over five years since Luke’s battle with the Emperor. Dreams like these weren’t new to him, however, it had been an awful long time since he’d last experienced one as intense as this. The first few months after the Civil War was finally won, sleeping had been little more than a few stolen hours before the nightmares descended. They were so vivid, the pain and fear Luke had experienced those long, agonizing hours alone with the Emperor revived, again and again, each night. At one point he’d given up on the idea of sleep, too afraid of the memories and ice-cold whispers that awaited him. Sleep deprivation, however, eventually took its toll. Having collapsed due to sheer exhaustion during an important meeting with the senators of Coruscant, Luke had finally admitted his troubles to a worried Leia. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling with this?” she’d berated him while they sat in the medic center. Luke had been stuck in a cot with a direct order to rest both from the medic droid and Leia herself. He’d sat under the too-thick sheets, letting Leia fuss over him because once Leia gave the order on something you did not argue or so help you all Makers above. “I didn’t want to worry you,” Luke had said, unable to meet his sister’s eye. Leia huffed. “I’m your sister, it’s my job to worry.” Embarrassment rushed over him in waves. There was no point in trying to hide it, Leia felt it before he could try build up his walls, protect what little dignity he still had left. She’d gotten awfully good at reading other’s emotions in the short time she’d learned of her affinity with the Force. Leia had softened, a hand reaching for Luke’s and intertwining their fingers. “You’re not weak,” she said, able to pluck his worries right out of his head like it was nothing. “Oh, really?” Luke questioned, derision in his voice. “The great and powerful Luke Skywalker, last known Jedi Knight in all the galaxy, is too afraid to go to sleep because of some stupid nightmare?” “Hey.” Leia reached forward, tilting Luke’s chin up with a finger so he would meet her gaze. “It’s not stupid. Trauma is not something to feel ashamed about.” Luke held his sister’s gaze, breathing becoming quick gasps as all the bottled-up emotions inside began to flow out of him. She’d said nothing, simply pulling him into a warm embrace and rubbing his back soothingly as he allowed himself to cry. He was not proud of that moment. Jedi Knights were supposed to be calm and collected. They were supposed to be in control of their emotions, not letting them run rampant as he had then. The crying only made him more tired, Luke not arguing as Leia helped him lay down in his cot. She’d stayed by his side, combing her fingers gently through his hair while he calmed down. “You know, you’re not the only one who came away struggling with something like this,” she’d said. Her words were slow, cautious, picked wisely. “Everyone experienced the war differently, and some were more affected than others. Some of the soldiers of the rebellion also struggle to sleep, others can no longer deal with loud noises.” Luke had listened, too tired to argue or ask the questions buzzing about inside his mind. “There are doctors who help them. They could help you too.” Luke had begun to shake his head, protest on his lips when Leia continued, “Just think about it, Luke. They can help give you coping mechanisms, ways to help you move past your nightmares. Or they can simply listen. Sometimes just talking about it helps. You don’t need to decide right now but, if you ever want to try just… let me know.” Knowing there was no point in arguing, Luke had simply nodded, Leia giving him a soft kiss on his cheek. It took another month of nightmares, of waking up unable to breathe, of memories flooding him and making him feel too much all at once before he finally took Leia up on her offer. Luke had felt ridiculous as he entered the doctor’s study for the first time. His imagination had run a little wild in anticipation for his appointment. He’d expected cold steel tables with leather straps to keep him down as some doctor with a mask for a face poked and prodded him for every little detail. Instead, upon entering Dr. Peterson’s study he found a kind-looking older woman with grey-streaked hair and bright, intelligent brown eyes behind an old-fashioned wooden desk – no dangerously sharp tools nor cold steel tables in sight. She’d offered him a seat and asked if he’d like anything to drink. He’d politely refused. His stomach was too knotted with nerves to keep anything down. Their first session wasn’t anything like Luke had imagined. They’d simply spent the hour getting to know one another, Dr. Peterson asking Luke about where he was from. He’d described the endless seas of white sand dunes and the two blistering suns of Tatooine, hours spent working with his Uncle Owen out in the fields and evenings tucked indoors, Aunt Beru’s delicious cooking filling his empty stomach. By the time the hour was done, Luke felt calmer than he had after any of his meditation sessions. Suffice to say, Dr. Peterson was a pleasant woman with an incredible wit who eventually managed to get Luke to open up about what had happened on the second Death Star. It was difficult at first, opening up to a complete stranger. He’d tried to skim around the details, tell the generalized version everyone knew. But Dr. Peterson knew there was more, that it was what he refused to confront that haunted him at night. It was a long, arduous process that led to Luke crying more than he’d care to admit, but slowly, the dreams began to fade, and Luke was given ways to help himself when the memories threatened to spill once more. He hadn’t needed an appointment with Dr. Peterson for two years now, the nightmares practically non-existent at this point. Luke had been able to move forward past his trauma – or at the very least learned to deal with it, to live with it, day by day. So why now? Why had that dream suddenly decided to rear its ugly head once more? Hugging his knees to his chest, Luke released a shaky breath, hands scrubbing through his sweat-soaked bangs. It was then he felt the tug. It was small at first, hesitant as if afraid it might be disturbing him. Luke frowned, releasing his knees and shuffling so he was sitting more comfortably in a cross-legged position. Laying either hand palm up on his knees, he closed his eyes, trying to connect with whatever was calling out to him. Having garnered his attention, the tugging grew stronger, more demanding as Luke opened himself up to it fully. Images flashed lightning quick behind his eyelids, creating a story that he could only barely begin to piece together before a single word made itself prominent. Help. Luke’s eyes shot open, his breath faltering. It couldn’t – it wasn’t possible – Master Yoda had said he was the last one, and yet – Luke scrambled off his bed, nearly tripping as his foot caught in his sheets. R2 woke with a start, beeping up a storm as Luke gathered his things hurriedly, Luke simply replying with “Get the X-wing ready, R2, we’re going out!” He did not know who was reaching out to him, who this being could be that possessed the power to wield the Force, but one thing was certain. He was going to find them or die trying.   *   Having destroyed the final Dark Trooper, the machine giving off a high-pitched whine as Luke crunched its metal shell between his fingers with just the flicker of a thought, Luke strode through the doors of the bridge, eyes scanning the room. He was surprised to see two female Mandalorians in blue armour as well as a small woman clad in red and black and a well-built soldier who could no doubt crush his skull between her thighs if she so wished, all of them with their blasters aimed at him. They were hesitant, wary of him no doubt having seen what he could do through the monitors. He paid them no mind, looking about the rest of the room. What little was left of the Imperial ship’s crew lay scattered haphazardly about the floor. His attention was drawn to another Mandalorian clad in a suit of armour made of shining silver beskar. He was tall, perhaps an inch or two taller than Luke, with broad shoulders and an impressive range of weapons strapped to his belt. And to his left, hiding behind one of the console chairs, was a child. Luke had to withhold a gasp upon seeing the child. Clad in a brown cloth tunic, no higher than Luke’s knee, was the mirror image of his old Master. So used to Yoda’s weather-worn skin, his wrinkled face and straggly wisps of grey hair, Luke was rather taken aback by just how young this being appeared. The child’s ears were a little too big in comparison to the rest of its tiny body, their eyes large and filled with a child-like wonder Luke had almost forgotten he’d once had. He knew instantly as their gazes met that this was who had called for him. Luke tucked away his lightsaber, paying the group of women who still held their weapons cocked and ready no mind. Their fear was slowly ebbing into yellow wisps of confusion and curiosity. Having dropped his hood, Luke offered a smile to the child who still stood peeking out from behind the back of the chair they stood on, ears perking as their gaze locked with Luke’s. A rush of emotions flooded through Luke’s chest, gratitude and excitement upon finally meeting being the main two he could parse. “Are you a Jedi?” Luke startled, tearing his gaze away from the child to look back up at the silver Mandalorian. Tension leaked off him in waves, his fingers poised for the blaster on his belt, waiting to see if Luke posed a threat. “I am,” Luke said. His eyes drifted to the soldier, clad in the remnants of shock trooper armour, catching the moment she realised who he was. The black band decorating her right bicep seemed to burn a moment at the implication. Luke simply gave her a nod and a reassuring smile. She may be a deserter, but there was no questioning she cared for the child which was enough to mark her in Luke’s good books. Luke turned his attention once more to the child, offering his flesh hand. “Come, little one.” Hesitationfearworry hit Luke like a freight train as the child looked up at the Mandalorian in question, head tilted, seeking something. It only took a moment, Luke seeing the way the Mandalorian looked down at the child, feeling the electric charge between them, the strength of their connection, for him to realise what the Mandalorian and the child mean to one another. Ah, this might be a little more complicated than I thought. Taking on an orphaned charge was one thing. Taking a child from their parent, whether blood or chosen, was a whole other ball game. One, Luke feared, he was not ready for. “He doesn’t want to go with you,” the Mandalorian declared, no hesitation in his interpretation of his child’s look. The child looked to Luke, sending him his reply. “He is seeking your permission first,” Luke translated. It was rather impressive that this Mandalorian had no affinity to the Force and yet managed to read the child so easily as if they had always been able to communicate with one another beyond words. It showed just how great a bond they’d developed in the short amount of time they’d known one another. Makers above, Luke cursed in his head. How am I to separate them? Luke cleared his throat, clasping his hands together in front of him to stop their shaking. “He is strong with the Force, but talent means nothing without proper training.” The Mandalorian’s uneasiness was not dissuaded. Luke tried a different approach, talking not to the guardian of a potential Jedi but to a father fearing for his child’s safety. “I promise, I will guard your child with my life. They will be safe with me.” “He,” the Mandalorian corrected. Luke bowed his head, lips ticking in the corner. “He will be safe with me. I give you my word as a Jedi Knight.” The Mandalorian considered him, helmet tilting up and down slightly as if he were sizing Luke up. Luke tried not to fidget under the Mandalorian’s heavy gaze. It was strange how powerful, how commanding the Mandalorian could be even with a visor and helmet covering his face. It made Luke wonder, just for a moment, what it might be like to meet the gaze of the man behind the mask. Giving Luke one final, appraising look, the Mandalorian approached the child, the child immediately offering his arms up, small, clawed hands making a grabbing motion towards his father. The Mandalorian cradled the child to his chest with great care, somehow looking soft even with the façade of his beskar armour protecting him. His voice turned quiet; his voice modulator unable to mask the shakiness of his words as he spoke, almost imploringly, to his child. “It’s okay. You belong with him. He’s one of your kind.” Luke couldn’t help but think that the Mandalorian was more trying to convince himself than he was the child. It broke his heart, watching the pair as the Mandalorian held the child so close, so carefully, with so much love and tenderness, knowing they were about to be separated. “I’ll see you again one day,” the Mandalorian said, voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.” The child reached up, clawed fingers gliding over the cold metal of the Mandalorian’s helmet. Luke immediately knew what the child was asking without having to use their Force link. He held his breath as the Mandalorian reached up with his free hand and removed his helmet. The man behind the mask was softer than Luke had anticipated. He did not know how else to describe it. The Mandalorian carried a certain air about him that demanded respect. It screamed of a hardened man who had seen too much and lived a life that had not come easy and yet underneath that hardened shell was a quiet soul nestled in the body of a man who could be no older than thirty-five, maybe thirty-six. Luke tried not to read into him too deeply without his permission. There was always that first wave upon meeting someone new, Luke’s senses familiarizing themselves with the aura of the person the Force allowed him to see. Their emotions, their thoughts and fears, he could not ignore them entirely, so he chose rather to focus on the least personal things such as whether they were comfortable in his presence or considered him a threat. It usually allowed him to act accordingly, change his approach if it was someone important who needed convincing or an ally required for whatever task he’d found himself set on that week. However, as the Mandalorian bore his face to his child for, Luke realised with a shock, the first time, he could not help but be overwhelmed by him. The emotions rumbling inside the Mandalorian’s chest as he looked his child eye to eye, the memories that flooded him of their time spent together revealing the cockpit of a ship, a small cot with a makeshift hammock swinging above it, the feeling of the child’s weight in the Mandalorian’s arms becoming more familiar and calming every time he held the child close. Moments of fear for his child when he was in danger, moments of amusement at the child’s antics and penchant for troublemaking, moments of unbridled tenderness that only belonged to them. Moment after moment flooded through the Mandalorian and subsequently into Luke even as he tried to put his walls up to protect the Mandalorian’s privacy. It was a lot, to say the least. And that was before Luke even took in the Mandalorian’s features. Despite his hardened first appearance the helmet had hidden a soft, slightly rounded jawline covered in light stubble. Big brown doe eyes with long black lashes, plush lips framed by a well-kept moustache and thick brows with a head of chocolate curls that called desperately for someone to comb through them having been pressed flat by his helmet. The soldier let out a small gasp upon seeing the Mandalorian take off his helmet, surprise flickering about her in bright blue sparks. Luke frowned, considering. So this was something special, something important to the Mandalorian. A rarity that had led up to this moment where the child could finally see the face of his rescuer, his guardian, his father who he loved so dearly you wouldn’t need a connection with the Force to feel it. Slowly, as if realizing the importance of the moment himself, the child carefully reached up again, a tiny, clawed hand pressing to the Mandalorian’s cheek. The Mandalorian shut his eyes, wincing as if even such a small touch as that burned his skin like a thousand flames. Perhaps it did, Luke realised, the Mandalorian no doubt having not experienced such intimate moments as these if he really did so rarely remove his helmet. The Mandalorian pressed his forehead to the child’s, releasing a wistful sigh as the child cupped his face in his tiny hands. They stayed like that a moment, the air so charged with affection and love, Luke had to look away, having felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment between the two. Eventually, the Mandalorian pulled back – though it looked like it pained him to do so. Eyes fluttering open, the Mandalorian offered his child a shaky, barely-there smile before saying, “Alright pal. It’s time to go.” Even his voice was softer without the modulator to mask it – gentle, smooth, and brimming with untapped emotion the Mandalorian no doubt was trying desperately to keep under strict lock and key. The child’s ears flicked down, worryworryworry surrounding him in tendrils of plum purple and grey. “It’ll be okay,” the Mandalorian assured him. He kneeled down, placing the child on the floor. He really was no higher than his father’s knee, suddenly looking so small, so delicate as he clutched the Mandalorian’s boot and looked up at him with those large, doleful eyes. Just for a second, as the Mandalorian straightened up, their eyes met, and Luke noticed the tears threatening to spill. The Mandalorian averted his gaze, looking back down at his son instead. It was at that moment that R2 finally decided to make an appearance, blathering some rather choice words in Binary about the mess Luke had made with the Dark Troopers. He only hoped no one else understood his rather foul-mouthed astromech, although the soldier’s lips did tilt slightly at the droid’s words. The child’s ears perked up as well; his attention drawn to R2 as he came to a stop at Luke’s right side. Upon noticing the child, R2 began to jitter excitedly. Luke frowned, looking between the child and his astromech. As if sensing his confusion, the child sent quick, flashing images to Luke – showing hints of the old Jedi temple on Coruscant, a crib and a much cleaner, newer-looking R2-D2 unit. Oh… Luke realized. He knew R2 had been present during the purge, however, he did not realize just how close he’d been to the Jedi Order, let alone one of its last remaining students. The child giggled, stepping away from the Mandalorian and toddling on tiny legs towards R2 and Luke. R2 did a quick excited spin, garnering another laugh from the child. Luke kneeled down, waiting patiently for the child to make his way closer. The child came to a stop in front of him, head tilting one way then the other as if trying to get a better read on Luke. Luke allowed himself to be an open book, their connection tingling with fluttering sparks of friendly orange. The child must have deemed Luke worthy as he repeated the same action as he had with his father, lifting his arms with his small claws making a grabbing motion. Luke couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him as he lifted the child into his arms and cradled him close to his chest, just as the Mandalorian had done. He had some experience handling infants, Han and Leia’s twins often being quite the handful as they learned to walk on their own, causing more mischief and chaos about the Coruscant palace than their parents knew what to do with. One look in the child’s large brown eyes and he had a sneaking suspicion that the child and the twins would get along swimmingly. Grogu, he was corrected. Luke smiled down at the child, Grogu, sending his apologies through their connection. Grogu returned his smile with a gap-toothed one of his own. It was difficult, but Luke managed to tear his gaze away from Grogu to look up at the Mandalorian once more. His eyes were red-rimmed, bottom lip trembling slightly, but his tears remained stubbornly in place, the Mandalorian perhaps holding them back just long enough so he might mourn his loss in private. Something stirred in Luke’s chest. Maybe it was the fact that what he was about to do finally hit him full impact, that he was taking a child away from his father. Maybe it was all the emotions swirling around the Mandalorian, begging to be felt, to be seen and understood. Maybe it was Grogu’s own silent pleading as he looked between Luke and his father with those big brown eyes. Whatever it was, Luke tried not to think too hard about it as he reached for his belt and walked up to the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian immediately reached for the blaster strapped to his hip, on full alert, then froze when he saw the communicator in Luke’s hands. Luke pitched his voice low, eyes holding the Mandalorian’s hesitant gaze as he said, “I will contact you once our location is secure.” The Mandalorian stared, dumbfounded, as Luke pressed the communicator into his limp hands. Luke gave them a quick, encouraging squeeze and with a final nod, stepped away again, following R2 to the elevator. He offered the Mandalorian one final nod as the doors closed, Grogu giving his father a small wave. The promise of soon hung heavily between them. Luke released a whoosh of air as the elevator began its descent, R2 beeping rather rudely up at him in question. Luke floundered a moment, wondering if he should try cover Grogu’s ears against his droid’s rather foul language, then decided against it when Grogu showed him a few instances that the Mandalorian and his friends had let their tongue slip in his presence. “R2, at least attempt to watch your language around the child,” Luke admonished. R2 only beeped louder in consternation. Luke frowned. “What do you mean ‘Looking at him that way’? What way?” R2 gave his version of a huff, which came out more like a rusty squeak, shaking on his legs a bit before spinning his headpiece away from Luke’s questioning gaze. Luke clicked his tongue at R2’s attitude. “Don’t know what you mean, ‘looking at him’. Of course, I was looking at him, I was talking to him. That’s how people communicate!” R2 gave a drawn out bleep as if sighing in disappointment. Grogu giggled all the while, clawed hands grasping at Luke’s cape in interest. He smiled at the child, bouncing him a little much to Grogu’s delight. “Oh, Leia is gonna kill me for coming home with a kid announced. Again.”   *   Leia did not kill him. However, she did give him a rather hard smack upside the head for not telling her where he was going when he’d decided to leave in the middle of the night unannounced. Luke winced, looking to R2 for some support and receiving a few smug beeps in reply. “I’m sorry, Grogu needed help and –” “Who is Grogu?” Luke indicated the child balanced on his hip. Leia’s hardened gaze turned soft a moment upon seeing the child. “Another one?” “Yes, but this is a special case,” Luke said, smiling down at Grogu who was currently chewing on the hem of Luke’s cape. Luke didn’t mind all that much. Leia reached for the child, finger stroking along one large ear “How so –” she started then tapered off, jaw dropping as she recognized the power buzzing inside and around Grogu. She looked up at Luke with equal amounts of shock and joy. “Luke! Oh my Makers, he’s –” Luke raised his free hand, covering Leia’s mouth and hushing her with a chuckle. “I know, Leia.” Leia pulled his hand down by the wrist, lips tilting up in a giddy grin. “This calls for a celebration! We’ve gotta –” “No, no, Leia. I don’t want people finding out about this.” Leia faltered, gaze flickering between Luke and Grogu before it settled on Luke. She narrowed her eyes, reading him. Luke allowed her to, Leia parsing together what he was going to say from his emotions and thoughts. “You want to keep him a secret, to protect him.” Luke nodded, shifting Grogu from his hip to rest him against his chest instead. On their flight from the Imperial ship back to Coruscant, Grogu had given Luke an abridged version of how he’d ended up in the care of the Mandalorian. With Grogu still being a child, he often got a little sidetracked with memories of foods he liked or the Mandalorian’s friends he’d connected with or memories of the Mandalorian himself. Luke would simply nudge him a little, Grogu eventually getting back on track. From what Luke had learned, Grogu had been born and raised in the temple here on Coruscant some fifty years ago before the temple was destroyed during the purge. He had had to remain hidden during the Empire’s reign, most of his memories of that time dark and unclear, locked away to protect himself from his no-doubt troubled past. Then the Mandalorian had found him and has since protected him while trying to seek out a Jedi to teach Grogu and so he may be returned to “his people”. “He’s wanted by the Imps,” Luke said, voice rough. “Why exactly, I don’t know. And I don’t intend on finding out.” Leia nodded, offering Grogu a sweet smile and a light kiss on the head. She straightened up, adjusting the silk nightgown she’d thrown on when she felt Luke had returned to the palace. Luke hadn’t kept track of the time, though by the violet and orange streaks in the sky he could guess it was nearing sunrise. “Why don’t you two get some rest and we’ll see you at breakfast?” Leia suggested. “Sounds good,” Luke replied, his exhaustion from his days-long search suddenly catching up to him. He’d started towards the bed chambers when Leia asked, “What shall I tell others? About the child?” Luke stopped, turning back to look at Leia. “I’ll think of something.”   *   Three hours later found Luke being rudely awakened by an impatient R2. Luke grumbled as he shifted on his bed, wanting to snuggle closer into his pillow only to register an unfamiliar weight on his chest. Eyes opening, Luke looked down in surprise at the sleeping child nestled on his chest. Grogu had made himself rather comfortable, large ear pressed directly over Luke’s heart, sucking on a clawed thumb absentmindedly while the other hand grasped Luke’s sleep shirt tightly. Luke’s hand shook slightly as he stroked Grogu’s ear, eliciting a happy hum from the sleeping child. R2 beeped again, Luke immediately shushing him. “R2, be quiet, he needs all the rest he can get.” Grogu had been rather tuckered out after the excitement of meeting Luke and seeing his ship had worn off. Whatever the Imps had been hoping to achieve while he was their prisoner, Grogu had given them a run for their money, no doubt about it. He’d already been snoring before Luke had even reached his bedroom, Luke placing the sleeping child on his spare pillow for the night only now to have woken up and found himself being used instead. I wonder if he slept like this with the Mandalorian as well. Luke shook his head, trying (and failing) to banish the thought and the rather interesting imagery it conjured up. Did the Mandalorian sleep in his full suit of armour, or did he perhaps only leave the helmet on? The image of the Mandalorian decked in striped pyjamas, wearing mismatching socks and clutching a snoring Grogu all the while still with his shiny, menacing helmet in place was rather amusing, causing a giggle to escape Luke’s lips much to his surprise. His hand shot up, wanting to silence himself but it was too late. Grogu snuffled in his sleep, giving a big yawn before his eyes fluttered open. They immediately honed in on Luke, nearly going squint-eyed with how close they were. “Good morning,” Luke said, smiling down at the child as a clawed finger poked his cheek. Happyconfusedexcited radiated off of Grogu in waves of pale, inviting lilac. Luke chuckled, holding the child close as he shifted up into a sitting position. R2 watched all of this from his charging station, starting up his frantic beeping again now that Grogu was awake and could no longer be used as an excuse. “Alright, alright, I’m up,” Luke groaned, placing his bare feet on the cold tile of the floor and padding over to R2 to unplug him. He didn’t bother making himself look presentable, knowing who all would be at the breakfast table and that they wouldn’t care if he was still in pyjamas. It was one of the few perks of the Coruscant palace’s many living facilities for the higher up families who called it home. Sections the sizes of small houses were closed off, each with their own kitchen, lounge, dining room and bedrooms that could be occupied and run with the family’s staff of choice, whether that be droids or live-in housekeepers. Everyone had access to the palace’s private gardens – Luke having even cornered off an old dying patch of sunbaked, cracked dirt to foster a tentative new hobby in gardening. Leia, Han and Luke lived in one of the larger quarters offered in the palace, mainly thanks to their status as war heroes and Leia’s being a Princess and all. It gave the twins ample enough space to run around and play hide-and-seek in, as well as ample artefacts and precious heirlooms to break and/or ruin by scribbling over them in permanent markers. Luke noted a new addition of just that on the corner of a rather old-looking painting as he made his way down to breakfast. He couldn’t help but think the pink and yellow flowers were an improvement to the otherwise dour-looking portrait. Skipping down the steps two at a time, Grogu’s giggles hiccupping with each jump, Luke hummed to himself as he stepped into the dining room to find his family having already started without him. Leia was at the head of the table, Han on her right hand and the twins on her left. Luke also noticed a third child present alongside the twins, easily recognizing the head of tight black curls before he rounded the table. Unlike Luke and Leia, Jaina and Jacen were near-perfect replicas of one another, both sharing the same thick waves of umber brown hair, brown eyes looking golden in the late-morning sunlight. They were both covered in freckles across the bridges of their noses and they shared the same mischievous glint in their eyes and naughty twist to their smiles. Seated next to the twins was a young boy with deep bronze-brown skin. He was no older than perhaps seven or eight, with a bright white smile and friendly eyes filled with laughter. His name was Finn and like far too many other children born and raised during the reign of the Empire, he was an orphan. The Imperials, growing desperate as their resources and power depleted, had turned to drastic measures in search of new soldiers to raise and brainwash. Luke and Han had discovered the group of children during a recon mission on one of the smaller Imperial bases in the Outer Rim. Some, they were able to return to their homes. Others, however, had no home to return to or could no longer remember where they had come from. Leia had helped as best she could in finding new foster homes for the orphaned children and Luke would still pay them visits from time to time to see how they were doing. Finn was a special case, though. Maybe it was the fact that he had been the most open to talking with Luke when he first discovered the creche, his aura sunshine yellow and brighter than any other Luke had ever experienced. Suffice to say, Finn had become a part of their mismatched family, living with Luke and the others in their quarters in the Coruscant palace. The twins adored him, Finn being two years their senior, and Han and Leia had no arguments when they realised Luke’s attachment to the young boy. Finn was also more than pleased to be offered a place to stay as grand as the palace and with the war heroes of the Civil War no less. Though his imagined versions of the trio were quickly snuffed out as he got to know the real Luke, Han and Leia – the bickering and the teasing and the loudness – though he didn’t seem to mind all that much. If anything, he seemed to prefer these very human and ordinary people compared to the heroes he’d built up in his imagination. Luke offered Finn and the twins a grin now as he settled at Han’s side, happy to see Leia had already organised one of the twins’ old highchairs for Grogu to sit in. Having spotted Luke, Finn gave an excited wave, nearly spilling his manjo juice in the process. “Heya, kid, glad you could finally join us,” Han greeted, clapping Luke on the shoulder with a mouth full of ferdis eggs. Leia slapped him on the bicep for his poor manners, rolling her eyes with a smile towards her children. The twins snickered at the interaction much to their father’s chagrin. Luke found himself smiling as well, taking in the picture of his family sitting in a patch of golden sunlight. The white tablecloth was already a mess on Han and the twins’ sides while Leia’s small bubble remained perfectly clean – once a Princess, always a Princess. “Where’s Chewie?” Luke asked as he started dishing up for himself and Grogu. “He’s checking on the Falcon’s new instalments,” Han replied. “Sends his love.” It was then Han finally noticed Grogu, his brows raising well past his hairline. “What is that?” “This is Grogu,” Luke replied easily. Using the Force, he lifted a small piece of pan-fried bracont meat, offering it to Grogu. Grogu clutched it eagerly in his claws, munching on it greedily. Seemed he had a penchant for meat. Han’s brows remained raised as he looked to his wife in question. Leia simply shrugged, letting Luke handle this. “As you might have noticed I was gone a few days,” Luke said, continuing to feed Grogu. “We noticed!” Jacen proclaimed, his sister nodding along. “Where’d you go?” asked Finn. Luke smiled at the trio’s eager looks, no doubt expecting a Luke Skywalker story. The war may have been won five years ago, but there was still a lot of trouble brewing across the galaxy and Luke being the last Jedi Knight meant he was often flying off to the rescue of a small town or village who’d found themselves under the thumb of some high and mighty Imperialist group. It certainly allowed for some interesting stories to help the children fall asleep. This one, however, he worried about. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the children with Grogu’s secret, there was just a small part of him that wanted to keep Grogu to himself. Another being able to wield the Force, a potential padawan who could continue the legacy of the Jedi. And if there was one, surely there might be more children like him? For now, he’d keep Grogu’s powers a secret between him and Leia, and perhaps tell Han alone at a later stage. For now, Luke told the eager children the story of the Mandalorian and the rescue mission for his child, leaving out the finer details and building up others more dramatically to distract them from the missing pieces of the story. “So why can’t he stay with his father?” Jaina asked, head tilted in question. “I promised to look after him for a little while,” Luke answered easily. “I knew one other of his species during the war, he was my friend. So the Mandalorian feels he can trust me with Grogu.” “Oooooh,” Jiana said, nodding along before picking up another forkful of bracont and munching on it loudly, appeased by Luke’s answer. Han was still eyeing Grogu skeptically. He reached out behind Luke’s chair to stroke one of his ears. Grogu tore his attention away from his breakfast with a “Hup?” blinking up at Han with big, inquisitive eyes. Han winced, pulling his hand back. “He’s an ugly little thing, isn’t he?” This time both Leia and Luke slapped him, sharing an eye roll much to the children’s amusement. “What did I say?” Han protested, rubbing both his biceps with a pout. Luke talked over his protestations, asking Leia, “Do you think you could organize a new communicator for me?” “What happened to your old one?” Leia asked. I gave it to the father of the child I took in a last-ditch effort to assuage my guilt. “I lost it during the mission,” Luke replied, avoiding eye-contact though he could feel Leia’s narrowed gaze burrowing into him. He didn’t mind too much if she knew the real reason, though it was still embarrassing, especially as the reminder of the Mandalorian began to flood him, how tenderly he’d handled Grogu, the softness of his voice, those stunning brown eyes filled with love. It brought about a strange, indecipherable warmth in his chest. Leia’s eyes widened and Luke winced. Guess she saw that too. Leia’s lips curled into a hint of a smirk. “I’m sure I can scrounge up a new one for you.” “Thank you,” Luke replied tightly, avoiding Han’s questioning look by staring at the tablecloth instead. We’re talking about this later, Leia told him, eating daintily off her fork as if she wasn’t teasing her brother mercilessly through the Force. I know, Luke replied sulkily. There was no getting out of this one if Leia’s increasingly growing smirk was anything to go by.   *   Luke spent far too long trying to write his first message to the Mandalorian. He’d taken Grogu to the palace garden, allowing the child to run freely through the maze of flower bushes and shrubs to collect all the bugs to his heart’s content. Luke was quickly realizing that not only was Grogu highly curious but also rather adventurous. And hungry. Always hungry. He chuckled as Grogu picked up a stag beetle, big eyes growing bigger as he took in its shiny iridescent shell. “Mind its mandibles,” Luke warned just as the beetle tried to pinch one of Grogu’s fingers so he might let it go. Grogu only giggled, stroking the beetle’s smooth shell before depositing it back where he’d found it. Luke shook his head in fond amusement, turning over the new communicator Leia had provided him. She’d looked far too smug when handing it over to him, questioning him lightly about who he was so desperate to message. “I’m not desperate!” he’d argued. “Could’ve fooled me,” she’d teased in return. Luke sighed, looking down at the communicator like it held all the answers to the universe. Was it too soon to message the Mandalorian? Luke had not given a specific time frame, just promising to message when he and Grogu were in a secure location. Would the Mandalorian want to visit Grogu so soon after only being apart for a few days? He had been separated from Grogu for goodness knows how long when the Imps took him and had barely been reunited with his son before Luke showed up. Taking a steadying breath, Luke mustered up as much courage as he could, putting in the pin code for his old communicator and opening up the keyboard to type. It was painstakingly slow-going, Luke overthinking each word, the tone he was giving off, questioning whether he was being too friendly, too formal. Was he rambling? He tended to ramble when he was nervous. But why did the Mandalorian make him nervous? “Ugh!” Luke groaned, hanging his head in his hands. “Why is this so hard?” As if sensing his troubles, Luke felt Grogu approach him, small hands hugging his calf in comfort as he looked up at him, head tilted in concern. Worryworryworry ebbed around him once more in those tendrils of purple and grey. Luke smiled down at the child, scooping him up and placing him in his lap. “I’m alright, little one. Just trying to figure out what to say to your father.” Grogu clapped his hands excitedly at the mention of the Mandalorian, Luke’s smile growing impossibly fonder. “Want to help me?” Grogu nodded, standing up on shaking legs and repositioning himself in Luke’s lap so he was facing the communicator. Luke chuckled, swiping away the messaging app and instead choosing the option to record a message. “You ready?” Grogu replied with a “Hup!” which was as good an answer as Luke was going to get. “Okay, here we go.” He pressed the record button, the little red light beginning to flash on the corner above the camera lens. “Hi there, um –” Luke faltered, barely getting two words out when he realised he didn’t know the Mandalorian’s name. Oh my Makers I’m so dumb. With all the chaos and urgency to find Grogu and the relief and awe upon meeting the child, Luke had completely forgotten to ask the Mandalorian for his name. Wait, does he know my name?! Luke would admit, he’d grown accustomed to not having to introduce himself. The ex-shock trooper had no doubt recognized him but now that he thought back on it, she seemed to be the only one who did. Of course, the one time Luke doesn’t introduce himself is also the one time people actually don’t know who he is. “Makers, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Luke admitted, offering the camera an embarrassed smile. “My name is Luke Skywalker. Apologies for not introducing myself before… That was a little silly on my part.” He was rambling. Far too much. Grogu seemed to agree as he looked up at Luke in question, trying to figure out why his guardian was suddenly so nervous. I’m not nervous. Am I? Grogu gave an indecipherable sniff before turning his attention back to the camera. Right. You’re still recording. “Anyway, um, Grogu is safe and sound. He’s rather enjoying the gardens here and all the bugs.” Grogu cooed in agreement. “He’s feeling much better after some rest and breakfast. I’ve noticed he rather likes meat. Is there anything else he likes? I’d like to make sure he’s as comfortable as possible.” Luke gave another weak chuckle, free hand scrubbing through his bangs. “I really should have asked you all this before I just up and left, huh?” He waited a moment as if the camera would somehow give him an answer. It didn’t. “Um, anyway. For now, we’ll be staying here with my sister and her husband. It’s very safe and well protected. If you’d like to visit, let me know and I will send you the co-ordinates and an entrance code so you can land in the private landing bays. We’ll be staying here for a while at least until I decide on a secure enough location to start training Grogu. I’ll keep you in the loop if anything changes. Right. Uh, guess that’s about it?” Grogu tapped Luke’s knee, looking up at him with a pout. “Oh! Grogu says he misses you, terribly, and hopes you’re not having too much fun without him.” With a satisfied nod, Grogu turned his attention back to the camera, giving it an enthusiastic wave. “He’s looking forward to hearing from you,” Luke added. The As am I was left unsaid. “Stay safe and may the Force be with you.” With that, Luke stopped the recording, pressing send before he could think too hard about it. That done, he slumped back with a sigh of relief, his chest feeling suddenly lighter. “That wasn’t too bad, right?” he asked. Grogu tilted his head one way, then the other, then smiled. Luke sighed again, shaking his head in admonishment. “Yeah. I just made myself look like a huge idiot, didn’t I?” “Hup!” “I’ll take that as a yes.”   *   Two days. It took two days before the Mandalorian finally replied. Luke had been helping bathe a wriggling Grogu – the child was wildly averse to water unless he was allowed to splash all of it out of the tub and onto the floor. Luke supposed living on the ship of a bounty hunter meant using a fresher as a substitute for a bath more often than not. He’d barely began using a soft cloth to scrub the dirt off Grogu’s hands when his communicator beeped. Luke, overwhelmed with anticipation, managed to slip twice as he reached for the communicator where it hung in the pocket of his robe. Grogu giggled, finding Luke’s stumbling immensely amusing. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Luke grumbled half-heartedly. He dried his hands off on his pants, leaning back against the door with the communicator cradled to his chest. His anticipation upon finally receiving an answer was quickly drowned out by dread. What if the Mandalorian was angry with him for all the mistakes he made? What if he would demand to take Grogu back, having deemed Luke an insufficient guardian? Bright orange and pink comfort swirled between Luke and Grogu, Grogu gripping the edge of the bath to give him a worried look. “I’m fine,” Luke said, even though he felt anything but. He really didn’t want to mess this up. With a resigned sigh, Luke stood up, pocketing the communicator before grabbing a towel and scooping Grogu up out of the bath. “Let’s get you dressed and settled and then we can open your father’s message, okay?” Grogu cooed in agreement, happy to have his bath time cut short. Luke took a little longer than usual to get Grogu dried off and dressed, worry and dread still circling about his chest, waiting to pounce. “Okay, here we go.” Settling back against his pillows, Grogu in his lap, Luke finally opened the awaiting message from the Mandalorian. Rather than a brusque letter telling him how much of a failure he was, Luke was surprised to see that the Mandalorian had sent a video message as well. He was only slightly disappointed that the Mandalorian had kept the helmet on. “Skywalker, thanks for the message. I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting one so soon, however, I appreciate it. I’m sure Grogu does as well.” Grogu cooed, clapping his hands. All of his attention was set on his father, allowing Luke to stare to his heart’s content without anyone to chide him for it. He couldn’t imagine what Leia might think if she caught him like this, staring adoringly at a man in a helmet. “Grogu’s favourite meat is bantha. He’s a little picky when it comes to vegetables and will eat himself sick on anything sweet. He especially likes cookies.” Luke nodded along, taking mental notes. He’d have to ask the kitchen droid later if they had any packets of cookies spare. He had a feeling it might work nicely as a reward system once he started teaching Grogu properly. “He’s also very partial to frogs.” A small chuckle crackled over the audio. Something in Luke’s chest gave a hard tug. “So if your garden’s amphibian population begins to dwindle, you already know who’s the culprit.” Luke gave a startled laugh. Was the Mandalorian attempting a joke? It was a little difficult to tell, his tone measured and even, not giving too much away about what he might be feeling. The helmet didn’t help much. Though perhaps, over time, Luke might learn to read the Mandalorian’s body language and tone the way Grogu had. “I’m currently on a job as I’m needing to get the funds to buy a new ship, however, if you’re still with your sister by the time I’m done I’d –” the Mandalorian faltered. His helmet tilted down as if averting his gaze. When he spoke again his voice was softer, hesitant. “I would like to pay him a visit if you’ll allow it.” Luke frowned, humming in thought. The old Order of the Jedi would not have allowed it. As soon as they were declared Force-sensitive, a child was taken away from their family, separated so that they could focus on their training and not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement. Luke had been trained under the same principles – don’t let your emotions rule your head, stay calm and collected, attachment leads to the Dark Side. But he couldn’t help but disagree. His love and affection for his friends are what kept him from turning over to the Dark Side. The idea of leaving them behind, of joining the monster who had caused so much pain and loss to those he loved, is what allowed him to stay strong in the face of the Emperor’s taunts. Being the last of the Jedi Knights, Luke also figured he could bend the rules if he wanted to. If he did manage to find more Force-sensitive children, he wouldn’t want to separate them from their loved ones. Instead, he’d want to foster those connections, allow them to have a support group, people they could trust and love and choose to live for in the face of adversity. That was the future of the Jedi Order if Luke chose to pursue it. “I think that’s about everything,” the Mandalorian said, bringing Luke out of his thoughts. “Thank you, for keeping him safe. I… it’s greatly appreciated. Grogu.” “Hup?” Grogu said, ears perking at his father using his name. “I’ll see you soon buddy. Try not to drive your teacher up the wall before I get there.” Grogu gurgled smile just on the right side of mischievous. Luke chuckled. With that, the message ended, the Mandalorian’s projection disappearing. It was only as Luke was getting ready for bed that night, Grogu already fast asleep against his chest, that he realised the Mandalorian had still refused to reveal his name.   *   It was another week before the Mandalorian sent word that his mission was complete. Like his video message before, the text was short and to the point. The Mandalorian wasn’t one for rambling or flowery language it seemed. Must be nice, Luke thought ruefully as he remembered his rather long-winded first message with a wince. He was still staying in Coruscant, scowering all of the star charts on hand, new and old, in search of someplace safe to start building a school. The idea had always been there floating about in the back of his mind, however, now that Grogu was in his care, the few thoughts and ideas were starting to come into fruition. Luke had even begun to write his ideas down in a journal from lesson plans to what all the school would require, whether he would use droids as staff and listing characteristics of good environments that would work best to foster a group of children in. It was exciting and extremely nerve-wracking all at the same time. Leia had given a few suggestions here and there whenever she came upon him in his study, the children playing with Grogu in the garden or somewhere else in the palace with Finn in charge. (Luke could trust Finn would ensure they didn’t get up to too much mischief, though he still kept an ear out for any big commotion.) He was busy pouring over an old map he’d recently procured that talked of ancient Jedi temples when he got the message. He’d been so accustomed to the silence that the harsh beep! shocked him. Realizing what it meant, Luke scrambled about his messy desk, looking under piles of loose paper and holopads until he spotted his communicator. The message was short and brief.   FROM: MANDALORIAN Mission complete. Is a visit permitted?   Even such scarce words managed to bring a smile to Luke’s face. Makers above, what’s wrong with me? Luke quickly typed out a reply, including co-ordinates and a landing code. His giddiness was practically vibrating about him in sparks of baby blue and emerald green.   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Yes, of course! Grogu will be so happy to see you. How long would you be staying?   FROM: MANDALORIAN Not too long, perhaps three days at most. Don’t want to intrude.   Disappointment bubbled in Luke’s chest, but he quickly shook it off.   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER It’s no intrusion at all. I’ll have a room made up for you. Shall I tell Grogu or do you wish for it to be a surprise?   FROM: MANDALORIAN I’m a few hours out. Maybe keep it a surprise?   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Sounds good. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic when he sees you.   FROM: MANDALORIAN Yeah. See you soon.   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER See you soon, and safe travels!   With a happy sigh, Luke put away his communicator. His cheeks were hurting with how big his smile was. They were also a little warm. It wasn’t that hot today, was it? Just then, Leia entered the study, looking fondly exasperated as she declared, “The kids somehow managed to get their hands on a bucket of paint and decided to re-decorate the lounge because apparently pink is all the rage right now and – what’s with that look?” “What look?” Luke asked, trying, and failing, to mask his smile. Leia placed a hand on her hip, eyeing Luke carefully. “You’re happier than usual.” Luke frowned. Was he? Sure, it was exciting knowing Grogu would be able to see his father again soon but was it really having that much of an effect on him? “Am I?” he asked, afraid of what she might answer. He could feel Leia poking about at his emotions, trying to get read on him. Her lips curled into that smug smile and oh, Makers, he was in for it now. “So, the father’s paying a visit?” Luke rolled his eyes, standing up and beginning to shuffle his papers back into order if only to give himself something to do. “Yes. He’ll be staying a few days. Could you ask the droids to prepare the spare room for him?” “I could. You sure you don’t him to join you instead, though?” Leia teased. Luke froze, shoulders hunching at the implication. It wasn’t that he was against it. He’d read books and seen holoflics where romance always ended up leading to, well, that. And sure, it was fine to read a scene in a book or watch it on the screen, but it just never really interested him all that much. He’d get a warm fuzzy feeling inside his chest during the kissing or hand-holding or the couple simply holding one another. But as soon as it led to the more intimate details the fuzzy feeling would just drop, leaving him cold and slightly uncomfortable. It was difficult to explain when everyone else seemed to enjoy that stuff. Living in the barracks with the other rebel soldiers, most of them being men, he’d been questioned and prodded about what he liked, what he found attractive his past experiences. Luke had been rather embarrassed when he admitted he had no experiences to speak about and had never really thought about it all that much to begin with. When he’d said as much, he’d garnered strange looks and murmurings. Desperate to fit in, he’d made something up, his lies appeasing his comrades enough that they stopped the strange looks and only teased him occasionally for being, as they called it, a late bloomer. Sure, Luke looked at some people and considered them attractive. He’d thought Leia very pretty when he first saw her recording through R2, and Han and Lando also carried about them a rather enticing charisma that had made Luke’s heart flutter occasionally but as he’d grown to know them, his attraction became little more than the admiration of how lovely his friends were, both to look at and spend time with. Even before he’d learned she was his sister, he’d much preferred Leia’s quick wit and ability to command a room, her gentle cheek kisses and hands clasping his own over the fact that she was beautiful. Just as with Han, he liked the roughhousing and calloused hands messing up his hair over the fact that he had a dazzling smile and a rather nice jawline. That was all rather difficult to explain, however, when it seemed like he was the only one who felt that way towards others. So, he’d buried his thoughts and feelings about it all deep down, using the excuse of being a Jedi, belonging to an order that prohibited romantic connections, to keep a wall between himself and the few who had attempted to garner his attention. Most of his potential suitors had been blinded by his fame anyhow, wanting to be affiliated with the hero who destroyed the Death Star, the last Jedi Knight in all the galaxy, rather than the awkward farm boy from Tatooine. Leia must have sensed his unease at her words as her smirk dropped, worry etching her brows instead. “Luke, are you alright?” “I’m fine,” Luke insisted, even as his voice shook a little. “Just nervous, I guess. I want to show him I’ve been looking after Grogu as well as I promised I would.” Leia softened, approaching Luke and wrapping him up in a warm, comforting embrace. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy with how much you’ve cared for the little critter.” Luke snorted, returning his sister’s embrace. “Should probably clean him up before he arrives though. Don’t think his father would appreciate a strawberry-dipped Grogu.” Leia snorted in amusement, a sound she only allowed a scant few to hear. “Probably, not, no.”   *   Once Grogu was clean of any lick of pink paint and changed into his nicest set of robes, Luke had gathered the child in his arms and approached the private landing bay. Grogu was confused, having never seen this part of the Castle before. Luke tried to keep his excitement under wraps, not wanting to spoil the surprise for Grogu. They didn’t have to wait long, Luke feeling the Mandalorian’s presence just before his ship came into view. Grogu immediately perked up, no doubt having already guessed who was on the ship. He was wiggling about in Luke’s arms, desperate to get loose by the time the ship had landed, the engines cutting off. Luke chuckled, kneeling to put Grogu down. The child toddled as fast as his little legs could carry him towards the ship where the gangplank was opening. He saw worn brown boots, the shine of silver beskar, a grey cape fluttering and then the Mandalorian was before him. Having spotted Grogu, the Mandalorian immediately kneeled down, arms open wide as Grogu stumbled into him with happy coos and babbles. Luke kept his distance, watching the touching moment as the Mandalorian clutched Grogu close to his chest, whispering something softly just for his son. The pair were surrounded by a pale golden glow, pure happiness radiating off them like rays of the sun. Strangely, it reminded Luke of the twin sunsets on Tatooine. His heart quivered at the sight. He gave them a few moments longer before gradually approaching them, clearing his throat to catch the Mandalorian’s attention. The Mandalorian’s helmet hitched up, looking over Grogu’s head so that all his attention was on Luke. Luke withheld the small shiver it caused, hands desperately wanting to pat down his clothes for any stray dust or wrinkles. He’d spent far too long worrying about what to wear, deciding on a black long-sleeved shirt, brown trousers and knee-high boots as well as his weapon’s belt with his lightsaber attached. He’d never been very conscious of how he looked. Growing up on a farm, in the desert no less, meant staying clean was a luxury few could afford. Luke’s white robe and pants were always covered in dirt marks and oil stains, whether it be from helping Uncle Owen out in the fields or working on the ever-malfunctioning droids in the workshop. Living in the barracks with the rebel forces wasn’t any better, nor his time spent on Dagobah training with Yoda in the swamp marshes. It was only these last few years, filled with high-class events, parties and important meetings, did Luke have to consider and mind his appearance. Leia had helped him where she could, having grown up on such events. She always looked so confidant in her flowing white dresses, smile bright and manners perfectly in place. Luke felt clumsy and dull in comparison to his sister’s skills in socializing. He usually stuck to the corners of the room, drink in hand, watching the sparkling upper classes and senators of the New Republic waltz about the room, eating daintily off silver platters and talking without ever really saying anything of importance. It was something Luke felt he might never grow used to no matter Leia’s insistence that he’d get the hang of it one day. “Hello,” Luke said, coming to a standstill a foot away from the Mandalorian. “Hello,” the Mandalorian replied, bowing his helmet in a stiff nod. An awkward silence descended upon them, Luke fidgeting with his black leather glove, trying to think on what to say. Thankfully, the Mandalorian managed to break the silence, though his words were stilted as if he too were grasping for straws. “When you said you were staying with your sister this is not what I pictured.” He indicated the palace behind them, the tall spires looking pearlescent in the late afternoon sunlight. Luke chuckled weakly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Leia’s a senator for the New Republic. It comes with certain perks.” The Mandalorian tilted his helmet and Luke could picture those thick brows arching as if to say, That’s an understatement. “Grogu’s been making use of the gardens,” Luke added, Grogu cooing in agreement. “He hasn’t decimated the amphibian population yet, has he?” the Mandalorian asked, tone still guarded but with the slightest suggestion that he was jesting. Luke was unable to hold back his smile. “No, though not for lack of trying,” he quipped, giving Grogu’s ear a gentle stroke before looking directly into the Mandalorian’s visor. It was pitch black. Luke couldn’t see so much as a hint of the dark brown eyes hidden behind the visage of the helmet. Luke ducked his head, cheeks burning as he started back the way he’d come. “I’ll show you to your quarters. I’ve already moved Grogu’s things there for your stay.” “He has things?” the Mandalorian asked, easily catching up with Luke. Luke nodded, praying the Mandalorian couldn’t see the flush decorating his cheeks through his visor. “Just a few new sets of clothes plus an old toy of my niece’s.” The Mandalorian hummed but said nothing more. He was taking in their surroundings as Luke guided him through the white-tiled hallways towards the sleeping chambers. Luke came to a stop at the door to the guest room, indicating for the Mandalorian to step through. He did so, looking about the room in interest, Grogu cooing all the while. “If there’s anything you need, more blankets or whatever, just let me know and I’ll have the housekeeping droids bring it to you.” The Mandalorian’s head snapped to Luke, the words “No droids,” nearly growled out. Luke’s hands clenched into fists, startled at the sudden change in the Mandalorian’s demeanour. He couldn’t imagine what might bring about such hatred towards droids, and frankly, he was a little too afraid to ask. “Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll bring it myself. If that’s okay?” The Mandalorian nodded, clutching Grogu a little closer as if on instinct. Grogu burbled in question, hand gently gliding along his father’s helmet. He tried pushing it up but the Mandalorian quickly put a stop to that, grasping Grogu’s hand in his instead. “Later, kiddo,” the Mandalorian promised. “Um… please forgive me if it’s rude to ask,” Luke started. The Mandalorian turned his attention back to Luke, and Luke felt pinned to the spot. Makers and that’s with the helmet still on. “Will you be able to take your helmet off during mealtimes?” Luke continued, the words already waterfalling out of him before he could stop himself. “I don’t know exactly what all customs you follow, it was rather difficult finding anything about Mandalorians even in the palace’s extensive library. I just – I want you to be comfortable here so –” The Mandalorian raised a hand, Luke sputtering to a stop. “I’ll join you for mealtimes, however, I won’t be removing the helmet. If I could have a dish dropped off afterwards to my room?” “Of course,” Luke said. He tried to bite back his disappointment, though whether he succeeded was debatable. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. Dinner is at seven. I can come to fetch you and we can walk together?” The Mandalorian simply nodded, his attention already turned back to his son. A small, fond smile crept along Luke’s lips, words quiet as he said, “I’ll see you later,” before he took his leave, granting the father and son their privacy at last.   *   Dinner was… interesting, to say the least. Upon meeting their guest, Han had given Luke an unsubtle questioning look over the Mandalorian’s shoulder that could only be read as Who the flying farrik is this guy?. Leia had quickly swept in before Han could stick his foot in his mouth, however, smiling up at the Mandalorian easily with a “Hello, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” The Mandalorian was nearly two heads taller than her yet immediately seemed to understand that Leia was not to be underestimated. He had bowed low, thanking her for allowing him to stay in the palace. While he was still bowed, Leia had sent her own look to Luke, though this one being one of approval, with no less than a wink and the words I like him mouthed loud and clear. Luke had rolled his eyes, containing his embarrassment just in time before the Mandalorian straightened up again. Chewie was also joining them for dinner, the Wookie and Mandalorian having stared one another down for what was perhaps only a minute and yet felt like hours before they’d simply exchanged single, solid nods in acknowledgement and settled down at the table. Luke had thought the worst was over as everyone tucked into dinner, the children on Leia’s left with Han, Chewie, Luke, the Mandalorian and Grogu respectively on her right. However, Luke had not anticipated the twins and Finn’s excitement upon meeting a mysterious masked stranger who gruffly refused to take off his helmet but still answered their other questions as best he could with quiet, considerate words. Luke had learned a few interesting details thanks to his niece and nephew’s prodding. The Mandalorian was what was called a “foundling”, having been taken in by a tribe of Mandalorians when he was a young boy. He was skilled in far too many weapons to count, including a spear of pure beskar he kept strapped to his back and was considered a very formidable bounty hunter and warrior. Much to Leia’s approval, and Luke’s surprise, he was fluent in well over twenty languages, demonstrating his rather spectacular vocabulary when asked by the children. Also, and most importantly, at least to Jaina, his favourite colour was blue. “But what shade of blue?” Jaina questioned like this was of the utmost importance, as in life-or-death level importance. The Mandalorian shuffled a little awkwardly in his seat. “Light blue. Like the clearest of days where there are no clouds and you can see for miles past the horizon.” “Like Uncle Luke’s eyes!” Jaina pointed out with glee. “I suppose so…” the Mandalorian admitted stiffly, busying himself with feeding Grogu another bite of his dinner rather than meet anyone’s gaze. The tips of Luke’s ears burned, and Leia and Han shared a weighted look only married couples could master the art of (much to his annoyance). Luke glowered at them as well as Chewie who was chortling openly at Luke’s embarrassment. Perhaps noting the awkwardness or simply unable to hold back his own curiosity, Finn spoke up, asking, “Mr. Mandalorian?” “You can call me Mando, kid. It’s what most people do,” the Mandalorian corrected gently. He’d still not revealed his name, much to Luke and the rest of the table’s unvoiced confusion and curiosity. Finn grinned, “Alrighty, Mr. Mando! I wanted to ask, what is that on your shoulder piece?” “My pauldron?” Mando asked, pointing to his right shoulder. Finn nodded, leaning in, anxiously awaiting the Mandalorian’s answer. “It’s a mudhorn,” the Mandalorian replied, angling his body so the children could better see the creature etched into his right pauldron. Luke found himself leaning over his plate as well, trying to catch a glimpse. “It the signet that represents my Clan.” “The tribe you grew up with?” Finn asked. The Mandalorian shook his head. “No. My Clan with Grogu.” Han frowned, elbows on the table, much to Leia’s disgruntlement, as he asked, “Just the kid and you?” “That’s right.” “Aren’t you lonely?” Jacen asked. He was rather shy in the Mandalorian’s presence as he often was with strangers. His eyes darted between Grogu and his father before looking to Luke as if he somehow held the answer. “No. Grogu is excellent company,” the Mandalorian replied almost instantly. Grogu giggled, clapping his hands as his father fed him another piece of meat. “What about a partner?” Jaina spoke up. “A partner?” Mando questioned, head tilting slightly in confusion. It was a near-perfect mirror image of whenever Grogu was confused. Luke wondered if the Mandalorian had picked it up from his son or if it was the other way around. Jaina nodded emphatically. “Yeah, like a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a partner!” “Jaina, that’s not an appropriate question to ask someone,” Leia chastised. She sent the Mandalorian a placating smile. “You don’t have to answer. She’s been reading a lot of stories lately, you know, the Happy Ever After kinds.” “I do not know of those stories,” the Mandalorian admitted. Jaina gasped as if that was the most shocking thing she’d ever heard. “Mr. Mando that’s terrible!” “Is it now?” Mando replied, unable to keep his amusement out of his voice. “Yes!” Jaina exclaimed, nearly spilling her juice in all her excitement. “Everyone deserves a Happy Ever After, like Mama and Papa. You gotta read the books! You can borrow mine, I got plenty!” Leia opened her mouth, ready and poised for damage control when the Mandalorian said, with the utmost seriousness, “I’d appreciate it, Miss Jaina. Grogu and I could read them together.” Jaina beamed, looking rather smugly at her mother whose jaw clicked shut in surprise. Han snorted, elbowing Chewie and whispering something that had the Wookie chortling again. Leia slapped Han’s bicep without even having to look, ignoring his protest of, “What did I do now?!” “That’s very kind of you, Mando,” Leia said, smiling serenely at him while her husband muttered a few choice words underneath his breath. Luke did not miss the suggestive look she sent him, replying in kind with the Force version of sticking one’s tongue out. The inquisitive glint in his sister’s eye only grew. The Mandalorian simply nodded, completely unaware of the sibling’s bickering through the Force as he remarked, “If Miss Jaina says it’s important, then it must be important.” “Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Leia agreed and with that, the conversation swerved to what the children had gotten up to that day. This included a rather long-winded and highly exciting rendition of their adventure with the pink paint. The Mandalorian had given a few quiet chuckles and amused huffs at the children’s animated storytelling, the twins finishing each other’s sentences without a hitch while Finn occasionally added a forgotten detail. Luke had listened intently, though he found his attention more often than not drawn to the Mandalorian seated next to him, trying to get a read on him without prodding too much by using the Force. He was surrounded by a faint yellow glow of comfort, a few sparks of navy-blue wariness still present, but the tense line of his shoulders was beginning to relax the more the children spoke. He was good with kids, Luke noted, and despite his gruff demeanour, surprisingly he also seemed rather shy when it came to social situations. It was rather endearing, Luke realised as he walked the Mandalorian and Grogu back to the guest room, how he seemed to struggle to fit in and yet still tried his hardest to allow the children to feel comfortable in his presence. They stood in the doorway, Luke fidgeting with the edge of the plate of food he’d organized with no less than three of Jaina’s storybooks tucked under his arm to give to the Mandalorian so his education on Happy Ever Afters maybe be complete. The Mandalorian kept all his attention on an already snoring Grogu cradled to his chest. “Your family is… interesting,” the Mandalorian remarked, sounding unsure, as if worried his statement might be taken the wrong way. Luke chuckled, hand scrubbing through his hair. “Yeah, they can be a handful. But that’s part of the fun.” The Mandalorian nodded. “How your sister manages to keep them all in line I do not know.” “Me neither,” Luke admitted. “It probably doesn’t help that Han’s just as bad as the kids. But still,” Luke shrugged, leaning his shoulder against the open doorway, a little more relaxed now. “They’re family.” “Family…” the Mandalorian whispered, barely audible. Luke bit his bottom lip, considering his next words carefully. “Removing your helmet… is it something you can only do in front of your Clan members?” The Mandalorian considered him a moment, Luke feeling nervous under his direct gaze, before giving a single, stiff nod. Luke hummed, looking down at the marble tiles and scuffing his boot along it if only to escape the heaviness of the Mandalorian’s unwavering gaze. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For looking at your face,” Luke replied, “on the ship. That was meant solely for Grogu, no one else.” “You did not know,” the Mandalorian argued. “It was a… special case. I thought –” there was a resigned sigh before he admitted, “I thought I would never see him again. You are not at fault; I made the choice knowing you would see.” “Still,” Luke murmured, guilt beginning to eat away at him. A weight settled on his shoulder, Luke’s head shooting up to match the Mandalorian’s gaze once more. The Mandalorian’s grip on his shoulder tightened a moment, his leather glove well-worn and butter soft and just so warm even through the layers of Luke’s shirt. “You are forgiven, Jetii. Do not dwell on the past.” “Jetii?” Luke asked, praying the Mandalorian could not feel his heart racing. “It means Jedi in Mando’a, the language of the Mandalorians.” “It sounds much nicer in your language than in Basic.” “If you say so.” “I do,” Luke quipped, tilting his chin up, waiting to see if the Mandalorian would take the bait. All the Mandalorian did was remove his hand from Luke’s shoulder, gently taking the plate and books from Luke’s grasp with a muttered, “Smartass,” before turning his back on the Jedi. Luke chuckled, unable to hide his cheeky grin as he watched the Mandalorian putter about his room, placing the books on the nightstand and the plate of food on the dresser for later. “Best get used to it. I’m told I can be a real brat.” “Great, just what I need. Another terror,” the Mandalorian quipped back. He looked about a moment before turning back to face Luke. “There is no crib for the child.” “Ah…” Luke’s grin turned bashful. “Grogu tends to sleep on my chest most nights. I figured he’d want to do the same with you. “It does not bother you?” the Mandalorian asked, hesitant as he looked down at his snoozing son. “Not at all,” Luke replied. “It’s rather nice, having someone with me. Plus, he doesn’t seem to take no for an answer.” The Mandalorian huffed, amusement and fondness evident in his voice as he said, “Sounds about right.” Luke nodded, pushing off the doorway. “I’ll leave you be. You must be starving.” “Oh. Right, uh. Thanks.” “No problem. If you need anything, I’m just two doors down,” Luke said, pointing over his shoulder to the right. “Noted,” the Mandalorian replied. Figuring that was dismissal enough, Luke was about to head down the hallway when the Mandalorian added, “Sleep well, Jetii.” Luke’s lips curled into a smile, cheeks burning as he replied, “Same to you, Mando.”   *   Luke struggled to fall asleep that night. He’d grown so used to Grogu’s gentle weight on his chest and the comforting warmth the child provided through their Force connection, that he felt as if he were missing a piece of himself now. It was with heavy-lidded eyes and exhaustion aching through his bones that the thought occurred: had the Mandalorian struggled to sleep until now? The idea that the Mandalorian could finally rest at ease is what eventually carried him off to sleep. FROM: MANDALORIAN Luke, thank you again for letting me stay over the past three days. It is good to see that Grogu’s safety and happiness are in capable hands. I will let you know closer to the time when I will be able to visit again. Oh, and tell Jaina thank you for letting us borrow her books. Grogu rather enjoyed the one about the prince and the knight. Keep well and I hope Grogu behaves himself while I’m away. – Mando   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Mando (wow that feels weird to type) you’re more than welcome! The kids loved meeting you and Leia was thoroughly impressed by your language skills (thanks again for helping with that little miscommunication with the Zarlack representative by the way, that could have led to a very unwanted civil crisis). I’ve begun teaching Grogu some basic meditation practices which we do every morning before breakfast. He’s also gained more confidence in using the levitation technique and is slowly making his way to larger objects. At the moment he can manage pebbles and smaller stones rather expertly. However, it’s always easiest when using the silver ball you provided (again, thank you for trusting me with it. Grogu informed me its rather precious to you both). The reward system with his favourite cookies also seems to be the best motivator when he becomes discouraged. Looking forward to hearing from you. Stay safe out there and may the Force be with you. – Luke   FROM: MANDALORIAN Luke, glad to hear Grogu’s training is going well. Just be careful with the cookie reward system, he’s a little too skilled at persuasion and might convince you to give him more sweets than he’s rightfully earned. I’m happy to have helped. If, when I’m visiting, something similar occurs I’d be more than willing to help your sister translate. Full No offense to your droid but it really was only making the situation worse. I’ve hit a bit of a dead-end with my current job. I’ll be travelling to Tatooine to meet up with an old ally who might be able to offer a new lead. Once this job is done, I should be able to come to stay again, perhaps for a week if you’ll allow it. Keep well and tell Grogu I miss him I’ll see him soon.  – Mando P.S. What is this ‘May the Force be with you’ thing? Everyone and their grandmother seem to say it on Coruscant though I’ve never heard the phrase before. Is it a Jedi thing or just a New Republic thing?   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Mando, oh I am very aware of Grogu’s skills in the art of persuasion and getting what he wants, especially when it comes to anything involved with food. I’d like to say I’ve mastered not succumbing to his Give Now Cause I’m Cute face (I’m sure you know which one I’m referring to) however even I have my moments of weakness. I’m getting better at telling him no, at least. Leia says thank you and she’ll most likely take you up on that offer if the situation ever arises. I am sorry about C-3PO, he’s a dear friend and while his purpose is human-cyborg relations he does tend to get his foot stuck in his mouth more often than not. Grogu was struggling to fall asleep last night so I ended up reading to him the book about the prince and the knight. I think I know why it’s his favourite, seeing as the main character wears a full set of armour that’s the reason it’s my favourite too. He’s also excelling much quicker now in his levitation skills as he grows more comfortable using his powers. I’ve kept his abilities under wraps, mind you. Only Leia and Han know. We usually practice between breakfast and lunch then, once he’s eaten, he and the other children go and cause some minor chaos about the palace. Grogu certainly has a knack for getting himself into trouble much like his father. I’m still searching for a planet that meets the requirements for the school I am hoping to eventually build. To be honest, the more I work on the ideas the more excited I get. It had always been an idea I’d played around with but never thought I’d be able to see through until now. I have you and Grogu to thank for that. Also, yes, it’s more than alright for you to stay the week. If the kids had their way, they’d probably ensure you never left. It’s quite the coincidence you’re going to Tatooine. I grew up and lived there for most of my life, at least until the whole Death Star thing anyway. If you don’t mind me asking, who is your contact? Perhaps I know them? (If they’d prefer to stay anonymous, however, that is completely understandable.) Good luck on your search, I hope a new lead makes itself known soon. May the Force be with you.  – Luke P.S. It’s a little bit of both? It was a phrase often used by the Old Republic as they worked hand-in-hand with the Jedi Order before the purge and rise of the Empire. The rebels continued to use it as a sort of good luck send-off before missions and I suppose it’s just stuck now as the New Republic is comprised first and foremost of rebel forces and their supporters. I hadn’t heard of the phrase either, let alone of the Jedi until I joined the rebels to be honest. Do Mandalorians have their own phrase they use a sort of good luck send-off? P.P.S Grogu sends his love and can’t wait to share his new favourite cookie flavour with you. Apparently, it defies words.   FROM: MANDALORIAN Luke, sorry about the late reply, it’s been a busy last few days. My contact on Tatooine was able to point me in the right direction and I’ve managed to find a rather good lead. Hopefully, if everything goes according to plan, I should be able to come and visit sometime next week. I’m glad to hear Grogu’s excelling in his studies and yes, I know exactly which face you’re referring to – it makes saying no extremely difficult and could probably melt the heart of the coldest man alive. It melted mine at least. I hope he isn’t causing too much mayhem; I’d hate for him to become a bother. Boredom never has time to strike with him around, that’s for sure. Also thank you for keeping his abilities known to a select few. It really is safer for everyone the fewer who know. What all characteristics are you looking for in a planet for your school? Being a bounty hunter, I’ve travelled to some of the farthest reaches outside of the Outer Rim. Perhaps once I’m back we could cross-reference our star charts and I could give a few suggestions? I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how is it you grew up on Tatooine if Leia is the former Princess of Alderaan? Does that not technically make you a Prince? Keep well and tell the kids I say hello – and not to get up to too much mischief without me. May the Force be with you… I suppose. – Mando P.S. Mandalorians use the phrase “This is the Way”. It’s not as fancy as the Jedi’s I suppose but it works all the same, P.P.S Tell Grogu I can’t wait to try it.   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Mando, glad to hear you’ve got a new lead! I hope things go smoothly from here on out with your mission. I’d rather tell you the details in person about the requirements I’m looking for, for safety’s sake. Our messages are encrypted however I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’d greatly appreciate your input, it’s very kind of you to offer. Remind me when you’re here next to ask the kids to recount the tale of how they ended up dying Chewie’s fur electric blue. It stayed like that for well over a week much to his disdain and Han’s delight – plus it’s rather amusing how they tell it. I don’t want to spoil too much but let’s just say it involved a journey through a visiting Duchess’s highly expensive hair products and a rather daring mission to and from Chewie’s room well after their curfew. Don’t worry, I don’t mind you asking about my childhood. Long story short, Leia and I were separated at birth to keep us safe from the Empire. She was adopted by relatives of our mother’s who just so happened to be the king and queen of Alderaan while I was sent to Tatooine to live with my aunt and uncle who were relatives of our father’s. They were moisture farmers, so I grew up helping my uncle in the field, fixing our ever-malfunctioning droids and causing trouble with my friends – hence why I cannot be considered a prince. There isn’t much to do on Tatooine when you’re a kid except race speeders and shoot womp rats – thankfully both skills ended up coming in handy while I fought with the rebels. I inherited my father’s knack for flying, apparently, while Leia was graced with the skills of a highly impressive diplomat and commanding general. Our mother was apparently quite the fearsome young woman herself. No wonder my father fell for her, huh? Sorry, guess that turned into a long story anyhow. Ignore my rambling you’re far too easy to talk to. I’d probably end up writing a novel if you let me but Leia’s busy giving me a look that says I’m either in deep trouble for something I think I haven’t done, or the kids are up to their usual mischief and she needs backup. If I no longer reply, it’s probably due to the former rather than the latter. Just in case, I’d like to say I’m glad to have known you Mando.   All my best, and may the Force be with you. – Luke P.S. The Mandalorian’s phrase may not be as ‘fancy’ but it certainly holds a certain power to it.   FROM: THE MANDALORIAN Luke, hopefully you read this before Leia terminates you for whatever it is you thought you didn’t do. I’ve just collected my reward and wanted to let you know I can be in Coruscant by late morning tomorrow if I leave in the next hour or so. Is it the same access code for the private landing bay or will I require a new one? I’m looking forward to seeing Grogu and the kids again and you. See you soon. – Mando P.S. You could write a novel’s worth in your letters and honestly, I’d happily read it, though I can’t promise I’d be as in-depth in my own responses.  I would try if you asked me to, though.     *   Grogu already knew what was coming the moment Luke had started towards the private landing bay the next morning. He wriggled in Luke’s arms, cooing excitedly as he looked up to the sky, anxiously waiting to spot his father’s ship. It was another clear day in Coruscant, allowing Luke and Grogu to spot the Mandalorian’s ship the moment it entered the atmosphere. Grogu was out of Luke’s arms and toddling over to the ship before it even touched the landing pad. The Mandalorian did not waste any time either, striding down the gangplank to meet his son halfway. “Hey, buddy,” he said, lifting Grogu up high much to the child’s delight before cradling him close. Grogu clutched his father’s breastplate like it was a lifeline, the Mandalorian whispering, “I missed you too,” in response. Luke didn’t feel quite as awkward this time as he approached them, greeting the Mandalorian easily and asking how his mission had gone and whether there were any close calls, to which the Mandalorian gave short, concise answers, but did not seem to mind Luke’s probing. Luke had worried the easy rapport they’d reached through their letters might not translate into real life; however, his worries were quickly assuaged as the Mandalorian listened patiently to Luke’s animated rambling about an old, nearly untouched Jedi temple he’d recently discovered, adding a few sparse comments or questions in all the right places. Luke was busy with a rather long-winded description of some of the texts he’d found in the temple (“They really are quite beautiful. The penmanship is immaculate, and the images are actually hand-painted onto the paper. It’s truly fascinating!”) when they were interrupted by the twins and Finn, all yelling their greetings to the Mandalorian excitedly. “Mr. Mando, you’re back!” “Is it true you visited Uncle Luke’s home planet?” “Did you get any cool scars on your latest mission?” The Mandalorian seemed a little overwhelmed by the children’s enthusiasm, his aura practically screeching an SOS signal. “Kids, I’m sure Mr. Mando will be more than happy to answer your questions after he’s settled in,” Luke said. He received a chorus of disappointed “Awwwwws” in reply, but at least it put an end to the onslaught of questions. The Mandalorian nodded his head just slightly in a silent thank you, his agitated aura simmering into more calming sunspot yellows and oranges. Luke offered a reassuring smile in return, herding the children back towards the palace with the promise of a game of hide and seek. However, Luke couldn’t help looking back over his shoulder a little longingly at the Mandalorian and his son, most of his own questions still left unanswered as well.   *   The children weren’t the only ones thrilled by the Mandalorian’s return, Han offering the bounty hunter a handshake and a clap to the shoulder while Leia managed to wrangle him into a hug – Luke may or may not had been a little jealous and she knew it if her smug smirk over the Mandalorian’s shoulder was anything to go by. Chewie and the Mandalorian had another one of their staring contests, only for the Mandalorian to say something in stilted Wookie which earned him a rumbling laugh and a hearty slap to the back. “What did you say?” Luke asked, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “I told him I’m glad he managed to get all the blue out of his fur.” Luke attempted to hide his smile behind a fist, laughter spilling from his lips anyway. Lunch was loud and long and full of stories and questions, most directed to the Mandalorian which Luke was able to answer at least a quarter of to allow him the occasional breather. This was only the third time Luke and the Mandalorian had seen each other in the flesh and yet already he was beginning to better understand the subtle body language a suit of armour and a helmet allowed for. It did probably help that Luke could see the Mandalorian’s aura and read when he was getting a little too overwhelmed, but he wasn’t about to reveal that in fear it would only make the Mandalorian more uncomfortable. The Mandalorian held his own rather well, however, especially as the children asked one question after another in rapid succession. In true Mando fashion, the answers were short and to the point, but the children seemed more than satisfied with the Mandalorian’s retellings. “So, your contact came through in the end?” Luke asked, offering the Mandalorian a napkin just as Grogu allowed some of his mashed vegetable mix to spill down his cheek. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, Luke withholding a gasp thanks to sheer will and fear of Leia’s teasing alone. The Mandalorian thanked him softly before cleaning his son’s face. Once Grogu was mash-free, the Mandalorian answered Luke’s question. “He did. Boba’s gotten himself into a high position of power as of late, plus he’s got rather a lot of underground connections from his previous work as a bounty hunter.” Han’s fork and knife clattered against the porcelain of his plate. The whole table turned their attention to the ex-smuggler, Leia and Luke sharing a worried look. “Boba… as in Boba Fett?” Han murmured. The Mandalorian stiffened at Luke’s side, sounding unsure as he answered, “Uh, yes? Do you know him?” “Oh, you could say we’re rather closely acquainted,” Han replied, beginning to cut his bantha steak ruthlessly into little chunks. “I’m missing something, aren’t I?” the Mandalorian whispered, only loud enough for Luke to hear. Luke nodded, keeping an eye on a fuming Han while explaining, very quietly, “Bobba turned Han in for a bounty to Jabba the Hutt which may or may not have gotten him frozen in carbonite.” There was a loud smack! as Han slammed his utensils down, his chair screeching as he pushed it back to face the Mandalorian. “HOW THE FARRIK DID HE MAKE IT OUT OF THAT DAMNED SARLACC PIT ANYWAY?” Han bellowed. The Mandalorian looked between Han and Luke, helmet squeaking with every head tilt before he shrugged. “The what now?” “Husband dearest, why don’t you go cool off on the balcony, hm?” Leia said, more a command than a suggestion. Han looked like he wanted to argue then thought better of it. He glared at the Mandalorian, pointing a menacing finger his way. “We’re not done here.” And with a swift about-turn, Han stormed out of the dining room, slamming the balcony door shut behind him. All of the children were sharing the same frightened look while Leia hung her head in her hands. She looked about two seconds away from pouring herself a stiff drink despite the fact that it was barely past noon. “Chewie, why don’t you go check up on him?” Luke suggested quietly. The Wookie grumbled, patting his mouth clean elegantly with his napkin before standing and heading for the balcony Han had secluded himself on. It was only once the door was shut did Jaina ask, “Is Papa gonna be okay?” her brown eyes wide with worry. “Papa is just being dramatic dear,” Leia assured her, muttering darkly to herself that, “Men are such babies.” The Mandalorian cleared his throat, gathering everyone’s attention. Sometime during all this, he had quietly pushed his chair back and stood up and was now busy helping Grogu out of his highchair and onto his hip. “I think Grogu and I will retire early for the day.” “You don’t have to –” Luke started but the Mandalorian shook his head. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble.” Luke stood up as well, chair scraping in his urgency. “You didn’t cause any trouble. This is between Han and Fett.” The Mandalorian reached out, clasping Luke’s hand in his own. “Jetii…” Luke froze, not only at the name but at the way the Mandalorian had said it. He sounded tired, the sort of tired that burrowed deep into your bones and refused to be turned away. “I’ll be fine,” the Mandalorian assured him quietly. Luke nodded, knowing when to concede. The Mandalorian shifted his gaze to the three children opposite them, all of them still a little stunned from the drama. “I’ll see you kids tomorrow,” he promised before turning to Leia. He bowed his head low. “I’m sorry for the disturbance.” “No apology needed,” Leia assured him. “But still greatly appreciated, and more than accepted.” The Mandalorian straightened up. He gave Luke a single nod and one last squeeze of his hand before making his way for the door. Grogu waved to them over his father’s shoulder, the sound of the door wooshing closed behind them far too loud in the awkward silence of the room. Luke slumped back into his chair; arms folded tightly across his chest. He could already feel a pout coming on, his temper also beginning to brew. He shut his eyes, running through some deep breathing to put a stopper on his anger before it threatened to overflow. When he was done, he felt calmer but was no less pouty. “Uncle Luke?” Luke’s eyes shot open at his niece’s wavering tone. Jaina looked close to tears, deep greys and browns clouding all around her. She sniffled loudly as she asked, “Did Papa scare Mr. Mando away?” “No, sweetie,” Luke said at the same time Leia grumbled a dispassionate, “Yes.” The siblings shared a heated stare, Luke asking her through the Force to Please, let me handle this one. Leia sighed but flicked her fingers to the kids as if to say Have at it. “Mr. Mando is friends with someone your Papa doesn’t like. Sometimes that happens. Not everyone can like everyone.” “Is Mr. Mando gonna leave?” Finn spoke up, looking rather teary-eyed himself. “Is he gonna take Grogu with him somewhere far, far away?!” Jacen exclaimed, all three children gasping at the thought. Luke raised his hands placatingly, gently pushing calming energy towards the children. “No one is going anywhere. Mr. Mando is just gonna spend the rest of the day alone with Grogu.” “Will they still be here tomorrow?” Jaina sniffled. Makers I hope so. “Of course, they will.” The children released a simultaneous sigh of relief, Luke tapering off the calmness he’d been sending their way once their auras returned to happier colours. It wasn’t something he did very often, being of the opinion that to physically change someone’s mood without their knowing was manipulative and invasive. However, there were the rare occasions where it felt justified, making sure angry dignitaries didn’t go overboard at important events when lover’s quarrels were one broken bottle away from becoming an all-out war, for instance. It did not work on everyone either. Like with the Jedi mind trick of persuasion, some people were more susceptible to having their emotions altered than others. People lost in a fit of anger or passion were less likely to notice someone dialling their emotions down incrementally than say if you were to suddenly flip the switch on someone who was ecstatic only to make them overwhelmed with sadness instead, or vice versa. “You used the emotions trick, didn’t you?” Luke startled, looking across the table directly into Finn’s intelligent coffee-ground eyes. “What makes you say that kiddo?” Finn shrugged, about to wipe his snotty nose on his sleeve before thinking better of it and using his napkin instead. “Dunno. Just felt it, I guess?” Luke looked to the twins in question, but both of them shook their heads in answer to his silent question. “Finn, do you –” “Alright, what did I miss?” Han, having cooled off out on the balcony, was back to his charming, easy-going self, settling back in his seat and picking up his fork to skewer a piece of bantha meat into his mouth like nothing had happened. Chewie sat down as well with an exasperated rumble, looking less calm and level-headed than Han. Han leaned back in his seat, front legs dangling dangerously off the floor as he craned his neck to see past Luke and Chewie to the two empty chairs. “Where’s Mando and the kid?” As if on cue all three children started balling, having been reminded of their worries that the Mandalorian and Grogu would be leaving forever thanks to their father’s outburst. Leia slapped Han upside the head, Luke not far behind. “Oh, come on, what did I do now?!” Han exclaimed. Chewie snorted haughtily before giving Han an extra smack on the bicep for good measure. Han gasped in outrage, staring up at his first mate with utter betrayal in his eyes. “Not you too, you musty old rug!” “Mama, can we teach Papa a lesson about being mean to friends too?” Jaina asked, her crying dying down to meager sniffles. Leia beamed. “Of course, dear. I think that’s a wonderful idea!” Jaina, Jacen and Finn miraculously recovered from their crying fit, pushing back their chairs excitedly as they rounded the table. Han tried to make a break for it, but Chewie kept his chair in place, chortling as the children neared with eager smiles curling their lips. Han looked to Luke for help in a last-ditch effort, but the Jedi simply shrugged. He slumped leaned back in his chair, hands cradling his neck and ankle crossed over his knee, while he watched his brother-in-law get the punishment he deserved. “Oh, come on!”   *   Compared to lunch’s theatrics, dinner was downright dreary. Luke and Leia had ensured that Han would be apologizing to the Mandalorian first thing in the morning – if he hadn’t in fact scared him off with his outburst, that is. The children were rather somber as well, Grogu, much like his father, being absent for the rest of the day. It was only thanks to Finn’s question of whether they had any food in the guest room that Luke realized he hadn’t brought the Mandalorian his usual plate of food after lunch. Guilt shot through Luke’s chest like an arrow, the thought of Grogu starving and miserable and the Mandalorian too ashamed to leave his room to ask for food fueling him as he put together two plates for their guests and stormed out of the dining room. Gonna go take care of your knight in shining beskar, Mr. Prince? Leia asked him through their Force link as he speed-walked through the empty hallways. I don’t see anyone else volunteering, Luke quipped back. Probably because you’re the only one he’d be willing to see right now. Luke huffed. Leia was right. The Mandalorian, whilst already integrating himself into their mismatched family with more ease than he gave himself credit for, would most likely be unwilling to open his door to anyone who came knocking, no matter how good their intentions. Am I really the exception? Luke thought to himself, realizing too late that his connection to Leia was still open. Only one way to find out, Loverboy. Luke clucked his tongue, skipping up a single flight of stairs. Please don’t call me that. Alright, fine, Prince Luke. Not a Prince. Might as well be the way Mando ogles you. Luke faltered, barely ten paces away from the sleeping chambers. What’s that supposed to mean? Luke could feel Leia rolling her eyes at him in frustration despite the great distance between them. You really are clueless when it comes to this sort of stuff, aren’t you? Leia, what do you – You best hurry before the kid starts having a hunger tantrum. Luke huffed with resignation. Fine, but this conversation isn’t over. Oh, far from it, Leia agreed before their connection was closed off. Luke’s shoulders drooped a little as he neared the Mandalorian’s room. He desperately wanted to scrub a hand through his bangs out of nervousness, but both hands were occupied with plates piled high with food. Luke kicked the door lightly with his foot, making his presence known. He could hear the sounds of someone shuffling inside the room, however, there was no indication of anyone nearing to come open the door. “Mando, it’s me. Luke,” Luke announced. “I’ve brought you and Grogu some dinner. I – I can leave it on the step and walk away if you’d prefer not to see me?” There was a tense moment of silence, Luke holding his breath, ear nearly pressed to the door as he waited. When he heard the quick stride of boots crossing the floor, he managed to pull back just in time to watch the door slide open, the Mandalorian pinning him to the spot with that powerful gaze of his. “Hi,” Luke squeaked. “Hello…” Luke wavered before offering the plates up. “I brought food. I’ve also got some of Grogu’s favourite biscuits.” He indicated the box tucked under his arm. The Mandalorian hummed non-committedly as he took the plates from Luke’s hands. Luke wilted. “I’ll just drop this off and go –” “Would you like to come in – oh.” The two men startled at the other’s words. Luke could feel his mood brightening. “You don’t mind?” “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t,” the Mandalorian replied. With nothing more than a nod towards his room, the Mandalorian turned and disappeared from the doorway, expecting Luke to follow. He did, the door sliding shut behind him. The guest room wasn’t any different from Luke’s, just perhaps a little barer, less lived in. While Luke’s bookshelf held an eclectic collection of ancient Jedi texts, adventure pulp fiction and romance novels, the Mandalorian’s was completely empty, merely a skeleton with no heart or soul. The windowsill in Luke’s room held a small collection of cacti he’d been fostering from some of his travels to more desert-like planets, while the Mandalorian’s was clean of any dirt smudges or so much as a speck of dust. At the foot of the Mandalorian’s bed lay no chest of curios nor the quilted blanket Luke had managed to salvage from his burnt bedroom back on Tatooine. You would think upon first stepping inside that no one had touched it in years if it weren’t for the Grogu-sized lump wriggling about underneath the bed sheets and the beskar spear propped up in the corner. Luke approached the bed while the Mandalorian placed the plates on the dresser, lifting up the sheet and ducking his head underneath it to be welcomed by a beaming Grogu. “Gaboo!” “Hello to you too,” Luke chuckled. Grogu lifted his arms expectantly, Luke picking him up with ease. “Hum?” “No, no, not until you’ve had dinner,” Luke chastised, trying to keep the box of cookies out of Grogu’s reach. “It’s alright, he can have one.” Luke swivelled around to find the Mandalorian watching them. His head was tilted just slightly to one side, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. “Are you sure?” Luke asked. The Mandalorian nodded, gesturing to the bed. Luke sat down, placing Grogu in his lap so his hands were free. “Patience, padawan,” Luke chuckled as Grogu tried to open the box himself. The Mandalorian joined them, bedframe creaking under his and his heavy armour’s combined weight. He kept a small gap between himself and Luke. “Padawan?” “Uh, it means student,” Luke explained, tips of his ears burning at the Mandalorian’s close proximity. Makers, pull yourself together. “Jedi thing?” The Mandalorian surmised. Luke snorted softly. “Yeah, it’s a Jedi thing.” Box of cookies finally opened, Luke dug inside the foil packaging, unearthing a large cookie. It was shaped as a swirl in bright blue and orange, Grogu cooing as he plucked the cookie from Luke’s hand with the Force and zipped it straight into his mouth. The Mandalorian chortled, watching his son devour the cookie in two bites. “He must really like those.” “They’re his favourite.” “Hup!” Both men looked down to see Grogu offering a cookie up to his father expectantly. “He wants you to try it,” Luke explained. The Mandalorian hesitated before gently taking the cookie from his son. “I can leave –” Luke started then tapered off as he watched the Mandalorian tilt the bottom of his helmet up. He only lifted it high enough to unveil his lips, plopping the cookie in his mouth and chewing consideringly. As quickly as he’d lifted it, the helmet was put back in place, taking with it the hint of stubble dotted with blue and orange crumbs and plush pink lips curled in a shy smile. “It’s good, kiddo,” the Mandalorian said, having swallowed the treat. Grogu clapped his hands, burbling happily from his father’s positive review. Luke felt frozen to the spot. It had been so quick, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but the Mandalorian had still willingly lifted his helmet in his presence. Warmth pooled low into his stomach as he pictured those plush lips, a wobbly smile, bright brown eyes – “Babu!” Luke startled, looking down to see Grogu offering him a cookie as well. “Sorry, little one,” Luke said, shaking his head free of his strange thoughts. He took the proffered cookie, making it spin in the air for Grogu’s entertainment before taking a bite. Orange zest and butter overwhelmed his tastebuds and he found himself humming in delight. “These are actually pretty good, aren’t they?” Luke looked to the Mandalorian only to find him already staring at Luke. Luke’s ears burned at the realization. “Yes, delicious,” the Mandalorian murmured. Luke swallowed thickly, gently closing himself off from Grogu’s inquisitive prodding through the Force. “I should leave you two to eat,” Luke announced, standing up and gently depositing Grogu into his father’s lap. The Mandalorian looked like he wanted to argue then seemed to think better of it. “Thank you, for bringing dinner.” “You’re welcome,” Luke murmured, unable to meet either of their gazes as he rounded the bed and started for the door. “Jetii.” Luke stopped, his hand about to press the release for the sliding door. He snuck a glance over his shoulder to see the Mandalorian and Grogu watching him intently. “Sleep well.” “Y-you too,” Luke stammered, offering a wobbly smile before tripping out the door. He couldn’t stop playing their conversation over and over again in his mind as he walked the short distance to his own room. He’d just shut the door, leaning back against it heavily with a relieved sigh when he noticed the figure by the windowsill. Luke’s lightsaber was alight in his hand almost instantly. He was about to take the first step, saber raised and ready for a fight when the figure waved their hands up in surrender. “It’s just me!” Luke sighed in relief, putting his lightsaber away. “Makers, Leia. Warn a guy, would ya?” “Sorry, sorry,” Leia said, stepping closer to Luke. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the minimal lighting the moonlight provided, he could see her more clearly – her heart-shaped face, those bright intelligent eyes, pink lips tilted in the corner. The Mandalorian’s lips had looked as enticing as he remembered, the corner’s curling as he bit into his son’s favourite treat. Luke shook his head slightly. Leia was giving him an assessing look. “So, what did he have to say?” she questioned. Luke made himself busy, avoiding Leia’s gaze as he unclipped his lightsaber and placed it on his nightstand before grabbing a comfortable change of clothes. “Not much,” he replied, shucking off his dress shirt and replacing it with his thin white sleep shirt. Leia snorted. “So the usual.” Luke sat on the bed, beginning to undo the buckles on his boots. “He didn’t seem upset or anything.” “You didn’t ask?” Luke faltered before continuing his unbuckling, kicking off one shoe and then the other. “I got distracted.” He could feel the smugness coming off Leia in waves. He sighed, finally turning to face her. “Not like that.” “Like what?” Leia asked, the picture of innocence. “You know what,” Luke grumbled, irritation glinting neon green in the corners of his vision. “I brought Grogu’s favourite cookies and he shared them with me and the Mandalorian, okay?” “Wait, he took off the helmet?” Leia asked, smugness replaced by confusion. She came and sat beside him, looking imploringly at him. Luke scrubbed a hand through his hair, making the golden tufts stand up in all directions. “No, he just lifted it enough to take a bite.” “Still, that’s kinda big, isn’t it?” “I don’t know, Leia!” Luke exclaimed then immediately winced at his outburst. He groaned, hanging his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Leia’s hand instantly came to rest on his back, drawing soothing circles as she spoke quietly to him. “What makes you think there’s something wrong with you?” “I think about him all the time. I – I act like such an idiot when I’m alone with him. Whenever I get a new letter from him, I smile for hours after I’ve read it no matter how short it is. And I can’t stop wondering –” “What?” Leia prompted gently. I can’t stop wondering what it might be like to kiss him. “Oh, Luke,” Leia sighed, sounding fondly exasperated. “You’ve got a crush, there’s nothing wrong with that.” “But I’ve never – I don’t – I’ve never felt this way before, Leia. I don’t usually get this worked up about people. I – I thought I –” he tapered off, too ashamed to finish his sentence. “What did you think?” Luke bit his bottom lip, shoulders hunching as he whispered, “I thought I was broken.” Leia’s hand stilled, his sister stiffening at his defeated tone. “Who the kriff made you believe such a thing and where can I find them?” Luke gave a wet chuckle, twisting his head in his hands to meet Leia’s gaze. She was furious, nostrils flaring, eyes burning brighter than the flames of hell. She looked about two seconds away from grabbing Luke’s lightsaber and wreaking havoc upon whoever had wronged her brother. “No one specifically,” Luke admitted. “It’s… it’s kinda just always been the insinuation whenever people find out I don’t… don’t really want to…” Luke made aborted gestures with his hands. “Have sex?” Leia filled in, blunt and less squeamish about the subject. “Yeah, that,” Luke mumbled. Leia hummed thoughtfully, the tension in Luke’s shoulders tightening the longer she went without saying anything. “I know it’s weird –” Luke started. “It’s not weird,” Leia insisted. “Sure, it doesn’t fit most people’s expectations but that doesn’t make you broken, Luke.” Luke huffed a short, humourless breath. “It sure feels like it.” “Look at me.” Luke didn’t. Leia clicked her tongue, gripping Luke’s chin gently, but firmly, in hand, and turning his attention to her. “You are not broken, and you are just as deserving of love as anyone else.” There was nothing but kindness and honesty in her eyes. It made Luke’s chest ache. “Leia, I –” “Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured, pulling him into a hug. Luke tucked his face into the crook of her neck, holding her close. The sweet smell of her perfume was calming, her fingers combing through his hair methodically. He could probably fall asleep like this if his mind wasn’t buzzing with thoughts of kind brown eyes and his sister’s words. “I’m scared he’ll want things I can’t give,” Luke confessed on a whisper of a breath. Leia pulled back just far enough to meet him eye to eye. She cupped his face in her small, soft hands, holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. “If he’s unwilling to put your comfort above his lust then he’s not worth it,” she said. “I want him to be, though.” Leia said nothing, kissing his forehead tenderly and holding him close once more. Makers, how I want him to be.   *   Much to everyone’s relief, the Mandalorian and Grogu joined them for breakfast the next morning. As Leia and Luke had instructed, Han bowed his head low and apologized about his behaviour the night before. “I’m a bit of an idiot when it comes to old grudges,” he muttered, glaring at Luke and Leia out of the corner of his eye while they offered him a thumbs up for reciting them word for word. “It’s alright,” the Mandalorian said. “There’s really no need to apologize.” “Oh, I insist,” Han said, still bowed, words gritted through his teeth. The children were giggling at this point, Leia trying to hide her amusement behind a cough. Chewie didn’t bother trying to hide how entertained he was by all this. The Mandalorian and Grogu shared a look, silently communicating as if they were a jury deciding Han’s fate. Grogu gave a small nod and that seemed to appease the Mandalorian. “You’re forgiven.” “Thank farrik for that!” Han cried, straightening up. He gave the Mandalorian a clap on the shoulder before he stalked over to Leia, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You wanna tell me what you find so funny to my face, your highness?” “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Leia replied breezily. Han bent down to give her a kiss, the twins crying “Ew!” while Finn just watched on with a happy smile. The Mandalorian had placed a hand over Grogu’s eyes to protect his innocence, Grogu trying to move it to get a better look at the drama with little success. “Alright, lovebirds,” Luke said, trying to hold back the jealous curl in his stomach as Leia and Han parted, smiling brightly at one another. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Chewie roared in agreement and with that, they settled down for breakfast, everything back to normal. (If Luke kept finding his gaze drawn to the Mandalorian, that was his business and his alone.)   *   The Mandalorian begins to form a routine during his stay at the palace. First, he and Grogu would meet Luke and the others at breakfast. Once Grogu was fed Luke would take him to his study to begin his lessons for the day while the Mandalorian took his breakfast in his room. Having eaten, he’d then join Luke and Grogu later, Luke walking him through whatever exercise he and Grogu were working on that day. The Mandalorian watched attentively as Grogu began lifting some of Luke’s heavier books and knick-knacks from around his study, creating a slowly turning circle of objects orbiting around him, Grogu seated in the center. “He’s gotten pretty good at that,” the Mandalorian said with evident awe. They watched as Grogu carefully replaced all the objects back to where they’d come from, re-shelving books and angling statues and vases before resting them on their pedestals. “He’s progressing rather quickly, quicker than I thought he would,” Luke admitted with pride. “I’d like to move onto more complex exercises soon, however, we don’t really have the space here. I want to give Grogu a space where he can be completely himself without having to hide his powers. Someplace wide and open, freeing. It’s what he deserves after being hidden for so long.” “I agree,” the Mandalorian said. He bent down, picking up Grogu and settling him on his hip before facing Luke. “If you’re still willing, I can try to help you find a planet that will serve your purposes?” Something fluttered in Luke’s chest, the tips of his ears burning. “I-I’d appreciate it.” The Mandalorian nodded. “Let me drop him off with the kids and then I’ll join you.” Luke nodded, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he said, “Sounds good.” He released a flustered sigh once the door was closed. He leaned back against his desk, legs suddenly feeling unstable. “Oh Makers, I’m done for…” he murmured, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He kept himself busy by bringing up the palace’s star charts, checking which planets he’d already deemed unsuitable in his leather journal. “You have terrible handwriting.” Luke startled, punching his would-be attacker only for a sharp pain to erupt through his knuckles and up his arm. He hissed, clutching his right hand to his chest. Somehow, Luke had become so absorbed in his work than he hadn’t noticed the Mandalorian returning to his study. Nor the five times he’d called Luke’s name. Nor when he’d come up right behind Luke to read over his shoulder. And I’m supposed to be a Jedi, aware of every living being through the Force, Luke thought derisively. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” Luke wheezed, avoiding the Mandalorian’s gaze. His cheeks were flushed from embarrassment, pain lacing through his hand and causing it to throb slightly. “That’s really quite the suit of armour you’ve got.” “Beskar,” the Mandalorian said, rapping a knuckle against his chest plate right where Luke had attempted to punch him. There wasn’t so much as a scuff mark to show for his efforts. “It’s quite durable.” Luke laughed weakly, flexing his right hand and circling his wrist, trying to banish the last of the pain away. “I’ve noticed.” Before he could object, the Mandalorian had taken his right hand in his own, inspecting it. “Such a powerful punch, your hand should be broken,” he remarked. “It’s not real.” The Mandalorian looked up, head tilted slightly in question. “It’s a prosthetic. A pretty good one, too. It’s connected to my nerves sys –” Luke sucked in a sharp breath when the Mandalorian removed his glove for him. “-tem…” he finished lamely. The Mandalorian, either ignoring his discomfort or simply oblivious to it, ran a finger along Luke’s palm lines. It slowly trailed up until it reached his wrist where his shirt cuff hid the rest of the prosthetic. “May I?” the Mandalorian asked. “S-sure,” Luke stammered, unsure what exactly he was giving permission for. The Mandalorian unbuttoned the two fastenings at his wrist deftly, folding Luke’s sleeve up to his elbow to reveal the defined line where his arm ended, and his prosthetic began. From a distance and to the untrained eye, one would be unable to tell it was a prosthetic. However, upon closer inspection and if one knew to look, one could easily mark the differences – the prosthetic’s ‘skin’ being a slightly lighter shade than his natural skin tone, the light spattering of freckles evident on his left hand nowhere to be seen on his right, the skin clear and nearly faultless. Luke could vaguely remember having a beauty mark on the knuckle of his right thumb, a sudden feeling of loss overwhelming him at the thought. The cool air of his study hit his bare skin, gooseflesh erupting along his forearm. “How did it happen?” the Mandalorian asked, voice low. There was something indecipherable in his tone, his aura not giving anything away. “I lost it in a fight. With Darth Vadar. Lightsabers can cut through literally anything like its tissue paper, including skin and bone.” “Not beskar.” Luke startled, their gazes matching as he frowned in question. “Your sabers cannot penetrate beskar.” “That’s impossible,” Luke argued. The Mandalorian shrugged. “Moff Gideon used something akin to your lightsaber against me. My armour withstood it’s bite.” “Moff Gideon wielded a lightsaber?” “Of sorts…” the Mandalorian said, suddenly sounding unsure. Nervous sparks of blue fluttered around him. “It’s known as the Darksaber.” “I’ve never heard of such a weapon.” “Neither had I until Bo-Katan finally relayed its true power.” The Mandalorian sighed, suddenly sounding bone tired. “I wish she had warned me sooner of its significance before I won it off Gideon.” “You mean you have it with you, here?” The Mandalorian nodded. His free hand gestured to his weapon’s belt and sure enough, hanging against his right hip was the hilt of a lightsaber, easily recognizable and yet unlike any Jedi design he’d ever seen. Where his lightsaber’s hilt was cylindrical in shape, the Darksaber had a more rectangular design, deep lines etched into the strange, silvery metal. “I am told it was created by a Mandalorian belonging to the Vizsla Clan. He was the first ever Mandalorian Jedi,” the Mandalorian explained. “It became a symbol to help unify my people during war and has since been wielded only by the ruler of Mandalore. The one who possesses the Darksaber possesses the right to rule over Mandalore. Somehow Gideon got his hands on it and I just had to go and win it off him.” “Wait, then you –” “I wish for no such fate,” The Mandalorian cut in, voice tense and stricken. “Gideon used my ignorance of its significance against me. Bo-Katan Kryze is its rightful owner, however, she refuses to take it from me. It can only be won through battle.” “So why not battle and yield?” “That’s what I suggested, but she’s stubborn. She will only agree to battle me for it when I mean it, when I will fight to keep it.” “But you don’t want it…” “So, we are at a stalemate.” Luke’s chest ached for the man before him. He may still not know much about the Mandalorian but from what he’d learned and could parse, he truly was a man of honour and tradition. Stubborn but not unreasonable, kind and gentle to those who deserve such treatment. A man who was willing to lay down his life and infiltrate an Imperialist light cruiser to save his son. A man who did not wish for trouble or hardship but always seemed unnecessarily burdened with them all the same so as not to inflict it upon others. “Mando… I’m so sorry.” The Mandalorian shook his head, his grip tightening on Luke’s wrist. Luke had nearly forgotten he was still cradling it in his hands, warm leather rubbing soothing circles into his aching knuckles. “It’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s my burden, and I must learn to bear it.” Luke frowned. “Are you not worried about others who are unfit to rule who might challenge you for it?” “The thought has crossed my mind, however so far I’ve remained unchallenged.” “Do you know how to wield it for when you are?” “No.” “I could teach you,” Luke said, startling himself with the eagerness of his statement. The Mandalorian’s fingers paused, grip slackening on Luke’s wrist. “I don’t want you to become involved in my stupid mistakes.” “I want to help,” Luke insisted. “In small part because it is my duty as a Jedi Knight but largely and most importantly because it is my duty as your friend.” “You… you consider me your friend?” the Mandalorian asked, sounding as if such a thing were preposterous, unthinkable. “Of course,” Luke said without a smidge of hesitation. The Mandalorian shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, gaze averted to the floor. “I am not used to having… friends. Enemies and allies yes, but friends…” Luke, feeling bold by the need to show this man that he was more than worthy of friendship, stepped closer, barely an inch of space between them as he adjusted his grip so he could hold the Mandalorian’s hands in his own. “You don’t have to carry this weight alone,” Luke said, voice low but firm. “Let me help you.” The Mandalorian considered him a moment, Luke’s heart racing at their close proximity but still he refused to back down. “Grogu should be your first priority,” the Mandalorian argued, though Luke swore he heard his voice waver. “And he will be. But I can train two students at once. I’m not that bad at multitasking, despite what Leia might have to say on the matter.” “You are surprisingly stubborn,” the Mandalorian whispered. “You’d make a good Mandalorian.” “And with your skills, I am sure I can easily guide you into wielding the Darksaber as a Jedi might.” At that moment, Luke swore he could feel their eyes connect even through the Mandalorian’s dark-tinted glass of his visor. The Mandalorian sighed, although it almost sounded fond. “What am I going to do with you?” “What do you –” The Mandalorian stepped away, gently tugging his hands out of Luke’s grasp. Luke suddenly felt a chill overcome him; the warmth provided from being so close to the Mandalorian now depleting the more distance he put between them. “I will take you up on your offer.” Luke did a double-take. “I – wait, really?” “Yes,” the Mandalorian said. “But first we must find a planet for your school. Grogu will always come first, but I suppose I wouldn’t argue to you teaching me as well if it allows me to stay close to my son.” Right. If it meant being with Grogu, of course he’d say yes. Biting back his disappointment, Luke pushed down his sleeve, redoing the buttons as he neared his desk once more. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s find ourselves a planet!”   *   It took the rest of the Mandalorian’s stay for them to finally find something promising. Once Grogu was finished with his lessons for the day and dropped off in Finn and the twins’ care, Luke and the Mandalorian would spend their afternoons scowering through their star charts, cross-referencing the secluded, unchartered planets the Mandalorian had come across on his travels with Luke’s criteria. They were obviously looking for a place not known by many, habitable, but not obviously so, with fresh water and plenty of cover to keep the school hidden from plain sight. Luke would have preferred to refurbish an old Jedi temple but feared it might be too obvious. It would end up being the first place pursuers might look if word got around about the school and its unique inhabitants. “I don’t know about Jedi temples, but I do remember coming across this old building on… Stars, where was it.” The Mandalorian scrolled through his personal hologram star chart, images of planets, moons and stars flashing by in a blur of blue before he suddenly stopped. “There.” Luke, having abandoned the map he was looking at, came up beside the Mandalorian, squinting at the name labelled below the planet. “Suraksha?” The Mandalorian nodded, zooming in on the planet. Characteristics popped up alongside it in shorthand notes that Luke couldn’t parse. The Mandalorian read them out for him. “Located on the fringes of the Outer Rim, it’s a terrestrial dwarf planet that’s often mistaken for a moon. Plenty of fresh water with sparse groupings of small islands. The one I found the old building on was this one.” The Mandalorian tapped a jagged rectangular-shaped piece of land, the map zooming in again. Luke released a gasp upon seeing the images popping up alongside it. Huge spans of grassy outcroppings connected the fresh-water beaches to endless spans of thick forestry. As the Mandalorian moved across the map in search of the building, murmuring to himself, more images kept popping up. Stunning copses of trees well over three hundred feet tall. Moss-covered stones framing crystal clear streams. Endless glades of tall grass bending and waving in the wind. And then the building appeared. It was ancient and well-weathered with vines creeping up crumbling walls, strange markings carved into its surfaces. Endless tunnels and winding corridors lead into humongous rooms that could easily work as banquet halls and sparring spaces. Smaller rooms popped up as well, windows empty of any glass panes allowing in ample sunlight, highlighting the stunning mosaic murals decorating the walls. There were even designated washrooms where a stream had been designed to run through the room along the bottom of one wall, providing ever-flowing fresh water. It would need a bit of work, with a lot of improvements to make sure it was safe to live in and fortified against terrible weather and unwanted visitors alike. But Luke could already picture himself teaching a class in the spacious hall where small square windows high up near the ceiling allow patches of golden sunlight to dapple the floor. Could see round tables laden with a colourful range of dishes and filled to the brim with chattering students as they talked about their days over dinner. Was already figuring out how to best clean up the stunning courtyard that held an old, abandoned fishpond to welcome visiting parents and new students. “Are there any dangerous creatures in the surrounding woods?” Luke asked, eyes glued to the images in front of him. “I did come across a large Nexu-like creature that travels in small packs of twos and threes,” the Mandalorian said. “However, if you win their trust, they can be very loyal and as long as you don’t mess with their territories, they’ll leave you alone.” “How do you know?” Luke asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the map to look up at the Mandalorian. He’d been right in his estimation. The Mandalorian was only two inches taller than him, however, he still presented a solid, commanding figure, with his broad shoulders and chin held high. “I’m told I’m good with animals,” the Mandalorian replied. There was a story there, waiting to be unravelled. Luke left it for now, his excitement upon finally finding a potential base for his school overtaking him. He could feel his exhilaration thrumming through his veins, his body telling him to go now, must see, must do, build now. “So, what do you think?” the Mandalorian asked. By his tone, Luke could guess he already knew the answer. He grinned. “I think we’ve found it.” The Mandalorian nodded, murmuring, “This is the Way.” “This is the Way,” Luke mirrored in agreement, grin turning into something softer.   *   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Mando, I’ve only been at The Location for an hour, but I couldn’t not sit down and write to you. It is perfect, without a doubt. I’m no artist but I’ve begun drawing out some plans for the improvements we’d need to be done before the space can be deemed livable – I’ll be sure to show them to you upon your next visit. Leia is still busy with the finer details, but she says she should be able to get the funding for it once the Senate has given their blessing. I think you and I both know she won’t take no for an answer so it’s not a matter of if but when we get the funding to start the building process. I know you’re not fond of them but using droids for the building work and then wiping any traces of The Location from their memory chips seems like the safest option compared to trusting a large group of workmen (and indeed a large group will be needed to get this place up and running to the standard I’m aiming for) with such an important secret.   Leia informs me that Grogu misses you dearly and can’t wait to see you again. How is your current job going? From what you told me it’s a rather big bounty up for grabs. I’d wish you luck, but I know you don’t need it. May the Force be with you.   All my best, Luke     FROM: MANDALORIAN Luke, it’s good to hear from you. I’m glad The Location is living up to your expectations. I’m interested to see what all you have planned to improve the space. I have full faith your sister will get the full funds and then some in no time.   You’re right, I’m not fond of droids but you do make a good argument. As long as I don’t have to interact with them too much, I’m sure it’ll be fine.   I miss him as well, also the twins and Finn. I hate to admit it, but it seems the little womp rats have grown on me. I’m glad to know Grogu’s managed to secure such a good group of friends. Makers know he deserves to just be a kid sometimes after what he’s been through. The job started off rocky however I’m pretty sure I’m close to nabbing the guy. It all depends on this next contact I’m paying a visit to in Nevarro. You might remember her; she was on the Imp ship for Grogu’s rescue mission. I have a feeling you two would get along.   Good luck with the rest of your visit and try not to get eaten by the local fauna. – Mando     FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Mando, honestly your faith in me in not getting eaten by overgrown house cats is insulting. I promise you I don’t get into nearly as much trouble as Leia would have you believe. Compared to Han’s track record I’m practically a novice when it comes to getting into trouble. Grogu was rather happy to see me upon my return to the palace before he realised he wouldn’t get to shirk off his lessons like Leia has no doubt allowed – she argues otherwise but I know she hasn’t built up the same level of resistance I have against Grogu’s ‘You’ll Do As I Want’ face – again, you probably know the face I’m talking about. Honestly, with how fast he’s progressing, the improvements on The Location can’t start soon enough. Oh! Speaking of, Leia’s just told me we got the go-ahead from the Senate! They don’t know the exact purpose of the project, just that it’s extremely important and needs to be kept under wraps. That’s all the information they’ve been given really. How Leia manages to convince a group of stuffy old reps in frilly collars to do as she says I’ll never know. I remember the group of women from our first meeting on the ship rather well, though I don’t know exactly who you might be referring to from your rescue party. Whether it be the two rather hostile Mandalorians, the sharpshooting assassin or the ex-shock trooper. Honestly, by what I witnessed of their handiwork I’d be honoured to meet any of them. They seemed like more than outstanding warriors who were picked perfectly for the task at hand. I had planned on writing more but I’ve just been informed that a very important game of hide and seek is about to commence and I promised the kids I’d partake this time around.   Stay safe out there and may the Force be with you. All my best, Luke   FROM: MANDALORIAN Luke, if you’re honestly comparing those bantha-sized carnivores to overgrown house cats you are seriously mistaken and perhaps more than ‘occasionally troublesome’ as Leia puts it. She also tells me to tell you that you put Han’s track record to shame. Should I be worried? I know exactly which face you’re talking about and honestly, I don’t blame your sister. I still find it extremely hard to tell him no 99% of the time. I’m happy, but not surprised, to hear Leia secured the funding, though it happened much faster and with less bumps in the road than I anticipated. Aren’t those stuffy old reps in frilly collars supposed to represent the New Republic’s best and brightest?   I was referring to the ex-shock trooper – tall, tree trunks for thighs, could probably crush your skull beneath the heel of her boot and you’d thank her for it. Cara’s saved my neck in more close calls than I can count at this point. I think you two would get along perhaps a little too well. You seem to have the same sense of humour (aka teasing me relentlessly and without mercy). Somehow most of the women I’ve become well-acquainted with and consider allies as of late always manage to hold their own in a gunfight – or any fight for that matter. I can confidently add your sister to that list after watching your impromptu duel during my last visit. Are you sure she’s not a fully trained Jedi? She seems like she could certainly teach me a thing or two about how to use a saber. And reading over what I just wrote I realise now how wrong that sounds. Please ignore that and don’t tell Leia. I would never wish to be at the receiving end of your sister’s wrath.  Tell Grogu I’ll see him soon and that I have a gift for him next time I come to visit. Sincerely yours – Mando   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Oh Makers above please don’t tell me you’ve been talking to my sister behind my back. She’s telling you nothing but lies and deceits to make me look bad! Grogu is more than safe in my care, I swear on my life. Forgive my choice of words but in my humble opinion, most senators (and any others belonging to the upper classes) tend to be power-hungry fat cats who care about nothing more than the latest fashion trend and what’s for dessert. There are the rare few who do not fit this description and are actually decent people however they are too few and far between for my liking. My vision of these scaly senators may be skewed due to my, plainly, fiery hate for the countless social events I’ve had to endure in their company. There’s only so much mindless small talk one can fake-smile through before one feels the need to leap out of the nearest window. And now I’ve been angry typing for the last twenty minutes and my thumbs are starting to hurt. Great. Sorry for the rambling. As you can probably tell, this is something I have a very strong opinion of.   This Cara sounds like an absolute delight! I simply must meet her. Perhaps she could join us one evening for dinner whilst you’re visiting? We have plenty of space for extra guests – too much space really. If she is worried about her being a deserter, I can assure you she won’t be held liable by my sister or anyone else in the palace. She is obviously someone dear to you and Grogu, which means she is nothing short of highly respectable and trustworthy – or at the very least extremely loyal to her select few which is admirable in itself. Plus I’d just really like the chance to finally have someone on my side rather than being the one ganged up upon. Honestly, after reading your description of your group of female allies I found myself quaking just a bit in my boots. If they’re half as fearsome as Leia, then they truly must be a wonder to behold. No, Leia is not a fully trained Jedi which obviously makes you wonder just how powerful she could be if she chose not to end her training. However, I’ll always respect her wishes in terminating her training rather than follow the path I did. Makers know she doesn’t need a lightsaber to make a room full of people bow at her feet. (I’ll pretend I didn’t read that Specific Sentence you’re referring to because yes, it sounds wrong. Very wrong. Whether Leia finds out perhaps depends on how nice you are to me the next time you pay us a visit.) Grogu replied to your message with a very apt “Abu!” which, roughly translated, means “Can’t wait!” He and I are both equally eager to see what this gift might be. Could you give us a hint?   May the Force be with you. All the best, Luke     FROM: MANDALORIAN I am 100% talking about you to your sister behind your back and, as Leia so aptly put it, “There ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. Ha ha.” Despite the many, many stories I have been told that back up your sister’s claims of just how much of a super magnet you are for trouble, I do know Grogu is safe in your hands. I would trust my life in those hands. And maybe even my I’ll admit, I’m rather surprised about your opinion towards the senators and yet equally not at the same time. I think a part of me, the part that still struggles to trust the New Republic to help when help’s most needed, believed that you’d be reaping the rewards of being their (excuse the phrase) ‘golden poster boy’ as Cara puts it. However, the much larger and more sensible part of me, the part of me that’s gotten to know and care for the Luke Skywalker who guards my son with his life, who always manages to put others before him and sees right through people’s baseless claims of wanting what’s best when really all they wish for is more power, can perfectly connect you to your fairly just opinion of the upper classes. I’ve had to attend a couple of such events myself on the job and can safely say I’d much rather prefer sitting at your family’s table and listening to their wonderful stories than spend a minute longer than I have to in the company of the Galaxy’s so-called ‘finest’. I’ve told you before, you could write a novel and I’d happily read it. There is no need to apologize for your ‘rambling’. If I didn’t like reading what you have to say I wouldn’t answer your letters at all.   Cara is many things; I don’t know if a delight is one of them. I’d have to ask her if she’d be able to get time off work to pay a visit, and obviously only if it is alright with the rest of your family. I’ll let her know of your assurances and get back to you. She is dear to me, not that I’d ever admit that aloud. Again, Cara is many things. I don’t know if respectable is one of them. Trustworthy and loyal though? Without a doubt. Hers is company hard-earned but well worth the work. And yes, Cara and her counterparts are certainly more than half as fearsome as Leia and truly are a wonder to behold in battle. I commend you for respecting your sister’s choice not to follow in your footsteps in becoming a Jedi Knight. I don’t know how I would feel about the subject if I were the one in your place. Something I have noticed after these last few months of us becoming more acquainted is that the Jedi Order of old and the Creed of the Death Watch (my old tribe) share many qualities. Both are rather strict in their teachings and beliefs, where if one tries to challenge the carefully cultivated path laid out by those before them, they are ostracized or considered unworthy of what their practices promise their more devout followers. One such belief for my tribe was the removal of our helmets in front of any of those who were not part of our clan. I’ll admit, growing up with such strict social rules and expectations coincided with my more… introverted personality. It’s something obvious to those who get to know me that I don’t really speak about aloud. Maybe that’s why I didn’t argue too much against our beliefs, and still believe in it with my full heart and soul. However, there have been instances where I have broken my Creed for Grogu – one of which you witnessed. A year ago, I never would have thought it possible but now I know my son will always come first, even above my Creed.   I have done some inquiring about the Jedi since allowing you to take Grogu on as your charge. From what I’ve been told, Jedi used to take Force-sensitive children away from their families and did not favour fostering attachments. I found this surprising considering the lengths you’ve gone to allow me to still see my son (of which I’m very grateful). Perhaps we are more alike than I initially thought. You’re becoming rather good at translating Grogu-speak, I’ll admit I’m impressed – unless of course, you used the Force in which case I take it back because that’s cheating. I’ll give one hint: it has something to do with our Clan.   I hold you in my thoughts Yours truly Yours – Mando   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Mando, firstly I just want to say I’m rather honoured. I think that’s the most you’ve ever said and/or written at once. I am so honoured that I will ignore the fact that you’re in cahoots with my sister and seem to be plotting with her to eternally make me look bad.   I believe part of my distaste towards the snootier beings of the upper classes I have met on Coruscant is due to my humbler upbringing on my aunt and uncle’s farm. I did not grow up wanting on Tatooine. My aunt and uncle were good, hard-working people who cared for me as if I were their own son. Uncle Owen could be a little rough around the edges, but he still cared deeply, even if he didn’t always show it. They did not deserve the end they were met with – they were killed by Imperial stormtroopers, our home burnt down to the ground. I still blame myself for not being there to protect them but at the time I was still untrained and probably would not have been much help. I do still find myself missing Uncle Owen’s dry wit and Aunt Beru’s cooking when I’m feeling more nostalgic. I think one thing I’ll definitely enjoy about staying at the school is that I won’t be required to attend as many of these events than if I were to remain at the palace. Although, I will miss my family terribly. These last five years with them have been some of the best in my life. When you went to those high-class events for a job, did you end up having to dance to get closer to your mark? I must admit I find the image rather intriguing, but it also makes me wonder if you know any dances. Leia had to teach me the Perbazian quick step for one such occasion and suffice to say, I ended up causing my partner and I to dive head-first into the punch bowl. Since then, I’ve sworn off dancing, at least when I’m the one who has to lead. Leia assures me Cara is more than welcome to pay a visit, and so are your and Gorgu’s other friends. It would be quite the evening of storytelling I’m sure – perhaps I can finally pay you back for all of the embarrassing stories you’ve managed to finagle out of Han and Leia about me with some of your own. I will admit I was a little disappointed at first when Leia said she wished to stop her training. The Jedi are, after all, very nearly extinct. But I think it worked out for the better in the end. She’s always been a highly skilled diplomat and leader and I will be willing to follow her to the ends of the galaxy and fight alongside her wherever she may need me, both as her brother and as the last Jedi Knight (for now anyway).   You are right in your assessment I feel, about our beliefs being similar. The Jedi pride themselves on being these cool, calm and collected beings who do not allow their emotions to overrule their logic. Whilst I do believe learning to stay calm in dire situations is important for any warrior, I also feel that the Jedi took this to too far an extreme which is perhaps what led to their downfall. They prohibited any attachments, whether that be familial or romantic, in fear that their noble knights would choose the safety of their loved ones over the safety of the populations they were tasked to protect. Sacrifice is always required in this line of work, I’ve come to realise, but losing one’s family, the support system they can provide and the power their love can offer in trying times should not be one of them. If I had followed the ways of the old Order and severed all ties between you and Grogu, I fear Grogu would have quickly succumbed to the darkness loneliness can inflict. As you’ve told me before, Grogu has used his powers to save you and your comrades on more than one occasion – I believe it was his love for you that allowed him to access the powers he had otherwise kept buried so deep inside himself and use them for good. So perhaps you’re right. Through our connection to Grogu we have both chosen to make exceptions. In that, I think, we are much alike.   I have noticed you tend to be shy when it comes to social situations though I find it rather sweet. You’re very quick to praise Grogu and others you hold in high esteem but hardly ever are you willing to boast of your own accomplishments. If you ever need some confidence-boosting look no further, I could call out a cheer in your honour or perhaps attempt a dance of some sorts to lighten the mood? (I am kidding, of course. Mostly.) My translation of Grogu-speak was not thanks to using our Force link, I have become rather proficient enough that I only need to use it for more complex conversations. Grogu is very expressive and makes for a rather lovely conversation partner if he’s in the mood – which he often is.  Something to do with your Clan… I’m getting the feeling it might include a Mudhorn somehow. Not that I’m totally against the idea, but I don’t think Mudhorns make for very good pets, so just keep that in mind. My garden’s coming along rather nicely, and I’d hate for it to be ravished (or stepped on). Oh, Grogu tells me to tell you that he misses you dearly and has been saving a stash of his favourite cookies to share with you. He’s threatening to eat them all if you don’t come visit soon. May the Force be with you.   Sincerely yours, Luke   FROM: MANDALORIAN Luke, I’m sorry to hear about your aunt and uncle. They sound like wonderful people and it would have been an honour to meet those who had raised you. I did actually have to dance with a contact I was supposed to meet at one of those fancy events. It was the only way to talk to her alone away from her extensive group of bodyguards. I know the basic waltz as well as the Ventiese Sock Hop and a few other cultural dances from my time spent in small villages and with nomads on my travels. The Sand People on Tatooine have a rather fun routine they use for special occasions and another to call upon luck before battles. It isn’t necessarily a dance, but I recall the Mandalorians of old had a war cry used to intimidate their enemies. I don’t know how good I would be at leading in the Perbazian quickstep, but I think we could at least manage a waltz if you wouldn’t mind me leading. I would treasure any chance to be close to you. I highly commend you on being willing to change the ways of your Order so as not to make the same mistakes as your masters did before you. Mandalorian culture, in comparison, has remained the same for millennia. We are a stubborn people who value tradition and unity between the people of our tribes. Family means everything to us. One’s abilities on the battlefield and how well they can protect their own reflects highly upon their character as well. I suppose I can be shy… I always tend to feel a little out of place in larger social circles. One-on-one conversations are a little easier – such as our letters. I have never felt more comfortable talking than when I am conversing with you. You are rather easy to talk to. Your confidence-boosting won’t be needed I don’t think, but if I ever do suddenly feel the need to see a Jedi dance poorly to a made-up cheer you will be the first I call. I can assure you my gift is much smaller than a Mudhorn, so fear not for your garden. Tell Grogu I will be coming the day after tomorrow and that I’ll be bringing a friend, so he best save those cookies so we can all share them. Looking forward to seeing you both soon.   Yours, Mando     *   Cara Dune is unlike any woman Luke has ever met. She’s twice his width in muscle alone and could probably bench press him without breaking a sweat. “Well, well, he really is as pretty as they say,” she said upon her arrival at the palace, sending a smug grin the Mandalorian’s way as she gave Luke a bone-breaking handshake. “Who says that?” Luke asked, a little breathless at the strength of her handshake as well as her words. She shrugged, hands on her hips, smile still directed straight at the Mandalorian as she replied, “Oh, you know, people.” “Cara,” the Mandalorian warned. Even with a babbling toddler on his hip, he still managed to portray a rather intimidating figure. Cara only laughed, clapping her friend on the shoulder before leaning down to say hello to Grogu. The child, chewing on the copper Mudhorn pendant of his new necklace, was ecstatic upon seeing another friendly face, tugging on some of the longer strands of hair framing Cara’s face. “Same old womp rat,” she said, sounding nothing but fond. Luke hated to admit it, but the three made a pretty good picture. Cara’s blunt and brash personality making up for the Mandalorian’s more quiet and sturdy prominence. Plus, Grogu seemed to adore her. “Come, you must be tired from your journey,” Luke said, biting down the knots threatening to turn his stomach into led. He would soon realise, however, that his worries were unfounded. It was while he was giving Cara a quick tour of the palace that they happened upon Leia. She was busy chewing out two guards who were two heads taller than the princess and yet seemed to shrink under her hardened gaze. Cara came to a sudden stop, jaw dropped. “Oh my Makers, I’m in love.” There was a quiet thunk, Luke just managing to catch the Mandalorian face-palming his helmet. “Cara, please don’t.” “Oh, Cara will very much do,” Cara said, eyes never leaving Leia who by now had the two guards she was berating trembling at her feet. Luke watched on in shock as Cara approached Leia who had finally dismissed the guards from her scolding. If Luke didn’t know any better, he’d say one of them was crying as they scurried down the hallway and out of sight. “Princess.” Leia turned, eyes slowly trailing up Cara’s strong, broad chest to meet her eyes. She looked miniscule in comparison to the ex-shock trooper but didn’t seem to mind one bit. “My name is Cara Dune,” Cara continued, “I wanted to personally thank you for allowing me to stay here for the evening.” Leia shifted just slightly to catch Luke’s eye over Cara’s shoulder. She called out to him through their Force link. Help, she is gorgeous and I’m supposed to be happily married. Luke simply shrugged, finding seeing his sister being the one to squirm for once all too enjoyable. Leia glared at him a moment, eyes narrowed to thin slits, before putting on a warm smile and turning her full attention back to Cara. “It’s a pleasure to have you. Mando has sung nothing but your highest of praises.” Cara shot a look over her shoulder at the Mandalorian, sending him a wink and a thumbs-up before turning back to Leia. “He’s had nothing but compliments to say about you as well. And I must say, you do not disappoint.” Bold, or perhaps just cocky, Cara took one of Leia’s hands in her own and bowed, giving it a gentle kiss. Leia’s cheeks erupted in a rosy hue. Luke struggled to hold back a bark of laughter. “What is happening?” the Mandalorian muttered, watching the display with a slight tilt of his head. “I believe Cara Dune is vying for my sister’s heart. And winning.” “Ah…” is all the Mandalorian could muster. Luke laughed even harder.   *   To everyone’s surprise, except Luke’s, Cara managed to bag the honour of sitting at Leia’s right-hand side at dinner. Han had sent a probing look Luke’s way upon seeing his wife snort-laughing at a joke Cara had expertly delivered to which Luke could only shrug and send a not-so-apologetic smile in return. Muttering under his breath, Han reluctantly conceded and sat on Leia’s left-hand side instead, the kids watching on in fascination as Cara charmed Leia as easily as breathing. Chewie found the whole situation rather hilarious, as did Luke. The Mandalorian had also been correct in his assumption that Cara and Luke would get along, though he could not have predicted just how troublesome their easy friendship would be. Not ten minutes into dinner and already Cara and Luke were laughing their heads off while the Mandalorian hung his head in his hands. “He did not!” Luke cried, stomach aching with how hard he was laughing. “Oh, he did too!” Cara bellowed, sending the Mandalorian a cheeky grin. “In front of the entire village, no less.” “This was a grave mistake,” the Mandalorian muttered, sending the pair of traitorous friends a look with the utmost contempt, even through his darkened visor. “Tell me about it,” Han muttered darkly, already onto his third glass of spotchka for the evening. Chewie rumbled, trying to snatch the glass away from him. “I know it makes me bitchy, let me live!” Han said, batting his friend’s hands away. “Han, language,” Leia berated. “Yeah, Papa, language!” Jacen and Jaina said simultaneously. Han pouted, looking past Chewie and the twins to Finn. “Finn, what have you got say about all this?” Finn froze, fork halfway to his mouth. His eyes darted about the whole table before he looked back to Han. “Uh…” “Han, don’t put him on the spot,” Luke said. “No, it’s okay Uncle Luke,” Finn said before turning in his seat to face Han. He spoke with the utmost seriousness and with wisdom far exceeding his age. “I think it’s always good to mind one’s manners, Uncle Han, even if they are jealous.” “JEALOUS?!” Han bellowed, spilling his drink in the process. “WHO THE KRIFF SAID I WAS JEALOUS?” “Han, dear, please try to contain yourself,” Leia said, giving her husband a look of fond exasperation. “We do have guests.” Luke bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back his laughter as Han slumped down further in his seat, muttering darkly whilst topping up his glass. “You’ve got a bit of spotchka on you, your highness,” Cara said. “Oh…” Leia’s hand fluttered about her face, trying to find the spot. “Please, allow me.” With a flick of her wrist, Cara artfully unfurled a napkin and began lightly dabbing at the supposed spillage in the right corner of Leia’s lips. Leia’s cheeks turned impossibly red. Han continued to mutter expletives into his drink. “I think this is the most fun I’ve had in years,” Luke whispered to the Mandalorian. “We should invite your friends over more often.” The Mandalorian sighed, feeding a giggling Grogu another slice of bantha meat. “I have a feeling you won’t take no for an answer.” Luke put on a not-so-innocent smile, digging into his own dinner heartily. “On that, my friend, you are one hundred percent correct.” The Mandalorian muttered something in a language Luke did not understand, though it had Grogu giggling up a storm. Luke frowned, about to ask what he had said when Cara caught his attention. “Luke, do you wanna hear about the time Mando –” “Please no,” the Mandalorian interrupted. Luke waved away his protests, head cradled in his hand as he turned to Cara. “Please yes.” “I like this one, he’s a keeper,” Cara jeered, winking at the Mandalorian over Luke’s head. There was another thunk and Luke knew without having to turn that the Mandalorian had slammed his forehead against the tabletop in desperation. This really was the most fun he’d had in years. They were met by more than a few teary goodbyes when the school had finally been announced complete and ready for use. Luke packed only the essentials – clothes, bedding, his books, a few small tokens from his travels, and seeds gathered from his garden. He had given his small cacti collection to Finn to look after, a project to keep himself occupied but also a piece of Luke to keep with him. He turned on the spot, surveying his now empty room. It was almost as if he hadn’t been living here for the last five years. R2 caught his attention with a few loud beeps, the droid waiting impatiently in the doorway for him. “I’m coming R2,” Luke said. The droid huffed but left him be, heading for the X-wing. With a sigh, Luke grabbed his rucksack, slinging it over his shoulder. Thankfully he didn’t have to worry too much about taking up what minimal space his X-wing could offer. The Mandalorian would be flying with him and taking any excess that could not fit in Luke’s X-wing, such as food rations, Luke’s small library-worth of books and Grogu’s now extensive collection of toys. Luke paid a visit to each room before he left. The lounge that still had one wall painted pink thanks to the kids’ hard work, the dining room where so many happy memories were made, his study where he and the Mandalorian had spent hours searching for a safe place for Grogu to learn, and of course the garden where the fresh smell of newly bloomed flowers and herbs invaded his senses. “You ready?” Luke turned to see the Mandalorian standing in the doorway that led back into the palace, his own bag slung over his shoulder. “Yeah, I think so,” Luke said, giving the garden one final look and committing all its details to memory before turning his back to it and following the Mandalorian to the landing bays. The others were waiting for them there. Grogu cooed as his father approached from where he sat in Leia’s arms. The Mandalorian shifted his bag so he could rest his son against his hip. Leia stroked Grogu’s big ears, whispering something to him that had him giggling. Luke was pulled away from the moment from a slight tug on his cloak. He looked down to see Jaina and Jacen staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Hey, guys, it’s okay,” Luke assured them, kneeling down so they were eye level. His niece and nephew both sniffled, bottom lips trembling. “We’re gonna miss you, Uncle Luke,” Jaina murmured. “A lot,” Jacen added. “I’ll miss you too,” Luke said. “I won’t be gone for forever, though. We’ll still visit.” “All of you?” Jaina asked, looking to the Mandalorian and Grogu. Luke nodded. “Yes, all of us.” “And we really can’t come with you?” Jacen questioned. Luke faltered. Jaina and Jacen were still young, barely five years old when everything with Grogu started, and while Luke could feel something stirring in the twins’ chests, a familiar hum that Luke only felt with Leia and Grogu, he did not wish to delve deeper into. Not yet. Leia knew. Of course she did, she could feel it too, but they’d both agreed to allow the twins a chance to be children and when they were a little older they could decide for themselves if they’d like to train. It did break Luke’s heart, however, seeing how upset they were by his leaving. As far as they knew, where they were going was to keep Grogu safe. For now, the less they knew about the school the better. Luke slid his bag strap off his shoulder and brought them into a tight hug. The twins hid their teary faces in either crook of his shoulders, warm tears leaving tear stains on his shirt. Luke cupped the backs of their heads, fingers stroking through their thick brown curls as he looked up at Leia. She had a wobbly smile of her own, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Luke pulled the twins back, looking them both in the eye as he said, “You gotta promise you’ll look after your Mama and Papa while I’m away. It’s very important. Do you think you can handle it?” The twins shared a look, small smiles beginning to creep along their lips. “We can do it,” they said together. Luke grinned, giving their mops of curls a ruffle. “That’s what I like to hear.” Luke then turned to Finn who’d been rather quiet during all of this. His usual brightness was dampened a little, though he was still trying to smile. “Hey, kiddo.” “Hey, Uncle Luke.” “You gonna be okay?” Finn nodded, straightening up a little. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of your garden, I promise.” “I appreciate it,” Luke replied, smiling up at the boy. Finn had been staying with them for well over two years now and was practically one of Luke’s own. A small part of him had wanted to take Finn with – he was technically Luke’s responsibility. And there was that strange niggling feeling in the back of Luke’s mind, telling him that there was something deeper within the boy, something untapped. But Finn was also still so young and had only just begun to feel like a part of the family like he belonged here. Luke didn’t wish to uproot him and have him try adjusting all over again. So, for now, they would say their goodbyes. “Come here,” Luke said, opening up his arms. Finn collided against his chest, gripping the back of Luke’s cape tightly. “I’m really gonna miss you, Uncle Luke,” he said, voice watery. Luke clung to him a little tighter, his own tears threatening to spill. “I’ll miss you too. If you ever need anything or just want to chat, ask Leia and she’ll let you use her communicator.” Finn nodded, stepping back. “I’ll be sure to send pictures of the garden,” he promised. “I’m looking forward to it,” Luke said, cupping Finn’s cheek with his flesh hand. “Take care of them for me.” They both knew he wasn’t referring to the garden. Finn nodded again, bright smile finally returning. “I will.” With one last encouraging smile, Luke stood up, bag slung over his shoulder once more as he approached his sister, Han and Chewie. “So,” Luke said. “So…” Leia replied. “This is it.” “Looks like it.” Leia dragged him into a hug, Luke having to bend a bit to match her height. “Please don’t do anything too stupid while I’m not there,” Leia warned. Luke chuckled. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.” Leia pulled back, slapping him playfully on the bicep. I’m still here if you need to talk. About anything, she said, only for his ears. I know. She looked pointedly between him and the Mandalorian. As in anything. Luke rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Han wrangled Luke into a headlock, messing up his hair. “Stay out of trouble, kiddo.” “Only if you do the same,” Luke chuckled, wiggling out of Han’s grasp to give him a quick hug. Han stiffened a moment, then returned it, tucking Luke’s head under his chin. “Gonna miss you,” Han admitted, voice wavering just slightly. “Gonna miss you too.” Chewie rumbled, Han and Luke parting just in time for Luke to get swept up in a patent Chewbacca Bear Hug. “I’ll miss you most of all, Chewie,” Luke assured him, feet dangling off the ground as Chewie swung him to and fro. “Alright, Chewie, come on,” Han said when it seemed like Chewie wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. Chewie huffed, reluctantly lowering Luke back to the ground. Luke laughed, giving Chewie’s shoulder a quick, reaffirming pat before stepping away. The Mandalorian was waiting at his ship, R2-D2 already in place in the X-wing. “You have a very strong bond with your family,” the Mandalorian remarked as Luke neared. Luke stole a look over his shoulder, his family watching. “Yeah… yeah, I guess I do.” “They care for you deeply.” Luke nodded. “I love them with all my heart.” The Mandalorian gave a soft hum in reply. Luke turned his attention to Grogu who was busy twirling his favourite silver ball in his hands. “You ready, little one?” Luke asked. Grogu cooed, excitementhappycontent buzzing through their connection. Luke gave the child a small pat on the head before sharing a nod with the Mandalorian. Without further fanfare, the two entered their separate ships and with a final wave goodbye to his family, Luke and the Mandalorian left Coruscant behind, a new adventure awaiting.   *   It took two days of travel, doing multiple jumps through hyperspace rather than a straight jump to ensure that if anyone was following them that they’d lose track of where they were going. The sun was high in the sky when they landed on the small island of Suraksha where the school had been built. Luke knew the lay of the land well at this point from his multiple travels here to check on the building process and making the final tweaks needed before the school could be deemed habitable. Having landed in the small, secluded clearing Luke had had the droids create to act as an informal landing pad, he helped lower R2 from his station in the X-wing and met the Mandalorian at the gangplank of his ship. “Close your eyes,” Luke insisted before the Mandalorian had even stepped foot on Suraksha’s soil. “Excuse me?” “Close your eyes,” Luke repeated, unable to contain his excitement. “I want it to be a surprise.” “The cargo –” “Can wait a bit. Come on, humour me.” The Mandalorian considered Luke a moment, tinted visor giving nothing away. Then he sighed, nodding. “Fine, but only because I know you’ll whine at me until I agree.” Luke laughed because it was true. Grogu remained in the Mandalorian’s arms as Luke guided his friend towards the school. Luke had to warn him of a few upturned tree roots and stones but otherwise, they made it without any major disaster. Which is how Luke found himself with his hands on the Mandalorian’s shoulders, guiding him to a stop outside the school. “Keep your eyes closed.” “I’ve seen this place already, you know.” “That was before the improvements,” Luke said, unable to contain his grin. The Mandalorian sighed, almost sounding fond as he asked, “Can I open my eyes now?” Luke gave the building one final check, making sure nothing had been disturbed while he was away, before nodding. “Okay. Open.” Luke couldn’t see the exact moment the Mandalorian opened his eyes, nor his initial reaction with it hidden behind his helmet, but he carefully watched his friend’s aura and grinned upon seeing the soft pink and orange wisps of surprise and awe making an appearance. They were stood in the courtyard – once overridden by vines, the marble tiles leading up to the front entrance cracked and loosened from their original places – now bright and practically glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. A ginormous fishpond stood in the center, freshwater bubbling from the small fountain heads in each corner. Bright colourful fish swam about happily in their new habitat, the pond shallow enough to allow one a perfect view of the mosaic tiles decorating its floor. Grogu cooed excitedly, wiggling in his father’s arms to be let down. The Mandalorian did so, watching his son toddle over to the pond. Grogu managed to hoist himself up onto the lip of the pool, eyes wide as he watched the fish swim about lazily in the cool water. The entrance itself hadn’t changed much, the original structure still there in terracotta stone. Intricate carvings ranging from small figures to plants and flowers to strange shapes and symbols decorated every inch of the walls, a large wooden door acting as the entrance. The Mandalorian stepped through the doorway, entering the cool shade the building provided against the heat of the summery day. “Is it only wood?” he questioned. Luke shook his head, indicating the metal barrier doors and the lock pad to the left. “Three layers, just in case,” he assured. The Mandalorian nodded his approval before looking past the doors towards the fishpond. “Grogu.” “Hup?” Grogu looked up from where he was elbow-deep in the water, no doubt terrorizing the fish. “Be careful, kiddo. Don’t want you drowning.” “It’s shallow enough that if he falls in, he can stand in it just fine,” Luke assured. “He usually hates baths, so I don’t know why he’s so happy to play in it now.” Luke chuckled, the two of them watching as Grogu tried, and failed, to catch a nearby fish with his tiny claws. “Well baths don’t usually include lunch,” he guessed. The Mandalorian shook his head but didn’t argue. He was about to walk over to Grogu when R2 appeared, rolling up next to the child and beeping excitedly. Grogu cooed, giving R2’s domed head a loving pat. The Mandalorian seemed a little tense, not knowing whether to go pick up his child or not. “He’ll be fine,” Luke assured him. “He and R2 go way back.” “What do you mean?” the Mandalorian asked, never taking his eyes off his child. “R2 worked in the temple Grogu was born and raised in. Before the purge.” The Mandalorian said nothing, watching the lively conversation R2 and Grogu were having. Whether they actually understood one another, Luke didn’t know, but they seemed happy all the same. Luke walked up to the Mandalorian, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. The Mandalorian startled, finally tearing his gaze away from his son to look at Luke. Luke swallowed thickly, ducking his head to hide behind his bangs. “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the temple,” he said, dropping his hand and starting down the entrance hall. The Mandalorian hesitated a moment, looking back once more at Grogu, before following Luke further into the building. Keep it together, Skywalker, Luke chastised himself. He gave himself a little shake before looking back over his shoulder. The Mandalorian was walking a few paces behind him, helmet tipping up to marvel at the intricate carvings that continued to decorate the walls the further into the temple they travelled. They came across the dining hall first, Luke admiring the groupings of round, wooden tables and chairs. Each table could easily seat twelve people, the hall itself large enough to comfortably fit a hundred bodies. It was perhaps too large for its lone three occupants, but Luke wasn’t planning on it just being them three for too long. “Kitchen’s just past that door, washroom’s over there,” Luke said, pointing right, then left. “I’ve got a droid to help with the cooking and cleaning.” Luke was frankly a rather terrible cook who could barely manage not to burn toast, let alone manage a full meal. Having a droid to help with the cooking was no doubt the safer option. The Mandalorian hummed non-committedly, eyeing the door that led to the kitchen. Wariness bubbled around him in shades of blue and purple. “I can still bring you your dish afterwards,” Luke suggested. “Like I did back at the palace.” “That… would be appreciated,” the Mandalorian murmured. Luke was still dying to know what it was that had caused the Mandalorian such a large distrust towards droids but figured his friend would tell him when he was ready. “Come on, the training room’s up next,” Luke said, pushing off the doorway and starting down the hall once more. The training room was nearly as large as the dining hall. There were mats laid out on the floor on the left-hand side of the room, allowing for softer landings when sparring. The rest of the room was wide open, giving plenty of room to work with. Chairs were stacked in the corner for when they were required for larger classes and on the back wall were a few bits of equipment for training exercises. This included a range of helmets in different sizes and a small floating droid similar to the one Luke had trained with under Obi-Wan Kenobi when he first started learning how to wield a lightsaber. Grogu still had a ways to go before he’d be allowed to start training with a lightsaber of his own but it was always good to be prepared. The Mandalorian stepped into the room this time, eyeing the side with the mats. Eagerness dotted his aura in bright orange and red. Luke’s lips curled in the corner. He and the Mandalorian had never sparred together before, but that would soon be rectified once he began training the Mandalorian with the Darksaber. Luke had never seen the Mandalorian in action, it would be interesting to see what influences the Mandalorian style of battle would bring. As they continued their tour, Luke pointed things out, unable to withhold his excited chatter as he talked about the improvements he’d had made and what he chose to keep of the old building. He’d rather loved the rustic feel the architecture held, the intricate carvings and dark-wash wooden beams. He’d obviously added more modern details as well, sliding metal doors with locks for the bedrooms, windows with actual glass panes – some coloured glass in the larger rooms’ windows to add a liveliness he felt was lacking. The back garden behind the temple was perhaps his favourite, though. Stone paths led off to different sections, a herb garden to the left, flower bushes running along the pathways that gave off sweet perfumes as the wind blew, tall trees creating a fence of sorts around the perimeter. There were a few benches dotted about the garden and even a stream with a small bridge running over it, the sound of the trickling water soothing to the ears. Off to the right was a vegetable patch, a few seeds already beginning to sprout, Luke having planted them there beforehand and ensured they were looked after by the house-keeping droid while he was away. The Mandalorian said nothing as he slowly walked through the garden, gloved fingers reaching to touch flower petals and leaves that curved into his path. Luke followed behind him, anxious and interested to hear his opinion. The Mandalorian had walked the entire perimeter of the garden before coming to a stop at one of the larger trees near the back. He placed his hand against the rough bark, looking up at the bright green foliage rustling in the breeze. “You truly have a way of creating life wherever you go,” he murmured, so soft Luke had almost not heard it. Before Luke could ask him to elaborate, he heard the sound of wheels crunching over gravel. R2 whistled, capturing their attention as he approached. Grogu was sat atop his domed head, giggling with his hands up in the air as the droid whizzed across the dirt paths of the garden. “Glad you could finally join us,” Luke said, chuckling at the bright yellow sparks that erupted around Grogu. The child’s joy was rather contagious. R2 skidded to a stop, beeping up at Luke pointedly. Luke’s cheeks blushed at R2’s words, thankful the Mandalorian was too busy scooping his child up and showing him some of the nearby blooms to notice. “We weren’t doing anything,” Luke insisted, giving R2 a light kick. “You really have a gutter for a mouth, don’t you?” The droid whistled, his laughter unmistakable. “Oh shush,” Luke chastised, cheeks burning even hotter. He simply watched the father and son a moment, smile curling into something softer as the Mandalorian whispered quietly to his son. Grogu sniffed the bright orange flower a little too deeply, causing himself to sneeze. It was the most adorable sound Luke had ever heard. “Shall I show you to your room and then we can start unpacking?” Luke suggested. The Mandalorian stood up, Grogu still wriggling his nose against the leftover tickle of the pollen. “Sounds good.” “Follow me, then.” When it came to drawing up plans for the building, what improvements were needed, what changes he would be making and what he would be keeping, everything had come rather easily to him. However, when it came to choosing a room for the Mandalorian and Grogu, Luke had been stumped. He’d spent hours roaming through the selection of small rooms being converted into bedrooms, both for students and visiting parents, weighing his options. Chin cradled in his hand, he had paced back and forth, comparing the rooms against one another. The droids who had been hired to help build had watched Luke in confusion as he walked between rooms, cape whipping behind him as he muttered to himself about “Not enough space,” or “Too little sunlight.” He just wanted it to be perfect. Everyone had been rather relieved when he finally made his decision. However, Luke still felt a little anxious as he watched the Mandalorian look about his room now from where he was leaned up in the doorway. The room was slightly bigger than the ones in the Coruscant palace, a rug woven from thick woolly strands of blue and green situated to the right where a chest of toys stood open and waiting for Grogu to rummage through. The bed was spacious, the headboard pressed against the center of the left wall, directly in line with the first of three windows that ran along the adjacent wall. There was an ensuite bathroom Luke had installed so the Mandalorian had a place to freshen up in private. There was also a chest of drawers, some floating shelves waiting to be filled and an armchair as well as a hand-crafted wooden crib for Grogu if he wanted it. But what had been the real deciding factor was the walls. Unlike the rest of the school, these walls were not left plain or filled with intricate carvings. Instead, they were covered from floor to ceiling in stunning abstract mosaic designs. The colours were bright but not overwhelming, instead offering a soothing quality as your eyes were naturally led through the swirling patterns, dancing from one wall to the next. Wherever sunlight brushed the tiles they glimmered slightly, bringing an etherealness to the entire room that also managed to make it feel warm and inviting. Luke fidgeted with his leather glove; bottom lip being chewed raw as he awaited the Mandalorian’s reaction. Grogu cooed, eyes wide in childlike wonder as his father walked about the room. His hands glided over the mosaic murals, running along the smooth wood of the chest of draws, along the shelves, testing the soft plushness of the armchair, before he finally turned to face Luke. “It’s perfect,” he said. Luke released the breath he had been holding, relief washing over him. “I’m glad,” he said, lips tilting up in a smile. “My bedroom’s just down the hall, second to last on the left. The Mandalorian nodded, attention already back on the mosaic patterns. “I’ll leave you two to settle in,” Luke said. “Then we can start unpacking. I’ve asked the droid to have dinner ready by seven, like usual.” He was about to leave when the Mandalorian called after him, saying, “Thank you. For all of this.” Luke smiled, tips of his ears burning as he murmured, “You’re welcome,” before disappearing down the hallway.   *   Dinner is quieter than usual without the twins’ storytelling and Leia and Han’s bickering, but not uncomfortable. It was the sort of quiet that one can only achieve by feeling truly comfortable in someone else’s presence without having to fill the silence with mindless chatter. Grogu hummed happily as his father fed him his favourite dish – Luke had requested the droid to prepare it especially once their food rations had been unpacked, as an added surprise for his student. More than once, however, Luke caught the Mandalorian watching him, gaze steady, emotions hidden behind his helmet. His aura was calm, comfortable, no signs of apprehension or distress insight. It was assuring, knowing the Mandalorian was as comfortable alone with Luke as Luke felt with him. Once Grogu had eaten his weight in dinner and dessert, Luke walked the Mandalorian and his snoozing son back to their room, more familiar with the twisting paths of the hallways than the Mandalorian was. “Let me know if you need anything,” Luke said, placing the Mandalorian’s plate of food on the dresser by the door while watching as the Mandalorian gently placed Grogu in his crib. “I will, thank you,” the Mandalorian replied. Luke nodded, ready to take his leave with a quiet, “Good night.” “Luke.” Luke stopped, turned. The Mandalorian was shifting his weight from foot to foot, fingers twisting nervously. “Thank you.” “You already said that,” Luke reminded him, not unkindly. The Mandalorian shook his head. “For everything. Everything you’ve done for Grogu. And for me.” “Oh…” Luke breathed. “Yeah…” Luke’s chest ached with the sincerity of the Mandalorian’s words, want threatening to overwhelm him. He chuckled nervously, saying, “It’s what anyone would have done.” The Mandalorian shook his head. “No, it’s really not.” They stay there a moment, watching each other. Grogu snuffled in his sleep, chewing absentmindedly on his Mudhorn pendant. Luke was the first to look away. “I’ll leave you to eat.” “Ah… Right.” “Big day tomorrow,” Luke added, unable to hold back his grin. “I can finally start training my second pupil.” A light scoff crackled through the Mandalorian’s voice modulator. “Goodnight Jetii.” “Goodnight Mando.”   *   Luke wakes to the sound of R2 trilling impatiently at him. Luke groaned, shifting to wrap himself up in his blanket and burrow deeper into his pillow. “Five more minutes.” There was a light tug, and then Luke’s blanket was gone. “R2!” The droid whistled mischievously, dragging Luke’s blanket well out of reach. Luke sighed, swinging his legs around and planting his feet on the cool stone floor. “Alright, alright, I’m up.” R2 did a victory spin only for the blankets to get caught up in his wheels. He fell face-first to the floor with a shriek. Luke didn’t try to mask his laughter, watching as R2 wiggled uselessly on the spot, beeping expletives that would make even the most hardened space traveller blush. “Serves you right,” Luke berated. He helped R2 up, untangling his blankets from R2’s wheels and dumping them on his bed. Usually Luke was a morning person, thanks to not only the strict hours kept by the Rebellion and his training with Yoda but also the early hour Uncle Owen would storm into his room each morning back on the farm. Come rain or shine, he’d threaten to dump a bucket of cold water over Luke’s head if he wasn’t dressed and ready to work in ten minutes flat. The memory brings a curl of fondness but also melancholy. R2 beeped up at him in question to which Luke simply shook his head. “It’s nothing R2, don’t worry.” Perhaps it was the memories of the farm refusing to leave him, Aunt Beru’s sweet smile and Uncle Owen’s barking orders echoing between his ears. Whatever it was, Luke decided to forgo his usual all-black look for something lighter. He ended up picking beige trousers, a creamy white tunic and smokey grey robes tied loosely at his waist. He slipped on brown knee-high boots and clipped his lightsaber to his weapon’s belt to finish it off. His hair was revealed to be a rat’s nest when he glanced at his reflection in the mirror of his ensuite. He combed his fingers through the thick blonde waves, trying to make them behave and failing miserably. He was probably due for a haircut but something about the wayward strands reminded him of his youth – Makers listen to him, barely thirty and he’s already talking like some ancient old man. The longer style he’d worn on Tatooine had quickly proven irritating and impractical while he stayed with the Rebellion – shorter hair causing less of a fuss with his helmet and being easier to manage in the morning. It allowed for just a quick sweep of his fingers to untangle any knots and then he’d be good to go. Having his hair this long again brought back a youthfulness to him he hadn’t realised he’d lost. That’s what war does, however. It ages you, takes away pieces of yourself you don’t even realise you’re sacrificing until it’s ten years later and you’re standing in front of the mirror wondering What happened to me? R2 gave a worried beep, wondering what was holding Luke up. “It’s nothing, R2,” Luke assured him, giving himself one final glance in the mirror before stalking out the door. It was early, early enough that the sun was barely beginning to rise, the sky tinted candy floss pink and lilac. Luke found himself wandering the hallways until he exited out into the courtyard. The fishpond’s fountains offered a quiet trickling melody that mixed with the occasional birdsong. Otherwise, it was quiet. Almost too quiet. Luke figured he might as well do some meditation. With the hustle and bustle of finalizing their move to the temple, he’d been forgoing his usual practices over the last few days. Finding an even patch, Luke carefully placed his hands on the ground, shifting his weight and raising his feet up in the air. Barely a minute into his handstand and already his abdominals were screeching at him for being so rudely woken up. R2 whistled in apprehension, already knowing what was about to happen. Luke grinned, sending his droid a wink before he shut his eyes. He focused on his breathing, quietening the memories of his aunt and uncle still churning about to allow his mind to enter a blank slate. He became more aware of his other senses, the sounds of life slowly waking up around him, the smell of wet grass from the morning dew, the feeling of the smooth, cold marble beneath his palms. He took note of the objects he could feel around him, the Force thrumming through him and into them. Slowly, carefully, he began to lift them. Stones from the fishpond, water dripping off them as they rise out of the water, larger boulders that were nestled in the perimeters around the courtyard and of course R2, much to the droid’s irritation and anxiety. Feeling surer of himself, his breathing relaxed and mind empty, Luke shifted his weight slightly so that he could raise his left hand off the ground too. He stayed there, the stones and R2 hovering before beginning to spin slowly on the spot. All the while, Luke kept his eyes shut, allowing the Force to thrum through his veins and connect him to everything around him, from the roots of the trees to the fish in the pond. He smiled when he felt two others join him in the courtyard. Cracking one eye open, he found two big brown eyes staring back at him, nearly squint-eyed with how close they were. Grogu cooed as Luke smiled at him. Behind the child stepped a pair of brown boots that had seen better days. “Good morning,” Luke said cheerily. “Good morning,” Mando replied, though he sounded a little unsure. No doubt finding Luke in this state was not what he’d expected for their first morning at the school. Having landed back on his feet, Luke gently returned everything back from whence they came, R2 jittering nervously the whole way down until he was back safe and sound on solid ground. He released a sigh, spinning on the spot before approaching Grogu, beeping his own welcome. The child giggled, patting R2 in greeting. “Does Grogu have to do handstands as well?” the Mandalorian asked, tearing Luke’s attention away from the droid and child to the helmet tilted slightly in question. Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Not yet. That’s a little more advanced.” The Mandalorian hummed. The two watched as Grogu went fishing for frogs in the pond, R2 hovering nearby in case Grogu ended up tumbling off the edge. “My previous teacher, Master Yoda, was the same species as Grogu,” Luke said. “He was?” Luke nodded. “I’m ashamed to say I did not ask him much about his race, where they came from or what they were even called. Everything was always so rushed back then, the need for me to master using the Force the only thing that seemed important at the time.” Luke looked up at the Mandalorian, a sad smile gracing his lips. “He passed away, unfortunately.” “I’m sorry for your loss,” the Mandalorian murmured. Luke shrugged, releasing a heavy sigh. “Before he passed, Yoda told me he was well over nine hundred years old. His species ages differently, apparently.” “When I had first been assigned Grogu’s bounty, I was told he was fifty years old. Obviously, I was rather taken aback when I saw he was still only a child.” Luke huffed a humourless laugh. The Mandalorian had told him of the circumstances leading to him meeting his son – the bounty, the reward of pure beskar he could not pass up, how he had a change of heart and went back for Grogu. Grogu had told him a similar story, however, the Mandalorian was nothing short of a hero in his version. Interesting, how different a story could be depending on who you asked to tell it. Luke shook his head. Putting on what he hoped was a convincing smile, he clapped the Mandalorian on the shoulder. “Come, let’s have breakfast. Then we’ll train.”   *   Having finished Grogu’s lesson for the day, Luke had beckoned the Mandalorian to him, the Mandalorian replacing the spot where his son had stood just moments ago. Grogu was managing to keep himself occupied in the corner with R2 watching over him. Hesitation still danced about the Mandalorian as he watched the pair, but he seemed to be slowly warming up to the droid. “Have you ever fought with a weapon such as a saber?” Luke asked. The Mandalorian shook his head. “No, but I’m a quick learner.” “Of that I’m sure,” Luke grinned. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt, summoning the bright green blade. He held it steadily, the weight familiar between his hands. He carefully moved in time with the blade, the saber singing as he walked through a few sequences. He spoke whilst demonstrating. “Lightsabers are unlike swords. Not only can they cut through anything –” The Mandalorian coughed, rapping his chest plate pointedly. Luke chuckled. “Well, almost anything, but they are also alive in a sense. Inside the hilt is a kyber crystal which helps power the plasma blade. Energy is constantly flowing through the crystal, which is partly why it was chosen by the Jedi as the Force works much the same. You are not so much fighting with a blade as you are directing a current of power.” The Mandalorian nodded in understanding. Luke straightened up, lowering his lightsaber. “If you would?” he asked, gesturing to the hilt of the Darksaber clipped to the Mandalorian’s belt. The Mandalorian hesitated, hand hovering over the hilt. He rolled his shoulders back, unclipping the hilt and grasping it in his hands. Clicking the button, he summoned the blade, Luke gasping upon seeing the Darksaber’s colour. The Darksaber was unlike any weapon Luke had ever seen. He now understood its choice in title. The blade was black as night, highly mesmerizing and almost hypnotic to watch as scatterings of shooting stars seemingly flickering around the edges of the blade. The blade itself was also slightly different in shape to that of a lightsaber, resembling more the tapering of a traditional sword with a sharp pointed tip. The Mandalorian took a wide-spread stand, hilt gripped tightly in his hands. The tension that wrang through his entire body made him appear stiff and uncomfortable, his shoulders hiked up slightly from the strain. “Loosen your grip,” Luke instructed. The Mandalorian did so, though there was no real difference made to the hard line of his shoulders. Luke chuckled as he tucked his saber away, coming up behind the Mandalorian. “You fear it.” “I’ve seen what it can do,” the Mandalorian replied, staring intently at the midnight black blade. Luke reached out, gently placing his hands over the Mandalorian’s. “I’ve seen what you can do as well,” the Mandalorian added, this time softer, voice rumbling. Luke froze, the tips of his ears burning. He cleared his throat, focusing back on the task at hand. It was a little uncomfortable with Luke’s chest to Mando’s back as the Mandalorian still had his jetpack on, but Luke made do, gently guiding the Mandalorian’s grip so that it eventually softened, his body relaxing slightly as well the more familiar he grew with the Darksaber’s weight. He tried not to think too hard on how warm the Mandalorian was, the broadness of his shoulders, how Luke could feel the curve of his muscles beneath him… Luke stepped back with a cough, scrubbing a hand through his hair nervously. He gave himself a shake, rounding the Mandalorian so that he was facing him once more. Control yourself. Luke summoned his lightsaber again, mirroring the Mandalorian’s stance. “Lightsaber combat is divided into seven forms,” Luke said, his voice only shaking a little. “Form I is also known as Shii-Cho. It favours a direct approach, but also requires you to be calm and collected.” Luke ran through a few simple movements belonging to Form I in demonstration. “It requires a consistent but flexible balance between defense and offense. You may attack frequently to take advantage of any opening your foe may present however you will always return to a defense stance after each strike.” The Mandalorian nodded, beginning to follow Luke’s demonstration as he walked him through the basic steps of the form. “I’ll admit, Mandalorians are known to favour offense over defense,” he said as he shakily returned to the defense stance Luke had shown him. Luke hummed, watching the Mandalorian and giving corrections when needed. Sometimes it was just a reminder to widen his stance or loosen his shoulders, others he had to use his hands to help shift his weight or righten his position. He tried not to touch the Mandalorian’s unarmored areas too much, not knowing if that would be crossing a line. “Since the Darksaber seems to have a shared history with Jedi and Mandalorians, I think we can try tailor some of the Jedi forms to better suit a Mandalorian fighting style. But you first need to master the basics and understand the rules before you can break them.” Luke was close, hand on the Mandalorian’s elbow as he helped twist his arm through a parry motion. Mando was warm, his chest rising and falling gently as he tried to follow Luke’s exaggerated breathing pattern. Breath, Luke had explained, plays an important role in battle as it can help steady one, make them feel more grounded, and can even improve stamina. “I like the sound of that,” Mando replied. He turned his head to look at Luke. Luke sucked in a small gasp, pinned to the spot. “Melding our practices, perhaps creating something new,” the Mandalorian continued, voice rough and low as if not wanting to disturb the silence of the too-large room. “Yes…” Luke murmured. He took in a shaky breath, stepping away again. “But first, the basics. Again.”   *   A month flew by like this and the Mandalorian proved to be a quick learner and an excellent swordsman. Once he’d gotten over his initial hesitancy to use the Darksaber, he quickly began to master the basics, Luke guiding him through the practices of Form I before swiftly moving on to Form II. The Mandalorian learned to adapt his practices and use Mandalorian fighting techniques with that of the Jedi’s, wielding the Darksaber with more purpose and confidence. “I think we should spar,” Luke announced one day. The Mandalorian froze, helmet squeaking with how quickly his face whipped to face Luke. “What?” “You’ve excelled greatly, and I think a sparring session would help me better see what weaknesses still need work.” The Mandalorian straightened up from the parry pose he’d been holding. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure,” Luke said, grinning a little manically. He would admit, he’d missed having someone to spar with – Leia was always up for a challenge even if she won eight times out of ten, but Leia wasn’t here and honestly Luke couldn’t refuse the opportunity any longer to see the Mandalorian in action. “I will not be holding back,” the Mandalorian warned. “Mandalorians do not back down from a challenge.” “Neither will I, and I wouldn’t want you to. I want to see what all the fuss is about.” The Mandalorian scoffed. “You’ve been talking to Cara, haven’t you?” Luke shrugged. “You talk to my sister.” “Touché.” “Now, are we going to spar or what?” Luke dared, still grinning. The Mandalorian took a fighting stance, Darksaber raised and waiting. Luke waited for him to make the first move, easily blocking the three frantic swipes the Mandalorian made upon his first strike. Luke ducked and whirled around; saber poised. “That all you got?” “Not even close.” They exchanged strikes and teasing words alike. Luke’s smile remained firmly in place as he watched the Mandalorian try to simmer his temper upon being blocked repeatedly. He was good, Luke would not deny it, but Luke did have the upper hand having trained for longer using a lightsaber. He tried not to use the Force where he could, however, he did end up sending the Mandalorian flying at one point, Mando smacking into the far wall with a terrible crunch. He landed with a groan on the training mats, shaking his head. “You bastard,” he wheezed. A wild laugh escaped Luke’s lips. He watched the Mandalorian rise shakily to his feet, raising a finger as if to ask for a moment to catch his breath. Luke lowered his saber and that was his mistake. With a battle cry, the Mandalorian charged at him, knocking the breath from Luke’s lungs and causing them both to land on the floor with a dull thud. Luke squirmed under the Mandalorian’s crushing weight, the Mandalorian now chuckling. He wasn’t laughing for long. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Luke hooked his left ankle with the Mandalorian’s right whilst also pinning his right arm. Pushing up with his hips, their weight shifted, and he managed to roll them over so that he was now on top. He placed the blade of his lightsaber against the Mandalorian’s neck, not close enough to burn but still a signal of his win. “Well done,” Luke said, breathing heavily. “You think fast.” “And you’re stronger than you look,” the Mandalorian panted. Luke lowered his saber, grinning down at his sparring partner. “I am, but I’ve also practised using my enemy’s strength against them. I’ve always been a bit on the smaller side.” The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly and Luke couldn’t help but feel he was being appraised. His cheeks flushed hotly as he realized the position they were in – Luke straddling the Mandalorian’s hips, the Mandalorian’s hands resting on Luke’s thighs, Darksaber forgotten, while Luke hovered above him, golden strands of hair curtaining around his face. Their chests heaved in time to one another, and Luke suddenly felt warm all over. “You know,” the Mandalorian said, voice rough and low, “Jedi and Mandalorians are supposed to be enemies. And yet I feel nothing but safe in your presence.” Luke, flustered and suddenly realizing they were too hot, too close, scrambled off the Mandalorian. In his rush, he managed to knock his elbow, wincing as he dropped his lightsaber to clutch the aching bone. The Mandalorian sat up and for a second disappointment furled about him in shades of dark, sticky green. It was there and then gone in a flash, however, the Mandalorian standing and offering a hand up to Luke. Luke grasped his saber, putting away the blade as he allowed the Mandalorian to help him to his feet. “You know, technically, this makes you the new leader of Mandalore.” Luke chuckled, hanging his saber on his belt. “You’re not getting rid of the Darksaber that easily, Mando.” The Mandalorian shrugged with a put-upon sigh, more for show than anything. “It was worth a shot.”   *   He does not know where he is. The room was dark, unfamiliar shadows moving and writhing all around him. When Luke tried to find a light switch, a window, a door, anything to allow in some form of light, he found nothing. Nothing but darkness. Luke. Luke swivelled around, breathing sounding like cannon fire in his ears. Over here. Following the source of the voice, Luke suddenly saw something glinting in the near distance. Light, Luke thought with relief, running towards it. Only it wasn’t what he had hoped. Upon nearing it he realized it was a mirror, a tall full-body length one, somehow hovering in the air without the need of a stand. The strange, rasping voice grew louder, beckoning him to it. Hesitantly, Luke approached it He stepped into view of his reflection only he did not see himself. The menacing black visage of none other than Darth Vadar greeted him. Luke raised shaking hands to his face. So did Vadar, fingers skimming along the hardened planes of his mask. Luuuke the voice sang, mocking him. No… Luke thought with horror as he looked down to see himself clad in black, machine lights blinking up at him from his chest plate, heavy cloak on his shoulders. His breathing was getting louder only it was no longer cannon fire. It was the heavy, stilted breaths one could only hear through a voice modifier. He reached for his face, only to find it covered. No matter how hard he tugged, the mask refused to budge. You’re mine now. The mirror faded away, the Emperor looming above him, impossibly tall. Luke tried to run, tried to escape, but his limbs were tied to puppet strings, the Emperor in control. You. Are. Mine! “Luke!” Luke startled awake, breathing heavy and hard. He couldn’t breathe – not enough air. “Hey, hey, look at me.” Luke kept his eyes shut, afraid of what he might see. “Luke, look at me!” Luke cracked open one eye, then the other and gasped with relief. The Mandalorian’s silver helmet glimmered where the moonlight struck it, bringing life and light to the otherwise darkened bedroom. “You’ve gotta breathe for me,” the Mandalorian implored, voice steady and soft. Luke nodded, his breaths hiccupping at first. He tried to follow the Mandalorian’s guidance, eventually synching up into slow, deep breaths. Cool air filled Luke’s lungs and the panic began to subside. “There ya go. You’re alright.” “I’m alright,” Luke murmured. The Mandalorian nodded in assurance. “Yeah, you’re alright.” Luke’s fingers dug into his skull, relishing the feel of his sweat-damp hair over the cold metal of his father’s mask. His knees were hugged close to his chest, breathing shaky but deep and slow, allowing his head to feel less dizzy. He focused on his other senses, his legs cold where he’d kicked his sheets off, the sound of the wind whistling outside and the smell of sweat in the air. “Luke?” Luke’s eyes fluttered open, looking up to see the Mandalorian watching him. His aura was rumbling and broiling with too many colours for Luke to decipher what exactly he was feeling. It was then he realised that the Mandalorian was wearing only his helmet, the rest of his armour shucked off and replaced by a loose black three-quarter sleeved shirt and grey pants that hung low on his hips. Luke averted his gaze, trying to be respectful. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay,” Mando whispered. Luke felt the mattress shift as he sat on the edge of the bed. Luke shook his head, hiding his face in the crooks of his arms. “I don’t want you sacrificing more than you’ve already had to.” “I’m not.” “You’re uncomfortable,” Luke rebutted, still unable to parse what the Mandalorian was feeling through his jumbled aura. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, Luke.” The way Luke’s name rolled off his tongue so easily, smooth as velvet even with the distortion the voice modulator created, made something flutter in Luke’s chest. “That’s what friends are for,” Luke whispered into the crooks of his arms. He was shivering without his blanket, cool air touching his sweat-coated skin and causing gooseflesh to erupt all over. “You’re more than just a friend,” the Mandalorian replied. Luke didn’t know how to respond to that, too many thoughts and memories swirling around his brain, emotions threatening to spill, so he said nothing. The Mandalorian didn’t seem too perturbed by his silence, changing the subject once it was clear Luke wouldn’t be answering. “Does this happen often?” Manda asked. “The dreams?” Luke heard something shift, Mando perhaps nodding his head before realizing Luke wasn’t looking at him and so couldn’t see his answer. A small hum in agreement followed. “Sometimes,” Luke answered. Carefully, Luke lifted his face, peeking up at the Mandalorian out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t moved from where he sat on the edge of Luke’s bed, bare hands fidgeting in his lap as he watched Luke. “You’re sure it’s okay I look?” Luke asked. “Yes. My face is not bare. It’s alright.” If he says it’s alright then… Cautiously, Luke lifted his head fully, eyes dancing across this strange yet familiar version of the man he’d come to know. His shoulders were still broad, even without the bulk of his armour. The short sleeves of his shirt allowed Luke to see the tanned skin of his forearms, corded with lithe muscle. Luke suddenly felt the need to reach out, to touch. Instead, he crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap and willing them to stay there. “What were you dreaming about?” the Mandalorian asked. His voice was stilted, not used to being the one who has to carry the conversation. “My father,” Luke said. The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly in question. Luke observed him, weighing the pros of cons of what he was about to say. “My father was Darth Vadar.” The Mandalorian stiffened, hands closing into tight fists where they rested on his thighs. Luke turned his attention to the window, finding it easier to talk when not looking directly at the Mandalorian. “Before he was Darth Vadar, he was Anakin Skywalker. A great man, a powerful Jedi. He was prophesized as the Chosen One, was destined to bring balance to the Force. He was caring and kind, and stupidly brave. He was also emotional, much to the old Order’s disdain and worry. Which is why when he fell in love with my mother, he could not rescind his feelings, could not pursue a life without attachments. He married my mother in secret and the burden of that secret weighed on him heavily.” Luke released a shaky breath, feeling calmer the more he spoke. “When my mother told him she was pregnant, he started seeing visions of my mother dying, fearing that Leia and I would die too, and he wanted to prevent it. The old Order drove Anakin to become desperate. The Emperor was only a chancellor back then, chancellor Palpatine. He used Anakin’s fear to convince him to come to the Dark Side, promising he could save my mother and his children if he did so. Anakin Skywalker ceased to exist, and Darth Vadar ruled, doing the Emperor’s bidding, growing stronger the more he misused the Force. But I knew there was still good in him. I could… I could feel it.” At this, Luke turned his attention back to the Mandalorian, praying he’d understand. “He kept refusing me, telling me it was too late for him. But when the Emperor began torturing me using Force lightning, Darth Vadar killed him. He turned to the light, to save me.” Luke waited, but still, the Mandalorian said nothing. He licked his lips. They were dry and cracked, his throat parched. Maybe from the screaming. “I know it does not excuse his actions. Darth Vadar did terrible, unspeakable things –” “Like cutting off his own son’s hand?” Luke swallowed thickly, left hand wringing his right wrist. His forearm ached at the reminder of the loss inflicted. “Yes… And while even I can’t fully forgive Darth Vadar for all he has done; I can forgive Anakin Skywalker. He loved too hard, let his emotions rule him, and while he strayed away from the light, he still managed to do the right thing in the end.” Luke released a wet, humourless laugh, scrubbing at his eyes as the tears began to fall. “But that’s not the story the galaxy wants to hear. They want to hear about the Rebellion’s Golden Boy who slew the Emperor and saved the day.” Luke found himself being guided into a warm embrace, strong arms holding him up as he let his grief wash over him. “I’m so stupid,” he muttered, hiccupping, tears running hot down his cheek and staining the Mandalorian’s shirt. “You’re not,” the Mandalorian assured him, kind but firm. A hand cradled the back of Luke’s head, the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. “You’re not stupid. You are kind and forgiving and so, so bright. Sometimes it’s hard looking at you, you’re so damn bright.” Luke scoffed. His fingers were curled in the Mandalorian’s shirtfront, the material soft and warm beneath his fingertips. “I’m just a dumb kid who still has no clue what he’s doing,” Luke murmured. “And I’m just some foundling who’s a pretty good shot,” Mando countered. Luke pushed back, hands resting on the Mandalorian’s strong chest as he looked up into his visor. The Mandalorian’s hands came up to cradle Luke’s face. They were large hands and yet so gentle. “It’s okay that you still love your father.” Luke’s bottom lip trembled. He ducked his head, hiding behind his bangs. The Mandalorian gently lifted his face up again, brushing his bangs back. “You aren’t going to make those same mistakes.” “How do you know?” Luke whispered. “Because you’re not alone. You’ve got your sister and your friends and your niece and nephews who love you. And you have me.” This last part was whispered, barely audible. Luke considered the man before him. This mystery shrouded in beskar and flesh. This man who fought tooth and nail to save his son, who was good with kids and wary of droids and shy and sometimes snarky but kind. Always kind. Offering a wobbly smile, Luke said, “Thank you, Mando.” “Din.” “What?” “My name… is Din Djarin,” the Mandalorian said. His voice was shaky, a little unsure. “Din,” Luke said, testing it out. The Mandalorian, Din, nodded. “Yes.” “Din Djarin.” “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Luke chuckled, wiping the last of his tears away. “Why now? Why tell me now?” Din shrugged. “Truth for a truth.” Luke knew that was all he was going to get as an explanation. With a sigh, he asked, “Can you hold me a little longer, Din?” Din didn’t hesitate, strong arms wrapping around Luke’s small frame, holding him close. “Sure, Luke. Sure.”   *   It takes some getting used to, using Din’s name. The Mandalorian had been, well, The Mandalorian for so long in Luke’s mind that he found himself still referring to him as such more often than not. So, he tried replacing his name in small ways. He used it more often in conversation, “Could you pass the butter, Din?” “Raise your saber higher, Din,” “Din, have you seen Grogu? He ran away while I wasn’t looking again.” And at first, Din is a little shocked whenever Luke uses it, bright bursts of muddy orange confusion popping up in his aura each time. But slowly, over time as the name starts to roll off Luke’s tongue with ease, followed by kind smiles or teasing lilts, muddy orange confusion is replaced with soft tendrils of pink. It’s unlike any shade Luke has ever seen. Soft, pearlescent almost, and so, so beautiful. He starts using Din’s name even more just to see it, butterflies filling his stomach and threatening to burst through his chest each time that soft pink hue makes an appearance. Luke desperately wanted to ask him, Din, do you like me? if only to see that pearlescent pink grow stronger, steadier, a sure sign that yes, his feelings were returned. But Luke was too scared it might disappear instead. That he’ll never see that beautiful shade of pink again if he admitted his growing feelings. And they were growing. Each day, they threatened to spill past Luke’s lips. It bubbled inside him, making him dizzy and happy and nervous all at once. And just when he thinks it can’t get any stronger Din went and did something to prove him wrong. He catches Din trying to dress a squirming Grogu, muttering in Mando’a and telling Luke to “Stop laughing and help me!” He hears Din sing a lullaby as he rocks Grogu to sleep, Luke not having to see under the helmet to know there is nothing but love in his eyes. Din pins him during a sparring session, Luke conceding defeat and causing Din to whoop with glee, the giddiest Luke has ever seen him. All of these things only made him care deeper for Din, made him fall deeper and deeper into a word he refused to think let alone say. Which is maybe why when Din came knocking on his door to tell him he was leaving first in the morning, Luke’s heart shattered into a million pieces. Luke stood, a wriggling Grogu in hand, watching as Din began to prepare his ship for takeoff. He’d come knocking at Luke’s door the night before, a franticness about him that Luke had never seen before. “I have to leave in the morning.” “Wh-what, why?” “Greef just messaged me, said it’s urgent. I can’t tell you all the details, but they need me.” Luke had taken one look at Din and knew there was no arguing against it. Din would be leaving in the morning whether Luke liked it or not. Because his friends needed him, and Din did not know how to say no when someone was in need. “If he can’t sleep, then reading a story usually helps,” Din said, carrying a crate of food rations up the ramp and into the hull of his ship. “I know.” “And if that doesn’t work, singing puts him right to sleep.” “I know.” “Oh, and if he –” “Din,” Luke said, stopping his friend before he could talk himself into circles. “I know. Don’t worry, he’s in safe, and at least semi-capable hands.” Din sighed, shoulders drooping. “You’re right. You’re right, sorry.” “It’s okay. You two haven’t been apart from one another in months. Some separation jitters are to be expected.” “I am not –” “You are and we both know it.” Din huffed, but he didn’t refute Luke’s statement. Grogu whined then, reaching out for his father. Din took him into his arms, cradling him close. “I’ll be back soon, ad'ika,” he murmured as Grogu tried to pry his helmet off. Din looked at Luke a moment before deciding something. He lifted the bottom of his helmet up and kissed Grogu gently on the forehead in farewell. Luke took Grogu back, knowing if he didn’t do it Din would end up finding some excuse not to let go. “Go, your friends need you,” Luke said, stepping back out of Din’s reach. “And the sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back.” “You’re right,” Din murmured. Luke grinned, “I know I am. Now get going.” Din nodded, making it exactly two steps up the gangplank before he about-faced and came back to Luke. “Din –” Strong arms wrapped around him, Luke finding his head being tucked against Din’s armoured chest with Grogu stuck between them, cooing up at his father. “I’ll write to you,” Din whispered. “You better,” Luke quipped, voice shaking too much for it to come out as a joke. All too soon, Din was pulling back and storming back up the gangplank, refusing to look back as he closed up his ship and prepared for takeoff. Luke stood at the landing bay long after Din’s ship was gone.   *   FROM: DIN DJARIN Luke, just wanted to let you know I arrived safely in Nevarro. Meeting up with Greef and Cara now. Yours, Din   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Din, glad to hear you’re safe. Tell Cara I say hi and that if I see so much as a scratch on your armour, we’ll be having words.   May the Force be with you. Yours, Luke P.S. Grogu tells me to tell you to stay safe and that he’s saving a cookie for you for each day you’re away so don’t stay away too long.   FROM: DIN DJARIN Luke, Cara says hi and to politely “Farrik off, I ain’t Mando’s babysitter.” So she’s in a good mood at least. Greef Karga also sends his regards and asks if you could tell Grogu his grandfather says hello. And before you get too excited, no I do not know when this joke arose nor how, but somehow, it’s stuck and apparently, everyone knows about it. I’ve asked Cara to explain multiple times and every time she only grins evilly at me. At this point, I’ve learned to stop questioning everything annoying that happens to me and sort of just go with it.   We’ve just finished a briefing and are having a quick supper before we head out. I’m currently sitting in an abandoned alleyway on a wooden crate, chewing on an unidentifiable piece of meat that’s tougher than lard and looking up at the night sky. The stars aren’t as visible here as they are at The Location. There’s too much light pollution. It’s also too loud. Even though Nevarro has turned over a new leaf, its occupants still seem to favour a bit of chaos over peace and quiet. I’ve gotten too used to the quiet of living with only two other people has afforded me. Hopefully, Cara doesn’t think I’ve gone soft otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ve just been told we’re heading out, so I’ll have to cut this short.   I’ll see you both soon. Yours, Din. P.S. Tell Grogu thank you and that I’ll be sure to enjoy every last bite once I get back.     FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Din, don’t worry if you’re unable to reply right away or if it all during your mission. I know how hours and days tend to blur in the heat of the moment and everything becomes just a constant repetition of ‘go go go’. Your words about the stars and the quiet really struck a chord with me. Last night was warm, but not uncomfortably so, so I took Grogu out to the nearby clearing and we laid down on a pile of blankets and pillows to watch the stars. I don’t know much about traditional star constellations, so I mostly made ones up as I drew patterns in the sky for Grogu’s entertainment. He’d ended up showing me flashes of some of the night skies he has witnessed during his travels with you as well as from before the purge. He has a startlingly good memory and some of the scenery he showed from your travels together took my breath away. Remind me to ask you to take us to the Elupeliptus system one day. One of the things I’ve only recently realised I’d taken for granted growing up was the quiet on Tatooine. Our farm was located several miles away from any other settlements, meaning my aunt, uncle and I were the only people we often saw for weeks at a time. Owen would bark orders and occasionally kick things when his temper got to him, but in the evenings, he’d go quiet, sitting out on our stoop and smoking an old pipe as he watched the twin sunsets over the sandy horizon. There is nothing quite like the silence a desert at night can provide. Even now if I close my eyes, I can still smell the sweet heady scent of his tabaco and feel the cool desert breeze ruffling my hair. There wasn’t much time for quiet during the war, as you could guess, and even my more recent years of staying at the palace in Coruscant never fully allowed me a moment of respite – whether it be attending some or other important event, trying to keep the peace between different planet reps or simply helping my sister and Han try to figure out how to raise two mischievous kids instead of just the one they’d thought they’d been prepared for. Add to that my own personal missions and stints at peacekeeping across the galaxy and you’ll realize that I haven’t had a quiet moment to myself in almost ten years. And then I met you.   You don’t talk a lot Din (I’m not complaining, don’t worry, I know I end up rambling enough for the both of us). Earning your company, growing accustomed to the way you interact with and show your affection to others through actions rather than words, how you struggle to voice your thoughts but still try (and often succeed) to have your intentions known through other ways of communication, has allowed me to ponder about the importance of silence and the opportunities it can provide. It gives one the chance to simply breathe in and out, to take a moment to shed all the weight we carry on our shoulders and just be. Sorry, I’m going a little Jedi Master on you now. You really are far too easy to open up to, whether that be through letters or in-person conversation. I wish I could tell you how much that means to me. I’d probably end up writing that book I keep warning you about but Grogu’s growing restless. I think I’ll take him out to go frog hunting this afternoon. Hopefully, it’ll tucker him out so he falls asleep a little easier tonight. I’ve ended up having to sing most nights to help him along. How it helps I have no clue as I am probably the worst singer this or any side of the galaxy.   Stay safe I love May the Force be with you. Sincerely yours, Luke   FROM: DIN DJARIN Luke, I know you said not to worry but still, I apologize for the late reply. Like you said, it’s been nothing but go go go the last couple of days. That sounds nice, what you did with Grogu and watching the stars. Maybe, once I get back, we could do something similar if the weather permits it. Also, I’ll gladly take you to the Elupeliptus system. In a few months, there will be the annual meteor shower. The sky fills with falling stars for hours well until the sun rises. It is rather breathtaking. Silence has always been a friend to me I suppose. You’re right, I am quiet, and prefer silence over mindless chatter any day. The silences we share are some of the most comfortable I’ve ever been with another person. It’s just easy to be around you if that makes sense.   It’s alright if you go a little Jedi Master on me. I like listening to you talk even if I don’t always understand exactly what you’re trying to say. You light up when talking about a subject you’re passionate about. I could stare at you for hours when you do. We’re on track so far with the mission, I’ll let you know if anything drastic changes. Sincerely yours, Din P.S. You can’t be that bad of a singer surely.   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Din, the only thing worse than my singing is my cooking – that of which you have unfortunately tasted so I hope that gives you a pretty good frame of reference. Grogu’s hit a bit of a plateau with his training. It’s nothing to worry about, it happened to me as well during my time with Yoda. I think perhaps I need to change up our routine a bit, maybe try to come up with a few new training exercises to capture his interest again. I think it’s also partly because he misses you and worries about you. I do too. Even with my many years of space travel, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a meteor shower. I think I’d really like for my first one to be with you.   Grogu sends his love and I’ve also attached an image that I found too adorable not to send. [Image of Grogu sitting giggling in the fishpond,  frog held between his small hands and ears perked as he smiles at the camera] Stay safe and may the Force be with you.   All my love Sincerely yours, Luke   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Din, hope you’re doing well. Don’t worry about not being able to reply, I know you’re probably very busy with the mission and all. I just wanted to let you know that we had a breakthrough with Grogu’s training. He’s managed to push past his learning block, and I think you’re going to be fairly impressed with what he has to show for it when you return.   Stay safe and may the Force be with you. Yours, Luke   FROM: LUKE SKYWALKER Din, okay I’ll admit I’m a little worried now. It’s been well over two weeks since our last correspondence. Are you okay? Because if you need backup just send the word, I can drop Grogu off with Leia and be with you within a matter of days. I just… I just want you to be safe. I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you. You are my heart and soul. Please answer if you can, even just to say you’re fine. Stay safe and may the Force be with you. With all my love With all my affection Always yours, Luke   FROM: CARA DUNE Hey Pretty Boy, long time no chat. Long story short, we’re all fine. We’ve just finished tying up some loose ends and Mando is getting ready to head back your way. His communicator got wrecked during the last leg of the mission. He’s too impatient to get back to you and the kid, hence why I’m messaging you rather than him waiting for the new communicator Greef promised him so he could message you himself. Look after him, will ya? Guy’s so used to being the one to protect, I don’t think he realises that people worry about him too. Oh, also, just a head’s up. I did warn you I’m not his babysitter so don’t get too mad when you see him. I know what you can do and frankly, I don’t want to be on the other end of that light sword of yours.   Chat soon, Cara P.S. Tell your sister I said hi ;)   *   “So he’s okay?” The last two weeks had felt like absolute torture. As in Force lightning level of torture. Luke stomach was too twisted in knots to allow him to stomach much and sleep had all but evaded him. He knew Din could look after himself, had seen what he could do, but it was like Cara said. Din was so used to being the one to protect, he didn’t seem to realize that he was just as deserving of being the one worried about, cared for, loved. “Luke? Did the connection freeze?” Luke startled, coming back to himself. He was on a holocall with Leia – mainly because he needed a distraction but also because it was well overdue. Plus, he just needed to vent a little after all the stress of the last month of Din being away. “No, I’m here,” Luke said, offering a weak smile to his sister. Leia frowned, eyeing him up and down. Luke sighed. “Leia, I’m fine.” He didn’t need to use their Force link to know that she didn’t believe him for a second. “Seriously, I’ll be okay. Di – Mando is on his way back, Cara said he’s fine. Mostly. Everything’s fine.” Grogu whined from where he was sitting in Luke’s lap. He tugged on Luke’s robe, looking up at him imploringly. Luke lifted the child up, setting him on the tabletop so he could see Leia better. Leia practically lit up upon seeing him. “Hello little one! Long time, no see.” Grogu giggled, fingers reaching for the image only for his hands to fall through the hologram. Grogu pouted, looking up at Luke in disappointment like he was to blame somehow. Luke chuckled and for once it didn’t sound strained. “Besides the whole radio silence situation, how’s it been going with you two?” Leia asked. Luke cradled his head in his palm, other hand ensuring Grogu didn’t tip over the edge of the table. “Good. We’ve been sparring together and –” Leia huffed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” R2-D2 decided to chip in then as well, beeping and rattling at Luke pointedly. Luke hung his head in his hand with a groan. “Not you too, Leia. It’s bad enough R2’s constantly on my back.” “Good! Cause I don’t know how else we’re gonna manage to wrangle you into finally admitting to him how you feel!” Luke peeked between two fingers at his sister. She was exasperated but there was also a small curve to her lips. She was enjoying herself far too much considering Luke had called her in need of some moral support. R2 wasn’t any better, still beeping and whistling at Luke. “You’re both terrible,” Luke muttered darkly. Grogu babbled, tugging on a strand of Luke’s hair. Luke mock-gasped, staring down at the mischievous child. “Not you too, Grogu!” Grogu simply giggled. “Look if even the kid is saying you need to step up your game…” Leia started. “I don’t know what I’m doing Leia,” Luke interrupted with a groan. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, no doubt making his bangs stick up in all directions. “I’ve never done any of this stuff before. I didn’t think I’d ever have to!” “Hey, I know, relationships can be complicated especially if you’ve fallen for a friend.” Luke scoffed, a wry smile tilting his lips. “You and Han weren’t friends. You were antagonistic acquaintances at best.” “That’s beside the point,” Leia argued, waving away Luke’s accusation. “It’s scary, taking that first leap regardless of whether you were friends first or something else.” Luke hummed noncommittedly. She was right, of course she was right. She was Senator Leia Organa for kriff’s sake. That didn’t mean Luke had to like it though. “But someone’s gotta do it,” Leia continued. Her voice quieted, expression softening as she offered Luke a reassuring smile. “And he’s just as shy as you are stupid, so it might as well be you who makes the first move.” “I resent that,” Luke said, pointing a finger in Leia’s face. She merely laughed. “Just try, Luke. What’s the worst that could happen?” “I lose one of my closest friends and die sad and alone.” “Okay now you’re just being dramatic.” “Sue me,” Luke muttered. It was then Luke heard the sound of engines. Grogu immediately lit up, trying to scramble off the tabletop. Luke caught him, already standing and ready to sprint if needs be. “Luke, what’s going on?” “He’s back! I gotta go. Chat later, love you, bye!” Luke closed the commlink, pocketing his communicator and stuffing it in his pocket. With Grogu secured in his arms, Luke sprinted out the door, winding through seemingly endless passageways before finally exiting out into the courtyard. He headed up the short path to the clearing acting as their landing bay and sure enough, there was Din’s ship, the engines beginning to wind down as the ship was turned off. Grogu squirmed in Luke’s arms. He kneeled down, setting Grogu on the grass and watching as the child toddled over to the gangplank. It lowered, and Luke couldn’t withhold the sigh of relief he felt upon seeing Din walk down to meet his son. His relief was quickly replaced with worry, however, when he saw that Din’s left arm was in a sling. He was also walking gingerly, favouring his right side. Oh, he and Cara were going to be having words. “Hey, kiddo!” Din said as he kneeled down to pick up his son. Grogu was sniffling and babbling, patting his father’s helmet and checking to see if he was okay. “I’m alright,” Din assured him, cradling Grogu close. “It’s okay, ad’ika. I’m home. I’m home.” Home… After watching the rather heart-wrenching scene, Luke finally joined them as well, trying to get a read on Din’s aura as he approached. It was mostly all yellows and pinks thanks to his being reunited with Grogu. However, when he saw Luke approaching the pinks overtook the yellows, waves of relief and something else Luke couldn’t quite parse coming at him from all sides. “Hey,” Din said, voice rougher and a little lower than before. “Hi,” Luke replied. He stopped a breath away, unsure whether it would be okay to hug Din or not. Grogu looked between them and huffed. With a quick flick of his small hand, Luke and Din were suddenly flung together, Grogu cooing happily between them. Luke let out a startled laugh, hands resting on Din’s shoulders to try to catch his balance. “Did you teach him how to do that?” Din asked, amusement tinging his words. “No!” Luke insisted, wincing when his voice cracked. Din tilted his head, humming in thought. “I didn’t I swear!” Luke said, sending Grogu a reprimanding look. The child didn’t look the least bit sorry, one hand on Din’s chest and the other curled in Luke’s shirtfront, as if afraid they might try to separate themselves if he didn’t hold them to it. Luke wasn’t complaining, really. He’d missed Din’s warmth, the smell of leather and the taste of metal on his tongue. And his aura. Makers, he didn’t realize how’d much he could miss seeing a colour until Din was gone. But he’s back now. Luke grinned up at his friend, whispering a “Welcome home.” “It’s good to be back,” Din replied. Home. Maybe that’s what this feeling was.   *   Luke prohibited Din from any and all forms of training or so much as menial work until he was fully healed. Din tried to argue but Luke would simply wrestle whatever it was Din was attempting to carry with only one arm away from his friend and, if needs be, use the Force to make Din sit back down and rest. “I am not some fragile flower,” Din grumbled, having just been Force-pushed back into his chair for the third time in the last ten minutes. “No, you’re not,” Luke agreed. “But you are injured which means you’ve got to take it easy. At least until you can walk without wincing.” Din snorted, about to cross his arms when he realised his left arm was still in a sling. He sighed. It sounded like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. “Fine…” he relented. “Knew you’d see it my way!” Luke said cheerily, unable to withhold the smugness in his grin. More than a few times, Luke would catch Grogu trying to heal his father. Din had told him of Grogu’s healing properties – it always astounded Luke how such a small child could hold so much power within. But perhaps it was because he was still a child that he did not consider or worry about such things as limits. Din would usually take Grogu’s small hands in his own and tell him it was okay, that he didn’t need to heal him. Grogu’s ears would droop and he’d whine but Din always managed to distract him either with his favourite silver ball or a cookie. Without their usual sparring sessions to fill the afternoons, Din and Luke ended up just talking instead. Silly conversations, where Luke told the long-winded and totally not dramatized versions of his travels and adventures while Din offered a few of the more thrilling experiences he had had whilst being the best bounty hunter in the Parsec (Greef’s words, not his apparently). Sometimes Luke would end up laughing at something that would leave Din confused but fond, other times Luke found himself stunned at Din’s quick thinking and the far too many close calls he has had over the years. Other times they don’t say anything, just enjoying each other’s quiet company. Luke would be reading a book or perhaps working in the garden while Din played with Grogu. Their eyes would occasionally meet, and Luke would pray Din wouldn’t notice the tips of his ears burning. If the weather permitted it, which it did more often than not, the three of them would gather a bundle of blankets and pillows after dinner and go to one of the clearings to lay down on their nest of pillows to gaze up at the stars. Luke pointed out constellations that weren’t really there and in return Din talked of some of the stories he was told growing up with the Mandalorians – stories of great battles and world-weary heroes. On one such night, Luke doesn’t know who reached first, but somehow, they ended up holding hands, Luke’s flesh hand in Din’s right, warm leather rubbing circles into his knuckles. It’s… nice. Okay, more than nice. Luke is just thankful Din cannot read auras for his would probably scream of his affection, blocking out all the stars above them and leave nothing but blinding golden light. Maybe it was because of that that Luke takes Din to his favourite spot. “Grogu –” “Is safe with R2,” Luke assured him. “Where we’re going, we’ll be able to see them still. I promise.” Din hesitated a moment longer before nodding, gesturing for Luke to lead the way. It isn’t far, Luke leading Din through a patch of long grass and up a small hill. He grinned upon hearing Din’s quiet gasp when they breached the top of the hill. The view was stunning. It allowed one to see not only the school but beyond it to the freshwater beaches surrounding the edges of their small island, and beyond even that to the sun setting beyond the horizon line. Luke timed it so they’d be able to watch the sunset, the sky painted in sweet hues of orange and pink, water glittering that strange silvery-blue colour one could only witness during this time of day. If Luke allowed himself to be a little poetical, he’d almost say it reminded him of molten beskar, but he was too embarrassed to say such a thing aloud. Instead, he settled at the edge of the hill where it became a cliff face, one knee hugged to his chest, chin resting on his knee as he allowed himself to stare out towards the endless blue horizon. Din joined him, groaning slightly at the strain sitting down caused him. He was mostly better, his arm having recently come out of the sling, though he still seemed a little tender in places. “You alright there, old man?” Luke teased. Din scoffed. “Just dandy.” “Just checking,” Luke said. “Don’t want you pulling a muscle or something.” “Luke?” “Yeah?” “Be quiet.” Luke chuckled but did as asked. They sat there together, silence blanketing them as the sun dipped lower and lower, taking with it its warm orange and pink streaks in the sky. Down below, if Luke squinted, he could see R2 and Grogu playing together in the courtyard. Din must have followed his line of sight as he released an amused huff, watching a giggling Grogu lift R2 using the Force much to the droid’s displeasure. “I came out here often while you were away,” Luke said, breaking the silence. “That so?” Luke nodded. “There’s something about this spot. You feel like you are miles away from everything and yet still just in reach. An outsider and an insider at the same time.” “Sounds familiar,” Din murmured. Luke shifted his gaze to Din, thinking carefully on his words before asking, “Din. Why do you hate droids so much?” Din shifted on the spot, fingers reaching out and beginning to pick blades of grass if only to give himself something to do. “Droids killed my parents.” Luke’s breath rattled in his chest. He did not know what he’d been expecting but it wasn’t that. “I’m sorry,” Luke started but Din raised his hand, stopping Luke in his tracks. “It’s okay. I trust you. Besides,” Din hesitated a moment, releasing a shaky sigh before saying, “I think it might be good. To talk about it.” “It can be,” Luke said, thinking back to his sessions with Dr. Peterson. He would not be as happy as he was now if it weren’t for the years of work he put in to try to deal with and understand his trauma. That he was certain of. “I was born on Aq Vetina,” Din started. His voice was calm, almost distant as if he were speaking about someone else and not himself. “I lived in a settlement with my parents until I was about ten. That’s when our settlement was attacked by Separatist battle droids. They slaughtered everyone in sight. We had no weapons, no soldiers, no means of protecting ourselves. My mother and father hid me under a hatch and were then killed. If the Mandalorians hadn’t come when they did, I would surely be dead as well.” “Din…” “I owe the Mandalorians my life. Maybe that’s why I was such a devout follower of our Creed.” Was, Luke noted but did not say. It was rare Din spoke so much willingly on his own. Luke feared if he said something now that the spell would break, and Din would close himself up once more. “This,” Din said, lightly rapping his helmet, “has been a part of my identity for so long, that I fear the person I might be without it. It is a great dishonour in my tribe to remove one’s helmet. If someone sees you without it, you are not allowed to put your helmet back on. You are no longer considered a true Mandalorian.” Luke thought back to that moment on the Imperialist ship, Din taking off his helmet so his son could finally see his face, despite the consequences he would face if his tribe were to ever learn of his actions. Somehow that only painted Din as even braver and more selfless than Luke had first thought him. “There are times, however, that I’ve found myself questioning my Creed,” Din continued. It was almost like Luke wasn’t there anymore, Din speaking his mind freely and without hesitation. “And more than once I have broken it in favour of my son. It makes me think, what if I just… didn’t put the helmet back on.” Luke stiffened at the statement. It wasn’t that he was against it, far from it in fact, but at the same time, he could hear the break in Din’s voice. The worry, the fear, the toll carrying this heavy-weighted thought without ever voicing it has had on Din. “But it’s just…” Din sighed, shoulders drooping. “It’s just so hard to let go.” Luke chewed on his bottom lip, thinking over his response carefully. Din was opening himself up so much right now, the last thing Luke wanted to do was make him regret telling Luke his thoughts. Luke shifted a little closer, pressing his shoulder to Din’s in silent support. “I think I understand,” he whispered. “I often find myself warring with the parts of the old Jedi Order that have been instilled in me by my masters. On the one hand, these practices have been part of the Order for millennia, have aided those before me. And yet, on the other hand, I feel they can no longer serve the Jedi, but only inhibit them.” Luke took in a shaky breath, words tumbling from his mouth now that the seal had been broken. “I am thankful for my masters and their teachings for they are often what has helped me during my trails of being a Jedi Knight. However, there are pieces of myself that do not fit their ideals and I do not wish to sacrifice those pieces just to fit their expectations of me.” “You wish to be a good man before you are a good Jedi,” Din suggested. The statement took Luke’s breath away. All of this inner conflict he’d never been able to voice and here Din was, explaining it so simply, so plainly, having only learned of it minutes ago. Luke released a nervous chuckle, knocking his shoulder with Din’s. “You truly have a way with words when you choose to, Din.” The sun had set by now, the air growing chilly as night fell upon them. Luke wished he could stay up here forever, pressed against Din and relishing in the comfortable silence he’d grown so accustomed to. But it was growing late. Grogu would need to be put to bed soon and Din needed his rest if he was to heal fully. Luke stood and offered a hand to Din. Din took it, warm leather encasing Luke’s fingers as he helped Din to his feet. It was only as they walked back down the hill towards the temple that Luke realised he felt lighter than he had in years.   *   Something seemed different between them after their talk on the hilltop, though Luke struggled to put his finger on it. Din seemed a little more nervous around him than usual, tripping over his words and even dropping things if Luke caught him off guard. More than once, Din had begun to speak only to stop himself. If Luke asked what was troubling him, he’d simply shake his head, saying “Never mind” or change the subject entirely. Luke was becoming rather desperate to learn what had Din acting so strangely but he figured Din would tell him when he was ready. That ‘when’ turned out to be a week later after their talk on the hilltop. Luke had bid Din and Grogu goodnight, as usual, dropping Din’s plate of food off at his room before heading to his own to get ready for bed. He had changed into more comfortable clothes, having just slid under the sheets when there was a frantic knocking at his door. “It’s open,” Luke said. The door slid open, revealing a still fully-armoured Din. His aura was blurred and warping, discomfort and nerves evident. Luke sat up, leaning back against the headboard as he asked, “Din, what’s the matter?” Din stood in Luke’s doorway, fingers fidgeting with his gloves. “I, uh...” “Is it Grogu? Is he –” “He’s fine.” “Oh...” Luke faltered, eyes darting about his room before settling back on Din’s figure in the doorway. He was still in his armour, helmet secured in place. Luke felt strangely naked in comparison in his thin sleep shirt and loose cotton trousers. He gathered the sheets bunched at his hips in his hands, material crinkling in the heavy silence. “Are you okay?” Luke asked when it was evident Din needed a bit of a push. “I... I don’t know.” Luke considered him a moment – the hunch of his shoulders, his fingers still tugging absentmindedly at his leather gloves, the shine of his beskar in the moonlight. He made his decision before he could second guess himself. He shuffled over, patting the empty spot next to him. Din waited a moment longer before entering, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet woosh. The mattress shifted under Din’s weight and Luke was jostled a bit as the mattress tilted, causing him to fall against Din’s shoulder. “Ah, sorry,” Luke stammered, ears burning as he tried to put more space between them. “It’s fine. I don’t mind,” Din said, slow, as if trying to convince himself it was true. Luke swallowed thickly. He peeked up at Din through his lashes, trying to get a read on him. His aura was a shimmery grey. It melted into the rim of silver moonlight shining behind him through the thin, gauzy curtains framing the window. He looked otherworldly, angelic even. It was a little disquieting. “If you’re sure?” Luke asked, giving him an out. Din didn’t hesitate, however, replying, “I’m sure.” Luke couldn’t hide the shy, pleased smile that spread across his lips as he pressed his shoulder to Din’s. It was such a small act of intimacy in the grand scheme of things and yet it felt monumental to Luke at that moment. Every accidental touch with Din – hands lingering shoulders leaning arms brushing feet tangling – felt monumental. The not-so-accidental ones even more so. “Credit for your thoughts?” Din asked, sounding amused. “Isn’t that my line?” Luke replied smile curling into a mischievous grin. He could picture Din rolling his eyes perfectly at his quip. He didn’t argue so Luke nudged him gently, grinning up at him still as he asked, “What’s troubling you?” “It’s not so much troubling,” Din started, then paused, considering his words carefully. Hesitation fluttered around him in bursts of purple and navy blue. “It’s more a realization that I can’t ignore any longer.” Luke nodded, knowing when to keep quiet to allow Din the time to speak at his own pace. Din cleared his throat, helmet tilting down to meet Luke’s gaze properly. “Have you ever thought about something in one way and then suddenly one day you realize you were actually thinking about it in a completely different light but you were just too in denial to see it?” Luke frowned, trying to parse the underlying meaning of Din’s words. He averted his gaze, watching the folds and shadows in his sheets shift as he crossed his legs, making himself more comfortable. His knee brushed Din’s thigh and suddenly the sheet felt like little more than tissue paper, insubstantial and not enough to keep Din’s heat from spreading through his veins and warming his chest. “I... I don’t know if I fully understand the question. You’re speaking in riddles.” Din sighed, head leaning back against the headboard with a metallic thunk. “You’re making this very difficult,” he muttered, so quiet Luke had almost missed it. “How am I making it difficult?” Luke questioned, feeling a little put out by Din’s words. Another sigh before Din tilted his head, capturing Luke’s gaze. “Have you ever had a lover?” Luke nearly choked on his own breath, cheeks immediately heating up and causing a flush to spread all the way down his neck below his shirt. He avoided Din’s piercing gaze, hugging his knees to his chest. “That’s a very personal question, Din.” “I know. But I don’t know how else to explain this in a way you’ll understand.” Luke bit his bottom lip, arms tightening their hold on his knees. “Please don’t judge me,” Luke whispered, “when I say I have not.” “Why would I judge you?” Din asked like it was the most irrational thing he’d ever heard. “The others did when I said as much,” Luke explained, his voice timid and hesitant and wary, not knowing where this was going. “Who?” “The rebel soldiers I bunked with during the war. My friends back on Tatooine when they all started dating and doing... stuff while I didn’t. Everyone?” Luke added the last part with a weak chuckle, trying to make light of it all but missing the mark. Luke awaited Din’s derision, the not-so-teasing remarks of “You’ll understand one day”, “Don’t worry, you’re just a late bloomer,” “You just haven’t met the right person, yet.” Instead, Din considered him quietly, head tilted slightly in question. The silence dragged on for so long that Luke was getting ready to say something, anything, just to end it when Din spoke up at last. “I was also often questioned about it by the other bounty hunters in the Guild.” Luke startled, head whipping round to face Din. He’d made himself more comfortable, an elbow balanced on his knee, head cradled in hand, still looking at Luke like he was something special, the only thing of importance in this temple of ancient history. “You...” “As you know I do not take my helmet off in front of just anyone. It is meant for my Clan and my Clan alone.” Luke nodded. “I often used my beliefs as an excuse to rebuff people’s offers and advances. It just seemed simpler than trying to explain that I don’t have those urges,” Din continued. His voice was steady and sure, not a waver to be heard. “Why anyone found me attractive in the first place, I’ll never understand. I’m not the best at... socializing. Let alone those other things.” “You’re far more of a catch than you give yourself credit for,” Luke teased, unable to hold it back. Din huffed but did not question him further. Unable to keep his curiosity at bay, Luke asked, “So what has this got to do with this realization of yours?” “It’s in regards to someone special to me. Someone who has made me second guess my wants.” “O-oh...” Luke stammered, disappointment flooding him. Din had someone special? Was it one of his comrades he’d become close to whilst looking after Grogu? Perhaps another Mandalorian from his tribe? “I still do not think I could do anything overtly sexual but smaller things… Holding one another, kissing... I’m suddenly wanting to do these things that I’ve otherwise never had any interest in. And while it’s overwhelming, the prospect is also very… enticing,” Din continued. “They must be truly something special,” Luke murmured, “to have captured your heart so strongly.” Don’t cry, Luke. Not while he’s still here. Warm leather encased his hand, Luke looking down to see Din’s hand resting on his own. He was unable to look up at his friend, too afraid be would see the tears threatening to spill down Luke’s cheeks. “Luke, it’s you.” Luke froze. His gaze crept up from Din’s hand to his helmet, the breath knocked out from his lungs when he saw the red and pink swirls surrounding Din. tendernessaffectionendearment “You’re the one who’s captured my heart.” Luke’s jaw worked but no words came. This must be a dream. This can’t possibly be true. He was kidding himself if he thought Din would ever return his affections. As if sensing his downward spiral, Din placed a finger below Luke’s chin, guiding his eyes back to him. “You don’t believe me, but it’s true,” Din assured him. “I care deeply for you, Luke. And I know that while you don’t return my affections, I had to make mine known or else do something irrational by keeping them buried so deep inside myself for so long.” Luke shook his head urgently, hand gripping Din’s wrist. “Who said I didn’t return your affections?” Din stilled. His hand clenched and flexed, Luke feeling the tendons work beneath his fingertips. He desperately wanted to remove the glove, to feel Din’s skin against his own, to kiss his knuckles in assurance, trail down to the soft, sacred place on the inside of his wrist and – Makers above pull yourself together, Skywalker. “I – you,” Din faltered, his cool and collected façade cracking open and there was the shy and awkward man Luke had grown so fond of, the man he cared for with all his heart and who maybe, just maybe, might feel the same way about Luke. “I do,” Luke whispered. “A lot.” A surprised breath escaped Din’s lips. His hand shifted, not pulling away like Luke feared he might but instead cupping Luke’s jaw, thumb stroking along Luke’s cheekbone with the utmost care. “That is... unexpected.” Luke chuckled, shaking his head in fond admonishment. “Didn’t I just say you were a catch?” “I thought you were joking.” “I joke when I’m nervous.” “I make you nervous?” “Very much so.” “Oh.” “Yeah, ‘Oh’,” Luke teased, leaning into Din’s touch. Din released a shaky sigh that managed to send a tingle all the way down Luke’s spine. They stayed there a moment, just looking at each other, Din’s thumb idly stroking Luke’s cheek and Luke feeling his fluttering pulse underneath his fingertips even through the thick leather of his gloves. “I... I want to try something,” Din said, speaking quietly so as not to disrupt the small bubble of quiet comfort they’d carved for themselves. “What is it?” Luke inquired. Din did not reply. Instead, he gently pried his hand out of Luke’s grasp and began to shuck his gloves off. “Oh...” Luke whispered as Din reached for him again, warm, callused palms cupping his face. Oh Makers, I’m a goner. Painstakingly slowly, allowing Din to pull back if he wanted, Luke wrapped his fingers around Din’s wrist again, relishing in the small zing the skin-on-skin contact created. Din released a shaky sigh as Luke swiped a thumb along his pulse, nuzzling his hand with his cheek. Feeling brave, Luke held Din’s gaze as he turned to press a chaste kiss to the inside of Din’s palm, trailing down until his lips brushed his pulse point. Din’s free hand combed through Luke’s hair, tucking a loose strand behind his burning ears. He twirled a longer strand around his finger, as if somehow mesmerized by the blonde strand painted pale in the moonlight. “Your hair is unlike any other shade I’ve ever seen,” Din whispered. Luke chuckled, cheeks burning under Din’s attention. “Old boring blonde?” Din shook his head. “No, golden. Like wheat fields in the summer. Like the sun itself.” “You really have a way with words when you want to,” Luke remarked in awe. Din shrugged. “I’m only speaking what I think.” “So you think in poetics?” “Hardly.” “I beg to differ,” Luke argued, sending Din a cheeky grin before reaching up with his free hand. He lightly trailed a finger along the grooves of Din’s helmet, as if following the curve of his cheekbone. Din released another shaky sigh, the sound crackling slightly through his voice modulator. Luke desperately wanted to ask him to remove his helmet but knew that would be too much too fast. Such a privilege was only allowed for Din’s Clan, and besides, Luke didn’t want to seem ungrateful for all the tenderness Din had already shown him. “You’re thinking very hard about something,” Din whispered. “Hm. Don’t worry, my lone brain cell will survive. Probably.” Din snorted, and even that sounded lovely to Luke’s ears. He really was gone for this man. “Would it be disrespectful if I kissed your helmet?” Luke whispered, the words escaping him before he could stop himself. Din hummed, considering him. “There is the keldabe kiss.” Luke’s brows furrowed. “What’s that?” “Let me show you?” Luke nodded, eager and intrigued to see what Din might do. He brushed back Luke’s bangs, callused fingertips warm and rough. Slowly, so slowly it was almost like he wasn’t moving at all, Din leaned in. Luke held his breath, releasing a surprised gasp when the cool metal of Din’s helmet pressed against his bare forehead. Luke’s eyelids fluttered shut, focusing on the feeling of Din being so close, his aura shining so brightly it somehow managed to penetrate through Luke’s closed eyelids and make everything feel fuzzy and warm and so, so bright. They stayed there for what felt like hours, breathing each other in. Eventually, Luke’s eyes fluttered open, peeking up through his lashes to meet Din’s gaze through his visor. He could hear Din’s quiet breaths, could feel the heat of his body emanating around him, so close and yet just out of reach. Luke wondered what it might feel like to have his body pressed against the cool, hard planes of Din’s armour. What it might feel like to trail his hands along the creases unprotected by the beskar, to feel Din’s muscles shift beneath his fingertips. And what of bare skin? Oh Makers that – Luke bit his lip, suddenly feeling embarrassed for thinking such a thing. Din’s grip on the back of his neck tightened a moment before slowly parting. Luke had to hold himself back from chasing after him, bringing him close once more, to feel all of that again and again and again. “That’s a keldabe kiss,” Din said, bringing Luke back to reality. Luke’s lips tilted up in the corners, fingers bunching in the hem of his shirt to stop himself from greedily reaching out and guiding Din’s forehead back against his own. His voice was impossibly soft as he said, “I loved it.” “Me too,” Din admitted, sounding surprised with himself. And Luke couldn’t help it. He started to giggle and then his giggles led to full-on laughter. This whole situation was suddenly just so strangely hilarious to him. He was also so relieved because he’d did it, he’d told Din how he felt, and the pink wisps didn’t go away. They’d only grown stronger. And they are only just beginning.   *   Perhaps he was still a little giddy from the night before, but Luke had taken one look outside the window at breakfast and decided that it was too nice a day to be holding lessons indoors. Luke managed to mostly pay attention to his student, helping Grogu weave small pebbles between the stone columns Luke had erected for this particular exercise. But sometimes his attention was drawn elsewhere. Mainly to the opposite end of the courtyard where Din was working through some basic formations with the Darksaber. Din even caught him staring at one point, helmet tilting slightly to the side in question. Luke’s cheeks burned and while in the past he would have ducked his head, tried to hide his endearment, he realized with elation that he no longer had to do so. So he allowed his cheeks to flush a rosy hue, tips of his ear no better as he smiled sweetly and waved in Din’s direction. Din waved back, his aura taking on that lovely shade of pink. Luke was starting to conjure up excuses to go over and talk to Din when something small but solid knocked him directly between the eyes. R2 whistled and hooted in laughter, whirring about in circles while Luke rubbed at the sore spot. He looked down to see Grogu glaring up at him. Only he was far too cute for it to look like a glare so it was more of just an annoyed but sweet nose crinkle and a huff. Either way, Grogu was not impressed by his teacher’s getting distracted during a lesson. Luke winced, decidedly turning his back to Din so he could focus all of his attention on the lesson at hand. Appeased, Grogu gave another haughty sniff before summoning up a new pebble to work with. They spent the rest of the lesson passing stones back and forth to one another between the obstacle courses Luke built from spare rubble and fallen tree branches, each course becoming more and more difficult. All the while Luke tried not to think too hard about the ache between his eyes or the feeling on the back of his neck like he was being watched.   *   “I think it might bruise,” Din remarked later at dinner, thumb stroking at the sore spot on Luke’s forehead. Luke groaned, crinkling his brow and causing another bite of pain to shock through him. “Leia’s gonna have a field day when she sees this in our next holocall.” “Oh, she’s already having a field day,” Din said, sounding rather pleased with himself. He continued to feed Grogu, tone light and airy even as he admitted his betrayal. Luke huffed, crossing his arms on the tabletop and hiding his face in the crooks of his arms. “You’re terrible and I hate you.” “No, you don’t.” Luke shifted slightly, left ear pillowed on his bicep as he watched Din feed his son. He was pointedly not looking at Luke, going for the picture of nonchalance but just not quite hitting the mark. “No, I don’t,” Luke admitted softly. Din’s visor turned his way, aura shining bright pink and red. Luke grinned, unable to hold back the teasing lilt to his voice as he said, “You’re still terrible though.” Din clicked his tongue, turning his attention back to his son with a few choice words muttered under his breath. “You really are a brat sometimes.” “You like it,” Luke said, grin only growing wider as he watched Din consider his words and sigh in defeat. “Unfortunately, yes.”   *   Now, Luke had never courted anyone before, let alone a Mandalorian. And whilst he loved the banter between him and Din, the shared looks and even the blushes Din caused whenever he spoke his mind and just happened to compliment Luke about something, he found himself wanting more. However, he had not the first clue what more was nor how to get it. A small part of him said just to bite the bullet and ask Din but the louder part of his brain, the one that still feared rejection and ridicule, told him to please, please, do anything but that. Suffice to say, Luke was desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures. Which is how he found himself tucked away in his room, eyeing the door every few seconds in fear of Din walking in, holocalling probably the last person he should be asking advice from. The call connected and a familiar golden face appeared through the holoscreen. “Ah, Master Luke, it’s been far too long!” “Hi 3PO,” Luke greeted, already smiling in fond exasperation in preparation for whatever the droid was about to say. “I must admit when I got your message about this being urgent I was rather worried,” C-3PO continued, already prattling away. “Goodness knows I’ve been on too many perilous adventures to last a lifetime.” Luke shook his head, chuckling. “No, 3PO is isn’t that kind of urgent. It’s more of a… personal matter.” C-3PO paused in his rambling, considering Luke’s words. “What is it that calls for such discretion?” “Ah, well,” Luke averted his gaze, hand scrubbing through his hair. “I need some advice and I figured you might be the best to help me.” “Oh, well I am honoured!” C-3PO cried. “What is it that requires my excellence?” “What do you know about Mandalorian courting?” Luke asked. C-3PO said nothing for a very long time. So long, Luke worried their connection might have frozen, but then 3PO sighed. It was the most drawn-out, tired sigh Luke had ever heard. “Oh Master Luke, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” “It’s nothing bad, 3PO, I swear!” Luke said. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.” “Yes but why courting methods? Surely if you are trying to gain an ally there are better ways than trying to win their affection?” “I’m not trying to gain an ally,” Luke sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I really like this person, but I want to respect their culture.” “Oh…” C-3PO intoned. “Well, I’ll admit I’m rather surprised Master Luke.” “Believe me, so am I,” Luke mumbled, unable to bite back the shy smile so much as thinking about Din brought about. “Well, let me see what I have in my database,” C-3PO said. Luke waited a moment, 3PO’s eyes flashing as he did his search. “Ah, here we go!” Luke found himself leaning in, anxiously awaiting C-3PO’s answer and praying it would actually be useful. “Well, um… oh dear.” “What, what is it?” “Well, uh,” C-3Po hummed, suddenly avoiding Luke’s eyes. “I’m afraid there’s not much.” “There’s gotta be something?” Luke asked, voice edging on desperate. “All it says it that Mandalorians take one’s abilities to fight and protect into extremely high regard and that courting gifts should be practical rather than frivolous.” Luke waited with bated breath but when it was obvious C-3PO had nothing more to say, Luke groaned, hanging his head in his hands. “Are you serious? That’s it?!” “I’m afraid so, Master Luke,” C-3PO said rather apologetically. “I could try searching again but I don’t think – oh! Uh, Mistress Leia!” Oh no. “3PO, who are you talking to?” “No one!” Luke smacked his forehead against the tabletop of his desk. Of course, Leia just had to walk in now of all times. “Don’t lie, I can see the holoscreen behind you!” “I assure you, it’s no one of importance. You really have no need to –” C-3PO’s face disappeared from the image as he was gently shoved to the side, Leia’s face appearing instead. “Luke?!” “Hi Leia,” Luke grumbled, waving a hand lazily in greeting, still with his forehead pressed to the tabletop. “Luke, what’s going on? Are you alright?” “He’s perfectly fine, Mistress Leia,” C-3PO insisted from off-screen. “No he’s not, look at him!” Leia cried, gesturing to him wildly. Luke sighed, resigning himself to his fate as he peeled his face off his desk to meet Leia’s gaze. “Leia, I’m fine. I was asking C-3PO for some advice.” Leia stopped her berating and did a double-take, gaping at Luke as if he’d somehow grown a second head. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard that right. You were asking C-3PO for advice?!” C-3PO huffed off-screen, sounding rather haughty as he said, “Well don’t sound so surprised, Mistress Leia, I am a rather capable at my job of Human-Cyborg relations and Master Luke just so happened to ask me for advice on how to court a Mandalorian.” “HE WHAT?! LUKE!” Leia slammed her hands on whatever countertop was in front of her, the biggest smile he’d ever seen threatening to split her face in two. “YOU’RE DATING THE MANDALORIAN?!” “Who’s dating a Mandalorian?” Luke groaned. As if the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse, Han’s face joined Leia’s on the holoscreen and yep, if the floor would kindly open up and swallow him whole so he didn’t have to deal with this huge wave of embarrassment threatening to drown him, that would be great! “Luke’s dating the Mandalorian!” Leia cheered, sounding far too pleased about something that technically had nothing to do with her in the first place. Han did a double-take himself before he burst into laughter. “Oh my Makers! So you finally grew a pair, huh kid?” “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Luke grumbled, glaring at his so-called family. “No, no, this is great!” Han tried to assure him. “I’m happy for you, seriously.” “As am I,” Leia said. She was beaming, practically glowing even. “However I am questioning your sanity just slightly upon the fact that you not only told C-3PO first –” “Rude!” C-3PO cried. “– but that you also asked a droid for dating advice,” Leia finished, ignoring C-3PO’s indignation. “Yeah, I gotta agree with Leia on this one, kiddo,” Han said. Luke rolled his eyes. “You always agree with Leia.” “I do not!” “Yes, you do,” Leia corrected. Han sighed, grumbling “Okay, yes, I do.” Leia gave her husband a consolatory kiss on the cheek before turning her attention back to Luke. “Now, tell us everything! I want all the details!” Luke clucked his tongue in irritation, knowing already that there was no getting out of this and that he might as well bite the bullet and get it over with before he brings anymore embarrassment upon his head. He gave Leia, Han and C-3PO an abridged version of the events which led up to his and Din’s confession, skipping the more personal details that Din had revealed to him for his privacy’s sake. Leia listened intently, nodding along, eyes widening at the more dramatic parts, while Han simply stood there, expression unchanging. “And, well, we kissed but it’s a Mandalorian version of a kiss?” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His cheeks were aflame as the memory rushed him, the feeling of Din’s hands in his hair, cool metal pressed against his bare forehead, their quiet breathing… “Did he take off the helmet?” Leia asked frantically. Luke shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “No, like I said, it’s sort of a Mandalorian thing, I think? He pressed his forehead to mine and we sort of just… stayed like that for a while and…” “And?” Leia prompted. Luke grinned. “It was so nice. Like, you’d think it would be awkward but… Makers, Leia, I loved it.” Leia looked like she had hearts in her eyes while C-3PO and Han were exchanging confused looks. “And that’s it?” Han asked. Luke shrugged, silly grin still in place. “Yeah, that’s it.” Han blew a raspberry. “Well that’s a bit of an anti-climax.” Leia slapped his bicep. Han waved his hands about in frustration, not even bothering to ask what he did this time. “It’s sweet,” Leia assured him. “And very… Mando.” “Yeah…” Luke sighed a little dreamily. “So, what’s your next move?” Leia asked. Luke shook his head, bringing himself back down from cloud nine. “Uh, well, that’s kinda why I was calling in the first place. We’re both not really experienced in the whole relationship thing, so neither of us has a clue what we’re doing, really. It’s kinda nerve-wracking,” Luke admitted, fingers tangling in his overgrown bangs. “Well what did 3PO have to offer?” Leia asked. “There really was insufficient data,” C-3PO spoke up. “All we know is that Mandalorians favour people who do well in battle and prefer practical gifts over frivolous ones.” Leia hummed in thought, cupping her chin. Luke knew that look. That was Leia’s battleplan look, the look that told you she was about to come up with something brilliant and probably extremely dangerous. Well, it was better than nothing, Luke figured. “Why not challenge him to a fight?” Leia asked. Luke scoffed. “We spar every day.” “Then make this one different, a challenge he can’t refuse,” Leia suggested. The cogs started turning in Luke’s brain, an idea forming. Leia grinned, recognizing when Luke was starting to get a bright idea. “I think I could work with that,” Luke murmured. “Han?” “Yeah, kid?” “Can I also ask you a huge favour?” “Sure kid, what do you need?” Luke grinned, excitement thrumming through his brains as a plan began to form. “I need you to go shopping for me.”   *   Luke wasn’t nervous per-say, but… okay, yeah, no. He was nervous. Maybe a little terrified even. The package he’d requested of Han had arrived early that morning, Chewie dropping it down from an open hatch in the Falcon. Luke had opened the packaging, double-checking everything was an order and when he deemed it perfect, had given them a thumbs, up and then quick as they’d come, the Falcon was gone. The package was lying hidden underneath Luke’s bed, awaiting Phase Two of his plan. First, he needed to implement Phase One. Only he was struggling to find the right time to do so. Either Din was occupied with training or looking after Grogu or Luke was too afraid to just up and say it. After a quick holocall with Leia to boost his morale, Luke stormed to Din’s room early before breakfast one morning, ramming his knuckles on the steel door. Din opened it, helmet in place but still otherwise in his sleeping clothes. “Luke?” “I’d like to challenge you to a duel,” Luke said, words rushed but clear. Din’s helmet tilted to one side. “You mean a sparring session?” Luke shook his head. “No, a duel. Loser has to grant the winner one wish, without question.” Din considered him a moment and Luke prayed he couldn’t sense Luke’s nervousness. His hands were tucked behind his back, fidgeting with the lone glove on his right hand as he awaited Din’s answer. “Any wish?” Din asked. Luke nodded, swallowing thickly. “Anything.” Din waited another moment, Luke holding his breath, before giving a single nod. “Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the training room.” Luke grinned, unable to hold back his relief. “Right, yeah. See you then.” “See you then,” and with that, Din’s door slid shut, leaving Luke to do a silent victory dance. Which is how they now found themselves in the training room discussing the terms of their duel. Despite Din’s great improvement with the Darksaber over the last few months they decided to forego using weapons and do an old-fashioned one-on-one spar with fists and feet. Luke was allowed to use the Force seeing as Din had a full set of armour but otherwise no other weapons were allowed. Grogu sat a safe distance away on the sidelines with R2, munching on a packet of biscuits as he eagerly awaited to see how this would turn out. Luke and Din circled one another on the mats, hands raised, waiting for the other to make the first move. “I hope you realize the implication of this duel,” Din warned. “I do,” Luke assured him, unable to hold back his grin. Din nodded. “Very well then.” And without further fanfare, Din came charging at Luke. Whilst Din had strength and power on his side, the weight of his armour also made him slow, allowing Luke to re-direct most of his hits by keeping light on his feet and dodging some of Din’s more frantic swipes. Luke ducked and weaved, hands behind his back, laughing as Din repeatedly swung and missed. “You’ve gotta do better than that, Mand’alor,” Luke teased, opening his arms wide, beckoning Din to try again. Din panted heavily from his ministrations, frustration ebbing off him in waves. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked. “Immensely so,” Luke answered. “Good, so am I,” Din replied. Luke was taken aback, and that was his mistake. Din took advantage of Luke’s moment of hesitation, sweeping the Jedi’s legs out from under him. Luke’s breath was knocked out of him as he landed hard on his back, but he managed to roll away just in time before Din’s fist collided with his face. Luke scrambled to his feet, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t need to see behind the helmet to know that Din was now the one grinning. “So, we’re gonna play it that way, huh?” Luke asked, cogs turning, ideas forming. “Alright. I love how broad your shoulders are.” Din faltered, straightening up from his fighting pose. “What?” Luke nodded. “Even without the armour, I don’t know why, but I just love looking at them.” “Luke…” Using his distraction, Luke started edging closer, hands lowering, pretending to take a passive approach. “I can’t tell you how often I have to stop myself from reaching out to try and touch you.” The bright pink wisps started appearing in Din’s aura, growing bigger the closer Luke got. His lips curved in a flirtatious smile as he closed the last bit of distance between him and Din. “And trust me, it takes a lot of willpower.” “Luke, I –” With Din’s defenses down, Luke grabbed the Mandalorian’s arm and without hesitation, flipped Din over his shoulder to slam him hard into the ground. Din gasped, clutching his chest plate as he coughed. Luke grinned down at him but wasn’t laughing for long as Din grabbed his ankle, pulling him down with him. Din crawled over him, pinning Luke’s wrists above his head in a firm, unrelenting grip. “Your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen,” Din spat like it was somehow an insult. Luke’s cheeks burned at the compliment. He quickly masked it with a cheeky smile, shuffling so that his head was touching his fists. “Oh, really now?” With a quick starfish motion, Luke managed to pop his wrists out of Din’s grip. He gripped Din’s jetpack, anchoring Din’s right foot with his left and with a wink, he flipped them over, now the one on top. “I love the sound of your voice when you’re slightly nervous,” Luke admitted, leaning down so his face was barely an inch away from Din’s helmet. He could see his breath fogging Din’s visor they were so close. “It’s rough but velvety at the same time and it drives me crazy.” Din’s hands laid flat on Luke’s thighs, so warm they were like brands burning through the cotton of his trousers. “Your laughter is captivating, and I like your singing voice,” Din rasped. “My singing is terrible,” Luke whispered. Din shrugged. “It is, but I still like it.” Luke grinned down at him. They were so close that if Din wasn’t wearing his helmet, Luke’s lips could have so easily brushed his as they spoke. Din’s hands gently slid up from Luke’s thighs to his arms, thumbs rubbing soothing lines that caused a shiver to wrack down Luke’s spine. “I like how you always give people the benefit of the doubt,” Din continued. His grip abruptly changed, right hand clutching Luke’s right forearm, left hand on Luke’s shoulder. Before Luke knew what was happening, Din had managed to tug Luke’s arm forward and out from under him, causing him to stumble forward. Din crossed Luke’s arm in front of his neck then quickly wrapped both thighs around his neck as well for good measure. Luke gasped, unable to breathe as Din held him in the chokehold. “Yield,” Din ordered. Luke shook his head minutely, clenching his jaw. “Luke, yield,” Din repeated. Luke only grinned. With a flick of his free hand, Din was sent flying backwards, skidding along the mats so hard that Luke swore he almost saw smoke. Luke took in a fresh lung full of air as he rose shakily to his feet. Din groaned, lifting his head up to stare down Luke from where he was lying spread-eagled on the floor. “Have I told you how much I hate you?” he grumbled. “Not today, you haven’t,” Luke quipped, knowing Din didn’t really mean it. He waited patiently for Din to rise to his feet, the Mandalorian huffing a low chuckle. “You truly are as stubborn as a Mandalorian.” “And you are as patient as a Jedi,” Luke countered. “You’re also the most beautiful person I know,” Din admitted, voice softening. “Not just physical beauty but… your soul as well.” Luke gasped at the sincerity in Din’s words. “Din… you –” Before Luke could finish his thought, Din was back upon him, fists swinging. Luke went into defense mode, using his elbows and forearms to block Din’s jabs. “You’re selfless and sweet and I love when you get flustered,” Luke announced, just managing to duck past one of Din’s punches. He really wasn’t holding back. “You make me flustered more than I care to admit,” Din gritted out. Luke laughed, grabbing Din’s right fist and holding him still a moment so he could step into his space. They were nose-to-nose again and Luke couldn’t help but give Din’s helmet a quick kiss before saying, “I want to make you more than just flustered.” Din growled, stepping back and aiming a roundhouse kick for Luke’s head. Luke caught Din’s shin, however, flipping the Mandalorian over his shoulder once again. However, he overestimated his balance, his stance slipping and causing him to go tumbling down on top of Din. Din took advantage of Luke’s discombobulation, rolling them both over so that he had Luke’s cheek smashed into the mat, his knee between his shoulder blades and both of Luke’s hands pinned firmly behind his back. Luke huffed, trying to free himself but he wasn’t going anywhere. With a resigned sigh, he angled his head so he could look back over his shoulder at Din. He knew when he needed to admit defeat. “Alright, I yield.” Din nodded and quickly let go of Luke’s hand, taking away the pressure of his knee. With a defeated sigh, Luke rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath. Din sank down as well, sitting with a hard thunk of his armour. They were both breathing heavily, Luke grinning like a madman while Din’s aura began to lighten now that the heat of battle was fading. Luke sat up on shaky arms, flicking his sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes. “So, what is your wish, Mand’alor?” Din scoffed. “We did not say I had to use it right away.” Luke released an annoyed breath, flopping down onto his back again. “Ugh, you’re killing me, Din.” Din suddenly entered his line of vision, hovering over Luke once more. He had a hand on either said of Luke’s face and was so close Luke swore he could almost see through his visor. “I like to take my time with these sorts of things, cyar'ika,” Din rumbled. He pressed his forehead to Luke’s, Luke relishing the cool metal against his heated skin, and then Din was gone. He walked over to where Grogu was cooing and clapping for his father’s victory. He offered Din the last bite of his cookie. Din took it, lifting his helmet just enough to place the cookie in his mouth. All the while Luke watched, breath held as Din offered a quick quirk of his lips before replacing his helmet. “See you at breakfast,” Din called, waving a lazy hand over his shoulder as he disappeared through the doorway, Grogu’s giggling fading the further away they walked. Luke groaned, head falling back against the thin cushioning of the mat. He hid his face in his hands, every inch of him burning upon realization what all he’d just done and said. Makers, had he really said all of that? Out loud? R2 whistled in question, Luke laughing despite himself. “I’m fine R2,” he assured, smiling giddily up at the ceiling. Whatever Din decided his prize would be, Luke couldn’t wait to find out.   *   Things mostly went back to normal after that, though the looks shared between Din and Luke felt more heated than usual. Din was also slowly introducing more touch to their relationship – simple, small things, like clapping Luke’s shoulder or giving his hair a playful ruffle. Sometimes it was light, almost accidental touches, knees pressing against one another underneath the table at mealtimes or hands brushing as they go for walks about the surrounding woods. Other times they were more direct, purposeful, Din tucking wayward strands of hair behind Luke’s burning ears or a strong arm wrapping around his waist as he pulls Luke in for goodnight keldabe kiss. That was also new, and very much welcomed. The night after their duel, Luke had walked Din and Grogu back to their room, as usual, dropping off Din’s dinner and wishing them both goodnight. However, before he could leave, Din had caught his hand, head tilted slightly in question before he stepped in closer. He moved slowly, allowing Luke to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. A shaking hand had come up to gently cup the back of Luke’s head, fingers tangling in his hair as Din guided Luke’s forehead against his own. Luke couldn’t hold back the small intake of breath feeling the cool metal against his skin had caused. It didn’t matter how many times Din did it, he’d always feel that way when they were this close. A little breathless and so, so warm. It became their new routine, Luke wishing them both goodnight and Din gently guiding him into a keldabe kiss, Luke relishing their closeness. Tonight, he found himself sighing dreamily as he leaned back against his closed bedroom door, heart fluttering about his chest and making him feel as light as air. He eyed his bed. Din’s gift was still hidden underneath it, waiting to be given. Luke was about to drag the package out from underneath the bed frame when there was a knock on his door. Luke replaced the gift, ensuring it was hidden from sight before approaching the door. He opened it, not surprised to find Din on the other side. “Everything alright?” Luke asked. Din nodded, stepping into the room. The door slid closed behind him and Luke watched as Din took the time to look about his room. There wasn’t much. A bookshelf filled to the brim with his books, both Jedi texts and personal reading material, a wooden desk and chair for when he needed to do admin, his bed, a wardrobe for his minimal selection of outfits and a reading chair much like the one Din had in his own room. Luke hugged his arm, feeling a little awkward in the quiet. He was still in his black tunic and pants, feet and right hand bare. Din had come knocking before he could get dressed for bed. “Din?” Din’s head swivelled away from where he’d been perusing Luke’s books. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Luke asked. “Yes. I…” Din hesitated a moment before sighing. He seemed to be thinking on something, wisps of inquisitive baby blue fluttering around him. He must have come to a decision as he nodded before stalking over to Luke. “I’d like to claim my reward from our duel.” “Oh,” Luke breathed. His eyes darted to the bed, wondering if now would be a good time to give Din his gift. “Well, actually, I –” Luke’s words tapered off when warm, gloved fingers cupped his chin, directing his attention back to Din. “I know what I want,” Din continued, voice rough and rasping. “But I will only take it if you permit me.” Luke’s hand rose, wrapping around Din’s wrist almost instinctively. Even through the thick leather of his glove, he could feel Din’s heartbeat racing. “What is it?” Luke croaked. Din’s hand shifted, cupping Luke’s jaw, thumb running along his cheekbone so tentatively. “I want to kiss you,” Din whispered. “A… a keldabe kiss?” Luke asked, voice shaking. Din shook his head, stepping a little closer as his other hand cupped Luke’s face as well. “A real kiss.” “Keldabe kisses feel pretty real to me,” Luke quipped, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. Din shook his head again, clicking his tongue in irritation. “You know what I mean, Luke.” Luke swallowed thickly, fingers trailing along the bottom of Din’s helmet. The metal was smooth and cool to the touch. “Are you sure?” Luke asked, “What about your Creed?” “I can show my face to my Clan,” Din whispered. His fingers threaded through Luke’s hair, caressing his cheek. “You are a part of my Clan, Luke.” Luke froze, eyes darting across Din’s helmet in question. “You…” “If you want to be, that is.” “Of course I do,” Luke breathed. He leaned up on his tiptoes, pressing their foreheads together. “Of course I do, I’d be crazy not to.” Din released a shaky sigh, strong arms circling Luke’s waist. “That’s… a bit of a relief.” Luke scoffed lightly, hands resting on Din’s shoulders on the pieces between the beskar plates. “Did you honestly think I’d say no?” “There was a… slight worry.” “I’m yours, Din,” Luke said, voice unwavering and firm. “I’m all yours if you’ll have me.” There was a sharp intake of breath, Din’s arms flexing and pulling Luke closer so that their chests were pressed against each other. Luke gasped at the feeling of those hard planes of cool metal pressing to his skin through the thin material of his shirt. “I’m yours, too,” Din whispered. Luke bit his bottom lip, gazing up at this stunning, strong, gentle man. His hands dragged across Din’s chest, creeping up his neck to rest on the lip of his helmet. “Can I?” Luke asked, voice incredibly soft. Din nodded, taking in a shaky breath as Luke began lifting his helmet up. He got as far as Din’s nose before he paused, hovering there a moment. He took in Din’s soft jawline, the light smattering of stubble, plush pink lips framed by a well-kept moustache. One finger dragged along Din’s cheek, rough stubble scraping slightly against his fingertip. Din shivered, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Luke…” he rasped, and Luke shivered at the sound of Din’s voice without the voice modulator, of his name rolling off his tongue. Watching those plush lips forming the simple sounds of his name, Luke never realized a pair of lips could be so hypnotic. “Din,” he whispered, leaning in. It was hesitant, chaste, just the light press of lips touching lips, and yet it already had Luke feeling weak in the knees. He leaned in again, lips slotting with Din’s and this time he stayed there. They exchanged light, closed-mouth kisses; Luke unable to hold back his smile. “What are you laughing about?” Din questioned inbetween kisses. “Nothin’,” Luke murmured. “Just happy.” Din’s hands rose, resting over Luke’s where they were still holding his helmet halfway up his head. “You sure?” Luke asked once more, just in case. Din nodded, lips quirking in the corner and oh, Makers above, Luke was never going to get tired of seeing that. “I’m sure,” Din said. Together, they lifted Din’s helmet the rest of the way up. The first word that came to Luke’s mind was brown, Din’s gaze locking with Luke’s. His eyes were warm and rich and tender, so dark they were nearly black. Luke was entranced. Din put his helmet on Luke’s desk, Luke reaching up with shaking hands to cup Din’s jaw. Din flinched slightly at first but soon sighed into Luke’s touch, eyes fluttering closed. Luke drank in every detail. Din’s thick eyelashes fanning across his cheekbones, his messy curls pressed flat against his head from wearing his helmet all day, tanned skin just a few shades darker than Luke’s own. “You are so beautiful,” Luke breathed. Din’s eyes fluttered open, lips quirking in the corner. “That’s my line.” Luke leaned in, smiling into their kiss, before pulling back to whisper a shy “Hi.” Din chuckled, whispering a soft “Hello,” back. Their gazes remained locked, even as Din shucked off his gloves. One hand pressed flat against the small of Luke’s back, the other threading through his hair. Blunt fingernails scraped along his scalp and Luke couldn’t hold back the small moan that escaped his lips. Immediately, his cheeks flushed, Luke breaking their electric gazes to duck his head in embarrassment. “Sorry, I didn’t –” Din’s grip in his hair tightened slightly, tilting his head back up. “Don’t apologize. Not for that.” “Okay…” Luke rasped, something curling deep and pleasurable in his stomach. Din was the one to lean in this time. There was an urgency to this kiss, Luke humming in contentment as Din pulled him closer, fingers gently combing through his hair only to give light, suggestive tugs that had Luke’s knees buckling. Feeling brave, Luke parted his lips and licked at the seam of Din’s mouth. Din stiffened a moment then opened his mouth too, allowing Luke entrance. Where their close-mouthed kisses were sweet and chaste, their open-mouthed kisses were heady and hot, Luke moaning unabashedly as Din licked into his mouth. Their kisses turned hungry as if they’d been starved of each other’s touch all their lives and this was their final chance to satiate their appetite, to eat their fill of one another, savouring every last taste and lick and moan. Luke startled a little when he felt Din’s fingers tug at the hem of his shirt. “Luke, can I?” Din asked, intent evident as his fingers toyed at the small slither of skin between Luke’s shirt and his pants but waiting for permission. Always so patient, so kind, always thinking of others before himself. Luke nodded, could not trust his voice to behave if he tried to speak. Instead, he leaned in, smashing his mouth against Din’s. He gasped when Din’s fingers began trailing up his back underneath his shirt, Din swallowing his small, breathy moans. His palm was rough and large, resting lightly between Luke’s shoulder blades and Luke couldn’t repress the shivering sensation overtaking him. “Din,” he whimpered as Din’s other hand rucked up the front of his shirt, palming his chest. “I’m here,” he whispered, trailing open-mouthed kisses across Luke’s jaw and down his neck. The high collar of his tunic was getting in the way, however, Din growling when he couldn’t reach the column of his neck. He’d barely said Luke’s name in question when Luke was already nodding his consent, helping Din get his tunic up and over his head. The shirt fell to the floor and Luke suddenly felt very vulnerable standing there half-naked while Din was still in his full suit of armour. Din took a moment to just look at him, eyes trailing all across his chest. Luke could feel the moment he noticed the scars, Din’s grasp on his hips tightening. “Is this…” Luke nodded, knowing Din was referring to the white branching scars running down his chest and biceps. “Force lightning,” Luke answered Din’s unfinished question. “Don’t worry, they don’t hurt anymore.” Slowly, awaiting Luke’s nod of consent, Din’s hands splayed across his chest, following the thin branching lines down from his pecs to his flat, toned stomach. Luke shivered, both from Din’s gentle, searching touches and the cool air hitting his flushed bare skin. “Luke…” he said and there was so much weight in that one word. Luke swallowed thickly. “Din…” “You’ve been through so much,” Din said, hands gliding back up Luke’s chest only to slide to his back instead. One hand settled in the dip of his spine, the other trailing up the protruding knobs of his back and eliciting another shiver. This one was purely because of Din. “I’ll look after you,” Din promised. There wasn’t a hint of doubt, not a speck of hesitation as he stared into Luke’s heavy-lidded gaze. “Let me take care of you.” Luke nodded, reaching for Din, dragging him closer so there wasn’t a breath of space between them anymore. He relished the cool sting of Din’s chest plate pressing against his bare skin, not minding as the sharper edges dug into him. Din’s hands reached for the back of Luke’s thighs and like he weighed nothing, Din picked him up, Luke’s legs wrapping instinctively around Din’s hips. He groaned into Din’s mouth, fingers sliding through Din’s mess of curls. Din walked the small distance to Luke’s bed, cradling his head as he gently laid him out on the mattress, all the while pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along Luke’s neck. Luke gasped, ready to drag Din’s weight on top of him, wanting to feel himself being pinned to the mattress when Din pulled back. Luke was about to ask if he was okay, did he need to stop, when he saw what Din was doing. With shaking hands, Din began removing his armour piece by piece. Luke said nothing, scared if he spoke now, he’d break the moment. Din kept his eyes firmly set on Luke as he shucked off each piece, first his vambraces and greaves, then his pauldrons and then finally his jetpack and chest plate. He laid out each piece on the floor reverently, with great care and precision. If Luke had had the courage to try and attempt removing all those pieces, he knew he would have muddled horribly through the complicated process. Instead, he laid back against the pillows, trying to even out his breathing while he watched Din at work, hands working quickly, deftly, to remove his armour and weapons with a speed only years of practice could allow. Once the armour was removed, Din was left in nothing but a thick, long-sleeved shirt and brown trousers tucked into a pair of boots that had seen better days. He removed one boot, then the other, hopping a little so as not to lose his balance. Luke chuckled at that, Din pouting slightly. It was a rather sweet expression; one Luke would definitely ensure he saw more of in the future. “It’s not funny,” Din mumbled. “No, not at all,” Luke agreed, grinning like an idiot. Din clicked his tongue again, muttering something in Mando’a under his breath. Luke was still grinning even as Din stalked over to the bed and leaned over him, hands planted on either side of Luke’s head. He leaned down, caging him in. Their noses brushed, eliciting a startled gasp from Luke. Luke tried to reach up for him, but Din retreated, teasing. Luke pouted, Din’s lips quirking. He looked rather smug when he asked, “Who’s laughing now?” Luke’s cheeks heated, the flush dancing all the way down his neck and across his collarbones. Din’s eyes followed it, drinking in the sight greedily. “So that’s what that looks like,” he murmured, almost to himself. Luke, impatient, and still a little flustered, wrapped his arms around Din’s shoulders, pulling him down on top of him. Din stumbled a little, knees hitting the mattress. He shuffled until they were framing Luke’s hips, Din leaning most of his weight on his forearms so he was hovering over Luke. Luke nuzzled his nose along Din’s, pressing soft butterfly kisses to either cheek. “Hi.” “Hi,” Din rasped and Luke was absolutely thrilled upon seeing his cheeks pinken slightly. “So that’s what that looks like,” Luke grinned, using Din’s words against him. Din growled, closing the distance between them to slot their mouths together. He stayed leaned up on his knees and forearms, a gap of empty air between them. Luke didn’t mind, was too busy moaning as Din trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, sucking on the delicate skin under his jaw where his pulse fluttered. Luke’s fingers dug into his hair, massaging his scalp as Din continued lower. He worked his way down slowly, methodically almost. Luke relished the feeling of stubble lightly scraping against his skin, some kisses sweet and soft, others staying longer, sucking, no doubt leaving marks. Luke didn’t mind, found himself liking the idea of being marked by Din, of only them knowing of the deep purple and red love bites marring his skin below his shirt. Luke all the while released breathy whimpers and moans, Din occasionally shushing him with a kiss only to go back to his neck. It was driving Luke crazy, being pulled apart so slowly. But he knew this was new for them both and a larger part of him was grateful that Din didn’t go any further than below his collarbones, afraid what lower might entail. Din’s fingers caressed his ribs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his flushed skin. Luke held Din close, arms wrapped around those strong, broad shoulders he’d admired from afar. Din shivered when Luke’s fingers played with the collar of his shirt, whole body stilling as Luke crept his fingers carefully down the back of his shirt, feeling in wonder as the muscles shifted and moved beneath his fingertips. “Is this okay?” Luke whispered, fingers pausing, awaiting permission. This was new for them both, but all of this no doubt meant something a little more to Din. He had not removed his helmet in front of another since he was a child, no doubt has remained protected by layers of leather and beskar from prying eyes and hands for as many years. Luke wondered if it hurt a little, not having any form of touch for so long and now suddenly being granted this overwhelming amount of skin-on-skin contact. He’d already done so much, removing his helmet, the protection of his armour, and allowing Luke to see him like this. He didn’t want to push any more boundaries than Din was comfortable crossing. “Can… can I keep the shirt on?” Din asked, sounding nervous, unsure for the first time since he’d entered Luke’s room. “Of course,” Luke assured him. He made to remove his hands out from under Din’s shirt, but Din stopped him, large hands wrapping around Luke’s lithe wrists. “You can keep them there,” Din said. “Just, don’t remove the shirt.” Luke nodded, offering Din a smile he hoped read as nothing but tender. “Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” “Same to you,” Din murmured, pecking Luke lightly on the mouth. Luke didn’t roam too much, keeping his hands on Din’s back only, thumbs sweeping across the firm, defined muscles as Din shifted above him. They exchanged lazy kisses, breathing synched, smiles shared. Luke could feel Din’s arms beginning to shake slightly from the strain of keeping himself up for so long. Luke grinned. In quick, practiced moves, he pinned Din’s ankle and shifted their weight, rolling them over so he was on top instead. Din gaped up at him, eyes widened in surprise. Luke couldn’t help but wonder if that lovely rosy blush had decorated his cheeks when he did this during their sparring sessions as well. “You know, you deserve to be taken care of too,” Luke whispered, tucking a stray curl behind Din’s ear with his flesh hand. Din released a shaky breath, hand clasping Luke’s wrist, keeping his hand there. He nuzzled into Luke’s palm, Luke withholding a gasp as Din kissed the sensitive skin there. “No one’s cared like you do,” Din admitted, eyes still firmly shut. His lips moved against Luke’s pulse point, soft and warm and – what was the word Din had used? Ah, yes. Enticing. Luke leaned down slowly, resting his forehead against Din’s. They stayed there a moment, breathing in each other, Din’s thumb running back and forth over the delicate skin of Luke’s wrist. Leia’s words suddenly floated to the forefront of his mind, unbidden. Luke shut his eyes, whispering, “You are not broken, and you are just as deserving of love as anyone else.” That was the final push, Luke watching in panic as a single tear streamed down Din’s cheek. “Din? I’m sorry, I –” Din shook his head, stopping Luke before he could no doubt nervously ramble up a storm. “It’s okay. I’m okay, that was just – it’s a lot.” Luke swung his leg off of Din’s hips, laying down on his right side instead. The two of them shared a pillow, Luke gently wiping away the sparse tears streaking down Din’s cheeks. “Sorry,” Din murmured. “No, hey, it’s okay. It’s like you said, that was… a lot.” Din chuckled weakly. “Yeah, just a bit. Not that I didn’t like it.” “That’s a relief,” Luke teased before adding, just a little softer, “I liked it too.” Din considered him a moment, fingers combing through Luke’s blonde waves. “You really are beautiful.” Luke ducked his head, peeking up at Din through his lashes. “Now you’re just teasing me.” “I’ll admit, I do like seeing you blush.” “Knew it!” Din chuckled again, lips curling up in the corner and honestly Luke could live out the rest of his life in this moment and he’d die a happy man. After a few minutes of just lying there together, an idea came to Luke. Maybe now was a good time… “I have something for you,” Luke said. A thick brow arched up in question. Luke grinned, rolling over to reach below his bed. He unveiled his gift, Din sitting up as Luke placed it in his lap. “What is it?” Din asked, eyeing the package suspiciously. “Well, why don’t you open it and find out?” Luke quipped. Din gave him a stern look, but his curiosity must have overruled his skepticism as he started to unwrap Luke’s gift. Luke waited with bated breath, wanting to see Din’s reaction. Din peered inside the bag and froze. Carefully, he slid out a brand-new pair of leather boots. “I noticed your other pair was starting to look a little worn out,” Luke blurted. “And, well, 3PO said Mandalorians favour practical gifts so I figured this would be a nice idea. But obviously, if you don’t like them, it’s totally fine I –” Luke was silenced with a firm kiss. Luke hummed, cupping Din’s face in his hands. Din pulled back to place butterfly kisses on the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his forehead. “I love them,” he murmured between kisses. “They’re perfect, cyar'ika.” “What does that word mean? You’ve used it before.” Din faltered, and suddenly he could look at nothing but his new boots as he admitted shyly, “It means ‘beloved’ in Mando’a.” Luke bit his bottom lip, wriggling a little from the pure bought of happiness that washed over him. “So we’re doing pet names now?” “Kriff, no,” Din grumbled. “Awww, come on!” Luke whined, hooking his chin over Din’ shoulder. “If you get to call me cyar'ika then I should get to call you something too.” Din scoffed. “You’re saying it wrong.” “Cyar'ika?” “No. Cyar'ika.” “That’s what I just said!” Luke protested. “It most certainly was not,” Din argued, trying to seem put out but Luke could see his lips begging to tip into a smile. “How about darling?” “No.” “Sweetheart?” “Definitely not.” “Honey?” Din glowered. “I am not food.” “I’ll think of something,” Luke vowed. “And it’ll knock your socks off.” “I do not understand that phrase.” Luke shook his head in fond admonishment. “Come here.” They laid down again, Din’s new boots put to the side as Luke gathered Din close. They stayed like that, Din’s arm wrapped loosely around Luke’s waist, Luke’s fingers combing through Din’s curls as sleep began to drag them under. Din was already breathing deeply, eyes fluttering shut when Luke said, “What about Brown Eyes?” “Luke, go to sleep,” Din grumbled, tightening his hold on Luke’s waist. “Okay, okay. But what about –” “Luke –” “My heart?” Din froze. Luke peered down at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He was delighted to see Din’s entire face had turned a lovely shade of pink. “Ooooh, you like that one?” “No,” Din grumbled, burying his heated face in the crook of Luke’s neck. Luke bit his lip, trying to hold back his delight but he couldn’t help it. He angled his head, lips pressing to the shell of Din’s ear as he whispered, “My heart.” Din pinched Luke’s waist, Luke yelping in surprise as Din practically growled his name in reprimand. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it. For now.” “Good,” Din said, adjusting so his head was resting on Luke’s chest right above his heart. “Hey Din?” “Hm?” “I’m really glad I met you.” Din pressed a kiss to Luke’s skin, murmuring, “I’m glad I met you too.” Luke grinned when he saw the Millennium Falcon break Suraksha’s atmosphere. “I hope you understand what you’re getting into having them all in one place,” Din murmured as the two watched the ship begin its descent onto their landing bay. Grogu cooed at the ship, wriggling in anticipation in Din’s arms. “It can’t be that bad, Din,” Luke joked, rolling his eyes fondly at his partner. Din shrugged, grip on Luke’s hip tightening a little. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The gangplank dropped and Luke started towards their friends, Din with Grogu just behind him. “Hey, Pretty Boy,” Cara called, the first one to meet him. “Hey Cara,” he replied. The two hugged, Cara lifting Luke cleanly off his feet. “Mando,” she greeted, spotting Din behind Luke. “Dune.” There was a rumbling roar, the sound of heavy footsteps running down the gangplank. Luke grinned. He was put down by Cara only to swept up by Chewie into a bear hug not even a second later. “Chewie I get that you missed him but try not to squeeze the kid to death,” Han reprimanded. Chewie grumbled something that had Han rolling his eyes. Din snorted slightly as well. “I agree,” he said to Chewie. Din and Chewie shared a nod in solidarity, Han grumbling under his breath at the betrayal of his first mate. “Oh, are we smack-talking the smuggler?” Cara asked, grinning at the prospect. “No, we most certainly are not!” Han argued. “Who’s making fun of my husband without me?” Leia questioned, joining Han at his side. Luke, having finally been released by Chewie, gave Leia a tight squeeze. “Hey, you.” “It’s been too long,” Leia said, pulling back to give Luke a quick once-over. “Still in one piece?” “Oh, I think I’m managing pretty alright,” Luke replied with an easy shrug. Leia’s eyes darted to the Mandalorian. Everything still good? she asked through the Force. Luke grinned. More than good. You could almost say perfect. Oh, you are still so smitten. “Uncle Luke!” Jacen and Jaina came scampering down the gangplank at lightning speed, Luke kneeling just in time to have them both collide into his chest with an exaggerated “Oof!” “We missed you!” Jaina said. “So, so much!” Jacen finished for her. “I missed you guys too!” Luke said. He pulled back, studying his niece and nephew. He squinted with a slight pout. “Hmmm… Have you two gotten bigger? Leia, do my eyes deceive me or have they gotten bigger?” “We grew a whole inch since you last saw us!” Jaina said excitedly. Jacen crossed his arms, nose tucked in the air as he boasted. “You might have. I grew an inch and a half!” “You did not!” Jaina accused. “Did too!” “Did not!” “Did too!” “Did not!” “Well, you’re both looking near ready to start training with me soon,” Luke interrupted knowing they’d be stuck here for hours if he let the twins go on. The twins stopped their glaring match to look at Luke in shock and surprise. “REALLY?!” they cried simultaneously. “Well, I don’t know. Do you think they’re ready for it, Leia?” Luke questioned, looking back to his sister with a smile. Leia hummed, cupping her chin in thought. “Depends on if they behave for the rest of the day, I think.” “We will!” “We promise!” “That’s what I like to hear,” Leia said, sending Luke a wink. “Is it always like this?” Greef Karga whispered to Din who simply nodded, hiding an amused smile behind his helmet. “Sorry we’re late!” Two figures in brown and cream robes came racing up to the group. Luke grinned upon seeing two of his students. “Finn, Rey, glad you could join us.” Finn came to a stop, panting from sprinting but grinning all the same. “Sorry, I would have been here quicker if Rey wasn’t taking so long with her hair.” The girl in questioned huffed. She was a small, rake thin girl with bright hazel eyes and long brown hair styled in three artful knots. Din had found her on Jakku working as a scavenger for an unsavoury Crolute known as Unkar Plutt during a bounty hunt. Plutt was a cruel employer which was perhaps why Din had taken it upon himself to pay out Rey’s indenture and offer her freedom and sanctuary. Rey had agreed but was still a little prickly upon first arriving at the temple and meeting their strange, mismatched family. Thankfully, Finn had recently joined Grogu as one of Luke’s students and he managed to break down Rey’s walls. The two were fast friends, though they did tend to bicker quite often. “I was ready ten minutes before you!” Rey argued. Finn pouted. “I just wanted to make sure my robes looked perfect, okay?” “You both look wonderful,” Leia interjected, smiling down at her niece and nephew. Finn beamed. “Thanks, Aunt Leia!” “Thank you…” Rey murmured shyly, touching her hair to make sure none of the knots had loosened. “Come, you must all be hungry from your journey,” Luke said, beginning to lead their friends and family down the small path towards the school. The group intermingled, catching up with one another as they made the trek. “So, how’s life treatin’ you, Mando?” Greef asked. Cara, Din and Greef brought up the rear of the group. They all watched as Luke talked excitedly with his sister, Jacen riding on his shoulders and Jaina swinging their clasped hands. “Good,” Din replied, smiling at the sight. Grogu cooed in agreement, Greef smiling down at the child. “Kid hasn’t gotten himself into too much trouble has he?” Greef continued, giving Grogu a light pat on the head. Din sighed. “Oh, he still manages to cause mischief around the temple. He’s a bad influence on the other kids.” Greef chuckled. “Sounds about right.” “How many have you got now?” Cara asked. Din quickly did the maths in his head. “Ten. No wait, eleven. I found another one last week.” Cara whistled. “You really are a Force-magnet, aren’t you?” Din shrugged, holding Grogu a little closer. “Can’t help it if they like me.” Cara’s smile turned devilish as she looked pointedly at Luke who had just looked back over his shoulder to smile at them. “And I bet you ain’t complainin’ either.” Din clucked his tongue in reprimand, elbowing Cara in the ribs. “Watch your manners or I’ll tell Leia about the time you lost an arm-wrestling match to Grogu.” “Hey, that’s not fair, the kid cheated using his weird powers!” Greef snorted. “Don’t be embarrassed, Dune, it happens to the best of us.” “Do you wanna go?” Cara questioned, pounding a fist into her hand. Greef raised his hands in surrender, not-so-subtly putting Din between himself and the ex-shock trooper. Cara grinned, sauntering off with a smug grin. “That’s what I thought.”   *   Dinner was a noisy and cheerful affair. The children ate together at one of the larger round tables, Finn introducing the twins to some of the newer students who they hadn’t met yet. Rey was looking after Grogu, feeding him slices of meat by using the Force to make the pieces float and swirl in the air only for Grogu to pluck them with his little clawed hands. The adults took up their own table. Din and Luke sat at opposites ends, their friends inbetween them. Cara was flirting shamelessly with Leia much to Leia’s enjoyment and Han’s disapproval. “I thought you were seeing that Armourer Mandalorian from Din’s tribe?” he asked, sipping on a drink that was most definitively not alcohol-free. Cara grinned with an easy shrug. “Yeah, but a little flirting never hurt anybody.” “I’m certainly not complaining,” Leia said, sending Cara wink over the rim of her glass. Han glowered. Meanwhile, Chewie and Greef seemed to be having a very in-depth discussion. About what no-one knew but Greef was nodding along, humming in interest as Chewie rumbled on and on. He was getting rather passionate about whatever it was he was talking about. C-3PO and R2-D2 were also playing catch up, 3PO flipping between berating the astromech and reluctantly admitting to how much he had missed him. All the while Din and Luke kept sharing looks across the table, Luke unable to withhold his shy smile whenever he caught Din watching him. Luke didn’t have to see behind his helmet to know Din’s cheeks were slightly flushed pink whenever he sent a wink or a secret smile his way. It was while they were just finishing dessert that Luke stood up, gathering everyone’s attention. The children hushed each other, Grogu cooing eagerly as they all waited to see what their teacher had to say. “I’d just like to say, thank you, all of you, for joining us. I can’t tell you how much of a pleasure it is seeing all our friends and family together, mostly harmoniously, in one room.” That garnered a few chuckles, Han rolling his eyes while Cara sent another exaggerated wink Leia’s way. “And, well,” Luke continued, suddenly feeling nervous. “You’ve all touched our lives in one way or another and we could not have asked for a better group of people to be with us to celebrate this special occasion.” “And what exactly is the occasion?” Han asked. “You were rather vague,” Leia said, “Not that I’ll ever turn down a good meal with such lovely company.” She tilted her glass Cara’s way, everyone laughing when Han grumbled into his drink. Leia glanced at Luke, trying to get a read on her brother. He was keeping his walls up, however, not wanting to spoil the surprise. “I’ll admit, my curiosity is also piqued,” Greef said. Chewie rumbled in agreement. Luke caught Din’s gaze. Din nodded his assent. Luke grinned, a blush decorating as his cheeks. “Well, we wanted everyone who is special to us be here when we announced that… Din and I are getting married.” The room erupted into chaotic happiness. Luke’s students were clapping and cheering while Leia rushed to her feet to give Luke a congratulatory hug. Han was right behind her, ruffling Luke’s hair affectionately. “Good on you, kiddo. He’s a real catch.” “I know,” Luke grinned, looking to Din to see him being congratulated by his friends. Chewie rumbled, sweeping Din up into a hug much to everyone’s shock and amusement. Din seemed a little taken aback at first but then patted Chewie’s arm. “Thank you, that’s very sweet of you to say,” he replied stiffly, unused to such extreme showings of affection (except maybe from Luke). Chewie squeezed him tighter. “So, when’s the wedding?” Cara asked, everyone having settled down to finish their desserts. “We’re still deciding,” Luke answered. “But it won’t be anything big. We’ll most likely just have you guys and few others here for the ceremony.” When it came to deciding how exactly they were to be wed, Luke and Din had been a little stumped at first. Jedi never permitted marriage, so they had no traditions to speak of. For Mandalorians the traditional vows in Mando’a need only be exchanged by the couple in order for them to be considered wed, no witnesses required. Luke and Din had come to a compromise – they’d have a small ceremony with close friends and family present only and say the traditional Mandalorian vows. Luke’s Mando’a had improved over the last year, though Din still more often than not corrected his pronunciation. R2 beeped up a storm, coming to a screeching halt at Din’s side. Greef looked to Luke, asking, “What’s he saying?” “He’s asking to be the flower girl,” Din translated. Cara and Greef both did a double-take, staring dumbfoundedly at their friend. Cara’s jaw worked as she tried to form a proper sentence. “Did you just –” “– translate Binary?’” Greef finished for her. Din looked between his two friends then shrugged. “This droid is… alright.” R2-D2 whistled in protest. Din released a single huff of laughter. “Okay, he’s a little more than alright.” “So, who proposed?” Leia asked, elbows on the table, head cradled in her hands as she looked intently at Luke. Luke and Din both chuckled. It had been a little bit of a mess, to be honest. Din had been planning to propose for well over a month, had gotten a ring specially made for it having read up on more traditional proposals. He figured Luke would like the whole ‘getting down on one knee’ thing. However, he could just never find the right moment to propose. He’d always end up reaching for the pouch on his weapon’s belt where the ring box waited to be unveiled only for the moment to be interrupted. And they were interrupted constantly. Din shouldn’t have been so surprised; they were after all running a school with a group of children who could literally move things with their mind. So, you can imagine the kind of mischief they’d be getting up to on a daily basis – especially if Grogu was the one to instigate it which more often than not, he was. When Luke had not-so-subtly reminded him of his promise to take him to the Elupeliptus system to see the annual meteor shower, Din had jumped at the idea. An evening alone with just him and Luke, away from the kids (which he begrudgingly loved, he really did, but they were also a handful on the best of days) and any potential interruptions. It was the perfect opportunity to propose. They’d organised for Leia and Han to come look after the kids for the day, Grogu this close to convincing Din with his eyes alone to take him with them when Leia distracted him with the promise of two whole boxes of his favourite cookies if he behaved while his guardians were away. She’d sent Luke a wink after saying so, Luke erupting into a deep red blush much to Din’s confusion. He’d decided long ago that he wasn’t going to try attempt to understand whatever Leia and Luke talked about using their Force link, however, and simply took the chance Leia had provided to allow them some real alone time for the first time in months. He had it all figured out. They’d go to the desert of planet Wavery where there least amount of light pollution and people. They’d park his ship far away from the nearest settlement and Din would set up a blanket and some pillows for them to lie down on to watch the meteor shower comfortably. Then, when the moment was just right, he’d offer Luke the ring and pop the question. He’d gotten as far as reaching for his weapon’s belt when Luke had suddenly sat up, saying, “Din, I need to ask you something important.” With his face being uncovered by his helmet, Din had to bite back a grimace, instead offering Luke supportive smile. “Of course, what’s on your mind?” “It’s nothing bad, don’t worry,” Luke had said. He’d been a little nervous, fingers tugging on his lone black glove. Din had taken Luke’s hands in his own, offering them a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m listening.” Luke had nodded, releasing a shaky breath before beginning to talk. “Din, we’ve been together for well over a year now and this last year has probably been one of the happiest of all my life. I love you, with all my heart and will keep loving you next year, and the year after that and honestly the rest of our lives if you’ll let me.” Din couldn’t help himself, he’d kissed Luke’s knuckles, grinning at his partner. “I’d love that.” “Good,” Luke said, smiling with a shake to his voice. He loosened one of his hands from Din’s grip, reaching for something tucked under his cape. “Now I know Mandalorians don’t really do the whole jewellery thing so I figured this might be a better offering of my affection.” Luke had revealed the hilt of a lightsaber. Upon closer inspection, Din could immediately recognize the handiwork of the Armourer, the handle made of pure silver beskar. “I know you hated having to bear the Darksaber and all of its responsibilities,” Luke had continued. “And you were super relieved when Bo-Katan finally won it off you.” “That’s an understatement,” Din had grumbled, still a little shocked and confused at where Luke was going with all of this. “But you are still a master swordsman and I know the Mandalorians practically invented the saying ‘You can never have too many weapons.’” “We didn’t really –” “I know they didn’t really, just let me finish,” Luke had reprimanded, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation. Din had clucked his tongue but gestured for Luke to continue. “And I figured if I’m not there to protect you and fight with you, then this could offer a sort of substitute.” He offered up the hilt to Din. Carefully, Din took it from him, holding it a safe distance away from them both before pressing the release button. The blade’s colour was unlike any other Din had ever seen. Din knew that the colour of the blade depended on the kyber crystal used, Luke’s being a deep, vibrant green while Ahsoka Tano’s had been blinding white. This saber felt like something else entirely. The blade was a soft, pearlescent pink and whilst Din wasn’t a Force wielder, even he could feel the power of the crystal feeding into him the longer he held the saber. “I didn’t know such a colour was attainable?” Din asked, eyes fixed to his blade. Luke snorted. “Oh, it very much is. It’s a little more difficult to obtain.” Din tore his gaze away from the blade, sending Luke a single arched brow in question. Luke had rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Din. “Remember a few weeks back when I went on that supposedly very safe mission only to come back um…” “Banged up, bruised and concussed?” Din supplied. Luke nodded. “Yeah… That mission might have been a small white lie for me to go get this crystal from Dantooine. It involved stealing a Kinrath egg –” “Aren’t those things like ten feet tall arachnids?” “Yeah.” “And extremely venomous?” “Yes…” “And dangerous.” “Okay, I get where you’re going with this!” Luke said, unable to hold back his laughter. “It was a stupid thing to do –” “It was more than just stupid. It was beyond idiotic, like, extreme levels of moronic,” Din had accused. Luke knew he wasn’t too mad though, the small quirk to Din’s lips giving him away. “But it was the only way to get a pink dentari crystal!” Luke argued. “And you needed it to be pink because?” Luke ducked his head, cheeks turning rosy as he murmured, “You know why.” Din did. Luke had explained how he could read auras and what some of the colours meant – including the soft pink that he’d only ever seen when Din started openly showing his affection towards Luke. He couldn’t hold back his fondness as he gripped the front of Luke’s tunic, dragging him in for a quick, firm kiss. “I haven’t even asked you my question yet,” Luke mumbled once they’d parted. “Well you better do it quickly,” Din said, voice rasping. Luke swallowed thickly, hands gripping Din’s once more. “Din Djarin,” he said, “my love, my heart, will you do me the honour of marrying me?” Din had frozen. As in his brain stopped computing because what? WHAT? Luke had taken Din’s silence the wrong way while Din’s brained attempted to reboot. He had already started to backpedal and talk himself down a spiral when Din cried, “Dank farrik, Skywalker I was going to ask you first!” It was Luke’s turn to freeze. His eyes had widened to the size of saucers, his voice more of a squeak when he asked, “Excuse me?” Grumbling a few choice words under his breath, Din had unearthed the ring box from his weapon’s belt, opening it to present Luke with his ring. “Luke farriking Skywalker,” he said, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of this all, “I’m asking you to please do me the honour of saying you’ll marry me first.” Luke gaped at him, eyes flicking between the ring and Din. “Oh my Makers, ye- hey, no wait, I asked you first!” “Well, I’ve been trying to ask you for the last month!” “I got attacked by a group of giant arachnids for my proposal gift, I think I get preference!” “You are so stubborn,” Din had grumbled, pulling Luke in for another kiss. “And yes, of course I’ll marry you.” “Knew you’d see it my way,” Luke quipped. Din lit his new saber, glaring at Luke. Luke chuckled, knowing the threat was empty but saying all the same, “Yes. My answer’s also yes.” Din banished the blade, clipping his saber to his weapon’s belt. He would never admit it, but the months following his and Bo-Katan’s duel for the Darksaber had left Din feeling strangely lighter, almost hollow. He’d often find himself reaching for the Darksaber’s hilt during training only to realize too late that it was no longer his. It felt good to have a saber on his weapon’s belt again, the weight against his hip familiar and comforting. He plucked the ring from its cushion, revealing it to be on a chain. “I figured it might be a little more practical like this,” he’d whispered. Luke gave Din a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering, “Help me put it on?” Luke had turned his back to Din, lifting the longer strands of hair covering his neck. Din carefully, reverently tied the chain around Luke’s neck, pressing a kiss to the bare nape of his neck for good measure. It wasn’t exactly the proposal Din had planned for, but honestly, it was the one he much preferred. Luke’s fingers played with the chain around his neck now, unable to hide the grin the memories brought on. “I did,” he said, “much to Din’s chagrin.” “Oh, well that is quite the surprise!” C-3PO exclaimed. Luke’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What’s that supposed to mean, 3PO?” “Well, I still remember when you were holocalling me asking for advice on how to court Mandalorians –” Cara’s booming cackle stopped 3PO from finishing. The ex-shock trooper clutched her stomach with glee, wheezing between her laughter. “You asked a droid for dating advice?!” “That’s what I said!” Leia cried, not even trying to hide her amusement at Luke’s embarrassment. “I honestly don’t understand what you find so impossible to understand!” C-3PO harrumphed. Meanwhile, Luke hung his head in his hands in shame, flush spreading from his cheeks all the way down his neck. His ears felt like they were on fire. “Did it work at least?” Greef asked, his lips tilting into a pleased grin. “It did,” Din replied. Luke peeked between two fingers, Din’s head tilting slightly as he admired his fiancé. Fiancé. I never thought… “Well of course it did,” Luke replied, straightening up. He flicked his fringe dramatically. “I am the Luke Skywalker after all.” “Don’t make me use my saber on you,” Din warned. Luke rolled his eyes. “Love you too, cyar'ika.” “That’s not how you pronounce it,” Din berated. His grin was all too evident in his voice. Luke shook his head, pushing back his chair and rounding the table. Din stood as well, arms crossed, waiting to see what Luke was planning. He was only mildly surprised when Luke reached for the back of his neck and pulled him down to press their foreheads together. The kids all broke out in cheers of “Awwws” and “Ewwws”, the adults all chuckling at their mixed reactions. “You are my heart,” Luke whispered in Manda’o, just for the two of them. Din threaded his fingers through Luke’s thick golden waves of hair, other arm slinking around his waist to pull him impossibly closer. “And you are mine.”

Aizawa looks himself in the bathroom mirror, the pants Yamada suggested to him did look pretty good on him, although a little tighter than he liked. He can see why Yamada wanted him to wear them, they hugged his toned thighs snuggly and showed off his butt; He wonders how long his boyfriend fantasied him wearing them. Yamada is ready in the next room, waiting for him to get done getting dressed so they can go; He’s sure Shirakumo and Kan are waiting for them at the party. He’s ready as he’ll ever be. Aizawa walks out to see his boyfriend typing away on his phone, glancing up at him with a unsure look on his face. “What’s wrong?” He glances down at his outfit, thinking the blonde is unhappy with the way it looks on him. “Sato is at the party.” Yamada replies, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Do you want to just stay here then?” Aizawa asks, sitting down with him on the bed. “We can just let Shirakumo know and maybe we can just have our party here.” “I don’t want this guy to ruin my entire college experience; Besides, if I’m there then he has to leave because of the restraining order.” Yamada explains, brushing a strand of hair back behind his ear. “Someone will just have to tell him to get lost or we’ll call the police.” Aizawa nods silently, not sure if the other other man would obey the order or not but if he’s with his friends, he wouldn’t be able to try anything in front of all of them; Kan’s bigger friends would be there as well. ~*~ When they get to the dorm party, Aizawa sticks closely to his boyfriend, scanning the crowd for their friends until he spots them by the drinks in the kitchen area. He leads Yamada through the mass of people until they reach them, watching Shirakumo’s face light up once he spots them. “Hey! I didn’t think you guys would make it!” He excitedly cheers pulling Yamada closely and snugs says. “Oh, Kan and the others already kicked Sato out; The dude wasn’t even invited.” “Well, we’re here now.” Yamada beans, pouring himself a drink as Aizawa looks over the other students there and is surprised to see Nemuri was here as well, looks like she’s playing beer pong. “Nem didn’t stack him, did she?” “Oh no, the dude is lucky she doesn’t know what he looks like or else she would have broke him.” Kan huffs in amusement, pulling Shirakumo closer to his side and takes a drink from his own cup. “He ran out as soon as my buddies told him to leave.” Yamada gives a tender smile, giving Aizawa a glance before offering him a drink as well. “I think I’ll stay sober tonight.” He tells the blonde over the loud music. “At least one of us has to.” “Alright, alright; I’ll drink enough for the both of us.” Yamada chuckles, downing his first drink. “As long as you hold my hair back later on.” “You know I will.” Aizawa mutters, returning his smile as grabs a soft drink off the counter and watches his boyfriend away with the music. “Going to hide in a corner for most of the night, Aizawa?” Kan asks, teasingly and nods towards Yamada. Aizawa catches Yamada glancing at him with a smirk and reaches for his hand, leading him towards the dance floor, which was basically just the living room. It couldn’t hurt to just dance with his boyfriend at a party although he didn’t really know how to but he didn’t know most of these people so their opinions didn’t really matter to him; All that matter is making the man in front of him happy. He pulls Yamada close, wrapping his arms around the blonde’s waist and sees his boyfriend smiling down at him. Suddenly he feels just as bashful as he did the first time they met face to face, Aizawa’s face flushed but he can’t bring himself to look away from those green eyes. Yamada wraps his arms around his neck, swaying them back and forth to the music. “I’m surprised you wanted to dance, I thought I’d have to beg you half the night.” Yamada comments, bringing his cup back up to his lip and takes a drink of, what smelt like whiskey. “I don’t mind.” Aizawa replies, eyes flicking down at his boyfriend’s lips before meeting his eyes again. Anything to be close to Yamada. Yamada chuckles, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Oboro and Kan want us to follow them down into the basement, that’s where everyone’s going to smoke.” He tells him, pulling back to brush Aizawa’s bangs out of his face. “But we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Anything to make Yamada happy. “I want to smoke with you.” Aizawa mutters, smoking a little wouldn’t hurt, mostly he could use it as an excuse to cuddle up against the blonde when he gets a little sleepy. Yamada pulls away and takes him by the hand, leading him over to the basement door as they follow Shirakumo down the stairs. Aizawa closes the door behind him before descending the stairs, already smelling the weed before he reaches the last step. Shirakumo is already lighting a joint with Kan on the couch, motioning for them to come over and join them. Yamada plants himself next to them and pulls Aizawa down into his lap, he feels himself fill with embarrassment and looks around sheepishly; No one seems to be paying them any mind so he eases into Yamada’s arms, leaning back against his shoulder. He wants nothing more than to curl up in Yamada’s lap and fall asleep with his head against his shoulder. Aizawa lifts his head when something is offered to him and focuses on the joint in his boyfriend’s hand. “Want a hit or...” Yamada chuckles, whispering into his ear. “Would you like me to blow the smoke into your mouth?” The suggestion makes Aizawa turn red, he never thought about shotgunning. Yamada smirks knowingly and brings the joint up to his lips, inhale as his eyes watches Aizawa’s face before leaning in close. “Yo! Kan! You down here?” They hear, Yamada pauses, only inches away from his lips and turns to glances towards the basement stairs as one of Kan’s friends made his way down the steps. The blonde chokes, hacking into his hand as Aizawa pats his back comfortingly. “Yeah, what’s up?” Kan asks. “That one guy you pointed out to us earlier managed to get back into the party, must have slipped in through the back door.” “Is he still here?” Kan asks, getting Shirakumo off his lap in case he’s needed upstairs. “No but he got in a fight with Kuto and lost miserably.” The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “He dropped this in the scuffle and ran off, don’t think he noticed he just lost his phone.” Kan raises his hands so his friend can toss it to him. “Dumbass.” Kan comments, turning on the phone and raises a brow when he notices it’s unlocked and in his photos; Out of curiosity, he scrolls through it and pauses in alarm. “Yamada, hey; You need to take a look at this.” He offers the phone over to the blonde, who takes with a growing suspension and takes a look through the photos; His heart drops and he feels suddenly cold all over. “What?” Aizawa asks, lifting his head at the concerned look that struck the other’s face. “What’s wrong?” “Sato’s been taking pictures of us all over campus.” Yamada tells him, turning the phone so he can see so for himself. “In our classes, in the halls, library and...even in our dorm.” “What?!” Aizawa sits up straight, eyes wide and in horror; He takes the phone and looks at the pictures, feeling a bit relieved it wasn’t what he thought he meant. Just a picture of them watching a movie together, must have took it through their window but there’s other things than just photos, there’s videos too. Videos from Yamada’s page, a lot of them. Old videos, new one and even some with him in them as well. Aizawa feels his stomach tighten in nausea and looks at his boyfriend with the same concern. “He broke the restraining order by just trying to come back after knowing you were here, you have every right to call the police on him.” Aizawa mutters, giving Yamada the phone back and considers maybe giving the phone to the police as evidence. “Just...not right now, considering we’re all lit as a kite.” Shirakumo comments. “High as a kite.” Kan corrects the other, patting his head with a amused chuckle and then turns back to Yamada. “Wait until your head is clears before you call them or just bring this up to the dean, he would have to get in contact with them since he has a copy of the restraining order.” “And proof that this creep is stalking us.” Yamada mutters as Aizawa flusters in anxiety; That would mean Mr. Nezu would see those videos of them and the idea makes him sick to his stomach. It was completely different when it was strangers online see him like that than is when it’s someone he actually knew and telling by the look on Yamada’s face, he didn’t seem too keen on it either; But it has to be done, their safety was more important right now. “We’ll take it to him later, he should be still in his office.” Aizawa says, practically curling up against the blonde’s side for comfort and reaches for the joint to a long drag.

Wei Ying stares wide-eyed at the paper in front of him.  It’s filled from top to bottom with lines of text, so many lines of text, but what grabs his attention is the header. A Collaboration Between Tongji and Fudan University. “A what ?” Wei Ying claps a hand over his mouth when every head in the lecture hall turns to him. He slowly removes it when his professor looks at him, brow raised, and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.” “Anyways,” their professor says, not a stranger to Wei Ying’s outbursts, “we’ve decided to do something different for senior projects this year. As you all know, our Tongji University has a strong Engineering program. You’ve all demonstrated in your years here that you have what it takes to bring a variety of ideas to life.” Wei Ying leans forward in his seat. “However,” their professor continues, “the ideas you’ve brought to life have primarily been your own, and so they stem from areas that you feel comfortable working in. In reality, things will not be this simple when you get a job. You may be asked to design and engineer something for a field that you have no experience with. In that case, what do you do?” Wei Ying looks around, and when no one looks like they’re going to answer, he clears his throat. “Uh, research?” “Research helps,” the professor nods. “But the fact of the matter is, research can’t take you very far if you don’t have the ability to think outside the box. And that’s where the senior project comes in. We want to judge everyone’s ability to think outside the box, to engineer something unfamiliar to them.” A pause. “Everyone in this room will be paired up with a student from Fudan University to complete a senior project meant to challenge your skills. As I’m sure you all know, Fudan University has a nationally recognized Music program.” “Music?” It’s not Wei Ying who speaks, but he’s thinking the exact same thing. “You and your partner will be completing a project of your choosing and presenting it in front of both universities at the end of the year. What you do is completely up to you, but it has to equally incorporate both music and engineering. Half the battle will be figuring out what to even do. The other half is seamlessly bringing the idea to life.” Most everyone groans, which is understandable, but Wei Ying doesn’t. Sure, it’s a project that’s suddenly dumped itself onto them, but Wei Ying loves to engineer, loves to invent. He can clearly see the challenge in this and he’s excited to create something new. “In some ways, having a partner will be easier. They can teach you, complete your ideas, or introduce you to new perspectives. On the other hand, completing the project will be difficult and frustrating if you can’t get on the same page. You may have a clash of ideas, or not be able to understand your partner’s area of study well enough to execute an outstanding project.” Their professor taps the side of his head. “This project will also encourage communication and teamwork. These are essential skills.” A student in front of Wei Ying raises his hand. “How will we work with our partner? We’re on different campuses. It won’t be easy to meet up.” “Which is why we’ve given you six months to get it done.” The professor holds up the sheet he’d passed out. “On the back of your handout, you’ll find who you’ve been partnered up with. We understand that meeting up may not be possible, so we’ve given you your partner’s email, and them yours. These can all be used to log onto a university-made program that will allow you to video chat. We highly recommend using this, and you should aim to introduce yourselves to your partners within the next week. Any questions?” The sound of papers being flipped echoes throughout the lecture hall as everyone races to see who their partner is. Wei Ying is no exception. His eyes skim down the page until he sees his name, and beside it, the name of the man he’s meant to work with for the next half year. Group 13: Wei Ying (Tongji) and Lan Zhan (Fudan).   *****   Wei Ying has been thinking about the project since its announcement in class. His fingers ache to engineer something new, and though he doesn’t know what it’ll be yet, the thrill of it excites him. So naturally, he emails Lan Zhan as soon as he gets back home. From: Wei Ying <[email protected]> To: Lan Zhan <[email protected]> Subject: Collaboration Hey Lan Zhan! I’m Wei Ying, your partner for this collaboration thing, but you probably already know that, haha. I’m wondering when you’re free to video chat? We can start throwing some ideas around. I’m free anytime this week after 6pm. Let me know! Wei Ying tosses his phone on the couch and leaves to grab himself a snack from the kitchen. When he gets back, he sees an email notification on his phone. From: Lan Zhan <[email protected]> To: Wei Ying <[email protected]> Re: Collaboration Hello Wei Ying, I am free tomorrow at 6:30pm.  Wei Ying grins and emails Lan Zhan back with confirmation that tomorrow works great, and adds a heart-eyes emoji at the end for the hell of it. A man of few words, Wei Ying thinks, but he emailed back super fast, so he must be excited. Wei Ying tosses his phone back onto the couch as the door to the apartment flies open.  “Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying calls. “How’s my favorite brother doing?” “I’m exhausted,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “I will never understand professors who keep everyone in class past its ending time.” Wei Ying smiles sympathetically and pats the cushion next to him. Jiang Cheng walks over and flops down onto the couch. He tips his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs. “How about you? I heard you guys were assigned this big project and that only you were excited about it.” “Who told you that?” Wei Ying frowns. Jiang Cheng doesn’t give him an answer. “Well, whatever. Not my fault I enjoy what I do.” “What’s the project, anyway?” Wei Ying explains the premise of it to Jiang Cheng. “It’s so cool,” he ends with. “I mean, I have no idea what we’ll do. I’m not musically talented enough to think of anything on my own, but that’s why I have Lan Zhan.” Jiang Cheng arches a brow. “Didn’t you take flute lessons for a few years?” Wei Ying waves his hand in dismissal. “I barely remember anything, Jiang Cheng.” Jiang Cheng cracks his neck. “So, this Lan Zhan. You’re ‘meeting’ him tomorrow?” “Yup!” “Are you nervous?” Wei Ying tilts his head. “Why would I be nervous?” Jiang Cheng shrugs. “I don’t know. You’ve never seen the guy and he’s never seen you. Maybe it’ll be awkward. What if he thinks you’re ugly?” Jiang Cheng says the last part jokingly, but Wei Ying’s eyes widen and his mouth pops open. “Oh my god,” he breathes.  “...I was kidding.” “Oh my god, Jiang Cheng.” Wei Ying gets to his feet.  Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “He’s not going to think you’re ugly, it was a joke .” “I’m not worried he’ll think I’m ugly,” Wei Ying says with a wave of his hand. “I know I’m not. But I need to, like, prepare myself. I need to know what he looks like before we officially meet.” Jiang Cheng raises a brow. “And how do you plan on doing that? Going down to Fudan University tomorrow morning and scoping him out?” Wei Ying snorts. “What do you take me for? A stalker?” Wei Ying grabs his phone and unlocks it. “No, I’m going to see if he has any social media. He’ll probably have pictures of himself there.” Jiang Cheng says nothing, and when Wei Ying looks up, his dear brother is staring at him with a dead look in his eyes. “Jiang Cheng, help me.” “No.” “Come on!” “No.” “Why not?” “I’m not going to help you stalk someone on social media. The world isn’t going to end if you don’t know what he looks like.” Jiang Cheng sits up. “Plus, I’m hungry.” “I’ll get you food!” Wei Ying throws his phone at Jiang Cheng and bolts towards the kitchen. “Look for him until I get back!” “Wh— Hey!” Jiang Cheng calls after him.  Wei Ying pretends he can’t hear him. “Unbelievable,” Jiang Cheng mutters. A while later, Wei Ying walks back out with a plate of food in hand. “Did you find him yet?” “Nope.” Jiang Cheng looks up. “Maybe he doesn’t have one.” “Nonsense. Everyone has social media nowadays,” he explains, and takes a bite of the sandwich he made. Jiang Cheng’s jaw drops. “That’s mine!” “Find him first and then you’ll get your food,” says Wei Ying while sticking his tongue out. Jiang Cheng responds with a sturdy middle finger. And then, two minutes later, Jiang Cheng mutters a Finally under his breath.  “Found him.” Jiang Cheng hands Wei Ying his phone back, who grabs it excitedly. Jiang Cheng quickly swipes the sandwich from Wei Ying before he can swallow it whole. “Don’t get your hopes up. He doesn’t have any pictures of himself, unless he’s a rabbit.” Wei Ying frowns at his phone as he scrolls. Whoever this Lan Zhan is, his entire page is filled with black and white bunnies. Granted, they are (incredibly!) cute, but not at all what Wei Ying was looking for. “Maybe it’s not him.” “His bio says he’s studying music at Fudan University, so I doubt that.” Jiang Cheng grabs the television remote and busies himself with finding a movie.  Wei Ying pouts. “Not even a single picture? In all the years he’d had this account, not one picture?” Wei Ying begins swiping his finger along the screen at an inhuman speed, racing towards the end of Lan Zhan’s page. “There has to be something .” And because nothing ever goes right for Wei Ying, his thumb grazes past a heart beneath a two-year old picture. It turns red. Wei Ying screams. “What the fuck?” Jiang Cheng shields his ears with his hands and shoots Wei Ying an incredulous look. “Are you trying to get us kicked out?!” “I accidentally liked a picture,” Wei Ying fumbles. “From years ago.” Jiang Cheng snorts. “So?” “ So? ” Wei Ying drops his phone to the floor and cradles his head in his hands. “That’s it. My life is over. I need to request a new partner or drop out of school.” “ Or, and stay with me here, you could, I don’t know, not give a shit?” Jiang Cheng snorts. “He has, like, three thousand followers. He won’t notice that you liked one of his pictures.”  “He might! Some people obsess over their social media.” “Then just follow the guy so it looks intentional.” “That’s even worse!” Jiang Cheng locks his jaw. He rubs at his temple and his eyebrows twitch. “I don’t even know why I bother with you,” he mutters, then stands up. “I’m going to bed.” “But—!” “Listen,” Jiang Cheng groans, already halfway to his room. “You will be fine. ”   *****   Wei Ying is not fine. He sits in front of his computer, the clock reads 6:29pm, and he is absolutely not fine . A thousand questions rush through his mind. What if we don’t get along? What if he thinks I’m stupid? What if he’s not actually Lan Zhan, and this guy killed the real Lan Zhan and stole his identity and I’m talking to a murderer? Oh my god, that would be my luck, getting roped into a murderer’s plans. Even worse, what if he noticed that I liked a two-year old photo of his and now he thinks I’m weird and reports me? Who’s even going to call who? If he doesn’t call me by 6:31pm should I call him? Or should I wait until 6:32pm, in case he’s in the bathroom? Or —  Wei Ying’s thoughts are interrupted by a LAN ZHAN is calling… flashing across his screen. He gulps. Wei Ying accepts the call then quickly ducks to the side of his computer. The loading icon on his screen seems to drag on forever before it finally disappears, and a box opens on his end that showcases the wall behind his chair. He feels a little bad for not being in the camera’s view, but he’s determined to wait until Lan Zhan comes on screen first. The loading icon for Lan Zhan’s end drags on even longer. Wei Ying contemplates just ending the call and making up a lie about how his computer isn’t working. That would be the easiest way to get out of this, the easiest way to postpone this ‘meeting’ for a while longer and save Wei Ying the embarrassment sure to come with it. Before he can follow through with this plan, though, the loading finally comes to an end and a second box appears on his screen. When the darkness fades away and a face pops up, Wei Ying almost falls out of his chair.  What the fuck, he thinks. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. Wei Ying counts to three, takes a breath, then shoots upwards. “Sorry, I dropped my pen,” he says, not even trying to make his lie sound convincing, because what the fuck, Lan Zhan is gorgeous . He has the brightest eyes Wei Ying’s ever seen, the nicest, longest eyelashes, and black hair draping over his shoulder. This guy has clearly won the lottery of attractive genes, which means he must be lacking in something else, like maybe his voice—  “It’s fine.” WHAT THE FUCK, Wei Ying thinks. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK. Wei Ying plasters a wide grin onto his face and laughs through his teeth. It kind of sounds more like he’s crying. Lan Zhan looks like he wants to ask if Wei Ying’s okay, but he doesn’t, most likely because he doesn’t care. “So, you’re Lan Zhan, huh?” Lan Zhan gives a small nod. “Yes.” Silence. “Are you not going to ask me if I’m Wei Ying?” Wei Ying teases. “No.” Wei Ying’s smile falters. “Why not?” Lan Zhan blinks. “Are you not?” “Well, no, I am, but... “ Wei Ying trails off. “Never mind. Are you excited to work together? I have to admit, I’m pretty pumped for this project.” “Mm.” Lan Zhan shifts in his seat. “I think it will be a good experience.” “Exactly!” Wei Ying agrees. “Many were not happy with the idea, though,” Lan Zhan says. “They called it a waste of time.” Wei Ying snorts. “Yeah, it was the same over here.” He props his chin on his hand. “So, what speech did they give you guys?” Wei Ying asks. When Lan Zhan frowns in confusion, he elaborates, “You know, about why this project is so important. For us, it was that we need to know how to design and engineer things unfamiliar to us.” “Mm.” Lan Zhan sits straighter in his chair. “For us, that everyone expresses music in their own way, so having to do so using an unfamiliar technique will broaden our understanding of it.” “That’s amazing,” Wei Ying says, half about Lan Zhan’s answer, half about Lan Zhan’s lips. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying’s gaze flickers back to his eyes. “I will admit that I don’t have any ideas yet.” “Oh, that’s okay,” Wei Ying assures. “I don’t either, but we have a lot of time, so I’m not worried. I was hoping we could just… I don’t know, talk about what we do? If you learn a little more about engineering and I learn a little more about music, it’ll be easier to bounce ideas off of each other.” Lan Zhan hums. “I agree.” “Great!” Wei Ying grins. This is going splendidly so far. “You first. What instrument do you play? Wait, let me guess! You look like a piano guy, but I can’t say for sure unless you show me your hands.” “I play the guqin,” Lan Zhan answers, not granting Wei Ying the happiness he seeks. “Oh? How fancy,” Wei Ying says in awe. “Can I see it?” Lan Zhan considers Wei Ying’s request for a long moment before giving him a small nod and getting up from his chair. He walks off screen for a few seconds, then reappears with his guqin in hand. It’s colored a deep black. Lan Zhan takes a seat. “Ooh!” Wei Ying’s eyes sparkle as his gaze roams over the instrument. “Can you play something for me?” Lan Zhan hesitates, then plays two notes. Wei Ying pouts. “That’s it? How will that help my inspirational juices flow?” “What do you like to engineer?” Lan Zhan asks, effectively taking the focus off of himself. Which is fine, because Wei Ying loves talking about his own work. “Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying begins with a click of his tongue. “I’m a bit of a mad scientist. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I’ve had my entire apartment complex evacuated due to a, uh, fire scare.” Lan Zhan’s eyes widen slightly. “But there was no fire! Just smoke. A little more than the fire department likes, but anyway. I’ll try anything and everything, really. Motors, switches, Tesla coils… There are a lot of basic things I can make but the fun part is tweaking each one to do something special. Like for our project, the fundamental part of whatever we engineer will probably be super simple, but what we have it do is going to be the unique part.” Lan Zhan nods, clearly listening to Wei Ying’s every word. Wei Ying’s heart clenches at the sight; he’s used to others not paying attention or very obviously not caring about what he does. Granted, Lan Zhan is only listening because it’s going to be helpful for their project, but Wei Ying will take any sort of interest he can get. “Music is similar,” Lan Zhan says. “There are a finite number of notes you can play on every instrument, but you can arrange them in an infinite number of ways.” Wei Ying tilts his head. “Woah, I never thought of it that way before,” he muses, then a smile splits across his face. “Looks like music and engineering are more alike than I thought.” “Mn.”  Silence hits again, but Wei Ying doesn’t mind, because now he can focus on Lan Zhan’s face again. God, he’s so attractive , he internally whines, and it doesn’t help that he’s a good listener, and has a good voice, and can play the guqin, and probably a bunch of other things that Wei Ying really doesn’t have much evidence to support other than what’s been said in these last ten minutes. Then Lan Zhan turns to place his guqin down, and his arm flexes, and oh my god, he has muscle , and Wei Ying’s mouth goes dry. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, snapping Wei Ying back to reality. A cold, harsh reality where Lan Zhan’s arms are on the other side of a screen. “If we have nothing else to talk about, I should go. I have some work to do.” “Oh, okay. Should we talk again soon? Maybe we can meet at this time every week?” “That works,” Lan Zhan says, and then, “Have a good night.” “Bye,” Wei Ying breathes, right as the call ends, and then in a whisper, “Fuck.”   Wei Ying emerges from his room a new man.  A reborn, dazed, and slightly horny new man. Wei Ying slowly makes his way to the living room. He comes to a stop between the television and Jiang Cheng, who has helped himself to a piece of cake. Jiang Cheng stops mid-bite and raises a brow. “One, I can’t see the TV. Two, why do you look like a zombie?” “He’s hot,” Wei Ying mumbles. “What?” Jiang Cheng sits up. “Speak up.” “He’s hot!” Wei Ying yells. Jiang Cheng flinches. “He’s so hot, Jiang Cheng!” Jiang Cheng gets up, turns off the TV, and walks to his room. “I’m not dealing with this today,” he says before locking his door, leaving Wei Ying to scream into the couch cushions alone.   *****   To Wei Ying’s absolute delight, the week passes quickly. Now, on this fabulous Wednesday evening, Wei Ying beams when Lan Zhan’s face pops up on his screen at exactly 6:30pm. “Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan gives him a small nod. “Hello, Wei Ying.” “How are you? How was your week?” “It was fine. And yours?” “Same as always,” Wei Ying says with a wave of his hand. “You know how it is.” A pause. “I’m afraid I don’t.” Wei Ying doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he settles for changing the topic completely. “So, Lan Zhan, what’s on the agenda for today?” “I was thinking we could brainstorm ideas,” says Lan Zhan. “It’s alright if we don’t settle on a project, but it would be good to try.” “Yes. I agree. Absolutely.” Wei Ying flashes Lan Zhan a thumbs up. “Then let’s get to it!” They sit in silence for the next few minutes, racking their brains for project ideas. Wei Ying lets out the occasional huff as he does, and it’s only by some stroke of luck that an idea finally pops into his mind. “Oh!” Wei Ying gasps, jumping in his seat. “I got it!” Lan Zhan stares at him, waiting. “Why don’t we make an instrument?” Wei Ying suggests. “Like, one that doesn’t exist.” “That would be interesting,” Lan Zhan hums.  “Or we could make a game? Have you ever played Guitar Hero ?” Lan Zhan furrows his brows, which Wei Ying takes as a no. “It’s a game where you play this fake guitar and try to match song notes on a screen. Maybe we could do something like that?” “But that’s not original,” Lan Zhan says, “if there’s already a game like that.” “Oh, duh.” Wei Ying sighs. “Okay, so let’s stick with the new instrument idea for now. Since you’re the musical genius, can you think of a new instrument we could make?” Lan Zhan considers Wei Ying’s question for a long while, brows furrowed in concentration. “Not exactly. Maybe we could think of a way to improve a current instrument instead?” Wei Ying’s eyes light up. “Yes! You’re a genius, Lan Zhan! So, let’s use your guqin for this. Is there something about it that you—” “My guqin is perfect.” The abruptness of those words throws Wei Ying completely off. He takes in Lan Zhan’s expression, completely serious, and bursts into laughter. “Lan Zhan, you’re really protective of it, aren’t you?” “There is nothing about it that I would change,” Lan Zhan says in shy defense, turning his face away.  Wei Ying’s heart does somersaults in his chest. “I get it, I do. Let’s think of it this way, then. Don’t think about ways to improve it, but maybe something that you think would be neat if it could also do? Like, I don’t know, summoning spirits whenever you play it.” That would actually be really cool, Wei Ying thinks. Imagine that, if playing the guqin could let you talk to the dead!  Wei Ying’s mind begins to craft a heartbreaking story of a man trying to communicate with his dead lover using this very method, and he’d probably do it for a long time, like thirteen years or something, and Wei Ying is getting really into this made-up tale of his that he almost doesn’t notice when Lan Zhan speaks again. “Maybe something to help with expressing the music,” Lan Zhan says.  “Ooh.” Wei Ying blinks. “Like what?” “There might be songs where you’d want the audience to envision a certain setting, like the ocean,” Lan Zhan explains. “In that case, hearing waves crashing or wind blowing might immerse them in the music more.” Wei Ying nods in understanding. “So, maybe having a certain string of notes trigger another sound? So you can hear wind blowing during certain parts of the song?” “Something like that,” Lan Zhan hums, though he looks off to the side as he says it. Wei Ying gets the impression that his heart doesn’t seem too set on the idea. Wei Ying smiles. “Well, that’s better than any idea I have. Let’s try it, Lan Zhan, and if we don’t like it, we can go with something else.” Wei Ying hums in thought. “I’m guessing we’d have to craft something that could connect to the guqin strings and somehow translate their movement into sound. It’ll be a little difficult to figure out where to put all the machinery, you know? It might end up making the guqin look like a monster.” Lan Zhan visibly pales at that. “I don’t think we should use my guqin for this.” Wei Ying laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Lan Zhan. We’ll probably need to make our own.” Lan Zhan nods, relief coloring his face. “I can make one.” “Great!” Wei Ying rubs his hands together. “So you can work on making the guqin, and you can decorate it really nicely, too. Maybe that will help the inspiration flow more. In the meantime, I’ll try to figure out all the boring tech stuff.” “Mn.” Wei Ying can almost swear he sees a smile tug at Lan Zhan’s lips. “Thank you.” “No, thank you . I would be completely lost without your input,” Wei Ying sniffs dramatically. He winks at Lan Zhan. “I’ll talk to you next week?” “Actually, I will need to skip next week,” Lan Zhan says slowly. “I apologize. It’s just that—” “You don’t need to explain yourself,” Wei Ying snorts with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure there’ll be weeks I need to skip, too.” He smiles. “Talk to you in two weeks?” “Two weeks,” Lan Zhan agrees, and then his face disappears from Wei Ying’s screen.   *****   These two weeks have been the longest of Wei Ying’s life. And apparently, his feelings are contagious. “These two weeks have been the longest of my life ,” Jiang Cheng groans. “Shut up about Lan Zhan for two seconds, please, I am actually begging here.” Wei Ying sticks out his tongue. “Don’t be dramatic. I barely mention him to you.” “You just did.” “All I said was we need to hurry and hang this mirror up before I call him,” Wei Ying retorts. Jiang Cheng sighs. “Okay, okay, grab the other end,” he says, to which Wei Ying takes the right side of the mirror in his hands and hoists it up.  Yesterday, Wei Ying had gotten (a little) drunk and Jiang Cheng had gotten (a little more) drunk, and it had led to them playing soccer in Wei Ying’s too-small room, which had escalated to them knocking over everything in their paths. Wei Ying’s mirror had been no exception, and it took the sound of glass shattering to snap the two men from their drunken haze. To which Jiang Cheng had said, “Wei Ying, you’re going to, like, have seven years of bad luck now.” So today, Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying had gone out and bought a new mirror. “Let’s hang it up on the back wall,” says Wei Ying. “Change of scenery, you know?” “You’re so weird,” Jiang Cheng replies, but shuffles towards the back wall, mirror in hand.  Wei Ying slowly sets his side of the mirror on the floor so that he can place screws in the wall. Once he’s finished, he lifts the mirror up again and him and Jiang Cheng slide it into place. “Aha! Thank you, my dear brother.” Jiang Cheng cracks his back. “Let’s make sure this never happens again. It was a pain cleaning up all the glass.” Wei Ying throws up a three-fingered salute. “Never again!” he laughs. “Now get out. I need to call Lan Zhan in a few minutes.” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and walks out of Wei Ying’s room, closing the door behind him. Right on time, LAN ZHAN is calling… pops up on Wei Ying’s computer, and he wastes no time in accepting the call. “Lan Zhan! Hi!” “Hello, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, as handsome as ever. Wei Ying smiles. “How’ve you been?” “I’ve been well. And you?” “Just dandy!” Wei Ying props his chin on his hand. “Any updates?” “I worked on the guqin design,” says Lan Zhan. “I can show it to you.” Wei Ying nods excitedly, eyes wide. “Please do.” He watches as Lan Zhan reaches off screen and grabs an object, which he places on his lap. Lan Zhan is about to hold it up when a small white bunny jumps onto him and climbs up on his shoulder.  Lan Zhan’s social media page immediately flashes through Wei Ying’s mind. He blinks and can’t help the smile that crawls across his face at the sight of this familiar furball. “Oh! The bunny!” Lan Zhan freezes for a second, then tilts his head in question. “The bunny?” Oh fuck. Wei Ying laughs, loud and nervous. Lan Zhan’s expression morphs to one of perplexion, and that just makes Wei Ying laugh louder, more nervously. “Uh… You see, Lan Zhan, I accidentally came across your social media. Funny, right? Complete coincidence.” Lan Zhan looks like he doesn’t believe him.  “And I know what you’re thinking. How do you come across someone’s social media by accident? Well, sometimes it suggests names to you, and as if by fate, yours was suggested, and I was like huh, that can’t be my Lan Zhan, can it? And—” Wei Ying abruptly stops at the realization that he’d said my Lan Zhan. Oh shit. Wei Ying doesn’t notice the hint of pink coloring the tip of Lan Zhan’s ears. He’s too busy trying to prevent himself from self-destructing. “Haha! Funny story, actually, Lan—” “It’s fine. I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan interrupts. “It’s there for anyone to look at.” Wei Ying lets out a relieved laugh. “Oh. Okay. Cool. Really cool. I’ll follow you then! And you can follow me back, too. I don’t mind.” “Mn.”  Wei Ying then watches in amusement as Lan Zhan tries to coerce the bunny off his shoulder, which looks like it doesn’t want to move at all. Wei Ying can’t blame it, honestly. The whole sight is completely endearing and Wei Ying almost laughs when he hears Lan Zhan whisper softly, “Apple, I need to work.” In response, the bunny nibbles at Lan Zhan’s ear, which causes him to jerk and bang his knee against his desk. Wei Ying hears something fall. “What was that?” “Just my mouse,” Lan Zhan says, gently pushing the bunny away from his ear. The bunny clearly isn’t happy about this and starts nibbling at Lan Zhan’s hair instead, and this time Wei Ying does laugh, loud and carefree. Lan Zhan ducks his head, red nipping at his cheeks, which only makes Wei Ying laugh harder. Embarrassment is such a cute look on him. “Excuse me for a moment,” Lan Zhan says. He grabs the bunny off his shoulder, then stands and walks over to his bed to place it down. When he walks back to his chair, he bends down to grab his fallen mouse. Wei Ying’s gaze darts to the area of skin that shows when Lan Zhan reaches down, shirt riding up slightly to uncover Lan Zhan’s waistline. He finds that he doesn’t exactly have the willpower to look away, and it’d be a lot easier if Lan Zhan would just hurry up and pull his shirt back down, and— Wait. Lan Zhan isn’t moving at all.  Wei Ying blinks, confused, and his gaze travels back up to Lan Zhan’s face. He can still hear Lan Zhan talking but his mouth is still. Wei Ying’s throat goes dry. Lan Zhan’s end of the call had frozen. At the perfect time. Wei Ying could still see Lan Zhan’s midriff. Thank you, God , he thinks, letting out small mhms and yeahs as Lan Zhan starts talking about his guqin design, eyes completely focused on the abs peeking out at him. He wonders if Lan Zhan will be able to tell that Wei Ying’s attention is no longer on his face, but Lan Zhan hasn’t said anything yet, so he decides not to fret over it.  “These colors work well together,” comes Lan Zhan’s voice. “What are your thoughts?” Wei Ying swallows, suddenly wishing that Lan Zhan’s side of the call would move for a second so he can see what Lan Zhan’s talking about. And either luck isn’t on his side anymore or it still is, and decides that Lan Zhan’s bare skin is more important than Lan Zhan’s whatever-he’s-holding-up, because Wei Ying’s wish doesn’t come true. He’s left to think fast. “Yeah, that looks great, Lan Zhan.”  Nailed it. “What are your thoughts on the design?” Shit. “Um. Really nice.” “Do the colors work well here? The blue and the—” Lan Zhan’s voice cuts out for a split second. Wei Ying almost throws his computer against the wall. “Are they complementary?” “Yeah, yeah, of course.” Wei Ying clears his throat. Think, think! He said complementary . “The blue and the…orange.” The room goes quiet. “Blue and white.” “Right. Yes. Blue and white. Sorry, I couldn’t tell,” Wei Ying shrugs, and then he’s praying, praying so hard that Lan Zhan won’t ask anymore questions, and— “It appears orange?” “I, uh,” Wei Ying stutters, turning his face from the screen. “I have a bad connection today. The video is kind of blurry on my end so I couldn’t exactly make out the colors. Sorry.”  “Mm.” Wei Ying hears a shuffle on Lan Zhan’s end. “Then perhaps we should stop for today.” “Sounds good,” Wei Ying says with a surge of relief. “My quick update is that I think we’re going to have to connect switches of some kind to the guqin strings that can translate their movement to some noise-making software, but I’m still working on figuring out how that would look. I’ll let you know if I have any breakthroughs.” “Mn. Then, I will head off now.” Wei Ying nods, still facing away. “Wei Ying.”  Wei Ying slowly turns back to the screen. The image of Lan Zhan’s midriff is still engraved onto it. Just like it will forever be engraved in his mind. “Yeah, Lan Zhan?” A beat of silence, and then, “If your video should ever freeze again, I do not mind disconnecting and giving you a call back.” The call ends. Wei Ying sits there with an open mouth, face burning up, and he’s pretty sure it causes global temperatures to increase somewhere in the world (what with the Butterfly Effect and all), because Lan Zhan knows , and has known this entire time. Then, he focuses on the reflection from his black computer screen. He sees the new mirror he bought hanging right behind him, reflecting his entire setup. Seven years of bad luck be damned, Wei Ying is sure, absolutely positive, that he is smashing that mirror tonight.    *****   Wei Ying is, to everyone’s surprise, dreading his next call with Lan Zhan. The sheer embarrassment of being caught looking at Lan Zhan’s great abs — and god were they great — had sent him into a spiraling week of regret, shame, wanting to punch himself in the face, more regret, and then wanting to punch Jin Zixuan in the face for breathing next to his sister (because Wei Ying always wants to, but the urge was intensified this week). But Wei Ying does not punch himself in the face, and only almost punches Jin Zixuan. He does, however, take down the mirror from his wall, leave it outside their doorstep to be taken by whoever collects their trash, and declare to Jiang Cheng that, “I don’t have a mirror anymore, so let me know if I look bad or something, alright?” To which Jiang Cheng had answered, “Fuck off.” And now, on this dreadful excuse for an evening, Wei Ying sits in front of his computer and awaits the call that signals his death. He thinks he lets out an inhuman noise when LAN ZHAN is calling… appears on his screen. He’s honestly not too sure. When Lan Zhan’s face pops up, Wei Ying puts on an award-winning smile. “Lan Zhan!” He winces at how kind of loud that was. “Hello, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “I hope you’ve been well.” Wei Ying laughs, and fuck, still too loud. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been, like, great. Super awesome. You know? I mean, you must know what it feels like to be super awesome. Not in the ‘Oh god you’re great’ way but in the ‘I feel so great!’ way. You know? Not that you aren’t great, I just wasn’t referring to that particular interpretation. You know?” Silence. “I suppose,” Lan Zhan finally says. You idiot. You absolute moron, is what Wei Ying hears. And while Wei Ying mentally prepares himself to enter a boxing ring with all the little internal Wei Yings that have allowed this to happen, he notices Lan Zhan staring intently… at him? No…  At something behind him? Wei Ying blinks out of his embarrassment-induced haze and slowly turns around, but only sees an empty wall. Wei Ying turns back to the screen. “Uh. Something wrong?” “No,” Lan Zhan says, and before Wei Ying can question him further, he continues, “Would you like to update each other on our progress?” “Oh! Yeah, definitely,” Wei Ying says, because if anything good had come out of his fading will to live in the past week, it’s that he was able to focus a lot more on their project. “So, the switches. I’m thinking we can clip one to each string, so that when you pluck it, it’ll flip the switch.” “How will that translate to certain noises?” “We’ll probably end up connecting everything to a device that we can plug into a computer. I’m sure there’s software out there we can mess with that’ll let us choose which noises we want to play based on which switches were triggered.” A pause, and then, “...I think.” “I trust that you will figure it out,” Lan Zhan says. You colossal idiot. You absolute fucking moron, is what Wei Ying hears. “What about you, Lan Zhan?” “I worked more on the guqin design,” Lan Zhan says. Then he looks at Wei Ying and asks, “Would you like to see it?” Wei Ying swears he sees a flash of amusement in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Sure,” is all Wei Ying says, because he’s sure his voice would crack if he said more. Lan Zhan reaches to his side, grabs the guqin, and holds it up for Wei Ying to see. It’s colored a light blue, small wisps of white decorating its exterior like clouds in the sky, and Wei Ying feels his breath rush out of him at the detailing. “Lan Zhan!” “I have yet to connect the strings,” says Lan Zhan. “I was waiting to see if there was anything about the design you would want to change.” “Why would I want to change perfection ?” Wei Ying breathes, throwing his arms up into the air. “It looks great! Lan Zhan, you’ve outdone yourself.” “I could say the same about you.” Lan Zhan sets the guqin down somewhere off-screen. “I would imagine the research you’re doing isn’t easy. I’m sorry I can’t be of much help.” “Oh, come on,” Wei Ying snorts. “It’s really not that bad. And that’s why we’re partners, right? I’ll do what you can’t and you’ll do what I can’t. We’re like two sides of the same coin. Or, well, maybe that’s not the right analogy.” Wei Ying cups his chin in thought. “Two pieces of a puzzle? Two peas in a pod?” “Mm. I believe those all mean the same thing.” “Aiya, what a party pooper you are,” Wei Ying jokes. The two then discuss their game plan for the next week and come to the decision that Lan Zhan will finish up the design while Wei Ying continues researching the switch concept.  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Lan Zhan eventually says. “Goodb—” “Wait!” Wei Ying blurts. Lan Zhan freezes at his outburst. “Why don’t we stay on the call and work a little more? That way, if we have any questions for each other or think of new ideas, we can talk about it right away.” Lan Zhan tilts his head in thought. “It would be easier, you know?” And I don’t want to hang up yet. “What do you think?” “It would not hurt,” Lan Zhan says after a brief pause.  “Great! Let’s get to work, then.” And Lan Zhan definitely does, but Wei Ying has other plans, which may or may not consist of being distracted by Lan Zhan’s handsome face on his screen.  Wei Ying tries to suppress his urge to talk. He doesn’t last long. “Hey, Lan Zhan.” Lan Zhan’s brow twitches. He lets out a low sigh. “ Wei Ying. ” “I know, I know, we need to focus on our work, but listen.” Wei Ying waits until he has Lan Zhan’s eyes on him. “It’s good to take breaks every now and then to increase your productivity.” “We have been working for five minutes.” “Great, so you agree!” Wei Ying laughs when Lan Zhan closes his eyes, another sigh puffing from his lips. “Let’s get to know each other a little more.” Lan Zhan seems to realize that Wei Ying is not going to let this drop until he gets what he wants. He places his pen down and asks, “What would you like to know?” “Let’s start with something small,” Wei Ying muses. “Like, what’s your dream in life?” Lan Zhan blinks. “That is your definition of small? What do you consider big?” Wei Ying winks. “That’s a secret.” Lan Zhan hums. For a second, Wei Ying thinks he’s not going to answer, but then Lan Zhan says, “To become a professor of music at Fudan.” “Wow, that’s a big dream,” Wei Ying whistles. “Isn’t that tough? Getting into academia and all?” “Not necessarily.” Lan Zhan looks off to the side. “My uncle is the director of our music program. And my brother, who graduated two years ago, has already secured himself a position in our department.” Wei Ying’s jaw drops. “Your uncle is the director ? And your brother has a position in the department? ” Lan Zhan frowns. “Yes. That’s what I just said.” “Wow. Well you’re definitely going to make it, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying leans closer to his camera, suddenly engrossed in learning about the man on the other side. “Do you have other dreams?” “No,” Lan Zhan says, but Wei Ying notices that it takes him just a second longer to answer, and Wei Ying sees an emotion flash across Lan Zhan’s eyes that he can’t put a name to. Wei Ying decides not to press it. “Well, that’s okay! One is more than enough. Would you like to know mine?” Lan Zhan nods. “My dream is to travel the world. I want to go everywhere, learn everything, meet everyone. That kind of thing, you know?” Wei Ying doesn’t know how he’s expecting Lan Zhan to react to that, but it certainly isn’t with a sharp intake of breath. Wei Ying blinks. “Lan Zhan?” “Why?” Lan Zhan asks, sounding like the wind had been knocked out of him. “What do you hope to achieve by traveling the world?” “Oh. Good question.” Wei Ying purses his lips in thought. “I don’t know if I have a specific goal in mind. I just know that I want to experience all that I can.” He smiles. “And that I’d like to help people in some way, and I think traveling will give me an idea of how to do that. I know it probably looks irresponsible, but I’d rather do that and not like it than never try and wish I had.” When Lan Zhan says nothing in response, Wei Ying continues, a little bashfully, “I want to live my life with no regrets.” “...I understand,” Lan Zhan finally responds, voice soft. Wei Ying smiles. “Yeah? Well that’s good. Usually when I bring it up to people, they think it’s silly, but—” “It’s not silly.” Lan Zhan speaks louder now. “You should never think that.” Wei Ying’s not sure what it is, but something in Lan Zhan’s tone makes his heart thud in his chest. He feels like he’s not just being heard, but being seen, too . “Thank you, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying continues his little game of twenty questions after that, asking Lan Zhan what his favorite color is, his favorite class, his favorite type of music. Even though Lan Zhan is answering all of his questions, though, there’s something missing. Wei Ying pouts. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem as invested anymore. He almost looks sad. This is unacceptable. Then an idea comes to Wei Ying’s mind.  “How are your bunnies doing?” Lan Zhan’s eyes widen a fraction and light up in a subtle, charming way. Bingo. “They are doing well,” Lan Zhan answers, and he’s sitting just a little bit straighter, talking with a little bit more enthusiasm. “Thank you for asking.”  Wei Ying grins. “How many do you have?” “Two. A white and black one.” “And their names?” Lan Zhan hesitates for a second. “Fairy and Apple.” Wei Ying bites his tongue and has to try really, really hard not to laugh. “You know, Lan Zhan, I heard you say Apple the other day but didn’t want to believe that your naming sense was that… unique.” Wei Ying leans forward. “I should tell you, Lan Zhan, I absolutely love bunnies!” Lan Zhan’s lips pop open a tiny bit. His eyes shimmer with interest. “You do?” “Oh yeah,” Wei Ying nods, and with how happy Lan Zhan looks right now, he almost feels bad when he continues, “I love to eat them.” Lan Zhan’s face immediately falls. His brows pinch together in distress. Wei Ying absolutely loses it. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan practically wheezes as Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs , laughs so hard tears start streaming from his eyes.  “Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying splutters from between his amused shrieks. He wraps his arms around his stomach as his laughter intensifies. “The look on your face! Oh my god, Lan Zhan!” “Wei Ying,” he hears Lan Zhan say again, but it’s quieter this time, less exasperated.  Wei Ying laughs for another three minutes. “Okay, okay, I’m done,” Wei Ying will say, but the second he looks back at Lan Zhan, he’ll just burst into laughter again. And it happens again. And again. And each time, Lan Zhan will say nothing, at most letting a soft sigh escape his parted lips. Finally, after Wei Ying clears all the giggles from his system, he clears his throat and wipes his eyes. “Now I’m done. I promise.” Lan Zhan says nothing. When Wei Ying looks at him, he sees a brush of pink coloring the tips of his ears. That, and Lan Zhan is completely still in his chair. Oh god, did he freeze again? Wei Ying worries for a brief second. I don’t trust myself around a frozen image of Lan Zhan. Then Wei Ying notices a small scurrying of rabbit feet in the background, so the frozen theory goes out the window, and huh, it must be that Lan Zhan is staring… behind him? No… At him? Wei Ying suddenly worries that maybe he drooled all over himself during his three-minute giggle fest. He brings a hand up to prod around his mouth and chin. “Is there something on my face?”  Lan Zhan immediately blinks out of whatever trance he was in. “No,” he says quickly. “Oh.” Wei Ying grins. “Then, am I just that handsome, Lan Zhan? Or were you perhaps enamored by the angelic melody of my laughter?” And Wei Ying says it as a complete joke, as a ‘Hey, let me mess with Lan Zhan a little just because I can!’ joke, as a ‘It’ll be so cute if I can get him to blush!’ joke. So he completely does not expect it when Lan Zhan, after a moment’s hesitation, says, “I would not disagree with either of those statements.” Wei Ying is sure he blacks out for, like, half a second. “O-Oh.” Wei Ying clears his throat. “Well.” Silence. “I need to leave now,” Lan Zhan suddenly says. “Goodbye, Wei Ying.” Wei Ying blinks. “Oh, ah, goodb—” Lan Zhan hangs up before he can finish. Wei Ying proceeds to walk over to his bed, bury his face in his pillow, and scream.   *****   Over the next month, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan continue to meet weekly. Over the next month, they talk more about things unrelated to their project. Over the next month, Wei Ying’s crush grows exponentially. At this point in time, Lan Zhan has finished designing the guqin for their project, and Wei Ying has found a software to tinker with that’ll allow him to assign different noises to different switch triggers. He’s also started designing the device that will connect the seven switches on the guqin strings to a computer. “I’ll make a list of the noises we’ll need for the song,” says Lan Zhan during one of their calls.  “That’s a good idea,” says Wei Ying. “Then I can play around with loading them onto the software.” “Will it be difficult? “Nah.” Wei Ying leans back in his chair. “We need to make sure we’re not going to use too many noises, though. If you’re planning on playing a fast song and want birds chirping everywhere, it’ll all muddle together and sound kind of ugly.” “Mm, I agree.” Lan Zhan grabs a pen and begins writing something down. “Moderation is key. Fortunately, the song I plan on using is slow.” “Oh?” Wei Ying grins excitedly. “So you know which song you want to play?” “Mn. It’s an old song I learned.” Lan Zhan looks up from his paper. “I’ll begin the list, then.” “Sounds good! And I’ll start designing some switches.” The two get to work. Wei Ying lasts a whopping ten minutes before he gets distracted by Lan Zhan. Specifically, Wei Ying cannot help but gaze softly at the other man, his brows slightly furrowed in focus, mouth quietly murmuring musical notes to himself as he writes down the sounds they’ll need to work with. Lan Zhan plays a song on his guqin as he works, note by note, and Wei Ying can already tell it’s beautiful. Inspiration hits. Wei Ying grabs an empty sheet of paper and a pencil.  He slowly begins to sketch Lan Zhan, from the drape of his hair to his long eyelashes to the subtle downward curve of his lips. He quickly gets lost in the task, and a comfortable silence blankets over them as they work.  “Wei Ying. Let’s take a break.” Wei Ying stops shading a segment of Lan Zhan’s hair and looks up, tilting his head in question. “A break?” “Mn. It’s good to take some. It increases productivity.” Wei Ying barks out a laugh. “Is that so? Well, Lan Zhan, don’t let me stop you.” Wei Ying puts down his pencil and stuffs his drawing into a black folder filled with sketches for their project. “What would you like to do?” Lan Zhan sets down his guqin. “We can ask each other questions.” “Ah, Lan Zhan, are you that interested in me?” Wei Ying teases, holding back a laugh at the other’s subtle flush. “Go on then.” “What’s your favorite food?” “Mm.” Wei Ying considers this. “Most would say that my taste is akin to eating the toe of Satan.” “...What?” Lan Zhan asks, looking deeply disturbed by the metaphor. “You know. Spicy stuff.” Wei Ying laughs. “I love spicy food.” Wei Ying swears he hears Lan Zhan breathe a “Why?” but when he looks at his face, Lan Zhan is expressionless. “Alright, my turn.” Wei Ying taps his desk in thought. “Oh! What are you scared of?” A long, quiet moment passes before Lan Zhan says, “I’m not sure.” “There has to be something,” Wei Ying says with a click of his tongue. “Spiders? Snakes? Heights?” When Lan Zhan shakes his head at each of those, Wei Ying continues, “Seriously? Dogs? Public speaking?” “I’ve never tried public speaking,” Lan Zhan says. “But I frequently perform in front of large audiences, so I don’t think it would bother me.” Wait. Pause. “You what? ”  Lan Zhan stares at Wei Ying, confused. “Wei Ying?” Wei Ying is still processing what he heard. “You perform in front of large audiences? Since when? Lan Zhan, why haven’t you told me this before?” Lan Zhan hesitates. “It never came up.” “Okay, well, it has now. So spill.” Wei Ying snaps his fingers. “Explain.” Lan Zhan does, telling Wei Ying all about how he’s some pretty famous (Wei Ying’s words, which Lan Zhan firmly disagreed with) guqin player who often takes to stages and showcases his music. The few times that Lan Zhan has had to miss one of their weekly calls, it’s because he’d had a scheduled practice or performance to attend. Wei Ying is floored by this new information.  “So, the performance we need to give for our project,” says Wei Ying, brows raised, “is going to be a complete walk in the park for you. This is, like, nothing to you.” Lan Zhan frowns. “It’s not nothing.” “Lan Zhan. It’s okay, really, I won’t get offended if you— “It’s not nothing,” Lan Zhan repeats. “I truly enjoy what we’re doing.” Wei Ying can only smile at that. They ask each other questions for the next half who-knows-how-long, and Wei Ying enjoys the small anecdotes that come up as they do. Wei Ying doesn't even realize how much time has passed until Lan Zhan, ever the responsible one, points out the time: 8:30pm. “I’m sorry. I’ve distracted us both today,” Lan Zhan says, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Lan Zhan, it’s fine. I’m sure we’re way ahead of where we’re supposed to be right now, because we’re so on top of it. We’re doing a great job!” Wei Ying smiles. “In fact, I think we need to celebrate how awesome we are. We haven’t done that yet.” Lan Zhan’s brows pinch in confusion. “Celebrate? How do you—” “High five, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cheers, placing his hand on his computer screen. “Come on!” Lan Zhan blinks. “We cannot high five through a computer.” “It’s the thought that counts,” Wei Ying says with a click of his tongue. “Come on, put your hand on the screen. Who knows?” He winks. “Maybe something magical will happen.”  Lan Zhan stares at Wei Ying in silence, and Wei Ying notices a dust of red nip at his neck. His heart flutters at the sight. Then, Lan Zhan ducks his head and closes his eyes. “Silly,” he mumbles, but Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan slowly raises his hand and places it on his screen. Wei Ying beams. Lan Zhan keeps his hand on his screen until Wei Ying says, “Well, don’t let me distract you from your work anymore than I already have. I’ll hang up just to give you some peace and quiet, but give me a call if you have any questions, alright?” “I will,” Lan Zhan says, pulling his hand back. “Thank you, Wei Ying.” “No need for thanks,” Wei Ying scolds lightheartedly. “Bye, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying hangs up. Only twenty seconds later, LAN ZHAN is calling… flashes across his screen. Confused, Wei Ying answers. “Lan Zhan?” “Wei Ying. I have a question.”  “Oh?” Wei Ying cocks his head. “Okay, shoot.” Lan Zhan says nothing for a few seconds, and then: “What’s your favorite season?” And Wei Ying laughs.   *****   “Lan Zhan! It’s the three month anniversary of our partnership.” “Mn. It is.” Wei Ying wags his eyebrows. “I think we should celebrate.” Lan Zhan, ever so kind, decides to humor him. “How would you like to celebrate?” “Can you play a song for me?” Lan Zhan seems thrown off by the question. Wei Ying cherishes these rare moments. “A song?” “Yeah, the one for our project.” Wei Ying pouts. “It’s kind of sad that I haven’t heard it yet. How could you be so cruel, Lan Zhan?” “I apologize,” Lan Zhan says, not sounding the least bit sorry. He grabs his guqin. “I can play it for you now, if you’d like.” Wei Ying beams. “Yes, please. What’s it called?” “Inquiry,” Lan Zhan answers, and then he begins to play. In these next few minutes, Wei Ying doesn’t know what to focus on. His eyes dart between Lan Zhan’s expression, calm and still, and his fingers, floating effortlessly over the strings. Though Wei Ying is hearing the song through a dusty speaker, the music is still mesmerizing. As notes of longing fill the space around him, Wei Ying is rendered into a state of calm that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. All too soon, the song comes to an end. Wei Ying is breathless. “That was amazing, Lan Zhan. You were born to play music.” Lan Zhan’s gaze softens. “Thank you. I enjoy it.” And looking at that happy expression, Wei Ying suddenly gets an idea. “I have something else that you might enjoy.” Wei Ying runs to his closet and digs out a box. “You see, Lan Zhan, I’m a bit of a musical genius myself.” Lan Zhan’s eyes shimmer with interest. “You play an instrument?” “You bet!” Wei Ying pulls a black flute from the box.  Lan Zhan leans forward, as if that’ll help him see the flute better. Wei Ying ignores the Cute! Cute! Cute! flashing through his head. “Can you play something?” Wei Ying blinks. He doesn’t expect Lan Zhan to ask that. “Um…no.” A frown tugs at Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Why not?” Wei Ying grins sheepishly. “Uh, mostly because I was lying about the musical genius part. I can play a little but it’ll make your ears bleed more than it’ll make you cry. Or actually, I take that back. It will make you cry, but not for a good reason.” “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sits straighter in his chair. “No one can play music badly if it comes from the heart. I cannot judge the way someone chooses to express themselves.” Wei Ying’s breath catches in his throat and he quickly ducks his head when he feels a familiar heat crawl across his face. “Uh,” he begins with a clearing of his throat, “I can’t really say no then, can I? Haha.” Damn you, Lan Zhan, his mind screams. For once, let me tease you without consequence! Wei Ying brings the flute to his mouth, takes a deep breath, and begins playing a song he’d taught himself years and years ago. It’s nothing special, just something he’d heard on a TV show once, but it had made him cry and had reminded him of the good and not-so-great times in his life.  Wei Ying lets muscle memory kick in as he carries through the song, trying to ignore the notes he messes up and instead relish in his long forgotten memories. He draws out the last note of the song, letting it fade away, then slowly pulls the flute from his mouth. He cracks an eye open, which he’d consciously closed to avoid Lan Zhan’s sure-to-be horrified expressions.  Except Lan Zhan doesn’t look horrified. His lips are parted, he’s frozen in his chair, and his gaze is so intense and shining with awe that Wei Ying can only stare back. “Did I kill you?” Wei Ying jokes nervously when Lan Zhan remains silent.  “That was beautiful,” Lan Zhan says, almost breathlessly, and then with a hint of a frown, “Why do you think you can’t play well?” “Because I know I can’t. You’re just being nice, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying snorts, but he swallows nervously after he says that, because the look in Lan Zhan’s eyes says otherwise. “I don’t lie,” Lan Zhan says. “And I have no reason to lie to you, Wei Ying.” Wei Ying sets his flute down with a sigh. “You can’t sit there and tell me it was perfect. We both know I made mistakes.” “I did not say it was perfect. I know it wasn’t,” Lan Zhan replies, and Wei Ying is about to retort with a See! I told you! when Lan Zhan continues, “But it was Wei Ying.” Wei Ying feels his mouth dry. “Lan Zhan—” “It was you. It was how you chose to express yourself through your music,” Lan Zhan says. “That’s how it should always be.” “I—” Wei Ying turns his head in embarrassment. “I was just playing a song.” “Wei Ying, I have heard many play music for the sake of just playing a song,” Lan Zhan argues. “And I did not feel that with you.” Wei Ying doesn’t respond, instead willing his heart rate to go down. “It was Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeats. “So it was beautiful.” And if Wei Ying screams into his pillow that night? Who can blame him.   *****   Wei Ying’s life flips upside down on a seemingly innocent Saturday afternoon during a seemingly innocent trip to the grocery store.  It flips upside down when he walks past the pet aisle, his gaze brushing past the face of a man picking up a bag of rabbit treats. Wei Ying does a double take. He knows that face. He has dreams about that face. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying brings his cart to an abrupt stop and waves his arms excitedly. “Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan’s shoulders visibly tense. He turns his head and drops the bag of rabbit treats he’s holding, eyes widening. “Wei Ying?” Wei Ying beams. “Lan Zhan!” he calls again, pushing his cart towards Lan Zhan at an inhuman speed. “What a surprise!” “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, breathier this time. “In the flesh!” Wei Ying comes to a stop in front of Lan Zhan. “What a coincidence, huh? Finally meeting in person, and at a grocery store of all places.” He winks. “Must be fate.” “I— You live in this area?”  “Yeah, I’m not stuck in a dorm this year so I’m, like, ten minutes away.” Wei Ying places his hands on his hips. “Do you live in this area?” Lan Zhan nods slowly. “I did not know we were so close to each other.” “Like I said. It’s fate.” Wei Ying beams at Lan Zhan, and within his chest, his heart is about to explode into a tiny million pieces. Because Lan Zhan is here , in front of him, and he’s even more handsome in person, and Wei Ying really does have the biggest crush. “Lan Zhan, you wouldn’t mind if I shopped around with you, right?” “Shopped around?” “Mhm. Truthfully, I just want to jump at the chance to talk more with my wonderful partner.” Wei Ying bends down and grabs the rabbit treats Lan Zhan had dropped. He holds it out to him.  Lan Zhan takes the bag from him. “We can shop around.” A pause. “Together.” “Great!” Wei Ying takes the rabbit treats back from Lan Zhan and throws it into his cart. He grabs the handle, purposely ignoring his look of confusion. “Let’s go.” Wei Ying doesn’t exactly know what Lan Zhan is here to buy, and Lan Zhan doesn’t direct him towards any specific aisles, so Wei Ying decides to wing this impromptu joint shopping trip.  Wei Ying throws a pack of gummies into the cart. “Oh, these are good. You should get some.” Wei Ying places a can of soda into the cart. “This is my favorite kind. You should try it.” Wei Ying tosses another ten items into the cart, following them all with a single-sentence pitch, and Lan Zhan lets him do it each time. “What’s your favorite junk food, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks as he strolls down an aisle. “I don’t eat junk food.” “What?” Wei Ying looks at him and frowns. “That’s kind of sad.” Lan Zhan cocks his head. “It is?”  “I mean, if you’re fine with it, then I guess not. I could never be that healthy, though. I thrive on sugar.” Wei Ying sighs. “I should try and eat better, since it’s good for your body...”  And with Lan Zhan now standing so close to him, Wei Ying can finally get a good look at what’s remained mostly hidden from him from behind a screen. And oh , what a body… Wei Ying clears his throat and gives a little shake of his head.  Not today, Satan. Wei Ying passes by a stand filled with bags of watermelon candies. He picks one up in glee. “Ah, I used to eat these all the time! I thought they’d stopped making them.” He unconsciously smiles at memories of him, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli sharing bags together. “What a good memory.” Wei Ying glances at the cart, now full with way more items than he can afford, and wordlessly places the candies back. He doesn’t notice Lan Zhan grabbing a bag and hiding it behind the can of soda. As they continue down the aisles, Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan with a smile. “I still can’t believe we bumped into each other!” “Mn.” Wei Ying hums and looks forward. “Look at us, shopping together. It’s like we’re a couple.” It takes Wei Ying ten seconds to realize he no longer hears Lan Zhan’s footsteps at his side. He blinks in confusion and turns. Lan Zhan’s head is deep inside a freezer. “...Lan Zhan? What are you doing?” Lan Zhan immediately starts poking at a pack of chicken. “Inspecting the meat.” Wei Ying is completely lost. “Oh. Is… Is it good?” “Yes.” “Okay…” Wei Ying stares at Lan Zhan until he slowly lifts his head from inside the freezer. Lan Zhan takes his place beside Wei Ying again. “We should check out,” he says, voice cracking. Weird. When they reach the registers, Wei Ying looks inside the cart and realizes that, with the exception of the rabbit treats, everything in there belongs to him. His wallet suddenly feels like rocks in his pocket. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chokes out. “Why didn’t you stop me?” Lan Zhan looks down at the cart, then up at Wei Ying. “Was I supposed to?” “Yes! Look at all of this!” Wei Ying clicks his tongue and waves his finger at Lan Zhan. “Aiya, Lan Zhan, you’re definitely going to be the kind of father that buys their kids whatever they ask for. You need to learn to be more strict, to tell people ‘no’!” Lan Zhan blinks in confusion. “You’re an adult, you can make your own—” “Here, help me put all of this onto the conveyor belt,” Wei Ying says.  Lan Zhan nods in agreement and starts unloading the items. He also takes out his phone to pay for everything, much to Wei Ying’s displeasure. He also helps bag up all the items, despite Wei Ying’s protests. He also offers to carry Wei Ying’s bags, to which Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan, I swear, I’ll return everything right here and now.” So Lan Zhan lets him carry his own bags. As they exit the grocery store, a small wave of sadness washes over Wei Ying as he turns to bid Lan Zhan farewell. That is, until he hears, “Would you like to get lunch?” Just like that, a grin erupts across Wei Ying’s face. “Lan Zhan, am I hearing this right? You want to take me out for lunch?” “If you want. You do not have to say yes.” “Aiya, what a decision you’ve left me with.” Wei Ying brings his hand to his chin and puckers his lips in thought, as if he’s actually conflicted over whether he should have lunch with his crush. Lan Zhan picks up on his teasing because Wei Ying doesn’t miss the small upwards twitch at the corner of his lips. “Well, I guess I have to say yes, don’t I?” “You do not have to do anything you don’t want to.” “Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying claps a hand down on his shoulder. “I never do anything I don’t want to.” Then Wei Ying turns with a renewed excitement flaring through his bones. “Lead the way, then! I’m excited for this first date of ours.” He doesn’t notice the way Lan Zhan trips over air. Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying to a small restaurant at the end of the street. As soon as they’re seated, a pair of menus are brought over to them. Wei Ying watches in awe as Lan Zhan proceeds to order a plethora of dishes off the menu, all of them having in their descriptions some form of the words ‘spicy’ or ‘hot’ or ‘deadly’ in it. He had no idea that Lan Zhan was as into spicy food as he was, and you know what? Wei Ying is a helpful man, so before the waiter leaves, he says, “Excuse me, sir. Just to top it all off, could you add some of your hottest sauce to each plate?” He doesn’t notice the way Lan Zhan’s face pales. “So, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying drums his fingers against the table. “I haven’t said this yet, but it’s so nice to finally meet you.” Lan Zhan cocks his head. “We’ve already—” “Doesn’t count!” Wei Ying argues, already knowing what Lan Zhan’s going to say.  Lan Zhan blinks, then exhales a soft laugh that has Wei Ying’s heart soaring. “It’s nice to meet you too, Wei Ying.” Wei Ying props his chin on his hand and smiles lazily at Lan Zhan. “You know, you’re much more handsome in person.” His words have the intended effect. Lan Zhan splutters quietly. “Wei Ying…” Wei Ying bites back a laugh. “And what about me?” Lan Zhan ducks his head. “Wei Ying…” Wei Ying laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I just wanted to tease you, Lan Zhan.” He holds up three fingers in a promise. “Since you’re buying me lunch, I promise to be nice to you. Thank you, by the way.” Lan Zhan looks up. “You don’t need to thank me. You’re working hard on the project.” Wei Ying pouts. “So are you!” “Mn. But you’re doing a great job bringing it to life.” “We both are,” Wei Ying argues, and then with a small hum, “You’re not that set on what we’re doing yet, are you?” When Lan Zhan widens his eyes almost guiltily, Wei Ying says, “It’s okay, neither am I.” “Our idea is fine,” Lan Zhan says, slowly. “But it isn’t perfect,” Wei Ying finishes. “Trust me, I know. I get that feeling too, but I think we’ll figure it out as we go. So let’s not worry about it, alright?” Wei Ying smiles. “In fact, I don’t want us talking about the project at all today! Let’s have a nice lunch as friends, not as groupmates.”  Lan Zhan hums, the corner of his lips twitching again. “As friends.” Wei Ying throws Lan Zhan a mischievous grin. “You must be really annoyed by me, right?” Lan Zhan’s lips curve towards a frown. “I never said that.” “Ah, but you’re thinking it.” “I can assure you I’m not.” “Oh?” Wei Ying leans forward. “Then what are you thinking?” Lan Zhan takes a few seconds to answer. “I’m thinking about how you’re as energetic in person as you are online.” And before Wei Ying can come up with a response to that, he adds, “The food is here.” With a variety of red-colored dishes spread out in front of them, Wei Ying doesn’t waste a second in digging in. He hums happily as he takes a bite of rice drenched in chili oil. “Oh, this is so good,” he moans. “Lan Zhan, you should try some!”  “I’m fine,” says Lan Zhan. He sounds a little congested. Wei Ying frowns. “What do you mean you’re fine? We’re both supposed to be eating.” Wei Ying shovels another bite of rice into his mouth. “You know, Lan Zhan, back where I’m from, no one would date you if you didn’t like spicy food. So if you want to expand your dating pool, you should really—” Lan Zhan immediately grabs his chopsticks and shovels a spoonful of chili oil-drenched rice into his mouth.  Wei Ying’s jaw drops in shock, and then he bursts into laughter. “Have I finally found someone to rival my love of spice? Here, Lan Zhan, have some more.” Wei Ying transfers some of his rice over to Lan Zhan’s plate.  Lan Zhan starts shaking his head wildly. “No, Wei Ying, it’s—” “Don’t be so considerate, Lan Zhan. You’re the one paying.”  Lan Zhan is now tearing up a little? Interesting. Wei Ying tilts his head in question. “Lan Zhan, are you okay? Do you want me to keep my own food that badly or are you touched that I’m sharing?” “Keep your food,” Lan Zhan says, voice rough. “Please.” Once Wei Ying finishes his food, he sets his chopsticks down with a satisfied sigh. “That was great, Lan Zhan. Thank you again.” Lan Zhan’s voice is hoarse when he asks, “Do you want ice cream?” “Ice cream?” Wei Ying laughs. “Lan Zhan, are you trying to turn this into a proper date?” Lan Zhan stands up, and Wei Ying notices a thin layer of sweat across his forehead. Well, I guess it is kind of hot in here. Lan Zhan buys them ice cream from a street vendor outside, and then they find a nice bench to sit on. They eat in silence. When the silence starts to ring in Wei Ying’s ears, though, he smacks his lips together and says, “Would you look at this? A future professor at Fudan buying me ice cream? I’ll put it on my resume.” Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan hesitate with the next lick of his popsicle, but the movement is over so quickly that he can’t dwell on it. “Mn.” Wei Ying smiles. “I can’t remember if I’ve told you this before, but it’s nice that you have your future all figured out. Super admirable.” “Mn.” “And it’s a great career, too! You’ll make your family proud.” A soft exhale, and then, “Mn.” Wei Ying’s bottom lip juts out in a small pout. Lan Zhan was giving him a lot more than this earlier. He decides that maybe his comments are too simplistic, that he needs to ask Lan Zhan an actual question, and so he continues, “What do your parents think?” This time, Wei Ying is positive that Lan Zhan hesitates, if only for the fact that now he’s completely frozen. Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan slowly pulls the popsicle away from his mouth and places it back in its bag. The atmosphere around them is suddenly heavy, and Wei Ying feels deep in his stomach that he’s asked a question he shouldn’t have. “Lan Zhan?” “...I don’t have parents.” Wei Ying frowns. “What do you mean you don’t—” Then a wave of ice crawls down his back, and his stomach churns uncomfortably. “Oh.” Lan Zhan remains quiet. “Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying swallows thickly. “I’m sorry.” A small exhale, and then, “There’s no need to apologize. You didn’t know.” “That’s true.” Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan. “But I don’t have parents, either, so I know how it feels to be reminded of that.” Lan Zhan stiffens, then looks at him with glossy eyes. “Wei Ying…” Wei Ying turns so his body is completely facing Lan Zhan. He holds out his arms, and Lan Zhan’s eyes widen in understanding. He doesn’t move away. Wei Ying takes that as a sign to go for it, and so he does, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan. Wei Ying rests his chin on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and squeezes around his middle, just a little bit. Wei Ying smiles when he feels Lan Zhan slowly place his hands on his lower back. “I’m here if you ever want to talk, Lan Zhan.” And then Wei Ying feels Lan Zhan squeeze him back, just a little. “Thank you. I’m here for you as well.” Wei Ying smiles. “Hey, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Since we don’t live far from each other, how about we start working on the project in-person?” Lan Zhan pulls his head back too, but keeps his hands on Wei Ying’s back. “You’d want to do that?” “Why not? Since we’re getting to all the assembly nonsense, wouldn’t it be easier to play around with it together? You can let me know if the device hinders your ability to play at all. I can troubleshoot in real time. It’ll be a lot more efficient, I think.” “Mm.” Lan Zhan nods. “I agree.” “Great! Then let’s exchange numbers so we can plan everything out easier,” Wei Ying suggests, and when Lan Zhan types his number into Wei Ying’s phone, Wei Ying may or may not add a little heart after his name. That evening, when Wei Ying gets back to his apartment and unloads his groceries, he finds a bag of watermelon candies. With a small, enamored snort, he puts them away. Wei Ying falls asleep with a smile on his face.   *****   When Wei Ying tells Jiang Cheng on a Friday afternoon that no, he cannot stay here and watch his favorite soap opera because yes, Lan Zhan is coming over, Jiang Cheng doesn’t take the news as well as Wei Ying would have hoped. “This is my apartment too, and there’s no way in hell I’m missing the new episode because you’re trying to— to—” Jiang Cheng gives a full body shiver. Wei Ying frowns. “To what? Work on my project?” “To kiss him or something.” “Jiang Cheng, I’m not going to kiss him ,” Wei Ying says, because it’s true, regardless of how much he wants to. “We’re going to work on our project. I just don’t want you here because it might distract us.” Jiang Cheng drags a hand down his face. “And for how long do you intend to kick me out?” “I don’t know,” Wei Ying shrugs. “An hour? Two? Three? Maybe four.” “Fou— What could you possibly do with him for four hours?!” Jiang Cheng gets off the couch and grabs his jacket. “You know what? Never mind. I’m going over to Huaisang’s place and we can watch the new episode together. I’ll be back when I’m back.” Wei Ying grins. “Love you!” Jiang Cheng slams the front door shut. As soon as he does, Wei Ying flops onto the couch and groans. He peeks at the clock — 5:25pm — and wonders if he can fit in five minute of sleep before Lan Zhan gets here. He’d, a little stupidly, invited Lan Zhan over to work on the project today, completely forgetting that he had a midterm at eight in the morning.  Combining that abysmal time for a midterm with the fact that Wei Ying had stayed up until 4 am studying for it, Wei Ying is seconds away from falling into a deep slumber that he might not wake from for years. Just five minutes, Wei Ying thinks, his eyes slipping closed. Just five — A knock echoes throughout the apartment. Wei Ying darts off the couch and runs to the door, swinging it open so forcefully that the hinges creak. A familiar set of golden eyes awaits him on the other side. “Lan Zhan!” “Hello, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan gives him a small nod. “May I come inside?” “Yes! Please do.” Wei Ying steps aside, closing the door behind Lan Zhan as soon as he walks in. He bounces on his heels as Lan Zhan takes off his shoes because oh my god, Lan Zhan is here, he’s actually in my apartment. “I hope this place wasn’t too hard to find.” “Not at all,” Lan Zhan says, straightening up once his shoes are off.  Wei Ying grins. “Welcome to my home,” he winks, extending an elbow in an effort to lean against the door. He completely misses and ends up stumbling instead. Lan Zhan is, thankfully, nice enough to ignore it. Wei Ying clears his throat. “Would you like some water? Tea? Beer?” “I do not drink.” Wei Ying furrows his brows. “...Anything? Then how are you ali—” “Alcohol,” Lan Zhan clarifies. “I do not drink alcohol.” “Oh. So… water?” The expression on Lan Zhan’s face is suspiciously teasing. “I’m fine for now, but thank you.” He looks around. “You have a nice place.” “Jiang Cheng and I live here. I’ve mentioned him to you, right?” “Mn. Is he not here?” “No, he had some errands to run. But he says hi!” Wei Ying leads Lan Zhan to the living room and plops them both down on the floor. “So what’s on the agenda for today?” Lan Zhan takes a small planner out of his pocket — Fuck he’s so cute — and opens it up. “You said you wanted to try assembling all the switches. Meanwhile, I have a list of the noises we’ll need, so I can find audio files of them online.” “Great! Let’s go through that list of yours first,” Wei Ying suggests. Lan Zhan nods and holds a perfectly crisp piece of paper out to Wei Ying. “Ah, give me a second.” Wei Ying reaches into the drawer of a table beside him and takes out a pair of reading glasses. He slides them into place, unaware of the choked sob that comes out of Lan Zhan’s mouth.  “Alright, Lan Zhan! Let me see the—” Wei Ying turns back around to look at the outstretched paper and frowns. “—list? Why is it crumbled? It was fine a second ago.” Lan Zhan says nothing, just shoves the paper into Wei Ying’s open hands. Wei Ying scans over the list. The noises are pretty generic: birds, waves, wind, rain. Lan Zhan is going to have no trouble at all finding audio files for all of these, which is great. What isn’t great, though, is the small frown curving at Lan Zhan’s lips when Wei Ying mentions this to him. Wei Ying gets it immediately. “You don’t seem too set on this.” Lan Zhan gives a small shrug. “It’s a fine project. I don’t know if this is how I would choose to express my music, though.” Lan Zhan’s eyes capture his and he says, “You play music, too. What do you think?” “That’s a strong statement,” Wei Ying laughs, but then he hums in thought. “I see what you’re saying. The whole thing seems kind of cheesy. But unless we think of anything better, this is what we have to work with.” “Mn.” “So let’s just do our best right now.” Wei Ying hands Lan Zhan the list back with a smile, which falters a little as he tries to hold in a yawn. “I’ll go get the switches I was thinking of using. I’ll show you what they look like and you can tell me how they’d fit on the guqin? Next time you should bring it over so we can test it out.” Lan Zhan keeps his eyes trained on Wei Ying, as if studying him, and then with a small frown he asks, “Are you tired?” Shit.  Wei Ying snorts lightly. “Do I look tired?” “You do.” Damn, honest as always. “Ah, well, I had a midterm this morning but I’m all good now! Promise.” Wei Ying flashes Lan Zhan a thumbs up. “Refreshed, awake, and ready to work.” Lan Zhan pinches his brows together with a sigh. “I can leave and come back another time. You should rest.” “No. Absolutely not.” Wei Ying gets up and wags a finger at Lan Zhan. “I’m going to go and get everything I need to assemble, and you’re going to sit here until I come back.” “Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees, though he doesn’t look too thrilled with the idea. Wei Ying grins and begins walking to his bedroom. “I have some designs sketched out already,” he calls from down the hallway. When he enters his room, he immediately gets to his knees and starts rummaging under his bed. “They’re in a black folder in my bag.” "I’ll look for them, then," Lan Zhan says, sliding the folder out of Wei Ying’s backpack.  "Sure," Wei Ying calls out from his bedroom, still digging under his bed for the parts he needs. He hears Lan Zhan start to flip through his stack of papers. "It’s a little messy but I’ll be able to explain the general idea to you, and—”  Wei Ying stops. The picture.  Wei Ying panics. “Wait, Lan Zhan!” he croaks, bumping his head on the rail of his bed as he scrambles from the floor. He brings his hand to his head with a hiss, but Wei Ying is no quitter, so he rushes towards the living room.  Then his knee slams against the doorframe. Wei Ying brings it up to his chest to clutch at in pain, but Wei Ying is no quitter, so he starts hopping towards the living room as fast as he can on only one leg. Then he trips and gets a face full of carpet.  Wei Ying briefly debates playing dead. But I’m no quitter, Wei Ying thinks to himself, with much less enthusiasm than before. And so, with a squeaky groan, Wei Ying crawls himself the rest of the way to the living room. He sees Lan Zhan holding up a certain paper. Wei Ying wishes the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole. "Wei Ying." "Y-Yes, Lan Zhan?" "This is a portrait." "Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coinciden—" "Of me." "Of you." The room goes quiet. Wei Ying laughs nervously. “I know what you’re thinking,” Wei Ying says, praying that he actually doesn’t. “Why did you draw me?” Fuck, I was right. “An excellent question.” Wei Ying clears his throat and pushes himself into a sitting position. “I was… bored. Uh.” Lan Zhan stays quiet. “I know what you’re thinking,” Wei Ying says again, praying for a second time that he actually doesn’t. “You’re talented.” Fuck, I was — Wait.  What? “Talented?” Wei Ying repeats, watching a tint of red color the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears. “Really?” Lan Zhan nods. “You have great attention to detail,” he says, but he sounds conflicted, as if torn between complimenting Wei Ying on his drawing and, essentially, complimenting himself. Wei Ying is still trying to process the fact that Lan Zhan didn’t walk straight out of his apartment after finding the drawing. But when he does finally process it, well… He’s always been a little shameless. “Hey, Lan Zhan. Now that my dirty little secret is out,” Wei Ying song-songs, scooting up close to Lan Zhan, “do you mind if I draw you from up close?” The expression that paints Lan Zhan’s face in the next second is nothing short of adorable. “Why?” “Why not? Now that I have my subject in front of me, I may as well take advantage.” “I don’t—” “It’ll be super quick, and it’s a nice break from all this project stuff.” Wei Ying flashes his brightest smile, doesn’t even have to try because it comes so naturally whenever he’s talking to Lan Zhan. When he does, a small croak sounds from Lan Zhan’s throat. His eyes widen just a bit and his bottom lip starts to quiver. Wei Ying blinks, tilts his head in question and opens his mouth to say more, but then Lan Zhan’s turning his face away. Red nips at his ears. “Okay.” “Yeah?” Wei Ying breathes. “Awesome!” Wei Ying grabs a pencil and paper. He scoots back until he has a nice, wide view of Lan Zhan. “Not just anyone gets to be my muse, Lan Zhan. Consider yourself lucky. Now, pose for me!” Lan Zhan doesn’t move. “Minimalism. Great. I love it.” Wei Ying keeps his drawing session short, partly because they have work to do, partly because the way Lan Zhan’s gaze is trained on him right now makes Wei Ying feel like lava is running beneath his skin. After a quick sketch of Lan Zhan’s features (and a flower in his hair because why not?), Wei Ying puts his pencil down and turns the paper over. “Ta-da!” Lan Zhan extends his hand.  Wei Ying gives him the drawing and the air around them goes silent as Lan Zhan looks it over. Wei Ying has an idea what Lan Zhan will say: ‘This is good,’ or ‘What’s with the flower?’ or ‘Can we work on the project now; you know, the whole reason I’m here?’ He doesn’t expect Lan Zhan to ask, “Can I keep this?” Wei Ying blinks. “Why would you want to keep it? It barely does you justice.” “You worked hard on it.” Wei Ying laughs. “Lan Zhan, really, you don’t need to keep it. It’s a five minute sketch.” Lan Zhan keeps his eyes on the drawing. “Please?” Wei Ying sighs dramatically and throws his arms into the air. “ Please is such a dangerous word, especially coming from you, Lan Zhan. How can I say no to you when you use that word? It’s not fair. Name me one thing that’s more dangerous! I bet you can’t!” “Your smile,” Lan Zhan immediately says, and Wei Ying freezes where he is. He drops his arms to his side and looks at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan refuses to look back. “My smile… is dangerous?” Wei Ying breathes. “I can’t say no to it,” Lan Zhan murmurs, an echo of Wei Ying’s words. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say, but he feels a heat nip at his cheeks, and what he does know is that it’s not something he wants Lan Zhan to pick up on. So he stuffs his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. “Aiya, Lan Zhan. Look at what you’ve done. Your shameless words have tired me out.”  Wei Ying feels all-too-well the slow rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s chest. “Mn.” “I’m serious,” Wei Ying whines into the fabric of his shirt. “Take responsibility.” Wei Ying hears Lan Zhan pick up a piece of paper — probably the list of noises they’re supposed to be working on — then hears, “You can rest while I work on our project.” Wei Ying almost scoffs, but worries that he might accidentally spit on Lan Zhan’s shoulder if he does. “Lan Zhan, are you trying to rub your shamelessness off on me? It would be so rude to fall asleep while a guest is here!” “Mn.” Wei Ying lifts his head to chance a peek at Lan Zhan. “Or maybe you want me to fall asleep so you can steal my things? Eat all my food?” He narrows his eyes. “Draw a dick on my face?” “I would never do that,” Lan Zhan replies smoothly. “A mustache would suffice.” “Filled with jokes today, aren’t we?” Wei Ying grumbles, but the subtle banter between them and the glint of amusement in Lan Zhan’s eyes has him burying his face back into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Ridiculous.” “Rest.” “You’re unbelievable.” “Rest,” Lan Zhan says again. “How do you expect me to rest when you keep talking?” “I apologize.” “There you go again!” Lan Zhan says nothing in reply.  Wei Ying slowly slips his eyes shut as a wave of sleepiness hits him. “And now you go quiet, not even wishing me a good night,” he slurs. “You’re truly shameless.” Wei Ying falls asleep to the sound of a soft hum.   *****   When Wei Ying had woken up next, it had been in his own bed, and to the sound of Jiang Cheng yelling above him.  “Do you know how awkward it was? For me to walk in and find you slobbering on that guy’s shoulder and have to drag you off of him? We both had to carry you to bed. That’s how we were introduced. That’s how we bonded . By carrying your lifeless body to your—” “Slobbering on his shoulder?” Wei Ying chokes out. “Did I really do that?” “Are you— Do you not even care that I—?” Jiang Cheng mutters a string of profanities to the ceiling. “Of course you don’t.” “Jiang Cheng. Did I actually drool on him?” “Ask him yourself,” Jiang Cheng bites before walking away. Wei Ying is absolutely not about to go through the horrors of embarrassing himself in front of Lan Zhan again, and the possibility of that is significantly higher at his place. So for their next session, Wei Ying heads over to Lan Zhan’s apartment instead. What happens when Wei Ying gets there is about what he’s expecting: he fawns over the tidiness of Lan Zhan’s apartment, fawns over Lan Zhan himself, and then fawns over Lan Zhan’s bunnies, who have been left to run wild and free.  Ten minutes into Wei Ying cooing at the black and white bundles of joy, Lan Zhan taps Wei Ying on the shoulder. “Wei Ying, we should get to work now.” With a heavy sigh, Wei Ying whines “I’ll be back for you, my dears,” at the bunnies, then allows Lan Zhan to drag him away.  They settle down on the floor of the living room. The blue and white guqin is settled on Lan Zhan’s lap, and Wei Ying digs around in his bag for the device he’s been working on. After getting absolutely zero work done at his own place last time and feeling bad about it, Wei Ying had suffered through many all-nighters trying to assemble something presentable. “So these are the clips we’ll put on the strings,” says Wei Ying, holding up a set of seven. “I made the openings super small so that even the tiniest movement can trigger the switch.” Wei Ying takes a pin out of his bag and pokes it into the hole, a click sounding through the room. “See?”  Lan Zhan nods. Wei Ying moves on. “And I’ve connected them all to this single box,” says Wei Ying, holding it up, “which will then be connected to a laptop. I haven’t done that part yet, because depending on how these switches fit, we may have to redesign the whole thing.” Wei Ying places the machinery into Lan Zhan’s hands. “Try it out.” Lan Zhan clips one of the switches to the end of a string. Wei Ying holds his breath as Lan Zhan sets his finger on top of it. He gives it a strum.  “Mn.” Lan Zhan gives Wei Ying an approvatory nod. “It sounds the same.” Wei Ying is so happy he might actually die. “Awesome!” “Let me try multiple,” says Lan Zhan, clipping another switch on.  This time, when he strums, Wei Ying notices a slight twitch in his brows. “Lan Zhan?” “It feels… weird,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying frowns. “Weird?” “Let me show you,” says Lan Zhan, and gestures for Wei Ying to take a seat beside him. Wei Ying shuffles over to Lan Zhan and plops himself down so close to him that their shoulders brush. Lan Zhan holds out his hand. “May I…?” Wei Ying blinks down at Lan Zhan’s hand and lets out a small, airy laugh. “Oh. Yeah,” he says, and places his hand softly in Lan Zhan’s palm. When Lan Zhan’s fingers curl around his hand and bring it to the guqin strings, Wei Ying immediately starts reciting the alphabet in his head. He’s willing to recite anything, really, that will distract himself from the warmth and softness blanketing his skin.  Lan Zhan removes the switches from the guqin, then brings his hand atop Wei Ying’s to position his fingers correctly over the strings. The tips of Lan Zhan’s fingers press softly against Wei Ying’s knuckles, and he says, “Use your index finger and middle finger to strum these two.” With the way Lan Zhan’s touch is ghosting over his hand, it’s a wonder Wei Ying doesn’t pluck the strings right off the guqin. He strums them gently, and a low note echoes throughout the room. “Remember that feeling,” Lan Zhan says. I’m going to remember this feeling for the rest of my life, Wei Ying thinks, not about the strumming. Lan Zhan clips the switches back to the ends of the guin strings. “Now do it again.” Wei Ying does, and his eyes widen. “Oh. I totally see what you mean.” “Mn.” “It’s stiffer,” Wei Ying says, trying it again to be sure. “That’ll make it harder for you to play, right? That’s not good.”  Lan Zhan hums. “It would be a little inconvenient, yes.”  “So what should we do?” Wei Ying drags a hand down his face. “If we don’t have anything connected to the strings, I don’t see how we can track their movement.” Minutes of silence pass. “Do we have to track their movement?” Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan. “What do you mean?” “Could we not track the sound instead?” “Track the sound?” Wei Ying scrunches up his nose in thought. “I don’t see how—” “We could use a microphone,” suggests Lan Zhan. “If it picks up different frequencies as the guqin is played, we could assign those to various noises.”  Wei Ying’s jaw drops. “Lan Zhan,” he breathes. “Lan Zhan, you’re a genius.” Wei Ying quickly slides his computer out of his bag and opens up a browser. “I think that’ll work. I’ll need to find a new program to use, but that’s okay, because this is going to work , Lan Zhan.”  “Mn,” hums Lan Zhan, sounding as pleased with himself as Wei Ying has ever heard. “Then I will work on finding a microphone that can pick up the guqin’s full frequency range.” Lan Zhan opens his own laptop. “We will proceed diligently.” We will proceed diligently, Wei Ying repeats in his head. Who even talks like that? God, he’s so cute.  For the next hour, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan work in almost complete silence, only breaking it to share findings or ask questions. Lan Zhan manages to find a microphone with the ability to pick up on even the guqin’s lowest notes, and Wei Ying finds a program that will allow them to convert recorded frequencies to other forms of media. Though he’s not doing any physical work, Wei Ying feels exhausted after the hour passes. “I need to take a break,” he whines, pushing his laptop off his legs. “Are you hot? I’m hot.” “You’re hot likely because of your laptop,” says Lan Zhan. “You should put it on a surface that’s not your legs.” “Yeah, yeah.” Wei Ying reaches back and pulls off his red scrunchie, letting his hair fall down his back. He shakes it out and runs a hand through it, then blinks when he hears a small choked noise coming from Lan Zhan’s direction. When he looks at him, Lan Zhan’s eyes are locked on him, and the tips of his ears are flushed pink. Wei Ying doesn’t know what comes over him, but he suddenly gets a very, very strong urge to tease Lan Zhan. To color his ears in an ever deeper shade of red, to coax more of those cute noises out of his mouth, to direct Lan Zhan’s attention his way, all of it, and keep it there.  It really is a little shameless, the way Wei Ying starts to slowly crawl towards Lan Zhan. Wei Ying locks eyes with Lan Zhan as he creeps closer on his hands and knees, a lazy smile on his face. Lan Zhan is looking nowhere but at him and with such intensity that it’s as if he can’t turn his head even if he wants to. When Wei Ying is an arm’s length away, he smoothly flips his hair over one shoulder and smiles even wider. From the corner of his eye, he sees Lan Zhan’s fingers twitch against the floor.  “Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice dripping with honey, and god , he doesn’t know what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. All he knows is that his heart is hammering in his chest, and that Lan Zhan’s gaze on him is addicting. Wei Ying slowly extends his right hand and opens up his palm to reveal his red scrunchie. He tilts his head. “Can you tie my hair up for me? It’s actually hotter with my hair down.” Lan Zhan sucks in a quick breath. “I would do it myself, but my hands are tired from all that typing, you know?” Wei Ying says in excuse, but it doesn’t even look like Lan Zhan is paying attention to what he’s saying let alone caring about the stream of lies flowing from between his lips. When Lan Zhan still refuses to talk, breathe, blink, Wei Ying ducks his head so that Lan Zhan can look at all his hair draping over the top of his back. Then he peeks up at Lan Zhan from beneath dark lashes and says in a murmur, “Come on, be a good boy and tie up my hair for me.” An uncharacteristic squeak bubbles from Lan Zhan’s throat. Wei Ying bites back a smirk. “Lan Zhan. Are you really going to deny me this? Your poor Wei Ying—” he starts, throat closing up slightly around those words “—can’t focus on this project if he’s sweating. What if we fail because I can’t get anything done? You understand the severity of this situation, don’t you? Of course you do, good b—” Wei Ying abruptly stops talking when he feels the press of a finger against his lips. His heart stutters in his chest, and his gaze slowly travels from the tip of Lan Zhan’s finger to his eyes, now dark and unwavering.  Wei Ying’s breath catches in his throat, and now he actually feels hot, feels like he’s going to start melting right here on the floor if he doesn’t move away from Lan Zhan’s immediate vicinity. Then Wei Ying jolts at the feeling of fingers brushing against his open palm as the scrunchie is lifted from his hand. Now completely frozen, Wei Ying can only watch as Lan Zhan moves his hands behind his head to gather up his hair. It’s when the feel of Lan Zhan’s fingers carding through his hair gets to be too much that Wei Ying’s lips pop open, choking out, “Lan Zhan—” “No talking,” Lan Zhan interrupts, “or I will not be able to focus.” Wei Ying’s mouth immediately snaps shut. He feels a little lightheaded. Lan Zhan pulls Wei Ying’s hair through the red scrunchie slower than Wei Ying thinks is possible, ties it up, then gently moves his hands away from Wei Ying’s ponytail. Wei Ying doesn’t have a chance to breathe before Lan Zhan swipes a finger beneath one of his bangs and tucks it behind his ear.  Lan Zhan’s finger lingers against the shell of Wei Ying’s ear for a long second. Then it slowly falls away as he murmurs, “Good boy.” Wei Ying feels his body temperature skyrocket. He is literally about to self-destruct. Yet he can’t move away, the air between him and Lan Zhan suddenly electric. Lan Zhan doesn’t make any effort to back away, either. He stays where he is, eyes still locked with his own. That is, until Wei Ying notices the slight flit of Lan Zhan’s gaze to something lower down on his face. Wei Ying unconsciously licks his lips. Then his gaze travels down to Lan Zhan’s own. Lan Zhan’s fingers twitch again. He leans forward. Wei Ying follows him, drawn to Lan Zhan’s actions like they’re magnetic. When Wei Ying feels small puffs of warm air against his face, he goes through another wave of lightheadedness, but he doesn’t stop leaning closer. He slowly raises a hand off the ground and reaches for Lan Zhan, some part of him, it doesn’t matter which, and— And then a phone rings, and the sound has Wei Ying flying back, ears ringing. Lan Zhan’s body completely freezes and it takes a few seconds for him to blink back to reality. Then he turns to look at his blaring phone. When he makes no move to reach for it, Wei Ying asks with as steady of a voice as he can muster, “Are— Are you going to get that?” “No,” is Lan Zhan’s immediate answer, closing his eyes and pinching his brows together. A deep sigh laced with frustration leaves Lan Zhan’s mouth. Wei Ying doesn’t think he’s ever related to a sound so hard.  A tense moment passes. Then, Lan Zhan clears his throat. “We should get back to our work.” “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Wei Ying quickly scoots back over to his laptop. “I like that idea. But first— First, I’m going to get a drink of water.” Wei Ying doesn’t wait for a response. He just jumps up and hauls ass straight to the kitchen.  It takes everything in his power not to throw his head back and wail. “Oh fuck,” Wei Ying murmurs under his breath, hands gripping the countertop. “Oh fuck. Shit. Did we— Did we almost—?” He closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. “No, we didn’t. He didn’t. He was just— sitting there. Tying my hair for me. I— Wei Ying. Wei Ying, you fucking dumbass.” Wei Ying pities himself for another two minutes, then gloomily makes his way back to the living room. When he gets there, Lan Zhan is working on his laptop as if nothing is wrong. As if Wei Ying wasn’t just having the crisis of his life right in the next room. Wei Ying slowly sits back down and places his hands over his keyboard, but he can’t bring himself to type. With Lan Zhan so close to him after whatever the hell that was, his mind refuses to be productive.  Figuring that there’s no point in pretending to work, Wei Ying takes out his phone and starts scrolling through social media. Selfie, someone on vacation, selfie, selfie, a big ass pizza, selfie, bunny…  Wei Ying smiles at the picture Lan Zhan had posted a couple of days ago. He clicks onto Lan Zhan’s profile and internally coos over the images, something he has done without shame ever since he and Lan Zhan followed each other. Before Wei Ying can think about it, he blurts, “You should post a selfie on your social media.”  Lan Zhan’s hands stop moving for a second. Wei Ying tilts his head curiously, then Lan Zhan starts typing again. “Why?” “Because as cute as your bunnies are, your page needs more…you.” And I would like to have the option of looking at you whenever I want, thinks Wei Ying, but that’s beside the point.  “Mm.” Lan Zhan writes something down in the notebook beside him. “I will consider it.” “Yeah?” Wei Ying grins. He was honestly expecting a flat out No, so this, whatever it is, is definitely progress. “That’s great! And if anything, it’ll be an extra memory you can look back on. Social media is great for saving moments you want to remember forever.”  Lan Zhan looks up. “Is that what you do?” “Me? Yeah, I guess,” Wei Ying shrugs. “Though I’ll admit, most of the time I just use it to get my pretty face out there.”  Wei Ying almost swears he hears a noise come out of Lan Zhan’s mouth — It sounded like he was choking? — but Lan Zhan ducks his head before Wei Ying can think about it. “I will consider it,” he says again.   That night, Wei Ying gets a notification that Lan Zhan has posted something new.  It’s a picture of Lan Zhan, well, of half of Lan Zhan (the entire left side of his body is out of frame). His laptop is open behind him. A notebook is sprawled across its keyboard. A small white bunny is perched on his shoulder. And in the background, Wei Ying can briefly make out a length of hair tied in place with a red scrunchie. Wei Ying grins, likes the picture, and types out a comment. This is definitely getting saved to his phone.   653 likes HanguangJun Memory. View all 58 comments. TwinJade :) YillingP 😍 😍😍   *****   “My jiejie wants to meet you.” Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan lift his head from across his screen. “You talk about me to her?” Wei Ying flushes red. “Ah, well—” “I don’t mind.” Lan Zhan clears his throat and turns his face. “My brother knows about you, too.” Wei Ying can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah?” “Mn. I’m sure he’ll want to meet you too, one day.” “Too? So, is that a yes?” “It is.” “I’ll let her know, then!” Wei Ying leans back in his chair and takes out his phone to text Jiang Yanli the good news. Really, after fawning over Lan Zhan to her for the past few months, it’s a wonder she hadn’t asked to meet him earlier. “Wei Ying.” “Hm?”  “I think you froze.” Wei Ying looks up at Lan Zhan’s image. He waves his hand in front of the camera. “I did?” “Yes.” “Oh.” Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do. Hang up and call back? That sounds reasonable. But then a thought enters Wei Ying’s mind, and it’s silly, but— “Is it still frozen?” Wei Ying asks, inching forward. His heart thuds against his chest. “Yes.” Wei Ying inches even closer, waits a few seconds, then asks, “Still?” “Yes.” Wei Ying gulps. Now his lips are barely brushing the screen. He takes a breath, then, “Still?” “Yes.” So then Wei Ying presses his lips against Lan Zhan’s face on his screen, closes his eyes, and imagines he’s kissing him for real.  The door to his room opens. “Hey, Wei Ying, are you— Oh my fucking god.”   *****   “You should’ve seen the way he was—” “A-Cheng.” “You shouldn’t have barged into my room, then.” “A-Ying.” “What are you— Sorry I wasn’t expecting to walk in on you making out with your laptop!” “A-Cheng.” “I was not making out with my laptop, I was sending Lan Zhan a very affectionate—” “A-Ying.” “I’m literally going to gag. Going to fucking g—” “You two!” Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng clamp their lips shut at Jiang Yanli’s outburst. She smiles softly and says, “He’ll be here any moment now. I don’t want you fighting when he comes.” “Sorry,” they both murmur, before elbowing each other in the sides. Lan Zhan arrives a few minutes later and immediately inclines his head towards Jiang Yanli. “Nice to meet you,” he says, and then to Jiang Cheng, “Hello again.” Jiang Yanli smiles. “A-Ying has told us a lot about you!” “Too much,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Jiang Yanli elbows him in the side. Then she smiles at Lan Zhan. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll go grab some snacks for us.” “I’ll help you,” says Lan Zhan, and follows Jiang Yanli to the kitchen. Wei Ying sighs happily as he watches them walk off. “Isn’t he the best, Jiang Cheng?” “Put your tongue back in your mouth,” is all Jiang Cheng says. Lan Zhan and Jiang Yanli come back a few minutes later. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng help them place the snacks down, and then they all settle onto the couch. Jiang Yanli is the first to speak. “How’s the project been? Not too difficult, I hope.” Lan Zhan shakes his head. “At first it seemed it would be,” he says. “But Wei Ying is very intelligent, so it’s been going along smoothly.” “Wh— That’s so not true, Lan Zhan!” Jiang Yanli hums. “A-Ying tells me the exact opposite. He says you’re the one making it easy.” “Mn. He’s being kind.” Wei Ying sighs dramatically and drapes himself over Lan Zhan’s side. He flutters his eyelashes up at him, fully relishing in the pink that dusts Lan Zhan’s ears. “Oh, please. I would be so lost without you, Lan Zhan.” Jiang Yanli throws Wei Ying a look of teasing adoration. “A-Ying,” she warns. Wei Ying pouts at her and sits up. Jiang Yanli turns to Lan Zhan. “I’m sure he can be a handful sometimes.”  Jiang Cheng barks out a single laugh. “Sometimes? I would think he’s insufferable as a partner.” “He’s not,” Lan Zhan says quickly. “I enjoy working with him.” Wei Ying sticks his tongue out at Jiang Cheng and smirks victoriously. “You hear that, Jiang Cheng? He enjoys working with me. With the loud, irritating, insufferable Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan hums. “That’s not true,” he says, and before Wei Ying can splutter and whine, he continues, “I don’t know of such a Wei Ying. The one I enjoy working with is intelligent, thoughtful, and funny.” Wei Ying’s smirk drops off his face and a heat claws at his cheeks. “Lan Zhan…”  Beside him, Wei Ying barely hears Jiang Cheng whisper, “Are they—? Right in front of us? Get me the fuck out of here, jiejie.” Jiang Yanli’s smile is beaming. “I’m glad you think so. In truth, A-Ying has been a blessing to our family ever since we took him in.” Then with a teasing ring, continues, “There certainly has never been a dull moment with him around.” “I can imagine,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying’s jaw drops at the series of twitches that tug at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth following those words. His jaw drops further when a soft exhale breaks past Lan Zhan’s lips. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes. “Are you laughing at me?” Lan Zhan casts him a sideways glance. “I am not.” “You are!” “When did I laugh?” “You—!” Wei Ying turns to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli in disbelief. “He laughed!” Jiang Yanli stiffles a giggle behind her hand. Jiang Cheng pinches his brows together and says, “What the fuck are you talking about?” To Wei Ying’s absolute displeasure, which he emphasizes by dramatically blowing a bang out of his face, the topic is dropped and regular conversation continues. Wei Ying doesn’t say much, perfectly content to sit back and watch Lan Zhan interact with everyone. He’s a little surprised at how well they’re all getting along. In particular, Lan Zhan and Jiang Yanli seem to be especially hitting it off, at one point agreeing to swap some family recipes. This image in front of Wei Ying, of Lan Zhan getting along with the most important people in his life, fills him with a warmth he can’t explain. “What are you planning on doing after you graduate?” At Jiang Yanli’s question, Wei Ying shoves his current thoughts into the very back of his mind to deal with later, because he will take any opportunity he can to brag about his super amazing partner. “He’s the best, jiejie!” Wei Ying grins and slings an arm around Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “He’s going to become a professor. Of music. At Fudan .”  Lan Zhan’s shoulders stiffen slightly under Wei Ying’s touch.  Jiang Yanli lets out a low hum and her eyes flicker from Wei Ying to Lan Zhan. “Is that right? That’s very exciting. I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” Lan Zhan bows his head slightly. “Thank you.” Jiang Cheng scoffs and points a finger at Wei Ying. “This guy wants to travel the world. Can you believe it? He’s going to graduate and then get on a plane and never see us again.” “He’s told me,” says Lan Zhan. “It’s an admirable dream.” Jiang Cheng snorts. “I wouldn’t say admirable is the right word, but it definitely is something that fits him. Can you imagine him sitting in an office from nine to five?” Wei Ying sticks out his tongue. “I’m sure I could do it just fine. The difference is that I don’t want to.” He turns to Lan Zhan. “This guy is going to be the pride of the family, Lan Zhan. He wants to start his own business and put the Jiang name in every household.” Lan Zhan looks at Jiang Cheng. “That’s very admirable as well.” Jiang Cheng turns his face with a click of his tongue. Wei Ying laughs at his obvious embarrassment. “That’s what I always tell him! At least one of us is going to make a name for himself.” Wei Ying dramatically splays the back of his hand over his forehead. “And here I am, doomed to forever be known to the world as only Wei Ying.”  “It’s fitting.” Wei Ying drops his hand and tilts his head in question. “Fitting?” “Mn.” Lan Zhan looks at him. “You are deserving of the name Wei Ying.” A pause, and then, “No one else could be.” As Wei Ying tries to process Lan Zhan’s words, Jiang Yanli lets out a soft chuckle. She smiles and places a gentle hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “My A-Ying’s been needing someone like you for a long time. Please take care of him.” Wei Ying, now trying to process two sets of words, laughs nervously. “Jiejie, you sound like you’re marrying me off.” At the same time, Lan Zhan says, “I will.”  Wei Ying’s laugh lodges in his throat.  He catches Lan Zhan’s gaze on him, soft and sincere. He replays Lan Zhan’s words in his head, thoughtful and genuine. He feels like he’s being seen, heard, understood, and Lan Zhan’s body is warm next to his, and— And this is the moment. The moment that Wei Ying feels his heart plummet to the pits of his stomach yet simultaneously claw up his throat. The moment that his ears start to ring and his vision blurs just a little, yet his senses are on overdrive at the same time. The moment that a searing heat crawls up his skin, yet there’s a slight shiver coursing through his body as if he’s standing in the middle of a snowstorm.  This is the moment that Wei Ying experiences the greatest of cliches. Wei Ying takes a shuddering breath, unable to tear his gaze away from golden eyes, his mind, body, and soul aching for Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan only. Oh.   *****   It’s on a rainy afternoon that Wei Ying and Lan Zhan call each other next, unable to visit each other due to the weather. Lan Zhan is focused on some assignment he has, and Wei Ying is content just looking at him.  With a hum, he sweeps his eyes across the parts of Lan Zhan’s room that he can see. “Is that your guqin?” Wei Ying asks, spotting the instrument on Lan Zhan’s bed. Lan Zhan turns his head slightly to see what Wei Ying’s looking at, then nods. “Yes.” “Were you playing it just now?” Another nod. “What were you playing?” “...A song,” answers Lan Zhan. He suddenly looks nervous. Wei Ying laughs. “Well, no duh . Which song? Can I hear it?” Lan Zhan purses his lips. He turns his gaze away from Wei Ying. “...Not yet.” “Not yet?” Wei Ying grins. “That’s not a no . So, you’ll let me hear it someday?” A comfortable silence fills the room. “Yes,” Lan Zhan finally says, glancing at Wei Ying. “Someday.”   *****   Wei Ying is excited. He steps onto the campus of Fudan University, takes in the sights around him, and he’s excited because he’s going to see Lan Zhan. Going to hang out with Lan Zhan. And sure, this isn’t anything new, but Wei Ying has yet to tire from it. Yesterday, Lan Zhan had suggested that Wei Ying visit Fudan for the purpose of using their music room. When Wei Ying had questioned it, Lan Zhan had said that it had all the space necessary for them to work, and that it might be less distracting than either one of their homes. And, well, Wei Ying really can’t disagree with that. “Wei Ying.” Wei Ying turns at the sudden call of his name.  Lan Zhan is standing in wait, hands behind his back. He’s not smiling, but there’s a softness in his gaze that emits a feeling of happiness. With the sun above them reflecting off his golden eyes, Wei Ying thinks he might actually be looking at an angel. “Lan—” Wei Ying has to stop and clear his throat after feeling the name stick in his throat. “Lan Zhan. You’re here.” “This is where I study,” Lan Zhan says, a soft snort of laughter punctuating his words. “ You are here.” “I am,” Wei Ying laughs, soft and airy. “As promised.” And in that moment, as he and Lan Zhan stare at each other while the world around them blurs, the only thought crossing Wei Ying’s mind is that maybe all those slow-motion scenes he laughs at in romantic comedies aren’t so bullshit after all.  Lan Zhan breaks the silence first. “Shall we head to the music room?” “Mm. We shall.” Wei Ying bows. “Lead the way.” Lan Zhan does, walking Wei Ying down a grand path cutting through the middle of the campus. Wei Ying takes in the scenery around him in awe. “You have so much green over here. It’s not like this at Tongji.” “Mn. It’s relaxing.” “What’s that?” Wei Ying asks, pointing to a grand four-story building. Lan Zhan turns to it. “The library.” “The library?! Holy shit!” Wei Ying fumbles. “That’s three times the size of ours!”  “We can go there later, if you’d like to.” “Yeah, I’d like to,” says Wei Ying, completely about spending more time with Lan Zhan and not really about the library itself. Only a minute later, Wei Ying comes to an abrupt stop when Lan Zhan grabs him. Wei Ying blinks down at their joined hands, then up at Lan Zhan, then at the two figures approaching them that Lan Zhan can’t tear his eyes away from. “A-Zhan?” says the older of the two men. “You’re supposed to be at practice right now.” Lan Zhan bows his head. “Uncle.” Wei Ying’s mouth pops open.  So that’s his uncle, Lan Qiren, he thinks, gaze then flickering to the man beside him who looks strikingly similar to Lan Zhan. And the guy next to him must be his brother, Lan Huan. “A-Zhan.” Lan Qiren frowns. Then he looks at their joined hands and frowns even harder. “I hear you haven’t been attending practice as much as usual.” Lan Zhan slowly raises his head. “I prefer to practice alone.” Lan Qiren scoffs. “If you practice alone, who will tell you when you’ve made a mistake?” Lan Zhan looks between his uncle and brother. “In truth, Uncle, I have been busy with my project with Wei Ying. I don’t have as much time as before to practice.” “Then we never should’ve let you join in on this collaboration,” Lan Qiren says. “Your own studies come first. You know this.” “Uncle—” “And he should know that you have other things to do, that this is simply a side project. Continuously visiting each other isn’t necessary.” Side project? Wei Ying thinks, a little offended. A final senior project is definitely not a side anything. And how does he know we’ve been visiting each other? Lan Zhan looks to the ground, the light dissipating from his eyes. He says nothing, but the dejection on his face is obvious.  The sight frustrates Wei Ying. Irritation claws at his heart. He purses his lips, curls his fingers at his sides, and turns to Lan Qiren with the intention of politely — but very, very honestly — standing up for Lan Zhan and the work that they’ve been doing. Before he can, Lan Huan, not oblivious to Wei Ying’s plan, shakes his head. He nods in Lan Zhan’s direction, as if to say This will cause more trouble for him than it will you. Wei Ying bites the inside of his cheek. He reluctantly unfolds his fingers, choosing to cross his arms over his chest instead. “Lan Zhan, we should get going.” Lan Zhan glances at Wei Ying and nods. He takes a step forward.  “Get going? Where?” Lan Qiren asks, tone still sharp. Lan Zhan stops moving. “The music room,” he answers after a moment’s hesitation. Lan Qiren looks ready to combust, though Wei Ying assumes this isn’t a new look for him. “That is accessible only to members of the music program. Are we starting to break rules now, too?” Lan Zhan shakes his head. “It would help with our project, and I will be with him the entire time.” “Accessible only to members of our music program,” Lan Qiren repeats.  Wei Ying bites his tongue before spinning on his heels. He doesn’t care where they go, he just wants Lan Zhan out of his uncle’s sight. “It’s fine, Lan Zhan. We can head to the library and work there.” “A-Zhan.” Wei Ying swears he’s going to pop a vessel if another word comes out of Lan Qiren’s mouth. He turns back around in wait. “You have a performance tomorrow. Is that not more important than your project?” Lan Qiren scolds. “You should be practicing right now.”  Those words momentarily dissipate Wei Ying’s anger. He blinks. “Performance?” Lan Qiren ignores him, so he turns to Lan Zhan. “What performance?” Lan Zhan turns to Wei Ying and some light reappears in his eyes. “Wei Ying. I was going to ask if you would like to—” “Practice,” Lan Qiren interrupts. “Now.” Lan Zhan blinks and turns to Lan Qiren. “Uncle, I wanted to—” “I will not repeat myself.” Lan Zhan opens his mouth, then closes it again. He inhales sharply through his teeth but says nothing back to his uncle, instead bowing his head. Wei Ying frowns. The bridge of his nose creases in worry. He extends a hand. “Lan Zh—” Lan Zhan turns away from Wei Ying and begins to walk off. Wei Ying watches him go further and further away until Lan Zhan finally rounds a corner and disappears altogether. Wei Ying’s hand drops to his side, but he continues looking forward, a pain enveloping his chest. Lan Qiren hums from beside him and turns to leave. Wei Ying glances at his retreating figure, and then at Lan Huan. Lan Huan is staring down the path Lan Zhan had walked down, a frown shaping his lips. Then he turns and looks Wei Ying in the eyes.  Wei Ying can’t decipher his expression before Lan Huan spins and walks off, leaving Wei Ying alone in the courtyard.    That night, Wei Ying receives a text. From: [Unknown] Lotus Concert Hall. 8 PM.   *****   Wei Ying wonders if it’s silly of him to be placing so much trust into this mystery text. Wonders if it’s silly of him to be running to catch a taxi to a building he’s never been to before, for a performance he has no ticket to. Wonder if it’s silly that he picked up a bouquet of peonies beforehand, for someone who may not even be there. But when Wei Ying arrives at the Lotus Concert Hall at 7:45pm and sees Lan Zhan’s name on a pamphlet stuffed into his hand, Wei Ying realizes he doesn’t give a single fuck how silly it might have been.  Wei Ying walks up to a window outside a large set of golden double doors. “Hi,” he says, twirling the bouquet around in his hands. “How do I get in?” The man behind the window holds up a slip of paper. “Do you have a ticket?” “Uh, no.” Wei Ying smiles sheepishly. “Can I buy one?” “All sold out,” the man replies. “Sorry.” Wei Ying visibly deflates. Lan Zhan’s crestfallen expression from yesterday afternoon flashes through his mind, and he swallows the lump that forms in his throat. His hands grip the bouquet tighter. “Ah. Really? I know the person performing, so…” “Were you invited?” “Invited?” Wei Ying thinks about the mystery text. “...Yes?” The man picks up a list. “What’s your name?”  “Wei Ying.” Wei Ying holds his breath as the man’s eyes scan the list. “Go on in,” the man finally says, and Wei Ying almost cries from happiness. Wei Ying flings open the double doors and squawks at the sight before him. The concert hall is huge. Huge. And it’s packed. Every seat is already almost filled. Suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people, Wei Ying directs his attention to the decorations lining the room instead. Golden curtains, warm lights, a giant chandelier. Wei Ying feels like he’s stepped into some alternate dimension where he’s somehow scored tickets to the hottest Broadway show on Earth. “Take your seats. The doors will be closing in ten minutes.” Wei Ying blinks out of his daze at the voice over the intercom. He quickly scans the near-full array of seats for an empty one, and catches a glimpse of a single seat in the front towards the right side of the stage. Wei Ying doesn’t care how it looks; he runs.  He manages to plop himself down into the seat before anyone else can. A wave of relief flows through his body and he mentally pats himself on the back for scoring such a good view.  Wei Ying flips through the pamphlet in his hands as the room around him settles in wait. He sees that Lan Zhan isn’t the only one performing — which makes sense because as great as Lan Zhan is, this is a huge fucking crowd — and counts ten performances in total. Some are Fudan alumni, some are current students, and all are, apparently, musical prodigies.  Wei Ying doesn’t think he’d fully understood the full extent of how popular Fudan’s music program was, but now, sitting in this golden performance hall, he thinks he might finally get it. The realization makes his heart swell with pride for Lan Zhan. Much to Wei Ying’s dismay, Lan Zhan is scheduled to be the last one to perform. So as the lights in the hall dim and a voice over the intercom asks for everyone’s silence, Wei Ying puffs out a small sigh and settles in for the hour-long event.  His hands remain wrapped around the bouquet. The performances start. Wei Ying finds himself enjoying them a lot more than he thought he would as he battles with a stomach swarming with butterflies. The music is calm, powerful, beautiful, and it takes Wei Ying’s mind off of a certain golden-eyed man for long enough to calm his pounding heart.  Then a voice over the intercom announces Lan Zhan’s performance, and Wei Ying gets a little lightheaded. It’s quickly overpowered by a wave of excitement, though, at getting to see Lan Zhan perform from up close.  And then Lan Zhan walks on stage, dressed in long, flowing white robes, dark hair tied up into a perfect ponytail that swings as he walks — no, glides — to the center of the stage.  At this moment, Wei Ying’s excitement is quickly overpowered by something else. Awe? Admiration? Wonder? Wei Ying’s not sure what the word is. All he knows is that he’s breathless and that he can’t look anywhere but at Lan Zhan. His hands clutch the bouquet even tighter.   Lan Zhan takes a seat before a black guqin, one that Wei Ying is very familiar with from video calls and home visits. Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter closed and he raises his hands to gently place them on the strings. Then, with a single strum, the concert hall comes to life. Wei Ying is frozen in his seat as Lan Zhan plays. Wei Ying’s eyes flit from Lan Zhan’s hands, floating across the guqin, to his eyes, closed in concentration, to his legs, crossed beneath white robes. The music that pours from the stage is mesmerizing, passionate , and Wei Ying can’t help the ball of emotion that swells in his throat. To say that Wei Ying has never felt this way listening to a song is not an exaggeration. Every note that Lan Zhan plays blankets Wei Ying in the warmest sense of calm. It keeps him still, afraid that a single breath or movement will cause him to miss the tiniest sound. The music echoes in his ears and swirls in his brain. Wei Ying can only see Lan Zhan, can only hear Lan Zhan, can only feel a red hot emotion deep in his chest that’s strong, way too strong, is so strong that it can’t be anything but— Then Wei Ying catches the smallest downturn of Lan Zhan’s lips, the corners of his mouth twitching into a barely noticeable frown. Wei Ying’s heart clenches painfully at the sight, at the thought that there may be something about this performance that Lan Zhan isn’t happy with. Wei Ying needs to fix this. Look at me, Lan Zhan. Wei Ying sits a little straighter. He leans forward a little more. His hands wrap tighter around the bouquet. Look at me. Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter open. Wei Ying watches him blink before raising his head slightly to swipe his gaze across the audience. Then Lan Zhan turns his head to the right and locks eyes with Wei Ying. Definitely not bullshit, Wei Ying thinks for the second time about slow-motion romantic comedy scenes. Definitely not bullshit. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen. He looks like he’s in shock, but with the way his fingers continue to seamlessly play his song, one would never be able to tell.  Wei Ying gives Lan Zhan a thumbs up in encouragement. The downturn to Lan Zhan’s lips disappears and is replaced with something brighter. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying don’t break eye contact for the remainder of the performance. Wei Ying smiles, wide and bright, nodding along to the notes that sear themselves into his skin. Lan Zhan plays as beautifully as before, if not more so, his hands crafting melodies that reverberate through the air. The final note echoes throughout the hall.  It’s only then that Wei Ying feels time start around him again. The concert hall erupts into applause, and Lan Zhan stands to deliver a grateful bow. Right when he straightens back up, his eyes find Wei Ying’s again. Wei Ying claps extra loud, because he’s not about to have Random Guy #435 in the seventh row best him at cheering for Lan Zhan. And, just for good measure, Wei Ying blows a kiss at Lan Zhan and throws a wink at him for fun. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen again and he turns his face. Wei Ying laughs quietly to himself. Then he pouts, because Lan Zhan’s attention is no longer on him, and well, he needs to fix that. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying waves his arm wildly. “Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan slowly turns back to find him. Wei Ying grins, and tosses his bouquet of peonies onto the stage. Lan Zhan catches it before it hits the ground. He turns the bouquet around in his hands a few times, and Wei Ying is not ready for the smile that graces Lan Zhan’s lips, soft and wide. Holy shit , Wei Ying thinks, because Lan Zhan’s smile is gorgeous, and Wei Ying should make him smile like that all the time. In fact, in that second, he decides to dedicate his life to it. Wei Ying can’t go another second without being next to Lan Zhan. He starts running for the door that leads to backstage, and hopes that Lan Zhan will be waiting there for him. He is. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes. He looks like he has something to say, so Wei Ying waits patiently for him to find the words. Waits for him to craft together an eloquent sentence befitting the Lan name, to express his thoughts and feelings with beautiful simplicity, to bare his heart and free his soul like he’d done on stage, and Wei Ying will listen, will stand here and wait no matter how long it takes, no matter how— “Wei Ying.” Well, he’s not that patient. “Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying grabs his hands and squeezes them. A warmth surges through his body. His eyes sparkle in awe. Adrenaline still courses through him from the music he’d heard, from the way it had spoken to him, and from the need to let Lan Zhan know. “That was amazing, Lan Zhan!” “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, like he can’t believe Wei Ying is here. “How did you—?” Wei Ying holds a finger to Lan Zhan’s lips. “Don’t worry about it. The important thing is that I came, right?”  Lan Zhan nods, stare fixed on Wei Ying. He keeps his lips still under Wei Ying’s touch.  Wei Ying’s gaze softens and he drops his finger from Lan Zhan’s mouth to take hold of his hands again, giving them another squeeze. “You’re so talented, Lan Zhan. What you played was beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Lan Zhan inhales sharply. “You liked it?”  Almost as much as I like you, Wei Ying thinks, heart thudding in his chest. But he obviously can’t say that, so he instead nods excitedly. “Of course I liked it. Why would I lie to you?” Wei Ying begins to hum a part of Lan Zhan’s song, unnoticing of the way Lan Zhan’s breath catches in his throat. “You wrote it yourself, didn’t you?” Lan Zhan swallows. “Yes.” Wei Ying grins. “I knew it. It sounded so personal, there’s no way it couldn’t have been.” Wei Ying loves the way Lan Zhan’s eyes shimmer as he nods again. “Does it have a name?” “I—” Lan Zhan ducks his head. The tips of his ears flare a bright red. Wei Ying blinks down at their joined hands when he feels Lan Zhan’s grip around them tighten. “Wei Ying, I—” “A-Zhan!” The two jump. Lan Qiren is approaching them quickly, looking very , very pissed. Lan Huan walks at his side, eyes darting carefully between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. Wei Ying moves to drop his hands back to his side but Lan Zhan only grips them tighter, not allowing him to. Wei Ying glances at him, at his troubled expression, and gives his fingers a reassuring squeeze. Lan Zhan stands a little straighter. “Uncle—” “What was that, A-Zhan?!” Lan Qiren stops in front of them. His eyes dart to Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s connected hands and he bites his tongue. Wei Ying thinks it might be hard enough to draw blood. Lan Qiren snaps his gaze back to Lan Zhan. “What were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?” Wei Ying blinks and looks between Lan Zhan and his uncle. He’s completely lost.  What stunt? he thinks, because he’s been here since the performance started and the only stunt Lan Zhan had pulled was giving Wei Ying more reasons to cry into his pillow at night. “I was not trying to pull a stunt, Uncle, I—” “Listen to yourself!” Lan Zhan’s hands clench tighter around Wei Ying’s. Wei Ying looks at him worriedly, then turns to Lan Qiren. He wants to help, so desperately wants to help, but needs to know what the hell is going on first.  “Uh, what are we talking about exactly?” Lan Qiren refuses to acknowledge his existence, which is no surprise to Wei Ying. Thankfully, Lan Huan is here, and he at least seems to tolerate him. “A-Zhan… played a song different from the one he’d originally been practicing.” Wei Ying still doesn’t get it. If anything, now he’s more confused as to why this is an issue. He almost laughs. “So? Does it matter? He did fine either way.” Lan Huan says nothing. He looks at Lan Zhan with pursed lips and an indecipherable gloss in his eyes. Beside him, Lan Qiren sneers, “It is not a matter of whether it sounded good. It shouldn’t have been done in the first place. Is this how I raised you? To go behind my back like this? It’s—” “Uncle,” Lan Zhan interrupts with a strength to his tone that has the hairs on Wei Ying’s arm standing. “Changing the song was a choice I made. Please accept it.” Lan Qiren furrows his brows. “Accept it?” A breath, and then, “This is what I want to do.” Wei Ying, for some odd reason, gets the feeling that Lan Zhan is referring to more than just a change of song.   A tense moment passes before Lan Huan sighs. “It’s been a long day. A-Zhan, you should go back and rest. Uncle and I need to speak to some faculty before returning. Let’s meet tomorrow when we’ve all had time to think.” Lan Zhan nods and watches as Lan Huan and Lan Qiren (the latter almost unwillingly, and not before throwing the both of them another disapproving look) walk away. Wei Ying turns to Lan Zhan a little nervously. “Ah, I guess I’ll go too, then. Let you rest and all. Great job again, Lan Zh—” Lan Zhan intertwines his fingers with Wei Ying’s before he can finish his sentence. “Let’s go somewhere,” Lan Zhan says, words barely audible. “If that’s okay.” He notices Lan Zhan’s grip tighten around the bouquet.  “Yeah. Okay,” Wei Ying breathes. “Wherever you want.”   *****   By the time Wei Ying and Lan Zhan reach the park, the sky is littered with stars. Wei Ying walks silently at Lan Zhan’s side. The incident with Lan Qiren had clearly affected him in some way, and Wei Ying wants to leave Lan Zhan to his own thoughts for as long as he wants. This doesn’t stop him, though, from continuously sneaking glances at him in concern. Lan Zhan eventually comes to a stop beneath a tree in a more secluded area of the park. Wei Ying stops moving and allows himself to fully look at the other. Lan Zhan’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing slowly, the rise and fall of his chest calculated. A swirl of wind is blowing his ponytail from side to side, and the white robe that Lan Zhan is still wearing flutters along the ground. Wei Ying suddenly realizes how thin the cloth looks, and in this cool night air, worries that Lan Zhan is underdressed. Wei Ying quickly shrugs off his coat and places it over Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan blinks his eyes open, then casts a sideways glance at Wei Ying. He starts to reach for the jacket. “I don’t—” Wei Ying holds up his palm. “If you give it back to me, I’ll just put it on the ground and then none of us will wear it.” Lan Zhan keeps his eyes locked with Wei Ying’s, likely trying to decide whether his words are a bluff or not. In the end, he must decide they aren’t because he drops his hand back down with a soft sigh. Wei Ying smiles, pleased. He gets down on the grass and softly pulls Lan Zhan down with him. The two sit in silence. Wei Ying looks up at the moon and counts the minutes as they tick by. In his head, the music he’d heard just a while ago plays on repeat and calms his mind. “I also want to travel the world.” Wei Ying blinks out of his thoughts and looks up at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan remains still, gaze forward. The wind blows wisps of his hair across his face. “But you said you wanted to stay here.” “What I said was not sincere.” Lan Zhan grips the fabric of his robe. “My dream has always been to travel. To find places where music is needed most. To play and to discover.” Wei Ying processes this new information. “Then why not do it?” he asks, but immediately regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips. Because Wei Ying knows what’s stopping him. Lan Zhan must guess that Wei Ying already knows, because he says nothing in response. “Does your uncle…” Wei Ying trails off, the question dying on his tongue. “My uncle is supportive of me,” Lan Zhan says after a moment’s silence. “He can be harsh but he truly loves my brother and I. Since my parents passed, he has been trying to keep us close so that he can watch over us easily.” Lan Zhan takes a deep, slow breath. “I do not blame him.” Wei Ying swallows thickly. “When did your parents…?” “When I was six years old.” “Ah.” Wei Ying looks off to the side. “And your uncle has been watching you ever since?” “Yes.” Lan Zhan exhales. “He’s been my brother and I’s sole caretaker.” Wei Ying suddenly feels like shit for assuming the worst about Lan Qiren. Yeah, his words to Lan Zhan weren’t the nicest they could’ve been, but who is he to judge someone who’s known and cared for Lan Zhan his entire life?  “You don’t need to feel bad,” Lan Zhan says, reading Wei Ying’s thoughts. Wei Ying turns his head to look at Lan Zhan. “Still. Have you heard that one saying? Never assume, because if you do, you’ll make an ass of you and me.”  Lan Zhan hums. “I don’t think you made an…” He trails off. Wei Ying smiles. “Ass?” “Yes. Of you and me.” Lan Zhan plays with the sleeve of Wei Ying’s jacket. “You were concerned, and I appreciate that more than I can express.” Lan Zhan sighs. “And although my uncle and I have some differences in opinion, he was not wrong yesterday in saying that I’d been slacking in my practice.” Wei Ying tilts his head in question. “If you didn’t need the extra practice, why does it matter?” “I did not stop attending my lessons because I felt I didn’t need practice.” Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying. “These lessons were meant to prepare me for my performance today. I stopped attending because I no longer wanted to play the song I was originally meant to.” “Oh,” Wei Ying breathes. “If I attended and started practicing a new song, they would not be able to hide it from Uncle. And if I attended and kept practicing the old song as a cover, it would take away from the time I had to practice this new one. So in the end, I stopped going.” Wei Ying nods slowly. “So his anger was justified.” “Regarding the practice, yes, and I will apologize to him for it.” A pause. “But I will not apologize for my dream.” “He’ll come around,” Wei Ying says, and he truly believes these words. “I know he will. Especially after your performance, I don’t think he can ignore that you should play your music the way you want to.” Lan Zhan hums lightly, but says nothing in response. Then Wei Ying’s mind starts to fill again with Lan Zhan’s music. Even just thinking about it, the palms of his hands start to sweat and he can feel his heart beating in his ears. Paired with Lan Zhan right in front of him, so close to him, Wei Ying has a thought so monumental it almost rips a gasp from his throat. “Lan Zhan.” Lan Zhan hums. “I have an idea for our project.” Lan Zhan glances at him from the corner of his eyes. “We already have an idea,” he says, but there’s no strength in his words. Wei Ying knows fully well that neither of them are satisfied with their current direction. “Let’s do something with your song,” Wei Ying says. He places a hand on his shoulder. They lock eyes beneath the night sky. “The one you played. It was just so perfect, felt so right . When I listened to it, there was so much inspiration behind every note. I could feel every sound. I could see the music, Lan Zhan, it was painting the most vivid pictures in my mind.” Lan Zhan’s lips pop open. His eyes swim under the light of the moon. “What did you see?” Wei Ying’s fingers tighten slightly around Lan Zhan’s shoulder. His gaze veers to the ground. All too suddenly, he feels like he’s teleported back in time, sitting in a red, velvet chair, staring up at the keeper of his heart bringing music to life.  Warmth pools in his body. His heart beats rapidly in his ears. The feeling he’s had for months now, the feeling he’s tried to suppress, had so abruptly exploded upon hearing the music. Had flared and grown and bared its gorgeous, frightening teeth until Wei Ying could no longer breathe. Until he was drowning, head swimming with thoughts of Lan Zhan , only Lan Zhan. Until he could no longer try and deny the overwhelming affection he felt for the man before him. Wei Ying parts his lips. He’s no fool. There is only one word to describe what he’s feeling. To explain the butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees Lan Zhan, the smile permanently etched onto his face, the desire to do anything, anything , to make him happy.  “...Love,” Wei Ying finally breathes. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen. A shaky breath sneaks past his lips. “Wei Ying.” “We need to do it, Lan Zhan. Use your song. That will be the focus of our project. The center will be you, playing it.” He swallows. “Please. Trust me.” Lan Zhan’s silence stretches into the night. Then finally, he raises his hands and places them on Wei Ying’s shoulders, too. “Then,” he begins, golden eyes capturing grey ones, “play it with me. With your flute.” Wei Ying’s not expecting that at all . He laughs nervously. “Lan Zhan, it’s your song, and I’m really not that good at—” “Please,” Lan Zhan breathes. “This song is meant to be played by two.” The intensity of Lan Zhan’s gaze. The hint of desperation lacing his tone. Wei Ying is not sure why, but he can feel how important Lan Zhan’s request is to him. It reverberates through his bones and echoes through his mind. “Then,” Wei Ying says, smile bright and wide, “the song will be played by two.” And Lan Zhan smiles back.   *****   syn·es·the·sia /ˌsinəsˈTHēZHə/ noun: synaesthesia ; noun: synesthesia   This is the definition Wei Ying shows Lan Zhan as they sit in the library. Lan Zhan reads it and understands immediately. One sense with another. Sound and sight. Music and colors.   *****   During the final month of their collaboration, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying spend every moment they can with each other as they rework their project. Wei Ying is not one to brag, but their teamwork is flawless.  “Lan Zhan, can you hand me—” Lan Zhan will place a battery in his hand before he can finish. “Wei Ying, can you—” Wei Ying will hand him his flute without a second thought. This mind reading of theirs is so ridiculous that on one day, right after it hits noon and Wei Ying and Lan Zhan look at each other simultaneously and say “Lunch?” in the same tone, Wei Ying doubles over into laughter while Lan Zhan watches on with the faintest of smiles on his lips. It’s during one of their meet-ups that Lan Zhan begins teaching Wei Ying his song. “You’re so going to regret this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, holding his flute up to his lips. “I won’t.” Lan Zhan holds Wei Ying’s hand steady and holds the sheet music up in front of him. “Just play as you usually would. Don’t worry about mistakes.” And in this moment, Lan Zhan’s face is so close to his. His mouth is so close to his. Wei Ying’s lips start to tingle, the feeling running down his body to the tips of his toes. Then Lan Zhan looks at him, refuses to look away, and the both of them lean closer, closer, closer... Wei Ying panics and blows his flute directly into Lan Zhan’s ear.  Lan Zhan jumps back and presses a hand against the side of his head, a dazed look on his face. Wei Ying immediately grabs the sheet music with shaky hands and starts practicing. Most of their time, though, is spent bringing their idea to life. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan work to seamlessly attach tiny microphones to both the guqin and flute, trying out different positions until they find the one that can best capture their frequencies. Then they connect the microphones to a laptop and begin tinkering with an audio software. “See, we can assign each frequency a type of movement,” says Wei Ying. “One note could cause an explosion of color while another can cause a swirl of color.” “Mn.” Lan Zhan looks through the settings available to them. “Can we change colors?” “Based on frequency? I don’t think so, that would be—” “Not based on frequency.” Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying. “Based on the user.” “Oh, like, you and I get different colors?” Lan Zhan nods. “We can do that. What colors should I give us?” Lan Zhan sits back. “You can pick.” Wei Ying snorts. “No way. This is an expression of music kind of thing, and you’re the music expert here.” “Just as you trusted my judgement with the microphone, an engineering kind of thing,” Lan Zhan says, “I will trust yours with this.” On the final days of their partnership, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan begin attaching the microphones to their instruments. Then Wei Ying hooks them up to a laptop, and the laptop to a projector. Lan Zhan plays a note. A flash of blue swirls across the screen.    *****   The day is here. Wei Ying looks out at the crowd of people, and holy shit, the day is here. Lan Zhan, however, is not. Granted, he’s not supposed to be here yet, but still. Wei Ying is nervous. Nervous, and also a little pissed, because he’d only found out upon arriving that he was allowed to invite people. Wei Ying definitely would’ve asked Jiang Yanli to come and definitely would’ve dragged Jiang Cheng by his arm if he knew it was an option, because being surrounded by familiar faces is never a bad thing. Especially when you’re about to perform in front of— Holy shit, how many people are out there? Fuck. Oh my — Fuck. “Wei Ying.” A sense of ease washes over Wei Ying. He turns around with a sigh of relief. “Lan Zh—” His words catch in his throat. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s absolutely criminal how hot Lan Zhan looks right now, Wei Ying thinks, consciously having to keep his mouth closed to stop himself from drooling. Lan Zhan is standing in front of him in a white button-down shirt and his pants, oh god his pants , his legs look amazing, fuck , and holy shit is that a tie? Fuck. Why does he look so good in a tie?! “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying tries again, and although squeaky, it does manage to come out. Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, instead giving Wei Ying a look-over so obvious that Wei Ying feels his cheeks start to burn. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan finally breathes, and it’s a little squeaky with him, too. “You look great. Amazing.” Wei Ying looks down at his own outfit. “We sort of match. I’m wearing the black version of everything you’re wearing. Isn’t that funny? Everyone’s totally going to think we planned this.” “Mn.” Lan Zhan takes a few steps forward until he’s directly in front of Wei Ying. “We complement each other nicely.” And then, “You look stunning.” “Stu— Ah, such a flowery word,” Wei Ying says with a click of his tongue.  “A true word.” “Yeah, yeah.” Wei Ying looks around. “Did you give your guqin to the staff? I gave them all my stuff. They said they needed to check it in beforehand or something and they’ll bring it out on stage when it’s our turn, but—” “I gave it to them.” “Nice. Okay. Of course you did, you’re always on top of it.” Wei Ying takes a breath. “Did you see how many people are out there? Holy shit. Did they invite the whole country or what?” “They extended the invitation to all the faculty and students at Tongji and Fudan, as well as all the friends and family of those individuals,” explains Lan Zhan. “So not the whole country, but maybe seventy percent of it.” “This is not the time to be making jokes, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines. “We’re about to—” “Students, please get ready for the event to start.” Wei Ying starts laughing a little hysterically. “Well,” Wei Ying says, way too loudly. “This is it!”  “Mn.” Lan Zhan places a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder. “Do not be nervous.” “Me? Nervous?” Pssh.” Wei Ying dismisses Lan Zhan’s words with a wave of his hand. “Why would I be nervous? We’ve worked hard, we know our stuff, we’re ready! Am I freaking out a little because I’m about to play alongside this generation’s musical genius, quite possibly embarrassing myself? Maybe. But you know what? That’s okay, because I know I engineered this baby to perfection, and so what if I mess up? It’s not like it’ll throw off our visuals, except actually it will, and—” “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan squeezes his shoulder. “You will do great.” Wei Ying sighs and juts out his bottom lip in a pout. “But what if I don’t?” “You will,” Lan Zhan assures. “But even if you mess up, I will still be happy. I will still be proud of our work.” Wei Ying almost tears up, almost , but manages to keep it together so as to not throw off Lan Zhan. “Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says, mustering up a weak smile. “When we finish this performance, it’s all over, huh? No reason to meet up anymore, or to call each other…”  “Wei Ying.”  Wei Ying clears his throat to hide the shuddering breath clawing from his insides. “Lucky for you, I’ll finally be out of your hair!” Lan Zhan’s mouth curls into a frown. The bridge of his nose creases and his eyes gloss over with an emotion that makes Wei Ying’s stomach curl.  “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. His voice is strong, magnetic. It forces Wei Ying to look at him, to really look at him, as if Lan Zhan is baring his innermost thoughts and needs Wei Ying to see them. Needs Wei Ying to listen , just this once. “I do not want you to be.” Then before Wei Ying can say anything back, Lan Zhan pulls him flush against his chest and wraps his arms around him.  Wei Ying startles a little at first. Then his arms instinctively curl around Lan Zhan’s body. “You promise?” “I promise, Wei Ying.” A pause, and then, “I do not lie.” Wei Ying snorts lightly. “There’s a first for everything.” “That is true. And I would like to experience many of my firsts with Wei Ying.” Wei Ying’s eyes widen and he pulls back to look up at Lan Zhan. “Lan—” “Students, make your way over to your assigned section and wait for your names to be called.” Lan Zhan extends his arm for Wei Ying to take. “Shall we?” Wei Ying pushes his current thoughts to the back of his brain and snorts up at Lan Zhan. “How cheesy,” he says, but takes it anyway.   *****   Wei Ying does not consider public speaking one of his fears. He’s always been good at reading people and talking to them, and those skills have proved beneficial during the many speeches he’s had to give in various classes. So Wei Ying really does not understand why now, as he walks onto stage, he feels like he’s about to throw up. Wei Ying walks over to the left side of the stage and takes a seat on the ground. A staff member rushes on stage to hand him his flute, which now weighs heavily in his hands. Wei Ying looks out at the audience, at the hundreds of faces he doesn’t recognize, and wow, he’s really about to hurl. “Wei Ying.” Wei Ying breaks his gaze from the audience and turns to face Lan Zhan, sitting opposite to him with a guqin on his lap. Look at me, Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s eyes say. Look at me. Wei Ying does, and he can’t look away. Wei Ying raises his flute up to his lips. Lan Zhan floats his hands over his guqin. They begin to play, and an explosion of blue and red flashes from behind them. With every strum of a guqin string, with every blow of a note, the colors swirl, ripple, and pulse. The song begins softly, with every movement of blue and red keeping to itself, flying on and off the screen like clouds in the sky. Wei Ying’s heartbeat is steady during this part, instinct taking over as he plays. Then the song becomes more fast-paced, more passionate, and the blue and red behind them begin to intermingle. They flash, splatter, and race across the screen, and Wei Ying’s heartbeat mimics those movements. Wei Ying’s eyes gloss over as he stares at Lan Zhan, the music taking him to heights he hasn’t felt before. Lan Zhan gives Wei Ying an encouraging nod, a smile dancing across his lips. Wei Ying smiles back, feeling more in tune with Lan Zhan than he ever has as they play the last note together. When it vanishes into the air, they hear applause.    *****   As soon as their performance finishes, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are ushered off stage to make room for the next duo. Wei Ying is in a daze as they’re led towards a room backstage, his thoughts running much too quickly for him to keep up with. It’s only when he and Lan Zhan are left alone that he chances a peek at him. It’s a mistake, because Wei Ying’s throat constricts immediately. Lan Zhan is quiet and still, but his eyes are locked on Wei Ying, and the emotion swimming around in them is no longer foreign and unfamiliar to Wei Ying. For a while, the only noise that surrounds them is the slightly quickened puff of their breaths. Did you feel that too? Wei Ying wants to ask. I’m not crazy, right? Wei Ying wants to ask. “You did great, Lan Zhan,” is what Wei Ying ends up saying, swallowing thickly around a lump in his throat. “So great. That was— Wow.” “We did great,” Lan Zhan says, taking one of Wei Ying’s hands in his.  Wei Ying instinctively laces their fingers together. “I was just there, really,” he says, but the words don’t sound right when they leave his mouth. “If you’d done this on your own, it would’ve been just as good. Better, even. I just—” Lan Zhan cuts Wei Ying off with the gentle press of a finger against his lips. As soon as Wei Ying’s words die in his throat, Lan Zhan pulls his hand back. “Wei Ying, this song…” “...Is meant to be played by two.” Wei Ying exhales. “I know, Lan Zhan, but—” “...Is meant to be played with you. ” Wei Ying freezes. His bottom lip starts to quiver. “Huh?” Lan Zhan holds Wei Ying’s gaze, steady. “Wei Ying. I wrote it for you.” “Why?” Wei Ying breathes, the words shaking in the air. “Why would you do that?” In truth, Wei Ying knows the answer. As much as his brain may be telling him otherwise, as doubtful as it may want him to be, there is really no other explanation for the way Lan Zhan is looking at him right now. There’s no other explanation for the electricity between them these last few months. But Wei Ying still needs to hear it, anyway. “Why?” he breathes again.  Lan Zhan caresses the backs of Wei Ying’s hands with his thumbs. He brings their faces closer to each other, and then with as much conviction as he can pack into a single name, as if it can completely answer the question, Lan Zhan says, “Wei Ying.” And then after a suffocating second, “May I?” No sooner than he nods his head, Wei Ying feels a hand cup the back of it and pull him forward. All he feels in that next second are Lan Zhan’s warm, full lips on his own. Oh , Wei Ying thinks, dizzy. He feels like he can no longer tell up from down, because Lan Zhan is kissing him — Oh my god Lan Zhan is kissing me — and what reason do people have to kiss others if not that they like them — Oh my god Lan Zhan likes me —  and holy shit, Lan Zhan is such a good kisser — Oh my god he’s such a good kisser — and Wei Ying needs to kiss him back.  Wei Ying fists Lan Zhan’s shirt in his hands and kisses him so deeply he sees stars, which is another romantic comedy cliche that Wei Ying used to laugh at, but fuck, he’s definitely not laughing now. He can’t, not with the way Lan Zhan is twisting his fingers into his hair and pulling him impossibly closer, and not with the way he’s swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan mumbles against his lips, voice ragged and deep. Wei Ying suddenly loves his name a lot more. “Wei Ying.” “Yes,” is all Wei Ying has the ability to reply back with, the word muffled by their kiss. “ Lan Zhan, yes .” And then he’s grabbing Lan Zhan’s tie and pulling him even closer. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss. When oxygen has completely left their lungs, they disconnect their lips with a small pop . Wei Ying pants and tries not to focus on Lan Zhan’s lips, red and glossy. Then a flood of emotions rushes through Wei Ying. He takes Lan Zhan’s face between his hands. “Lan Zhan. I like you. I like you so much, holy shit,” Wei Ying begins, his voice cracking embarrassingly. “You don’t even— You don’t even understand how much I think about you, and you make me so happy, I swear, I’m so happy when I’m with you.” Lan Zhan’s eyes widen minutely, and at the small tremble of his lips, Wei Ying can’t help but blurt even more of his feelings. “I lucked out, being your partner. Like, we’re seniors, I was supposed to be so burnt out but I wasn’t because every week I got to talk to you. Every week you made me smile and laugh.” Wei Ying exhales shakily. “I adore you, Lan Zhan, I don’t know how to begin to explain— I just— I’m rambling, you need to hurry up and kiss me or something or else I won’t shut up, I—” Lan Zhan gently takes Wei Ying’s chin between two fingers and presses their lips together again. The kiss is slow this time, punctuated by an onslaught of chaste pecks. “Okay,” Wei Ying murmurs when they break apart again, his head swimming in the best possible way. “Got it. Message received. I’ll shut up.” “I do not want you to shut up,” says Lan Zhan earnestly. “I just wanted to kiss you.” It takes everything Wei Ying has not to collapse. “Oh.” “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan gives his hands a squeeze. “I want to see the world with you, Wei Ying.” Wei Ying feels a prickling heat in his eyes. “Lan Zhan—” “I love you in a way I have never and will never love anyone else,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “And I will be happy regardless of whether you want to venture alone or not, because this is your life, and your dream.” Lan Zhan smiles. “But I will admit that I would not be opposed to the idea of discovering ourselves together,” Lan Zhan continues, and then true to his character, follows up with, “If you want.” Wei Ying chokes a little. “If I— If I want? Lan Zhan, did you not just listen to a word I said?” Wei Ying then decides that words alone aren’t enough. He grabs Lan Zhan by the tie again, pulls him in, and kisses Lan Zhan again, and again, and again, until every group has performed and everyone is called back onto stage for a final round of applause. They get an A on their project.   *****   Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have successfully graduated. Now, on the day before their departure to travel the world, they’re having a small gathering with the people in their lives. Jiang Yanli brings over a pile of new clothes because, “My A-Ying has to be well-dressed in every country he visits.” Jiang Cheng brings over nothing because, “Why the fuck do you get a present for leaving us?” But then he hugs Wei Ying, and he sniffles and cries a little, and Wei Ying hugs him back. Lan Huan brings over a gentle smile and well wishes.  Lan Zhan steps away from everyone else to talk to him, and Wei Ying follows. “How is Uncle?” Lan Huan laughs. “He is doing well. We had a conversation this morning, and he was telling me that he’s very proud of you, A-Zhan. That you’re going to do great things with your music.” Lan Huan places a hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “And also that he would like you to stop by later today so he can properly see you off.” Lan Zhan’s eyes glimmer wetly. “I will. Thank you, Brother.” Lan Huan smiles. “If you’d like to thank me, maybe you could go grab me a bottle of water?” Lan Zhan nods and immediately turns to head for the kitchen. Wei Ying wipes a fake tear from his eye. “Don’t you just love when families get along?” “It is quite heartwarming,” Lan Huan laughs. And then, in a quieter voice, “Wei Ying.” Wei Ying blinks at the shift in tone. Nerves pool in his stomach. “Yes?” A beat of silence. “Take good care of my brother,” Lan Huan finally says with a gentle smile.  Wei Ying laughs. “I think he’ll be the one taking care of me, but of course.” Wei Ying pulls out his phone. “Maybe you can give me your number in case I need to call you?” Lan Huan’s eyes glint with amusement. “You should already have it.”  “I should—? Oh,” Wei Ying breathes as everything clicks into place. Lan Huan places a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, gives it a little squeeze, then turns to walk away. Just like that, the conversation drops. Wei Ying feels a set of arms circle his waist from behind a moment later. He laughs at the kiss that presses itself against his neck. “Lan Zhan, aren’t you supposed to get your brother water?” “I already gave it to him,” says Lan Zhan. “Now I want to spend time with Wei Ying.” “You’re going to be spending too much time with me pretty soon,” Wei Ying snorts, and turns in Lan Zhan’s arms to face him directly. “This gathering is a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” Lan Zhan hesitates before he answers. “A little.” “Mhm. I knew it.” Wei Ying places a kiss on the tip of Lan Zhan’s nose, then takes one of his hands in his. “Lan Zhan, you don’t need to pretend for my sake. We can be honest with each other. About anything.”  “...Anything?” “Anything,” Wei Ying echoes, then presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Lan Zhan’s wrist.  Lan Zhan exhales softly. “In that case, I have something to tell you.” “Is that so?” Wei Ying smiles at him. “I’m all ears, then.” Lan Zhan swallows thickly. “I hate spicy food.”   *****   Two weeks later, Lan Zhan posts to his social media a picture of him and Wei Ying kissing atop a waterfall, their lips curved into bright, permanent smiles. 1083 likes HanguangJun Memory. View all 135 comments. TwinJade :) JCheng i even have to see this shit online           YillingP replied: dont be jealous jiang cheng                     JCheng replied: who the fuck is jealous                               YillingP replied: im going to tell lan zhan to post more of our kisses                               YillingP replied: maybe other stuff too                                         JCheng replied:  i will LITERALLY gag                                         HanguangJun replied: Wei Ying, no. *****   syn·es·the·sia /ˌsinəsˈTHēZHə/ noun: synaesthesia ; noun: synesthesia the production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by stimulation of another sense or part of the body.   One sense with another. Sound and sight. Music and colors. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying.

Over the course of their friendship, there had been three major events that ultimately changed John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton’s lives. The first one happened shortly after they met and formed their study group of four: Laurens, Lafayette, Hamilton, and Mulligan. They had all attended a party and gotten thoroughly drunk when Thomas Jefferson showed up and ruined it. Okay, he hadn’t ruined the party, but the argument and fight that followed brought them all closer together. The second one had been when, then Margaret Laurens, came out as trans. While the entirety of their group had been more than accepting of, now, John, Alexander had taken it upon himself to start a campus wide campaign to ensure the safety of his friend. He wrote articles for the Columbia Daily Spectator about discrimination and trans rights, advocated for preferred name changes on rosters and school IDs, and nearly punched a handful of people who refused to respect his best friend. The third one was when the two men moved in together at the start of their junior year of undergrad. They were already crashing repeatedly at each other’s places and what not, so it made it easier to study together and for John to keep an eye on Alexander; the man tended to work straight through meals and forgo sleep after all. Of course, those three events weren’t the only defining events in their friendship, just the most prominent touchstones. There were articles that Alexander wrote for the paper that had gotten him in hot water that they remembered fondly, namely the one where Alexander accidentally came out to the entirety of Columbia as bi because Aaron Burr ruffled his feathers in just the right way. Many a night out drinking where their tomfoolery haunted them the next day, whether it be brutal hangovers or the results of inappropriate texts sent, received, and screenshotted. More than once Alexander spent the night at Butler library, passing out over his laptop or textbooks. There was a rumor on campus that he had spent at least one night in each of the 24-hour study rooms, and there were quite a few. Tonight, the study group turned close friends were at the bar they frequented. It wasn’t the closest one to campus and a little out of the way, but less of the college crowd ended up there which meant they were less likely to run into Burr or god forbid Jefferson‒Alexander’s fault. They were a few rounds in leaving the four men happily drunk and enjoying themselves in their booth‒two to a side with Hercules and Lafayette across from John and Alexander. John was focused intently on his beer. He vaguely remembered some fancy beer words he could say that would make him seem interesting and mean nothing‒words like hops, head, citrus, and oaky. Leaning over it to get a closer look, he was grateful that his long hair was pulled back and taut. “Laurens, dear dear dear dear Laurens,” Alexander said after a moment of watching his best friend stare intently at his beer while he and Lafayette called each other names in French. “Now, not to sound insensitive or overstep my boundaries as your friend and also I just am curious but I don’t want to cause you harm I just wonder sometimes and I want us to have deep and healthy conver-” “Hamilton,” Hercules said with a huff and pointed at him, having to set his beer down. “You need to shut up for a goddamn second because you’re doing that rambling thing you do, except you’re drunk, and we’re drunk so what the fuck are you saying. John, answer his question so he’ll shut up.” Lafayette laughed and John rolled his eyes dramatically before looking at Alexander. “What weird trans question are you trying to ask?” he asked and threw back the end of his second pint of Sam Adams and signaling for a third. “Why do you keep your hair long?” Alexander blurted out as he realized how weird a question that truly was, his face going red with embarrassment while Lafayette’s laughter rang out in the bar. Hercules glanced at John for a second. John who didn’t do well with trans questions, so it was half concern for his friend and half pure curiosity. Half of it was altruistic, that counted for something. Plus, it had the potential to embarrass Alexander in the long run and that was always a good thing. John blinked a couple of times, resisting the urge to set his glass down as he worked through the question. They didn’t need to know that he hadn’t thought about it at all before Alexander mentioned it. He furrowed his brow, taking a moment to gather himself. “Because I ain’t comin’ out to my dad and if I see ‘im, and I got short hair, I’m gonna be in a real shit place, won’t I? And you, you got long hair, mister. Shit half the guys we know’ve got long hair, and I like it long, it looks good, you telling me I don’ look good?” he said, punctuating the end of his thought with a playful punch to Alexander’s shoulder. “I’m not saying that at all!” Alexander relented and lifted his hands in surrender. Hercules chuckled softly, happy to see John answer with confidence. This was growth. Just as Alexander was starting a sentence that would probably turn his face an even darker shade of red, Lafayette chimed in, so he didn’t have to do all the work by himself. “Oh, mon ami, notre ami monsieur Hamilton would never say you're anything but le plus bel homme à Columbia. He’d probably go even further and say you’re the most handsome man he knows,” he said with yet another laugh and Hercules joined in this time. Both John and Alexander’s cheeks turned a bright scarlet on the other side of the table, visible even in the dim bar. “That is simply Alexander’s amour speaking of course.” Alexander moved to punch at Lafayette, forgetting the table between them which meant he only managed to knock over the Frenchman's empty glass. Lafayette was hit by another spell of drunken giggles with Hercules following suit. This time it was infectious enough to have the rather embarrassed John joining in, leaving Alexander dumbfounded as he realized he wasn’t being mocked. He didn’t have a chance to complain or even comment on it, before Hercules was changing the subject. Their night of drinking came to an end long before the four-a.m. cut off and the four men were soon stumbling home. Alexander did him and John a favor by calling a taxi, while Lafayette and Hercules decided they were going to walk to their place while singing show tunes at the top of their lungs. They lived closer to the bar than John and Alexander did, so their trip home didn’t require a vehicle. On the cab ride home, John leaned heavily on Alexander’s shoulder with a bit of a huff, his breathing shallow. He made the same mistake he made time and time again of wearing his binder out drinking with his buddies and now he was paying for it. They didn’t speak much as the streetlights passed by, occasionally illuminating the interior of the cab. Alexander was reminded of a handful of movies he had seen with the love interest in the same position that John was in, though he couldn’t come up with any examples in his drunken state. Perhaps they didn’t exist at all and he was simply remembering the countless cab rides the two of them shared that felt just like this. When they pulled up to their apartment building, Alexander fumbled with his wallet while John moved to climb out, easily winded after the long day and the drinks. He had to wait for Alexander to come along and help him to his feet from his seat on the first doorstep. The remnants of the several pints of beer he’d drank that night let him forget about dignity for a moment as they headed inside, quietly laughing to themselves. John unlocked the apartment after fumbling with his keys for a good minute. Stepping inside, he let out a sigh of relief and was quick to collapse onto the couch not too far from the door. Alexander made sure to lock the door behind them and kicked his shoes off, not caring where they went. “I’m gonna uh need some help,” John mumbled and got to his feet. He was starting to feel lightheaded. Taking off the constricting piece of clothing around his chest was his only priority for the time being. “I’m a moron and you know it so instead of makin’ comments ‘bout how I do this every time, I jus’ wanna take it off, aight?” Alexander chuckled and helped his friend to his bedroom. John paid the rent, so he got the bedroom and Alexander got the living room, a futon buried under quite a few foam mattresses. “Fine, I’ll just lecture you tomorrow when we both have hangovers because we’re both morons,” he said, easing John towards the bed. He pawed through his best friend’s dresser to pull out a t-shirt he’d seen him wear to bed before and toss it his way. This wasn’t the first time that Alexander had needed to help John out of his binder and it certainly wasn’t the last‒both of them knew it. John struggled a little to take his shirt off while waiting for Alexander to come his way. John refused to look him in the eye when he came over. This is humiliating, John thought, to be so drunk that I need help taking off my binder. So much of his identity hinged on that one article of clothing. It almost felt wrong to be exposing Alexander to what often felt like an overwhelming burden. It was a cause for shame, that’s what he was taught. What he heard in sermons growing up and from his father’s own mouth. Alexander though… He was different. His words were the opposite of what John’s father told him and what the church preached to him. He was validated and loved by his friends. They supported him, were behind him 100%. This was the most comfortable he had ever felt in his own skin, but he was still ashamed of his body and his identity. Having someone see his breasts, especially someone like Alexander, hurt in a way that he would never be able to put into words. Tucking his fingers beneath the hem of the binder, Alexander waited for John to lift his arms before pulling the tight shirt off his friend. He kept his eyes averted, folding the article of clothing while John pulled on the new shirt. Because he had been there since the beginning of John’s trans journey, he knew how sensitive he was. That’s why he’d been so careful and unsure of the question at the bar. A question that he only had the courage to ask while drunk. He knew there was shame baked into it and that there was a history he wasn’t privy to. It was the one place that Alexander showed restraint, for the mental health of his friend. He set the binder down on top of John’s dresser, keeping his back turned until John gave the okay. “A’ight,” John said after a long moment—his breathing almost back to normal. “I’m decent, but I wanna talk before I pass the fuck out and you go and do the same, can we do that?” He focused on the back of Alexander’s head until he turned around and focused on the deep brown eyes that were before him. “What about?” Alexander asked, stepping towards John. “I swear if this is going to be like the time where you told me about your brilliant idea that was going to revolutionize pancakes, I will tell you you’re wrong now, in advance.” John scoffed and dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “No, I just wanted to like. Say that sometimes Laf is the biggest pain in the goddamn ass, spews so much shit, borderline diarrhea, but other times he’s fucking right, you know? I mean sort of. He was sort of right tonight kind of.” Alexander didn’t follow. While he was the “sober” one of the two, he wasn’t going to be passing a breathalyzer test anytime soon. Before he had a chance to say anything, let alone a dumb comment, John’s face fell, obviously disappointed. But Alexander didn’t know why—what had he missed, what had he said, what had he done to see that look on his dear friend’s face. “You’re missing the point, ain’t you?” the seated man mumbled, and Alexander gave a bit of a nod, ashamed that he was, in fact, missing the point. “Are you referring to when Lafayette talked about how Burr is just saying what Washington wants to hear to get the internship? Because Laf was right about that, Burr fucking brags about it too, but what Burr doesn’t fucking see is that Washington sees right through that shit, straight fucking through,” he said, getting worked up. He had applied for the same internship after all, so it was a competition. He didn’t think that that was what John was referring to, but it was the safest option. “No, dear lord. Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, you have given me a curse within Hamilton,” he said, shaking his head as he cursed his luck. Invoking the Lord’s Prayer (or at least the beginning of it) was a callback to a childhood of praying and church services, a time where all he knew were his siblings who loved him, a father who didn’t, and a God he wasn’t sure existed. “I’m referring to when Laf made a fool of you after you made a fool of yourself, asking about my hair.” This time Alexander was quick on the uptake and his face went red. They didn’t need to be discussing this when they were both so intoxicated, he could only foresee this going poorly. “Oh, you mean when he mentioned that you’re attractive,” he said, hoping that would avoid the conversation that John seemed to be pushing towards. “Which you are, my dear Laurens. You simply are a stunning, handsome man and it would be a shame if anyone were to strip you of anything you hold dear.” He stepped closer, closing the space between them. He reached out and caught the hair tie holding John’s hair in place before gently removing it, watching his face closely to see any hint of protest in his eyes. Alexander didn’t find any as he ran his fingers through John’s hair, smoothing it out after being in a ponytail for so long. “Like your hair,” he mused, and John laughed, the sound no more than a whisper from smiling lips. “Like you,” John responded, his voice low. “If stripped of what I hold dear, they would strip you from me, you know that right?” It hadn’t occurred to Alexander that John may view him with such importance, but in that moment, he realized how stupid that was. Just as he realized how stupid it was to deny his feelings to the one who knew him best of all. They’d been living together for two years now. They saw each other every day. Alexander had held John’s hand and embraced him when he came out; John had stood behind Alexander when he antagonized university leadership. The only times they didn’t see each other daily was when John went home to South Carolina for holidays and vacations. “My dear Laurens,” he murmured, his voice barely above that of a whisper as his hand moved from running through the other’s dark, curly hair to rest upon his freckled cheek. His lips quirked into a smile that John returned. “I know that I’m in my own head more often than I’d like and I am also aware that this often hurts my relationships. Sometimes I’m blind to even my own feelings and I do believe this is long overdue…” He leaned in, his hand shifting to cup his best friend’s face and pull it closer to his. This was what he wanted, what he had been wanting for quite some time. How could he have been so blind… John wasn’t about to let enough time pass for Alexander to change his mind, so he was quick, quick to close the distance between their lips and lose himself in Alexander and the buzz of alcohol still in the back of his mind for just a moment. Part of him wondered if he would remember this in the morning, but it was a fleeting thought that was swallowed by the heat of the moment. He would have to remember this—he had plenty of drunken memories he didn’t want after all. He’d been wanting this since the day he met the unstoppable force that was Alexander Hamilton and he wasn’t going to let this moment go. As Alexander’s hand pulled John’s face closer to his, John wrapped his arms around Alexander’s torso, pulling him closer and refusing to let him go. The alcohol allowed him to forget about his breasts for the time being, all his focus engulfed by Alexander’s heat. In the moment, they were one. The world fell away. Every feeling of inadequacy and imposter syndrome melted off Alexander as John’s disgust with his own body was redirected to a passion for Alexander’s. He wanted to know all of it as he tucked his hands under the back of the other’s shirt and marveled at the way his skin felt beneath his fingers. He smiled and Alexander took it as an invitation to deepen the kiss. Neither one wanted to pull away, but Alexander made the difficult call to do so, leaving the both of them a little breathless. “I’ve been thinking about how that might feel for a very long time,” John breathed, leaving no more than an inch between their lips. Alexander beamed. “Now you never have to wonder again,” Alexander told him before kissing the other again, this time pushing John to lay down on the bed, their arms encircling each other as they continued to kiss and explore each other. Alexander was careful, avoiding things like John’s breasts and crotch, but that didn’t mean he was out of options. He ran his hands through John’s hair, kissed down his neck to his collarbone, and even grabbed his ass. John let out soft moans as his own hands ran over Alexander’s chest and hips. He managed to get Alexander’s shirt off at some point in the process and was relieved when Alexander didn’t return the favor. Someday, he found himself thinking. They had plenty of time… The passion had to wind down at some point and when it did, Alexander curled up alongside John in the bed. The next day the futon was cleared off and the mattress pads were shoved into a closet as Alexander officially moved into John’s bed.

Felix wakes in the morning with purple hair in his face and a warm body taking up most of the space in his tiny dorm room bed. He breathes in the scent of honey and beeswax and wraps an arm around Bernadetta, enjoying this moment of peace and warmth before starting the day.   He wakes up next to Bernadetta most days now, having fallen into the habit over the last few weeks. Some nights they sleep in his room, others in Bernadetta’s. It’s been a comfort and a small joy as they’ve pressed the line south, and a craving too delicious to ignore when there’s no discernable reason to do so.   Felix sits up in bed, studying Bernadetta’s sleeping face for a moment longer before he heads out for training. At first, he had tried to cajole her into getting up early to train with him, but after all the pouting he’d received during those attempts, he now knows better to leave her to sleep in. Best to let a sleeping bear lie, or something like that.   She looks so peaceful, lying there asleep ( in his bed ), that he’s content to leave her like that. They’re so close to marching on Enbarr now, so close to ending the war, that Felix hopes the day will come soon that Bernadetta will be able to live as peacefully as this every day. No, not hope; Felix will make sure that happens.   As he finishes dressing, he hears Bernadetta stirring from under the covers. “Mmm.. you’re heading out all ready?” she says, voice fuzzy with sleep.   “We’ve got a war to win,” Felix replies. “I’ve got to be at my best now more than ever.” He sits on the edge of the bed and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Care to join me at the training grounds?” he says, but he’s only teasing. He already knows the answer.   Bernadetta makes a (very cute) face, scrunching up her nose and pulling the covers up higher. “No way! I’m going back to sleep. Maybe you should join me… It’s nice and warm under here.”   Felix huffs a laugh, a gentle smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Maybe when this war is over, then I’ll be lazy and spend the morning in bed with you. But today, there’s work to do.” He smooths down her hair one last time before heading to the door.   “I’m holding you to that promise!” She calls after him.   —   After spending the morning doing his own drills, and then most of the afternoon training the unit Byleth finally coaxed him into commanding, Felix makes his way to the dining hall, wiping sweat from his forehead with the towel slung around his neck. It’s only the middle of the afternoon, much too soon for dinner, but he skipped lunch and wants to keep his energy up for the rest of the day.   As such, he doesn’t expect to find anyone else there, with all the preparations for the battle at Enbarr keeping everyone busy. He is pleasantly surprised, then, to hear Bernadetta’s voice drifting through the window. Maybe they can spend a few minutes together while he takes a break before getting back to work.   His hand freezes on the door handle when he hears another voice. Ferdinand.   “A long time ago, my parents were in talks to arrange my marriage with a certain young lady. She never set foot outside of her room, and she made little dolls to curse her perceived enemies. Such were the rumors. Frightened, I dissuaded my parents from going through with their plans.”   Wait. Why is Felix freezing? There’s no reason he shouldn’t enter. He moves again to open the door –   “That girl was you, Bernadetta. A daughter of House Varley.” The sound of Ferdinand clearing his throat makes its way to Felix’s paralyzed ears. “Anyway, if I had actually known you, I would have accepted the proposal.”   Felix’s fingers slip from the door and his thoughts tune out Bernadetta’s response.   Marriage. Ferdinand was talking to Bernadetta about marriage. With her.   Not that he had proposed, of course, but still. The implication was there, that Ferdinand considers her worthy of marrying.   Which she is, of course! Obviously.   And yet… somehow the thought of marriage, of actually marrying someone, of marrying Bernadetta has never crossed Felix’s mind.   It’s not like he had imagined them breaking up, either… It’s more like with the ever present threat of war, Felix has found himself being very, well, present. There was no time to dream of plans for when it was over (beyond “let’s go traveling” or “let’s lie in bed all morning” ), because until recently, it had seemed like it would never be over. Felix has only been thinking about staying alive, and making sure his friends do too.   But of course after the war ends Bernadetta will marry someone. Who wouldn’t want to marry her? She’s – Well, she’s –   Felix is terrible with words, and he knows this. But Bernadetta is… perfect. She is lovely. She is… everything. She’s the kind of girl who can make a thick-headed, surly guy like him try to think of nice words to describe how amazing she is.   And now that Felix stops to think about the rest of his life, it becomes painfully obvious how much he wants to spend the rest of it with Bernadetta. And it’s even more painfully obvious that he should have taken action a long time ago to make sure that happens.   “Whoa, Felix! Hey! Is everything okay?” It’s Sylvain.   Felix stops and blinks, realizing for the first time how far his feet have carried him while he was preoccupied with his thoughts. “Hm? What? Everything’s about as okay as you could expect right before such a huge march.” Felix frowns. “Why, did something happen?”   Sylvain crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “What happened is that you nearly bowled over Marianne just now and didn’t even notice. Seriously, is something wrong?”   “Wrong? Oh… no.” Felix supposes that he had been somewhat lost in thought, but nothing was wrong. “Ferdinand just proposed to Bernadetta,” he says, as an explanation. Well, it isn’t strictly true, but the whole situation is too complicated to explain to Sylvain.   Sylvain jerks back and gasps in a rather dramatic fashion, and Felix rolls his eyes. It’s not like Bernadetta has said yes or something.    “Wait - Felix!” Sylvain grabs his shoulders and Felix’s scowl deepens. “You’re not going to challenge him to a duel and kill him or something, are you? I know you’re mad, but–”   Felix shrugs him off. “Don’t be ridiculous, he’s one of our best generals,” he says. “And I’m not mad. I have something important to do, so get out of my way.”   He pushes past Sylvain who continues to splutter, and heads off in the direction of town.   —   The atmosphere in the dining hall that evening is festive, bordering on boisterous. Morale is high, and with the prospect of ending the war only a few days away, the soldiers are full of energy, their tension masked by optimism.   The atmosphere at Bernie’s table in a relatively quieter area of the hall is… somewhat different. She’s sitting next to Sylvain and across from Felix, and something feels… a little strange. She’s not jumping to conclusions just yet, but instead of his usual chattering, Sylvain seems to be studying Felix suspiciously, and for his part Felix keeps staring at Bernadetta and then looking away when she catches his eye.   “Is… everything okay with you two?” she asks. “You guys are acting kinda weird.”   Felix nearly chokes on his food and reaches for his pocket as he recovers, coughing. This seems to mean something to Sylvain because he squints at Felix’s hand before settling his features into a smirk. Definitely weird behaviour from them both.   “Nope, I think we’re all good,” Sylvain replies as Felix continues to clear his throat. “Well, except for Felix trying to inhale his dinner over there. You good buddy?”   Felix glares daggers at him. “Shut up,” he says, and Sylvain laughs.   “Yup, that’s our Felix. If he started smiling, then I’d know for sure he wasn’t feeling well.”   Felix rolls his eyes and continues eating. Bernadetta smiles nervously; things seem back to normal, but that was still… a little weird, right?   After dinner, Felix and Bernadetta exit the dining hall as the soldiers behind them start the first round of drinking songs. He takes her hand as they wander into the cool night air, threading his fingers between hers.   Once the sound of reveling soldiers fades into only the occasional exclamation that carries through the grounds, Felix turns to Bernadetta. “Will you… come with me somewhere?” he asks.   “Sure,” Bernie agrees readily. It’s not unusual for them to take a stroll or have a little alone time after dinner. “Where are we going?” she asks as Felix starts to lead her, hands still joined.   “I was thinking we could go to the Goddess Tower,” he says without looking at her.   Hm, it had been a while since Bernie had been there. It wasn’t exactly off limits, but it still held that kind of feeling for Bernadetta from when they were students; like she’d be told off if she went in there. The last time she’d gone there must have been before the war, all the way back to the night of the ball. Well, that would be nice and romantic, coming back to a nostalgic spot like that.   “Sounds good to me!” she says cheerfully, and squeezes Felix’s hand. Glancing upwards, she can see that it’s a clear night. “It’ll be a good night for stargazing too, I think.”   “...Yeah.” Felix is being a bit taciturn this evening, but Bernie has long since learned that it’s not about her when he gets like this. Maybe he’s just anxious about the upcoming battle, and spending some quality time with Bernadetta will help him relax a little. Bernie smiles to herself. That's definitely something she can help with!   Once they reach the tower, they climb the stairs and come out onto the balcony, where they had shared a dance together, so many years ago.   Bernadetta drops Felix’s hand momentarily so she can skip out to the balcony railing. “Haa… What a beautiful night. It’s just like that night we met here on the night of the ball, do you remember?” She turns back to face Felix.   “I remember. That’s actually… agh, this is so embarrassing to say,” Felix says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But that’s actually the night I realized I was completely in love with you.”   Bernadetta gasps. “Wait. Really?!” She shrieks, bringing her hands to her cheeks in embarrassment. “All the way back then?” She can’t believe this! She knew she was hopelessly in love back then, and was practically floating on air after they danced together, but she had never suspected Felix had felt the same way all the way back then!   “Yeah, I…” Felix scratches his head; a habit he’s kept through all these years. “Like I said, it’s kinda embarrassing to say.”   “What? But I’m so happy you told me,” Bernie smiles, barely able to hold back happy laughter. “I just – back then, I had no idea you felt that way, but I had a huge crush on you. I think I would have freaked out if you had told me back then.” She giggles again. “But in a good way.”   Felix sighs, a long, put-upon sigh and joins her at the railing. “Well, if I’m telling you all my embarrassing secrets tonight anyway… I was also going to try to kiss you that night. When we were dancing together.”   Bernie blinks, her eyes going wide, and turns to face Felix head on before completely hiding her face in her hands. “Eep!” she squeals, just imagining what that would have been like back then completely setting her nerves alight. “Oh my goodness! I think I would have melted. Out of pure happiness.” Felix pulls her in to his shoulder as she rambles, face still in her hands. “Little Bernie back then had no idea you were going to do that!” She pulls back and finally lifts her face to look him in the eye. “So why didn’t you?”   Felix is smiling. “We finished dancing, and I lost my nerve. But hopefully I can make it up to you,” he says, and leans in to kiss her lips. Bernie smiles into it, and wraps her arms around his waist. Yes, she is absolutely, somehow, the most luckiest girl in all of Fódlan.   After a few gentle, sweet kisses, Felix pulls back. “What do you think, does that make up for it?”   “Hmm…” Bernie hums, cocking her head teasingly. “I don’t know, I think I might need a few more hundred or thousand kisses to really pay me back for it. But I’ll let you pay in instalments.”   Felix breathes a laugh through his nose and drops his head to her shoulder before stepping back, keeping his hands on her arms.   “Actually… I’m glad you remember that night. Because there’s something else that I… ah, goddess, why is this so hard.” He drops his hands and Bernadetta looks at him quizzically. “Do you remember the promise we made that night?”   “Yes, I do,” Bernie says. Admittedly, she had daydreamed about that promise often when she and Dorothea were barely scraping by during those years in Alliance territory. That one day, she would meet Felix again, he would be alive, and single, and they would keep their promise to marry each other if they hadn’t already, and live happily ever after. She hadn’t thought about it quite as much after reuniting with him in person.   She does feel a little surprised that Felix remembers, though. But then again, maybe she shouldn’t.   “I guess things didn’t really turn out like we thought, huh? It’s been more than five years already, and a whole war has been going on in the meantime,” Bernie says.   “Right, so,” Felix begins, getting more flustered as he continues, “I’m bringing it up because, or rather, I was reminded … Or, no. I wanted to keep that promise, but not just because it just turned out that way or something, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we’re here and I was thinking that –” Felix closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Bernadetta stares at him, not daring to guess what he’s going to say next.   Instead of saying anything, Felix reaches into his pocket and shoves it out to her. It’s a box. No wait, a ring-? A ring?! A RING????   If it’s possible, Bernie’s eyes go even wider.    “Oh, shit, right,” Felix says, and lowers himself onto one knee. “I…” He takes a breath, looks her in the eye. “Bernadetta, will you marry me?”   Time seems to freeze; what did he just say? Tears begin to well unbidden in her eyes, and Bernie is shaken from her stupor by the sensation of those tears slipping from her eyes and down her cheeks. She hurriedly wipes her face and Felix’s outstretched arm falters.   “Are you…crying?” he asks.   “Sorry!” Bernie sniffles. She didn’t mean to cry! Poor Felix probably feels terrible now. Oh Bernie, you’ve managed to be proposed to only to screw it all up! “ I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Oh, that was so sweet and now I’m ruining it. Hold on, give me a second.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath, only for her voice to crack again when she begins to speak. “I… would be so happy to marry you! But are you sure? You really want to marry me? I’m sure there are lots of other girls out there who would make much better wives than me!”   “Bernadetta.” Felix stands slowly. “I don’t want to marry any other girl. You’re the only one I want to spend my life with. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love you more than I know how to say. You’re the only person I can just be myself around and never get tired of being with you, and you make me want to be a better man. You’re the only person I would not only fight a thousand battles for, but also spend thousands of hours at a desk doing paperwork.”    The anxious little voice in her brain is telling Bernie that can’t possibly be true. But looking in his eyes, she can’t find the lie. She’s never doubted him before, and isn’t going to start now.    “So. Please?”   He lifts the ring box again, and Bernadetta looks at it properly. It’s a simple gold band, with a single small gem in the center. It’s more than she deserves, and she wants it so badly.   Still crying, she nods her head, and Felix slides the ring onto her finger.   She crashes into Felix and throws her arms around him, squeezing tightly as her body is wracked with sobs. She doesn’t even know why! It’s so silly, really. She’s so happy, or at least she knows she will be happy, but right now her mind almost feels blank and all it knows how to do is cry.   Felix hugs her back and strokes her hair. He’s always been so good to her and now, one day he’ll be her husband. He’ll always be there for her like this, always, always, always.   Bernadetta’s breathing begins to slow down and even out, and she lets go of Felix to wipe the last few tears from her eyes.   “I’m sorry I made such a mess of your proposal,” she says, voice still a little shaky. “It was so nice.”   Felix just smiles and takes her hand, the newly bejeweled one. “My proposal was a bit of a mess too, if we’re being honest about it,” he says. “But you did say yes, so I’d say it could have gone worse.”   Bernie smiles too, and hugs Felix again, trying to send all the warmth and love she feels for him through his arms and into his body. “Yes, I will marry you!” she says, and to say it out loud has her feeling giddy. “Yes, yes, yes!!”   When Bernie calms down a little more, they share a dance for old times’ sake before heading back to the dorms to climb into bed together, as they would do now for the rest of their lives.

Camouflage is one of the most fascinating aspects of nature. Gray tree frogs can blend in with the gray bark of New England trees, but can also turn a light green to blend in with moss and leaves. Eastern box turtles can blend in so well, they appear as rocks in the leaf litter, or the leaf litter itself. Insects can get even more interesting - moths and larvae who appear as bird poop on a leaf, or look as though they have large eyes watching everything! Stick insects look like...well, sticks! The variety in camouflage among animals is amazing!  Humans have their own camouflage - in social situations. The person at the table that looks around and goes, "How did I get to be part of this family?"  Sometimes you have to camouflage for years just to survive. Sometimes, it gets in your head, where you think you are one of them, or you want to be one of them. But you aren't. And it takes time to realize - you weren't that stick insect after all. You were a pink moth all along, and you fit in best among the nectar and the blooms.      “Have fun on the cruise, kiddo,” Greg said as he took the exit to leave I-95.  “Dad.” Peri’s annoyance was clear through the car speakers. “Sorry. Peri,” Greg said, easing his foot onto the brake.   “Well, you have fun at grandma’s.” Peri’s tone belied her belief Greg would have any fun. In all honesty, he was glad that Peri had the excuse of the family cruise to miss this birthday. He’d make sure she went to the big 6-5. Sixty-four didn’t need her presence, and he’d promised his mother that Peri would make it for Christmas. Not that she had asked. “Thanks,” he said, though it was laced with sarcasm. Peri giggled as she hung up.  He was on the last leg of a six hour trip to his mother’s. A necessary evil. His reward: Mycroft would meet him in Bar Harbor on Saturday afternoon.  The thought made him smile. Jo’s words weren’t going to overshadow the time he spent with Mycroft, he’d make sure of it. She and Peri were headed to the city to board their cruise ship. Jo couldn’t have been happier that Peri was missing the summer trip to Grandma’s, since Peri always came back from previous trips bad-tempered and sulky. Resentful.  When he dropped Peri off with her after their fight, he apologized for swearing at her. She ducked her head and apologized for her part, but their goodbye had been awkward. Luckily, neither Marcus nor Peri were present to see it. The drive was long, but parts of it were scenic. He hoped they might see moose while up in Maine. Not likely on Mount Desert Island where Acadia lay, but maybe if they managed to make it inland somewhere.  The landscape went from mid-green leafy deciduous trees to banks of dark green pines that towered along the roadsides. Soon enough, he hit Prospect, Maine, and passed the old Fire House, and then Colleen’s Place, the local pizzeria.  Growing up in the tiny town, everyone knew everyone. Greg was pretty sure he was the only gay kid in his school. His brother opened up a garage next door in Frankfort, but still lived in Prospect with his kids Nate and Evie. When he and Dan got in trouble as kids themselves, their mother always knew by the time they got home. The brothers had been thick as thieves, but then Greg came out, and Dan got quiet. Not...forbidding, or anything like that. But he started hanging out with his friends a lot more and going on dates with girls and barely spoke to Greg anymore.  Greg was relieved to escape the town. Going back was always an uncertain mix of sharp regret and bittersweet nostalgia.  His mother lived by the Carley Brook on Muskrat Farm Road. Greg had spent a lot of time wandering the wild spaces, going fishing, and taking floatables out on the various creeks and tributaries. When he was older, he’d gone white water rafting a number of times on the Penobscot River, but taking an inflatable mattress and riding it down one part of the creek had been a grand time with he, Dan, and their friends.  Dan’s friends, really. Greg had followed him everywhere until Dan had started going on dates. The road was just as pretty as he remembered it. A mix of trees and fields - farmland and woodland side by side.  When he saw the white building of his mother’s house, his stomach twinged. The giant maple in the front was heavy with leaves and shadowed the porch that needed fixing - it listed to one side. The house itself could use a new coat of paint, and Greg could see green moss growing on one part of the roof. The yard was mowed, at least, and some flowers were planted in the front bed.  He parked in the gravel driveway, got out, grabbed his things and faced the house. His mother, Brigitte Lestrade, stood in the doorway. She had dark, curly hair shot through with gray. Thin-framed glasses hung from a loop around her neck. Her t-shirt was a cheap print with the name of Dan’s garage on it, and her jean shorts looked as if they'd been cut from long pants. White tennis shoes with no socks in sight.  “How was the drive?” she said as he stepped onto the porch. “Pleasant,” he said. He leaned down to let her kiss his cheek and followed her inside. “Your bed’s been made,” she said. “Thank you.”  A black poodle with a grey muzzle came jumping on his legs. “Pepper, get down!” his mother said sharply. The dog looked from her to Greg and wagged her tail. Greg bent down and pet her head. “Good dog, Pepper.” Her pink tongue lolled out and her stubby tail wagged furiously. “Don’t spoil her,” Brigitte said. Greg straightened. “I’ll put my things away.” “Dinner’s in one hour.” “Thank you.”  Closing the door behind him was a relief. His old bedroom had been made into a guest room. Pink curtains adorned the windows, and the bedspread was covered in white lace. Roses and ferns patterned the wallpaper, and the furniture was likely antique and heavy, made with dark wood and smelling of the glued paper that lined the drawers. A mauve pink braided rug sat next to the bed, atop the thick blue wall to wall carpeting.  He put his bags on the bed. It’s only one night. The birthday party was a luncheon. Then he’d drive over to Acadia. He hung his shirt and pants for the party in the closet. His toiletries bag went on the dresser. Everything else stayed in his duffel bag. He stopped to take some yogic breaths, calming himself before heading out. “Anyone else coming for dinner?” he asked when he found his mother watching Fox News in the living room. “No.” “Okay, then.” He sat on the couch. Pepper sat at his feet, gazing at him with an expectant expression. “She’s not allowed on the furniture.” “I remember, mom.” Greg tried to ignore the thick-browed newscaster with overly polished hair. He glanced at his mother. She seemed a little on the thin side, but her eyes were sharp and her mouth a thin line. She held herself with her usual rigidity in posture.  “How’s the library?” “Fine. How’s the nature center?” “Dandy.” “Good,” she sighed. “I’ll go check on the roast. You still a vegetarian?” Greg tried not to exhale in frustration. “Yes.” “Well, I made a salad, too.” “Great. That’ll be fine. Thanks.” She stood and left the room, Pepper trailing after her. Greg rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and collapsed against the back of the couch.      Greg almost wished she was as tight-lipped as she had been the night before, after a morning of blathering on about the latest library events and her knitting circle. It was like this every time, where she would spew forth her latest doings, the things that put a bee in her bonnet or the wind in her sails.  It got tiring, but he’d learned to just sit back and let her speed along. “Now, will you be staying a second night? And if you do, are you coming to church?” “I told you I could only stay the one night, mom.” His back ached from the old bed he’d slept on, and a crick lingered in his neck from the flat pillow.  “Hm,” Brigitte said as she sipped her orange juice. “For the better, I suppose.” She grabbed her newspaper and brought it in front of her face. Greg exhaled, feeling the weight of her disappointment. The twice-yearly visits were about as much as he could withstand. Considering their near weekly phone calls were just updates on the town gossip and the goings-on of his brother, there wasn’t much to entice him back here. “So, who’s coming today?” “Dan, Nicole, the grandkids, and Mary from the library, and Sandy and Liz from church.” She lowered her paper but avoided looking at Greg. “Nicole has set it up at Dan’s. She’ll make a nice daughter-in-law.”  Greg restrained from cringing. The unsaid part was that he’d never bring home a daughter-in-law. They hadn’t spoken directly about his sexuality since Jo’s pregnancy. Jack was a non-entity in this house, and in a way, that was for the best now. But Jo? Greg had informed his mother that they were under no circumstance getting married, and that he was, in fact, still gay. She accepted it. But the tough part? His suspicion was that if Jo was white, his mother wouldn’t have let it go so easily.  As far as he knew, Dan wasn’t yet engaged to Nicole. Greg expected that when Dan popped the question, Greg would be subjected to a new wave of uncomfortable conversations with his mother.  “Sounds great,” he said. “How come I didn’t meet her at Christmas?” “She was with her family.” The conversation didn’t go anywhere after that. Greg washed the breakfast dishes as he always did. He took Pepper for a walk while his mother showered and did her hair.  Brigitte insisted on driving them over to Dan’s. It left him feeling uneasy; he preferred the option of a getaway vehicle if he needed it. Not that he’d ever left a family event early, but he liked to imagine it. Throwing down his napkin, telling them off, marching out the door, and driving off into the Maine wilderness, leaving behind decades of taut emotion and toxic patterns.  Dan’s was a five minute drive, and neither of them spoke. Greg’s heart lifted when he saw his nephew Nate on the front porch, sprawled across the porch swing. With his floppy brown hair and dark eyes, he resembled the Lestrade men. Greg looked more like their absent dad, with blunt features and square teeth - he’d been a real looker by all accounts. Nate inherited Brigitte’s pointed nose and chin, just like Dan. The eighteen year old flashed them a smile and got up. “Uncle Greg! Hi!” Greg waved at his sunny, smiling nephew. “Nate, how’s the summer been?” “Boring,” he said as he rolled his eyes, and stepped off the porch to grab Greg for a hug. “Glad you made it.” He then turned to his grandmother. There was no missing the warmth in her eyes and the gladdened smile on her face as she hugged her grandson.  “Is everyone inside?” she asked. “I’ll tell them you’re here. None of your friends are here, yet, but Nicole’s been busy all morning. Dad’s in the garage. Evie’s in the kitchen. I got sent out here to look out for you.” “Good boy,” she said and patted his shoulder.  Nate strolled ahead of them and opened the screen door. “They’re here!” he announced. Greg followed his mother inside.  Evie came bouncing out of the kitchen. “Yay, Uncle Greg!” “Hey, pipsqueak!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed him. When she let go, she gave him a cross look. With a snub nose and curly brown hair, she was near cherubic in features. The same dark eyes as all the Lestrades - with the exception of his mother, of course.  He never knew his father’s surname.  “I can’t believe Peri gets to go on a cruise. I’m so jealous,” Evie said. “Me too,” Greg laughed. “If it weren’t for your grandmother’s birthday this weekend, I might have tried to worm my way into going.”  “So sorry to have ruined your fun,” his mother snapped. Greg ignored her and strolled through the two-story farmhouse, once again admiring the original floorboards and thick wooden beams. The scent of cake lured him into the kitchen.  “Hello Brigitte!” A woman was at the stand mixer, making what looked like frosting. Her blonde highlights shone in the overhead light. “Happy Birthday!” She hugged his mother and turned to face him with a bright smile. “You must be Greg! I’m Nicole!” She drew him into a hug, and a light, floral perfume reached his nose. With her flower-print dress and coiffed ‘do, the woman was all sunshine. “I’ve heard so much about you from the kids. You’re very popular.” “Nicole, nice to meet you.” His stomach fluttered with the thought that he had heard next to nothing about her.  “I think your job is just fascinating. You really get to work with birds of prey?” “Yep, I do,” he said, rocking back on the balls of his feet. “So cool.” She settled her hands on her hips. “Well, Dan’s out in the garage if you want to say hello.”  “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Feeling dismissed, he went out the side door of the kitchen and headed to the garage. The voices of the women talking behind him faded. Greg entered the cool dark of the two-car garage. The cloying smell of car oil and exhaust clung to his nose. From what he could remember, it held Dan’s everyday car, and one old car that he tinkered with. This time, he was surprised to see his brother working on a motorcycle that sat between the cars. “When’d you get that?” he asked. Dan Lestrade, wearing his ballcap backwards and mechanic overalls, paused in his concentration. “Oh, few months back. Thought I’d take it up again.” “Again?” Greg asked. “Yeah. Used to do it every summer when I was in my twenties.” He squinted at Greg. “You don’t remember?” “Guess I wasn’t really around then,” he said awkwardly. “No. Guess not.” Dan started putting tools back in his toolbox with loud, metallic clangs. “Well. I met Nicole. She seems nice.” Greg wondered if he should say something about Mycroft, but what was the point? He’ll be gone in a month’s time. “Yeah. She is.” He wiped his hands with a rag. “We’re getting married.” Greg paused, overcome with the sensation of his stomach dropping. “You are?” “Yeah. Didn’t mom tell you?” “No. And that does seem like a big deal. Something that one of you should have told me.” Dan peered at him, eyes blue like his mother’s. Stubble grew over his chin. “Didn’t think you’d care that much. You’ll get the invitation in the mail.” Greg’s mouth dropped. “Okay, then. Thank you, I guess.” Dan looked around the space as if he was missing something. “I’ll be done in a few. I gotta clean up.”  “Right. See you inside.” Greg backpedaled out of the garage. On the way back to the kitchen door, he paused in the sunlight, drew in a breath, and set his shoulders back.       “ Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear- -mom- -grandma- -Brigitte- Happy Birthday to you!”   Cheers resounded as Greg watched his mother blow out her candles. Nicole hopped up and began removing the candles, which Nate and Evie snatched to lick off the frosting.  “What do you do down in Connecticut?” One of the church ladies was sitting next to him. Sandy was her name. She wore a blonde bob and a brightly colored flowery blouse that was difficult to look at.  “I’m a naturalist and a falconer.” “Oh yes, I think Brigitte mentioned that. Birds, right?” “They’re my specialty, but I do a lot of different science and nature-based programming for kids and adults.” “How delightful.” Plates of dessert were passed around. Brigitte had taken over slicing cake and putting it on plates while Dan scooped out ice cream. Nicole sat down across from Greg. This time, he noticed the sparkling of her engagement ring. “I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you, Nicole,” he said. “So, congrats. And welcome to the family.” “Awww, thanks, Greg!” Nicole twinkled at him. “I hope you’ll make it up here for the wedding. It’ll be next June.”  Great. Two weddings next June. He kept his smile on his face. “Wouldn’t miss it.” “And what about yourself? Have you got a girlfriend?” Greg’s world tilted. Dan paused in scooping the ice cream. Brigitte looked up from the cake. A look of confusion passed over Nicole’s face, as her smile started to slip. Nate and Evie stopped what they were doing and looked at Greg. The two women on the end of the picnic table - Mary and Liz, noticed the quiet and halted their conversation, concerned faces on the rest of them. “Uh,” Greg’s cheeks colored. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” They didn’t tell her. His stomach twisted and turned with a feeling of shame, but it wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him - he was fine with who he was. He turned his gaze to Dan and his mother. “I’m gay.” Dan continued scooping ice cream with his head down while his mother went back to the cake. Her mouth formed a scowl.  “I’m sorry, what?” Nicole asked. Then her face screwed into a look of anger and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. No one told me that.” She directed her glare toward Dan. Sandy turned her shoulder slightly to him, and faced the two women at the end of the table, who all seemed to be trying to ignore the situation. Greg looked at Dan. “Seems like someone ought to have mentioned it at some point.” Dan leveled his gaze at him. “Do you go around telling people that I’m straight?” Greg’s mouth dropped for the second time that day.  “Dan,” Nicole uttered. She turned her face back to Greg and smiled. “I am sorry, Greg. I shouldn’t have assumed. Do you have a boyfriend?” Greg faltered. If he admitted to seeing someone casually, it would just be reinforcing gay stereotypes - ones his mother once loved to crow about. But Mycroft wasn’t his boyfriend. “I am seeing someone,” he said. “Oh, how nice.” She smiled, and her interest seemed genuine. “What does he do?” “He works in government.” His mother let out a scoff. “A politician, Greg?” “No, mom,” he said through gritted teeth. “Public service.” “Hm,” she replied and sat down with her plate of dessert. Sandy turned to him. “You know, my sister’s son is gay. Such a nice young man. You wouldn’t know it if you met him. He’s very masculine.” Greg stopped himself from snapping at her.  He needed to change the subject so he faced Evie and Nate. “Peregrine said she’d miss seeing you guys.” Evie brightened. “I know. She texted us.” “Yeah, we text all the time now,” Nate said without looking up from his cake.  Nicole looked from him to the two teens and back. “I’d love to meet your daughter sometime.” “You have a daughter? Is she adopted?” Sandy asked. Greg’s stomach swooped. He looked at Sandy - Sandy, who was his mother’s friend, a close enough friend to be invited to a small gathering for his mother’s birthday. His mother’s friend, who apparently knew nothing about his daughter. Her granddaughter. “My mom hasn’t told you about Peregrine?” He could feel his mother’s sharp gaze upon him, but he kept looking at Sandy. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned that I have three grandchildren,” his mother said in a haughty tone. “Peregrine, as I understand it, is very bright,” Nicole said. Her eyes seemed a little wide, and flickered between Greg and Brigitte.  Mary, from the end of the table, jumped in. “Oh, yes, Brigitte, I’m sure you’ve mentioned her. It’s just that we’ve all met Nate and Evie. Peregrine doesn’t get a chance to visit often, does she?” Greg’s hackles raised as he pushed his plate of cake away. “No, she doesn’t.” She doesn’t feel welcome. She hates it here. Except for her cousins. Mary smiled as if in understanding. Her face was round and pale like a moon, and her glasses took up half of it. “Well, I hope we all get to meet her the next time she’s up.” “Right,” he said. Then cleared his throat. “Perhaps we’ll come by the library.” “It might be more useful if she goes to church,” his mother said.  Greg glared at her. “Peregrine prefers places of free thought.” She met his glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It’s her birthday. Don’t start. “Nothing,” he muttered. He heard Dan scoff and could see out of the corner of his eye as Dan shook his head. Liz, the other woman on the end, made a noise with her throat, and then said, “Oh, Brigitte, I think we’re starting a committee on the idea of a community garden at the church. Are you interested in joining?” The conversation passed over Greg like a fog. He was stuck in his head, trying to quell the anger and the panic in his gut. He got up from the table and walked inside the house. He went to the bathroom, closed the toilet lid, and sat down. Am I right to be upset? Of course he didn’t go around telling people his brother was straight. That was the assumed sexual orientation!  But that wasn’t as upsetting as his mother neglecting to mention Peregrine to her friends.  Did his family not talk about him at all? Is that why sexual identity never came up between his brother and his fiancee ? Is that why his mother didn’t talk about Peregrine? Did he embarrass them? They’d said they accepted his sexuality, even if they didn’t seem happy with it. The distance between him and his mother had started before he came out. And Dan...Jesus Christ they had been so tight as kids. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. Just go out there, keep a smile on, and in a couple hours, you’ll be on your way to Acadia, and none of this will matter.” He got up and opened the door. As he went to the kitchen, he saw Dan at the trash, scraping plates.  Dan looked at him, and the only thing Greg could see in his eyes was contempt.  “What is your problem?” Greg blurted. “My problem? I don’t have one. You’re the one that’s all sensitive about the fact that I didn’t go around announcing you’re gay.” “To your fiancee though? Nate and Evie know, so wouldn’t she? I mean, do you all never talk about me at all?” “Why would we? You’re the one who left us, not the other way around.” Greg clenched his teeth. “I left because there was nothing for me here in this town.” “What, because there’s no Gay-Straight Alliance?” “You and mom had a problem with me!” “You just assumed we did!” “You barely talked to me after I came out!” “What was I going to do? I wanted to talk about girls!” “I could have talked about girls with you! I’ve had straight friends! Attraction pretty much works the same, it’s just that I happen to like cock!” Dan glowered. “Greg, you’re making out like I’m some kind of homophobe, when as far as I could tell back then, you were a heterophobe.” “A what? ” “You heard me.” “There’s no such thing!” “Whatever. I tried to talk to you about my wife, and you could barely answer a phone call.” “Oh my god, Dan, that was years ago! And I had just moved to Connecticut, and I was young and stupid and didn’t call home as much as I should have - like every college kid that moves out!” “Right, like you didn’t think you were better than your redneck relations up in the backwoods of Maine. Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about.” “Then what are you talking about?” “When Colleen died, you asshole!” Dan shouted. “You came to the funeral, and that was well and good. But you didn’t call, and when we did get on the phone, you never asked how I was doing. When Colleen got cancer, you didn’t even call to check on her, or me! You’re such a self-centered little shit, you didn’t give one damn about what I was going through!” Greg wavered a little where he stood. “You...you barely spoke to me by the time she got cancer. And I talked to mom about it every time I called -” “She wasn’t mom’s wife,” Dan said, his voice hoarse. “Why should I expect you to care? You didn’t ask me about myself back then, and anytime now, I talk about Nate or Evie, you just judge me for how I am as a parent! You got your kid going to a fancy school, and she’s gifted and all that, but my kids? They’re growing up in the same school system you did, and you couldn’t wait to get out of it, could you? Because you looked down on it, just like you look down on this town, and just like you look down on us!” Greg’s chest heaved with pain. “Why are you telling me this now? Why not bring it up earlier, like, years ago.” “Because I didn’t think you cared. But now you got the nerve to act like I did you wrong by getting engaged and not telling you about it, and because mom and I don’t sit around talking about you being gay? Because we don’t advertise it to others? News flash: we don’t actually care .” “Right. Because you don’t actually care about me .” “Oh, come off it! So you look like dad, and that upsets mom sometimes. She’s entitled; she’s human! And then you went off and left, just like he did. You’ve followed in his footsteps pretty closely, little bro.” A slurry of feelings mixed tight in his chest. He stepped back. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t blame a child for looking like one of their parents! She treated me like a pest, and the two of you were peas in a pod! No wonder you defend her!  “And don’t worry, I love my niece and nephew - they’re lovely people despite the podunk school. They’ll make their own way; I trust that. But at least they’re acknowledged by her! Peregrine doesn’t look anything like our father, but mom never asks about her, and barely mentions her to any of her friends! I’ll bet Nicole knows next to nothing about her, too! How much have you said about Peri? I’ll bet anything she knows about her came from your kids!” Dan slammed his hand on the table. “How much have you told your boyfriend about your niece and nephew?” Greg opened his mouth to reply, but realized he’d barely told Mycroft anything about his niece and nephew. He loved them to bits, and wished he could see them more often, but most of their contact was two visits a year and several skype calls and a flurry of texts around holidays.  “Yeah,” Dan said. “Thought so.” He strode out the screen door of the kitchen, letting the door shut with a bang behind him. Greg sagged against the wall. Where could he go? Outside? More than likely the group outside had heard all that. The door was open with the screen door shut and a window was open. He retreated into the cool darkness of the hallway.  This. This was exactly why he should have brought his own car. He waited about five minutes, collecting himself, practicing his breathing, clearing his mind... thank the universe for yoga. And to think he’d thought it was a kind of silly thing when Jo first proposed it. When he went outside, Nicole gave him a sympathetic smile. He tried to smile back at her, but he failed. His mother was opening presents. He could see that his was already open - a lovely handmade shawl in her favorite colors, a pair of floral-patterned gardening gloves, and stainless steel tools. She ignored him as he sat down. The rest of the visit was excruciating. He made quiet, polite conversation with his mother’s friends and Nicole. Dan didn’t say a word to him. Evie talked his ear off about Animal Crossing, and Nate asked him for pictures of him with the eagle. He told them how much he loved his walks with Tiny the owl.  Then it was finally time to go. He helped his mother pack her presents into the car. They got in, and strapped on their seatbelts. The radio played country music, and his mother rolled down her window and lit a cigarette. “Since when do you smoke?” He couldn’t help asking her.  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, now isn’t there?” Greg couldn’t help but feel like he was in the wrong again. Was it him? Was this whole family distance thing all him? But he didn’t imagine her quiet contempt for him when he was little. Or did he? “What is it really, mom? Is it because I look like dad?” Brigitte Lestrade took a drag of her cigarette. “Your father left me for another woman.” Greg bit the corner of his mouth. “Okay. I know how that feels. Jack cheated on me.” She glanced at him. “Hm. Well, I don’t pretend to understand how you’re gay, but you are, and that’s not a bad thing, no matter what the church says.” “Well, thanks for that.” “But you always were a tough one. You never liked us and you never liked where we lived. You always talked of going away and seeing the world. But what have you seen, huh? The upper to lower part of New England?” She flicked her cigarette ash out the window. “All these big plans and big dreams. Like your dad. He didn’t get far, either.” He ignored her jab. “I was just a kid. And I was a gay kid. There isn’t a lot of room for that in Prospect.” “Well, I’d always known you’d leave. And I’d let you go without a fuss. I know I’m not much of a mother, but that much I could do.” Greg stared at her - the profile with the pointed nose and chin. The soft crow’s feet at her eyes. The cigarette at her lips. The wiggling and worming of guilt sliding through his gut and his brain. His mother knew he’d leave, so she protected herself by distancing herself from him? I...I don’t even… He turned to the window to stare at the passing scenery, all the green a blur.   

Within the week, Will Graham had a new secretary, a young frumpy man who seemed overjoyed at being allowed to work in such proximity to an esteemed consultant. Will couldn't even remember the kid's name. Within the week, he was drowning in tedium, barely able to concentrate on sending a goddamn email because his thoughts kept returning to the Boy who'd stood so close to him, struck him, called Will out on his own cowardice. At night, Will drank and jerked off to thoughts of Hannibal in bed with him. Sometimes he woke in a cold sweat, reaching out for a Boy that wasn't in bed with him, that never had been because Will hadn't ever let him that close. In the mornings, Will burnt his tongue on the coffee the new secretary made him. He absolutely did not look out for Hannibal when he left the office. Will could feel the Boy's gaze on him once in a while, as he ran errands in town or stopped off at the university for something. He let himself bask in the warmth of it, but never return it. It had to be a clean break. Hannibal felt like he was losing his mind. He felt adrift without his daily routine, without leaving the house for work every day. His Uncle had made a passing sound of disapproval when he’d found out and then made pointed comments about grad school. Hannibal had half-heartedly filled out one application and then taken to leaving the house during the day, just to avoid the stares.  Sometimes, he parked himself across the street from the office. He told himself he was not there to watch, he was not going to become some sort of creep who stalked their ex-- was Will his ex?-- he was just trying to get up the nerve to go in. There was so much he still wanted to say to Will, so much anger and hurt.  He went more days than he didn’t, sitting in his car, numbly trying to remember how to breathe. The key to getting over someone, the internet told him, is getting under someone else. The idea of someone else, someone who wasn’t Will , putting their hands on him made Hannibal nauseous, but it was a thought. Maybe what he missed wasn’t Will. Maybe it was the ropes around his body, the orders, the firm hand. Maybe he just needed a good spanking, and everything would be okay.  Hannibal went to a club. This was, overall, a terrible idea, as he’d never been to one before, but he went. He went and he met a boy, a young man his age studying comparative literature. They danced together, too-close and sweaty, hands wandering and mouths messy with uncoordinated kisses. Anthony had a British accent. He had a crooked smile and hair that fell over his eyes. He was shrewd and sarcastic, he knew how to laugh at himself. Hannibal blew him in a dark corner of the club and kissed the taste of himself from his lips after. They exchanged numbers. Hannibal supposed he had a boyfriend now. But Anthony was nice, he was caring and funny, he wrote Hannibal stupid limmericks and sent them throughout the day to make him laugh, and Hannibal hated it. He needed someone with a firm hand, someone who could tell him what to do and put him in his place. They went on a date. They went on another. Both times Anthony was happy to go with what you want, for the venue, the wine, the goddamn dessert. Both times they ended up in bed but didn’t fuck, Hannibal too wired and Anthony too concerned for his restlessness to do anything about it. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he said once, and Hannibal figured that was the problem. He didn’t see it as being taken advantage of. He needed guidance . Anthony kept wanting Hannibal to take the lead, though. He wanted Hannibal to come to him, Hannibal to decide when they were going to go further.  And the worst part was, Hannibal didn’t really want to go further. Anthony was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but he was wrong . All of him, every inch. But Hannibal kept trying. In Anthony’s bed, straddling him, Hannibal grabbed Anthony’s hand and dragged it to cup his backside through his jeans. Anthony grinned and gave it a little squeeze. “You’re beautiful,” he told Hannibal, and it was nice but it wasn’t enough. “Thank you,” Hannibal murmured. “You should spank me.” He hadn’t been entirely sure he could say it out loud, until he had. Anthony stared up at him, nose scrunched up in unfairly adorable confusion.  “You like a little rough with your tumble, huh sweetheart?” He asked, but he had a furrow to his brow that Hannibal didn’t like. “Can’t say it’s my thing, really, but if you like it that much I can give it a go.” “Great.” Hannibal kissed him chastely and shifted to drape himself over Anthony’s lap with a huff. He arched his back, wriggled his ass and waited. Anthony made a confused little noise above him but didn’t push Hannibal away. He was so accommodating. Too accommodating. Hannibal knew he should feel bad taking advantage of that, but he couldn’t. He was too desperate to feel something again. When Anthony’s hand came down against him, the angle was awkward and the strike was too soft. Anthony laughed, admitting his own lack of experience, joking about how he’d be a pro in no time with such a gorgeous partner to practice on. Hannibal didn’t care. He didn’t care. He just wanted a strike to land and to hurt. But they didn’t, none of them did. And when they did, when Hannibal lost his patience and told Anthony outright to hit him harder it hurt too much, and wasn’t the same as when Will did it. Nothing was the same. Anthony looked so guilty when Hannibal dropped himself into bed next to him after, cheeks burning with his own humiliation. He knew he should reassure him, tell him that it was fine, that it wasn’t a problem, that nothing was the matter, but that was a lie. “I can get some practice in?” Anthony offered. He didn’t sound enthused. Hannibal buried his face in a pillow.  “Don’t,” he mumbled. “It was stupid of me.” “Hey.” A hesitant hand landed on the nape of his neck, fingers rubbing gently against his scalp. “It’s not stupid if it’s important to you.” Hannibal didn’t have a response for that. He kept silent, hiding his humiliation in the pillow. After a few minutes, Anthony spoke up again. “Is this about the guy?” Hannibal shoved up onto his elbows, staring at Anthony in wide-eyed horror. “What guy?” He hadn’t mentioned Will. He had gone to great lengths not to mention Will. Anthony shrugged, averting his eyes. “You’re so cautious, so skittish. I figured there had to be a guy, somewhere in that past you don’t talk about.” Hannibal swallowed and turned into the pillow again. When Anthony drew a hand through Hannibal’s hair a moment later, he let him. Neither said anything for a while, then Anthony settled more comfortably into bed and pulled his phone out to scroll through as he lay next to Hannibal. “Everyone has a guy,” Anthony mumbled softly. Everyone has a guy. Someone they can’t stop thinking about, someone who came into their life and changed it, someone who means the entire world, who is the entire world. Hannibal broke up with Anthony the next evening, guilt finally choking him when it hadn’t all those times before when all he did was lean in to kiss Hannibal’s forehead with a smile. “You’re too handsome for me,” Anthony told him with a wink. “We’d be fighting over your suits and nothing would get done.” But even alone again, nothing did get done. Hannibal couldn’t concentrate. He didn’t even try to look for another job. He hadn’t cashed his last pay check, he kept it in his wallet as a morbid reminder of… something. He didn’t even know why he had it anymore. He could use the money. But it was the last thing Will had addressed to him, the last thing he had signed with his name as he thought of Hannibal… There was no escaping Will. No forgetting him. No putting him in the past.  Hannibal loved him. With everything he was, Hannibal loved him. It was impossible to pretend he didn’t.  And Will… Hannibal couldn’t say for sure that Will loved him, but he knew there was something there. He could recognize affection, intimacy. Whatever Will said, Hannibal knew Will wanted him. He couldn’t hide that, couldn’t shove it aside like garbage. Hannibal didn’t know why Will cut him out, but it was…. It was… It was stupid . And Hannibal wasn’t going to take it anymore. Hannibal dressed to the nines. He pulled one of his three-piece-suits and a tie, slicked his hair back, and made sure he looked absolutely perfect. He wanted Will to know what he was missing. He wanted Will to feel bad. And then he wanted Will to apologize. God, even without an apology, Hannibal thought he’d drop to his knees in a heartbeat if Will asked him to.  He went to Will’s office in the late afternoon, when it was less likely that someone would be there for a meeting, when it was possible that Will had sent home Hannibal’s replacement. He found the office empty, and strode to Will’s door before he could change his mind. Hannibal had been tempted not to knock, but couldn't bring himself to be quite so disrespectful. So he knocked, twice, and waited for Will to open the door himself. “Hello, Will.” The man blinked at him, eyes wide in surprise behind his glasses, and stepped back. “Hannibal.” “I have something to say to you.” Will swallowed and glanced over Hannibal’s shoulder, knowing full well there was no one there. “Now isn’t the best time -” “I love you.” Will’s eyes flicked to Hannibal so quickly, so sharply, and for a moment there was something there akin to panic, akin to hope. Then his gaze turned steely. “Excuse me?” “I love you,” Hannibal repeated. “And I think that if you don’t feel the same for me, you feel something. And something is worth nurturing into a worthwhile life together.” “Hannibal,” Will said. His voice shook. Just slightly, but Hannibal knew every inch of him. He could hear it. “You were fired. If I have to call the police--” “You won’t,” Hannibal said, with complete certainty. “...Is that a threat?” Will asked. “You won’t,” Hannibal said again, “Because you don’t want to. Because you feel something, even if you don’t want to admit it.” “Hannibal,” Will said sharply. He stopped there, hesitant. Reluctant. Vulnerable. “I’m yours,” Hannibal told him. “Everything I am belongs to you. I give it freely.” “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will snapped. “I do,” Hannibal insisted. “I don’t know what you’re afraid of. I wish you would tell me, but it won’t change anything if you don’t. I’ll love you regardless.” “You don’t know me.” “I want to,” Hannibal insisted. “And what I do know of you, I love. I want you. I want to be yours, alone. I want this.” “You’re a stupid boy,” Will hissed, but his conviction was failing. There was no actual anger directed at Hannibal; fear was taking over, worry was filling his words with a softness that made Hannibal weak. “What do you expect me to tell you?” “I don’t know,” Hannibal admitted. “But I’m not going anywhere, Will. Not again.” Will scoffed, drawing a hand over his face before glaring at Hannibal again. The Boy, stupid, wilful, beautiful, was here, he was here and Will wondered if he was about to wake up again, alone in his bed, aching and pining and sad. “What do you think I can give you?” Will tried again. “I’m not kind, Hannibal. I won’t coddle you. I will exhaust you.” “Good,” Hannibal didn’t look away. “I don’t need to be coddled.” “What do you think you need?” “I don’t know,” Hannibal licked his lips, tucking his chin just a little. “But you do. And I want you to tell me. Because you want to tell me. Like before. Because it felt like freedom, it felt right, it felt -” Will reached out to grip Hannibal’s lapels hard, enough to wrinkle the fabric, enough to pull them so close they were sharing air, so close they could kiss. Hannibal parted his lips. “Go to the desk,” Will breathed, letting Hannibal go with a shove. “Sit.” Hannibal went. He sat. He moved without any hesitation, without so much as a second glance. Will watched him, his firm figure, the way he sat with perfect posture. Will reached for his hand. Hannibal was completely still as Will moved each of his hands in turn to the desk, pressing his palms to the wooden surface.  Will looked at him, blue eyes meeting brown, a moment shared between them. Hannibal thought, again, that Will might kiss him. “Stay,” Will whispered. “Don’t move, until I tell you to.” And then he left. He walked out the door, and when Hannibal strained to listen, he heard the main door shut as well. Alone, in the office. There was no one to see if Hannibal behaved or not. But he wanted to behave. He would prove to Will that he was a good boy, that he was the best boy. He would make Will want him.  He sat back, careful to keep his hands on the desk where Will had put them, and made himself more comfortable. If Will wanted to test his patience, he would be patient. He would wait until Will told him to move, he would smile and obey, he would prove to him that he was worth Will’s time and effort and love. Hours passed. Outside, it started to grow dark, and Hannibal chewed his lip absently wondering if his family would try looking for him here or assume he was out with his boyfriend. He had few friends to ask about his whereabouts. He realized that if his uncle didn’t care to look for him, no one else but Will would actually know that Hannibal wasn’t home. The thought was oddly freeing. Hours more, and Hannibal watched the clock on Will’s wall tick to midnight and over. The office had the lights on, but the rest of the world was in darkness around him. He felt like he was an island, the only safe haven. A lighthouse for Will to return to when he needed to feel wanted, and adored, and taken care of. Will did not return in the morning. Hannibal shifted around in his seat, uncomfortable in this position but refusing to disobey. He desperately needed to go to the bathroom. He was hungry. He was cold. He flexed his fingers against the desk and sighed out. Outside the window, Will watched. He watched the Boy’s shoulders curve in exhaustion, he watched the way Hannibal trembled, how his legs shifted beneath the desk. He watched the way Hannibal did not move. Because Will hadn’t told him he could. This was ridiculous. This was unhealthy. Will shouldn’t have been allowing it. But there was nothing binding Hannibal in place. Nothing holding him to the desk. He could have left any moment he wanted to, and yet he chose to be still. To be obedient. Will pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking hands and dialed. The phone on the desk began to ring. Hannibal stared at the phone through exhausted, heavy-lidded eyes. His fingers twitched against the desk. He had been told to stay and wait. He had been told to do something, and he wanted to be good. But it was his job to answer the phone. Even if Will had ‘fired’ him, Hannibal knew how Will felt about answering the phone. After a few more rings, Hannibal leaned forward, nudging the phone free of the cradle with his nose and chin. “This is Will Graham’s office,” he panted, exhausted from his struggle with the plastic. “Mr. Graham is out at the moment, may I take a message?” Will hung up, breath caught in his throat, and pressed the phone to his lips. Good boy. What a good Boy. Will dialled Hannibal’s home number next. Within the hour, his uncle and who Will assumed was Hannibal’s cousin, were pulling up across the road from the office and marching in. Will sidestepped to be out of direct line of sight, but stayed near enough to hear what was going on inside. An argument had been expected, but Will had not thought that Hannibal’s home life was as unpleasant as this. His uncle berated him, reminded Hannibal of his obligations to his family, to his name . He told the Boy to get up, to get home, to study. He told Hannibal he would be cut out of the will, that he would be homeless if he didn’t immediately return home. The Boy didn’t move. He weathered the insults and the shouting, he kept his voice calm as he replied. The only time he snarled, like a trapped animal, was when his uncle attempted to yank Hannibal by the arm out of his seat. “Don’t touch me,” Hannibal snapped. “You have no right to touch me.” “Get up!” “No!” “Get up or so help me -” “You’ve made your position clear,” Hannibal replied. “Once I have permission to move, I will return home and collect my things. Until then, I would ask you to leave. You have no business here.” “Permission,” Hannibal’s uncle spat. “As if you’re some object to be owned. You are a Lecter, Hannibal, and--” “I denounce it,” Hannibal said coldly. “I disown you, I want nothing to do with you. I’ll change my name.”  “Your inheritance--” “I don’t need it.” He didn’t need anyone but Will. His aunt and uncle left, his uncle muttering under his breath the whole time. No doubt, Hannibal would find the entire contents of his room tossed out onto their porch come morning. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need it. Chiyoh lingered, after his aunt and uncle left. She hovered in the doorway, her dark eyes narrowed as she watched him. “What?” Hannibal growled. “Are you happy?” She was the first person to ask. Even Will hadn’t bothered, too convinced that Hannibal couldn’t possibly be so. “Yes,” Hannibal said earnestly. “Chiyoh, I’m the happiest I’ve been since I was a child. I’m the happiest I’ll ever be.” She stood there a moment longer, before looking over her shoulder and returning to the office to stand next to where Hannibal sat. "You can do it," she told him softly, leaning in to embrace him, thin arms reassuring and warm. "Whatever you need to do, you can do it." Chiyoh so rarely spoke that words alone were a gift. But her kindness, her earnestness, made Hannibal's breath hitch. He almost lifted his hands to hug her back. Almost. "I can," he said. "I will." "I'll make sure they don't throw out your art supplies," she promised, then rushed from the office following her mom and stepdad . Hannibal tilted his head back, eyes to the ceiling so that any tears he couldn't stop dripped into his ears rather than down his chest. By early afternoon, Hannibal was shaking, his bladder so full it ached. He could go to the bathroom down the hall, come back and sit down again. No one was here to see. No one was here at all. Several moments more and Hannibal whimpered, helpless, heat spreading between his legs and down into his shoes as he let go. He hadn't wet himself since he was very small, since the orphanage, since before. Now he sat in his own mess and sobbed softly, fingers curling hard over the tabletop. He didn't lift them. He didn't get up. He stayed sitting where Will had put him, because Will had told him to stay. And he was going to be good for him. He was going to be perfect for him. He must have dozed off, because when Hannibal blinked up at the clock again it was evening once more. His clothes were damp with sweat and worse. His head was spinning. He hadn't eaten or had anything to drink for over 24 hours. He hadn't slept. He hadn't moved. Another helpless little noise and Hannibal bit his lip, closing his eyes and forcing himself to sit still. He hurt. He hurt everywhere. He thought of what Will had said, that he wasn't kind, that he wasn't going to coddle him. Thinking of Will made it easier. Thinking of Will released some tension from his muscles. Thinking of Will made Hannibal's heart hammer in his chest. "Hannibal." Hannibal jerked at the sound, blinking quickly as he looked to the door, where Will leaned his shoulder against the jamb. He was smiling, soft and warm, a smile Hannibal had only ever seen on Will once, after they'd kissed. This time Hannibal's sob came with tears. "Sir -" "Sweet boy," Will whispered, stepping into the office. "My sweet boy, aren't you tired?" Hannibal nodded, shoulders shaking. "Yes, Sir." "Does it hurt?" Will knelt beside him, uncaring for the mess in the floor, for the smell. Hannibal nodded again. "Yes, Sir." "But you're still sitting here," Will said, reaching out to cup Hannibal's cheek, to stroke his thumb beneath his eye to wipe the tears away. "Yes." "Why?" "B-because you told me to stay," Hannibal whispered, voice ragged. Will’s smile took on an amused quirk. “We’re both a bit of a mess, aren’t we?” “No,” Hannibal said tiredly.  “Well, I am,” Will told him, “but that’s… You don’t care at all, do you?” “No,” Hannibal said again.  “I wanted to be good for you,” Will admitted. “And I was worried I wouldn’t be. Worried I couldn’t give you what you needed, that I’d give you too much and it would break you. But look at you. You’re so good , Hannibal.” Hannibal sobbed, the praise a balm against his embarrassment, his discomfort. Will took his hands gently.  “If you want a heavy hand, I can give you that,” Will said. “I can take over. I can make the decisions for you. Do you want that?” Hannibal was shaking, everything coming to a head, overwhelming him. He squeezed Will's hands where he held them and nodded, another sob breaking from him, shattering like glass between them. "Come here," Will said, guiding Hannibal to stand from the chair, pushing up on his knees to catch him when his unsteady legs wouldn't hold him up. "Come here, my beautiful boy, you've been so good for me." "I'm filthy -" "Shh," Will sat back against the desk and welcomed Hannibal into his lap, uncaring for the mess, uncaring for anything but having Hannibal in his arms again. He rubbed his hands over Hannibal's back, soothing the rigid straight line into a slouch, and whispered to him. That he was such a good boy, that he'd done so well, that Will was proud of him, that he loved him, that he was Will's and Will's alone. "Come home with me," Will murmured, lips pressed to Hannibal's temple, "come to my bed. Let me take care of you." Hannibal pressed his damp face to Will’s neck, nodding.  Will spread a spare change of clothes over the backseat of his car, and then let Hannibal sprawl atop them. It was cramped because of Hannibal’s height, but not nearly as awful as sitting in a chair with his hands frozen for 24 hours.  “I want you to rest,” Will whispered, pressing a kiss to his brow. “There will be time to talk later. You had a really intense scene today and I don’t want you to crash.” Hannibal nodded numbly, still hardly daring to believe this was happening.  Will lived far enough from his office that Hannibal was able to drift. He was disoriented when Will finally pulled him from the backseat and into a crowd of dogs.  “Don’t mind them,” Will said, leading Hannibal inside with an arm around his waist. “I’ll introduce you later.” Hannibal blinked, overwhelmed by the sheer number, but held his hand out to be sniffed as they passed.  In the bathroom, Will began to fill a huge claw foot tub. He smiled up at Hannibal with that soft, warm expression from before.  “Strip, Hannibal. Let me take care of you.”

Katsuki never thought he could hate school more than he had, but he’d hated every second of this day. All he wanted to do was get to the beach and train with fucking All Might. None of this shit mattered, he needed to prove to the hero what he could do. Prove that he wasn’t just a damn weakling that fucking passed out when he was attacked by an asshole villain. Katsuki’s hands started sparking at the thought, making his classmates look at him warily. They were already confused by the water drum underneath his desk, but none of them had dared to ask about it. Fucking weaklings. Katsuki couldn’t wait for the school day to be over. He was so fucking done with this shit. He heard Deku sigh behind him, then blinked when the butt of Deku’s pencil poked his shoulder and started pressing down, moving in circles right over one of the many places Katsuki had a perpetual knot from using his quirk. Katsuki closed his eyes, focusing on the slight pressure as it worked at the knot. He took a deep breath and let the sparks in his hands die out. Shitty nerd always knew how to calm him the fuck down. Somehow, Katsuki made it through the rest of the day without exploding, but it was fucking close. After the bell rang, the two of them practically ran to the locker rooms to change out of their school uniforms and into the spare exercise clothes they’d brought along for the afternoon. Katsuki barely noticed the protest of his sore muscles and the weight of the shitty water drum as they raced to the beach. He finally would get to show off his quirk! All Might was in twig form again, sitting on a grimy bench and flipping through a packet of papers. He looked up and smiled when they approached. “Young boys! How was school today?” “A fucking nuisance. Let’s get this damn training started already, Yagi-sensei.” “Kacchan!” Katsuki rolled his eyes at Deku’s whiny tone, “We did actually learn some neat things in hist—” “Who the fuck cares.” “Umm…” All Might scratched his cheek nervously, “Well, if you’re that energetic, why don’t we just get started with the training?” “Fuck yeah!” Katsuki grinned. This was what he’d been waiting for all damn day! Next to him, Deku was practically vibrating, nodding his head in firm agreement. “Alright then!” All Might gave them another thumbs up, then pointed out at the hills of trash. “Young Midoriya, from this day onward I want you to work on cleaning this beach!” Deku looked around them nervously, staring at the absolute buttload of shit. Last time, it had taken them a whole year to get the cleaning done. “Why are you hesitating, you shitty nerd?” Katsuki stared at his soulmate, one eyebrow raised, “This shit won’t clean itself. And we’ll be here every damn day this time! It’ll be a fucking walk in the park.” His soulmate gave him a firm nod, the nervousness melting away. “Right! I’ll get started then!” The nerd went over to one of the nearby piles, already looking for a box to hold smaller objects. Last time, they had quickly learned to remove smaller things first, or else they would just topple down or block larger objects. Well, Deku had discovered it. “Young Bakugou,” with a start, Katsuki turned his attention back to All Might, “today we’re going to work on testing your quirk and then, in the weeks that follow, we’ll do different exercises to strengthen it further! First, what’s the weakest explosion you can make?” The weakest? Why the fuck were they starting with that? Maybe the dumbass thought he needed to warm up or some shit? Katsuki was already sweaty from the run to get there, so that wasn’t necessary. Whatever. He held his hand up, concentrating on igniting the sweat as little as possible. A few small explosions sparked around the middle of his palm, each about the size of a penny. “Tch.” Katsuki glared at his hand. He’d been trying to get just one of the damn things. “Very good!” All Might noted something on his paper, then added, “What about your largest?” Katsuki smirked. Now the hero was talking. He uncapped the drum of water and took a big swig, then went over to the shoreline, holding his hand straight out in front of him and toward the sea. He braced his wrist with his other hand, made sure his footing was firm, and let loose. The blast flew from his hand, cutting through the air and dominating his vision until he could see nothing else. It stretched out over the empty water, fire spreading further and further before dissipating out over the waves. Ears ringing, Katsuki dropped his arms, panting slightly. He grinned, satisfied with the result. He hadn’t let loose like that in a damn long time. He reached back for the water jug, taking another long drink. Dimly, he heard Deku laughing from one of the trash piles, “That was amazing, Kacchan!!” Katsuki shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from the explosion. Thankfully it started to fade quick enough, and he turned to see the hero’s reaction. All Might was gaping at the waves in disbelief. “Indeed. That was… incredible, young Bakugou.” The hero shook his head, “To be able to produce that much power at your age… it really is incredible.” The man gave him a big smile. “How many of those can you produce in a day?” Katsuki frowned, thinking.… he shrugged, “Maybe five? I don’t know. I need time in between to build up sweat, but the real issue is the strain on my wrist and shoulder.” All Might nodded, “So you’ll need a costume that gives you some good support there.” “Fucking obviously.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Well.” All Might tapped his chin, then nodded as if he’d satisfied something in his own mind, “I don’t want to push you to that max, today, though that is good information to know. For now, let me know if your wrist or shoulder reach their limit. We’ll focus your strength exercises on developing those muscles.” Katsuki’d already fucking been doing that with his own exercises, but he supposed more could never hurt. “Alright!” All Might looked back at his list, “Let’s keep going. How long of an interval do you need between small explosions?” Katsuki shrugged, “None, really.” He held up his hand and ignited his palm, letting the blasts flicker on and off. All Might nodded, “And how long can you hold it?” Katsuki raised an eyebrow and held the blast steady. This was a bit harder, but he’d practiced some when he was working on flying, so he could hold it up for almost a minute. After that, the tests just kept coming. Was one hand stronger than the other? What different strength explosions could he do? How high could he fly? How fast could he fly? How far could one blast propel him? How fast could he switch direction? Could he still attack with explosions while in the air? The list just kept going on and on. Katsuki was pretty sure the shitty nerd had some, if not most, of these statistics in his damn journal, but it was kinda nice to be put through his paces and test his abilities like this. At the end of the day, the drum of water was once again completely empty and Katsuki was still drenched in sweat. He slept like a damn log that night. The next day went they showed up to see All Might tossing a volleyball up and down in one hand, a whole bucket of them sitting next to him. “What are the damn balls for?” Katsuki eyed it, confused, as Deku scampered off to work and continue cleaning the trash heaps. “Yesterday I noticed that if you explode a lot of items in quick succession, you’re surrounded by a lot of smoke.” “Really? Fuck, I hadn’t noticed.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. All Might sighed, “Smoke can make you lose sight of villains, but they might have a quirk that allows them to see you easily. You cannot allow them to use your own quirk to their advantage.” Katsuki frowned. Like hell he’d let that happen! He’d just have to be fucking careful or find a way to clear the smoke or some shit like that! All Might kept talking, though. “In fights you will frequently be releasing large explosions that could lead to a lot of smoke, so you need to grow used to keeping track of where people and items are while you fight and also to observing the way smoke acts so that you can tell where people are coming from.” “Tch.” Predicting movements in smoke? “This shit is dense, how is that even fucking possible?” “I’ve fought in smoke many times, young Bakugou.” All Might grinned at him, “It’s not impossible, I assure you! You just need practice watching the smoke for changes in color or movement, or listening more to your surroundings.” “Then let’s fucking do it.” He would never let someone use his own damn quirk against him! All Might grinned, tossing the volleyball up again and catching it. “That’s the spirit! Fire off some explosions, my boy. Let’s see if you can predict where the balls are coming from and deflect them.” Katsuki grinned, exploding some nearby cabinets and refrigerators and other big shit until a large cloud of smoke surrounded him. Almost immediately, a ball thudded into his back. He whirled around, but there was nothing there. The ball had already disappeared again into the smoke. He growled in annoyance, then winced as another one slammed into his side. Shit. All Might had said he needed to watch the smoke for signs, but what fucking signs? Smoke billowed around him, and he couldn’t tell any damn difference. Sure, some patches were darker, but there didn’t seem to be a fucking pattern! Katsuki stared in front of him, hoping to see some clue and ignoring the spark of pain as a ball hit the back of his leg. Fuck, he was going to have so many bruises after this. Focus. There! The smoke darkened slightly and then there was a ball parting through it and aiming straight at his chest. Katsuki held up his arm, pushing it to the side harmlessly. One down. He just needed to keep watching his surroundings. A ball thudded into the back of his head. Fuck. After a few minutes of being bombarded, the smoke was thinning and Katsuki could see a bit better. He was also even beginning to recognize a telltale whistle of the ball cutting through the air. “Let’s have some more smoke, young Bakugou.” All Might’s voice boomed out from behind him. “Tch.” Katsuki looked around and saw some tall, stationary shadows not too far off. He sent a blast that way, and immediately the smoke thickened again. Day after day, the pattern continued. All Might beat the shit out of him with balls, then Katsuki went through weight training with some weights the old man brought each day. After his shoulders were fucking dead, they moved on to wrist exercises, then back to his aching shoulders, then again to the wrists. Every. Fucking. Day. The second day, All Might had held out a wash towel and told him to cover his mouth, apologizing for not bringing it the previous day. It was fucking annoying, but Katsuki knew wearing the shitty rag to protect his lungs was probably for the best. He might even have to include something like that in his costume. And maybe something with infrared vision? It would certainly help, though that shit could be expensive and could break easily. No shortcuts. Katsuki rolled to the side, dodging a ball as it whistled through the air. Day after day the bruises accumulated as the beach cleared. After he became decent at finding the volleyballs, All Might moved to fucking tennis balls. Katsuki would fucking kill all of them. Smoke billowed around Katsuki. His breath was heavy as he strained to listen to the area around him. All Might could attack— There! Katsuki spun around, kicking the tennis ball to the ground. It disappeared into the smoke once more. Then another one was coming from the left. The right. Thwack! Katsuki winced as a ball hit his shoulder. Damn it! He would master this. He would never let his own fucking smoke be used against him. In the end, it took two fucking weeks of being hit from all sides before he could reliably destroy at least 75% of the balls All Might threw. Katsuki wanted to go until 100%, but All Might just shook his head and said no one could predict the movements of smoke perfectly and that he’d done very well. Tch. Katsuki didn’t want to do ‘very well.’ He wanted to fucking dominate. Next, All Might had him working on endurance. Katsuki picked up the drum with his free hand and downed a few large gulps. During the last two weeks, Katsuki’d used his quirk so much that his skin had become irritated. Auntie had fixed it with some burn lotion, but All Might now wanted to determine how long Katsuki could use his explosions before his skin began to blister. It was fucking boring. Katsuki sat, bored out of his mind every fucking day, letting small explosions crackle in his palm nonstop as he watched Deku scramble around the beach like a fucking crab. Apparently, it took four hours of constant low-powered use for his skin to blister. Four fucking hours of sitting there, doing nothing but releasing small explosions. And tomorrow they’d do it again, but with medium explosions. Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched. This week was hell. He wasn’t even getting much weight training in! And the fucking Old Hag had taken away their damn weights, saying it was under Yagi-sensei’s orders because they shouldn’t overexert themselves as that would do more harm than good. It was fucking ridiculous, and Katsuki wasn’t going to tolerate it. How the fuck could he over-exert himself when all he was doing was sitting every damn day? One evening when they didn’t have much homework, Katsuki rushed through it, urging Deku to rush as well. “Kacchan! I don’t know why you’re in such a hurry.” Deku was whining, head down on his desk as his pencil lazily scrawled away at a math problem. A problem Katsuki had finished fifteen fucking minutes ago. “Come on! I want to get some extra training in.” Green eyes turned toward him in disbelief, “Kacchan! Yagi-sensei said we shouldn’t!” He groaned, “I want to get better fast, too, but… we’ve got to trust him, right?” “I haven’t done anything this week but test my fucking limits!” Katsuki growled. “I’m going for a fucking run, whether or not you’re coming.” Deku’s head rocked back and forth on the desk for a few seconds before the shitty nerd sighed. “Fine. One run can’t hurt.” “Hell yeah! We’ll just tell the Old Hag we’re going to the store, that shouldn’t be bad. We’ll even stop by the store when we’re done, so it won’t be a lie.” Katsuki grinned, the nerd would feel better if they did that. Deku sat up and stretched, “I can finish this when we get back. We might as well go before it gets really late!” “Fuck yes, now you’re talking, Deku!” Katsuki jumped up, hauling his soulmate up with him. They were both wearing comfortable t-shirts and shorts, so they’d be fine for a run. He threw their bedroom door open, running down the stairs and hauling Deku behind him. “We’re going out to the convenience store!” Katsuki turned the corner toward the front door and froze. The old hag was sitting at the edge of the sitting room, facing the front door. She set down her book and stood up, one eyebrow raised. “Yagi-san told us you might be frustrated this week because the training wasn’t very active. You aren’t thinking about doing more training, are you brat?” Katsuki glared at her, “It’s none of your fucking business, if we are.” “Do you want to upset your Auntie by overworking yourself, brat?” She leaned down to return his glare, then turned to Deku and continued in a softer voice, “What about you, Izuku-kun? Aren’t you tired from today?” Deku shifted nervously behind him. “It’s j-just t-to the store, Auntie.” He paused to swallow, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I’m tired, b-but I can manage that.” Fuck, Katsuki really needed to teach the nerd how to lie. “Oh? What do you two need from the store? You can’t be getting a snack, as that wouldn’t be in your diet.” Katsuki growled in annoyance. “The dumbasses at school were talking about some new hero manga in Jump. We thought it might be fun to read.” “Mmhmm.” Katsuki’s mother picked up the housekeys from the table next to her chair. “Well, why don’t I just come with you, then?” “You really don’t have to.” Katsuki glared at her. Her grin sharpened, “I insist, brat.” Katsuki groaned. “Fucking fine, you old hag.” He shouldered past her and out the door. Shitty parents ruining everything. It wasn’t like he was tired. “Be grateful Yagi-sensei is giving you an easier week, brat. You looked like shit the last few weeks.” “Just fucking shut up about it, already!” That earned him a rough shove from his mother. He glared at her. What was all the damn fuss about one additional run? He was going to go fucking insane before the week was up! It was a fucking relief when All Might had him doing additional weight exercises the next day, and the weeks after that were entirely focused on improving his overall physical endurance. He didn’t have energy left for any extra shit after those days of fucking torture. At that point, though, Katsuki didn’t care. He was getting stronger. He could tell. And he and Deku were going to fucking kill the UA entrance exams.

When Severus wakes up Saturday morning it's to shushed laughter and a hand on his hip shaking him. The Slytherin blinks awake and glances around groggily before he finially realises what's going on and jerks up with a startled yelp. In front of him stand both Lily and James who are staring at him with matching manic grins. "What the ever living hell are you doing in my room!?" Severus snarles with a sleep rough voice. "We have plans today!" James happily supplies as the alpha rocks lightly on his feet. Lily nods her agreement from beside him, "Yup! We're going to be the ones taking you to Hogsmead today!" Severus couldn't help but give them both a look of impatients as he shifts to cross his arms, "are you joking? You two broke into my room just to wake me up and cancel my plans to do the same thing with you two?" "Yeah? Your going on a date you dont want to go on so I think our idea makes more sense." James grumbles with a shrug. The omega groans and pinches the bridge of his nose again, "you both are insufferable." "We know." James chirps delightedly. Severus wonders how many hexes it would take to make them both leave him alone. "Now up! We have plans, you can't lay in bed all day!" Severus sighed in responds to Lily's loud voice. But still the Slytherin got up from his bed to move around his room to his dresser. "By the way, I love your hair like that Sev." Lily sounded happily amused. Severus nose wrinkled in confusion for a second before he just groaned in realization; he had fallen asleep with his hair in a bun and he already knew that it would be 10 times wavier now. Severus huffs and flips her off as he dips into the bathroom with Lily howling with laughter behind him. It takes him five minutes to get ready and be out in his room in record time even as he's still tugging his hair down out of the messy bun it had been in. "So why exactly are we going to the place that Lucius was supposed to take me?" Severus questions curiously, they'd have to know this was an awful idea even if it was a lie. "I just thought it'd be fun? Plus! If we run into Lucius we can just tell him you had plans with us first." James awkwardly replies as he fidgets a little with his coat sleeve. Severus wants to actually laugh at the alpha. "I see." Is what he says instead as he slips into his shoes and walks over to his chest to dig out his extra galleons. "You'll need a coat by the way, it's kind of raining." Severus does snort at the alphas tone then, he sounds nervous. "Fine, but if I get sick I'm hexing you both." The omega huffs. "Not if Madam Pomfrey gets us first." Lily snickers in responds. Severus rolls his eyes with a fond smile as he turns around to face them grin still In place. Lily returns it tenfold while James just stares in idle shock. Severus doesn't take notice though as he slips past them and to the door where his coat waits. Quickly slipping into it the Slytherin checks himself over for his money and wand and with a nod of his head the three of them are dipping into the common room. The other Slytherins watch them with either sneers or pity and Severus wants to hexs them all but he refrains and just flashes them all with a scowl. As soon as the three of them are out and the wall closes behind them both James and Lily shiver uncomfortably. "it really is a snake pit in there." Lily grumbles and James hums his agreement as they continue down the hall. "You get use to it after awhile." Severus supplies after a second of lulled silence. James and Lily both frown at him and glance at eachother for a second. "That doesn't sound great Sev." James speaks up and all he gets is a quick shrug of unintrest as the omega hops up the stairs. The two of them follow with a heavy sigh as they let the quite encompass them through out the rest of the walk out of Hogwarts. But as soon as their feet hit the road to Hogsmead James starts to rattle off nonsense just to fill the quite. But eventually he does rope both Lily and Severus into a conversation over O.W.L.S. The three of them spend most of the walk talking about O.W.L.S or just listing to James practically talk to himself. As they got closer to Hogsmead the road they currently were on becomes more and more covered with students even with the rain currently drizzling down. "This place is always so busy." Lily huffs and both boys let out their own respective chuckle at the beta. Hogsmead was definitely just as busy as usual the crowded street already making Severus a little light headed. The omega absently crowded closer to both the beta and alpha as they walked down the streets the three of them deciding on where to go first. "I need some ingredients so I'd like to stop by the Apothecary." Severus chirps and both Lily and James nod as they pause a litle to the side of the street. "I want to go to both Zonko's and Honeyduke's." James tosses in his two cents as Lily thinks for a second before shrugging. "I only really need some new Quills." Lily chirps with a shrug. Severus stares at them for a second before he turns to leave, "then we shall all meet right back here." "What!? No! We're shopping together Sev so let's figure out where to stop first." Lily huffs as She grabs the omegas wrist and pulls him back to his original spot. The Slytherin glares at her with disdain for a second before he groans, "why? It would be much faster if we split up." Lily rolls her eyes so hard Severus wonders if it hurt, "yes it would be but that completely defies the purpose of us shopping together." Severus just groans again and sighs as he idles listens to the two of them argue about where to go first. Eventually they decide on the Apothecary then Honeyduke's, Zonko's, the Quill shop, and before they head back they'll stop at the three broomsticks. As soon as they get everything decided Severus is off to the Apothecary already knowing that James and Lily were following obediently behind him. As soon as he's inside he wanders off to the shelf that he know has what he needs. "Hey! It's that cute little omega from a couple weeks ago." Severus groans internally as a slightly familiar alpha aproaches him. But the man doesn't get to far before there's a sharp snarl and James is hovering protectively over the smaller male. Both Severus and the stranger freeze in shock before the alpha blinks and brings his hands up in show of surrender as he grins at the Gryffindor. "didn't know the little thing had an alpha." He chirps as he shoots a dark look towards Severus before darting his eyes back up. James just keeps glaring with a low growl still rumbling in his throat as the alpha chuckles and turns on his heels. "Good riddance." Severus seethes after him before turning back to the shelf to collect his things completely ignoring the alpha still standing over him. James does back off a little but he keeps close to the omega his stance a little ridged as he felt Lily's eyes bore into him. Severus refuses to acknowledge the two of them still or what just happened as he gets what he needs and goes to the counter happy to pay and finish this horrible shopping trip. Their time in Honeyduke's and Zonko's probably takes the longest as James struggles to find the right stuff needed for a new prank and some name brand chocolate that Lupin needed. On the other hand Lily barley takes anytime at all to get her Quills and as she pays she stares pointedly at James. The other Gryffindor just pouts at her. By the time they make it to Hogsmead the sun is already starting to dip behind gray clouds but luckily the pub is as lively as ever. The three students make themselves at home in the back of Honeyduke's at a lone booth, as they wait for their butterbeers. It takes about a minute after they get comfortable for a waitress to drop off the drinks and then disappear back into the bustle of things. The three of them drink im relative silence for a few minutes before Lily breaks it with a michivious glint in her brown eyes. "So, do you actually like Malfoy?" Both Severus and James choke on their butterbeer as Lily chortles in delight. Severus being the first to recover sputters out a hiss of, "why on earth would you think that!?" Lily sips her butterbeer before she answers,"because you were pretty reluctant to cancel a date you didn't want to go on?" Severus freezes up, he'd completely forgotten about that lie and his plans with Lucius. The omega represses a shivered whimper as he realises what he's unconsciously done. "Hey! Sev!" And Lily is waving her hand in his face but everything almost seems like a blurr as panic seeps into his bones. The omega startles as a hand is placed carefully on his arm. "Sev? Are you okay?" James sounds genuinely concerned which makes the omegas breath stutter a little harder as he realises he's having a panic attack. The Slytherin flinches when James hand lifts towards him so the alpha instantly retracts it as Severus dips his head and tries to focus on his his surroundings. Taking a shuddering breath Severus starts to silently list things he can smell, Lily, James, the butterbeer, the old musk of wood and the overwhealming stench of the group of people in the pub. The omegas breath starts to even out and he's dimliy awear that James had put his hand back on Severus' still trembling arm. But the omega focuses his attention elsewear as he still works on calming down all the way. Slowly Severus list off things he can feel and see. He can feel and see the cold butterbeer he's still clutching in a white knuckle grip, he can feel James hand and he can see Lily's green eyes watching him with worry. Severus breath falls into a wierd hiccuped rytheme as he calms down and instead starts to take in the comforting scent of rain and Forrest musk as his mind starts up again. "You can let go now, I'm.. Alright." Severus sighs as James removes his hand. "What was that? Are you okay?" Lily sounds like a mother hen as she reaches out to squeeze Severus hand. The Slytherin lets her as he answers, "it was nothing, I just forgot about Lucius is all." The two of them stare at him for a second before James pipes up, "is.. Is he, hurting you?" Not yet, Severus thinks bitterly but he bites his tongue at the thought before he reaponds tersely, "no, he hasn't." The two of them look unconvinced. "we'll if he ever does just tell us." Lily murmurs and Severus gives her a half smile and a quick nod. The three of them finish up in relative silence as Severus wallows in self pity and the other two are just deep in thought. They stay silent as they leave and even on their way back to Hogwarts they don't speak to one another. By the time they make it back to the castle it's dark. Their usual goodbye is cut short just to waves as Severus books it down the hallway to the dungeons ready to escape his embarrassment and never be seen again.

Dabi pulled on her hood again. Trying in vain to cover up more the blonde wig. However much to her dismay, the hood could only be pulled down so much. Cursing whichever one of Giran’s people had chosen such long hair. Dabi walked up the stairs of the plain office building a little faster. She wanted to get this fake hair off as soon as possible. Not bothering to knock, Dabi threw open the door. And was immediately met with the business end of a gun. "Easy their cowboy," Dabi said, taking off her sunglasses and surgical mask so the man could clearly see her eyes and scars. One of the few perks about being infamous in the villain community was that everybody knew your face. “I have an appointment.” “Name?” the bodyguard asked, not moving his gun away from Dabi's head. Before the cremation user could answer a hand came out of nowhere and delivered a hard slap to her ass. “Still just as firm as always,” a silky female voice that followed. "Sei, this hot little number is the one Giran's been waiting for, ok. Why don’t you be a dear and tell him that she’s here.” "I can do it myself," Dabi said eagerly. It was just her luck that this particular person was working at Giran’s office today. If the cremation user wanted to get out of here quickly, she needed to follow the bodyguard quickly. Unfortunately, the woman sensed Dabi’s desire to run away, arm wrapped around her. Like a snake keeping its prey from fleeing. “Oh, and take him his sandwich too well you're at it." A bag was thrown at Sei as he put away his gun and nodded, leaving Dabi alone. Sighing, Dabi turned around and looked into the bright eyes of Ran Fujiko, Giran’s top earner in prostitution. The position at the top afforded Ran a lot of perks. The biggest was that she could pick and choose her clients and make a fortune from just a single night. Most of the time, she worked instead as Giran’s secretary until someone caught her eye. Ran’s quirk Touch of Lust was a powerful aphrodisiac that was contained in her nails. For each scratch that drew blood, a person would lose all inhibitions and crave sex for an hour. When Dabi had first started working for Giran. She mostly protected the prostitutes and passed the information on to Giran to get something from their clients. One night after picking Ran up from a meeting with a powerful CEO, she had tried to use her quirk on Dabi. The resulting black eye and a fiery warning courtesy from the cremation user, and disappointed looks from Giran did not deter Ran, though. Ran saw getting Dabi into bed as a challenge. And she was not a woman to back away from those. "Oh, come on, Dabi can't we have a little girl time,” Ran whispered in Dabi’s ear, hands making short work of the jacket's zipper. “I’m sure Giran won’t mind waiting.” Dabi wanted to tell the woman to fuck off but froze when she felt Ran’s hand slip under her shirt and nails graze lightly run over her sides. Thankfully it wasn't hard enough to break the skin. But Dabi still felt the area still get heated. Grabbing one of the prostitute's arms, Dabi pulled her around and slammed her into the closet wall. “Try using your quirk on me again, Ran, and this time I'll break your fingers.” Ran seemed to get more excited and, using strength, Dabi hadn’t known she possessed her pulled the other woman into a hard kiss. Dabi's first thoughts were to pull away, but Ran’s still free hand held her in place, making its way to the back of her wig and pulling it off. Pulling back and licking her lips, Ran looked at the cremation user’s hair and pouted when she saw it. Although slightly longer, it was still the same ugly black mess. “And here I was hoping that nasty dye was gone. You know you really should let me get rid of it for you. I know all sorts of fun things you can do in a tub.” “Over my dead body,” Dabi scowled, trying to step back and avoid another kiss only to discover Ran had woven one of her legs around Dabi’s. "Let go, Ran." "Come on, Dabi. One night is all I’m asking for here,” Ran pleaded, sliding her hand up Dabi's shirt again. Cupping one of the Dabi's breasts, pinching one of her nipples through the flimsy fabric.  Leaning up, Ran nibbled on Dabi's ear and lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “No quirks, no strings. Just you, me and a good hard hate fuck.” Dabi moaned softly, feeling desire start to build inside her. The last time she had gotten laid since she and Hawks last slept together. And Ran’s hands felt fabulous on her breasts. Taking the sound as a sign of approval, Ran grinned and pulled Dabi into another kiss. It was not quite as hard as before, but she hoped it would have the cremation user begging for more. Using all the tricks, she knew Ran kept Dabi distracted, making short work of her shirt. Adding it to the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor. Sliding her leg up, Dabi's own and smirking when the flame user's breath hitched when it brushed her crouch. With her target so distracted, Ran licked her lips in anticipation as she got her first look at Dabi's swelled breasts. Leaning forward towards one of the pale sections, Ran bit down hard. Dabi moaned louder as she felt herself start to get wet. Ran smirked as her hand travelled downwards, planning on taking care of Dabi's pants next only to be met with an obstacle. Looking down, she frowned when she saw the evident bulge. Glaring at the inflated area, Ran spoke. “Pregnancies not really my thing. But for you hotstuff, I'll make an exception." At the mention of her baby, whatever lustful spell had been cast over Dabi broke. She looked down and saw Ran trying to unzip her pants. Furious Dabi grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her into the conference room next to Giran’s office. Pushing Ran onto the table and kicking her knees apart, Dabi stood between them and smirked. Ran leaned back slightly and lifted her hand up wanting to bring Dabi down with her. Pulling Dabi’s hand towards her Ran started kissing and nibbling on the open palm. Not realizing how much potential danger she was in, Ran continued nuzzled the palm. Moving on, she starting kissing each of Dabi’s fingers, taking a few into her mouth and sucking on them slowly. Brown eyes never leaving blue. "Anything I want?" Dabi asked, careful not to get caught under Ran’s spell again. Ran hummed in approval and let go of Dabi's finger with a loud 'pop,' leaning back slightly and guiding Dabi's hand down and under her skirt to her wet pussy. “Anything. You wanna fuck me go ahead. I can take whatever you can dish out. You want to be fucked, then baby; I'll make sure you'll forget anything but the feel of my lips and fingers." Dabi raised an eyebrow and slide her hands teasingly up Ran's thigh, not surprised when she felt no underwear. “And if I wanna bring someone into this little party of ours, what then?" Ran squirmed, feeling Dabi’s hot fingers explore and tease her pussy but never fully entering her. "Oh god, D-Dabi, please." Dabi grinned and plunged her fingers inside Ran, watching as the woman arched her back in pleasure. Waiting a few moments, Dabi let Ran tremble before using her other hand to grab the woman’s hair and yanking Ran up so that they were eye to eye. Ran tried to kiss her, but Dabi yanked her back again, picking up the pace with her fingers bringing Ran closer and closer with each movement. When Dabi felt Ran was just about ready, she leaned forward and bit her ear lightly whispering into it. “I want you to think of me the next time your alone and looking for someone to fill this empty pussy of yours,” “P-Please," Ran pleaded to try to get Dabi’s fingers deeper inside her. “Harder … deeper.” Dabi grinned and gave Ran's neck a feather-light kiss. "And how I’m never gonna fuck you." Pulling back, Dabi quickly removed herself from inside Ran and hurried out of the conference room just as the woman screamed in anger. Seeing Sei already waiting for her with Dabi’s clothes, the cremation user grabbed everything and ran into Giran's office, locking the door behind her. Thankfully Giran’s office was not only sound and bug-proof. It could withstand a direct punch from All Might, thanks to some quite expensive metal. Looking towards the broker, Dabi saw Giran sitting at his desk, looking back at her dishevelled state with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. “You fuck her or not?” Dabi snorted and put her shirt back on. “Decidedly not.” “You know I don’t mind you giving Ran a hard time. But I do wish you wouldn't do it well I'm in the office," the broker exhaled, getting out the three files on people for Dabi to look as well as some hand sanitizer. “I still have to work here for the rest of the day. Listening to her bitch doesn’t help.” “Whatever,” Dabi said, using the sanitizer before taking the files and peering inside. These were three recruits Giran was suggesting for the League. Looking inside, Dabi found that all three were male. Two had dark hair with facial tattoos well the third was the opposite, with white hair and eyes partially hidden by a large bandana. "Backgrounds." “The Tsu Brothers are muscle for hire and want to use the League to find clients," Giran said, taking the two pictures from Dabi and pointing to one. "An overeager hero destroyed their home well they were in high school. They mistook the neighbour for his twin brother, killing both parents and five of their classmates that had come over for a study session.” Dabi frowned and looked at Giran. “And that’s the official report?” “No news was officially made. The cause is listed as a gas explosion next door. The hero responsible for ‘saving’ the brothers was given a two-week leave of absence for injuries he sustained during the rescue," Giran continued. Recalling the pictures of where the two houses had once stood and clearly seen no evidence of an explosion. Instead, it looked like someone strong had ripped one house apart and destroyed the other with the pieces. "I took the liberty of adding everything I could dig up about it into your inbox for that little side project of yours.” "Good," Dabi nodded, grabbing half of Giran's sandwich and biting into it suddenly ravenous as she looked over the brother's information. The older brother was able to place objects in a pocket dimension. The bigger the object, the less he could put inside. His primary weapon actually seemed to be a colossal halberd. The younger brother, could manipulate small amounts of metal. This and his chain-linked sword give him a distinct and deadly advantage in a fight. The pair would either get along wonderfully with the rest of the League. Or they would destroy each other. Though Dabi shivered at the thought of Himiko and the younger broth in the same room together, given the arrest record the man had for attacking males he deems 'handsome.' “Problems?” Pulling his plate back before he lost the other half of his sandwich Giran exhaled a puff of smoke from his cigar. “Bankotsu is too arrogant. If he challenges Shigaraki for leadership, then it’d be close.” Dabi snorted. “Winner?” “Shigaraki,” the broker answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Bankotsu is strong enough to take on any hero in the Top 20 without his weapon. But he's also just as arrogant. And with Kurogiri is back, your boss has the advantage.” "I thought Kurogiri wasn't on trial for another month," Dabi said, understating now why the hero patrols in her neighbourhood had increased. “Why am I just hearing that he’s back now?” “Because you are on sabbatical. And Toga threatened to cut my balls off if I stressed you out," Giran answered. Wincing mentally at how protective the blonde had become of Dabi now. "Are you seriously more afraid of the pipsqueak than me?" Dabi asked, looking offended. Giran nodded. "When she has Mr. Compress and Kurogiri backing her up. You can bet your ass I am." “Does he - who - HOW?!” "I don't know, and I don't want to know," Giran said, not wanting to even think about how the warp gate user found out about Dabi's little bundle of joy to come. Just as long as Shigaraki didn’t find out in the end. The whole League of Villains could know for all he cared, but the decay user and his migraine-inducing rants were where Giran drew the line. "Now, do you want to keep gossiping like housewives, or should we go on." “This isn’t over,” Dabi muttered darkly, picking up the last photo and turning it over. "Story." “Itona is the heir to a small factory that’s on the verge of being shut down,” Giran spoke. This particular company was owned and run by an old senpai of his from high school. “He’s smart. A veritable genius when it comes to making gadgets.” “So then why work with villains?” Dabi inquired. "To save his father's company," Giran explained, having tried in the past to steer the only legal business towards his senpai only for nothing to ever work out. "As long as it's not weapons, he’ll make you anything for the right price. But if I’m being honest, I wouldn't make him a full member of the League. He’ll make you what you want, no questions asked. But he’ll also sell you out to save his own ass if given a chance.” “So, he’s a bit of a neutral party then," Dabi sighed, drumming her fingers on the desk as she stared at the photos. "The Tsu Brothers defiantly set up a meeting with them. And see what Boss needs tech-wise. Phones, Compress's arm may be a radio or TV and place an order with Itona. If the guys as good as you claim and the price is right, we’ll take things slow for now and see later if we want to keep him.” “Probably the smartest idea,” Giran nodded, putting the files back into the drawer. “You wanna sneak out the back way and avoid Ran?” “No,” Dabi shook her head. “But I will take a burner if you got one.” Reaching inside one of the top drawers, Giran pulled out a phone and slid it over to Dabi; well, she started putting her wig back on. "Blondes, not your colour, kid. You defiantly look better in black." Dabi smirked and took the mobile. "Later, Giran." Opening the door, Dabi walked out into the waiting room just in time to hear Ran climax loudly. Looking towards the source of the noise, she saw the woman bent over her desk. The bodyguard Sei was holding her in place as he kept thrusting into her face bloody from where Ran had used her quirk on him. Catching the woman's eye, Dabi raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, leaving without a word. Giran stood at the doorway of his office, watching as Ran stared at Dabi's retreating back, alternating between swearing revenge against the woman and demanding Sei go harder. "Hey, Ran. If you're going to fuck him so hard, do it in the conference room," Giran said, staring at the woman shamelessly. “And don’t forget to clean up this time.” Ran smirked and reached behind so that she could pull Sei's head down, whispering something into his ear. A moment later, Giran found himself face to face with Ran as she rocked back and forth on the man's dick as he sat on her chair, holding her hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Or you could join us instead. I know how much you love to watch. And wouldn't watching Sei here clean up after himself after fucking me so hard be such a turn-on." Giran felt himself harden at her words. "Give me ten minutes, and maybe we’ll even double team you.” Ran squealed with joy and grabbed Sei by the hair again, ordering him to take her to the conference room. Making his way over to his desk Giran pulled out a simple black phone and hit the first number on the speed dial. A couple of rings in, and an exhausted-sounding man picked. "Hello," "Aizawa, it's Giran. I have some information for you."

(i) “You’ve got to be joking. This is insanity,” Ginny growled, crossing her arms across her chest. “You can’t marry that bastard.” Hermione looked nervously between her two friends.   Luna sighed. This was the tenth time they were having this conversation in under forty-eight hours, and something told Hermione that it would be the same the hundredth time they had it. “But I am, Ginny,” Luna said, as patient as the first time she’d said it. “I’m marrying him in three days.” Ginny’s ears had turned red with the ferocity of her anger. “How can you do that? It isn’t something your dunce of a shrink suggested, is it? Embrace your trauma and all the crap he throws at you?” “Mr Miller had nothing to do with my decision,” Luna confirmed, biting into her lower lip. Hermione could feel her nervousness radiating in waves off her and Ginny’s interrogation tactics weren’t helping. “Good, because I’ve told you before, Luna, the man’s a quack. Let’s lock him up in a basement for four months and then ask him to embrace his trauma.” The redhead shook her head in disgust. “He wouldn’t be able to last a second in there.” “Ginny,” Hermione said, her tone low in warning. Ginny shot her a headstrong look before returning her attention to her blonde friend. “Coming back to the bastard in question,” she said with some emphasis. “Are you sure he didn’t slip you a potion or enchanted you while you were in the hospital?” Luna took a deep breath. “You know he hasn’t done anything of the sort, Ginny. I spent almost nine hours in the ministry yesterday. You have no idea how many tests they subjected me to. A test for all kinds of love potions and enchantments. They even tested me for the Imperius curse, even though I told them I wasn’t under any such spell. I mean, I would know.” There was silence between the three friends after the proclamation. Hermione could see that Luna was trying to be nonchalant about it but clearly not succeeding. She was blinking rapidly, and her lower lip had turned white with the force with which she seemed to be biting down on it. Her shoulders were so tense that she looked like she was holding her breath. Hermione felt strangely suffocated herself. “Hey,” Ginny intervened, pale herself. “Breathe.” It took a few minutes for Luna to relax, but she eventually did. Hermione knew they were out of dangerous waters when Luna’s breathing evened. It took a minute longer for Ginny to regain her composure. Once her colour returned, so did her fierceness. “We’re getting off topic. The point is that you absolutely cannot marry Draco Malfoy, not after all that he’s done to you.” Luna sighed once more. It was quickly turning into a record-breaking conversation. Hermione had never seen her two friends be at opposite ends. Luna didn’t like to disagree with people in general and Ginny would commit murder before she said anything to upset Luna. “He hasn’t done anything.” Luna used her wand to summon some of the already-folded clothes she had in her wardrobe and fit them inside her Hogwarts trunk. “Exactly.” Ginny pounced on Luna’s words like the lioness that she was. Hermione simply stood in the corner of the room, shaking her head. “He hasn’t done anything for you. He could’ve helped you! He could’ve at least stopped you from starving. You suffered from pre-pneumonia for months after you escaped. You weighed seventy-five pounds and all he did was watch. Don’t even let me get started on the fuckers who had access to you while you were in that dungeon. He chose to not see it. You say that he didn’t do anything wrong to you, that he never touched you, but he also did nothing to protect you. He is a fucking coward. He’s never protected you before and he will never do so in the future. He’s –” “Gin, stop,” Hermione intervened, stepping forward for the first time. Luna’s face had paled further. It took her a moment to respond. Hermione could tell by looking at her face that she was gathering her thoughts. It was a mental exercise that she did when she got too overwhelmed. She stopped in her tracks completely and it took her some time to reply to whatever the question was. But her friends waited patiently always, knowing that she’d find her way back into the conversation. “I think,” she said, finally. “That he deserves a chance. You know that he helped us, Gin. You know that he refused to identify Harry when it mattered. You know that he let himself be disarmed by Harry because Harry has told us that. You know that he unlocked the doors of my and Mr Ollivander’s cell which made it possible for us to escape.” “I’m sure he had a selfish reason to do so,” Ginny declared. “You want to give him a chance? Fine, give him a chance. Don’t fucking marry him. How do you even think of that?” Luna took a deep breath. “I like him.” Ginny laughed humourlessly. “You like chocolate. You like the Giant Squid. You like Dudley’s rottweiler. You’re not marrying any of them!” Before Luna could respond to that particular quip, Hermione stepped forward, extending her hand. Luna took it. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Luna, but you can’t blame us for the reaction. The first thing we hear about you and Draco is that you’re getting married in a couple of days. You haven’t even dated properly yet.” “We’ve been seeing each other,” Luna said.    Ginny snorted but refrained from saying anything. Hermione nodded. “I know. After your accident.” Luna nodded slowly. “It’s been a little over a month, Lunes,” Hermione said. “That’s not nearly enough to marry a person, love.” Luna squeezed Hermione’s hand, stepping towards her more. “Do you trust me, Hermione?” Hermione smiled a small smile. “Of course.” “Then trust me on this.” Luna’s blue eyes were overwhelming usually, brimming with sincerity as they always were, but they seemed especially persuasive today. “I know what I’m doing.” Ginny opened her mouth to argue, freckles standing up on her face with her increased agitation. Luna shot her a pleading look and she subsided with a huff. “Okay,” Hermione agreed. “I hope you know that we just want you to be safe and happy.” “I do.” Luna smiled and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. “And I am happy.” Pacing the floor once, Ginny picked up a paintbrush that had rolled out of Luna’s art bag. She stepped close to where her two friends stood hand-in-hand. “If you’re going to marry that twat, you should at least be dressed to kill. Let’s go buy you a wedding dress that’s going to blind your asshole of a bridegroom.” Luna laughed. She extracted one hand from Hermione’s and extended it towards Ginny. “I love you both,” she said. “Thank you for doing this with me.” Ginny didn’t reply, just swooped in to hug the shorter girl, pulling Hermione in the hug as well. (ii) Draco wiped his sweaty palms on the tan pair of chinos he was wearing. The box he’d stuffed in the inside pocket of his leather jacket felt heavy. He glanced down at his wristwatch and then ran a hand through his hair, only to curse out loud when he realized that he’d mussed the carefully arranged hair. To distract himself, he checked his watch again, and then looked towards the door. She had always before been so punctual. Why was it that she’d chosen today of all days to be tardy? Of course, she wasn’t really late. It was still eleven minutes to their decided time, but Draco was sure if she didn’t arrive in the next minute or so, he was going to spontaneously combust on the spot. Defarge popped his head inside the room. Again. It was a miracle that the man was still alive with the kind of annoyance he’d been to Draco in the last half hour. This time, though, he didn’t make a quirky remark. Instead, he simply said, “She’s here”, before going outside again. Draco thought he’d break out into sweat. Never in his life would he have thought that Luna Lovegood would make him so nervous. Still, it was a relief that she was here so that they could get on with the day and get it over with. When he stepped out of office and into the lobby, Lovegood was talking to Defarge’s assistant. Draco had a chance to observe her for a second, without being observed in return. She looked nothing like she had done the last time he had seen her. Instead, she was talking animatedly, her face lit up and hands moving in front of her as explained something. Defarge’s young assistant, Asher, looked down at her, his expression somewhere between amusement and appreciation. There was something very evident in the way his gaze kept moving away from her face to look at her dress. Draco moved his gaze down and appraised her as well to see what had garnered such a reaction in Asher’s eyes. Lovegood looked completely different to what she usually did, which is to say that she looked surprisingly… normal. Granted, Draco hadn’t lately seen any of the eccentric fashion choice she’d been so infamous at Hogwarts for. But even so he hadn’t expected Lovegood to look like she did now. She was all decked out in a strapless mauve dress, with a flowing skirt that brushed her knees. Her long hair was sleek down her back until it formed a curtain that fell right down her hips. Her small feet were encased in a pair of cream coloured, lace up ballet flats. No dangling earrings or ugly necklaces in sight. The only thing out of the ordinary that he could see was a dragon-shaped barrette that held her hair out of her face. It was painful to admit, but she looked really, really nice. He was lost in thought when she turned towards him. Draco was sure that his internal mini heart attack showed on his face. Lovegood, though, only smiled at him and made a small wave. Asher looked in his direction as well. Draco, though, kept his eyes trained on his pretend wife-to-be. “Before we head out,” he said, tipping his head towards Defarge’s office, “can I have a word.” “Of course.” Before she could follow him, Asher stopped her and, leaning down, whispered something in her ear that made her dimples appear. Draco found his eyes narrow in the direction of the brunette who looked too pleased with himself. Lovegood glided past him into Defarge’s office. Draco stayed behind long enough to see Asher make his way back into his own cubicle and then followed her. Now that they were alone, some of the nervousness that Draco had kept at bay seemed suddenly overwhelming between them. “Are you doing okay now?” he asked, closing the door behind him. She smiled. “Yes. I’m sorry… for, you know, what happened the last time we met. I’m sure I freaked you out.” His shoulders relaxed a little bit. “No, don’t apologize.” The words felt heavy in his mouth, but he had to say them. He should tell her that she wasn’t to blame, that it wasn’t something she could control. “I just – I wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean for something like that to happen.” “It wasn’t your fault.” Draco raised a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “No, it was. I shouldn’t have argued. It was such a small thing. I didn’t know that something I could say would – you know…” He let himself trail off, not sure how to describe the episode. “It’s okay.” And then she moved towards him. Her golden hair shimmered around her face. When she was a couple of feet away from him, she extended a hand towards him. Draco could only look between her face and her extended hand. “I know we never really got to decide how we’re going to be…” Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed as she trailed off, not looking at his face. “Do you mind?” She wiggled the delicate fingers of the hand she had extended towards him. Draco had no idea what she wanted him to do, so even though he felt extremely stupid about it, he raised his hand to hers because that was the only thing, he figured her gesture could mean. Her hand was small in his and warm and really, fucking soft as Lovegood laced their fingers together. She looked at him from between her lashes, hesitation clear in her eyes as she intertwined their fingers. When he didn’t seem to through a fit, she moved her gaze and trained it towards their joined hands. “Everybody is going to be watching us today, especially you.” Impossibly, through all the butterflies in his stomach, he let out a chuckle. Maybe it had something to do with the absurdity of the situation he found himself in. “I know.” The sound of his mirth seemed to encourage her to look at him. “Just stay close to me,” she instructed. “They won’t be able to grill you if I’m there.” Draco smirked, and on impulse, squeezed her hand. “I can handle Potter and Weasley.” One corner of her mouth lifted slightly in a half-smile as she turned her face up to look at him. “But it’s not just Harry and Ron. Everybody’s coming out. Ginny, Neville, Hermione, Mr Weasley, Daddy, maybe Bill and Fleur.” “It’s fine,” he assured her. “I think it’s good that I’ll get to meet them before the wedding. Better to get the awkwardness out of the way. Having a big ass pre-wedding dinner is definitely one way to do that.” “Mrs Weasley insisted that we hold the dinner at the Burrow.” She bit into her lower lip. “It’s too many people and not everyone can fit inside the Rook house. I hope that’s okay.” He let out a sigh. “It’s okay.” Her eyes dropped to their joined hands again and she swung them experimentally. “Does this look natural?” she asked him, genuine curiosity in her eyes, tipping her head towards their swinging hands. Draco bit back a smile. She looked kind of cute, all big eyes and furrowed brows. “I think it looks fine.” Then, because her expression didn’t change, he added, “We’ll be okay, Lovegood. We’ll stick to the story.” Draco didn’t know where this sudden confidence in both their acting abilities – and the need to reassure her – came from, especially since he’d been a nervous wreck not too long ago. “Yes,” she agreed, but she still didn’t look too convinced. She opened her mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before they’d had time to respond, Defarge popped his head inside the door. His eyes zeroed in on their joined hands and his mouth dropped open in an O underneath his bushy moustache. It would have been comical if Draco hadn’t been as startled as he was. His first instinct, on finding Defarge’s eyes on him and Lovegood, was to jerk his hand away from hers. With some effort, Draco was able to able to suppress it. For one, he didn’t want to alienate Lovegood, especially considering that his welfare for the duration of the dinner they’d been invited to depended on her being his shield. For another, her hand in his felt strangely comforting. Draco was contemplating just how unfair life had been to him when Defarge stepped inside the room. “I see that you’re getting along,” he said with a smug smile. Lovegood returned his smile with a pretty one of her own. “Do we look fine?” she asked him. “Not too forced?” Defarge shook his head slowly. “I’d say you guys make a pretty good-looking couple.” Draco rolled his eyes – only to catch Lovegood looking at him from the corners of hers. They burst out laughing at the same time. It was good, Draco thought, to see that they were on the same page regarding this nonsense. His smile dampened somewhat when Lovegood gently extracted her hand from his. She moved towards the desk to look over some papers that Defarge had recently compiled for her to sign. The ministry had been as taken aback by the sudden wedding announcement as the rest of Lovegood’s crew, and it had taken them an intensive interrogation session with Lovegood on top of a signed affidavit for them to issue him a wedding license. But with the license issued and most other legal matters taken care of, there was very little standing in their way – of course, not counting Lovegood’s insanely invested family and friends who would be taken care of today, one way or another. Draco would not be surprised if the dinner was a disaster. As long as Lovegood signed her dotted line on the marriage license and stood before a marriage minister to be bound to him in matrimony, he didn’t give two shits. As Lovegood bent over the table to sign yet another declaration for the ministry, Draco’s eyes followed her without realizing it. The mauve of her dress lent a little colour to her perfectly pale skin and made her skin look enticingly flushed. Everyone with eyes could tell that Lovegood was a reasonably pretty girl. Her hair was a nice shade of blonde that shone golden under even the flimsiest of lighting. She had bright blue, nicely-shaped eyes set in an evenly-featured, stereotypically good-looking face; full, pink lips, a small nose and a pretty smile. If only Draco hadn’t known Lovegood before he’d hit puberty, he would have admitted with very little qualms that Lovegood was a very attractive, even beautiful girl. As it stood, Draco had known Lovegood before his hormones had come into the picture. He’d seen her in ugly, baggy school robes wearing those ugly glasses that came out of her father’s ridiculous magazine. He’d seen her spew insanity with a perfectly straight face. He’d seen her go without shoes for most of her Hogwarts career. In short, he’d seen her for the embarrassing weirdo that she was and so he would die before he would admit to someone that he thought Lovegood could be beautiful in the way girls usually were. Of course, Draco was sure that he wouldn’t be the only one faced with the predicament. Most boys from his year, or a year above or below, at Hogwarts regardless of their house, would agree. Lovegood could never be beautiful because she was Lovegood. Because she was weird to the point of being considered insane. Draco was so far gone in his analysis of his situation that he didn’t notice Lovegood moving towards him until she stood right in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Draco?” she asked. “Are you okay?” He forced himself out of his stupor. “Yeah – yes.” He blinked rather rapidly as her face came into sharp focus. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t be nervous. I’ll take care of you.”   Before he could protest the absurdity of the statement, Defarge had yet again butted in. Honestly, the guy had no sense of timing. “I think you both should be heading out if you don’t want to be too late.” He nodded towards the desk clock that was about to chime seven. Lovegood nodded at that and made to move towards the door. “Lovegood?” She stopped just shy of the door and turned to look at him over her shoulder, her brows lifted in question. The rabble of butterflies that had assailed his stomach before she’d arrived returned to their task with eagerness until Draco felt like he would throw up. Just do it, he told himself, stop being a chicken. It’s not like it means anything. “I –” he broke off when he discovered that his voice came out strangely high. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I think you should wear this before we leave.” Her face was still marred with confusion when he retrieved the box from the inside of his jacket. “It’s an engagement ring,” he explained, shifting from one foot to the other. “We’re getting married in two days. It doesn’t make sense for you not to have one.” It was with the excitement of a toddler that Lovegood ran back to him and held out her hand for the box. Her reaction made Draco’s gut churn uncomfortably. “It’s not a real diamond,” he clarified quickly, before she could get disappointed. “I can’t really afford a real one yet.” Lovegood didn’t pay the least bit of attention to his gabble as she took the small box from his hands and opened it. She lost no time in taking the ring and slipping it onto her finger. Draco looked on as she held her small hand in front of her, turning it this way and that with an appreciative gleam in her eyes. He exhaled. She seemed pleased even though the ring was nothing special. It was just a really, really thin silver band with a simple, small blue amethyst fixed in the centre. He’d chosen it because the stone looked like her eyes usually did when she smiled – and because it was one of the only five rings he’d been able to afford. At least it fit perfectly.       Lovegood turned her startling blue eyes to him now as she directed a smiled at him, and he was reassured that he’d made the right decision. “I love it. Thank you,” she told him. Draco just nodded in acknowledgement, not sure how to answer. With another blinding smile in his direction, she went out of the room since they couldn’t apparate from there. Draco hastened to follow, but he still caught the look Defarge threw at him. It was smug almost, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, making his moustache look lopsided. Something about the expression made Draco want to hunch his shoulders defensively and to snap at the old man. But he didn’t. He didn’t really have time for that anyway, and so, with a nod in Defarge’s direction, he followed Lovegood out of the room. **** The ‘Burrow’ – as Draco now knew the Weasley abode was called – was exactly what Draco would have expected it to be. It was haphazard, much too small for the number of people that seemed to have fit inside it and just generally inelegant. It was also incredibly warm and cosy. To Lovegood’s credit, from the very moment she had taken a hold of his hand to take him for side-along apparation until they left four hours later, she rarely left his side. Whether it was during the awkward introductions with people he mostly already knew or when she’d pulled him with her to help set the table instead of leaving him to fend Potter, Weasley and Longbottom off, she stuck to his side like glue. Draco tried to keep a smile on his and at least one of his hands on Lovegood. Lovegood did the exact same until they were connected most of the night through clasped hands, her hand on his arm or his on her back. The meeting with Lovegood’s notoriously insane father was one Draco dreaded the most, without a single doubt. But, to his surprise, Xenophilius Lovegood did nothing like he’d suspected. He wasn’t what Draco had expected him to be from the man who’d tried to hand over Harry Potter to the Dark Lord in exchange for his daughter. Mr Lovegood, his fluff of pale blonde hair swept back in a low ponytail, met Draco with the utmost courtesy, without even the slightest hint of hostility or overprotectiveness. He met Draco with a cool façade, asked about his parents and his job and made no allusion whatsoever to what he felt about his daughter marrying the current owner of the house she had spent four months of her life being locked up in. Draco found it strange – until he caught a look pass between the father and daughter when they thought he’d had his back turned to them. Never in his life had he thought that short, cute Lovegood could look so formidable. It seemed like Xenophilius Lovegood, for all the brave reporting he’d done during the war, was more scared of his daughter than he was of the Dark Lord.    Potter, Weasley and Longbottom kept their distance; Potter and Longbottom, it seemed, on Lovegood’s behalf, and Weasley because his mother kept a dangerous eye always directed his way. Lovegood steered him clear of the Weaselette who looked like she was hanging onto her sanity by a thread. Surprisingly, Draco didn’t feel as cornered as he’d expected to. Between Lovegood’s constant attention and the fact that Mr Weasley and Granger had taken it upon themselves to neutralize the hostility projected by Lovegood’s guy friends and the Weaselette, and Mr Lovegood’s aloofness. Arthur Weasley, Draco found out, was a man with more sense than he had expected and a lot of kindness. From the get-go, he was with Draco, asking all the right questions and avoiding the wrong ones. Surprisingly, Granger lent him more assistance than Draco would have anticipated. She talked about their academic rivalry at school and about a recent research article he’d written about avoiding magical injuries during magical training that she’d read and enjoyed. She even complimented the flimsy ring on Lovegood’s finger quite enthusiastically when the latter held her hand out proudly for her friend’s inspection. Mrs Weasley, though quiet throughout the night, proved to be the strongest supporter of camp Lovegood-Malfoy. She’d greeted the engaged couple with a smile when they’d showed up, but then had remained on the outskirts of the company, silently observing but never really coming into the thick of things. But she made it a point to heap third and fourth helpings of some of the most delicious food Draco had ever tasted into his plate. It was like she had one eye trained on his plate constantly and whenever he came near to finishing his meal, some more food would land in his plate. Normally, this kind of behaviour would seem invasive and overbearing to Draco. But, from Mrs Weasley it was gratifying.  Dinner, followed by a chocolate cake that melted deliciously into his mouth, had mellowed Draco quite a bit and all he could do, as he lounged on a comfortable sofa in the living room, was replay the flavours he’d consumed in his mind. Binky was an excellent cook, but she had nothing on Mrs Weasley. So far gone was he in his food fantasy that he noticed too late that Lovegood was nowhere to be seen. Draco almost shot upright in his chair, panicking. His eyes spanned the room. Mr Weasley stood in one corner, talking to Potter and Longbottom. Weasley was in front of the alcohol cabinet, taking out drinks. None of the women could be seen in the room. Draco’s first instinct was to get up and find fucking Lovegood. She’d promised him that she would take care of him. How could she have abandoned him like that? Before he could act on his impulse, though, Mr Lovegood tottered into the room, a glass in each of his hands, and took the seat next to Draco’s. Draco felt his throat instantly becoming dry. His eyes did another quick round of the room, this time with an unhealthy amount of desperation. He needed Lovegood to come to him. Now. Mr Lovegood thrust one of the glasses into Draco’s hand and downed the other himself in one move. “Butterbeer,” he said, speaking too quickly. “I find that it calms one down but doesn’t addle the brain.” Draco could only look at the man. Mr Lovegood made an impatient gesture for Draco to drink from his own glass. “I would hate to rush you, but we don’t have much time. Hermione and Ginny will only be able to hold her for so long and she’s been stuck to you the entire night.” Something of the anxiety that had clouded his mind ebbed now. Lovegood hadn’t abandoned him. She was being held away from him… so that her father could give him a piece of his mind. Okay, so it wasn’t really reassuring at all. “I don’t know what Luna said to you about me,” Mr Lovegood started, still obviously agitated even after he’d drained his butterbeer that he claimed calmed him. “About my reaction… But you can’t really blame me for it… I mean, it was all too sudden… my only daughter comes up and says she’d getting married in a week… and you being, well, you… surprised everyone to be honest… but she won’t even let me talk to you… won’t let anyone talk to you because she thinks we’ll scare you off or something… But I hope you’ll understand that it’s only natural for me to be worried… I don’t know you and with her springing it on me at the last moment and being so secretive and hiding… and then Harry and Ginny and Ron… their reactions weren’t very encouraging either… I trust my daughter, I really do. She’s so smart. She’s taken care of herself and me after her mother passed… I can’t help but be worried. I’m her father….” His voice quivered as he continued, “She’s all I have.” He broke for the first time since he’d started his monologue. If he was being perfectly honest, Draco would admit that he didn’t catch half of what the older man was saying, but the gist was clear. The protective father Draco had expected but hadn’t found had finally arrived. Draco leaned forward in his chair, unsure. “Mr Lovegood,” he started. “I know that this has seemed sudden to you, but it really doesn’t seem that way to us. To Love- Luna and me.” If possible, Mr Lovegood’s face became even more agitated. In such proximity, Draco could see that even though Lovegood shared her father’s bright blue eyes, there wasn’t much else she’d taken from him. Mr Lovegood’s face was unremarkable. One of his eyes was a little lazy and the rest his features were roughhewn. Lovegood, with her big eyes and dimpled smile and button nose, definitely did not take after him. “She’s not… Luna’s not,” Mr Lovegood paused, and his bottom lip quivered. “Not pregnant, is she?” “Oh no. No, of course not.” Draco’s denial was immediate and vehement. He sat up straighter in his chair. “There’s nothing like that.” The mere thought was enough to make his head reel. Mr Lovegood nodded slowly. “Luna said the same when I asked her. I’m sorry for what must seem like an intrusive question, but I just don’t understand.” Draco, as the orchestrator of the entire spectacle that had Mr Lovegood so worried, felt the slightest twinge of guilt in his gut. Mr Lovegood’s face was pinched into an expression of concern. His eyes raked through Draco in a calculating way, and he worried his bottom lip in a way Draco had seen Lovegood doing. “I,” Draco started after clearing his throat, with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I understand why you would be worried, sir. I’m not sure what I could say that would make you less worried.” Mr Lovegood’s eyes zoomed in on his face. They perused him with the same level of scrutiny that his daughter’s eyes usually employed, until Draco felt like squirming in his seat. “Malfoy… Draco, just say that you intend to take care of her.” The unease in his gut escalated to the highest it had been yet. Draco thought he was going to puke all over the rug, which would be a pity because though cheap-looking, it added quite a nice touch to the living room. He struggled to maintain eye contact with the man who would become his father-in-law in two days. “I – I’ll try my best, Mr Lovegood,” he finally stammered out, nonplussed by the burning gaze the older man directed his way. “I’ll take care of –” Before he could finish his lie, Lovegood came scrambling into the room. Her cheeks were flushed red, and the curtain of golden hair fluttered behind her, as though she’d run. Her eyes quickly took in the situation. Mr Lovegood looked like he was a deer caught in headlights and Draco was sure his face mirrored the expression. Across the room, Potter and Longbottom stood with Mr Weasley in a semi-circle, utterly silent with their faces turned the other way from him, holding glasses that they were not drinking from. The fact that Potter’s shoulders were as tense as they were told Draco that the little group had been the happy audience to the awkward conversation between him and Mr Lovegood. Weasley leaned against a doorjamb, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Daddy?” Lovegood said, in the most threatening tone Draco had ever heard her use. There was no hint of her usually dreaminess in her voice and her eyes looked like they could burn their way through a solid wall. Mr Lovegood let out a little yelp, but Draco was the one who shot to his feet. Now that Lovegood was here, the discomfort in his stomach had started to ebb. But he was also conscious of the fact that he would have to rescue her father. He was an asshole making false promises to a worried father, it was the least he could do. “We were discussing the wedding venue,” he said, plastering what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. “Mr Lovegood says I can invite as many people as I want.” Lovegood looked anything but reassured. Her suspicious eyes took in the room once again. “Really?” she asked, her tone heavy with scepticism, as she directed her eyes towards her father. “And what did you end up deciding?” Mr Lovegood got to his feet as well. “That chocolate cake would do nicely. Draco enjoyed the one Molly baked today.” Lovegood’s delicate eyebrows rose. “I meant about the guests.”           Draco almost rolled his eyes. It seemed like passable attempts at acting were too much to expect from the Order of the Do-Gooders. “I can’t really have family over,” Draco told her, rather dryly. “So, as grateful as I am to Mr Lovegood, I really won’t be inviting a lot of guests.” Lovegood seemed to be mulling that over. Finally, when she could find no way to make further enquiries, she relented with a sigh. Draco felt his lungs fill with air as she turned to look at him. “We should be going. It’s after eleven.” His only answer was a nod, even as relief filled his insides. (iii) His own wedding day was a blur of events to Draco Malfoy. Six in the morning on the Sunday that they had set – or more precisely, he’d set – for their wedding day, he found himself in Thomas Defarge’s office. There was a lot to be done, so it made sense that they would take an early start. The marriage ceremony was set to start at one in the afternoon and so everything related to the contract would have to be handled before that. Once again, Lovegood was there before him. When she smiled at him in greeting, Draco found himself a little annoyed with her. Why should she be as calm as she seemed when he was freaking the fuck out. There were a million and one reasons that he’d pushed for this contract. Hell, he’d wanted it more than anything else in the world and now he couldn’t really remember why. He was about to bound himself to the former school lunatic, for a minimum of five years. How had his life led him to that? As it turned out, Defarge was decidedly not a morning person. So, the chitchat and Defarge’s inevitable dad jokes were kept to a minimum as he guided them through the process of signing the contract that he had drafted for them. Asher was there as well to keep the process running smoothly. He guided Lovegood through the various signatures that she needed to put on the plethora of paperwork, while Defarge did the same with Draco. Though it was a bother to have to go through every single detail of their arrangement once more before the contract was officially signed, Draco felt grateful towards Defarge for keeping everything so tight-knit and organized. Nothing about the contract was haphazard. Every single contingency was factored in with a proposed solution. Lovegood, too, had spent quite a lot of her time working on the details with Defarge. Draco was so tired when they got through with the signing a quarter of an hour before nine, that he felt relieved to clasp his hands with Lovegood’s for the contractual spell. Defarge, a meticulous lawyer if there ever was one and not an ordinary wizard had found a spell that was perfect for the kind of arrangement Draco was looking for. With the first light band of the contract tightening around their hands, Draco felt a lick of anxiety in his gut. He raised his eyes to Lovegood, to see whether she shared his concern. She didn’t. Lovegood kept her fascinated eyes trained on their joined hands, not one speck of worry visible on her face as they were bound band after band into their agreement. She only lifted her eyes to his face after they’d stepped out of Defarge’s office, and then only to smile at him and say “see you at that wedding”, as though the wedding they would shortly be heading to was not their own. **** As much as it killed him to admit it (even to himself), it was difficult to think about anything except how beautiful Lovegood looked as she made her way over to where he stood waiting for her at the end of the flower trail that had been converted into an aisle. Whatever Draco had expected their wedding to be like – or rather more honestly, he’d never really thought that far ahead – it wasn’t this. The Lovegood side had quite outdone themselves with the arrangements. Draco hadn’t been to very many weddings but this one was by far the mostly beautiful even if was far from the most expensive Draco had seen. As far as he could tell, no professionals had been engaged for the job and everything had been done by Lovegood’s family and friends. They were at the bottom of the hill that boasted Lovegood’s beloved rook house in Ottery St. Catchpole. The aisle, with folding lawn chairs decked in corsages on either side, was a sight to see. There was an archway of flowers for the bride and groom to stand under as they exchanged their wedding vows had been placed right at the edge of the crystal-clear stream which also provided most of the background noise. The attendees were protected from the muted October sun with the abundance of trees overhead. The overall affect was entirely breath-taking – only to be multiplied tenfold when Lovegood finally walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. If anyone were to ask Draco, he would fervently deny it, but the truth was that from the moment Lovegood came within his sight, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was an unusual bride to say the least. For one, she wasn’t wearing white. Her wedding dress was an off-the-shoulder ballgown of gold and yellow with sheer, lace sleeves that went right down to her wrists. The fitted bodice was entirely decked with glitter while the puffy skirt consisted of panels of shiny golden fabric and muted yellow cloth stitched together. Her creamy bare shoulders, and the delicate collarbones that were on full display due to the neckline, made for an enticing spectacle against the shiny fabric of her dress. There was no veil in sight. Lovegood’s abundant golden hair was swept away from her face in an intricate braid that was decorated by baby’s-breath and the occasional white rose along the length. Draco’s heart pounded uncomfortably – and inexplicably – fast in his chest as Lovegood drew nearer and nearer to him. It was a miracle he wasn’t panting for breath by the time she reached him, because it really did feel like he’d run a marathon. Once they were face-to-face (or as close to that as could be since even with a pair of high heels the top of Lovegood’s head remained just under the tip of his nose), Lovegood gave him her most dazzling smile yet. It was harmless enough. The look in her eyes was that of a co-conspirator rather than that a doting wife, but it still did things to him that he wouldn’t care to admit. By all rights, someone as insane as Luna Lovegood should never be allowed to look as stunning as she did, because it could cause quite some confusion between normal folk. It wasn’t even that she had an excess of make-up on her face. It would have been forgivable if she did. Undeniably, she had done things to her face that she didn’t normally do. There were two thin gold lines over her lash line and her eyelashes looked even thicker than usual. Her cheeks had a pinkish tint to them, and her lips were painted a nice coral that was slightly darker than what her lips usually looked like, but not by much. But her face seemed to have a glow of its own that was completely different from make-up. With the effect that he completely missed what the minister said to him because he was too busy staring at her, rousing only when the sound of chuckles penetrated through the fog in his brain. He was instantly aware of his cheeks turning a ruddy pink. Lovegood, too, demurely cast her eyes down, eyelashes forming shadows over her beautifully flushed cheeks even as the corners of her mouth dimpled. There weren’t many people who’d come to the Lovegood-Malfoy wedding and in a way, it was a relief. The Weasley clan (and their dates or spouses) made up for most of the crowd. There was Granger with her parents and Potter’s muggle cousin, who looked quite sour to Draco. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout were in attendance as well. The wandmaker, Ollivander, sat in the third row throwing dirty looks at Draco every now and then even though he looked about as healthy as a sprig of dandelion. The groom’s share of the guests was a pathetic handful. Draco had only invited a couple of healers from the hospital he was friendly with and Defarge and his wife. Of course, Lovegood had invited their lawyer before he had, but after Draco had pleaded his case – “I don’t have any fucking guests to invite to my own fucking wedding and you cannot go as Lovegood’s” – Defarge had relented and taken his invitation. Inviting Astoria – his only other guest – had been another pain altogether. She’d lit up with hope when he’d asked about her plans for the weekend, only to deflate rather quickly when he’d handed her the invitation card to his wedding. Handed the girl he wanted to fuck the card to his fucking wedding! It didn’t get any more fucked up than this. But she’d accepted, even as her eyes had filled with angry tears that he hadn’t had the slightest idea what to do about. She was here somewhere now. Draco knew because he’d spotted and waved at her earlier. Yet the thought of Astoria was the last thing on his mind when the minister declared Lovegood his wife after he’d finished performing the binding spell Defarge had selected for them. And it was with an eagerness Draco could never in his life have anticipated that he tilted his head down to kiss the pretty lips of Luna Malfoy. 

After the party, and the private after party, from the night before, the girls were extremely tired. They had been asleep curled up together all day and had no plans to ever move. This was the perfect way to spend forever. Sadly, the world wouldn’t let them have their lazy day. The sound of Josie’s phone woke them from their pleasant dreams and warm cuddles. “Make who ever it is go away.” Hope moaned. She was very much not a morning person. Josie, who typically like to rise with the sun, found that she was in agreement with her girlfriend. They had only been asleep for about five hours. She wanted at least eight if she had to deal with the outside world today. Reaching over, Josie grabbed her phone and silenced it. As she tried to roll back over to snuggle back into Hope’s side, her phone started to ring again. Frustrated, this time Josie answered the call. “What do you want?” “Love you too sis.” Lizzie said with a laugh. “Lizzie. I haven’t had enough sleep. Is this important or can it wait until tomorrow?” Well, I’m leaving now, so if you and Hope want to say goodbye for the summer, now would be a good time.” The brunette shot up out of the bed. “Wait, you’re leaving now? But you weren’t supposed to leave until three in the afternoon.” “Yeah, and it’s two forty-five. If you and Hope hadn’t stayed up all night with your LOUD sexcapades, you would know that.” “You couldn’t have heard anything. We sound proofed the room.” Josie could feel her blush rising. “Yeah, you should work on a new spell.” “It always worked before.” “If that is true, I don’t even want to know what you were doing last night.” Before Josie could reply, Hope sat up and took the phone from her. “You’re just jealous and you know it. Give us five to get ready and we will meet you in the main entrance.” With that the tribrid hung up and leaned over to kiss her girlfriend’s reddening cheek. “Morning love.” “Morning. Do you really think that they heard us?” “I’m pretty sure the whole state heard me when you did that thing with your tongue. Oh, and when I did that thing with the twist at the end, you got really loud.” Josie slapped Hope on the shoulder. “This isn’t funny! I don’t want people to hear us when we make love, or in the case of last night, have wild and dirty sex.” Hope couldn’t help but to laugh at her girlfriend. She was too adorable when she got all flustered. “I promise, I will find a more powerful spell to muffle the sound. Now we should go, or you will miss saying goodbye to Lizzie.” *** The sisters hugged each other one last time before Lizzie had to go, or risk missing her flight. “I love you Jo, be good and make sure that you keep in touch. Email me, and call, and we can video chat.” “Absolutely, I promise. Be good and have fun with mom. I’ll see you in a couple of months.” As Hope and Josie, along with MG, stood and watched the van carry Lizzie away, it was sad to see the end of this year. So many great things had happened. They were all in happy relationships and the school was safe. “When do you head out MG?” Hope asked. “Later today. I’m spending break with Kaleb and his family.” “Well, in case I don’t see you, have a great summer and make sure that you keep in touch.” MG then hugged both girls and smiled. “I’ll see you both in the Fall. Stay safe and stay happy.” The two girls were again alone. Which was find by them, because they were alone together and that is all that really mattered. Josie looked at Hope and had a little pout on her lips. “When is your flight tomorrow?” Hope smiled sadly. “It’s at one.” Both girls leaned in and gripped each other in a hug and held on like their lives depended on it. And in truth, to them, it felt like they did. “Hey, Josie, would you go on a date with me tonight?” Smiling one of her mega watt smiles Josie nodded her head. “Of course! I’d go anywhere with you.” “Great! The reservation is for seven, so we have four hours. What do you want to get up to for the next four hours?” Smiling seductively at the shorter girl, the brunette leaned into to her ear to whisper. “I want us to … find a better sound proofing spell.” Hope’s face fell. That was so not what she thought her girlfriend was going to say. “Hey, don’t look at me that way. Until we have a better spell, you are cut off.” Hope’s eyes shot open wide and then in a flash quicker than Josie could see, Hope had her in her arms and was running to the library. Once she realized what was happening, Josie laughed freely all the way. *** Three hours, and much research and testing later, the girls had found a much stronger spell to make sure that they were not overheard. Hope and Josie both agreed that it was best to test the spell, and that is how they now found themselves naked in a pile of blankets surrounding them. “Damn, I think that I may have dislocated something.” “Stop complaining. You’re a tribrid, you’ll be healed before I catch my breath.” “Wasn’t complaining. I was proud of that! You should be too! You’re the one that did it to me.” Both girls just laughed. It was so nice not having anything that they had to worry about and just being allowed to be together. “We have an hour to get ready, we should get in the shower and get going.” Hope didn’t really want to move. “Can we shower together?” Josie asked with full innocence. “Can we keep our hands off each other?” “Right, so you shower first and then, hopefully I’ll be able to feel my legs by that point.” The auburn-haired girl laughed at her love. She stood up and dropped the blankets from around herself and then leaned over and picked Josie up. “If you are this tired, you better shower with me so that I can make sure that you don’t fall.” Both girls smiled at each other and knew that it was a possibility that they were going to be late. *** Exactly fifty-nine minutes later they were standing in front of the hostess for the Grill. They had … mostly behaved themselves and gotten ready for their night. “Hello, my name is Devon, welcome to the Mystic Grill. Tonight, is the start of “Hot Summer Nights”. We have a few specials that your server will be happy to tell you about. Do you have a reservation for that?” “We have a reservation under Mikaelson.” “Ah yes, I see you here. Table for two. Right this way.” The two girls were led past all the obvious tables and out the back. Josie didn’t even know that they had tables out here. What she saw before her stole her breath away. Hope had arranged a private table in a little garden courtyard that was hidden away. Looking up you could see the stars. There was a music coming from a docking station playing all of the songs that Josie associated to her and Hope’s relationship. “If I could take your drink orders, I will have your server out in just a moment.” Both girls ordered water and smiled as Devon left to go put that order in and send out their server. “Hope, this is beautiful! How did you even manage this? You’ve been with me all day.” “I have my ways. And because I know you have to know; all the music is the playlist that you sent me. The one that you said reminds you of us. I made sure to have them load my Spotify account so that it could be playing.” The younger girl was beaming. She couldn’t believe everything that her amazing girlfriend had done for her. “This is perfect, and you are amazing.” Their serve came and took their orders and then left to have them placed. “Would you care to dance?” “Yes!” Hope stood up and offered her hand to Josie. Once they were both standing, the shorter girl lead them over to a small area that was set up for them to dance. Josie wrapped her hands around Hopes waist as Hope put her arms around her neck. They pulled each other in as close as they could get. As the music started to play, they both smiled. Some things we don't talk aboutRather do withoutAnd just hold a smileFalling in and out of loveAshamed and proud ofTogether all the while You can never say never while we don't know itTime and time againYounger now than we were beforeDon't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me goDon't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go Picture you're the queen of everythingFar as the eye can seeUnder your commandI will be your guardian when all is crumblingSteady your hand You can never say never while we don't know itTime, time and time againYounger now than we were beforeDon't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me goDon't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go We're falling apart,And we're…   As the song ended, Josie leaned in and kissed the love of her life and pulled her impossibly closer. She never wanted to let her go. She wanted to make sure that Hope knew exactly how she felt about her. She poured ever ounce of love and devotion into this kiss. When they pulled back from the kiss, they were both short of breath and couldn’t help but lock their eyes. They didn’t want this moment to end. Of course, at that moment their server arrived with their food. Smiling at each other they went back to sit at the table to eat. They talked about anything and everything and nothing at all. They were just happy to be together. When the server cleared away their plates, Hope paid their bill and took Josie’s hand and started to walk back to the car. Josie was lost in her own mind with the thought of what she was going to do with being left without Hope all summer. Hope was stealing glances at her and couldn’t take it. She opened the car door for her to step in and then walked around to get in beside her. “Ok, so this was going to be a surprise for later, but I can see the wheels in your head turning.” Josie looked up to see her girlfriend smiling brightly at her. She hadn’t meant to ruin anything or to put a damper on the evening. “I’m sorry. I know this is our last night together for a while. I didn’t mean to be all in my head. I guess I’m just sad that you are leaving for the summer tomorrow. If you haven’t figured this out yet, I have become rather attached to you. I guess I’m a bit clingy.” Hope threw her head back laughing at that statement. It was such a Josie thing to say and to think. “Well, I have to say, I am rather attached to you myself. And all I can say is if you are clingy, what does that make me?” With that said, Hope pulled something out of her purse and handed it to Josie, smiling so big and beautifully. Josie looked at what was in her hand and gasped. “Hope! But how? What about my dad?” “Oh, don’t worry about him. I already handled that situation. Do you think that I would do this before I did this? I’m daring, not stupid. He would hunt my ass down and use me for target practice.” The younger girl laughed at that image. That was definitely something that her father had threatened to do in the past to a boy who dared to ask Lizzie out. “So, this is for real?” the brunette asked. “If you want it to be. That ticket is an offer. You don’t have to come with me, but if you want to, my Aunt Freya and Aunt Keelin said that you are very welcome. They are dying to meet you. And I have made everyone promise to be on their best behavior. And to guarantee that they are, Aunt Davina and Marcel have promised to keep Auntie Bex and Uncle Kol in line.” Josie was just staring at her girlfriend in awe. She couldn’t believe her. This was the best surprise ever. She looked down at the plane ticket in her hands and then back to see that Hope was squirming waiting for an answer. “Yes! Of course, I want to go!” Josie was out of her seat and in Hope’s arms in less than a second. She locked her into a deep kiss. One hand was buried in the auburn locks that she loved to run her fingers through while the other was holding the older girls face. Hope’s hands landed on Josie’s hips to ensure that she didn’t fall. “So, instead of the end of our year, this is a beautiful start to our best summer ever.” “Hope, every day with you is the best day ever. I look forward to everyday with you forever.” “Forever?” the tribrid asked the beautiful girl in her lap. Josie leaned her head onto Hope’s. “I want you by my side forever. I want you to be my always. I know that we are young, but I know you are it for me.” “Always and Forever. This is the promise of my family. You are my family now Jo, you are my always and forever.” With another kiss given, Josie got back in her seat and took Hope’s hand in her own. She lifted it to her lips and gave it a kiss. With a smile, Hope used their joint hands to start the car and take them back to school. The two girls held each other all night as they dreamed of the summer ahead and of the lives that they would have together. *** In the morning, after backing for the summer and worrying that she would forget something. “Don’t worry. If you forgot anything, I will buy you a new one.” “Hope, you know how I feel about you buy me thing.” Taking the brunette in her arms and hugged her and gave her a kiss to the cheek. Looking at her to make sure that she had her attention. “Well, if you remember, we promised Always and Forever. That means that you are just going to have to get use to me showering you in my love. And yes, that means spending all my money on anything to make you happy. Because, see you happy makes me happy.” Josie just shook her head and giggled. “There really isn’t any arguing with this is there?” “Nope.” “Fine, I give. But we have to go now, or we will miss our plane.” The two girls rushed out with their bags and their tickets in hand. Stopping to hug Alaric goodbye, Hope pulled Josie with her to the taxi that waited. This was not the end, just the beginning. The End

The walls of his own home felt different. They seemed to be trying to reach out and touch Jimin as Minhyuk led him through his own hallways. The noise coming from the many rooms were loud, which wasn’t unusual, but the sounds weren’t what Jimin was used to. Growling, snapping, no signs of laughter or joy. He couldn’t hear Jin’s whining voice echoing through the entire house, nor Namjoon’s quiet murmuring as he tried to calm the other down. He couldn’t hear Taehyung’s deep voice rumbling along the floors or Yoongi’s teasing lilt splitting the air. He could barely feel Jungkook at all.    Jimin rubbed at his chest, and he thought he could almost hear how empty it was. His vision kept swimming in front of him as he walked, and though he loathed to admit it, he had to keep reaching out for the other omega for support. He couldn’t remember the last time that he ate or slept without waking from nightmares or crushing loneliness. Being with Jin had helped, but with all of these other sounds and smells, his brother’s scent was long gone, and with it, Jimin’s resolve. He didn’t want to do this. All he wanted to do was bide his time and wait for Jungkook to save them all and to sweep him off of his feet.    But a huge stupid part of Jimin felt that he owed Minhyuk something for helping with Jin. He felt that if he didn’t at least try, then he would have to deal with the guilt of not helping someone who helped him every time he looked at his nephew’s face.    When they had finally gotten to the end of the hallway, Jimin pushed off of Minhyuk, his vision whirling. Minhyuk held out his arm, “You can keep leaning on me.”   “No, I can’t,” Jimin whispered. He had to walk into the room standing on his own two feet, even if his knees felt like jelly and his arms were heavier than a ton of bricks. How could he have let himself get this weak? Even without Jungkook there, he should have been stronger. He let his stupid feelings explode into tormenting himself into this state of weakness. Jimin grit his teeth and straightened his shoulders. His spine felt like glass, ready to shatter at any second. He stepped into his own living room.   Jooheon looked… tired. If Jimin was confused or surprised, he didn’t show it on his face. The alpha was sitting on the couch, bent over so his elbows rested on his thighs, his hands clasped in front of him. He was facing the front door, while two other wolves stood facing the opposite direction. His hair was even whiter than Jimin’s, his eyes greener. Jimin could see the resemblance in other ways. Their cheeks were both high and Jimin imagined that when they were both healthy, they would have both been round and soft. They had the same eyebrows.    Jooheon’s eyes had massive dark circles dragging below them. He was almost as pale as Jimin, his cheeks sallow and his lips dried and cracked.    When they walked in, the alpha’s eyes snapped to them. Jimin could see the question in his eyes before he even asked. “Minhyuk? What are you doing?” His voice was dry and scratchy, like he hasn’t spoken in a long time.     Minhyuk swallowed. “Um-”   “I wanted to get to know you.”    Jooheon and Minhyuk looked at Jimin. Even Jimin was surprised that he managed to sound so calm. His heart was pounding and his fingers were going numb. He felt the opposite of calm, but his voice held no tremor, no indication of the war being waged inside of him. Jooheon considered him for a moment, his eyes wondering over the omega’s form, mostly his face. Jimin was sure that he looked awful, but he didn’t really care much.    After another long moment of silence, Jooheon dismissed the other two wolves behind him and gestured for Jimin to sit. Minhyuk swept out of the room after them, his eyes worried and wet.  Jimin couldn’t help but bristle a little. Of course he could sit down. This was his home. But he shook it off and came to sit in front of Jooheon, his shaky legs thanking him.    The brothers sat in an awkward and uncomfortable silence for a time before Jooheon opened his mouth first. “You smell like her.”   Jimin felt his heart shudder. “What? Who?”    Jooheon looked at the ground in between them. “Our mother.”    It felt strange. The word “our”. Jimin wondered how he could share anything with the man sitting in front of him, but they did. A mother and a father.    Jimin popped his neck at the same time Jooheon did. Jimin bit his lip, a question falling from his mouth before he could stop it. “What was she like?”   Despite everything, Jooheon’s eyes softened. “Kind. Warm. She’s so pretty and soft.  She tries to teach me how to cook, but I’m hopeless at it.”    Jimin blinked, “You’re talking as though she’s still alive.”    Jooheon looked at Jimin, confused. “She is still alive.”    That was… Jimin didn’t actually really have a reaction to that information. To him, this woman was a complete stranger, and he hadn’t really dwelled on the question of if she was dead or alive. He was indifferent. Jooheon looked mildly outraged however.    “Did someone tell you differently? Who would tell you she was dead?”    Jimin felt his defences crawl back up. Why was he upset? “No one told me one way or another. I just assumed she would be dead considering her mate.” Jimin snapped. He didn’t like being questioned.    Jooheon snapped his mouth shut at the mention of his father. Jimin could see the muscles working in his jaw. Jimin swallowed. “Why are you doing this?”   Jooheon looked down to the ground, his shoulders sagging. “I have to.”    Jimin felt a fire light in his stomach. “That’s not an answer. He’s dead. You killed him. There is no reason to keep this up. Why come after my family?”    “I don't want your family,” Jooheon sighed. He stood up and Jimin felt his shoulders tense. Jooheon wouldn’t look at him. He wouldn’t even look his way it seemed as he began to pace. Jimin couldn’t help but feel like it was a taunt. Jooheon knew he was too weak to attack him, so he rubbed it in his face by turning his back on him.    “Jungkook is my family. My mate. That’s something even you should understand.” Jimin growled. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, it was beginning to ache. Jooheon brought a hand up to rub at his neck, but he didn’t say anything, so Jimin continued. “Do you think that our mother would want this? That she would want this childish grudge to continue until more than one person is dead? Because that will happen, you know? If Jungkook dies, I will die. If you die, Minhyuk will-”   “Don’t say it.” Jooheon’s voice was acidic and cold.    “If you love him, then why take this risk? Jungkook has been better than you his entire life, why do you think you’ll be any better than him now, when he has so much more to lose?” Jimin was beginning to shout. His throat ached and his muscles were twitching.    And then he felt something in his chest. The slightest finger of warmth slithered across his heart, almost like a caress. Was he imagining things?    Jooheon’s shoulders had scrunched up so much, they were almost touching his ears, like he was trying to block out Jimin’s voice. Jimin screamed as loud as he could, desperate to get Jooheon to hear him; “ Why go so far for someone who never loved you?”     Before Jimin could blink, Jooheon rounded on him, his eyes reddish green and brighter than the sun. His hand landed right next to where Jimin’s head slammed into the back of his chair. They stared each other down, Jimin’s own eyes silver. He wouldn’t back down, even as Jooheon let his pheromones go, the honey scent so decadent and thick it was choking him.    Jimin’s breath stuttered when he felt the warm touch at his heart again, this time like a nudge. But he still didn’t look away from Jooheon. Abruptly, Jooheon smirked. “You wouldn’t understand.”    Jimin leaned forward as much as he could. “Try me.”  Jooheon pushed himself off of the chair and when he turned around again, Jimin touched his chest as the warm feeling began to spread. It tingled and Jimin’s vision seemed to become sharper. What was going on? He sent a tentative glance behind him, but he didn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything.    “Our father was a cruel man.” Jooheon began, and Jimin gave him most of his attention once more. But he kept his ears strained for everything… anything. “You don’t understand what it is to have someone demean you and throw you into the dirt for just being you, for loving who you love. He tortured me and threatened me-”   Jimin covered his mouth as he tried to stop laughing. The snort he had just let out was definitely not very Head Omega like. The heat in his chest had spread through his arms and legs, and he even thought his head was healing. Jooheon looked at him, his eyes wide and confused. Jimin waved his hand in front of him. “I’m sorry… continue…”    “Why are you laughing?” Jooheon asked, his voice almost hollow.   “It’s not funny, you’re right…” Jimin took a breath to gather himself. “It’s just… you don’t know anything about me. My father… Our former uncle, I suppose I should say, used to hit me and throw me around. Just because I am an omega.Told me I was worthless. He sold me off the first chance he got, and more recently he belittled me in front of my pack and tried to place an Alpha Command on me.” Jimin stood up and Jooheon blinked in surprise. For once, Jimin didn’t falter. “It perhaps wasn’t as harsh or as brutal, but I do understand you.”    A branch cracked outside, and Jimin felt the hair on his neck stand up. Jooheon didn’t seem to hear it.    “I’m going to tell you something Jooheon.” Jimin felt himself soften, only a bit. He began to let his scent leak into the room. “Nothing you will do will have made him proud of you.” Jimin saw how Jooheon’s breathing changed, how a gasp had been punched out of him. Had no one told him this before? “Killing Jungkook… It will do nothing for you. Nothing will change, nothing will be better. You will never be good enough, never be strong enough.”    Tears fell unbidden from Jooheon’s eyes that reminded Jimin so much of his own. He knew the agony of wanting love and acceptance from someone who would never give it. But he also knew the freedom of living without it. Jimin stepped closer to the alpha, stepped in front of him, blocking him from the view from the front window. “But you can still have a family. Minhyuk…” He caught himself. It wasn’t something for him to tell. “Our mother…. Me.” Jooheon looked up from the ground at Jimin confused.    “You would still call me your brother?” Jooheon, now that Jimin was really looking at him, looked so exhausted, so fragile, like he would crumble at the smallest touch.     “I would,” Jimin murmured. “I would need time to forgive, to feel like we could get past this, but if you back down and walk away right now, you wouldn’t lose everything.” Jimin was growing desperate. The sounds outside were getting louder, more restless. His whole body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t need to make a dead man proud. Make those still alive, those who love you proud. Walk away. Give me a chance to get to know my family. Stand down. Please.”    He reached a hand towards Jooheon. Jooheon grit his teeth, a war battled behind his eyes for what was too long. Jooheon reached for Jimin’s hand.   “JOOHEON-!”    Everything happened so fast.    Minhyuk had slammed the door to the hallway open and screamed for his mate, just as the front door shattered open, glass and wood splintering and exploding everywhere. Jooheon had slammed his arm against Jimin, throwing him out of the way and into a table, his hips cracking painfully against the edge of it. Jooheon had transformed remarkably fast; his massive white body already fully formed as Jimin crumpled to the ground.    Minhyuk scrambled to Jimin and pulled him further back as another wolf slammed into Jooheon. Jimin nearly sobbed as he caught Jungkook’s scent. Despite it being tinged with bloodlust and rage, it was still warm and Jimin felt it wrap around him like a blanket.    Jungkook was slightly smaller than Jooheon, but nonetheless he was stronger. The two wolves were a blur of black and white, guttural growls and barks split the air. Minhyuk was screaming and Jimin couldn’t seem to catch his breath.    Jooheon threw Jungkook off, breaking a table as his body crashed into it. Jungkook righted himself immediately and charged at Jooheon, his teeth bared and his mouth foaming. Other people in both wolf and human form began to run into the room, though none of them engaged with the other two. The wolves in white yelled and screamed for Jooheon’s victory, while all the others watched in grave silence. They must have found a way to break away from their captors or had followed them in. It was so loud it was deafening.    “Minhyuk, help me up.” Jimin yelled, his heart in his throat. Fur and blood left a trail wherever the two fought. Dark red spilled and sprayed over the carpets, the tables, the chairs. Jimin didn’t want this. He was so close. He was always so close. Minhyuk lifted Jimin with shaking hands, and Jimin let out a yelp when he tried to stand on his leg, his hip throbbing. He heard Jungkook let out a cry as well, as the other was distracted momentarily by Jimin’s pain. Jooheon had taken advantage of it and had latched his jaws into Junkooks side.   Jooheon jerked his head back and forth as he clawed and ripped at Jungkook’s side. Jimin screamed as he looked on, leaning heavily against Minhyuk. He could feel Jungkook’s agony in his chest. It spread like wildfire through his veins. He wanted this to end. He tore his gaze away as Jungkook got himself free and looked at Minhyuk. Jimin didn’t want this man to die. He didn’t want anyone to die. Something pulled in his belly, deep from inside of him. The sounds of the room sharpened and banged around his head. He couldn’t breathe, but he was breathing too fast at the same time. Jimin could practically hear flesh and skin being torn, could hear his nephew crying from somewhere in the house.    Jungkook threw Jooheon against the wall of the house, the wood splintering. He landed with a thump on the ground. He tried to stand but his paws slipped from under him as blood pooled. Minhyuk wasn’t even screaming anymore. Silent tears fell down his cheeks and his hand had gone to his stomach. Jimin thought it almost looked like goodbye. Jooheon’s men were screaming and yelling.    “Stop…” Jimin mumbled. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear. “That’s enough…” He said, this time a little louder. The thing in his stomach travelled to his throat, made his jaw lock. He stumbled forward, the sharp pain in his hip a distant pain to him. Jungkook pinned Jooheon to the ground. “Jungkook, it’s enough.” He shouted. He outstretched his hands, as Jungkook reared his head, his teeth glinting with blood and saliva. His eyes were crimson, and he couldn’t hear him. Jimin was so close. “That’s…” Jimin stopped moving. He was always so close. Jungkook licked his bloody jaws and then he lunged forward. Jimin snapped.    “ ENOUGH!”   Silence. It was the loudest silence Jimin had ever heard. His throat burned.    For a moment no one moved, no one breathed. Jungkook had frozen on the spot, his jaws centimeters away from Jooheon’s throat. Jimin heard something fall on the ground behind him, and then quiet sobbing. Jungkook’s eyes slowly went hazy before he fell sideways.    Jimin ran to him, pulling his head into his lap. He was still breathing.    Jimin gently placed his hand against Jooheon’s throat. His breathing was more shallow, but he was breathing. Jimin looked behind him to one of his own wolves. “Bring me Namjoon… bring me my family.” He looked at one of Jooheon’s pack mates. “ Get them out of my house.”    His throat screamed in protest from another command, but it worked. The wolves in white scrambled to get out as Jimin’s own pack chased them out. Jimin supposed that the alphas Jungkook had brought had already set his people free. It would explain the commotion he had heard while talking to Jooheon. Jimin coughed into his hand, and it came away with blood, but he didn’t care.    Minhyuk crawled over and buried his face into Jooheon’s fur in one of the few places that wasn’t bloody. Jimin placed his hand on Minhyuk’s and the other omega grasped at it with a desperate hold. “Thank you… thank you.”    Jimin swallowed. “You need to go.”    Minhyuk looked at him through bloodshot eyes. “What?”   “Before Jungkook wakes, you two must be gone. He does not forgive so easily. I will speak to him, try to convince him… but you must leave right now.”    Minhyuk looked like he wanted to say more, but Jimin squeezed his hand before he laid down against Jungkook, coughing. He just wanted to sleep. He heard Minhyuk take a deep breath, heard him grunt and struggle for a while before he too fell asleep.

***** Suddenly I was being pushed from behind, but managed not to fall flat on my face. I swiftly turned, pointing my beretta at the offending person. Unfortunately no one was there. I knew what this was, they were playing with me, trying to scare me into making a mistake like dropping my gun, for instance. Not going to happen. I forced my eyes closed and listened with all the supernatural hearing they didn't know I had. I could hear one ten feet off on my right side hiding in the dark and the other...ah was just behind me, maybe three or four feet. If I pivoted just the right way, I could kick him square in the chest. Send him stumbling and give me an advantage, that a human might need. So I pivoted, backwards by a foot and flung my right leg around to hit him in the chest sending him sliding across the floor. Maybe a little to much force, I needed to be more careful. The other one caught me off guard, slamming my body hard into one of the stacks and sending my beretta flying. His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of my neck as he lifted my heels, nearly a foot off of the ground. "Humans...so pathetic, thinking they can take on a full grown vampire. I would say your courageous but its just simply very stupid." While he slithered on I was able to pull my leg up and slide my micro pistol with wooden bullets out of my ankle holster. "Whats stupid...is monologuing...instead of just..killing me already..." I said struggling to speak and shot him in the chest, the first wooden bullet just missing his heart. His eyes went wide, I would not miss a second time, I shot again and he dropped me, turning to ash in front of my eyes and it rained down around me. Just as I sucked in a deep breath of air, I felt the cold steel of a knife scrap against my palm as the second decided to attack. I jumped to my feet just before he sliced into my other hand effectively making me drop my micro pistol. I had just about enough of this. I was about to use my speed to grab him but I didn't have to give away my secret, Arden grabbed him first and snapped his neck instantly, he would have a head ache tomorrow but then we would be able to question him. I slumped back against the stack and took a deep breath, "What took you so long?" I asked looking up at him from my bloody palms, I knew he could smell my blood. But they would heal soon and then I would have to explain where all my blood came from if I wasn't hurt. "Had a bit of trouble to handle, specifically three of them. Your hurt?" He said sounding concerned as he stalked toward me, he gently grabbed my hands holding them in his own. "I can heal them if you'll let me." He said tentatively pulling one of my hands towards his face, I let him knowing it was the perfect excuse to my own healing. I nodded and he licked one cut and then the one on my other hand sending shivers down my spine making me gasp softly. I knew that normally my blood tasted like a humans just as my smell did. But something in his eyes changed, shifted as if he were truly seeing me. It sent that tingle washing over my skin once again, heating me from the inside out and I watched as his eyes grew even darker. I felt as if I was being pulled towards him and felt myself take a step into his embrace. "You guys maybe want to untie me sometime today?" Called the vampire tied to the chair under the spot light. Slowly Arden released my hands and then it seemed like he had to rip his eyes from me. "John, how on earth did you manage to get into so much trouble so quickly? You've been in town less than twenty-four hours." Arden asked as he walked over and started untying this John person. "Did you find out what they wanted?" Arden asked and I followed him slowly, first picking up my micro pistol, then finding my beretta. The two girls that had been sleeping had at some point ran off, most likely while I was being choked. I quicky called in a meat wagon for the vampire and approached the two vampires, just as John was standing up and rubbing his aching wrists. "Well you know me, they snatched me from right in front of the hotel. I thought this was supposed to be a pretty safe town. And no they didn't even talk to me after putting me in that chair." He scoffed, but didn't seem to be hurt in any serious way, just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing that wouldn't heal if he fed. He looked over at me just as I was putting my beretta back in its holster. "Looks like you were having a better time anyway." "Let me guess, your Arden's partner, Michelson. I'm Detective Alys Spring, Your corespondent here in The Falls. You alright?" I asked knowing the truth of it all. ("Oh, if you were mine, the things I would do to your beautiful curves!") "Oh , si vous étiez moi, les choses que je ferais à vos belles courbes!" He said as he brought the back of my bloody hand to his lips and kissed it, "Just fine, it is nice to meet you Detective." I could see Arden's face harden, what was going on behind those dark eyes. "Et je sais que vous le feriez Son . Juste pour mauvais que je ne date pas des gars qui se ligotés si facilement." I said that I knew he would but that I unfortunately didn't date guys who had gotten themselves tied up so easily. Arden, busted out laughing and John frowned slightly, reaching back to hit Arden in the stomach. Arden grunted but kept on. "Now if you don't mind we have a dinner to get to and I don't want to be covered in blood for it." I said and started walking back towards the front of the building. Letting my heels clack against the cement floor. "It is, good to meet you by the way, but if you were picked up just outside of the hotel. It might be wise to find sleeping arrangements elsewhere." I said as they caught up to me. "Would I, if I could. But those were the last two rooms up for grabs when I called yesterday morning, its because of that festival there having." John said exasperated. "Right the I.I.O.S.B. Festival this weekend, I completely forgot. Its a new thing since the integration." The I.I.O.S.B. was the International Integration Of Supernatural Beings Festival, I pondered for a moment, I really had no other choice if I wanted to keep them safe, but it was an enormously bad idea that I just knew I would be regretting later. Shit. "You may stay with me." I said cringing, thank god I wasn't looking at them, "I have plenty of space." "As generous as that is, I would rather not sleep on a couch. Especially one I might get to well of a tan on if you know what I mean." John said smirking incredulously. I grinned back at him as I held the outside warehouse door open for them to walk through. While most older vampires could handle the light of day, the morning sun still provided a more weakened point of day for them. "Two things, one I have uv protected windows and two why would you sleep on a couch when I have plenty of extra bedrooms." It was true and I had three extra bedrooms not in use, six total. Marta had the basement apartment, my sister Cadence took the second floor master and my room was the entire third floor. The three other bedrooms on the second floor were unoccupied and now that I thought about it. Why did I have extra bedrooms, I have never before invited anyone into my home. I guess it must be fate, I chuckled to myself. Fate, yeah thats a good one. We all jumped into the car and I sped off in the direction of the hotel, "So is that a yes then?" I asked looking in my rear view at John and then over at Arden, who just smiled that sexy smile at me, damn. I internally shook myself, sleeping with a vampire that was soon going to be in my home was a supremely bad idea. Maybe I could convince Hank to meet me for drinks later. "Yeah sounds good to me as long as I don't get tied up again." He said smiling at me as if I was the one who might be tying him up. "I really don't think that will be a problem, that reminds me actually." I said as we pulled into the hotel parking lot, I threw it into park just under the awning, in front of the doors. I hit the speed dial effectively calling my sister, "Cadence, hey you remember that guy who's been working with me today?" "Yeah why?" Cadence said from the other side of the phone. "Arden and his partner need a safe place to stay so I invited them to stay with us. The other thing is I could use your eyes and ears on this case I'm working, think you can help me out?" I asked, as I felt more than saw the boys get out of the car. "Yeah Sis, anything for you, you know that. Where are you now?" Cadence asked. "She has a sister?" I heard John whisper to Arden, I smiled she would tear him apart if he tried that gooey crap on her. "Right now we're up at Hanks place grabbing their bags but we'll be headed back to the house in just a minute. Arden and I have dinner with the Cap and Mayor in an hour and I desperately need a shower before then." I said looking down at one of my bloody hands again. "Alright I meet you there in fifteen, I was just at the station changing. End of my shift and all, but its alright I'll help you out. At least I don't have to wear the uniform." Cadence said teasing me and I could almost see the smile she wore on the other end of the phone. "See you in a minute. Oh..." I said looking up at the hotel to make sure John wouldn't hear, "Arden's partner might be worth a look, maybe even two. So it might be a productive night for you after all." I said with a laugh, we both said goodbye and hung up the phone just as Arden and John walked out with their bags and I jumped out to unlock the trunk. Just as I stepped away I felt strong arms wrap around my waist and spin me around. Hank's kiss was hard and demanding, it had been at least a week since I had called him, before last night, that was a bust and now he was making me pay for it. I gently pushed the kiss to an end and pulled out of his grasp. He was ruggedly handsome like most wolves, his long blond hair hung just past his shoulders, his deep blue eyes spoke of his werewolf side even if no one else knew it. He had a strong firm build though he only stood at five eleven only two inches taller than me. "Sorry darling, I'm still working, probably will be all night. I'll call you later though." I said as I walk over to my door, what the hell was wrong with me, I was just thinking about calling him and now that his hands are on me I cant get away fast enough. Thats not normal, usually I cant wait to find a vacant room, what is going on with me. "You know I wont wait around for you forever." He said slamming shut my door just as I inched it open. I had been absently looking down at Arden who sat again in the passenger seat, I could see that dark look in his eyes once again. It was almost as if I could see what he wanted to do to Hank right now just sitting on the surface of them and it wasn't pretty. He was also clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles were white, why did he seem to care so much? I turned, leaning against the handle of my door, "Hank, have you met my new partners, Detective Michelson and Detective Haze, their from the Supernatural division." I said sweetly as I motioned from one to the other. "I don't give two fucks who or what they are!" He said and grabbed my hand as if to hold it sweetly but squeezed it hard, I winced slightly but recovered. "Surely I don't need to reassert my authority and remind you that I am a detective and your impeding me from solving a crime and bridging on assault of an officer, do I? Now if you don't get the fuck out of my way so I can go do my job, I'm going to show them why I'm the lead Detective in this town. Do I make myself clear?" I said in an oddly seductive tone as I ripped my hand from him, though we both knew I wasn't trying to seduce him. "Perfectly." He said in a low, serious voice. "As soon as the vampires show up the wolves get left out in the cold. Your clear about that, you'll get whats coming to you maybe while your out 'working' tonight." He scoffed as he walked back into the hotel. Asshole, trying to lay claim on me just because other males, that happen to be good looking are around. I slid into the drivers seat, without opening the door and slammed it into gear, speeding off down main towards my house. "Possessive Asshole." I said under my breath, but I heard both of them chuckle, of course they could hear me they were vampires, duh. "Well he is a wolf, they tend to be like that." John said informatively. "Yeah I knew that, but there supposed to do that with their mates. Not just some girl they occasionally have an extra bit of fun with. He knew the deal and I am not a bone that only gets buried in his back yard to get played with whenever he chooses. Somebody needs to put that boy on a leash." I spat, but started laughing when I noticed John dying of laughter in my back seat. "What?" I shrugged looking over at Arden. "He's laughing because the werewolves absolutely hate it when they get compared to a normal dog and humans can say whatever they please about it because the councils cant effect them but vampires cant make jokes like that, at least not where anyone can hear. They might get into trouble because of the treaty signed between vampires and werewolves after the war states that vampires aren't allowed." He said explaining, it was funny hearing him talk about it when I had actually been there, matter of fact I had signed the document. They had thought I was human and there for a wonderful witness as I would not take a side either way. Two thousand years later, who's the human now. I smiled inwardly and apparently outwardly as well. Because what I heard next had me blushing wildly, "You have a beautiful smile." Arden said quietly beside me, John oblivious as he came down from his laughing high. He was staring at me now, I glanced over at him smiling, heat rising in my cheeks threatening to make me blush as I then tried to pay attention to the road on the drive home, but he was making it increasingly hard. Five minutes later we pulled up in front of my home and I noticed Arden and John looking around as if they were confused or lost. "Its the Brownstone to your right." I said getting out and walking up onto the sidewalk. They both looked up at it perplexed, "Which floor?" John asked as he retrieved the keys from me and opened the trunk. "All of them, you'll be sleeping on the second." I said and caught the keys as John threw them at me, I looked up a my home. I had never really thought about it before but it was quite large, especially to be in the middle of the city. I looked back down at the street just as Cadence pulled up. She met me up near the door just as I went to open it and jovially gave me a peck on the cheek. The boys weren't too far behind and I just knew Marta would be giving me a happy earful. "Sis, this is Arden who you met earlier and his partner John Michelson, John this is my sister Cadence." I introduced and stepped behind Cadence just as I saw he was going to try the same move on her he had tried on me. I just shook my head, letting him know that would not fly with her. "Its wonderful to meet you." He said kissing her hand just as he had done with mine. "Come on I'll show you to your rooms." I said climbing the stairs, I could feel Arden's eyes on me, was he checking me out. Interesting, I slid my jacket off of my arms tossing it onto the railing just before the second floor swallowed up the stairs. The second floor had a small sitting room just off to the left, then two bedrooms, in between them a large bathroom, on the right was my sisters master and next to it was another bedroom. At the end of the hallway was a winding staircase leading up to my floor. "John you can stay in here." I said pointing to the first one on the left across from Candence's room, "and Arden, you can stay in the next one over." I pointed to the one at the end of the hall conveniently right next to my staircase. "Now Arden and I have been invited to dinner with the Cap and the Mayor, so either you and Cadence, can join us or you can head over to the night club I was going to check out tomorrow. It's up to you but I'm going to get cleaned up." I said and started heading towards the end of the hall. "Which night club?" Cadence asked. "Club Edge, you know Mark's old favorite. That's why I or I guess we now, were going there by the way, were trying to figure out what happened to Mark." She seemed perplexed, "I'll tell you more later, just if you go keep your eyes and ears open for anything suspicious. And it will give us eyes on the place two night in a row." I said frowning but she nodded and finally I was able to ascend the stairs, but not before I caught Arden's eyes staring at me again. My room or floor as it were, was my oasis. Here I didn't have to hide anything or lie about anything. The souvenirs of my long life covered this space, at the top of the stairs is a long thick railing, the wood a piece carved out of the building I was born in, not only was it a part of the railing but it was also the head board of my bed, the foot board made of the same, sat in the middle of the room. Famous art, Indian totems, Egyptian scepters, you name it I probably had something that related, from some point in history that I lived through. After my bedroom came my bathroom, stone floors, glass walls, waterfall shower heads, everything modern and beautiful. Next to that was my huge walk in closet I could have sworn that I had more clothes than anyone I had ever know but my sister would come in at a close second and don't get me started on shoes. Across from my bathroom and closet was my private office with surround windows. I had large windows all across my room but I had also had skylights put in with the remodel, it was beautiful at night because I could see the moon and stars from my bed. I jumped in the shower letting my hair down I let it get wet but didn't wash it as I had already done so that morning. I washed then got out and wrapped a towel around my body and went to my closet. I knew exactly what I wanted to wear, i dried off and when to my drawers, I picked out black lace boy shorts and strapless bra to match, a black mini dress with speggetti straps, it went down to just past mid thigh. It was tasteful with out becoming slutty, but it hugged my curves like a second skin. I picked out a pair of copper colored glittery pumps, again there were tastefully done without becoming slutty or porno affiliated, though they were at least four maybe five inches high. I grabbed a small black leather single long strap purse, I placed the normal things in it like my id and some cash, phone, my badge and my minipistol just to be carful. I went back into the bathroom and brushed out my long auburn hair which fell down just past my butt and decided to leave it down but went ahead and threw a scrunchy into my bag just in case. I put on some silver dangles, a couple copper and silver bangles on one wrist leaving the other and my neck bare. I went out to my night stand and grabbed a garter belt from it, it was leather and held a single silver knife sheath and headed back to my closet. Thats where I kept my weapons stash after all and found the knife that fit it and slid it into place on the inside of my thigh again just in case. I grabbed my purse off of the bed where I had thrown it and ended the stairs to the second floor and then to the first, grabbing my leather jacket just as it came into view. As I rounded the corner of the stairs, I threw my purse and jacket onto the couch and descended on the unexpected guests sitting in my kitchen. Cadence and John sat on stools facing away from me at the island, both dressed casually I guess they decided not to come to dinner. Arden was across from them standing next to the sink, he noticed me first as I let my heels make a satisfyingly sexy noise against the mahogany wood floors. His eyes spoke volumes, his jaw tightened and I could see him shift as if he was uncomfortable. He was looking delectable himself, in a black suit, black dress shoes and a white button up, no tie thank god. I watched as his hands clenched until his knuckles turned white and then he hid them from view, what was he hiding that he couldn't just tell me? I wondered. I could understand if he wanted me but the way he was acting said there was much more to it. "I take it you two will not be joining us for dinner?" I said as I stopped at the end of the island in between Arden and John, I smiled as I tried to act like I didn't see Arden making daggers at John for checking me out. "No but we're going to head over to the bar later, the last thing I want to do right now is see the Captain and play nice for the Mayor." Cadence said decisively. "We're going to head over there around eight and find John a bite to eat." She said smiling at her pun. I smiled and with a chuckle said, "I have bagged blood if that would make it easier for you, I don't know how vampire friendly this city is. Its only been a year since the integration." I said as I grabbed a bottle of water from the double sided stainless steel fridge and went to stand next to Arden on the other side of the island, so John couldn't check out my ass anymore. Even though I had a feeling he was becoming interested in my sister. The room went quiet for a moment as Arden and John looked between each other. "Ok, I'll bite. Why do you have UV treated windows and bagged blood on tap?" Arden asked rubbing the back of his neck as if it were the strangest thing he had seen in quite a while. "Well if you must know Mister Arden, my sister and I have had an array of species for our sexual exploits. And while I've never brought any of them home my sister has and it has proven to be useful to have these things in place and on tap as you so put it. And if that weren't enough we do happen to have a few vampire friends, that come over on occasion." That statement was almost true, if it was a hundred years ago it would have been. Since then neither of us bring anyone here, to ensure our anonymity. "Now we should be going, its fifteen minutes till and the restaurant is twenty minutes across town." I called as I made my way towards the couch, grabbing my jacket and purse that laid upon it. I threw my jacket over my arm and purse over my shoulder and headed towards the door, Arden just behind. No sooner did the cool night air kiss my cheek did Arden's hand wrap delicately around my elbow, sparks flying across my skin as he gently pulled me back to look at him. "I am sorry if I offended you or misspoke at all, its just that...I find you..." He drew a little closer, his eyes drifting to my lips and then back up to meet my eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but just as he did the door flew open and we instantly separated, probably for the best. I could never tell him my secret and therefore we could never truly be together. My sister stood in the doorway looking like she knew she interrupted something. "Hey I think your micro fell out of your purse." She said holding it out to me, I looked over to see Arden walking down to the car already and throw on my jacket. I sighed deeply as I took it from her, "Thanks!" I said not sounding very grateful. "Just trying to be helpful." My sister said obliviously. "Yeah right, we'll see you later." I said sounding rather defeated even though I didn't mean to and headed down to my Camero. I looked up and he was leaning against it, damn he was looking so damn sexy. And damn I really had to stop thinking about him like that, he is a vampire staying in my home and not only that but he's working with me on case, it would be breaking so many of my rules. And yet on some level I didn't really care, and I only know that because while I'm thinking about all this I'm absentmindedly smiling at him as I walk down. Luckily for me he was looking down at his phone and didn't see me staring at him like some doe eyed idiot girl.

CHAPTER 32 I told Ezra what had happened and hoped that he would have some insight about it, but all he said was that he would think about it. Which I should have known. I squinted my eyes as we walked into the well lit lobby of the hotel. His eyes bored into me with warning. "Enjoy your last night without me." I leaned in close and whispered into his ear, "I am not your pet and you are not my keeper." I moved in closer until the front of our bodies touched, "Nor are you to me." Ezra became completely still, not even a breath stirred his chest. I turned and walked to the elevator, rubbing my head in an inadequate attempt to make the pain inside of it go away. It was later, when I was in the room and climbing into bed, that I felt a renewed flash of flame sear through me. I fell onto the mattress gasping for breath as a trail of unseen fire moved in and around me. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I swiped it out of my eyes. Groaning, I pushed my hand in my mouth to keep my agony from voicing itself. Moments of time passed that I couldn't remember. Between them I crawled to the bathroom and climbed into the bath tub. I kept repeating to myself that I would not call Taurin to ease the fire inside of me. I bet Ezra was counting on my hesitation. I was almost 100 percent sure that this was his doing. I would rather it be his doing then the thought that I had completely fried my magic and it was only now burning itself to a crisp. The cold water soaked through my clothes and I barely noticed. I sat in the tub in a daze while incomplete thoughts and memories flooded my mind. 'What the hell am I doing with two demons?' and 'I'm a killer.' were the dominate ones. The fire came back with force. My collar bone and shoulder burned. I clumsily tore my t-shirt off and looked at my smoking skin. More scales were appearing and burning themselves into my skin. I thrashed in the water and submerged myself to ease the pain. I pushed up through the water, gasping for breath and watching steam rise off the surface. Scales covered half of my neck, down to my hip, and over one breast. Stubbornly I refused to send even the faintest link that I wanted help from either of them. Then something inside uncurled and ran throughout me with fire on each limb. Inside and out I burned. Steam fogged the mirror and I leaned over the tub and passed out. I woke to Ezra asking Taurin if all was ready. He leaned over me and I stared into his eyes. "Satisfied?" I coughed out of a dry throat. "Dove," he gently cradled my chin in his hand, "I am your keeper." I tried to laugh or even argue, but didn't have the energy to. "Then take me home," I barely whispered instead as he gathered me into his arms. "I am," he said resolutely. "We're going my way this time." Ezra took a deep breath and seemed to slide sideways. Vertigo slammed into me and I groaned, passing out again. I awoke to see Ezra sitting in a chair next to the bed. He put down his magazine on his lap and looked over at me immediately. "Before you ask, you have two demons'... I hesitate to say marks since that denotes servant, but rather we put a piece of our magic inside of you. They seem to be," he smiled with irony, "fighting with one another for dominance." My eyes widened and I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to forestall me. "It seems I am winning. Which is no surprise to either Taurin or myself. Did you find yourself freezing at all last night in the bath tub?" I paused to think about it. I cleared my throat and said, "No." "Mmm hmm." "Are you and Taurin aware of this fight going on inside of me?" "We theorized it. We are aware when our magic is amped up and not within ourselves." "So you knew there was something going on last night, but waited to check it out?!" "I wanted you to deal with it yourself. After all, it is a part of you now. If you are unable to acclimate to it then I will be your keeper for as long as you are alive, simply to keep you sane. It was only when Taurin and I felt you completely black out that I allowed him to go to you. I wanted to stay away, but he was going and I would not let him go to you without me." My face tightened in anger, "You two are using me as a pawn for your power struggle! I don't fucking believe this! Aaaarrrggg!" I roared. He shrugged. I looked up to see Taurin leaning on the door frame, arms crossed. "Not only that, but you're telling me that I might go crazy because of this bullshit! What is wrong with you two?!" I rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom, slamming the door. I heard Taurin laugh and say, "She took that rather well." "You guys are shit heads! Go fuck yourselves!" I yelled through the door. "I find that Dove has a calming influence on me," came Ezra's reply. Taurin laughed again, "You're serious!" I opened the door, tired of listening to them through it. "Get out of my bedroom, you... you... Rrrrggg!" I slammed the door again. I looked down at my shoulder and noticed that the scales were back to their small patch on my skin. I needed a teacher to show me if there was a way to block Ezra and Taurin off. The only person I knew who had first hand knowledge was Zanzibar. I showered, changed, and headed into the kitchen to get the phone book. I ignored both of them as I furiously flipped through the yellow pages. Whipping out my cell I walked outside and dialed the number to the club. I left a message for Zanzibar asking for a meeting or at least for him to call back. I walked back into the kitchen, shoving my cell in my jean pocket. Back in the living room I watched Ezra make small colored flames dance and whirl above his palm. His eyes moved to me and the flames whizzed away from his palm to dance around me. "They like you. They approve of my choice." My lip curled slightly, "You're controlling them." "In a way, but you should know, especially after last night, that fire has a will of its own too." I sighed heavily and leaned against the wall. "I'm going after Oldavai." Ezra raised his eyebrows. "Now?" "Yes. It would be good for me to go after one problem at a time and you and Taurin aren't going anywhere." Ezra smiled and narrowed his eyes, "No. We are not going anywhere." I stormed to the back yard, small colored flames dancing around me. I grabbed my blade off the kitchen table and twirled it around in my hand as I continued walking. When I got out into the sunlight I continued twirling the blade in ritual. I stabbed it forcefully into the earth and threw out my power to find Oldavai. My breathing became deeper and slower the longer I stayed. The whole world was my destination. I scented him out, but he was moving through different dimensions. These were the places of Taurin's Ice Fields and Ezra's dragons and he was moving unbelievably fast. I would barely catch a glimpse of him before he was gone. The glimpse was like looking through moving water. I had no distinct image as to what he looked like. Even when I caught up to him I couldn't tell what he looked like, his being a blur. He looked up at a sign I couldn't understand on a four story building. His hands touched the old stones as he walked around the building, searching. He bent down low and traced a symbol etched into the wall. His hand beckoned me to look at it. "You see this, demon hunter? I will find out who and where you are. This will tell me and I will be hunting you." He chuckled and vanished. I shook myself back to my body to find the sun had set. I pulled my blade out of the ground and walked into the kitchen to rummage up a sandwich. The house felt strangely empty. I checked my cell and listened to a message from Zanzibar saying that I could meet him in two days at 3 p.m. in his office or on the phone. I called back and left a message agreeing to be there. I walked to the meditating room and lit four of the candles, placing them around me. Sitting on the mat I stared into the fire only to find that it stirred Ezra's magic inside of me. Unused to the sensation I hastily closed my eyes and concentrated on my breath instead. I imagined a thick fog warding my spirit and stayed there quieting my thoughts. A pleasant smell invaded my meditation and I sniffed trying to place it. I opened my eyes to a room full of dissipating fog, much as I imagined inside myself. My magic was changing faster than I could control or even understand. I stood up and scanned the room for anything unfamiliar. Finding nothing, I left the room, the unidentified scent faintly following me into my bedroom. The scent faded as I made myself ready for sleep. Without either of the demons nearby I found myself relaxing. My muscles unknotted around the shoulders and neck. I sighed and crawled on to the bed picking up the magazine that Ezra had left on the quilt. Flipping through it I read articles about the underground world while waiting for drowsiness to overcome me. I placed the magazine down in my lap when my thoughts moved to Regina. I wondered if she was completely delusional or if I needed to look out for an "angel" who was interested in changing me. From there my thoughts became even more depressing as I wondered about the state of my soul. I had killed someone and felt conflicting emotions. I knew I was defending myself and I felt that I was in the right, but... then why did I hide the evidence? I didn't cry over my decision to kill her, was that moral behavior? I never cried over the demons I killed, did that count? My thoughts chased themselves around and around in my head until I screamed out my frustration. Of course, Ezra choose that moment to enter the house. He slowly walked into the bedroom and gave me an analyzing stare. CHAPTER 33 "Ahhh! No, I'm not going crazy so quit looking at my like that!" I picked up the magazine and threw it across the room. Ezra was tilting my face up to look in my eyes before it fluttered and smacked the wall. He studied me some more despite my efforts to wretch my chin from his grip. When my hand circled his wrist he finally spoke. He spoke softly. "No. Something is bothering you though." His other hand came up to smooth away the frown lines from my forehead and I found myself obliging to that touch. He moved onto the bed, pushing me over to the other side. As he turned over onto his stomach I let him grab me around the waist. I remained complacent with the movement that shoved me partly underneath him so that I was staring up into his galaxy of stars. I shook my head and gave a small smile, "Why is it that with even the simplest movements you must somehow assert yourself over me?" Ezra merely tilted his head and gave me his own smile, "Tell me what is going on in that mind of yours." I shook my head at him again. "What is going on in here?" I tapped my skull. "The state of my soul maybe. The consequences of killing a woman and fellow demon hunter. What's going on with me. Have I lost my morals? Do I even know what good and evil really are? What's so different from her doing whatever it was she was doing to demons and me killing them? The law?" I gave a heavy sigh. Ezra chuckled. "You would worry about these things." "I didn't even cry when I killed her. I don't cry when I kill demons." "Killing is an assertion of power. A validation that you will live another day, at least when it comes to you killing, Dove. Your lack of tears means nothing to me, nor should it to you." "I still feel like I should feel some sort of remorse and I feel miserable because I don't!" Ezra shrugged. I grew frustrated with him and sat up against the wall. "You won't go after Melous. How would you feel if we did kill him? Would you shrug then?!" Ezra burst out laughing. "Melous! Oh, Dove! Do you know how long I have been living?" "I try not to think about demons in that capacity. Generally you are all very long lived. It's debated if you are actually immortal. Are you?" He gave me a curious look, "Am I?" "Whatever!" I waved my hands in frustration, "Fu....dge... What's the point you're making?" "My point is that I have a demon and dragon way of life. My reasons for not going after Melous are mostly scientific and prideful." He paused and looked at me thoughtfully. He stretched up and tenderly kissed me. I kissed him back in kind, wondering at his look. "It is amazing how much you are learning about me. But, that is what happens when two become as close as we are. You will keep my revelations from others?" I sighed in frustration. "I won't say anything Ezra. You were going to tell me about Melous." "Yes. I made Melous what he is today." I stared at him. "What exactly does that mean?" "I made Melous into one of us." There was silence for a few moments. "You mean... like you are his father or you made him more powerful?" Ezra shook his head. "No Dove, I mean that I made Melous into a demon. Melous was Bardellis' son. Melous asked me to use him for my own experiments and to try to turn him into a demon. I succeeded beyond my own expectations. Bardellis disinherited him and he changed his name to Melous." I was speechless. I opened my mouth and then closed it. "We are not going after Melous because Bardellis wants it and because I made him into what he is today." I closed my eyes briefly. "There are so many things wrong with this conversation I'm having with you." Ezra laughed heartily. "He wants us to kill his own son!? You made him into a demon!? He wanted to be a demon?!" Ezra chuckled and then sighed as he inched closer to me on the bed. "The three of us are scientists. Each with our own agenda, but assisting with each other's experiments. We worked within close proximity to one another. Melous found out about my research and proposed a variation on it. So I took a willing subject. He may be a young demon, but he has lived a long time, Dove. He knew what he wanted." I eyed him warily, "You know that I looked at your file in the Affairs' computer system?" Ezra became still and stared at me. "Yes, Taurin left the print out on the table." I didn't look back at him, but stared distractedly at the clutter on my dresser top. "I saw the reports that they had about you. Were those your scientific research?" "Yes." "What were you trying to do?" The air in the room seemed thick and heavy around us. I finally turned to look at him only to find him looking away distractedly towards the closet. He glanced my way briefly. "Did you notice that demons will not seriously reference themselves as demons?" My eyes widened, the thought never occurred to me. "I thought not. In fact I do not believe that there was ever a non-demon that would ever realize that we do not call ourselves that word with dignity. We have taken it back and used it for ease of conversation, but it is an insult to call each other 'demon'." He gave a half smile, "We do do that to each other though, frequently," he chuckled. "It is also the easiest way to reference our kind when talking to those who are not us. We like to avoid it even then though." Ezra took a breath and eased closer to me. I watched his hand turn red as it moved to lay on my leg. I followed the progress of his demon self flowing into view. "My brothers," I whispered in understanding. "Yes," Ezra confirmed. "Should I refrain from calling you and Taurin demons?" "No, it is easier that way. You realize that we are insulting your kind when we call you demon hunters?" He paused to look at me. "Because to us, you are hunting something that is non-existent. Like children chasing shadows." He laughed again and shoved at me in a teasing manner. I gave him a play pout and huff. He flicked his hand at me and smiled. "Let me continue," he said as his face grew serious again. "My research was to track down the DNA and magic of our race. Only it is more complicated because of our parentage." As Ezra talked he tapped the tips of his fingers together and peered from the tops of his eyes. He seemed to be looking at memories that were beyond me. "What you might have figured out by now is that we are demon through the male and other through the female. In my case, my mother was a Dragon." He looked over at me. "In Taurin's case, his mother was an Ice Maiden. And so on and so forth for all of us. Hence why we are different and yet the same. The question that has lived in us for so long is where does the demon DNA and power come from and what causes it to act the way it does." Ezra took a deep breath through his nose. I kept quiet and wasn't about to interrupt him since this was the most he had ever talked to me about something so personal. "I thought that if I could decode where the DNA split and came back together that I could figure out any number of questions that plagued my mind. There are so many of us that want to be an integral part of a species and not one that is so incomplete, as many believe themselves to be." He framed my face and stared me directly in the eyes. "I trust you, Dove. I trust you completely. These are fragile words that I tell you. They are the reasons for so many behaviors. They are full of wounds should you ever use them. The repercussions of using them as weapons against demons are beyond fatal. I would rather you swear then use them as taunts during one of our hunts. If you do say demon, speak as if you are ignorant, even if you are going to kill one of my brothers." I swallowed, "You've made yourself very clear." He pulled his hands away and I watched as his face became stoney and he stared off into space. "That was the core of my research. Melous offered me a variation and I was able to rip apart his DNA with my fire and insert a muddled, incomplete demon DNA into him, via injection and magic." He looked at me briefly, "DNA from a failed extraction." I sat in silence as I played over his words. "And this failed extraction?" "It has caused Melous to have three different species inside of him." I nodded. "But, he's doing ok?" "More than. His body has been able to accommodate the procedure and he is still learning what he is and what he is not." "So, you are saying that other demons are trying to figure out these questions as well?" He gave me an intense stare, "Yes." "But, you stopped." "Yes." "Are there any female demons?" "No." "Why?" "I do not know, Dove. There has never been anyone to answer that with definite proof." "Oh. We never really talked about it." I said distractedly. "I mean demon hunters." I paused and looked at him, "Why do demons instinctively go after us?" Ezra looked up at the ceiling and smiled. "Oh, that. There is no concrete answer that is acceptable for me for that question either." My face frowned in confusion, "Explain what you heard or... deduced. Please." My thought strayed to my past as I thought about my mom. Just as Ezra turned to look at me again I felt a cool waft of air circulate into the bedroom. "Taurin," we said at the same time. He never showed up in the bedroom door frame though. We looked at each other curiously and listened to the sounds of someone stumbling around the living room. As I moved off the bed Ezra placed his hand on my arm and gave me a cautious look. I silently moved to the door with Ezra just behind me. CHAPTER 34 We looked out and watched Taurin clumsily place pieces of plant on the coffee table. His bright blue shirt collar was open, the tails pulled out around his pants. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, never looking our way. I watched as his hands reached out to steady himself on what ever solid object was closest. I followed his progress to the kitchen while Ezra leaned over the crumpled plants. From the entry way I hesitantly called his name. He turned off the faucet and swung around to face me, a glass of water in his hand. "Dove!" He smiled wide at me. My heart accelerated as I stared at him. He looked drunk through and through, all except his eyes. His eyes were iced over as a dull gray and bored a very serious intent on me. And they were cracking slowly, like you would see a lake start to crack on the surface. He downed his water as he started walking towards me. I backed up as he shattered the glass on the floor. I walked backwards into the living room and he shepherded me into a chair. The chair was on the back of my legs before I knew it and I sat down abruptly. He followed until he was kneeling between my legs and laying his arms and head down in my lap. I looked over at Ezra who was casually seated on the couch. "How did you manage to get yourself drugged Taurin?" He asked calmly. I brought my hands up and slowly began to run my fingers through his hair. He moved his head so he could sneer at Ezra. "Icehoth. Poison to Ice Dwellers, but intoxicating to me." "Mmmm." He replied as he studied Taurin. He bent down and fingered one of the plants on the table. "Dove," he mumbled into my lap, "I gave you part of me because I thought it'd be fun to push Ezra out of control." He started laughing uncontrollably, "It worked! But now," his laughter subsided and he looked up at me, "it worked too well and I don't want it to work anymore. None of it. Not his, not mine." I felt heat wafting off of Ezra towards us. I kept my eyes on Taurin as his arms circled around my waist and he rested his chin on my stomach. "Too late. Too late, " he mumbled. Ezra spoke inside of my head, 'Distract him. Ask him about the plants he brought in. Soothe him anyway you can. He will respond better to you than me at this point. You realize a drugged Taurin is more unpredictable than a sober Taurin.' I spared Ezra a quick glance and then directed all of my attention on Taurin. I kept playing with his wispy hair. "What are those plants you brought in, Taurin?" I watched him crack an eye to look at the plants on the table. "The poison is dried Icehoth. The other ones I found growing by your house. But, it's our house now, right, IshaDove?" He looked up at me with a stern expression. "Eeeyes Taurin. You live here so it's your house too. But, what are the other ones?" "I went to find out. I've never seen them here before and they are growing all around us. It is sage, sandalwood, and...something else..." I watched Taurin furrow his head in thought. In my peripheral vision I saw Ezra crumble the ones Taurin named off and blow some heat on them. He inhaled the scent and on his exhale it wafted over to me. "Pepper." I said, "Oh. Strange. That is something I smelled in the meditation room." I inhaled it some more and looked over at Ezra. He was standing and had completely transformed. His wings spread out behind him. "Demon magic," he growled. Ezra sent off heat that moved like a wave through the house. When it reached outside, the barriers that kept us from smelling the magic dissipated and the combined smell of the plants billowed into the room. The overwhelming scent drenched me and I felt myself get wet. "Yes! Demon magic! That's what I needed to tell you. Someone has come." Taurin's voice grew husky at the end of his sentence and he crawled his way up my body to my lips. He harshly kissed me and I instantly responded, full of lust. On top of my head I felt Ezra's warm hand gently stroking my hair. I pulled away and gasped, "Wait! There's... something... Oh shit!" I was drowning in desire. Taurin was already pulling down my pants. "I can smell you," he growled. Ezra kissed his way down my nose to my lips as I arched up to meet him. Meanwhile, Taurin had already stripped my flimsy pajama bottoms off and was licking me. I instinctively arched my hips to be closer to his mouth. My mind pulled away from the sensations for a second, and I hastily shouted, "Oldavai!" Taurin's head shot up at my warning. Ezra seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time and I watched a flash of anger consume his eyes. He pulled away abruptly and just as quickly grabbed Taurin by the hair and threw him backwards. I yanked my pants back up and looked over to the two demons. Taurin seemed rabid and Ezra had flares of fire spark around him. I could feel the lust in the air and started to go to them anyway. A large part of me didn't care that they were going to rip each other apart. My body ached at the thought of celebrating with the winner. Ezra effortlessly kept Taurin from attacking either of us. Although in my case, I was pretty sure that his attack would have been sexual. I couldn't decipher anything Ezra was saying to Taurin. Yet, his tone and reluctance to actively attack Taurin made me conclude that he had shrugged off the effects of the magic. Ezra never looked at me as he growled, "Dove! Leave. If he cannot smell you I have a better chance of bringing him off his high and Oldavai's magic." "Maybe you should just let us have sex," I suggested huskily. The living room heated up in a second and I listened to Taurin keening softly. Ezra had surrounded him in a wall of volcanic heat that I could feel where I was standing. I watched as he slowly turned to face me. I felt the blood leave my face as I stared into those intense black eyes. There was nothing inside them I was familiar with. "YOU WILL LEAVE or I will not be held accountable for what happens here." I looked over at Taurin and watched a wind whip around him. I could feel him build his power in a way I had not felt since I set out to kill him with Carlos. I nodded with mortification and ran to the kitchen, ashamed at myself for being unable to fully wade through the influence of Oldavai. I couldn't fathom how he moved in for the kill so fast. CHAPTER 35 I ran through the kitchen and out the back door. The silence outside could not compete with the furious language of demon erupting from my house. I debated on getting in the jeep and leaving, but realized I would need to go back in the house to get the key. I grunted in frustration and decided to wait for the sounds of arguing and wrath to fade. I stared up into the starry sky and focused on its vastness. Sitting down on the crisp grass, I rocked back and forth with my arms wrapped around my knees. The lust Oldavai pushed into me was slow in dispelling and I was disgusted with myself. I could only imagine the fight Taurin needed to pull it out of his already drugged system. I deeply breathed in the warm air and eased myself into meditation. Freeing my focus from my body I negated the effects of Oldavai's influence and pulled myself into a trance. Heavy silence behind me pulled my awareness into my immediate surroundings. I threw out magic and felt gordons watching me from the woods, Taurin's presence inside the house, and Ezra behind me. He radiated an incredible amount of power that I had never felt from him. I didn't turn around as his voice drifted to me. "You tranced yourself." "Yes. It cleaned me." "You have no barriers surrounding you." His voice grew irritated. "You left yourself unprotected and I acted rashly with Taurin." "Did you knock him unconscious?" "No," he replied. "This is what he's been asking for. You to use your power. Maybe he has a death wish." "Dove! You are not listening to me!" "You mean the Gordons?" I didn't turn around and he didn't close the distance between us. "I mean everything, Dove! Especially now that Oldavai is hunting you." "You don't think I can protect myself?" I asked calmly, unruffled by his exasperation. He sighed heavily, "No. You just refuse to. Do you have a death wish?" He paused, "Is that why you accepted me?" I heard the sincerity in his question and quickly turned to look at him. "No, Ezra. Never." I hastily stood up. He shimmered heat and held up a hand to forestall me from getting too close. The entirety of his eyes were completely darkened over and his body glowed red. He stood, bare feet firmly planted on the ground, wings flared behind him. "Even now, knowing you can feel power I hid from you, there is no wariness. You come right to me. All I have to do is crook my finger and you come." He shook his head, "Shorn gave you to me because he deduced that your inability to make quick kills was due to a surfeit of compassion." I made a sound in protest, ready to interrupt. He waved his hand, "No, shhh, Dove. He was right, you are all defensive action. I fight with you, remember." He held his hand out as if to cup my face and I slowly went closer to him. He gave me a hard look and curled his arm around my shoulders, then chuckled. "It is a good thing no other demons want to bind to you. There would be no refusal in you." I shrugged, my face buried in his chest. "You'd probably all kill each other." He smiled as he pulled back and tapped the tip of my nose, "Now that is truth. Come, we need to talk with Taurin." As we walked his skin shifted and moved until his wings folded into him and he looked like a clothed human. We paused in the porch light at the front door and he scanned the vegetation around the house. "I will burn the surrounding plants here." I gave him a wide look, "My flowers!" He looked at me out of the side of his eyes, "Dove. You cannot be serious. This way we can track Oldavai's magic before it becomes a problem." I shook my head and waved my hands over the plants, "He did this in less than a day, Ezra. Less than a day! Burning my flowers and his herbs is not going to stop him! We'll find another way." Ezra puffed out smoke in irritation and pulled open the screen door. Taurin leaned against the wall, one foot propped behind him. He looked down at the carpet. There wasn't any physical evidence of a fight in the room, but a weight of violence and magic filled the air. Ezra directed me away from him and to the couch. We sat next to each other, our legs touching. We waited in silence until Taurin lifted his head. When he did his eyes were all for me. I saw in his face the same I'm sure that he saw in mine. Shame. Shame that neither of us could pull away from Oldavai's magic as fast as Ezra. Shame that nothing mattered in a few moments but lust. Inside of me there was still one question though. The question if I was the only one who really didn't have the power to pull away of their own violation. Taurin was drugged and I believed that made all the difference for his weakness. He pushed himself off the wall and sat in the chair. He distractedly started to braid his hair. I gave Ezra a surprised look for Taurin's silence. Ezra started talking. "First, know this, had we fallen completely into Oldavai's magic he would have been able to worm his way into any or all of us. He could influence us from inside our minds instead of through his simple herbs and magic." I snorted in desertion, "Simple." He gave me grave eyes, "Simple, but powerful, Dove." He stared at me to make sure I understood him. I nodded and looked away, peeking a look at Taurin. He remained playing with his hair never looking in our direction. "Next, do not be deceived that lust is his only weapon. He has true love at his disposal if he is able to leech into your mind. His power is a progression, from lust to true love and everything in between. You will betray everything and everyone," he stared hard at me, "for whomever he directs you to love, usually him." He paused and looked at Taurin briefly. He still wouldn't look at us, now he gazed blankly at the wall. Ezra continued. "His power is very different from many of our brothers. It is a subtle knife in the ribs, where as most of us are an axe to the head." Ezra gave me a bitter smile, but still Taurin said nothing. I was starting to worry, it wasn't like him at all. "He will make you think that you are in charge. As if you decided to have a one night stand or fall in love with someone of your own choosing. As if a beautiful night of passion with someone you have been with for years was a normal night. This is why he has been sitting on Shorn's desk for years. He preys on a dream. The biggest dream of all, love." It was his turn to stare at the wall without seeing. "Are there others like him?" I asked. "In a way. He just happens to really enjoy himself and is incomparable, no species is safe from him. We are all masters of illusion, but he makes us look like novices. That is why he is legend in your book." He looked over at me. "How did he find me so quick? How did he grow plants that fast outside my house? I only just searched for him!" Instead of answering my question he asked one, "What was it like searching for him?" I arched an eyebrow and pursed my lips in thought. "You know, he was fast. Always ahead of me. Really fast actually." I paused to think about it. "He must have travelled your world in blinks. And... he brought me to a building and showed me something etched in the stone. Said it would tell him who was hunting him and where I was." Ezra grimaced, "He showed you that? It shows how sure he is about killing you." "This is secret demon stuff, huh." I gave him a wry smile. Ezra continued unruffled, "They do move fast. Faster than any of us. I am not surprised..." Taurin interrupted, still staring at the floor, "It is rumored that they are able to time travel." I would of teased him about finally speaking up, but his dejected air stopped me. Instead I frowned my brow while I looked at his bowed head. "It is rumored, but there is no proof." Ezra said matter of fact. Taurin finally looked at him, "And you tried to find proof because you had a specimen under your knife?" "Yes. I found out that they move in a dimension of time, but they do not travel time." Ezra said blandly. I flopped myself deeper into the couch and sighed. They both looked over at me. I finally got a good look at Taurin's face. There was a dark bruise on his left cheek and just under his eye. His neck was a ruby red color. I cocked my head in wonder. He hastily looked down at the ground. I blinked and turned to Ezra. "Anything else?" "They are a fast breed. I am not surprised that he moved so fast once he figured out who you were." "He wasn't very subtle." I stated. "No. Not after I dispelled his barriers that kept us from sensing his magic. Neither of us killed the other, but it would have been in his favor with one of us dead." Taurin looked up again. I watched them stare at each other. "Do you think he wants me dead immediately?" Ezra looked over at me and gave me a heavy stare, "I do not know what he wants." "Does he have the ability to control a demon through love?" Ezra opened his mouth to talk, but Taurin interrupted. "Absolutely." He gave me an intense look, "We want love too, Dove." I shook my head and closed my eyes briefly before looking at him. "I never meant to imply that you didn't, Taurin." "Hmm." "So, what's next? No sex until he's taken care of?" I chuckled softly. "Yes. I do not want Oldavai in our bed or our thoughts." "You're serious!" "Yes. Of course." Ezra replied, his tone surprised I questioned him. "Huh." Taurin threw his head back and started to laugh bitterly. "Oh! This will be a treat! To watch you two try not to have sex!" He calmed his laughing down and wiped his eyes, "This will be a trial for both of you! It would be for me too if you didn't deny me so much, Dove." He started laughing again. "Hmph. I fail to see the humor in this, Taurin." I said with crossed arms and legs. He calmed himself again, "Ah well, that's ok. I'm off to bed." He stood up and stretched. He stopped just before he walked past the arm of the couch and leaned over to me. I looked up at him and he pushed my head down to kiss the top of it. I felt confused over his tenderness. "Good night, IshaDove. Ezra," he said and continued to his room. I looked over at Ezra and watched him narrow his eyes in contemplation. CHAPTER 36 The sun was barely warming the horizon when Taurin burst into the bedroom. "Dove!" I shot up and leaned over the blankets reaching towards Taurin, "What!? What's wrong?!" Next to me Ezra grumbled, his dark voice coming muffled from the mattress. "You could have told her in your mind, Taurin. You are projecting so loud she should have heard you." My arm dropped to the bed and my jaw dropped. I finally caught up to speed with the two demons. "Jesus, Taurin, you didn't need to make my heart jump out of my chest." Taurin smiled widely as his legs hit the end of the bed frame and he toppled the top part of his body onto the mattress. "I can't get enough of her reaching for me, Ezra." Ezra growled and moved his legs away from Taurin, not even deigning to look at him. Taurin continued to climb onto the bed, crawling up my legs until his head was in my lap. I fell back into the pillows of the bed, my hand playing with his hair. "We can talk about tonight's full moon later. I just want to sleep for a little while more," I said sleepily, picking up on Taurin's thoughts. He mumbled into my lap and curved his arm around my waist. Strangely enough, we all fell asleep again. I woke up with Taurin cuddled around my body, his head twisted on my shoulder and breast. I sighed and moved my fingers gently through his hair. When I looked over him I saw Ezra watching me through slitted flaming eyes. 'I believe we were granted mercy,' he said into my mind. 'We who?' I responded. 'Not you.' His laughter echoed through my head. 'Taurin and I. I believe that we were guided to you through our guardians.' I cocked my head and stilled my hand on Taurin's head. He mewed and shifted until I started again. I smiled down at him distractedly. When I looked back up Ezra's eyes were full open, still flickering with unseen fire. 'You mean God?' 'God.' He scoffed. 'It was your God who made it all right to turn us into outcasts. Your Gods of the human race who called us demons. Made us into what we are.' His face tightened in anger. I looked at Ezra in wonder. "No, Ezra. You, all of you, made your own choices." Underneath me Taurin stirred fully into wakefulness and curled his hand around my wrist. He brought it to his mouth and kissed my palm. Ezra sat up against the headboard and looked down at him then back at me. His words came out bitter. "Really, Dove? And how were we supposed to defend ourselves when we became the enemy? When the holiest people of all religions learned that they could trap and attempt to get us to do their bidding? And why not, we were evil because God said so, there is no ounce of goodness in us. They said they were saving everyones' souls because we did not have a single soul among us. We corrupted theirs just by being alive. So we learned that more power was our way out of their control. That just convinced them even more that we were evil because how do we gain power, Dove?" Taurin bit the pads of my fingers hard and I looked down at him warily. His eyes were the shifting colors and depths of a glacier. "Yes, Dove, how do we gain power?" "Through others," I whispered. "How do we gain power, Dove?" Ezra said again forcefully. I looked back at him. "By taking it from others." Ezra breath smelled of smoke and cloves, "Not good enough, Dove." "By killing or binding with those who have their own magic." I said defiantly. "Very good," Ezra patronizingly responded. "Your God does not send his miracles to the enemy." I shook my head at him and he smiled grimly. I thought to myself about the hurt and bitterness that could accumulate in hundreds and hundreds of years. I pushed myself up to a sitting position. Taurin stayed curled around my waist. Ezra gently put his hand on my hair and smoothed it over. "But you, Dove, is God punishing you by giving you to us? Or did our own guardians take you and put you in our path for our salvation? Making sure that every thought we had centered on being bonded. Making sure that you were the one in the way. If the demon hunter would not have me they died. No hesitating, Dove. None. Does that mean that your God stopped looking after his children? Or does it mean that he cared more about being righteous and validated about his demons?" I didn't know what my answers were to his question, so I changed directions. "Ezra, a lifetime of bitterness cannot feel very good." He laughed. "There is no lifetime with this, Dove. This life is very different from the one I started out with, the one I was born into. As I am positive it was for Taurin and all our brothers." "This is heavy conversation for just waking up." Taurin said blandly. I looked up at the ceiling and then back at him, "Are you looking for answers from me, Ezra?" "No. I want you to understand that when I talk about my spiritually that it has nothing to do with yours, Dove." He said my name very deliberately, knowing full well why I had it. "Yeah, I understand. Very much now." I looked at him irritably and then looked down at Taurin who had his face against my bare skin that showed between my tank top and bottoms. He was gently biting my waist. "And you, Taurin?" He gave a mock growl and then looked up at me serenely. "I agree with Ezra. I simply have turned more agnostic little by little over the centuries." "Where were we?" I sighed. Ezra tugged on my hair, "I know there is no mockery in you despite your sigh. Just know that I believe that you were sent to me, and I mean before Shorn ever found you." I stared into his eyes again, this time they contained their galaxy. I nodded, saying nothing, but feeling a bit overwhelmed by the mystic expectations he seemed to have of me. He nodded, "Taurin, I believe that you were going to discuss something before we all fell asleep again." Taurin stretched and cracked his back. He flipped his body over so he was facing the ceiling. He talked around his yawn. "There is a full moon tonight. I know where the pack will be meeting." I greeted this revelation with silence. Taurin turned his head to look at me, "Are you ready to do what you said you would do?" He got my full attention. "In front of his pack?!" I squeaked. "Think of it as a security measure. He'll have to follow pack protocol. Whatever that may be." My mouth opened, but nothing came out. It's like having to actually do CPR for the first time. As far as I'm concerned you're scared as hell and hoping that it will all come back to you and, in the end, you'll save a life. Sure adrenaline takes over, but the doubt still simmers below. Like, what if he just kills me right there with a swipe of his hand. Full moon. Shape shifters. Something to think about. Ezra chuckled, "Where is our savior?" He tapped me on the forehead, "You in there?" I tsked and forced bravado at the idea, "Of course I'll do it." Taurin slowly gazed over at Ezra, who sighed. "You don't want me to do it?" I said looking at Ezra. "No." "I do." Taurin interjected. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my forehead. "Where are we going tonight?" Taurin grinned. "Oregon." "Oh, great. You wanna drive?" "Yes!" Taurin said with excitement. Ezra shook his head, "Why drive? We are not staying there." I gave him a puzzled look, "How else are errrr... Oh. You want to make me sick." Ezra just looked at me like I was an idiot. "He does have a point," Taurin interjected. I moved my jaw back in forth in irritable contemplation, then clicked my teeth together. "Fine." Taurin bit my waist again playfully, "It will be alright, Dove." I snapped at his blasé tone. "You don't know that Taurin! What if you die? What if you are so injured you can't move yourself back here?!" Taurin looked at me. His eyes turned into a solid block of ice. "I think you humanize us too much." "I know you do," Ezra added. His red skin glowed and his eyes flashed fire as I looked over at him. I pushed on Taurin, but he wouldn't move. Instead he pushed me under him and rolled on top. He stretched himself on me and clenched my wrists on either side. "If you don't get off me I'm gonna pee on you," I said angrily. Ezra snorted a humorous noise and Taurin lazily rolled his body off to the side. That night we left. I held on tight to Ezra and closed my eyes against the vertigo. I don't know how they did it, but we ended up in a forest outside the boundaries of a circle consisting of a pack of predators. CHAPTER 37 Ezra appeared in the shadows of trees and we stilled as I waited for the effects of demon traveling to disperse. Taurin stayed in plain view of dozens of eyes turned our way. A angry laugh travelled on the night air. I placed my forehead on Ezra's chest knowing I had to do my part soon. He placed his warm hand on the back of my head and then we moved simultaneously. I turned around and walked to the pack and never looked back as I felt Ezra merge farther into the dark. So many were wearing loose clothing or nothing at all. I stood next to Taurin and listened to the warm summer breeze ruffle the leaves on the trees. An unfamiliar voice carried over the heads in front of us, "Have you brought us a snack before we kill you, Taurin?" The circle opened and across from us stood the Alpha. There could be no one else, he practically glowed and all eyes constantly moved back to him. He looked muscular, but not as much as some of the other steroid looking shifters. He wore jeans and nothing else. His golden eyes stopped my breath and seemed to root me to the spot. I knew I didn't want to do this. I had to be the first to walk up to him without a single weapon. I couldn't look at Taurin, I had no idea what he would do if I hesitated. So, I didn't. I immediately walked towards the circle with a chorus of growls and howls welcoming me as the prey I was. Just before I stepped into that circle I made a show of disarming myself. There were a pile of knives on the ground. The Alpha started to laugh again. "Taurin," he barked, "Are you such a coward that you would offer a sacrifice in your steed?" The air dropped a noticeable several degrees cooler and I hurried into the circle to delay Taurin from acting impetuously. "Taurin of the Sikushe clan of the Icelands claims challenge." Without warning I felt as if I was being filled with a force of nature. My chest arched back as the full weight of pack magic jumped into me. A breath was forced out and I looked at the pack through ancient eyes. The magic compelled me to keep speaking, giving me their words, and I gave over to it. My voice lowered in tone and I whispered, "to Alan, Alpha of the Macha pack of Oregon." I continued walking to him, "By right you have all boundaries, but are compelled..." Alan interrupted me and held up his hand, "Stop." The hush of the pack got even heavier with his words. "The Speaker of Peace traditionally comes to the challenged in complete trust. No weapons, no clothes." I paused and breathed heavily, the magic harshly pushing me forward. I fought for self control and had to fortify my will against following the order of the Alpha. No way in hell was I getting naked in front of a pack of restless wolves. To show my good will I took off my shoes and socks and walked to him barefoot. My white t-shirt and jeans were staying on. He put his hand down and let me continue. Thankfully, it was good enough. I barely had time to sense the demons before the magic rushed over me again and propelled me forward. I continued finishing the challenge, "...by the ancestors to make a decision in full consideration of the pack and open notice to the challenger." When I stood toe to toe with him he smirked and looked down at me, his eyes so bright they seemed to have the light of the full moon behind them. To finish my part of the magic I had to demonstrate my favor of peace between the two parties by kissing his cheek. I wrestled the magic to a stop again as I noticed a naked mexican woman pacing behind him. She pierced me with a deep look of hatred and flicked her black hair over her shoulder. Uh oh, Lupa. Her eyes glowed a warm amber. I had to complete or the challenge could be called void. I closed my eyes and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. He gripped my chin as I did and I had to catch myself on his shoulders. A growl of threat vibrated into my ears from the woman. "You shouldn't close your eyes on the enemy," the Alpha stated angrily. I lifted my eyelids and regarded him. Light brown bangs had fallen over one of his eyes. Ancient wolves paced inside my spirit, looking out at him. "If I am peace then I have no enemies." I sounded a lot calmer out loud then I felt. His voice came out gruff, "The soul of pack magic looks through your eyes." His pack stirred as they picked up on his puzzlement. He bent closer and inhaled, "But you don't smell like us." He harshly let go of my chin and pushed me into the arms of his Lupa. She gripped me hard, bruising my forearms. From here I was in the dark as to what to do next. I watched the Alpha move to the center of the circle. "As you have given us your peace, I will take it. The Speaker of Peace stays with us. I shall give you my decision during the third night. Today is the first. Take her weapons and leave." I watched Taurin look at the Alpha with suspicion, but he said nothing as he picked up my weapons. 'That was unexpected,' he said in my mind. 'Just go. Call Zanzibar for me. Tell him I won't make it. Make sure Ezra doesn't do anything rash, all I feel is anger.' I watched him walk away from the circle into the woods, completely unconcerned. Taurin laughed mockingly in my head, 'If he does anything rash it will be to me and this pack will not know peace at all if he takes over.' 'Yeah, he'll probably eat them,' I said seriously. 'Be safe, IshaDove,' I heard before he faded away. "Yeah," I whispered to myself as I felt my hands being tightly bound. I jerked out of her grip and glared. "If I'm Speaker of Peace then why are you binding me?" I asked Alan. He slowly directed his attention from the moon to me and smirked again. "You are, but you are also associated with a demon. And that makes me cautious. I have no idea if pack magic is strong enough to overwhelm the compulsion he has on you." "Compulsion?! You think that he made me come here and do this?!" He looked at me startled, "Of course. Unless you are his servant, but I don't think our magic would have entered you so freely and joyously if you were." "Why?" I spit out. "Because I would be too evil if I was a servant to a demon?" He smirked again, "Put her in my truck, Denny, and watch." The woman pushed me into the arms of a waiting man. Alan held out his hand to her and they started running, the rest of the pack following. Soon howls and barks floated up in the summer air. Denny looked at me with warning, "Come on." He pushed me forward until we got to a jumble of randomly parked cars. He pulled down the hatch to a cab in the back of a red pick up truck. "Up you go," he said as he lifted me effortlessly into the back. "You've got to be kidding," I mumbled. Denny said nothing as he slammed the hatch shut. I sat down in the front corner, behind the driver's seat. I looked up into the sky and sighed at the moon while I tried to wiggle my hands free. Denny came around to where I was sitting. He lifted my chin so that I looked straight into his green eyes, "Don't run." Then he abruptly ran through the maze of cars until I couldn't see him. It took me a moment to digest that order. It wasn't until I heard the sounds of someone shifting that I truly understood what he meant. First and foremost, don't be prey. Not very peaceful. It only got worse when I realized that he wasn't going to leave. A huge black and silver wolf soared over the truck and skidded into the cab. "Holy shit!" I bent my legs until my knees were touching my chin. My heart jack hammered into my chest as I remembered the last time I came across a shape shifter wolf. I swear he had to be over half the height I was. The wolves inside of me yawned and lay down fading from my notice. Denny mimicked their yawn and stretched out, his claws almost touching my feet. I giggled as I thought 'Downward facing dog.' The wolf cocked his head at me and lay down, his bright glowing eyes never straying from my own. Halfway through the night I realized that I had fallen asleep because the rocking of the truck startled me. I lay on my side, my bound hands pillowing my head. Denny had jumped out. Another weight jumped in and I found myself looking at a reddish colored wolf. This one slightly smaller than Denny. It studied me with angry intelligence in its eyes. I slid myself to a sitting position as this one slowly inched closer and closer to me. Again I was in the throws of fear as its lips curled and a growl trickled out. "Oh, fuck this!" I pressed back as much as the cab would let me. With its hackles raised I was sure I was going to be eaten. My magic flared inside me and I had a second to decide to embrace my own or the pack magic still curled quietly inside of me. I grabbed the Speaker of Peace power and let if fill me. The air filled with soft caresses and I watched as the wolf whined in confusion. Inside of me, ears pricked up and I felt the tumble of wolves playing with one another. Immediately the cab was filled with another wolf. This one so close that its fur rubbed the side of my face and my knees rested just under its belly. Its face turned to the other wolf and a growl sounded from its lowered head. The red colored one jumped out and I found myself staring into a pair of golden eyes in a white face. Fortunately, I still had pack magic running through me so I had no instinctual fear riding my blood. I took a deep breath and stretched out my legs. The wolf moved out of my way and turned around. When it lay down we touched side to side and I found myself being stared at throughout the rest of the night. I started awake at dawn by sounds of a wolf turning human somewhere on the ground. I watched as a very naked Alan stood up and pulled out some clothes from inside the truck. After he dressed he leaned casually up against the truck to look at me. He cleared his throat and started talking. "I can't very well leave you here. So you'll be staying with me for the next two nights. I can guarantee it will be more comfortable then sleeping in my truck." I narrowed my eyes at him and held up my bound wrists. He smiled and shook his head, "Not yet, Peacekeeper. Let's wait until we are at my house." He gently pushed my hands into my lap. I was too agitated to say anything to him. "Wolf got your tongue?" Suddenly I had a snapping mouth in front of my face. It startled me and I shrank back and grimaced, "Fuck you!" He laughed loudly. "That's the spirit! Now get in the front seat so we can go." Alan's house was set back far from a small forested community. Similar to mine actually. It was a small ranch style with plenty of back lawn before the forest actually encroached on the land. He propelled me inside and took off the braided rope. "How is it you had something handy to tie me with?" "She speaks!" He mocked and then said dead pan, "We always have something handy to tie up prey." I couldn't tell if he was joking or not so I just looked at him. He stared back at me, but never said anything more about the subject. "So, feel free to raid the refrigerator. Use anything, whatever. Take the guest bedroom. Which is to your right, on the right. Don't be alarmed if members of the pack just walk in. Just don't leave or I'll be tempted to use the rope again." He twirled it as he walked into the kitchen. "Come on. I'm starving, aren't you?" He asked. I hesitantly walked towards the kitchen. "Sit, I'll fix you a sandwich." His words came out muffled since his head was in the refrigerator. "Ok," I said slowly and sat at the circular dining table. There was something about this man that made me want to follow his every suggestion. First, he put down three glasses of water, then walked back into the kitchen. Next, he placed a plate with a sandwich and those little peeled carrots on it next to me. There were three sandwiches on his. Alan sat next to me and immediately started eating. He waited until I had a bite a sandwich in my mouth before he asked me a question."Why are you with the demon?" My eyes bugged out as I hurriedly tried to chew. When I was finally able to swallow I only said, "It's complicated." He laughed around his food and mumbled, "Aren't we all." He swallowed and took a long drink of water. "Listen, your not pack so it's not any of my business." He leaned in close to me invading my space, "But you see, you are pack until you are no longer Speaker of the Peace. That is partly why you are so complacent, it's the deference of the wolf pack in you and your need to be at and give peace. That won't happen once I officially accept Taurin's challenge. You did know that was his name didn't you?" I shook my head yes as his gold eyes stared unwavering into mine. He went back to his sandwich and I followed his lead. He glanced over at me briefly. "As Speaker of the Peace, and I'm making the assumption that you don't know, you give me the time to think of the ramifications of the challenge, you give the pack a measure of peace just because you are here, and most importantly..." He stopped as he started on his third sandwich. "Most importantly, you give me an honorable way out of the challenge. That's your job, you see, to keep the peace for all parties." He shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth. I finished my carrots and looked at him, knowing there was more. "But, that's where you will fail. Because I will never know peace after what Taurin did to my family. I will accept the wolf to demon challenge, it's just a matter of how." He gave me a toothy grin and I pushed back into the chair. "There's a bathroom in my bedroom, so you can have the one down the hall. You'll find necessities in there. I have a lot of visitors. The way you act here will reflect on my decision, if he matters to you. Does he?" "Is that a trick question?" Alan laughed under his breath, "Absolutely." "Yes. He does." "Why?" He asked, genuinely curious. "Because we all need a chance to find our salvation," I said with belief. Alan snorted, "I see why you were filled so easy with this magic. What's your name, Peacekeeper?" He picked up his water and started to take a swallow. "Dove." Alan sputtered and turned away from me as his water sprayed out of his mouth and onto the floor. He laughed heartily as he wiped his face. "You're serious?!" I smiled and shook my head at the irony, "Absolutely serious." "Peacekeeper Dove." He studied me. "Go to bed, Dove. I expect you to sleep for awhile. I'm sure you weren't prepared for a night in the back of a truck. I'll be doing the same soon." "No, I wasn't. Thank you for your hospitality." I rose to go. At the hallway Alan stopped me. "Dove." "Yes." I turned to look at him. "The Speaker of the Peace accepts whatever the challenged determines as right and fair. Your position in this makes you part of the challenge." I stared into his serious eyes, "I understand, Alpha."

“What is that smell?” Darcy trudged into the kitchen, her tablet clutched to her chest as she ran her fingers through her rumpled hair.   “It’s either the mac and cheese or the baked apples,” Clint replied, peering into the oven.   “Seriously?” She asked with a grin, setting her tablet on the counter and flopping into one of the bar stools with a sigh, twisting her sneaker clad feet as if to work out the kinks. “what comfort food lottery did I win to get this smorgasbord of calories? Hey little dude.” She turned a grin on Jamie who was curled up in the bar stool beside her, his knees pulled to his chest and Natasha’s afghan wrapped around him.   “Jamie’s not feeling well,” Clint answered, taking up his knife and returning to chopping vegetables. “And for the record, I am making salad.”   “Hey, I’ve been to college where I lived on pop tarts and pizza, I am not complaining,” Darcy stated seriously, stealing a tomato slice.   “This is Darcy,” Clint explained, turing to Jamie. “She’s a little weird, but she’s pretty cool.”   “I’m trying hard not to be offended there, Gun Show,” Darcy reached out, poking him in the arm. Clint threw Jamie a conspiratorial look but the boy only glanced at his feet.   “So how’d you end up as Supernanny?” Darcy asked, picking at the salad as Clint continued to carve up peppers.   “Busy day,” Clint shrugged. “Everyone else had responsibilities. So Jamie and I volunteered to fix dinner.”   “You letting this old man boss you around, kid?” Darcy asked teasingly. Jamie didn’t respond, fidgeting in his chair.   “Talkative,” Darcy observed turning back to Clint. “Need any help?”   “Dishes,” Clint nodded at the table. Darcy pushed herself off the barstool, rattling around in the cabinets, piling dishes and flatware on an empty corner of the counter.   “Barton, who let you cook?” Natasha demanded as she Bucky and Thor wandered into the kitchen, all three of them clearly fresh from the gym. Clint pointed at Jamie with wide eyes and Natasha slapped his hand, drawing a faint smile to the boy’s face that he quickly hid.   “How are you feeling?” she asked, sitting beside him in the chair nearest the wall. Jamie shrugged, pulling his afghan around his shoulders more tightly.   “Is Jane not with you?” Thor asked Darcy with a frown, grabbing a Gatorade out of the fridge and downing most of it.   “She and Tony got into it again,” Darcy answered with a shrug, laying napkins out on the table. “Something about a subspace array.”   “They're building another super sci-fi telescope?” Bucky asked curiously, running his fingers though shower damp hair.   “This ones supposed to collect some sort of radio data and let us know if anyone else shows up on earth thinking with portals,” Darcy explained, stacking salad bowls on the end of the breakfast bar.   “Most fortuitous,” Thor remarked, turning off Clint’s beeping kitchen timer and opening the oven.   “Considering last time we broke Greenwich,” Darcy agreed. Bucky jostled her arm, making a cutting motion with his hand and then jerking his head in Jamie’s direction.   “Macaroni and Cheese!” Thor declared happily, bright red lobster-printed oven mitts on both hands as he pulled a pan from the oven. “Most excellent!” Jamie let out the faintest giggle, biting his lip when Natasha shot him an amused look.   “Jane I'm not saying I don't respect you're resourcefulness,” Tony insisted as he trailed after the astrophysicist. Jane stomped into the kitchen with a scowl, marching straight for the fridge. “I'm saying this is Stark Industries and there's no reason to build this thing out of a coat hanger and tinfoil.”   “And I'm saying,” Jane turned on him, Coke bottle in hand. “I had a working prototype with these materials that I spent months adjusting for calibration. It works and I don't see any reason to introduce random variables that'll upset the previously established baseline.”   “Gold is not a random variable,” Tony protested, looking slightly cowed by the woman who was a full head shorter than he was.   “More isn't always better, Tony,” She answered, jockeying past him and grabbing a plate from the stack on her way to the oven.    “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that because that's just crazy talk!” Tony declared, horrified.   “That’s Jane,” Clint explained to Jamie as he jabbed the tongs into the salad bowl. “Don’t let her size fool you, she’s terrifying.”   “Eat, young one,” Thor declared, placing a plate of mac and cheese in front of Jamie with a warm smile.   “I’m going to need a bigger table,” Tony stated, looking around the room and then at the chairs surrounding the kitchen table. “JARVIS, order something.”   “Shall I consult miss Potts?” JARVIS asked, disapproval in his tone.   “What?” Tony asked, heaping mac and cheese onto his plate and collapsing at the table. “No, I can pick out a table in my own house.”   “You really can’t,” Bruce remarked as he and Betty meandered into the kitchen, Steve not far behind them.    “Yeah, you’re right,” Tony admitted sullenly. “JARVIS?”   “I shall contact Ms Potts directly, sir,” JARVIS answered.   “Make room, kid,” Bucky ordered a hint of teasing in his tone as he picked Jamie up, settling him in his lap as he appropriated the boy’s chair. Jamie looked up at him a bit warily before returning his attention to where Bruce, Betty and Steve were filling their own plates.   “That’s Betty,” Clint said, spooning baked apples into a bowl and setting it in front of Jamie with a glass of juice. “You met her earlier. She’s the brains around here.”   “You are a traitor and I’m not making you any more toys,” Tony huffed, glaring at Clint.   “Tony would be the brains but he keeps forgetting to sleep and setting fire to his lab,” Bucky added with a smirk, digging into his own dinner with a voracious appetite.   “Fellas,” Steve scolded, shaking his head as he took the seat at the end of the bar next to Bucky, shifting Bucky’s plate out of the way to make room for his own. Bucky ate some of his apples in retaliation but Steve pretended not to notice. “Where’s Phil?”   “He’s running late, I’ll save him something,” Clint replied, turning back to Jamie. “Ok, I know you remember me and Phil and Natasha. We’ll go around the room one more time so you have everyone’s names. The guy with fish on his hands is Thor.” Thor looked up from the oven where he’d just removed a second tray of mac and cheese and waved one oven mitt clad hand.   “Your seat cushion there is Nat’s boyfriend, Bucky,” Clint continued.   “I’ll kill you, Barton,” Natasha warned, violently stabbing her macaroni. Clint ignored her.   “Bucky’s best friend Steve,” he continued without missing a beat.  “Betty and Bruce, Thor’s girlfriend, Jane, Darcy and we all live here at Tony’s place.” Jamie looked cautiously around the room, his fork dangling from his mouth.   “How are you feeling?” Steve asked guardedly. Jamie hunched his shoulders in a half shrug, his eyes falling to his plate. He speared a couple of macaroni into his mouth, chewing slowly. Clint leaned forward, folding his hands on the counter and resting his chin on them so that he was looking up into Jamie’s face.   “Too many people?” he asked softly. Jamie shook his head, chasing a baked apple around the rim of his bowl.   “He’s pretty warm,” Natasha observed, her hand brushing Jamie’s forehead as she ran her fingers through his hair. Jamie sagged into Bucky just a bit, his fork clattering to his plate.   “Come on, you need to eat,” Bucky coaxed, abandoning his own dinner to scoop up a fork full of macaroni from the boy’s plate. “Don’t you like it?”   “It’s good,” Jamie murmured, taking the offered bite.   “I know you’re tired,” Steve’s voice was gentle. “you need to keep your strength up. Has he had anything other than half a peanut butter sandwich today?”   “He had a couple of juice boxes,” Clint shrugged.    “Try to eat,” Bucky soothed, spooning up more mac and cheese. “It’ll help.” Jamie sighed, but he didn’t protest when Bucky attempted to feed him.   “What did we find out today?” Steve asked, glancing around the room.   “That Hydra’s a shipping crate of dicks?” Tony asked with a glower.   “Tony!” Steve groaned, jerking his head in Jamie’s direction as Clint stifled a snicker.   “I ran the blood work and the throat cultures,” Betty gave Tony a withering look before turning to Steve apologetically. “The viral strain he’s carrying is one we use in the lab, you don’t generally find it out on doorknobs and countertops.”   “They infected him on purpose?” Steve looked slightly ill at the thought.   “It’s consistent,” Natasha admitted, picking at her dinner. “The labs are sterile environments. Subjects are introduced to infections to improve their immunity.” “It could be sloppy lab conditions,” Tony pointed out with a shrug. “It’s hard to say.” Natasha nodded in agreement. Steve rubbed his eyes, his expression pinched.   “Did you find anything else?” he asked finally.   “Bad asthma,” Bruce replied. “but we kind of knew that already.”   “We put together a little cocktail of decongestants and immune boosting vitamins,” Betty added. “It should help with the symptoms, the best thing for him right now is sleep and plenty of fluids.”   “Phil’s calling in some markers,” Clint offered, settling next to Tony at the table and popping open his coke as he tackled his dinner. “Thought we might be able to find out something about the background of the research team, follow the money, maybe find out what they were up to.”   “It won’t hurt,” Tony reasoned. “We’ve gone over most of the data from the lab, the only thing we’ve been able to tell for certain is that they’re assholes.”   “And that they’re sloppy,” Jane agreed as Betty nodded. “The documentation is completely inadequate.”   “You realize you’re moaning about the lack of record keeping on torture, right?” Darcy asked drily.   “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a sloppy terrorist,” Tony remarked. Thor stifled a chuckle.   “That feels like a slight,” Bucky stated, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he leaned over the back of his chair to glare at Stark.   “Because you leave your socks all over the floor?” Tony shot back.   “That was a slight,” Thor declared proudly, pointing at Tony as both he and Clint struggled not to laugh.   “Could we get back on task, children?” Natasha asked.   “Why does dinner with all of you always feel so much like a fraternity house?” Steve lamented, shaking his head.   “No toga parties,” Betty insisted, pointing at Tony.   “Steve,” Bucky interrupted, his voice tight. Steve’s head whipped around, his eyes growing wide as they fell on Jamie. The boy had gone limp in Bucky’s arms, glassy eyes staring up at him.   “Bruce!” Steve reached out, pulling Jamie to his chest and rushing around the table. Jamie recoiled from Bruce’s outstretched hand though he made no other movement.   “I’m not going to hurt you,” Bruce pleaded, his fingers seeking out the boy’s pulse. “I swear I’m not. JARVIS, vitals!” A holo-display burst to life over them and Bruce gritted his teeth.   “He’s okay,” he assured, though he looked rattled as well. “His fever’s gone up but everything else is still normal. When was his last does of medicine?”   “Around three?” Clint answered with a frown as Betty hurried into the rec room.   “Three twenty,” Phil answered his brow furrowed as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. Steve looked down at Jamie who was flinching nervously, his helpless gaze returned to Bruce who was backing off in frustration.    “It’s a little early but we need to get that fever down before it gets any higher,” Bruce sighed as Betty returned, cracking the bottle open and holding out the dosage cup. Tony stood, taking it as she measured it out.   “What do we do?” Steve asked, his shoulders tense.   “The medicine will help,Steve,” Tony answered calmly. “Jamie, look at me.” Jamie blinked slowly at him, his expression glazed over as Tony gently ran his fingers through the boy’s hair   “I need you to swallow,” Tony soothed as Steve shifting his grip on the boy so that Jamie was more upright against his chest. “Nice and slow, drink it all down. That’s it.”   “He’s shivering,” Steve observed as Tony handed the empty cup to Betty and took the cold cloth Jane held out to him, placing it on Jamie’s forehead.   “We need to bundle him up and try to get the fever to break,” Bruce instructed. “Someone needs to stay with him.”   “I’ve got this,” Steve nodded, moving toward the rec room.   “I’ll get the door,” Tony followed.   “He’ll need another dose at eleven,” Betty instructed, handing the bottle to Tony as he passed. He hurried to catch up with Steve who was already half way up the stairs, his shoulders stiff.   “JARVIS, increase the temp in Steve’s guest suite by three degrees,” Tony ordered.    “Right away, sir,” the AI answered, his tone much softer than usual.   “His color’s not good,” Steve observed as Tony opened the door to Steve’s suite, hurrying across the sitting room to open the door to the second bedroom. The room was neat and precise and didn’t look as if it had been used since the day they had brought Bucky home. Tony set aside the cough medicine and turned down the bed clothes. Steve gently deposited Jamie in the middle of the bed, bundling him up along with the afghan. Jamie stifled a whimper, huddling down into the pillows, his fevered eyes slipping closed.   “Thanks,” Steve offered, slumping into the chair beside the bed as Tony tossed a spare blanket over the bed, sinking down on the edge of the mattress so that he was facing Steve.    “I took a look at all of Bruce and Betty’s data,” Tony assured. “It’s a nasty strain but it isn’t anything modern medicine can’t handle. The kid’ll be fine.”    “I know,” Steve nodded. “It’s just… it’s hard for me not to panic. I’ve seen how these things go bad.” Tony nodded in understanding.   “I can sit with him a couple of hours and you can get some rest,” Tony offered.   “It’s fine,” Steve shook his head. “I don’t really need that much sleep. I can handle it.”   “I know,” Tony answered, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to handle it alone.” Steve looked up at him with a pained expression.   “I didn’t want…” his voice trailed off, his shoulders slumping. “When this, the Avengers, started we were all a mess and now, finally, everyone’s in a better place, even Bucky. None of it’s been easy and I just… I didn’t want to take all that and throw it away.”   “It’s not like that,” Tony insisted. Jamie let out a cough and Tony shifted, pulling the blankets more snugly around him. He turned back to Steve with a sigh. “Whatever else, he’s family to you, Cap. And that makes him family to the rest of us. I know you don’t like leaning on other people, I don’t like it either. But he’s just a kid, and he’s had it rough. He’s going to need all the help he can get.” Steve let out a long sigh, settling back in the chair and closing his eyes. Tony waited. He wasn’t a patient man by nature but as time passed he’d come to find it was almost easy with the Avengers.    “I’ve been telling myself it’s any other mission,” Steve whispered so as not to disturb the boy who had fallen into a fitful sleep. “That we’re doing what’s necessary to keep Hydra from building more super soldiers. I can ask the rest of you for that because it’s our job.”   “It’s more than that to you,” Tony insisted.   “But I can’t let it be more than that to the rest of you,” Steve countered.   “Why?” Tony demanded. Steve gave him an incredulous look and Tony scowled. “Don’t you dare. The rest of the team, fine. But this is me! How many times have you held my shit together when the PTSD got out of control?”   “That isn’t your fault,” Steve shook his head. “If anything it’s mine, I’m the team leader and I put you in situations I shouldn’t. It’s my responsibility to clean it up.”   “Bull shit,” Tony protested. Steve frowned, waving a hand at the bed. Tony rolled his eyes. “You did not order me to get shot out of the sky over the Atlantic last month. You’re the one that pulled my metal clad ass out and then when I went bonkers you’re the one that got shot stopping me!”   “It was a graze,” Steve shrugged.   “That is the most weak ass argument I have ever heard and I’m not dignifying it with a response,” Tony frowned. “So if that’s the best you can do, I’m going to sit here while the kid sleeps and then I’m going to go downstairs and wake up Barns and he can sit here a while, because I don’t know what the hell your problem is but you have one, and until you decide to come clean, I’m making it my problem.”   “Tony,” Steve ran a hand down his own face, looking up with a defeated expression. Jamie let out a wet cough and Tony turned again.    “Easy, kid,” he soothed, rubbing Jamie’s chest. Jamie’s hand grasped hold of the sleeve of his henley, holding tight.    “Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Tony pried the small hand free, folding it in his own. “It’s okay, we’re not going to leave you alone.”   “We’ll be right here while you sleep,” Steve assured, leaning forward in the chair, his elbows resting on the mattress.   “Am I going to die?” Jamie asked softly his fevered eyes straining to focus on them. Steve blanched, sitting back, but Tony only smiled, shifting to fold his legs in front of him so that he was facing the boy.   “No you’re not going to die,” Tony answered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re just really sick. People get really sick sometimes. It kind of sucks. But it’ll be over before too long and then you can go back to being a normal, obnoxious six year old.”   “The other subjects all died,” Jamie stated, his voice wavering.   “Yeah, we know,” Tony nodded. Jamie looked at him worriedly. “Did you know any of them?” Jamie shook his head.   “The technicians said it a lot,” he replied, the words the slightest bit slurred as if he’d not used them much. “The doctors sometimes too. They said it was too hard to keep us alive.”   “Well that’s because they were lazy and they didn’t take very good care of you,” Tony declared with a frown. “Listen, I know you don’t trust us, and I’m not saying that’s bad. I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but you’re not going to die.”   “I’ll believe you if I don’t die,” Jamie stated. Tony choked back a laugh, smoothing the hair away from Jamie’s eyes.    “That’s a deal,” Tony replied, winking. “I’m going to hold you to that deal, alright?”   “I don’t want to die,” Jamie murmured.   “Nobody wants you to die,” Tony caressed his face. “Try to sleep. Somebody will stay with you all night, just in case you need something.” Jamie closed his eyes, his small hand gripping Tony’s fingers. His breathing evened out and Tony released his hand, wrapping it around Natasha’s afghan before looking up at Steve.   “Do I need to talk you down too?” he asked in amusement. Steve stared back at him with startled blue eyes for a long moment before shaking his head in silence and settling back in the arm chair, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.   Tony sighed, pushing himself off the end of the bed. He crossed the room to the desk in the corner, pulling out the chair.   “Jarvis, pull up the schematics on the new repulser boots,” Tony whispered, his fingers dancing over the holo-image as it flickered to life. “And let us know if the kid wakes up.”   “I’ll monitor his vitals, sir,” JARVIS confirmed in low tones. Tony settled in, his attention returning to his work. It was going to be a long night.

An hour later, everyone was on the scene, where they should be, doing what they should be doing. I was still leaning against my car when the captain and my old partner pulled up next to me. I had been without a partner for about two months now, I had scared them all off with what I was willing to do to catch a murderer and what they weren't. I didn't blame them really, they had but one life to live and I...I have already lived so many. But with this last one though I had walked right into a vampire den, with barely a thought. He thinks I'm nuts or have a death wish. I don't but it is nice to watch him squirm. He refused to look at me, as he and the Captain walked up, he asked, "So whats the run down on this Spring?" So I told him about Mark's mother coming to see me and what had brought me here and finally the body and who I speculated it was and who may have done it. The Cap. was a middle aged, good looking man but the lines on his face had become more prominent over the years, this job really took its toll on humans, fortunately for me, I wasn't one. He rubbed his forehead as he looked down at his phone, seeming to be reading something important. "Alright Spring, this case is your baby. But the supernatural agency thinks this was a sup so they are sending in one of their own to work the case." He said and I went to protest but he put up a hand indicating that he was not done, "Their not taking the case from you but it does mean you have to partner up with this...person their sending in." I took a deep breath and spoke calmly, "Your kidding me right, you know I don't do partners. Just look at Frank here, I think I scared him off field work for life. This is going to be a nightmare you know that right chief." I remained calm but now suddenly needed a smoke and not being able to find one, I had quit a couple of months ago but usually kept a pack hidden in my car just in case, but today I just couldn't find them. "I know but if anyone can handle this its you, you're the best detective I've got, just do what you do best and it will be over before you know it." He said handing me a smoke and lighter, I inhaled deeply as I lite it, savoring its taste, I took one more drag and then I handed it back to the captain, he still smoked and I really shouldn't but he knows when I need one on occasion and helps me out. "Shoot I'll probably have his thing solved before their agent ever gets here." I smiled at him. "As much as I would love for that to be true, I think that's him coming under the tape as we speak." He said solemnly as he nodded in the direction of the agent, but before I could turn to look a shiver stroked down my spine and a tingle glided over my skin. The shiver told me he was most likely a vampire, but the tingle was a completely new thing. "You owe me a raise for this." I whispered and turned to meet the deep green eyes of my new, and I stress, temporary partner. He was at least six' four, built, broad shoulders with black hair that brushed his eye brows when not combed back and that rugged look that said he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He was essentially sex on a stick and he walked up staring at me but the moment he reached us he turned his gaze on the captain. "Captain Flint, I presume. I'm Detective Arden Haze, I believe you were informed that I was coming." He said his voice deep and smooth, it rolled over my skin like a cool summers breeze. Threatening to make me relax in ways I hadn't dreamt of in years. But I would have none of that, I needed to be sharp and ready for anything, like always. Its part of what made me so good and I wasn't going to show him otherwise. "Ah yes, its nice to finally meet someone from your department. I was beginning to believe that the sup agency would never work with us, I guess I was wrong." He said smiling but it never met his eyes. He motioned to me, "This is Detective Alys Spring, you will be partnering with her for the duration of the case and no you may not ask for someone else, she is the best detective I've got and the best person for this case." "No offence, captain but if I wanted someone else you wouldn't really have a say in the matter. Fortunately I actually like to find out what a person is worth before throwing out opinions about them." He said putting out his hand, I took it in mine as I studied him, either he was going to be a complete ass or he might actually have a sensible brain in his head, only time would tell. As I looked into his eyes, they told me many things, that he seemed trust worthy, he had been in at least one war and he had been alone for a very long time, were only a few. My eyes started to feel warm which usually meant that they were going to start changing to their vampire blues or their werewolf red, my eyes tended to switch colors at random but usually when my emotional state changed. I touched my eye as if I was correcting a lens and turned grabbing my sunglasses off of the dash. "Seems that I must have lost a lens, good thing I have these." I said putting them on. "Its good to meet you, now why don't we go see what the forensics team found." I said and took a couple of steps toward the house. "Oh, Spring don't forget we have that dinner with the mayor tonight at that fancy new restaurant downtown, the Sans at seven." He called to me as I waved and headed up to the house. "Detective Haze, we would be honored if you would join us." "I would love to." He said and started following me inside. Great I've known the guy less than five minutes and I'm already having dinner with him. Funny, now I've got to call Marta and tell her I met a boy and we'll be having dinner together, I'll have to figure out whether hes nice somewhere between now and then. I slipped on a pair of gloves and headed toward the back bedroom, trying to block out the smell this time. I made my way over to the body and started examining it, she had obviously been dead for at least a week by the state of decomposition, she had pajamas on so I doubt she had been planning on going anywhere and the room was a mess. It looked like there had been a struggle, the girl had fought for her life, I looked down at her nails, there was something under two of them possibly skin from the perpetrator. Unfortunately she looked to have been drained of blood and there was not a spot of it to be seen and she had a large gash down her torso, from neck to hip. It was a horrible way to die, I knew from experience, looking down I saw something under the edge of the bed, I pivoted to find a pink phone sitting there. "Hey Vini, did your guys get this?" I asked as Arden comes into the room. "Yeah, have at it Spring." Vini called back, I picked up the phone and swiped it on, the last entry was her trying to call nine one one. But the one before that was to Mark, the calls were with in minutes of each other. Which told me that it was unlikely that Mark was the murderer here. But the other option was that he was most likely dead. I frowned deeply as I stood and Arden looked down at the phone. "We should question this Mark person." He said idly as he moved around me to look at the body. "Wish we could, he's missing." I said placing the phone in an evidence bag. "That's why I was here, this girl if I'm not mistaken is Kelly Sauer, Mark Dumont's girlfriend. They are both to have been reported missing for two weeks. Obviously no one had checked Ms. Sauer's home. But where is Mark, if she's here?" I asked myself, what had that boy gotten himself into. "You sound like you know him? How did you come across this case?" Arden asked as he carefully looked through her nightstand. "His mother came down to the station yesterday, claiming that he must have been murdered. Him and I used to date, so I thought I would look into it for old times sake. But don't worry I wont get all emotional on you if we find his body, it wasn't serious and I take my job extremely so." I say and turn back to Vini, "Call me when you get the forensics back and the autopsy results, though I think I already know how she died. Thanks Vini." I said removing my gloves and exiting the room as Vini mumbled to himself. Arden, unexpectedly, followed close behind. "If thats the case then I suppose you have a hunch on where to go next, then?" He said sounding slightly defiant, though I don't know why. Its not like he some how got one over on me or something. I grinned as I turned back towards him slightly. "Yeah I do." I said and stepped onto the sidewalk outside a warm breeze blowing through, making my way towards my car. "Do you have a car or do you need a ride?" I asked removing my jacket and tossing it onto the back seat. "I was picked up at the airport and brought straight here. So I haven't had the chance to get a car yet, my partner was supposed to be here already, he flew in yesterday and we hadn't realized that you wouldn't have one. I guess he slept in." He said sounding just the slightest bit worried. "I don't do partners, that being said, do you want to go check on him? What hotel are you staying at?" I asked sliding into the drivers seat as one of the other officers moved their car so I could get out and Arden got in on the passenger side. "We've got rooms over at the Rio, you know it?" He said and looked down at his phone. I smiled knowingly, Marta's brother owns it and I have given him a loan once or twice. I could own the place if I wanted to, he had offered but I rather a young man fulfill his dreams and besides I really couldn't have my name on that kind of paperwork. Plus he was the occassional booty call when I needed such relief. "Yeah I know the place, let me make a call!" I said grinning still and dialed the hotels number on my phone..."Hey its Spring let me talk to Hank." I said to Kate the desk clerk, a moment later a male voice came over the line. "Missing me already beautiful?" Hank asked suggestively, he had been the one I was out with last night when I got called in, but I wasn't going to tell Marta that her brother was my occassional piece on the side, Oh heavens no. "You wish, no I'm calling about a detective that checked into your hotel last night." I called to him over the roar of traffic. "Yeah Detective Michelson and his partner, two interior rooms, non smoking. One of them checked in last night but I didn't see him then or today for that matter." He paused as Kate said something in the back round, "Oh ok, Kate said he left this morning, said something about getting breakfast since is night stalker partner hadn't kept him up all night. He laughed as he left and she has not seen him since." He said starting to sound a bit ominous. "The vampires with you isn't he?" "Not that its any of your business, but yes, why?" I asked curious, was he jealous or worried. "Just don't trust him Alys, they can be tricky creatures trust me I know." He said actually sounding worried this time. I actually felt a little offended, I am half vampire does that make me a bit tricky as he called it, but of course he had no idea of that. "Right, said the wolf to the sheep. I'll be fine just keep an eye out for Michelson. Remember I'm a big girl who can take care of herself, have been for a long time. Just call me or have Michelson call his partner if you see him. Bye, wolf boy." I said and hung up as I pulled up in front of my favorite coffee place. "Coffee?" I asked with a sigh as I looked up at him. "Sure." He said seeming to study me as I looked down at my phone, I don't think he thought I saw him but he seemed very interested in me. "Just let me make one more call and then we can figure out where to go from here." I said and went to dial. "No worries why don't I run in and get the coffees, while you do that. What would you like?" He asked his voice lowering slightly and rolling over my skin deliciously, I vaguely wondered if he was trying to seduce me. "Just tell them its for Spring, they know my order." I said smiling up at him as he closed the passenger door. # Arden I walked into the small but quaint coffee shop, the woman I left sitting in her car. Was making loops through my mind, she was beautiful and smart from what I could tell and if those guns were any indication, she was serious about her job and very skilled. And she had a smiled to die for, but what was really killing me was how fucking sexy she was and her eyes, oh god her beautiful silverish grey eyes that she had covered. I wanted to see those, unscreened, again more than anything. What was wrong with me, I just met this woman and she didn't even seem interested, and what was with that comment, "She doesn't do partners." I questioned. "They're all scared." A voice said from, behind me, 'oh shit did I say that out loud.' "Who are?" I asked turning around to find a woman in uniform standing there. "The men in her precinct, there all scared of her and what she is willing to do to bring an innocent justice." The woman said calmly. "Ah, why do you say that?" I asked peering out the window at her. "They think she's crazy or wants to die, but its not true. She just not willing to let someone get away with murder, even if she has to put her own life in danger. She thinks that its better that way, better her own than the life of an innocent. At least she can protect herself, most innocents cant or wont in some cases. I just wish she would find someone to care for her, she gives so much and deserves so much more than the lonely life she lives." The woman said and moved around me placing her coffee order. I turned towards her, finally looking away from the window, "Why does she live a lonely life, she's certainly beautiful enough to have any one she would want?" I ask, curiosity getting the best of me as I placed my order as well. "She has a dark past, secrets she cant share with anyone. She has rarely found anyone she can connect with from this time. She dated a four hundred year old wolf a couple of years ago but I could tell he wasn't hers to give her soul to. He was meant for another, as she is, her mate is just harder to find I guess." The woman said as she picked up her coffee and headed towards the door. "Wait, how do you know so much about her?" I asked, it was strange that I would just happen to run into someone that knew so much about her. "I'm her sister, we come here all the time." She smiled and went outside, I watched as she hugged Alys and they spoke for a moment before she got in her own police issue car and drove off. I grabbed the now prepared coffees and headed back outside. # Alys "I see you met my sister, I hope Cadence didn't over share." I cringed, I knew she would never share my secret because it was her secret as well but she had a tendency to over share about my personal life. Not that she had much of one either but she was more open to dating than I was, she was convinced that she could keep her secret and it didn't matter that she couldn't tell whom ever she was with. It mattered to me, if I was going to commit to a serious relationship I had to be able to be honest or it didn't work for me, hence why I wasn't in a relationship and hadn't been for a long time. Even with Mark we only went on a couple of dates, but that was it, he had never stayed at my home. He smiled, god he had a sexy smile, "Where are we off to?" He asked as he passed me my coffee and leaned against the car next to me. Oh and avoided the question! Shit she had shared too much, "We have two choices, I got an address for a warehouse space that Marcus the jealous ex owns or we could check out a club Mark goes to some times." "Its nearly four, so anyone we would want to question shouldn't be at the club just yet." Arden stated as he looked back down at his phone once again, most likely hoping to find a missed call from his partner. "The warehouse it is, lets get going." I said rounding the front of my dark blue camero and jumping into the driver seat, as Arden did the same. I threw it into gear and sped off toward the warehouse district. Twenty minutes later we pulled up outside of the address I was given, the warehouse looked abandoned but I knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. "You want the front or the back?" I asked securing my weapons into place and throwing my jacket back on as I got out of the car. "I think we should go in together, look I'm stronger than you. And if there's a supernatural force in there I will be more equipped to handle it." He said trying to appeal to me without offending me. It was hard for me to think like that, in all reality I was older and much more powerful than he and perfectly capable of handling myself. This is the other reason I never had a partner, it was easier not having to explain myself. "I know you think I'm just a weak little human but I've been in this line of work for a very long time. I know what I'm doing, I also know that if we go in on opposite sides and happen to be out matched or out numbered that we will have more of a chance to escape if you or I, are able to surprise them. Now, front or back Mister Arden?" I grinned slightly, not a bad speech for a human. Still I had learned long ago how to word things just the right way as to not actually lie, just mislead. By the frown that creased his brow, I knew he hated this idea but I think he also knew he wouldn't be able to talk me out of it. "Fine, I'll take the back but if you get into trouble, you scream for me and run like hell." "I promise if I can't handle it, I will most definitely scream for you and as you say, run like hell. Although I don't know what good it would do for a human to run from a vampire." I said and then moved towards the front of the building as he receded to the back but only after giving me a deep disapproving scowl. I pulled out my beretta and held it at the ready as I pushed the front door open, a rush of stale air hitting me but also the scent of three vampires and two humans also the stench of their human blood. Telling me they were only there to be fed on. I could feel their hearts beating, leading me directly to them. I weaved my way through the stacks containing mostly old car parts until I reached the middle part of the building that was lit up by a single spot light. Shinning down on a single vampire tied to a chair, the two humans lie on blankets next to one of the stacks. They looked like they had been beaten, fucked and drained, but I could hear their hearts beating and hear their whimpering as they struggled to breath. Death is what these two vampires deserved, now where the hell were they.

Without injuries to hide behind, reality was waiting for Hitoshi right around the corner. He was perched on the edge of the hospital bed in loose sweatpants & an oversized hoodie, staring down at his hands & contemplating the familiarity of the situation he was in. He tapped each finger against his thigh as he counted just how many times he had been in this exact position. How many times he had been sat on the edge of a hospital or infirmary bed, how many times he had been changed into loose grey sweats after his old clothes were taken away due to blood & grime. He counted the memories, lips barely moving with each number he recited. Once, twice, three times, four times, five- The door being knocked snapped him out of it. A second later & Aizawa stepped back in from where he had momentarily left to give Hitoshi some privacy to change back into proper clothes. While he was gone, Aizawa had spoken with the nurses to get Hitoshi discharged & made a few calls to sort some things out. The grim look on his face told him things hadn’t quite gone as planned. Hitoshi stared silently, waiting for the answer to his unspoken question. “Which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?” Aizawa eventually asked when he realised he wasn’t going to get anything from Hitoshi until prompted. “Bad.” “Obviously.” His mentor tried to offer a slight smile at the retort, but it fell before it ever really made it onto his face. He sighed, rubbed at his temple as if trying to ward off an oncoming headache before eventually finding the right words. “The press wants answers.” Hitoshi’s stomach bottomed out. “What?” His voice sounded hoarse as if he had been choked out all over again. Surely he had misheard.  When Aizawa spoke again, he knew he hadn’t, but he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Cameras were on the burning building before cops made it there. Everybody saw one of Japan’s most notorious villains surrender himself purely to be sure the boy he had ‘saved’ got medical attention. It didn’t take long for the cameras to track 1-A here & in turn, they’ve been vultures since. They know you’re here.” All of Hitoshi’s instincts that told him to stay hidden, to stay out of the spotlight, were going absolutely fucking haywire at what was being said. Logically, he knew it was okay, that it would be okay. Tatsuya was gone. A camera in his face wouldn’t put him in danger. Shouldn’t, anyway. One might say he should get used to it now if he wanted to be a pro one day, but Hitoshi wanted to be a pro that people didn’t know every little thing about. He didn’t want the limelight. He wanted to be mysterious, to operate in the shadows, he wanted to be deadly. Hitoshi slowly pushed up from the bed after a moment of just staring into space & shuffled towards the window where he could peek through the blinds. Lo & behold, news vans were parked outside, cameras & people with their microphones ready to shove them in the face of anyone who looked too long. Hitoshi looked back to Aizawa with a blank look. His mentor looked as though he were about to say something, but before he could, Hitoshi said, “What about the good news?” Any argument that was ready to be had died on the hero’s tongue. Maybe he knew his fight was futile, Hitoshi knew what was happening & what was likely going to happen, so there wasn’t a lot that could be done about it now. “Nobody has said a word.” Aizawa began & when Hitoshi just gave a puzzled look, he continued, “Your friends, despite wanting to see you, have been escorted back to U.A where they won’t have cameras shoved in their faces in the waiting room. They’re unhappy about it, but they said they’ll wait on you. None of them have said a word to anyone about you.” “Not even Bakugou?” “Not even Bakugou.” Aizawa agreed quietly. “He shoved an explosion-filled hand at a camera lens, though. U.A. are footing the bill for that one.” Hitoshi couldn’t help but snort in a laugh at that & rolled his eyes. He glanced back to the window as he tucked his hands into his pockets, then looked back to Aizawa. His fingers curled around the phone hidden deep in his pockets.  Right before he was made to leave, Denki had snuck back into Hitoshi's room behind Yamada’s back, slipping Hitoshi his phone so they could keep in contact should they be kept apart for a while. Yamada had then collected Eri after giving Hitoshi a bone-crushing embrace & everyone had left except for Aizawa. “Thanks to your age, we can keep a lot of things locked up tight with the help of Tsukauchi, but we all know how a media saturated hero society feels about being left out of things, especially things involving some of the most well known villains we have.” “Do they know who I am?” “Not yet.” Aizawa rubbed at the back of his neck, looking thoughtful for a moment as he propped himself against the door. “They know you’re a U.A hero course student from your friends showing up & they’ll have some footage of you - I know, I’m sorry - from when Dabi carried you out of the building, which means it won’t take long to put a name to a face.” Hitoshi was beginning to regret every decision he had made, specifically the Sports Festival, because he knew damn well that was where the press was going to find pictures of a purple-haired U.A. hero course kid. His fingers tightened so much around his phone, he was surprised that the screen didn’t crack beneath the pressure. Caving to the niggling feeling in his stomach, he checked his texts. The phone was fully charged, which he knew damn well was Denki’s doing. Hitoshi had a wave of messages that came through with similar timestamps that meant they had been sent right around the time Hitoshi had sent out his location. He ignored those & the missed calls in favour of checking the group chat he had been invited to. Titled ‘The Defence Squad’, Hitoshi scrolled back to the first message in it, then read through each one. There wasn’t a lot, the chat having only been made about an hour ago. It was essentially all of his friends who had left him cards conversing about how they wouldn’t say anything until Hitoshi did & how pissed they were at the lack of morals the press had. Bakugou was the least surprised in the matter & had only messaged the group once. Most of the conversations were between Denki, Monoma & Ashido. Monoma was saying Hitoshi should just give the press what they want, while Denki was arguing against it. After catching up, Hitoshi then checked the news just to see what he was dealing with. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find there was article after article about the fire Dabi had created, but still the unease sat in the bottom of his stomach like a chunk of lead.  Hitoshi had always feared waking up one day to see his face beside his foster father’s all over the news, he had feared all of his lies would unravel one day when he least expected it & everyone would look right through him. Yet somehow, he found he wasn’t utterly crippled with fear. Perhaps it was because the news had yet to shove his photo in amongst the stories, instead all running with blurry pictures of Dabi carrying a boy who was obscured by rain & fire. Or maybe it was because the people he didn’t deserve to call his friends hadn’t so much as bat an eye at everything happening. They all kept their mouths shut & actively made it known that they were going to protect him should they have to, despite Hitoshi giving them absolutely no reason to at all. Some of them knew more than others. Bakugou, Shouto, Denki & Kirishima by proxy knew everything, yet the others still showed their support despite being left in the dark. Those who did know could have so easily revealed his entire story to the press, yet they said nothing. Hitoshi had come to them as a bundle of lies stitched together to look like a person, yet they came together to create something real out of him. As his eyes scanned over the text of an article that talked about how a body was found in the ruins that had not yet been identified, a sliver of a memory popped into his head. It was there one second, gone the next before Hitoshi could reach out & grab it. It sat on the outskirts of his mind, just out of reach.  Hitoshi looked up to Aizawa with a confused look tugging at his features. He didn’t like how being unable to remember felt. He pocketed his phone & moved a hand to run along his own throat despite knowing he’d feel nothing after Eri’s help. “What do we do now?” The teenager asked dumbly. “We get you in a room with Tsukauchi & clear this mess up.” “Then what?” No Tatsuya meant Hitoshi had no reason to be in Aizawa’s protective custody anymore. Even if he had snuck his way around the safety nets one too many times & ignored the rules set by the cops, he still liked having them there. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be sent back to the city he had grown up in prior to his quirk manifesting. He didn’t want to go back to a foster home with Eri in tow. He didn’t want a different family. Hitoshi wanted Aizawa. He wanted Yamada & U.A., even if it came at the cost of cameras refusing to leave him alone. He wasn’t quite ready to give it up, no matter the cost. “Aizawa?” Hitoshi croaked out quietly before the man could answer his prior question, looking right into those black eyes from across the room. “Hm?” “I don’t want to go. Please don’t send me away.” “ Never. ” Aizawa crossed the room to stand in front of him, crouching when Hitoshi bowed his head to avoid the eye contact he had held just a moment prior. The hero tipped his head to look up at Hitoshi, wrists resting lazily on his knees.  Hitoshi couldn’t escape looking now & stared back at those inky pools of black. “We’re going to talk to Tsukauchi, then we’re going to go home. Nobody is going to send you away & nobody is going to take you away from us. We’ll figure out all the details later, but we’re not leaving you. Okay?” All Hitoshi could do was nod. “I’m not against making a pinky promise if you don’t believe me.” Aizawa prompted at Hitoshi’s silence. The teenager snorted in a weak laugh & shook his head. “I believe you.” “You could at least pretend to sound convinced.” “I’m not going to lie anymore." Hitoshi cringed slightly at just how blunt his words came out. If they hurt Aizawa in any way, the hero didn’t show it. Being a master of the pokerface meant he just nodded once, then stood back up & moved to carefully pull the baggy hood of Hitoshi’s sweater up to hide his hair. He didn’t get mad at Hitoshi’s doubts. He just carried on with what needed to be done. That was what had Hitoshi latching onto the hero from the start. He was a rock, a force that couldn’t be shifted.  An eye to the everlasting storm that was Hitoshi’s life. “C’mon, I can get a car parked right in the ambulance bay out the back exit, but we have to wait out there so we don’t keep the exit blocked. You ready, kid? Just keep your head down & hood up if you don’t want to deal with reporters… Unless you do want to say something to th-” Aizawa’s words cut off at the look on Hitoshi’s face. He smirked slightly at the disdain sitting on the teenager's features & nodded in agreement. “Aright, head down it is.” With that, the duo headed out after collecting up Hitoshi’s cards & plush, putting them all in a bag that Aizawa carried on his shoulder. Hitoshi kept his head down & shoulders hunched, staring at his sneakers as they walked, hands deep in his pockets, clutching onto his phone like it was a lifeline. Aizawa stayed right at his side, shoulder to shoulder as he led him out of the hospital & down to the back exit. He made a phone call a minute earlier so by the time they were at the door, a car was already pulled up waiting for them. The car had blacked out windows & was just plain black to seem as inconspicuous as possible, but Hitoshi had grown up around villains, he knew what cars belonged to undercover cops. He could probably pick said cops out from a crowd by the way they held themselves alone. Nonetheless, Aizawa opened the back door for him & gestured for Hitoshi to climb in. Once he did, the hero climbed in beside him rather than getting into the passenger seat. A metal grate sat as a barrier between the front & back seats, but their driver moved to look back at them both anyway. Tsukauchi looked pretty bland in a white button down & black jeans, lacking his usual trenchcoat. He smiled at them both, nodded after giving Hitoshi a once over & pulled out of the ambulance bay. The cop didn’t have much to say. He mostly just touched base with Aizawa to be sure everyone was on the same page with what was going to happen & Hitoshi only half paid attention from where he was slouched against the window, staring at everything passing by. It had been a while since he had been in a car with blacked out windows. It felt almost wrong that he wasn’t being driven to somewhere that’d end in a whole lot of physical pain. Instinct still had him effortlessly memorising the route they were taking, though. They took the long route around to get to the police station despite not being followed by any news vans & even took the back exit into the station too. To keep Hitoshi away from the waiting lobby just for added precautions, he was allowed to wait in the cops’ lounge with Aizawa instead. Tsukauchi didn’t seem too concerned about having Hitoshi wandering around, maybe he knew the teenager would cooperate with no trouble, but he did seem mildly annoyed that Aizawa wouldn’t let Hitoshi in an interrogation room until Tori Nakahara showed up. Aizawa was content to sip on his coffee, leaning back against the counter while Hitoshi paced back & forth with one hand pressed to his chest, the other in his pocket around his phone. Aizawa only made one comment about Hitoshi’s pacing, saying how the teen was going to wear down the linoleum with his steps, but when Hitoshi ignored him, he fell back quiet. He just couldn’t shake the strange feeling sitting in his chest like a weight. It was guilt, he knew it was, but he couldn’t figure out why. Every time he thought about opening his mouth to the cops & spilling everything he could remember, those guilt-drenched butterflies fluttered around his chest again. Eventually, he figured it out & it had him pulling out his phone. He turned it over in his hands a few times as his eyes flickered to every corner of the room for cameras. Finding none, he called up Shouto. The second the other line picked up, Hitoshi started talking in a hushed voice before Shouto had a chance to get a word in. “I’m at the police station. They want me to tell them everything & I’m going to. You’re okay with that, right? If there’s something about Touya you want me to keep to myself, tell me right now.” “Hitoshi?” Shouto’s voice sounded almost confused. There was some murmuring in the background of the line & he was sure he heard Midoriya’s voice pipe up. Then there was some shuffling, the sound of a door closing, then Shouto’s voice again, more echoey than before.  “No. You can’t keep anything else from them. It’s fine. Touya knew what he was doing when he did what he did. Tell them whatever you have to, it’s fine.” “Are you sure? It feels like I’m throwing him under the bus.” “You’re not. He knows you’ll have to talk about it, if he didn’t like it, he shouldn’t have got caught. I promise it’s fine.” “Alright. Just a forewarning, though, if it comes up, I might have to tell them who he really is-” “Then do it.” Hitoshi didn’t really expect Shouto to be so quick in his response, as if he already had the entirety of his answers planned. “Are you sure?” “Yes. Think about it, if that does become public knowledge, the reporters will have a field day with that instead of you. Problem solved. They’ll find out sooner or later anyway.” It wasn’t that simple, Hitoshi knew it wasn’t, but what was he to say? That he was sorry? That going down that path felt like a cheap escape route? That he didn’t want to throw his friends under the bus for his own safety anymore? Instead of everything he could say, he just sighed & said, “Alright. Talk later.” Just like that, Hitoshi hung up. He didn’t stick around for awkward small talk or pleasantries when neither boy saw any reason for them. His ‘talk later’ was a promise that he’d tell Shouto everything the second he got out of the interrogation room to give the teen a head start if he needed one should more truths come out about Touya. When Hitoshi looked up from where he was staring down at Shouto’s number, he caught Aizawa studying him. If Shouto didn’t want him telling the truth, he wouldn’t. He would have been buried with Touya’s secrets for Shouto’s sake. He would have sat silently in his interrogation, or fell silent at any question that hinted at Dabi. He would have asked Aizawa to lie for him, even if the guilt of it killed him.  Before he could say anything to Aizawa, though, the hero was already speaking. “I heard nothing.” Hitoshi just bowed his head in thanks. No more than a few moments later & the door to the staff lounge was being shoved open with more force than what was necessary. It was enough to make Hitoshi flinch out of instinct, but before he could drop into a defensive stance, Tori Nakahara came hurrying right for him. For a small woman, she sure did move fast. For a therapist, she looked absolutely terrified. Although, she was dressed more like a lawyer than a therapist, with her hair pulled back tight, in her tight pencil skirt & smart blouse. Her shirt still had an ugly pattern across it & if a time came where she wasn’t in an ugly blouse, Hitoshi would believe she’d been replaced with a clone. A pass was clipped onto her lanyard & he knew damn well he didn’t misread the words ‘Hero Public Safety Commission’ printed across it. Damn, Tori. Hitoshi always knew she was important, but he had never asked how important. He wasn’t so sure if he should be scared or grateful that somebody working for the HPSC knew all of his shit. He made a mental note to ask about that later if he didn’t get locked up in a cell somewhere. Tori came to a stop right in front of him with her head tilted back to look at his face & her hands came up as if she wanted to hold his face to inspect wounds she wouldn’t find, but she stopped before she made contact. Her hands fell back to her sides, before one moved to press over her own chest instead. “Oh Hitoshi… Are you hurt?! Are you okay? Those are silly questions. Talk to me, what on earth were you thinking?!” As his psychiatrist moved to perch on the edge of one of the couches, Hitoshi took that as his cue to sit on the cushion beside her with a small space between them. It wasn’t exactly the most functional setting for a therapy session & honestly, Hitoshi was more than a little surprised that she wasn’t already trying to root through his head for answers. She just sat & stared at him, as if trying to find something on his blank face instead. “Eri healed me.” Hitoshi murmured when he saw the way her eyes flickered to his neck to search for bruises that shouldn’t have vanished so quickly. Of course she already knew what happened, even if Hitoshi still had no clue. Various emotions twisted up Tori’s features, but eventually when she flicked her gaze to Aizawa, who simply nodded, she looked back to Hitoshi with an audible sigh mingled with a pained sound. Or perhaps it was relief, he wasn’t so sure. “You could have died, Hitoshi.” “But I didn’t. I’m fi-” Once again his sentence was cut off with a narrowed gaze that was just daring him to say his famous line. “Really, I’m… More okay than what I expected to be, right now at least. Something tells me once I leave the interrogation room, I’ll be eating those words. Or choking on them, but...” Hitoshi made a vague gesture, then looked down to his scarred fingers as he began to pick at his nails nervously. He knew he should apologise, he just wasn’t so sure how to word what he wanted to say, or if Tori would even listen to him for that matter. Before she could hit him with something wise & philosophical, Hitoshi quickly mumbled, “Aizawa says they’re not allowed to interrogate me without you there, how’d you pull that one off?” He tipped his head enough to gaze at Tori, watching closely to see the emotions pass over her features. Her sadness took a backseat, but it was still prevalent, instead a little smile curled at the corners of her lips. “What, you think a therapist that handles the top heroes’ minds can’t pull a few strings?” “I’m not a hero.” Hitoshi reminded her. “Yet.” She said, just like Yamada had in response to the same comment. Hitoshi had nothing to really say to it besides a shrug & a quiet sigh. It seemed that wasn’t good enough for Tori, though, who shifted more in her seat to be properly facing him. “I know you’ve been in this situation before & I know how horrible it can be, but if they try to ask something you’re not comfortable with answering, I will intervene. I don’t care if their investigation is more important to them, my patients’ well being is my top priority. They don’t like it? They can take it up with my boss. They will lose.” “I underestimated you, Tori.” Hitoshi said with a small smirk. “You’re scarier than you look.” “Everyone has their secrets, right? You know that better than anyone.” “You’ve got me there.” Hitoshi huffed out an amused breath with a shake of his head. He wasn’t so sure using Tori & Aizawa as armour would be enough to shield him from the questions that would pry him apart all over again, but when Tsukauchi came to collect them from the lounge, Hitoshi found that he wasn’t so afraid as he thought perhaps he should be. As soon as he was sitting back in that interrogation room with Tsukauchi opposite, Hitoshi was reminded of just how this went the last time. How he was left in tears, how he was left a shaking mess for Aizawa to try to piece back together. That felt so long ago now. Hitoshi shifted slightly in his seat, resting his hands neatly in his lap. There was a subtle confidence in him this time around. With Tori at his side & Aizawa with Sansa right outside listening in from the other side of the glass, Hitoshi had no reason to be afraid. He could tell the truth, it couldn’t break him. He wouldn’t let it. First, Tsukauchi offered an apology for the last time, but quickly brushed it aside when Hitoshi had nothing to say in response. Instead the officer went on to recall everything the police had so far.  It was almost like a puzzle, of sorts. Tsukauchi laid out files across the table of all of the victims, explained everything they had pieced together so far from what Hitoshi had told them last time. He explained what they had put together & even briefly mentioned that they had interrogated Dabi. The way Tsukauchi worded things implied Dabi had actually spoken to them, much to Hitoshi’s surprise, who thought that the guy would just sit there silently & be of absolutely no use. According to Tsukauchi, when asked why he did what he did, all Dabi had to say was ‘you know why’.  Apparently it was Hitoshi’s job to elaborate on the villain’s behalf. Everything was out on the table & it was Hitoshi’s job to fill in the gaps. So he did. He began with explaining how every victim was linked to him & just how deep or not the connections lay. From the woman who dealt with his foster care system stuff to the guy that owned the gym. Hitoshi explained everything he could, how well he knew them, how they knew his father.  He even went in depth on how he assumed Dabi got all of the information from either Tatsuya’s files or the people that he killed, how else could he have known all of the names when Hitoshi hadn’t told him? Things only got tricky when it got to talking about how Hitoshi ended up in that warehouse. He could have lied, or he could have told the complete truth. If he lied, though, Tsukauchi would pick up on it in a heartbeat. Hell, he could have feigned complete ignorance & claimed that he couldn’t remember given he genuinely couldn’t remember half of the events of what took place in the warehouse, but the cop would know that was bullshit too. But he knew how he got there. They wouldn’t tell him a goddamn thing Dabi had to say until they milked every single thing from him first, he knew that. He knew Dabi wouldn’t throw Shouto under the bus by telling them that Shouto knew who he was, but he also knew how Dabi thought. He knew what kind of twisted truth he’d come up with to keep Shouto out of trouble. Hitoshi settled on almost the entire truth. Almost. He just hoped to a God that he didn’t believe in that he knew Dabi well enough to know exactly what he had to say & that their stories matched. The police would run fingerprints, if Dabi even had any. They’d run DNA samples. They already knew who he was, it was only a matter of time before the results came back. Hitoshi wasn’t saying anything they wouldn’t already figure out. So he told them who Dabi really was. Even Tori looked genuinely horrified. He told them about Touya, the truth. Endeavour’s abuse. He went into great detail, just to drag the sack of shit that was their number one pro down with him. He talked at great length of Endeavour’s abuse towards his children so when he twisted his words to say that Shouto had no clue who Touya really was now, it was amongst a lot of other hard hitting information that nobody really wanted to hear. When Tsukauchi didn’t pick up on the little white lie in the middle of his ranting, Hitoshi admitted that Shouto knew him & Touya were friends. Which mant Shouto didn’t think anything of asking Hitoshi to meet Touya when Touya couldn’t get in contact with Hitoshi himself. It was technically the truth. Sure, he was missing out the part that said Shouto knew Touya was Dabi, but Shouto really didn’t know Hitoshi meeting with Dabi would end how it did. He weaved every sentence carefully to keep Shouto as far removed as possible despite bringing him into the mess. Tsukauchi would pick up on any blatant lies, so Hitoshi had to word everything cautiously to keep a little bit of truth in everything he said in regards to Shouto. It seemed to have worked, but even if it didn’t, something told Hitoshi that Tsukauchi had bigger problems than two stupid teenagers communicating with a villain. Hitoshi then admitted to going willingly to the Trigger crime scene, not that he knew it’d be a crime scene, but before he could leave, Tatsuya showed. Everything after that was a blur. He remembered the flames, but that was all. Tsukauchi tried to pick at his brain, but it wasn’t working. The man had to keep a straight face & act as though the Touya bombshell was no big deal when he knew damn well the aftermath of it would be one hell of a cleanup job. So he continued with the interrogation like it was nothing. Like Endeavour’s son being one of the biggest criminals Japan had was a minor inconvenience. Like Endeavour wasn’t a monster creating monsters. He knew Hitoshi wasn’t lying, but maybe he was just putting it aside to have a meltdown over it later. Instead Tsukauchi moved on to ask about Tatsuya, if he said anything, what he did, but Hitoshi couldn’t tell him. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter how many different ways the question was worded, the answer was still the same. By the fifth time, Hitoshi snapped. “I told you, I don’t remember. Don’t you think this is as frustrating for me as it is for you?” Hitoshi’s voice was sharper than before as he narrowed his eyes at the officer.  When Tsukauchi just stared, he added, “I remember everything. All of the time. I remember every fight, every punch, every scar, every injury. I can even remember the numbers on your police badge & I only saw it once. I don’t forget, but I’m telling you now, I don’t remember what Tatsuya did to me. I woke up with injuries I didn’t know how I got. That’s fucking terrifying.” “Hitoshi has an eidetic memory, if he doesn’t remember something, don’t you think there’s a good reason as to why that is?” Tori interrupted softly. She had been silent at his side the entire time. She had nearly stopped him from speaking when Tsukauchi had pressed for answers on Dabi, but Hitoshi stopped her with a raise of his hand. He wasn’t afraid of his truths anymore. She knew that just as much as he did. They didn’t hurt like they used to. Sure, Tori was learning perhaps a little too much from this interrogation, she was learning pieces of him that he wasn’t ready to share with her, but how could he complain? He was sick of hiding. “This boy went through something highly traumatic,” Tori continued,  “I’m sure you have Dabi’s? Touya’s? Anyway, I’m certain you have his account of what happened, so do you really need to force Hitoshi to remember too? When it comes back to him, then you may ask, but if you do not stop pushing him, I will end this meeting right now.” Hitoshi couldn’t wipe the amused smirk from his face at the authority Tori seemed to hold over him, enough to have Tsukauchi backing down with a quiet apology. The officer tried to ask if he could walk Hitoshi through Dabi’s recount of the events, but Tori shot him down on that too. Apparently it was imperative that Hitoshi remembered on his own. With Tori’s unwavering attitude beside him on the matter, the conversation turned back to Dabi’s murders, unsurprisingly. They sat in that room for hours. Hitoshi talked about Touya all that he could, everything that he had been told from the day the League saved him from Chisaki, everything about what Endeavour had done to Touya, everything about him becoming Dabi. He talked about Tatsuya, asked three times if he really was dead. Had they really identified his remains in the warehouse? Yes, yes they had. He burnt to death trapped beneath rubble. Hitoshi laughed. It was silent & it was barely there, but it was real. He couldn’t help it. It bubbled over in a way he couldn’t stop & even as he clasped a hand over his mouth to hide his smile & muffle the breathy sounds, it didn’t help. His fingers pressed hard against his cheek, feeling the way his smile carved into his face with no plans of backing off. Tori rubbed a soothing hand across his shoulders, back & forth, over & over. She was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words over his heart pounding in his head. Tatsuya was gone. It really was over. It never quite hit Hitoshi in the hospital, but sitting there in the station with a police officer marking off everyone from Hitoshi’s past as dead or incarcerated, it all finally collapsed on top of him. He was free.

Tuesday morning, Jimin wakes up at five am and messages Taehyung that they will have a strategy meeting at his place in an hour. Afterward, he gets dressed into something comfortable and heads into the kitchen to dig through his pantry until he comes up with a muffin box mix.  Jimin is really good at making thoughtful gifts. He studies the person he’s giving a gift to. He tries to learn their likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams. Anything that would help Jimin give them the gift they have always dreamed of. People that say that the perfect gift doesn’t exist obviously aren’t trying hard enough, in Jimin’s humble opinion.  But that’s getting someone Jimin is fond of a gift. He doesn’t know what the hell to do about giving Seokjin a gift. Something too extravagant would feel strange, and something too simple would feel out of place. Even as Jimin ties his apron around his waist, staring at all the ingredients needed to make chocolate banana muffins, he just feels…weird. He’s making these muffins for Seokjin. Kim Seokjin. They’ve hated each other for as long as Jimin worked at BT Enterprises and have never said a single nice thing to the other’s face, and he’s making him muffins. Jimin has to give himself a little pep talk before turning the oven on. This is just to repay the tea. You can’t just have him randomly making you tea and looking like a saint for it. Muffins are better than tea, and there is no way he’ll be able to top this so everything will go back to normal, and you can keep hating Kim Seokjin as God intended. Giving two gentle slaps to his face to further wake him up, Jimin rolls his shoulders and gets to baking. The muffin recipe is relatively simple. Jimin leaves out the nuts because he’s paranoid about Seokjin also having a nut allergy on top of his garlic one, so he adds even more chocolate chips, so the batter is dark and rich and really hard to stir with his spoon. Jimin cuts his banana chunks a little big and ugly, but he is able to cram them into the pink muffin wraps as he scoops glob after chocolate glob into the muffin tin. Jimin does an excellent job of keeping a tidy kitchen, but he’s definitely going to need a shower to clean up the mess of chocolate and egg from his sleeves and his pants. Taehyung arrives just as Jimin slips the muffins into the oven for baking. Jimin greets him at the door, and Taehyung smiles a box-shaped grin at the chocolate smudge on Jimin’s nose. “Are you baking?” Taehyung asks in disbelief, coming in and taking off his shoes. “I’m making a little something for work, yeah,” Jimin explains, giving a casual shrug. “Looks like a big something.” Taehyung peeks into the kitchen, spotting the muffin mix box on the counter. “Muffins?” “It’s nothing, Tae. I just wanted to make something nice for today, and I had the box already on hand, so I figured, why not?” Jimin undoes the apron around his waist and assesses the mess of his clothes. “I’m going to take a shower real quick. Can you keep an eye on them?” “Sure thing, Jiminie,” Taehyung says, crashing onto the couch and immediately going onto his phone. “You mind if I use your lamp? It’s a workday.” Jimin raises his eyebrow. “I thought you already sent your videos of the month.” “That was for the American daddy. This is for the Russian one.” “The criminal.” “Hey, he is a ‘reformed citizen’,” Taehyung corrects. Jimin rolls his eyes. “Just don’t get bare-assed on my couch,” Jimin instructs. Taehyung nods, pulling Jimin’s floor lamp closer to the couch to set up optimum lighting for his thirst pics. Taehyung’s job is modeling. He picks up gigs here and there for small catalogs and stock photos, but the thing that really pays his bills is the three international sugar daddies that Taehyung sends ‘special packages’ to every month. Jimin has never met any of them, doesn’t even know how Taehyung acquired them. All he knows is that one is a Wall Street trader in America, one works for local government somewhere in London, and the last one is a bookkeeper in Russia that says he’s no longer a part of the Bratva, but also regularly sends Taehyung furs and jewelry that ‘fell off a truck’. The combined money the three of them send Taehyung every month could rival VP Kim’s salary. Sometimes when Jimin thinks about it, his eyebrow twitches.  Jimin strips down naked in his bathroom and tosses his dirty clothes in the laundry basket outside the door. He’ll have to do laundry sometime this week. The last thing he wants is VP Kim enacting another ordinance, and Jimin doesn’t have an outfit ready. He’ll also need to go grocery shopping. Baking has made him realize his pantry and refrigerator are looking quite scarce, not that Jimin has the time to regularly cook in his kitchen.  Sighing under the warm spray of the shower, Jimin pushes those thoughts out of his head and tries to focus on the goal at hand. Muffins. Yummy chocolate banana muffins that Jimin will give to Kim Seokjin. Well, maybe not all of them. Maybe there’s a cheat for this. One that allows Jimin to be technically nice to Kim Seokjin, but not only to Kim Seokjin. He mentally goes through this plan as he lathers his body up with soap. First, he will arrive at the office bright and early and smell great. His hair is going to be nice, his teeth are going to be brushed and minty fresh, and so long as VP Kim keeps quiet about any ordinances, Jimin is going to show up in a pressed two-piece suit and tie. He’ll carry the air of success on his shoulders as he enters the office with the muffin basket dangling from his forearm. Maybe a twittering bird might come from the outside and land on his shoulder as he gracefully passes by the cubicles on his way to the break room, who knows? From there, everyone in the office will be enticed by the smell of delicious chocolate and banana muffins, and Good People wouldn’t deny someone the enjoyment of eating a delicious muffin baked with love and care. So, of course, Jimin would allow everyone in the office to have some. He’ll save muffins for VP Kim and for Jeongguk, maybe allowing the two of them to have another bonding moment over muffins that’ll actually go somewhere in the direction Jimin wants them to go. He’ll even let Namgin have a muffin (but Jimin hopes Namgin won’t have anything to wash it down with).  Jimin will save one last muffin for Seokjin, and he’ll go to Seokjin’s office and casually knock on his door. ‘Ah, I made some muffins for everyone, Kim Seokjin-ssi. Were you too slow getting them? They’re so delicious. Everyone just gobbled them up, but I guess you can have the one I saved for myself.’ Seokjin will be ever so thankful. He’d get up from his desk, and then he’d crowd Jimin against the door with their hips flushed together and eat the muffin from Jimin’s hand— Jimin gasps, eyes popping wide open as he remembers his surroundings. His back is pressed firmly against the tile of his shower, the loofah clutched in his hands. No. Okay. Wow. That was weird. Let’s try this again. Jimin will save one last muffin for Seokjin, and he’ll go to Seokjin’s office and casually knock on his door. ‘Ah, I made some muffins for everyone, Kim Seokjin-ssi. Were you too slow getting them? They’re so delicious. Everyone just gobbled them up, but I guess you can have the one I saved for myself.’ Seokjin will naturally resist Jimin’s kindness, maybe question him and engage in banter with him until Jimin successfully wears him down with his overall goodness and has Seokjin take a bite. Seokjin will, of course, love Jimin’s muffins and eat them deliciously. He’ll get chocolate all over his mouth as he sings praises about Jimin’s skill and his kindness, and Jimin will roll his eyes at the mess Seokjin is making, so he’ll offer Seokjin a napkin. Seokjin would take the napkin, smile, stand up and lean over his desk at the same time Jimin will lean in and— Jimin drops his loofah and slaps two wet hands hard against his cheeks. “Stop it! What are you doing?!” he yells at his brain.  “Are you okay, babe?!” Taehyung shouts from down the hall.  Jimin jumps. “Y-Yeah! I’m fine!” he shouts back, crowding himself into a corner in the shower.  No. No, this is not okay. No! He - he doesn’t like Seokjin. Seokjin isn’t his type! Jimin likes intelligent guys, and Seokjin is stupid. Jimin likes nice guys, and Seokjin is a jerk. Just because he’s making muffins for everyone doesn’t mean that he wants Seokjin in particular. In fact, maybe Seokjin made everyone tea, and Jimin was just the last person to get a cup! So that means that Jimin is just trying to be the better and nicer person here!  Jimin doesn’t like Seokjin. Jimin can’t like him. What’s there to even like about Seokjin? Jimin tries to mentally prepare a list as he rinses his hair and vigorously scrubs his body till it’s red all over.  Jimin bangs his forehead against the tile wall. “Just stop thinking about him. He doesn’t think about you when he’s showering,” Jimin tells his brain. And because his stupid brain decided it wanted to be his enemy this morning, it conjures up the image of Seokjin showering. Jimin knows Seokjin lives in a nice hi-rise. He probably has a walk-in shower with marble walls and glass doors instead of Jimin’s tiny bath-shower unit with cheap plastic curtains. He probably turns on music to get himself comfortable, lets the warm spray of the water move down his broad back as he lathers his body with all of his nice smelling shampoos. He’ll tilt his head back, dark hair glistening wet and soapy, his hands moving down his abdomen, his lips sighing out ‘what is that smell’— …What. What is that smell? “Jimin-ah!!”  Jimin immediately turns off the shower and grabs a towel, wrapping it hastily around his waist before hurrying out of his bathroom and into his haze-filled hallway.  The smoke alarm doesn’t come on, but there is smoke in the kitchen as Taehyung stands over a tray of ruined chocolate-banana muffins, hastily trying to fan the smoke out of the cracked kitchenette window. Jimin turns on the fan above the stove and joins his friend, grabbing a potholder to create a stronger wind when he fans it. “What happened?” Jimin asks Taehyung, who gives him a guilty look. “When the oven beeped, it didn’t look like it was done, so I just left it in there for a little bit longer. I didn’t know it was going to do this,” he says.  Jimin sighs and looks at what were his chocolate banana muffins. They’ve retained the shape of a muffin, but they look like charcoal rocks in a muffin tin. The charred and burnt smell doesn’t leave even after the smoke has dissipated. The two of them stare at the muffins in silence, Jimin still wet and dripping from the shower, the towel hanging loose on his hips.  “I’m sorry,” Taehyung apologizes, sincere. “Look, we can stop by the H-Mart and pick up some more muffins for you to take—” “He’ll know they’re store-bought,” Jimin says with a shake of his head in rejection. “He’ll know they’re store-bought, and he’ll call me out if I say otherwise. It’ll defeat the whole purpose of me bringing muffins if they’re store-bought.” A pause. “…‘He’?” Taehyung asks. Jimin bites his tongue. “…Oh babe, were these for the secret admirer? I’m so sorry—” “No. No, they were for the office,” Jimin quickly corrects. “But you were hoping to give one to the secret admirer.” “I wasn’t hoping for anything. I was doing this to be nice! Not for anything else!!” Taehyung scrutinizes Jimin’s pinched expression for a few seconds. Jimin holds his breath. God, he hates it when they do this. The insane ability to read each other down to their inner core. Taehyung’s eyes widen with sudden clarity, a pleased smile coming to his lips. “Was ‘secret admirer’ the hot tool?” Taehyung asks. Jimin blows a loud raspberry. “I’m going to put on underwear,” Jimin announces, briskly walking off. “Oh my god, I knew it!” Taehyung cheers. “Jimin! He’s so hot, and he made you tea for your donuts!” “He made everyone tea! I’m not special!” “And he’s so your type!” “Is not!!” Jimin shouts back, letting his towel drop even as Taehyung follows him into his bedroom. “Kim Seokjin is the very bane of my existence, and he will be an obstacle to our plan. He is the enemy, and I do not fraternize with the enemy,” Jimin thoroughly explains as he digs out a pair of fresh underwear to slip on.  Taehyung flops onto his bed, propping himself onto his elbows. “Why would he be an obstacle to setting up Jeongguk with your boss?” he asks. “Because the second he finds out that I’m orchestrating them getting together, he’ll do everything in his power to undo the process just to spite me,” Jimin says with a huff, pulling on a sweater. Business casual for today. There’s no way he’s dressing in his finest business suit if he’s going to walk into the office with chocolate muffins from hell. Turning to Taehyung with a smile, Jimin says, “Which is why phase one of our plan will be killing two birds with one stone.” “Phase one being…” “We need to get rid of Madame Seo,” Jimin says, grabbing a pair of khakis before jumping onto his bed. “VP Kim is too dependent on her. If we introduce Jeongguk while she’s still around, she’ll find a way to get rid of him, and VP Kim won’t question her logic. So, we need to make her lose her standing with him.” Taehyung shrugs. “You can tell your boss she’s a fraud.” Jimin shakes his head, biting on his bottom lip. “She has the dirt on us from Chief Woo. Telling VP Kim like that won’t work in our favor if she discredits us. No, we have to make her get caught in her own web. Luckily, she’s already done some of the work.” Taehyung smiles. “You’re so cute when you get all ‘schemy’.” Jimin will allow Taehyung to refer only to this part of the plan as a ‘scheme’. Jimin isn’t scheming. He’s emergency meddling for love. And a promotion. “Alright, so first thing, I need you to pick up some items to make a gift basket,” Jimin says, digging into his nightstand for a notepad, pen, and lotion. He takes the pen cap off with his teeth, writing down his list before tearing the page off and handing it to Taehyung. “… ‘A dozen roses, a bottle of champagne, a box of chocolates, lavender soap’,” Taehyung reads off, raising an eyebrow. “…Who is this for?” “For Madame Seo,” Jimin explains, rubbing lotion into his legs, smiling. “From Kim Seokjin.” Taehyung looks back at the list. “I’ll give you her address,” Jimin explains. “Drop that off at her place tonight, but make sure that you’re not seen. Don’t drop it off any sooner, either. I need to ensure I get as much supplementary material today for the plan to work. Do you have a spare phone from the Russian daddy available?” “Yeah, but if I use it for this, I have to let him know the line is compromised ASAP,” Taehyung says with a nod. “Which you wouldn’t have to do if he wasn’t a criminal, but alright,” Jimin points out.  Taehyung sticks his tongue out at him, glancing back at the list. “…Mmm, so she’s into your hot tool, huh?” he asks aloud. Jimin kindly ignores him and slips on his khakis, getting up from the bed to work on his head as Taehyung rolls onto his stomach. “So when do we do the Cinderella makeover?” Taehyung asks from the bed. “Phase three,” Jimin answers. “That long?” “Phase one is getting rid of Madame Seo. Since VP Kim is dependent on her, I don’t know how he will handle losing her so suddenly, and I can’t throw Jeongguk at him when he might be feeling vulnerable. So phase two will be all about building him back to that spot with our new Madame Seo,” Jimin explains, throwing a wink at Taehyung. “One that is more cooperative with our goal.” Turning back to grab his hairbrush and hair products, Jimin goes back to kneel on the bed. “Afterwards, we set Jeongguk up with a Cinderella makeover, reintroduce him to VP Kim, and from there help smoothly guide along their romance,” Jimin explains. “Besides, there’s obviously a lot more to Jeongguk than what we’ve seen in the restaurant, and I need to know everything about him before we decide to give him the Cinderella treatment.” “What else do you need to know?” Jimin sighs. “For starters, he has this weird eye tattoo on his hand. All of his other tattoos in that photo you sent me didn’t look like this one. Plus, he’s claustrophobic. To the point of him being terrified of being in elevators or closed conference rooms.” Taehyung frowns. “Oh, poor baby,” he murmurs. Jimin nods in agreement. “He’s really sweet, but he lets Namgin walk all over him. His confidence and presence are next to zero, and I feel like his fear might play into that. So I want him to be comfortable opening up about that stuff to me. That way, I can figure out a way to spin it for the Cinderella makeover.” Taehyung nods in understanding, tapping the list against his bottom lip. “…You said he had an eye tattoo?” “Yeah. Looked creepy. Like the Illuminati eye or something.” “…Hmm…” Taehyung looks back at the list one last time before folding it up and slipping it in his back pocket. Stretching his arms over his head, Taehyung wanders to the bedroom doorway, throwing a look over his shoulder at Jimin. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’m going to snap a few quick photos in your bathroom.” “Sure,” Jimin says, nonchalant. Taehyung smiles and is off to take his bathroom thirst traps. Once Jimin hears the bathroom door down the hallway close, he flops backward onto his bed and groans at the ceiling. He absolutely one-hundred percent does not like Kim Seokjin. He’s just being nice! He’s just being a Good Person! Good People do Good Things even for people they hate, so the second Jimin just does the Dumb Good Thing, the universe will go back to normal, and he can resume hating Seokjin in peace. He’ll never have to think about Seokjin in the shower again.  Or Seokjin pressing him up against the wall. Or him voluntarily leaning over Seokjin’s desk and Seokjin leaning towards Jimin with their lips too too close and— Jimin brings his pillow over his face and screams into it for nine minutes. That’s the end of his Tuesday morning.             Taehyung asks Jimin a total of three times over the drive to BH Enterprises if he wants to just grab some muffins from Holly’s Coffee or a GS25 or anything other than the black monstrosity bulging out of Jimin’s Tupperware.  Jimin turns down each offer, focusing his attention on the road. He’s managed to think of a perfect catch-22 during the drive, one that will finally get him back on his status quo. Good People do Good Things, and Good People Make Mistakes. Jimin made a mistake, but that doesn’t in some way devalue his good nature. So, he’s still going to bring these muffins to Seokjin as a way of expressing his kindness and gratitude for the tea. If Seokjin accepts these muffins, the kindness has been repaid, and the universe will be in balance. If Seokjin doesn’t accept the muffins, then Jimin can lecture him about compassion, retain the higher moral superiority, and succeed as the nicer person of this exchange. The universe will be balanced, and everything will be right with the world. They arrive at the parking lot, and Jimin begins unbuckling his seatbelt when Taehyung puts the car in park. Seokjin’s car isn’t here, of course, but Jimin does spot another car parked underneath the branches of a tree, someone hunched over a backpack trying to adjust the contents inside.  “Is that Jeongguk?” Jimin asks because he can’t help but notice the person’s left arm is covered in tattoos. His eyes drift down to the person’s left hand, and yep. Jimin remembers that eye. Up close, it looks even creepier. There’s definitely something about it that’s different from the rest of Jeongguk’s tattoos. Taehyung looks as well. “…I think I’ve seen that tattoo before,” he muses. “Where? Is it a band or something?” Jimin asks. “I don’t know…it looks familiar…” Taehyung mumbles. Jeongguk stands upright and slings his backpack over his shoulder, pushing a hand through his dark hair. In this gym wear, Jeongguk is a super babe. His legs are nicely toned, his arms are muscled, his chest looks somehow broader, and his figure looks more accentuated than when he’s drowning in his business suit. Perhaps they might not need to do much for the Cinderella makeover after all.  Jimin steps out of the car. “I’ll message you later with further details about the package,” Jimin explains, fist-bumping Taehyung. Taehyung nods, giving Jimin a wink just as Jeongguk turns and heads into the office building. Jimin follows quickly after, determined not to lose sight of him as he briskly walks through the entrance doors and over to the stairwell door, barely closing shut. In the stairwell, he startles Jeongguk with a loud ‘hi!’ Jeongguk jumps wildly, looking at Jimin with wide eyes and hands flailing to hide behind his back. “H-Hyung? What are you doing here?” he frantically asks.  Jimin looks upwards at the stairs climbing towards infinity. “Oh, well, you know. I was thinking about getting some steps in. It’s not easy getting adequate exercise when you’re as busy as I am, Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin explains with a casual smile. He starts stretching his legs and arms as Jeongguk watches him with mild disbelief. He hasn’t moved his hands from behind him yet.  “Um…I…I guess that’s…fine,” Jeongguk murmurs. Jimin grins, jogging in place. “Well? The office awaits us!” he announces, gung-ho fist raised in the air. With that, Jimin starts climbing the stairs one at a time. Shortly after, he hears Jeongguk following behind, keeping quiet along the way. The first two floors, Jimin is feeling very good about himself. He keeps himself fit regularly, and he uses the stairs frequently at home, so this should be a piece of cake. Then they hit floor five. Then floor nine. Then floor eleven. Jimin doubles over as they approach floor twelve. “God,” Jimin chokes out. Stairs are a different beast than riding his bike in the park or going on his occasional evening jog. Plus, the discomfort of climbing stairs in his khakis and sweater makes it feel even more unbearable. His grip on the railing is sweaty and limp, his knees held together just to keep himself from falling onto the floor in exhaustion. They’re barely halfway there, and Jimin doesn’t know how long they’ve been climbing stairs, but he knows he’s not sure he’ll be able to climb anymore. “Hyung, are you okay?” Jeongguk asks, coming up from behind. He’s sweaty, but he’s a brisk walk kind of sweaty. Jeongguk isn’t gasping for breath or about ready to flop on the ground and never get up again. Jimin doesn’t understand how he can do this every day. Sometimes twice.  “I’m - I’m - wheeze - I’m fine.” “We can take a break if you want—” “No! No, no, I’m fine! I’m just, you know—” Jimin pauses to swallow his spit. Ugh. “You know, I’m just waiting for you. Matching pace. It’s fine, it’s totally fine.” “Oh. Um…well, I’m going to stop for water—” Jimin takes that as permission to immediately sit down. Jeongguk smiles at him. “I’m sitting cause you’re having a drink. Not because I’m tired. I’m not tired at all. I can do this all day,” Jimin stresses. Jeongguk takes a seat next to him, pulling out his hydro flask from his backpack. Jimin can see Jeongguk’s work clothes bundled up and shoved inside underneath Jeongguk’s lunch bag. That explains the wrinkles. “I try to keep hydrated as I walk,” Jeongguk explains, taking a long swig. He offers the hydro flask to Jimin, who takes it with a mumble of thanks and takes way bigger of a drink from it than Jeongguk does.  “So, you…you do this every day?” Jimin asks. Jeongguk nods. Jimin looks up at the stairs they still have to climb, then back to Jeongguk. “You do this every day??” Jimin asks again, listening to his disbelief reverberate off the walls. Jeongguk laughs. “Yeah?” he says with a cute tilt of his head. “I wake up early, get to work, climb the stairs up to the twenty-ninth floor, and then I do a quick wash-up in the men’s bathroom and change before going to the office. It’s a routine for me.” “How long have you been doing this?” “Since I started working here.” “Which is?” “Um.” Jeongguk bites his bottom lip. “Two years ago?” “You’ve been climbing thirty flights of steps every day for the last two years?” Jeongguk rubs his knees, eyes downcast. “I know it’s weird, okay? But it…it helps me, and I just…I just can’t go into the elevator,” he says, distant. Jimin bites his bottom lip, rubbing the sweat from his brow off the back of his hand.  “…Sorry. I don’t mean to pry you about it,” Jimin says with a sigh, leaning back onto his hands. “It’s just…wow. You put yourself through this, and you still manage to work diligently. You even get Namgin his coffee.” He flashes Jeongguk a smile. “I’m going to have to see if VP Kim can give you a wellness fortune.” Jeongguk’s cheeks flush pink. “O-Oh, that’s fine. I don’t want to bother him asking for a fortune—” “I’m sure he won’t mind,” Jimin reassures. “He really likes talking about stuff like the supernatural, good and bad karma, urban myths—pretty much anything weird. He just gets worried that he will bore someone the moment he starts talking. That, or freak them out.” Jeongguk looks insulted. “Who can be bored listening to VP Kim speak?” he asks with such righteous anger. “He speaks so eloquently and with such knowledge and passion about his topics. He makes me want to learn more about what he is discussing. Like, since he told me about the good luck properties of gold, I’ve been learning how to make gold bracelets and gold rings. Did you know that if you wear gold below your waist, it’s considered an insult to a goddess?” Jimin is amazed that Jeongguk can talk a mile a minute after climbing eleven consecutive flights of stairs. “No, I didn’t know that. I’m sure VP Kim will like to know that if he doesn’t already,” Jimin points out. Jeongguk smiles and brushes a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m sure he already does. VP Kim is so studious.” “He is,” Jimin says, nodding his head. “Studious, kind…” “So kind,” Jeongguk admits with a dreamy sigh. “Kind, intelligent, a good leader, very handsome—” Jeongguk stops, blush on his face like he didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. Jimin smiles, resting his cheek in his hand. “Yes, he’s very handsome as well,” Jimin admits. Jeongguk studies Jimin’s expression for a few moments. The gaze is frankly just as intense as one VP Kim would give, the kind of look where he wants to know if someone is messing with him, mocking him. Jimin holds his expression, maintains eye contact with Jeongguk’s shaking pupils until, at last, Jeongguk looks away and exposes the red tips of his ears.  “You should talk to him sometime when you’re not busy,” Jimin offers. “Trust me, he enjoys hearing about people’s day.” Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. He rubs his hands nervously together.  It takes Jimin a moment to stand up, but he does eventually. Jimin stretches his arms over his head and claps his hands together. “Okay. Refreshed and reenergized. Do you want a snack, Jeongguk-ssi? I have muffins,” Jimin offers, briefly opening his messenger bag and popping open the lid of Tupperware.  Jeongguk looks inside at the charred muffins, wrinkles his nose at the stink beginning to fill the stairwell, then looks at Jimin with a polite smile and says, “No, thank you.” Jimin closes the lid and shrugs. More for Seokjin, then.             Over the course of climbing thirty flights of stairs, Jimin thinks he only died three times. He follows Jeongguk into the bathroom, half doubled over and drenched in sweat, just so he can hug a toilet in case he has to puke. “Thank you for walking with me, hyung,” Jeongguk says, looking through the bathroom mirror at Jimin’s sickly form curled up in the first open stall. He’s shirtless, wiping damp paper towels all over his torso to clean off the sweat. Jeongguk’s chest is well-defined, and the way he wipes his abs down would be enough to make anyone drool.  Spread out on the sink is deodorant, body spray, hair product, and toothpaste. When Jeongguk thinks he’s thoroughly cleaned, he rubs on some deodorant and envelops himself in a toxic body spray cloud. Afterward, he gets dressed in his suit. The shirt and pants are wrinkled, ill-fitted in that they shroud Jeongguk’s figure entirely, making him look dowdy and meek.  Jeongguk doesn’t cover up the tattoos on the arm since the jacket’s oversized sleeve does well in hiding them. He only applies the foundation on the back of his hand, covering up that frightening eye until all it looks like is smooth, creamy skin. “Where did you get all those tattoos?” Jimin asks when he can feel his tongue in his mouth. He sits upright in the stall, his head braced against the toilet roll dispenser. Jeongguk looks at him through the reflection, carefully taking out the silver studs in his ears.  “Um, just…you know. Places.” “Places…That eye one is fascinating. What’s the story about that?” Jimin carefully pries. Jeongguk’s shoulders hunch up. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, and Jimin immediately nods his head in understanding. Too soon. They’ve just had one experience to bond and talk, and he already laid some foundation for VP Kim and Jeongguk to engage with each other. It’s not a sprint; it’s a marathon, Park Jimin. He just needs to take his time and play it cool. “Sorry,” Jeongguk apologizes after the long beat of silence. Jimin waves off his apology and staggers to his feet, going over to the sink to check his reflection in the mirror. He looks sweaty and frumpy, but it’s easily fixable. Thank god he didn’t wear the business suit after all. If he were VP Kim, he’d consider it was fate that he incinerated those muffins.  “So, if Namgin asks you to go on a coffee run, then you take the stairs back down?” Jimin asks. Jeongguk nods his head, squirting a bit of toothpaste onto his toothbrush. Jimin helps himself to Jeongguk’s comb, straightening out his hair. “Listen, I know you don’t have a problem with taking the stairs because that’s what makes you comfortable, but it isn’t fair that Namgin keeps using you like a gopher,” Jimin chastises as he combs his hair back into place. “Yeah, I know,” Jeongguk says around the toothbrush and foam. “So you need to do something. Say something. Is Chief Kang your supervisor? I can talk to her about his behavior—” “Please, hyung. I really don’t want a lot of attention drawn towards me,” Jeongguk quietly insists. He spits in the sink and rinses his mouth with the water. “I just want to do my job in peace. I know Namgin is…difficult…but it’ll just be more uncomfortable if there’s this tension beginning to build.” Jimin starts to say something, but Jeongguk turns away, carefully scooping all of his toiletries back into his backpack. Handing back Jeongguk’s comb, Jimin sighs. “Alright…but if I think it’s really hindering your productivity, I’m going to speak to Changmin about this. Him as well as VP Kim,” Jimin warns. Jeongguk nods his head, his other hand tightening into a fist as he grabs his bag off the ground.  The two exit the bathroom, and Jeongguk goes for the last set of stairs. Jimin waves, trudging in defeat towards the elevator and pressing the button to call it to the floor. Once it arrives with a harmonious ding, Jimin slips inside for the short ride to the next floor, trudging out and over to his desk.  Thankfully, no one else is here. Jimin takes out the muffins, heads over to Seokjin’s office, and places the muffins delicately near his keyboard.  And while he’s there, he snoops through Seokjin’s things. Seokjin’s desk is kept tidy, though his drawers aren’t organized to the precision Jimin arranged his own drawers. Still, Seokjin’s files, folders, and documents are in identifiable stacks with labels, so Jimin doesn’t waste his time pilfering through them.  Jimin pulls open a cabinet door and carefully pushes around Seokjin’s hidden stash of candy and tea bags, feeling a flush of heat rise to the back of his neck as he moves aside a constant comment box that was recently opened. Jimin feels something small and covered with leather at the far back of the cabinet. He grins, grabbing it and pulling it out to reveal Seokjin’s planner. “Ah-hah!” Jimin shouts in delight, flipping through the pages of Seokjin’s calendar and carefully reading through his appointments. Meeting on Thursday, a phone call with Minho on Friday…check back with Taeyong about the figurine on Saturday…and the following week is blank except for a small doodle of a smiley face and a doodle of a microphone taking up the entire block of Saturday.  Jimin stares at the block the longest, trying to decipher what it means. Norebang? Norebang with friends? Norebang…with a date?  Is Seokjin dating someone? The elevator dings, and Jimin quickly throws the planner back into Seokjin’s drawer. He peeks out the door, watching as Changmin comes in with the usual eight am crowd, the man immediately heading to the bathroom to finish fixing himself up while everyone else quietly migrates to their respective cubicles and offices.  Once the coast is clear, Jimin quietly slips out of Seokjin’s office. He pushes the thought of that Saturday block to the back of his mind. For now, he has work to do.             People slowly putter into the office one by one, and Jimin divides his time equally to phase one of his plan and his morning routine for work. VP Kim arrives earlier than usual at nine, an odd number today, but it must have been something Madame Seo told him about in his morning karma forecast. Jimin smiles at him as he comes through the elevator doors, glancing briefly over in the direction of marketing. “Sajangnim,” Jimin calls just before VP Kim can disappear into his office. “Yes?” “I was wondering if maybe you could provide Jeongguk-ssi with a wellness fortune? Something for good health?” Jimin suggests. VP Kim moves over to Jimin’s desk, concern writing over his face. “He’s not sick, is he?” “Oh no, nothing like that. But he exercises regularly, and I think that having additional karma will help to keep his body in tip-top shape,” Jimin explains. Slight relief crosses VP Kim’s face before he nods his head in agreement. “Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea. I will be seeing Madame Seo tonight, so I shall ask her for her guidance on Jeongguk’s behalf.” “Oh, but sajangnim, Jeongguk will be gone by then,” Jimin says with a pout. “I’m sure there’s something you can offer now, at least until tomorrow morning when you will be able to bestow Madame Seo’s glorious wisdom.” VP Kim bites his bottom lip. He takes a glance over in the direction of marketing, then rubs his hands together. The usual nervousness. “I…I don’t know if…if I should give any advice–” “He told me he was very interested about the good luck properties of gold,” Jimin brings up with a smile, not missing the way how VP Kim’s eyes light up with surprise. “He…he was?” “Very,” Jimin says with a delighted smile, gasping with sudden recollection. “You know what? He told me that he was looking for something to drink during the mornings! And you used to do those…oh…what were they called–” “Tea meditations,” VP Kim says quickly, eyes wide with delight. “Y-Yes, I - I know of a meditation he could do for good health. I might even have some of the tea available in my desk. Do you…do you think he will mind if I tell him?” Jimin smiles. “I’m sure he’ll be elated.” VP Kim smiles as well, glancing back at the marketing corner. He nods, moreso to himself than to Jimin, to that little part of him that still is nervous and jittery but altogether very excited. Jimin finds himself smiling into his palm as he watches VP Kim’s back disappearing into his office, catching a glimpse of the tips of VP Kim’s reddened ears.  Jimin turns back to his computer and continues with his work. Nine-thirty, ten, ten-thirty. Jimin keeps glancing at the elevator whenever he hears it ding, hating the way his heart jumps every time. Why is he nervous about Seokjin finding the muffins? Jimin did a Good Thing, and Good Things deserve to be noticed. He tries to focus on other things. VP Kim has a dentist appointment that Jimin needs to schedule, and there’s a presentation on customer satisfaction that Jimin needs to start drafting and he needs to check up on Taehyung and the status of that gift basket for Madame Seo, and also he needs to get the dinner order for tonight’s Tuesday spiritual meeting and– The elevator door dings.  Seokjin comes strolling out along with Myungho and other members of operations. Jimin immediately averts his eyes and hides behind his half-divider, which makes him feel as suspicious as he probably looks. So, faking casual, Jimin gets up from his desk and wanders over to the water machine, which gives him a good vantage point of Seokjin briefly speaking to Youngjae at his cubicle before he turns and heads inside his office. “Park Jimin-ssi,” a voice drolls from behind. Jimin turns, coming face to face with Chief Lee of finances. Chief Lee points a wrinkled finger at the water machine Jimin is blocking access from. “If you mind, I’d like to prepare my tea.” Jimin doesn’t mind, and he would move. But then Seokjin comes immediately out of his office with Jimin’s muffins in hand, head turning towards Jimin’s desk like he just knows Jimin is the one behind it. It kind of pisses Jimin off. Is he the only Good Person in the office that Seokjin wouldn’t even guess someone else first?  “Park Jimin-ssi?” Chief Lee calls again, as though Jimin somehow didn’t hear his monotone voice the first time. Seokjin hears this nasal calling of Jimin’s name from afar, eyes finding Jimin’s quickly until Jimin turns away and faces Chief Lee. Jimin smiles, digging into his back pocket. “Chief Lee, may I take your picture?” he asks. Chief Lee blinks. “What?” “Your picture,” Jimin repeats, keeping his smile perfect and serene even though he sees Seokjin approaching the both of them out of his peripherals. “VP Kim is thinking about putting a moodboard up and had the brilliant idea of posting images of employees’ faces exhibiting different moods to show that we all can share and pass on different energies.” Chief Lee is one of the few members of the board that tolerate VP Kim’s antics. Jimin even noticed Chief Lee wearing healing crystals fashioned as a bracelet tucked underneath his Rolex. So, thankfully, Jimin isn’t met with an eyeroll of annoyance. The easier people go along with whatever ‘VP Kim sounding’ thing he says, the better it is for the plan. “If you take my picture, can I make my tea afterward?” Chief Lee asks. Seokjin is standing right beside Jimin. Jimin can smell his cologne and feels the heat rising in his cheeks. He does his damnedest to ignore him. “Yep! Just a few snapshots, if you don’t mind,” Jimin says.  Chief Lee glances briefly at Seokjin. Jimin can’t tell what kind of face Seokjin is making right now, but it must not look too urgent since Chief Lee turns his attention back to Jimin’s phone as he readies his camera. Jimin coaches Chief Lee through three expressions: an angry shot, a sad shot, and a big happy smile. Chief Lee’s angry and sad pictures look pretty identical, both with hard pulls of his bushy eyebrows and thin lips, but the quality won’t matter in the long run. Jimin thanks Chief Lee for his time and turns, still actively ignoring Seokjin as he leaves the water machine and heads back to his desk. “So, are you going to ignore me again, Park Jimin-ssi?” Seokjin calls out once Jimin has sat down. Jimin turns to him at last, feigning ignorance with a hand over his shocked mouth. “Oh, I didn’t notice you! I was so busy working, you know. Just a busy little bee,” Jimin says with a smile. Seokjin stares at him. God, Jimin hopes they’re not doing the stare-down again. He’s still feeling flushed under the collar from making eye contact with Seokjin from across the room. Seokjin places the Tupperware of muffins on Jimin’s desk. “Do you know why I found a bowl of rocks on my desk, Park Jimin-ssi?” Seokjin asks. Jimin huffs. “They look like muffins, actually. But maybe Santa’s elves came to the office and dropped off your lumps of coal early,” he says with a shrug.  Seokjin gives a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah,” he says with a pointed look, “I’m sure Santa’s naughtiest elf hand-delivered them.” Jimin turns up his nose. “Are you insinuating I left them, Kim Seokjin-ssi?” he asks. “After going through the list of usual suspects, yes.” Seokjin cocks his head to the side. “Obviously, these ‘muffins’ have been incinerated to hell and most likely inedible, so I just wanted to know why you wanted me to see how terrible of a chef you are.” Ha! He’s got him! Jimin turns back to his computer with an insulted ‘hmph!’. “Well, if you must know,” Jimin starts, “I wanted to say thank you for the tea by preparing you some of my famous chocolate-banana muffins. Unfortunately, my oven burned them to a crisp as I was trying to get ready for work, but I felt that the blood, sweat, and tears that I poured into making those muffins for you shouldn’t go to waste. I figured that any good person would see and appreciate the thought of me waking up extremely early just to prepare them a nice baked treat regardless of the outcome, but I guess since you’re a jerk, you wouldn’t see that.” Seokjin says nothing.  Jimin clenches his jaw. No, he’s not going to fall for it. He’s got the high ground. He’s - he’s not going to let Seokjin’s mind games win.  They both stare at each other, neither of them speaking. Jimin feels his eyes beginning to sting from not blinking. The back of his neck is starting to feel hot. Then, Seokjin’s head falls to the side in a curious tilt. A small smile forms on his lips. “Park Jimin-ssi,” he says in a Tone that Jimin doesn’t like. A Tone that makes Jimin’s stomach tie itself into a butterfly knot. “You must think about me a lot, don’t you?” Jimin’s brain short circuits. “W-Wha-I-wha-why would–huh?!” “I mean, you woke up so early just to make me muffins?” Seokjin asks, his smile growing bigger. “I woke up early to make everyone muffins!” Jimin counters. Argh! His face is so hot!! “Oh, so now these are ‘everyone’s muffins’?” “Yes! But I burned them, so I just gave them to you as a metaphor.” “A metaphor for what?” “For having a head full of rocks for thinking I’d wake up early and make you muffins,” Jimin spits. He brings his hands over his cheeks to hide how red they are. Seokjin won’t stop smiling at him, and Jimin’s stomach keeps doing gymnastics. Turning angrily towards his computer, Jimin snaps, “Go away! I’m trying to work!” “Aren’t you going to ask me for my pictures?” “Huh?” “My pictures for VP Kim’s moodboard.” Oh. Yes, Jimin did need his pictures. That was the whole point of the moodboard charade.  Jimin gives himself a few seconds to calm down, lightly slapping his cheeks before he grabs his phone and walks around his desk to stand in front of Seokjin. He’s already taken photos of Jeongguk, Soohee, and Changmin. All of them were just an excuse if Seokjin found suspicion with Jimin asking for his pictures and didn’t believe the moodboard story. This agreeable mood and that stupid smile aren’t good for Jimin’s health. “Do you need the same kind of expressions?” Seokjin asks.  “No,” Jimin mumbles, eyes strictly on his phone. “I need you to look asleep for one.” “...Asleep?” “Yeah. Asleep.” Seokjin raises an eyebrow but clicks his tongue and closes his eyes, relaxing his face as his head lolls downward. Jimin snaps a few photos of the expression. He’ll pick the one easiest to edit out of the bunch after he looks through them. “Okay, now I need you to look sexy,” Jimin instructs.  “Yah, why would a sexy picture go up on a company moodboard?” Seokjin questions in disbelief, attempting to look at Jimin’s phone, leaning into Jimin’s personal bubble. Jimin holds his phone close to his chest, backing himself against his desk.  “Either do it or leave me alone,” Jimin tells him. He can just use the sleeping photo. He might not need anymore photos anyways. Jimin doesn’t know. All he does know is that his face feels like it’s on fire, and it’s hard to focus with Seokjin standing so close and smelling so strong of lavender and dark coffee grounds. Seokjin clicks his tongue at Jimin’s snappiness but runs a hand through his hair in contemplation. Jimin’s thumb clicks the shutter without him being cognitively aware of it. “So what kind of sexy are you looking for? Like…should I angle my head a certain way—” Seokjin begins to ask. “Just look into the camera,” Jimin instructs. Seokjin complies, gazing at Jimin through the camera lens of the phone. Jimin curses the hole he dug for himself and quickly takes another burst of shots to sort through later. Much later. Maybe never. “How were they?” Seokjin asks when Jimin lowers his phone. “Fine.” “Did they look sexy enough for you?” Seokjin asks. God, why is he so close?! “They made me throw up a little in my mouth,” Jimin weakly banters. “Okay, now smile.” Seokjin smiles. His lips are plump and soft-looking. He looks like he’s actually enjoying Jimin taking his photos, which makes Jimin feel terribly uneasy. This isn’t natural for them. This isn’t normal for them. Why is Seokjin being so compliant? Why is Seokjin being so nice? Why is Jimin thinking about Seokjin so much? Thinking…those things about Seokjin? Jimin wipes the sweat from his palms when he pockets the phone. “Right, so…go away,” he awkwardly fumbles, averting his eyes to the ground. He hears Seokjin chuckle, not in disbelief or in annoyance. Just a sharp exhale of air that makes Jimin’s ears sting hot. “Alright then, I guess I’ll take everyone’s rocks to the break room since they’re meant for everyone,” Seokjin announces. “Yeah, you do that,” Jimin mumbles, squeezing his arms tight around his midsection. “…Thank you for making these, Park Jimin-ssi,” Seokjin then says, a little bit softer, like only Jimin is meant to hear the sentiment laced in those words. Okay, the Good Deed has been paid off. The universe is supposed to be righting itself now. Is that why Jimin thinks he’s going to throw up? Maybe he’s allergic to cosmic shifts caused by his enemies being nice to him. “Your shoes look dumb,” Jimin tells Seokjin, since that’s all he can bring himself to look at. Before Seokjin can respond or even look at his own feet, Jimin briskly turns on his heel and flees towards the bathroom, locking himself in the first stall and planting himself on the toilet.  Dropping his face into his hands, Jimin quietly screams into his palms. That’s the end of Jimin’s Tuesday afternoon.             Jimin isn’t at his desk when Namjoon quietly comes out of his office precisely at eleven. Madame Seo explained to him that odd numbers will bring good fortune in terms of conversation, so he spent the past hour quietly meditating and making sure his aura had been thoroughly cleansed. Good deals will be made at odd hours of the day, so he’ll have to get the list of numbers from Jimin on investors so he can make as many calls within this hour as possible. But first, he has to give Jeongguk his fortune. Namjoon hasn’t gifted anyone tea in months. He gave Seokjin tea for his birthday last year since Seokjin is a collector, and he’s given Jimin tea once or twice before as a thank you gift for being such a good secretary. He was too afraid to tell them about their cosmic power, so he only hopes they have been drinking it regularly and that the universal forces have been blessing them with good luck in their work-life as well as their personal lives.  His palms grow sweaty as he flips the tea tin around in his grasp. Jeon Jeongguk. Namjoon wishes he knew a bit more about the man before doing this. He can’t bother Madame Seo with something so frivolous, but he wishes he could briefly consult with someone else on this matter. He doesn’t doubt Jimin’s judgment of Jeongguk’s character or interest, mind you. Namjoon is sure that Jeongguk will enjoy this tea and enjoy hearing about the meditative qualities. But Namjoon is still scared. Namjoon is still worried about messing things up. He tiptoes quietly through the office. Everyone is deeply engrossed in either their work or their lunch. No one glances up at him and wonders why VP Kim is wandering over to the marketing area. Namjoon wished he had thought of an excuse for being here if Jeongguk rejected the tea. Something else to hide behind, some type of armor that he can put on so this vulnerable ache in his chest won’t hurt with each heavy step he takes. Sweat prickles on the back of his neck as he peers around the corner, eyes carefully searching the empty cubicles one by one until they fall on a pair of hunched-up shoulders. Jeongguk’s desk is far separated from the rest of the marketing team. Namjoon isn’t even sure that desk is meant to be there. He approaches Jeongguk from behind, hearing the quiet slurps of Jeongguk most likely enjoying a cup of ramyun.  Namjoon reaches a hand out and claps it on Jeongguk’s shoulder. “U-Um, hi—” Jeongguk startles in his chair, knee kicking up and banging against the underside of his desk. He chokes out a noise, fumbling his cup of ramyun as he lurches forward and away from Namjoon’s hand that is now frozen stiff mid-air. The cup of ramyun goes tumbling onto the floor between Jeongguk’s feet, but Jeongguk barely seems to notice as he quickly spins around in his chair, eyes shaky and wide. Both of them stare at each other, quiet. Namjoon feels someone’s eyes on the back of his neck, possibly someone glancing over at the ruckus Jeongguk made. He hunches up his shoulders, shame burning the sides of his temples. You’re so stupid, Kim Namjoon. Why do you always have to be so stupid? Don’t you know how to do anything right? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Jeongguk’s pupils focus and relax. He brings his hand to his chest and calms his breathing. “O-Oh, I’m so sorry, sajangnim—” Jeongguk apologizes, but Namjoon doesn’t get to hear the rest of what Jeongguk has to say. He’s already turning around and briskly walking back to his office, keeping his head down and hating the way how loud his footsteps sound to his ears as he flees from the mess he made.  Closing the door of his office firmly shut behind him, Namjoon braces a hand against the side of his head. He’s feeling dizzy, overwhelmed, his brain loudly shouting and berating him over and over and over. Staggering over to his desk, Namjoon pulls out his drawer and grabs a healing candle. The fire marshall has warned them (repeatedly) about lighting too many candles within the office space, so Namjoon tries to quell his anxiety and tells himself to only burn one and not nine. You’re so dumb, Kim Namjoon. You always screw everything up. Everyone saw how much of a fool you’ve made yourself look. You’re already the biggest laughing stock in the office. Why are you just so stu— Two polite knocks sound against Namjoon’s office door. Namjoon jumps, accidentally dropping his candle and lighter on the ground. He stares uncomfortably at the door. “U-Um, I’m sorry, but can you knock one more time?” he calls out. A pause. Then, one gentle knock follows after.  Breathing with relief that at least whatever is behind the door is not carrying dark energy, he stoops down and collects his candle and lighter. “Come in,” he says, walking around his desk. Jeongguk’s head peeks in, carefully edging himself inside. He leaves Namjoon’s door open just a crack, adjusting how open the door is to his liking until he is satisfied, before turning back to Namjoon with soft eyes. “Um, good afternoon, sajangnim,” Jeongguk greets with a bow of his head. Namjoon bows his head as well, turning his candle around in his hands.  “Good afternoon…u-um I’m really sorry about just now, I didn’t mean—” “It’s okay,” Jeongguk reassures. “I don’t…like it when people touch me from behind without warning. I’m sorry for reacting so violently and startling you.” “No, I’m sorry for startling you and ruining your lunch—” “It wasn’t even that good of a ramyun. Really, I’m sorry—” “Okay, wait,” Namjoon says, a hand raised. Jeongguk stops talking, lightly twisting the bottom of his tie between his fingers. He looks at Namjoon through his eyelashes, demure yet curious.  Clearing his throat, Namjoon says, “I didn’t mean to startle you, and I didn’t mean to ruin your lunch, even if it wasn’t that good. But, um, please allow me to buy you something else for your lunch.” Jeongguk hums, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “…Well, I was going to go to the snack machine if you would like to tag along?” Jeongguk offers. Namjoon nods, putting down his candle and his lighter for the time being. He briefly glances at the tea tin on his desk, thinks about grabbing it, but decides against it at the last second and grabs his wallet from the corner of his desk. The two walk together in polite silence to the break room. Namjoon smiles at the people they pass while Jeongguk keeps his head down and avoids eye contact. Once they stop in front of the snack machine in the hallway, Jeongguk takes a moment to peruse the contents with wide eyes.  “Mmm, I’ll have the honey butter chips,” Jeongguk says, tapping a finger on the glass.  Namjoon looks at the choice, wallet ready. He winces. “Um… I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t get that one,” he murmurs to Jeongguk. Jeongguk looks at him, confused. “Why? What’s wrong?” Namjoon taps the glass as well. “It’s number six, and that’s an even number,” he explains. “According to Madame Seo, even numbers hold dark energy, and she advised not coming into contact with them.” Jeongguk’s eyebrows knit together, thinking. Namjoon looks away, feeling the shame creeping up again. Why did you open your mouth again, Kim Namjoon? Why can’t you just shut up? You’re so stupid. “Um…okay…do you have any recommendations?” Jeongguk asks Namjoon. Namjoon looks at the selection, focusing only on the odd numbers. It’s a shame, too, because he actually does love the granola in the snack machine and would highly recommend it. Unfortunately, it’s number four. “Um, this looks tasty, I think,” Namjoon suggests, tapping the number nine option. “Bell pepper, onion, and lime crackers?” Jeongguk wrinkles his nose. The expression makes a tiny flutter appear in Namjoon’s chest. “Mmm, not a big fan of bell pepper,” Jeongguk tells him. He points at a green and black bag, number eleven. “Have you tried this one? Mint chocolate chip cookie crunch?” Now it is Namjoon’s turn to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Jeongguk giggles at his expression. “Mint choco?” Namjoon asks in disbelief. “There must be something wrong. The person stocking the machine must have put those in the wrong spot. I wouldn’t dare think about cursing you with having that flavor in your mouth, Jeongguk-ssi.” Jeongguk is smiling, eyes twinkling. He has a charming smile, Namjoon realizes. Like a bunny rabbit. “Mmm, okay then,” Jeongguk says, looking up. He taps the seventh option. “Rice puffs? A classic, right?” he asks.  Namjoon can’t find any fault with rice puffs. In fact, rice is considered good luck for future wealth and prosperity. He tells Jeongguk this as he feeds his won bills into the machine one at a time, typing in the lucky number with quick fingers. “That’s why we throw rice at newlyweds. For them to have a happy and prosperous future together,” Namjoon explains, retrieving the rice puffs once they fall and handing them to Jeongguk.  Jeongguk murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’, smiling as he carefully unwraps the rice puff and takes a bite. Namjoon watches him, still that little bit of worry and fear stirring around his stomach. Is he being too strange? Is he talking too much about weird things? Did he make a bad choice? Is he making Jeongguk uncomfortable? He watches as Jeongguk’s eyebrows scrunch up in a frown as Jeongguk takes another bite. “…You don’t like it?” Namjoon asks, hesitant. “Hmm?” Jeongguk blinks, then clarity shines through his eyes as he brings a hand over to cover his eyebrows. “Oh! No, I’m sorry, I do this thing. My mom says I got it from my dad. These rice puffs are delicious, sajangnim,” Jeongguk reassures. He leans his body against the snack machine, taking another bite. Namjoon finds his body moving in tandem, carefully leaning against the snack machine with their arms lightly brushing against each other. “O-Oh. I’m glad then,” Namjoon says with a thankful nod. “Um…my father says I clench my jaw just like he does when I get nervous.” Jeongguk nods in understanding. “I cover my ears when I’m nervous. They turn really red.” “Oh, that’s cute,” Namjoon compliments, and Jeongguk giggles again. He covers his right ear with his hand as he takes another bite of rice puff. “Um, was there something you wanted to speak to me about? Before the whole…thing?” Jeongguk then asks. Namjoon looks away, shaking his head and twiddling his thumbs behind his back. “Ah, no. I, uh, it’s fine. I’ll just ask Chief Kang about it,” Namjoon deflects. Jeongguk nods, taking another bite of his rice puff, before offering it to Namjoon. “Would you want some?” he then asks. Namjoon looks at the rice puff, then at Jeongguk, then back at the rice puff. With a cautious hand resting over Jeongguk’s, Namjoon bends over and takes a bite of the snack, chewing it slowly and listening to every loud crunch his teeth make. “It’s very sweet,” Namjoon points out. Jeongguk smiles, taking the last bite to finish the rice puff off. “I like them sweet,” Jeongguk says in between chews, licking any excess sweetness from the tips of his fingers. Both of them stand there together, arms against one another and eyes on the ground. Strangely, Namjoon finds he doesn’t feel uncomfortable with the silence. His brain is quiet, and he feels aware of his surroundings and how his body exists in this space.  He feels the weight of his heels as he stands on them, the press of the machine against his broad back, the heat on the back of his neck, and the slight curl of a smile on his lips. He notices the brushes of Jeongguk’s arm against him, fleeting touches that shouldn’t make Namjoon hyper-focus on them the way that he’s doing now.  It’s been a while since he’s been in someone’s quiet company and just…just existed.  A contented sigh comes from Namjoon’s lips without even thinking about it. “…I should…um, probably get back to my desk,” Jeongguk says after a long pause where both of them just stood there. He turns to Namjoon and gives a polite bow of his head. “Thank you for the rice puffs, sajangnim,” Jeongguk says with quiet gratitude.  “Of course,” Namjoon says, nodding his head in understanding.  Jeongguk smiles, a tint of pink on his face. Just before he can walk past Namjoon, Namjoon quickly raises his hand to draw back his attention. “U-Um,” Namjoon starts, “I…I really enjoyed lunch today.” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. “We just shared a rice puff,” he points out. Namjoon blushes then scratches at the heat on the back of his neck.  “Well, um, regardless. If you ever need any snack recommendations, my door is open,” Namjoon offers. Jeongguk smiles kindly at him. “I’ll be sure to remember that,” he tells him, waving goodbye in departure. Namjoon watches Jeongguk go, lingering by the snack machine for a few moments alone. He lets himself enjoy this warmth biting at the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks before he grabs himself another rice puff and heads back to his office with a smile.

Technoblade found Wilbur in the employees’ room of the convenience store he was working at; Wilbur’s shirt was stained with blood and his face covered with bruises. Panic and fear wrapped their tight hold around Technoblade’s chest, and Technoblade rushed to his twin, instantly surveying him for any other injuries. “Are you alright?” Technoblade gasped, “Hurt anywhere else, why is there so much blood—” Wilbur shook his head, looking almost drunk as he struggled to stay standing. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice slurred, “Had to heal the worst of it with magic, but I’m fine, I’m fine.” Technoblade didn’t believe it for a second, and he forced Wilbur to sit back down. He felt as though eyes were burning a hole into his back, and he looked around, his hand flying to the knife in his pocket. But nobody burst out from behind the cabinets, and Technoblade returned his attention to his injured brother. “Your wards are still there?” Technoblade confirmed. Wilbur nodded, his eyes dropping. “Phil won’t… be able to get to him.” “With any luck, he doesn’t know where our house is at all,” Technoblade muttered. He leapt to his feet and began searching the shelves. “Where’s the first aid kit?” Wilbur pointed to the other side of the room, and Technoblade spotted the red box. He quickly grabbed it and returned to Wilbur. Wilbur looked near tears. “I don’t… I don’t want him to get hurt, Tech.” “He won’t,” Technoblade said firmly, “I told him not to leave the house, he’s not stupid, despite how much he misses Dream. He’s not going to leave.” Technoblade hated how he felt like he was reassuring himself more than anything. “What if my wards aren’t enough?” Wilbur looked near panicked now. “What if—” “You refreshed your wards yesterday.” Technoblade pointed out, maybe more aggressively than he needed to. “He’ll be fine.” “If Phil gets to him—” “He won’t.” Phil won’t get to Tommy. Tommy was safe. As long as Tommy stayed inside, he was safe.   Tommy had pinkie promised Technoblade he wouldn’t leave the house. He had promised. Wilbur was hurt, but that was okay. Technoblade said he was going to take care of him. Tommy just had to stay inside the house. HE could do that. He stayed inside all the time. Tommy ignored the way the blue sky and green grass looked perfect for playing in. Tommy ignored the way he wanted to burst outside and chase after Technoblade to make sure that Wilbur was okay. Tommy ignored the way that his heart beat and his stomach flipped uncomfortably whenever he imagined Wilbur getting hurt. Instead, Tommy sat on the living room couch, the one he turned red, playing with Steve and Friend. He missed Henry. Tommy knew that Henry would be best friends with Steve and Friend, and they would never get separated, even if a jerk decided to kidnap Henry. Henry was kidnapped, but that was okay. Steve and Friend would save him one day. And then they could all be friends forever. Tommy heard a car drive near the house, and he instantly leapt to his feet, hurrying toward the window. Had Technoblade come back with Wilbur? Would Wilbur be okay? Would they play with Tommy? Tommy pressed his face up against the cold glass of the window, inspecting the car that was sitting in front of the house across the street. Wait a minute… that was Daddy’s car! It was green, like Daddy’s, and it had those silly stickers on the side, like Daddy’s. Tommy gasped in delight when he saw Henry sitting on top of one of those small mirrors jutting out of the side of the car. His chest thrummed in excitement. Daddy was back! He had defeated the bad guys, and now he would come in and scoop Tommy up in his arms and make sure that Tommy was safe. And then Tommy could tell Daddy about Wilbur, and Daddy could make sure that Wilbur was safe too. It was pretty silly of Daddy to place Henry on the mirror like that, but he probably just wanted to make sure that Tommy could see Henry as a surprise. Tommy quickly hurried to the door and turned the lock holding it shut. With a click, the knob was free, and Tommy swung the door open, dashing across the front yard with bare feet and flying across the hot pavement without looking both ways. The concrete hurt his feet, but Tommy didn’t care. As long as he got to see Daddy again, it would all be worth it. Tommy reached the side of the car, and he instantly snatched Henry off of the window, hugging him close. “I missed you,” he whispered. Henry missed Tommy too. He could tell. The car door swung open, and a man stepped out of the car. He wasn’t his Daddy. “Hey mate,” the stranger said, smiling cheerfully. His hands were shoved into his pockets. Tommy automatically took a step back, clutching onto Henry tightly. “Where’s my Daddy?” he asked, his voice quivering. Daddy was supposed to be there. Daddy was supposed to hug him. There wasn’t supposed to be this stranger still smiling but standing over Tommy in a way that felt wrong. “He sent me to get you,” the stranger said, “Why don’t you get into the car, and I’ll take you to him?” Tommy suddenly remembered his pinky promise to Technoblade about staying in the house, and he took a few more steps back. “Actually, I think I need to go back inside—” The stranger lunged forward and grabbed Tommy by the wrist, and Tommy screamed as the stranger dragged Tommy to the car.  It hurt, and Tommy didn’t trust this stranger, and he wanted to go back inside, and he wanted his Daddy. “Let go of me!” The stranger was holding something in his hand and Tommy tried to yank himself away as his fist came toward Tommy’s neck. There was a sharp pinprick of pain, and Tommy screamed. And then the world slowly started blurring all around Tommy, and he collapsed forward into the stranger’s arms. “That’s alright, mate,” the stranger said, as though he was nice, “I’ve got you.” Tommy whimpered, trying to push himself away, but he was being dragged into the car, and Henry wasn’t there, and, and—

“You are late, Your Highness,” Master Mei Nianqing states while placing a playing card from his hand on the table. Xie Lian is gasping for breath, smoothing his hair frantically as if he didn’t just burst through the doors of the study like a lunatic.    Xie Lian licks his lips before responding with a shrug, a nervous laugh escaping him, “Ya know, I gotta change things up sometimes...“    Master Mei Nianqing cocks an eyebrow at the young Prince in a challenge, before setting his cards face down on the table, leaning back slightly in his chair, “Your Highness, would you prefer to have another chance at that sentence?”    Xie Lian stiffens, he forgot he can’t talk to Master Mei Nianqing like how he talks to San Lang. Ahhh! Please let me off easy, Xie Lian thinks, before straightening his back and folding his hands respectfully in front of him, doing his best to fall back into the Prince routine.   “Please forgive my tardiness, Master Mei Nianqing and, uh, thank you for ... giving me the chance- no, opportunity to fix my talking... to fix my language? My speak?” Xie Lian tilts his head, his eyes scanning the ground contemplating, before speaking again “Master Mei Nianqing should it be language or speak? Which one did you let me fix? It’s one of those words right? I feel like it’s one of those words”   A soft sigh, tinged with fondness, leaves Mei Nianqing as he stands up from his chair. “Speech, Xie Lian. It is not befitting of a Prince to use words such as ‘gotta’ or ‘ya’. We have been over this - repeatedly.” He spares one chastising look at Xie Lian before walking over to a chalkboard, erasing the notes from their last class.    Taking Master Mei’s cue, Xie Lian quickly runs over to a small table in the room and plops down in the chair facing the board. “Kids, they never seem to listen. Am I right, Master Mei Nianqing?” Xie Lian says with a smile, trying his best to break the stiff tension in the room. Mei Nianqing's eyes snap over to the young prince before slowly closing. After a beat or two of them staying closed, Xie Lian starts getting nervous.   “But, I’m not like the other kids. I listen!” the Prince forces a cough before quietly adding, “I’ll do better listening”.    Master Mei Nianqing opens his eyes, ignoring the Prince’s comment, and faces Xie Lian straight on, revealing the chalkboard previously hidden behind him. He taps the tip of the chalk in his hand against the large words he had written at the top.   “Today, Young Prince, we will be learning about Presenting and Isolation.” Xie Lian quickly scrambles to grab his pen and paper and prepares to take notes as Mei Nianqing starts his lesson. “Soon, you will be attending your first Presenting Ceremony - that of Young Lord Bai Jing. As such, you will need to be prepared for the basic workings of the ceremony and the procession of events. Preparation and comprehension are pivotal traits for a prince. That-”   Xie Lian bursts his hand in the air, interrupting. The force of his motion causes the chair to creak. “What does pivotal and compreshin mean?”    “Com-pre-hen-sion -” Mei Nianqing says slowly while enunciating, “is the act of understanding. For example, when you read the philosophy and poetry books I assign to you and then I quiz you on their meanings and messages, that is me testing your reading comprehension - how well you understood the texts. Pivotal is something that is of utmost importance. Example: It is pivotal for the young Prince to listen and pay attention to his studies or he will not become a suitable Prince. Do you understand?”   “Yeah! I am gonna listen and pay attention so good!” Xie Lian beams back.    Mei Nianqing blinks blankly at the young boy before continuing his lesson. “As I was saying, since you will be attending a Presenting Ceremony, it would be best for us to educate you regarding it.” Master Mei Nianqing kneels down and opens his black leather bag. Once fully seated on the wooden floor he begins rummaging through it. “As you are still young, we won’t be going into an in-depth explanation of presenting and how that affects your body. You are much too young and will only end up forgetting everything I tell you by the time you are of age. Instead, I will be giving you a brief explanation of the ceremony itself so you are not caught unaware.”    Master Mei Nianqing stands back up with a vial of clear viscous fluid in his hand. “The Ceremony itself will be broken down into three sections: the Celebration, the Parade, and the Isolation. We will be attending the Celebration. It is essentially a gathering for nobles and royalty to witness the reveal of whether the child is an omega or an alpha. The Parade is a celebration with the citizens. In this instance, Lord Bai Jing will be paraded around his town. The Parade then ends once they arrive at the place where the Isolation phase occurs. Bai Jing will stay in this place for four years, only accompanied by an attendant of his parents’ choosing. This attendant will be older and more experienced in themselves: if Bai Jing is an alpha he will be paired with an experienced alpha to help him process the new.... emotions that come with it.”   Xie Lian is scribbling down as fast as he can, trying to capture each word Master Mei Nianqing spoke. The young Prince raises his hand once again, albeit much more calmly than before. “How do they show what Bai Jing will be in the Celebration? Do they just yell out what it is?” Xie Lian taps the bottom of his pen to his cheek waiting for Mei Niangqing to answer.    “Great question, Your Highness,” Mei Nianqing states before lifting the vial resting in his hand, “that is where this substance comes into discussion. It's called a Beta Blocker. ”   Master Mei walks closer to Xie Lian before sitting in the chair next to the small Prince. “Once the festive side of the Celebration subsides - dancing, singing, swordplay, or other performances - Lord Bai Jing will then administer a small cut to himself and drop his blood into the Beta Blocker. Once they mix, the Beta Blocker will nullify any leftover Beta genes from being a child and will cause a reaction. The reaction is what will show whether he is an alpha or omega.” With those words, Master Mei opens the vial. He then pulls out a small needle and pricks his finger, a droplet of blood forms before dripping inside the vial.   The blood slowly disperses into the liquid, reaching small tendrils throughout the thick substance. Xie Lian watches in wonder as the liquid begins to change color, the once clear, almost jelly-like substance has morphed into almost silver watery consistency. But what grabs the young Prince’s attention the most is the dense fog rolling out from the small opening. Xie Lian tentatively reaches his hand out and runs his fingers through it inquisitively.    “If one is an omega, this is the reaction. A thin silver liquid that causes a dense fog. Of course, the severity of the reaction is dependent on two things: how much of this chemical is present and how strong the omega or alpha genes are.” Master Mei firmly inserts the cork back into the vial - sealing off the mist - and gently touches the vial side to the back of Xie Lian’s hand.   Xie Lian startles a bit, “It’s so cold,” he murmurs incredulously. He then flips his hand over and takes the vial, slowly rotating it. The Prince watches the thin liquid slosh from side to side, pushing the enclosed mist around.    Master Mei Nianqing stays quiet, letting the young boy explore for a few moments before continuing his explanation.   “For omegas, it turns cold like what you are seeing. Alphas, on the other hand, cause a more crude reaction. The chemical gets hot and turns a vivid red. Instead of smoke like you see here, the liquid thickens and begins to boil viciously - similar to lava. I have even heard that True Alphas can cause small bouts of fire to appear in the boiling liquid.” Master Mei reaches over and takes the vial back from the young boy, sighing slightly.  He stands and returns the vial to his leather bag.    The Prince feels a sense of relief mixed with unjustness lay heavy in his chest. That doesn’t seem fair. Why would anyone wanna be an alpha if it’s so scary like that? Xie Lian thinks, Anyone would want pretty mist over fire lava.   Xie Lian furrows his brow in thought, “Master Mei, if I’m not an alpha or omega yet. Then what am I?”    “All children are betas until they become of age - a blank slate. Then their beta hormones are replaced with alpha or omega ones.” Master Mei Nianqing responds, chalk squeaking against the chalkboard as writes.    The Prince chews on that idea. He was a beta and then once he got bigger he wouldn’t be. A thought pushes its way up and makes its way out of Xie Lian’s Mouth, “ What happens if they don’t present? Can someone not get alpha or omega things and are stuck as beta? As a kid?” That can’t be a thing that can happen right?     There was silence between them. It was only for a beat or two but it was enough time for the prince to feel it lasts for days. “Master Mei, that can’t happen right?”   Master Mei taps against the chalkboard, focusing back on the freshly written words. “Now, we will go through every lord and lady that will be attending Lord Bai Jing’s Presenting Ceremony. We will be starting with - '' Mei Nianqing rambles on for the rest of the time, quizzing Xie Lian on the names and titles of over 100 people. Xie Lian does his best but the silence from earlier eats away at him. In the end Xie Lian was not able to remember a single noble and both conclude that flash cards would be best to ensure the Prince internalizes each one.    Once the final flash card is made Master Mei looks up at the clock. “Looks like our time together is finished for today. Please ensure you go over these cards once a day - I’ll be notifying Mu Qing and Feng Xin so they can remind you.”    Xie Lian rushes and grabs all the flash cards, stacking them in a pile. Master Mei then reaches over and ties them together with a piece of ribbon - hoping to prevent the young Prince in his frantic state from scattering them everywhere.   “Your Highness,” Master Mei Nianqing says, stopping the Prince from leaving “regarding your question from earlier. It is not something you need to worry about. I promise you.”   Xie Lian pauses, not quite sure how to respond. Ultimately the Prince thanks him and, with cards in hand, dashes out the doors.    Xie Lian is barreling down the halls, feet skidding across the waxed floor at sharp turns. So close, Xie Lian thinks as he rounds the last corridor before the one that leads to his room. As he rushes forward, he feels something yanking him back by his collar.    “Xie Lian, where the hell have you been?” a voice says behind him. Xie Lian whips his head around and is now face to face with his friend and personal attendant, Mu Qing.    Dread rushes down the Prince’s spine, Xie Lian manages a meak response. “Was with Master Mei Nianqing - for class.”  Mu Qing rolls his eyes, his free hand rubbing at his temple.    “Ugh, whatever, at least you made it to your class. Don’t ever run off like that again, Feng Xin and I were looking for you for HOURS. We were starting to worry you got kidnapped!” Mu Qing sighs, exasperated, and lets Xie Lian go, finally taking the time to take in the Prince’s appearance. The older boy waves his hand up and down Xie Lian’s body. “This is why the King and Queen make me dress you - what the hell are you wearing? You can’t go to dinner wearing this - I don't want anyone getting the idea I let you out like that.”    Xie Lian stands quietly, panic replacing the dread from earlier. He can’t go to my room - he can’t find San Lang . Xie Lian licks his lips as he tries to find an excuse or distraction.   Mu Qing notices the hesitancy from the Prince, his eyes squint at the young boy. “Xie Lian, I don’t know what you are planning but stop it”.    Xie Lian’s eyes snap to Mu Qing’s - determined.  I’m gonna tell him I’m gonna throw up, he’ll let me go . He hates throw up.  The young Prince opens his mouth, “I’m gon-”   WHACK    A strong hand slams into Xie Lian’s back, followed by a cheery laugh. “Your Highness, there you are! Mu Qing and I were looking for you everywhere! I even checked the chimney - not sure how’d you get up there but thought it wouldn't hurt to check.” Feng Xin shoots a smile that quickly fades once he sees that state of the Prince. Xie Lian was gasping for breath, the pain in his body was overwhelming causing him to drop to the ground and double over. He feels like a fish out of water, no matter how much he tries, air doesn't seem to want to enter his lungs. Both older boys immediately drop to Xie Lian’s side. “Damn, I’m sorry Xie Lian. I didn’t think I hit you that hard. Are you okay?” Feng Xin asks, full of concern.    Mu Qing is quiet, then immediately reaches for the hem of the Prince’s shirt and yanks it up. The three sit in silence, the only sound being Xie Lian’s panting. The first to break the tension is Mu Qing.    “XIE LIAN WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” The older boy screams. Feng Xin is still shocked in silence, his eyes skittering over the Prince’s  back. It’s black - or, well, mostly. The black color fades into purple as it reaches up to the boy's shoulder blades and trails as far down as his pelvis. Around his ribs, there are splotches of more small bruises and redness.    “Your Highness, what happened?” Feng Xin asks, barely managing a whisper.    “I fell...” Xie Lian wheezes out. “Oops.”   Feng Xin opens his mouth to talk but is interrupted quickly by Mu Qing. “Oops? OOPS?! Fell from what? A two-story building? What is wrong with you! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?” Mu Qing rubs his face harshly with his hands, muttering to himself. Xie Lian presses his lips together in a thin line, not quite sure how to respond.    Thankfully, Feng Xin talks in his stead. “Man, I wonder why he didn’t tell you?” Feng Xin snaps, “It’s not like you constantly scream at him all the time - truly baffling!”    Mu Qing sputters indignantly, “Are you serious? I wouldn’t have to get on him all the time if he actually listened! And what about you? You let him get away with everything. If I wasn’t here, Xie Lian would be a spoiled menace!”   Mu Qing rubs harshly at his face once more, his neck tinged red. He runs his hands through his hair before bumping into his high ponytail. His hands then flutter aimlessly before resting on his lap.   “I'm sorry I do my job, Feng Xin.” Mu Qing says calmly, “Sorry that you don’t seem to know what that feels like.” With that, Mu Qing pulls Xie Lian's shirt down, covering his severely bruised and beaten skin, and stands up.   Feng Xin's face turns a bright red, veins starting to bulge from his neck. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” Feng Xin balks at that statement. It’s his turn to stand up. He rushes over to Mu Qing until they are nose to nose. “What is your freaking problem!? Why are you always such a dick?”   Mu Qing stares back at Feng Xin with a look of indifference and a ghost of annoyance peaking through. He crosses his arms, then pointedly nods towards Xie Lian. “Do your job for once and pick him up. We are taking him to the infirmary.”   With that, Mu Qing begins to walk off, but not before calling back, “Xie Lian, if you run away again I’ll personally end your life.”    Feng Xin grunts in frustration, his hands balling into fists, before taking a deep breath. He walks over to Xie Lian and gingerly picks him up, tossing him over his shoulder. The two then follow quickly after Mu Qing.   “Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Feng Xin murmurs just loud enough for Xie Lian to hear, “He doesn’t mean it.”   Xie Lian feels exhaustion stampede through his body, and finally caves to it. His limbs hang limply over Feng Xin’s shoulder and Xie Lian lets his eyes close, focusing only on the sound of his two older friends bickering under their breaths. It’s probably good that I’m gonna see a doctor , Xie Lian thinks, accepting defeat. He has no strength, and honestly no idea how to wiggle his way out of this mess. Sometimes it’s best to cave in and own up to his actions - though Xie Lian doesn’t think he did anything wrong. Should he have climbed over the castle gates? No, probably not but he did meet San Lang and how could the Prince ever think that could be a bad thing?    It isn’t until Xie Lian hears his title being called out to him that he tunes back into reality. Somehow, without the Prince realizing, they had made it to the infirmary and he is now sitting shirtless on the examination table.   “Your Highness, can you hear me?” the grayed but spry physician calls out once again. Xie Lian hums in affirmation this time, nodding his head slightly. “Your Highness, with the severity of your bruising and with you being so young, I am going to give you something to ease the pain while I examine you closer. I need to press down to see if you have any broken bones,” The Physician says as she pulls out a syringe with a funny-looking liquid in it.    Xie Lian barely realizes what’s about to happen before it’s too late. The Physician injects the pain killer directly into his back, causing the Prince to scrunch his face together at the odd feeling. A cold sensation is centered at the injection site, but soon Xie Lian can feel it crawl its way across his body. A numb and tingly feeling replaces the dull ache from before. His head begins to feel like it is slowly being filled with cotton. An unhinged giggle escapes him as the odd feeling intensifies and his eyes begin to droop.    Time passes oddly like this, Xie Lian feels like he was heavy but light and not in his own body. The only thing stopping him from falling asleep is the odd pressure from the physician poking and prodding. He does his best to listen to what the doctor is telling his friends but the cotton in his head is too thick - and he can’t quite make out what the sounds mean. Xie Lian giggles once more before opening his mouth lopsided.   “I want my San Lang,” Xie Lian slurs, hanging his head at a severe angle - the only thing preventing him from toppling over are the Physician’s sturdy hands. Mu Qing rolls his eyes, gesturing vaguely at the Prince while looking incredulous at Feng Xin. The medicine must be starting to wear off, as this time Xie Lian hears Mu Qing loud and clear as the older boy practically spit out his next words.    “Are you serious? Even drugged up he’s still talking about that stupid Pirate King. This is exactly why it’s a bad idea to let him read those unrealistic stories. He was probably pretending to be that dumb Pirate when he fell.” Mu Qing wraps his hand around his high ponytail, yanking it lightly, not to hurt but for the comfort of the pressure. Mu Qing takes a deep breath before turning to the Physician.   “How bad is it Doctor?” Mu Qing asks, worry thick in his voice.    The Physician tucks the end of a bandage she just finished wrapping around the Prince before she turns to grab a loose robe to put on Xie Lian. “He is not dying, so that’s a plus. Though he does have a few broken ribs and severe bruising. With ice and rest, it should only take 8 weeks before his Highness is fully healed.” The Physician tenderly puts the robe around the young boy, loosely tying it in the front. “He is lucky he didn’t fracture his spine or slip a disc. Mu Qing, please ensure he only wears robes or button-down shirts while he’s recovering. We want to limit the strain on his back and shoulders for right now until the healing process begins.”    Xie Lian’s head is starting to clear, the lucid feeling slowly starting to ebb away. He looks up at Mu Qing as the Physician hands him a thick packet of medicine.    “The young Prince will need to take these herbs twice in the morning. If this doesn’t help with the pain please let me know and I can reassess the dosage”   Xie Lian frowns softly to himself, the feeling of the painkiller wearing off is causing his body to feel weird. Feng Xin immediately sees the change in the young boy.   “Your Highness, are you feeling okay? Are the meds wearing off?” Feng Xin urgently walks over and lightly places his hand on the young boy’s knee, bending slightly to get a better look at Xie Lian’s face. “Does it hurt?”   The Prince meets his friend’s eyes, the concern in them almost palpable. “I think they are,” Xie Lian breathes out, “I’m fine, just feel weird”   “That’s normal, young Prince,” The Physician calls over her shoulder as she begins to walk to her desk, “The painkiller I injected you with should fully process out of your system by the time of your first dose. Don’t worry they are less potent. They will only dull the pain - they won’t cause that odd feeling you are talking about.'' She then plops down on her chair and begins scrawling notes down on the pieces of paper strewn across her desk. “Though, Mu Qing, it is still very important he does not take more of those than I directly prescribe AND that he takes them for the full duration.”   Mu Qing nods, delicately tucking the packs of packets away. “I’ll make sure he follows your orders.”   “Good, you all are good to leave. He should be fine to walk. It would be best to get some food in him, sometimes painkillers cause nausea on an empty stomach. Please make sure he abstains from any and all physical activity - at least until I give him a follow-up exam.”   Xie Lian heaves a big sigh, shoulders collapsing in. It’s practically like being grounded, Xie Lian grumbles to himself as he slides off the table with Feng Xin’s help. They all say their goodbyes and close the door behind them. The remains of the drug are tingling at Xie Lian’s feet. It isn’t unpleasant, but at the same time, he doesn’t like it.    “I’m going to inform the King and the Queen of Xie Lian’s injuries. I think it’ll be best if he doesn’t attend dinner - there’s a guest of some noble guy here,” Feng Xin calls to Mu Qing.    Mu Qing nods in return, “Yeah, that makes the most sense.” He then turns to Xie Lian. “You -” Mu Qing says pointing a finger at him, “are going to go to your room and sleep. You understand? No funny business, I mean it.”   “Dude, he gets it. Get off his case. Xie Lian, I’ll have a maid drop some food at your door okay?” Feng Xin quips back.    Mu Qing huffs, quirking his head, “Why are we having a maid drop it off at his door? The Doctor said he needed to rest, not that he needed to be quarantined!”    “You’re the one that ordered him to sleep. I don’t want anyone waking him up like - why do you have to fight me on everything?”    Xie Lian looks between the two as they continue to bicker back and forth. He usually finds this kind of banter entertaining, but for some reason it’s causing irritation to prickle at the back of his neck. “I’ll just grab it myself,” Xie Lian deadpans as he leaves them behind to walk towards the kitchen.    “Wait!” Feng Xin calls out, “Let me help you”   As the two walk away, they can still hear Mu Qing bite out, “Suck up”    It doesn’t take long for them to reach the kitchen. Feng Xin tells the chef to assemble a meal for the Prince to eat in his room. Quickly the kitchen staff take servings of the dishes they had prepared for dinner before handing a serving tray filled with food and drinks to Feng Xin. The older boy thanks them and helps carry it back to Xie Lian’s room.    Once at the Prince’s door, Xie Lian reaches up and grabs the tray from Feng Xin. “I wanna be by myself,” Xie Lian mumbles as he opens and closes his bedroom door behind him. He waits with his back against the door until he can hear Feng Xin’s footsteps fade away, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.    With that out of the way, the Prince quickly but carefully rushes to his bed, trying his best not to slosh the drinks on the tray. Once he gets to the side of the bed, he gently sets the tray on the floor before dropping to all fours.   “San Lang?” Xie Lian whispers.   San Lang is wrapped up in the throws of blankets Xie Lian gave him. He’s snuggled up to the crochet Fox, his head resting on its plush stomach, the book of the Pirate King in his tiny hands. His eyes immediately reach the Prince’s face and light up.    “Xie-Xie,'' He whispers, “you back!”   Xie Lian smiles giddily, “Of course, I came back, I wouldn’t lie to you! I even brought food with me.” The Prince gestures to the tray of food by his side. “Come out and let's eat. I got some really yummy things.” Xie Lian scoots back, allowing San Lang to climb out of his comfy cave. Once the small child is sitting in front of him, Xie Lian reaches over and tugs the tray closer to both of them.    The two boys eat with fervor, Xie Lian mindlessly chatting and San Lang soaking in every word said. It doesn’t take long for them to completely clear out the dishes and wash down all the drinks that are in front of them.    “- and that’s when Feng Xin started chasing Mu Qing with an ax! Those two are always fighting each other. I don’t understand how they find that fun? I really don’t like arguing like that,” Xie Lian says, leaning back, his hand patting his full belly.    “N-n-no fun,” San Lang agrees as he shakes his head solemnly.   Xie Lian smiles at the younger boy and giggles to himself at the mess San Lang had made. Jam and meat juices are slathered on his face and clothes. The Prince is pretty sure he can see a piece of chicken lodged between the curls of San Lang’s hair. The Prince's eyes wander and land on San Lang’s plate. The urge to scold San Lang bubbles up when he sees the younger boy had tried to hide his untouched veggies underneath a strategically placed napkin. Xie Lian bites his tongue. He’ll let San Lang get away with not eating vegetables this time, but they really need to do something about the absolute mess the younger boy is in. Though Xie Lian imagines he doesn’t look too much better with all the food and berry stains on himself.   “San Lang,” Xie Lian calls out, “I think we both really need baths.”   San Lang freezes and stares blankly at Xie Lian. “N-n-no?” San Lang whispers, testing tentatively if the Prince would accept that answer.    Xie Lian stands up, hands settling on his hips. “Denied, San Lang. You can’t sleep in my bed like that. We are taking baths whether you like it or not.”    An idea flashes in the Prince’s head, then a devilish grin spreads on his face. As quick as he can, Xie Lian reaches out and grabs San Lang’s small ankle before the younger boy can run away, and starts to slide them towards the bathroom. San Lang goes limp in the Prince’s grasp as he hears Xie Lian bubbling with giggles.   San Lang lets out a small “ahhh!” as he is being dragged away, face down. He reaches a small hand out to his nest underneath the bed, in hopes his stuffed fox friend may save him. A loud maniacal laugh can be heard behind San Lang as they pass the threshold of the bathroom. San Lang watches in horror as his fox friend’s button eyes disappear behind the thick wood of the closing door. With the click of the latch and the seal on his fate, San Lang hears Xie Lian belt out the last nail on his watery fate.   “There’s no escaping now, San Lang!”

Evelyn never thought moving into another state was an issue. When she planned the date, the exact place, called the owner and made the deal, she actually felt excitement of a change, of independence from the Trevelyan family business that awaited her. She ignored the pleas of her mother to stay at least within reach, she refused to acknowledge her father’s jaded remarks of how she couldn’t even buy proper food for a week that wouldn’t consist of crackers, sweets and apples, or cook for herself. She turned down offers from her cousin Lotharn to come live with her in Nevarra and thought it was amusing when her great-aunt Lucille called the other day to ask if Evelyn was actually moving in with her lesbian girlfriend. Evelyn didn’t know until now who exactly Lucille meant, nor where her being lesbian came from. She left her to it though, much less of an amusement of her mother (she actually thought of Isabella but didn’t really remember Lucille ever meeting her Rivain friend). Maybe it was the pressure of her family who tried to dissuade her from the moving that kept her going with such vigour, not caring about their opinions – or consequences on that matter. She didn’t stop packing, making calls to make sure her new home was ready to use, her new work prepared for her arrival, the movers scheduled to the exact day and hour. All her belongings were neatly folded in boxes and bags, labelled for easier unpacking, protected with a bubble foil or polystyrene. Her mother commented with snide remark of her not being able to keep her room clean ever, but suddenly packing so strategically but she just ticked patiently finished tasks on her list and didn’t react. Her father wasn’t talking to her since the moment he realized she couldn’t be swayed. The last thing he said was solemn you’ll crawl back soon enough, and then decided to ignore her very presence. She couldn’t say she wasn’t sad about it, but her father was always a hot head, who thought tough love worked on everyone. Well, it probably worked on her, usually. But not now. She was ready for this. It all worked out – the movers arrived in time, her ride picked her up only few minutes late, her family mostly kept the glares to themselves and several long, tiresome hours later (four and half, she was counting minutes at the end because Philliam decided to play his favourite music on repeat and quite frankly she wasn’t really that big on Country to being with) she found herself in Ferelden. In very cold, very wet and very rainy Denerim city, inviting her in with grey sky and chilly weather, and at first she thought it was a bad dream because she accidentally fell asleep in the car after fifth heeeey, brotheeeer and she needed to wake up. “Well,” Philliam tugged his coat closer to his body the moment he got out of the car, squinting against the drizzle that was falling from the sky. “Nice place, yeah?” “Yeah,” she squeezed out of her, checking one more time if the address of her new home was correct, and looked at the building that corresponded with the right numbers. It was old as balls. “Have fun, I guess,” he patted her on her shoulder and it was apparent he didn’t like the place, nor the weather, or the country, and just wanted to get away as fast as he could. She understood, but for a moment a swell of panic raised in her, once all the responsibility issues crashed on her shoulders like a heavy weight and she didn’t want him to go. Of course she hadn’t expected a palace. She didn’t even think it would be anything close to the house her family owned in Ostwick – spacy, bright and, well, rich. But even though she kept low, believable hopes for her new home, this wreck made her unsteady and kind of desperate. The house had peeled plaster all over it, she would even swear she saw cracks – or maybe it was just ivy crawling here and there. The stairs leading to the main door were unsightly, obviously ignored during the onslaught of the unsavoury weather, and she could almost see herself hurting her feet on it during winter. One of the railings on the left side of the stairway was broken and it apparently had been for some time since weed was poking out of the broken stone. “Want me to help you unpack or something?” Philliam asked and she could tell from his tone he was actually begging her to say no so he could run away. At first she thought of not letting him, to keep one known face around her, even though he would probably hate her for it, but then she just mutely shook her head and offered a weak smile. “Kay,” he bowed his head a little and threw one more glance at the shabby building Evelyn was now ought to call home. “Take care, Eve.” “You too,” she whispered and he probably didn’t even hear her in a flurry of motions of kissing her cheek, hugging her fast and storming back into his car. She watched him starting the engine and driving off almost in a trance, with a luggage and two bags resting next to her, slowly getting wet, and the more she was breathing in the different air than she was used to, the more despair she felt. She was not ready for this. *** She knew Ferelden was cold and smelled like wet dogs, it was a common knowledge, similar to the fact everybody in Orlais was pompous and had a mask fetish. The Ferelden reputation also consisted of a belief that about everyone living in this country had at least one dog at home, in the garden, around the house or a tiny flat. It was a must when you were a Fereldan and she couldn’t shake the feeling that her neighbours were eying her with suspicion every time she passed them during the moving in, while they were walking their own dog (a goddamn huge dog on top of that – its barking sounded like a thunderstorm coming). The first hour in her new home was atrocious. The heating in her attic flat didn’t work because the heaters were full of air, water had been rather yellow at first thanks to old pipes and there was a wet spot forming on the ceiling in the right corner of her living room. The flat was dirty and dusty, apparently nobody had the need to clean it up a little for the new tenant, and when she walked in, an evident smell of staleness hit her like a fist. She tried very hard to ignore the pitying looks movers were giving her while pulling up all the furniture and boxes, probably thinking she was scammed into taking this place to live in. But really, the photos were fine, she got promised the flat was renovated – and, well, it didn’t look old or anything, there were plastic windows and the kitchen definitely had to be new (and dusted). She actually liked the bathroom; it had a big bathtub and made her feel warmer thanks to the yellow-orange-red colouring. It just didn’t feel like somebody lived here for a long time – or they did and they made it look like shit. She planned everything she needed to do in very near future to make the place more habitable and made another list that consisted of buying cleaning products and scented candles or at least oils and aroma lamps to get the terrible smell out of here. It reminded her of a secondhand shops full of clothes that smelled like somebody died in them, staleness and dirt clinging to it, and despite the cold it made her open the windows to full blast to get some fresh air in. She kept on fretting over the place the whole time while the movers were working, the stress dropping off her under the onslaught of duties that kept on piling up, and it made her kind of relieved, since the helplessness almost crushed her for a moment. She unpacked some necessary things when she found the right box with it and even scrubbed part of the bathroom clean so she wouldn’t feel opposed to at least wash her hands or go to the toilet. It wasn’t bad. She could make it work, she thought, while finally smiling at the movers when they announced they were done and she was giving them money. It was fine – she was fine. Well, until the movers left. When the door closed and she found herself alone again in the midst of boxes and wrapped up furniture like Christmas presents while the cold was sweeping through the windows unmercifully, she realized one thing. She was alone. There was a leaky ceiling. Rusty pipes. Non-functional heaters. Smelly rooms. Dirt everywhere. And she couldn’t call anyone she knew to help, because there was no one around. She was so, so alone. She could hear her mother’s I told you so in her head as if she was standing next to her, and there was this foolish thought of calling the movers again to pack the things and get her back home. She had to sit down on the bubble-wrapped sofa and remained that way for half an hour, breathing in and out the weird air around her while trying to calm down her nerves. It didn’t really work. She held her phone in her hand, ready to dial the company number, and there was just something really small screaming at her not to. Probably my shattered pride, she thought bitterly. If she returned after all these months of bragging how independent she was going to be, how she didn’t need them to fret over her anymore, how she could deal with life like a proper human being, it would only prove their point. She didn’t want that. It was just a moment of weakness, a shock, she told herself. If the flat was nice and cosy, she wouldn’t be this devastated, she knew it. It wasn’t even that bad, just… needed a bit of adjusting. She took another long, deep breath and got back up. Her phone was burning in her hand and she put it away, just in case, out of reach. The clock was already showing something past seven in the evening and she knew there was no point in leaving the flat right now. So she unpacked only those things she needed for sleeping (dragged the bed where she needed it, pulled out her blanket and pillows and put on clean sheets and then only pushed other stuff out of the way so she wouldn’t kill herself on a trip to the bathroom during the night) and then curled up on the mattress, took a laptop and tried not to think of anything. “Oh thank god, there really is a wi-fi as promised,” she breathed out in relief when the network worked when she put in the password she got from the owner. Several e-mails popped up at her immediately, new work related and from friends inquiring how her new home was, and she wondered if she really was going to be alright here. Sender: <GayLord> Subject: Loser!   Hey Trevelyan! Heard you quitted LoL, loser! Got tired of Platinum? Anyway – I’ve found something more sissy for you to keep your free time occupied, interested? Well, of course you are, what an irrelevant question. Try Dragon Age! It’s not rly like LoL, but since you kept on whining about needing a story, you can cry about this one. It’s pretty new and I like it so far, so either join up or we are not friends anymore. Lol jk, add me as Kirk_Champ there, k? Inquisition server. Cuz nobody expect the Spanish Inquisition. Cheers, Hawke “Oh my god, Hawke…” she pinched the bridge of her nose while re-reading the e-mail with a cringe. She quitted League of Legends because she was moving, getting a new job and seriously thought she was going to change her lifestyle, finally. The game was eating so much of her free time it made her parents mouthy - but nope, here was Hawke, dragging her into another game she was probably going to love to death, because quite frankly she and Hawke had pretty similar tastes in games and it was an unshakable fact, so she didn’t even try to fight it. “Maybe I need it… for a while,” she looked around the messy place and bit down her lower lip. Another addiction versus insanely rough reality? An easy choice. She clicked the link Hawke sent her and let the game download in the background while going through the rest of her e-mails. *** “So not only that you moved to another country, you also decided we have to assume you’re dead?!” “Hi mum,” she sighed into her phone and cringed when her mother’s voice got even louder. “I’m sorry, I was busy unpacking.” Unpacking the game and creating a character while my flat still looks like a bomb exploded here. She picked a human race, probably out of habit – she rarely started with a different race in any MMO she had ever played, so she was able to understand the rest and then maybe start with another. Out of the race options human seemed the most normal choice anyway - elves seemed super thin, especially females, that wind would break them in half. Dwarves were never her forte in any game and a race called Qunari was… intimidating and huge. Although she kind of liked that, just not really something she would want to play as. The hairstyle option sucked though, there was not a single long hair one, probably to avoid clipping with the armour. “I don’t know why you bother, just buy a dog and that’s all you need in that blighted Ferelden,” her mum didn’t disappoint and Evelyn rolled her eyes while watching the game unfolding. The graphic side of it looked awesome. It had a nice, thorough customization (apart from the hair choices, obviously), apparently several initial story options – it reminded her of Guild Wars 2 – and complex class/job system. Her human had two choices of the starting background, where one was a noble and other more of a working class, and it apparently changed with the class she picked too. Every other race had their own perks and starting areas – it made sense why Hawke liked it, as much as he was fine with story-free killing for fun; he was also a slut for complex lore and mysterious storylines. This game seemed to have both and she made a mental note to get back to it once she would have more time. “Not everyone has a dog here,” she protested. At least she didn’t have one, that also counted. “Philliam said the house was a disaster!” another rant and Evelyn groaned. Of course Philliam couldn’t keep that to himself. Definitely didn’t tell her how he ran away as a frightened chicken, did he. Wait, was she already in the game for this long that Phililam made it home? She quickly glanced at the time on her notebook and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was already ten, of course he did. “The house is alright,” she lied. “It just looks shabby from the outside. The flat is renovated and everything, it’s fine.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie – the flat was renovated. Just dirty. And half functional. “Send me a photo of that fine flat,” her mother didn’t disappoint and Eve glanced around, cringing a little. If she sent a picture of this, her mum would probably hire somebody to kidnap Evelyn and bring her back home right that moment. “After all is unpacked,” she told her resolutely. Her mother didn’t have any power over her now, no matter how much she raised her voice. It was Eve’s place, Eve’s home and she ruled here. Even though she always had a deep respect of her mother’s strict nature, she moved to be free of the influence – and not just hers, but the whole Trevelyan family. No chance she was going to give in at the first sign of trouble and the raised tone her mum used. “You said you were already unpacking,” another jab landed and Evelyn frowned – more at the screen than what her mother just said. The game wasn’t overly difficult or anything, but she paid only half of her attention to it and apparently picked an option that changed the storyline a bit too drastically. Since started up as a mage and her story began in a Circle of Magi, the sudden explosion of a temple she got in when the story led her to it and demons being spewed all around while her character was frantically trying to get away until the screen went black, was a little frightening. “I was, but I’m not done yet,” she responded back while trying to read the text that appeared on the screen. “Naturally.” “So what have you been doing all this time?” of course she would ask. “Losing time on your notebook I assume?” “Mum, stop trying to guilt-trip me,” she grumbled into the phone. She gave up the reading and just clicked yes. It apparently meant joining a mercenary group or something, which was not exactly the fairest choice of them all. “I’ll send you a photo after it’s presentable, deal?” “With your sense of tidiness it translates to never,” the older woman sighed. “You’ve made a mistake. I’m sure you know it by now. You can still come back, I’m sure your father would be happy as well.” A little part of her probably wanted to – even though playing the game lifted her mind from the worry with a successful rate. But being reminded of it stung a little, almost making her say yes, bow down to the Trevelyan influence and come back. It would be easier, right? “You must know very well you can’t take care of yourself,” her mum continued sternly. “You don’t even know how to wash your clothes so it won’t get shrunk, or how to cook a proper meal!” The hell I don’t! “I’m not coming back, mother,” she gritted her teeth. At least she made it easier. “Tell Philliam he’s a chicken wuss. I’m going to sleep now.” “Evelyn-!” She ended the call abruptly and tossed the phone next to her on the blanket. This was what she needed – to be reminded why she left them. Self-centred pricks. *** Eve wasn’t surprised when she found out Hawke was still in-game when she could finally add his nickname and write to him. The game kept her from the rest of the community until the story picked up even more speed and she could find herself in a strange village where her title changed to Herald, probably thanks to the pick she made while her mother called. She wasn’t entirely sure what happened, except that she was excluded from the Chantry, like a heathen, because the storyline led her into a temple where shit broke loose and she survived. It almost seemed like she had been a villain. Because of the temple, her left hand was glowing venomous green but she had no idea what it meant. Thanks mum. [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: oh god no you just HAD TO pick the lamest sub class everrrrrr >.> [Whisper][Rosecult]: What do you mean, lamest? My hand glows, it’s original! [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: sure it is cuz it glows with all the LAME [Whisper][Rosecult]: shut up, I’m in distress. I haven’t paid attention to the storyline when my mother called, so now I’m Herald and that’s about it. [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: enjoy being disliked pretty girl. herald is like saying OH IM A NOOB THE HAND GLOWED I THINK ITS PRETTY while it means you can do shit except maybe a nice addition to party disco lights while the rest of your squad is getting eaten by demons yayayayay SO NOT IN A SQUAD WITH YOU [Whisper][Rosecult]: You’re an asshat. [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: go make a new character xD [Whisper][Rosecult]: NO! ALL THE GLOWY! I’M GOING TO GLOW MY WAY TO VICTORY! [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: no wonder you quitted LoL………… loser xD She snorted and ignored his threats altogether. Well, the Herald seemed weak, kind of, and slightly repressed with all the Chantry antipathy against her, but she always loved challenges – especially when they came from Hawke. It was enough she beat him in LoL, getting to Platinum before he made it. She earned no life label, but she won anyway. She was going to keep this character and win with it, no matter the obstacles. *** She considered changing her mind another hour into the game later where she found out there was PvP implemented and being against the Chantry earned her a prey title for some other classes. Especially the heavy armoured classes really liked to kick her ass. [Whisper][Rosecult]: There is forced PvP? [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: for herald yeah xD jk, there are just classes that don’t bode well with the other so yeah there is pvp. templars don’t like enchanters, seekers don’t like heralds, spies are generally taken as a threat once they use certain skills, champs don’t fancy templars and enchanters in overall [Whisper][Rosecult]: how do they even form squads then? There is like… squad only from Templars and Seekers or…? [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: nah squad is alright like a safe zone. also alliances work – like guilds there are treaties and mutual trust so you can’t kill your alliance mate. or maybe you can but you know – consequences and shit [Whisper][Rosecult]: I see. [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: hunted I assume? xD [Whisper][Rosecult]: Yeah, there is one Seeker that keeps on coming at me, like, literally camping me, I can do anything as long as he’s there. It was slightly annoying to be this cut off. A Truth_Seeker player apparently noticed her during her quests in the mountains, and to Evelyn’s dismay she couldn’t do much against him, especially when she was a mage and Seekers apparently could deal with her kind fast and easy. She still was able to delude some Templars before, but this concrete Seeker had been relentless and apparently really skilled. Probably higher level as well. If the game hadn’t been so fun, Eve would turn it off and let her hunter lose interest overnight. But it was only midnight and she felt the well-known excitement in her that wouldn’t let her sleep anyway. So she waited, then tried to go out from the safe zone, just to be killed again, and waited some more. She noticed this certain Seeker had been aiming only at her during the past half an hour – other mages were free to go. Well, maybe because they weren’t Heralds, she assumed. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Look, I’m new to the game, can you let me pass? You’ve killed me like ten times already, don’t tell me it’s still fun for you. She sent the whisper and didn’t get any negative system message that she couldn’t send it to an opposite factions, so she assumed the Seeker got it. She watched her enemy pace a little in front of the safe line and then stop. [Whisper][Truth_Seeker]: not really fun, no. “Cool, then why are you still doing it?” Eve shook her head and re-seated a little to get more comfortable. [Whisper][Rosecult]: So you can let me go? It’s not like I’m hunting other Seekers or anything. [Whisper][Truth_Seeker]: I’m just wondering how patient you are. People normally log off when somebody is camping them. [Whisper][Rosecult]: I told you. I’m new, I like the game, I want to play. [Whisper][Truth_Seeker]: then I have to inform you that you’ve picked a wrong character. As a Seeker you’re my prey. “Oh great, a nerd,” she sighed and looked at the clock again. It was half past midnight, still not that late for her to go to sleep. The easiest way would be making a new character and start again with something stronger and less hunted – but then Hawke would win and laugh at her. [Whisper][Rosecult]: How fun is the Seeker? She decided to start a talk if nothing else. It often made people less careful, so maybe she would be able to slip past him at some point. The Seeker stood still again, as if he was watching her through the eyes of the toon, and the idle animation made the character cross his arms on his chest and tilt his hips. A woman then, judging from the posture – she couldn’t really tell with all the heavy armour on. No answer came and Eve wondered if the player had been AFK, so she tried her luck – only to be killed again in a swift flurry of blows. “Okay, just don’t want to talk then,” she got the memo and respawned again. The Seeker remained on her spot, sheathing the sword, and continued to guard the line like a watch dog. [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: you know why are you so hunted? rarely ANYONE plays the herald xD you’re like an unicorn! [Whisper][Rosecult]: Must be why the Seeker called a friend here. Now there is a Seeker AND a Spy. Both waiting for me to come out. It was an archer and Evelyn was pretty sure the Seeker called her here as well, since they both stood there, waiting for her to come out. The archer even menacingly flexed her bow several times and aimed it at her behind the safe zone, like she was daring her. [Whisper][Kirk_Champ]: just give up princess. make a normal character. or find a very good alliance that would protect you. “An alliance?” she watched her two hunters with a raised eyebrow and couldn’t overlook the fact they both had the same sign on the armour. The same alliance then. She didn’t even look up how the guild system worked in this game, this was a good chance to do so. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Do you have a Herald in your alliance?  It wasn’t like she expected the Seeker to answer, but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it? [Whisper][Rosecult]: I’m sure there are some bonus points for having one, right? Plus I’m a mage, I can heal and all. [Whisper][Nightingale]: Are you asking us if we will take you into our alliance? She blinked in surprise, seeing a different name in the chat log all of sudden, before realizing the Spy next to the Seeker had that name. She didn’t hesitate with the response – she didn’t have much to lose anyway. Either they would take her or not. If not, she would just go to sleep and hopefully they wouldn’t camp there the whole night. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Yes? [Whisper][Nightingale]: And what can you offer? [Whisper][Rosecult]: Magic stuff, I suppose. Some novelty? Jokes? Obsessive need to play for days straight? [Whisper][Nightingale]: A hardcore player? [Whisper][Rosecult]: Sort of. [Whisper][Nightingale]: Age? [Whisper][Rosecult]: Is that relevant? [Whisper][Nightingale]: Very much so. Our alliance is not big, but we are growing. You must understand having Herald in it makes the approval of the Chantry drops immeasurably, and we don’t want to risk not getting it back for a ten years old brat. [Whisper][Rosecult]: Fair enough. I’m 24. [Whisper][Nightingale]: Working? [Whisper][Rosecult]: Yes. The chat didn’t change until then and Eve stared at the two unmoving forms in front of her with raised eyebrows. The alliance sounded full of adults, which seemed promising. She had the pleasure of playing with kids, and it usually made her lose the temper, especially when they were spoiled brats that have plenty of time to bother you during the day and night. Some were alright, of course, but the experience with 12 years olds grew painful over time. When the silence lasted for a bit too long, she started typing another inquiry and pressed enter, but nothing happened. “Huh?” she tried to press any skill, but the game remained frozen solid. “Oh no.” A DISCONNECTED message flew over the screen and everything turned black. “Nooooo…” She scrambled to reboot it, but one look to the right low corner told her it was no use. The wi-fi signal died.

Sam wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs, not even trying to be discreet about it. At least he had dressed up kind of nicely – slacks and a jacket, even if the polo was at least a size too small, he figured the whole FBI get-up wasn’t necessary – and Dean had made fun of him for it. But Sam wasn’t about to step into a federal building in jeans and a t-shirt. He even had his hair up for once, something that Reid liked sometimes. It looked better anyway. He hadn’t been so nervous in a while. Besides being a serial criminal – that was what being a hunter pretty much boiled down to anyway – he hadn’t met Reid’s coworkers. They were like family, and as such, Sam felt like he was gearing up to see his in-laws. What if they didn’t like him? Or didn’t think he was good enough for one of their own? Well, that was true enough. Reid could do so much better than him, and Sam reminded him of that on occasion. But their rejection didn’t scare Sam so much as Reid’s. These were people he spent nearly every day with for the last several years; if they wanted to, they could easily persuade Reid to dump a guy he saw only once in a blue moon. Sam wouldn’t chicken out on this though, for precisely that reason. He happened to be near DC for the day, he happened to know that Reid was here (or, at least he was early this morning), and it had been too long since they’d seen each other. So Sam wiped off his sweaty palms again, just to be safe, and tried to keep his head held up when he stepped onto the floor he knew Reid worked. He wasn’t there. His desk was, but not him. That figured. Maybe surprising him was a bad idea. Maybe Sam should leave a note. He was in the area for at least another day, so it might just be best to let Reid know he stopped by and wait to see if he wanted to meet up. Of course, just as Sam picked up a pen from Reid’s desk, intent on leaving him a sticky note on the keyboard, an upstairs door opened, and a group of people spilled out. Not last among them was Reid. Sam’s nerves didn’t melt away. Far from it, but his face split into a warm smile, and he called out without a second thought. Reid stopped in his tracks, and when he found who was calling his name, he grinned too. Sam felt warmer than he had in the entire time they’d been apart. Reid rushed down the stairs, and Sam waited just to the side to meet him. They stopped in front of each other, closer than two people probably should have been, but their location made Sam hesitate. This was Reid’s workplace, after all. What was appropriate? Reid took the question out of Sam’s hands by hugging him just briefly before holding him at arm’s length and looking him up and down. It was short, and Sam knew Reid was checking him over, making sure he wasn’t any more hurt than the last time they saw each other, but it was more contact than they’d had in a long time. Sam savoured it. “What are you doing here?” Reid asked, not unkindly. Sam was aware of a number of eyes on them, but thankfully, no one intervened. “We’re just, you know, setting up camp about half an hour away, and I thought I’d drop by. Is that … okay?” “It’s okay, but, um. We’re actually just about to head out. We got a case just this morning.” Sam’s heart sunk a little, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. The fact that they both travelled a lot was what kept them apart in the first place. “Are you going far?” Reid’s expression was apologetic. “You know I can’t tell you.” “Will you be gone long?” “I don’t know that.” Sam sighed, but he tried not to look disappointed. After all, he was happy he at least got to see Reid before he shipped out. “Well,” he dropped his voice to barely above a whisper, “Dean and I are just outside Baltimore, if you’re around or – or have the time.” Reid’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around them to make sure no one was listening before leaning in and whispering, “Police have found piles of human skin around that area. Do you think it’s a shifter?” Sam grinned. This wouldn’t be the first time they were both working the same case, but it would be the first time they got to discuss it beforehand. “Yeah, I think so, but that’s not the only thing around that does that.” “Do you think a person could have done it?” Sam shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know much about what we’re getting into. I guess it depends on where it was found and how big the piles were. Stuff like that.” Reid nodded and seemed to be considering something when he said, “I really have to go, but I’ll keep you informed.” “Good. I’ll do the same. At this point, it could be anyone’s hunt, right?” Reid smiled softly and kissed Sam on the cheek before politely – and a little more loudly than necessary – excusing him. “Thanks for dropping by, Sam. I’d really like to introduce you to everyone, but – “ “You’ve got work. I know.” Sam followed along, hoping it would be enough to deter the behavioural analysts from asking too many questions. Probably not, but at the very least, Sam’s sudden change in behavior could probably be chalked up to how obviously embarrassed he was from the public display of affection Reid had showed him. He waved broadly to what he assumed was Reid’s team as he backed off, thankfully not running into anything on his way out. Sam did not envy the interrogation Reid was likely to undergo as soon as he was gone. On the other hand, Sam was ecstatic as being able to see his boyfriend again. The cheek that Reid had kissed burned.

Justin intention hovers. He means to do stuff - house stuff - but he can’t concentrate to do it. So he flits around, picking up a dirty dish here, dirty laundry there, before putting them down somewhere else when something else captures his attention. He doesn’t want to put on music in case he misses something but he can’t hear anything else from outside his apartment. But two minutes pass and surely they’d have been back in two minutes if no-one had been there? Five minutes… ten minutes and Justin can’t settle at all, thoughts of what ifs and maybes buzzing around his head as quickly as he roams around the apartment. He’s consumed by the clock and how slowly time passes. After forty minutes have taken days to pass, his doorbell rings in warning and Olli and Horny are stomping back in. Olli is pale, his eyes shuttered. Horny’s face is tight, his movements finely controlled and precise. Following behind them is Hags, looking disgruntled, hair shoved messily behind one ear. “What happened?” he finds himself exclaiming before he can stop himself. “Hags?” Hags humphs as he walks into Justin’s apartment. “It’s too early for this, do you have any coffee?” Justin backs up, heading towards the kitchen to brew some coffee. “You didn’t need to come, we’d have managed without it,” Olli’s face has gone from white to pink, cheeks tinged. Hags just smiles and shakes his head, saying something in Swedish which causes Horny to roll his eyes. Olli’s eyes flit between the pair anxiously. “Olli, that wasn’t aimed at you,” Hags reassures. “I’m totally blaming selfish Canadian assholes who have no manners and Swedish assholes who decided I needed to be involved too.” “What happened?” says Justin again. Something’s obviously happened, to bring Hags here, talking about Canadian assholes. He’s pretty sure - for once - Hags doesn’t mean him either. There’s a silence as Hags, Horny and Olli all look at each other. Horny shrugs, squares his shoulders. “The asshole was there, had brought a little friend back to Olli’s flat, so we needed to get him a NDA so I called Hags to bring us one…” “What the fuck?” Justin interrupts because really, what the fuck? “So hang on, slow this down for me, you broke up with him last night and he’s already brought someone else back to your apartment, which you could have come back to last night? And you’d already told him you didn’t want him doing that? Fuck!” Justin is outraged on Olli’s behalf, on so, so many levels. Like, what if Olli had come home to find Harry and whoever together? In Olli’s apartment. “That’s about the sum of it,” Hags agrees as Olli objects, “No, I didn’t break up with him, we weren’t together!” Harry had probably done it on purpose, Justin realises. Olli walking in and seeing that… it was meant to punish Olli, to show him what he was giving up and how easily Harry could move on. Just another level of mind games. “Well no, you weren’t but he wanted to be and you ended that,” Horny replies. Harry was hoping that it would bring Olli back, make him feel bad and put him into the mindset of being the supplicant towards Harry again, begging Harry to take him back. And that’s why he completely ignored Olli’s previous complaints when he brought someone back, why he felt justified in potentially putting Olli in such a fucking awful situation. Justin’s outrage is starting to build into a hot, hot, seething rage. “Is he gone?” he says, softly, hoping he isn’t, thinking he wants a word. Actually, who is he kidding? He kind of wants to beat the shit out of Harry. “Yeah,” says Hags. “I brought over the NDA for his... whatever… we got Harry all packed up and we sent them off in a taxi.” So he’s out of Justin’s reach. “Justin?” asks Olli with uncertainty. “How fucking dare he treat you like that, Olli?” Justin bursts out. “I mean you don’t treat anyone like that but to treat you like that when you are so far above that fucking asshole. Like you care so much, you are so kind and generous and he does that to you? And we just let him walk off? That’s it? He walks away?” He looks beseechingly towards Hags and Horny because surely they wouldn’t just let this go, not to someone who treats a team mate like that, someone like Olli like that. He’s shaking with the desire to do something and there’s nothing he can do, he’s just fucking useless like always. “Schultzy, it’s all we can do for now,” Horny replies. “Yes, I think that shit deserves a lot worse than what happened to him in the end. But we don’t want to give him the opportunity to fuck anyone else over. If we beat him up and word gets out of any of this, we’re fucked. And we can’t do that now when we’re battling for the Cup. We’ve all given up so much to get here; we can protect Olli but we can’t revenge him. It’s why I’m here, not Tanger.” “I don’t need you doing stupid things anyway,” mutters Olli. “He’s gone, it’s done, I want to concentrate on hockey.” “But… ” says Justin. “No,” interrupts Olli. “I couldn’t bear it if I jeopardised our playoffs, hurt the team like that. I’m not going to let Harry mess with the team like that.” Justin shuts his mouth, because there’s nothing he can say to that. “It’s ok though,” Hags say. “We can’t do anything now but we all have long memories. There’s always next year. He won’t be able to play the puck when he plays us for looking over his shoulder to see who is hitting him next.” “And if he doesn’t have the balls to stick in the NHL, I’m sure that TK down in the Baby Pens will take care of business for us. This is a short term reprieve.” Horny sounds so certain that Justin is reassured. Olli looks unhappy but doesn’t say anything else. There is an inevitability about how the team will treat Harry next time they encounter him. It’s not going to be pretty. But Justin reflects, it might be fun. Harry pissed an awful lot of people off recently in Pittsburgh. And then he finds his shoulders slumping as he remembers he probably won’t be with the Penguins next season. He’s not sure where he’ll end up; it would be ironic if he ends up on the same team as Harry. He hopes he’ll have some choices so he can avoid that, but he’s not doing his chances any good stapled to the press box. Of course, it could be true that any of them end up on the same team with Harry; there are always off-season trades, but there would be a difference between Olli, Horny or Hags, sought after players in any trade and himself, throw-away defenceman from a very bad team. “Anyway, we’ve wasted enough of our off-day on that fuckwit. He’s gone now. We’ve got better things to do,” Hags says with a snort, interrupting Justin’s black thoughts. “Phil suggested you guys come over for lunch, if you don’t have any other plans?” “Or you can stay at home and fuck now Harry’s gone if you want. We’d understand. He must have badly cramped your style.” Horny is grinning broadly as he says it. “Horny!” exclaims Olli, mortified. “We’re not…” and he waves his hands between him and Justin as though that explains everything. Horny chuckles. “For sure, not with Harry here, but he’s gone now, so I understand if you want to do the hot reunion.” “We’re… we’re not… we won’t be…. “ Olli’s stammering, face managing to go an even deeper shade of red so that it’s even bleeding up into the roots of his hair. “We’d be very happy to come to lunch with you guys,” Justin cuts in, rescuing Olli. “We’ve got dinner with Sid and Geno tomorrow, but nothing else planned for today.” “Cool, we’ll let Phil know - see you over at his around 1?” Hags says, making for the door dragging Horny along obediently behind. “Yeah, that’d be great,” Justin says. “See you then.” 0--0--0 There’s silence in the apartment once they’re gone. Olli visibly wilts before Justin’s eyes, tension he hadn’t even recognised bleeding out his frame. “You ok?” Justin asks softly. Olli sighs. “It wasn’t a good morning - well, the waking up was fine - but after that. Just glad he’s gone for good now.” “How was he?” “As expected. I’m glad Horny was there actually. It probably would have been a whole lot nastier if he hadn’t been but he was just like a brick wall - you know how he gets at the net when the defencemen and goalies are going after him? Like that. Just immoveable. Nothing Harry said could get to him.” “What about you?” It sounds as if Harry’s tried very hard to get at both of them. Olli shrugs. “It would have been worse if Horny and the hook up hadn’t been there.” He sounds tired and bitter. “He couldn’t go to town like he’d probably wanted to.” “That doesn’t sound great?” Justin asks cautiously. Olli shrugs again. “Done now. Hopefully over with.” But he sounds so tired and beat down Justin can’t bear to do nothing about it. “C’mere,” he says, pulling Olli into a hug. Olli comes willingly arms tightening around Justin. “I wish,” he mutters into Justin’s shoulder, but he doesn’t complete the thought and Justin can’t push him to, just rub his back soothingly. It’s a very long moment before Olli takes a deep breath and gently breaks apart from Justin. “Uh thanks,” he mutters. “But I need to go start bleaching my sheets, or maybe just burn them. Also I don’t know, maybe order a new bed or something? But happy to drive over to Phil’s - I’m never drinking again.” Justin wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought of the state of Olli’s bed and what might have happened in there. That hadn’t even occurred to him. “Let me know if you need a hand. Or gloves. Or matches. And message me when you want to leave for Phil’s.” Olli nods in acknowledgement and makes for the door. 0–0–0 Lunch is fun. Phil greets them with a grin, leading them to where Hags and Horny are out on the deck, looking a lot more relaxed than they had been earlier in the morning. Horny waves at them; Hags tilts his sunglasses in acknowledgement. It sets the tone for lunch which is relaxed and casual and Justin finds himself sinking into the gentle bubble of ‘team’; embraced by the camaraderie and welcome of guys pursuing the same aim single-mindedly and understanding of that, but also the need to chill out from it. So even though not a word is said, by consensus there’s little hockey talk about the next round. That’s to worry about tomorrow. They joke and laugh about the last round, exchanging gossip, recounting plays. They talk about their pasts, their time in juniors, outside the NHL. Anything but the looming second round. It’s a balm. Justin hears himself laughing, hears Olli joining in and the tension that’s been coiled through him relaxes dissolved for a time by the warmth of team. They’re there to help and support for the difficult times, the bad times. To step in and act as a bulwark as necessary. But they’re also here for the good times, for enjoyed and shared experiences. It’s still novel and new after his time with the Oilers but he missed it from his college hockey team, and he’s happy to have refound it here with the Penguins and be able to recognise that he’s done so. “I swear Schultzy looks half drunk and he’s had one beer.” His reflections are interrupted by Phil, watching him through half lidded eyes. “I’m not drunk… I’m just enjoying the moment,” he replies. “Like of all the places I could have ended up and what could have happened after the season that’s gone, it could have been a whole lot worse. I mean, you guys are all assholes, obviously, the entire fucking team are assholes, but there are worse assholes to be stuck with and worse things to be doing than eating Phil’s ribs and drinking his beer in the middle of the playoffs.” There’s a laugh at that, but it’s pleasurable and warm, not derisory, as though they’re all happy to be reminded of that. Olli flashes him a bright smile, unshadowed for the moment. “Are you sure you’ve only had one beer?” asks Phil.

Kurt drops off some pictures of Mercedes by Thursday and Quinn scans the whole lot to edit them down somehow; not that there isn't a lot to say for a black Disney princess theme-there is, because her dad likes to talk about these things over the dinner table from time to time-but something about the shoot feels really juvenile, and that's basically the last word she'd ever use to describe Mercedes. She's still at it at around 6pm, with Tina proofreading an article across from her, when there's a small knock on the door. "Hey," Sam says, sticking his head around the door. "Um. Tina. Do you have a minute?" His arm's sticking out behind him strangely and Quinn tries to hide a grin when Tina just raises her eyebrows and says, "Come on in." He shuffles in, directing a sort of pleading get out look at Quinn, who gamely gets up off her chair and pushes it towards the middle of the room, where Sam sits down on it and quickly re-tunes his guitar. She's leaning against the wall outside of the room, trying not to laugh out loud when Sam starts playing I.O.U. One Galaxy, which is kind of cheesy, but given that 90% of the Ataris' earlier and better stuff is about break-ups, it's probably the best he could do. "What is going on in there?" it sounds next to her, suddenly; the corridor's mostly blackened with emergency lighting only, and the only part of Rachel's face that she can see clearly are her eyes. Insipid metaphors about dark stars fire in her brain-and she blames the song for it, at least a little-until she sticks a finger to her lips and whispers, "Sam's asking Tina out." "Through song?" Rachel asks, sounding amused. "Well, yeah, it's kind of our thing, isn't it?" Quinn says, with a shrug, before putting her finger to her lips. A few claps sound from the room when Sam finishes, and then Quinn can hear a whole lot of nothing; the temptation to go peer through the window in the door is great, but Rachel's amusement is confusing and distracting her. "Um. Is that not how you'd want to be asked out?" Rachel laughs softly. "Not really, no. That sort of lost its charm when Jesse did it and I found out a month later that my mother had told him what to sing and where to sing it." She looks over abruptly, and... Rachel's bangs are messy; her fingers tremble with a desire to reach out and fix them. To stop that from happening, she says, "So-what then?" "What then what?" "If not by song-how would you ideally like to be asked out? You know, if you weren't already seeing someone. Um, and I mean, I'm not … asking for me, I'm just.. making conversation," Quinn says, wondering how it is possible that someone heading back up towards a 4.0 GPA manages to sound so dim every time she has to talk to this one person. It's almost a science exhibit at this point: homo sapien loses ability to function in three steps. Rachel grins at her. "Do I make you nervous?" "What on earth would've given you that idea?" Quinn says, rolling her eyes at herself, and Rachel leans against the wall next to her. "I guess the person that I'd really want to go out with would just ask me in a way that was true to them. Not the way that they think I would want them to ask, and not by listening to my mother, but... it would be someone who would just..." Rachel trails off and then shrugs. "I guess what I'm saying is that it would nice to be surprised." "Yeah, I know what you mean," Quinn says, and scuffs her nails against her jeans, just to have something to do. "I swear, one more dinner at Breadstix and a movie date with Finn and I would've probably voluntarily jumped in front of a car." Rachel laughs. "How are you friends with Santana? She lives and breathes Breadstix." "They don't really cater to the vegan diet," Quinn says, wincing. "I mean, the breadsticks themselves are nice but hardly a real meal and-" "So you must spend a lot of time getting take-out from that Thai place on Third, huh?" Rachel asks. Quinn looks over in surprise and then feels a question bubble up that she doesn't even feel like stopping. They're in the dark. This hardly counts as the real world. Maybe there won't be consequences. "Have you been doing research into vegan food in Lima?" Rachel shrugs, like it's absolutely meaningless. "If we're going to be … socializing, I'd like to know where I can take you without being accused of further hate crimes." God. It's almost impossible to associate this girl-the most adorable thing she's ever met-with the stuck up bitch who started a fight with her back in November. How far they've come, in just three months, and for a moment, Quinn indulges; just stares at Rachel until her heart starts racing at the way Rachel's tongue darts out and wets her lips, and the way Rachel then-nervously?-tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and the way- The door behind them opens up and Sam comes out, clutching his guitar and frantically rubbing at his hair. "Yeah, you're not going to be able to make that look less messy, buddy," Quinn says, before holding out a fist for him to bump. "Just please tell me you didn't lay her out on the February mock-up because I happen to know the editor of the paper and," and she drops her voice to a whisper, "she's kind of a bitch about people messing up her product." Rachel kicks at her shin and then, a little awkwardly, also holds out her fist. "Congratulations, Sam. The chemistry between you two has been obvious for a while now and I admire you for your ability to go after what you want. With positive results, if the state of your lips is anything to go by." Sam looks between them for a moment and says, "I think I just figured out what the advent of the apocalypse would look like." Quinn chuckles, and he pulls her into a quick hug and murmurs a thanks against her neck, and then gently bumps his hand against Rachel's as well. "Where are you taking her?" Quinn asks. "I was thinking Breadstix..." Rachel starts laughing first, even as Quinn says, "Trust me, Sam, just don't." He looks incredibly confused, but it's hard to feel bad about that when Rachel is so relaxed and right there and... Happy. That's what that look on her face is. She looks happy. Quinn's never been more smitten, and doesn't really know how the hell to hide it anymore. ... Rachel had given her some instructions on where to sit for the best view of the performance on Friday, and so she drags Santana over to a cable in the corner of the quad. They sit down on it, even as Artie wheels up next to them and Tina plops down onto the bench by the table. Puck and Sam wander over with their guitars a moment later and Quinn frowns at them. "Are you guys playing back-up for VA?" "Nah, dude, this is just so we can rehearse after school today," Puck says, with a small smile. "Valentine's Day is like, next week." "Shit, you're right," Quinn murmurs, and then looks over to where the VA army is assembling, because if Valentine's Day is next week, then it's only three more weeks until the concert and... then what? Her bargain with Shelby has a clear expiration date stuck on it. Technically, she can do whatever she wants to with Rachel's March expose-and God, that leads to some visuals of Rachel in just her underwear, rolling around on a bed, that she really shouldn't be having at all, let alone in public... She jolts out of her thoughts when Shelby clicks on a microphone. "Thank you all for coming. As you are probably aware by now, we are off to the Central Ohioan Regional Show Choir championships for a record seventh year in a row, and we fully intend to come back with another trophy to do this school proud." A small smattering of applause breaks out, and Quinn snorts when she realizes that most of it is coming from Miss Pillsbury. "As we have done in years past, as a sign of our appreciation for all the support we have been given by the entire school, we are giving you an exclusive preview of one of our performances. Before we kick off, I'd like to especially thank the Tea Party's Sue Sylvester for her donations and support in the past year-Sue is in the audience today and needs your votes if you are going to be eighteen in time for the next congressional elections." A crazy looking lady in a track suit sticks up her hand and then bows, and Quinn just glances at Santana, who makes a cuckoo motion with her hand before leaning in and saying, "That, my friend, is a big fish; normally it's just some crazy reverend from a hardcore Lutheran church, but this is like, a huge ordeal. Nationals will be a freebie this year if that lady's backing us." Quinn would make a comment about deals with the devil, but it feels like tempting fate, the way that Shelby's right there and she's just realized that almost all of her reasons to be talking to Rachel at all are quickly coming to an end. Rachel's expose is the last one, and after that, they do an issue on the graduating class but-it won't be the same. And then it'll be summer, and... Sam flicks at her shin. "You okay? It's like all thunderclouds on your face right now." "Yeah, I'm fine, just-can they get going already?" Quinn murmurs, directing her look at the stairs on the other side of the quad again, and-oh. There they are. They're not in their usual uniforms; instead, Rachel and Jesse are wearing white shirts over their VA skirt and slacks respectively. Everyone else behind them is wearing smatterings of red and white as well. They look good, and Brittany is pulling on her ponytail as Mike leans on her shoulder and stretches out his hamstring; and Kurt and Mercedes are talking about something on his phone for a few moments, until Rachel claps her hands together just once, and- "If we ever go to war, I want VA in the front lines for like, so many reasons," Puck mumbles behind her, and Santana snickers until Quinn elbows her in the ribs. Then, she almost starts laughing herself when the music starts playing, and- "What the hell?" Santana asks, before also covering her mouth. Vocal Adrenaline is covering Wheatus' Teenage Dirtbag, which has to go down as the least Christian friendly song they've ever performed, and … Quinn can't really help the grin that's spreading on her face-especially not when it's clear that they've inverted the lyrics and it's the girls that are singing, pushing boys away from them and then- "Holy crap," Sam says, when on the chorus, the girls face the audience again and rip their shirts open in one smooth move, revealing black t-shirts underneath that loudly proclaim Dirtbag in a jagged, lightning-like white script. "Um," Quinn says, sort of in agreement, but it's hard to come up with more words when Rachel shoves Jesse onto his back and then straddles him, singing the bridge in a flawless harmony with the rest of the girls. "Wow. Someone must've leaked who's on the judging panel and uh, the composition must've changed drastically from previous years," Santana says, scratching at her cheek a little. "You jealous you're not up there?" Quinn asks, askance. Santana shoots her a look and then sighs. "A little. This is actually the kind of shit Rachel and I wanted to do with VA, as opposed to just fucking-you know that scene in Saved, where Mandy Moore has to like, sing about Jesus' love at the assembly?" Quinn laughs. "Yeah, I know what you mean." They fall silent as the performance continue, until it ends with the girls digging one heel into their boys' chests, and Rachel sweeping her hair back over her shoulder and-her eyes scan the crowd frantically until they lock on Quinn, who grins while contemplating a thumbs up-but that would be incredibly lame and obvious, so she just gently keeps clapping. The applause Vocal Adrenaline gets feels entirely natural for a change, and when Quinn glances over at Shelby, she looks slightly surprised at how well they are received. Rachel doesn't seem to be shocked at all, and when her mother looks over to her, she just shrugs with a smug little smile. "Thank you all very much for coming-and wish us luck," Shelby says, and clicks off her microphone. Quinn's sliding off the table, and-okay, yeah, she gets why Rachel wanted her to see this. It was fun, and a little different, and... maybe this was Rachel's way of saying that she's not as square as she comes off. Either way, it wasn't the soppy ballad that she was expecting and so she turns to Santana and says, "Maybe you should audition again; y'know, add an authentic bad girl to the mix." Santana really slowly flips her off. "Bite me so hard, Fabray." Quinn grins, and then a burst of static sounds through the amps surrounding the quad. "Um, before you all go," Rachel's voice calls out, and Quinn's head whips automatically. "I have one more performance that I'd like to share with you today." Kurt looks at her sharply for a moment, and then she nods at him; he bounds off stage and heads towards the sound booth, and Quinn watches as Shelby's face sets and she stares at Rachel with a look that- "What the fuck is she doing?" Santana mumbles next to her, sounding so unexpectedly concerned that Quinn takes a step back and leans against the table again. "As I'm sure most of you know... Jesse St. James and I have been a couple for almost three years now," Rachel says, calmly. Quinn swears she can see a muscle in Shelby's neck start to throb, and she'd comment on it, but all she can do is hold on to the table with both hands and stay upright. "During that time, I think it's fair to say that he's slept with over half of the people present in our audience right now." The crowd had been tensely silent; now, a swell of murmuring starts, and a few girls start backing away from the quad and back to the school. Quinn shoots a glance at Jesse, who-doesn't look nearly as surprised as he should, and Quinn feels her mouth fall open. "Oh my God. They're breaking up," she exhales. "What?" Santana asks, shooting her a look. "Uh, can't they do that in private-" Quinn shushes her-she'd explain, but Santana really should know better, because nobody in this school goes against Shelby's wishes without paying for it somehow, and that holds double for Rachel. Any agreement to stop seeing each other in private would be overruled almost immediately, and so instead... Jesse catches her eyes and his lips curl up just a bit; that's when she starts wondering if she's just dreaming. "Jesse-you're a jerk," Rachel says, turning to him with wounded eyes. "I gave you everything, and you just threw it all away. But I want you to know that I'm not pining over you; that I know that I'm worth more than you, and that I will have twice the career that you will have-" Jesse does actually flinch at that, and Quinn feels the last bit of air leave her lungs in a weak laugh. "And that I don't need you. I don't need you at all. Kurt?" The guitar chords for Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone start playing, and Sam starts laughing behind Quinn before whistling loudly on his fingers in support. Rachel snaps into the performance and delivers it so thoroughly that there isn't a single person in the quad who will leave today thinking she has any feelings left for Jesse at all. That just leaves freedom, and Quinn worries her lip between her teeth until it does in fact start to bleed, because- "Is she doing this for you?" Santana hisses at her. "I don't know," Quinn admits, honestly. "I think she might be doing it for herself..." "Well, either way, you better be ready to throw down with her mother because shit is going to rain down on her for this in ways that you and I can't even compute, girl," Santana says, shaking her head. Quinn looks over, even though it's nearly impossible to stop looking at Rachel, who for once seems to be singing as herself, and not the co-captain of Vocal Adrenaline. It's awesome, in the literal sense of the word, and God, what she wouldn't give to run up on those stairs at the end of the performance and tell Rachel as much in whatever words she can find. As it is, she has to linger back, and watch as Santana's anger slips right out of reach and is replaced by something much older than that. "I'm going to force both of you to come and hang out at my house this weekend," Quinn says, because it's time. Santana's jaw flexes for a second, and then she says, "Fine. But she needs to apologize for real, and if she breaks your heart I will fucking kill her." "That seems fair," Quinn says, and looks back over just in time for the ending of the song-with Rachel almost plaintively singing one final since you've been gone. If the applause for Teenage Dirtbag was solid, this is on a whole different scale, and Quinn flashes to an inevitable moment in the future where the quad is a theater or an amphitheater or a small cafe somewhere, and people are paying through the nose to be there when Rachel Berry performs her latest single or the closing number in her new show, and- Fuck, she wants to be front and center, first on her feet and applauding, and that's exactly what she does-until Rachel looks right back at her, and almost smiles, and Quinn's heart feels like it's going to burst right out of her chest. ... She doesn't have Rachel's number, and maybe asking Jesse for it is a little tacky right now-even though he was clearly in on it-so she finds Kurt and asks him instead. He hands it over without protest, but then locks his palm over hers when she's taken the post-it from him. "This isn't even close to the end of it, Quinn," he says, softly. "Her life is going to be hell because of what she did today." "She didn't do it for me," Quinn protests. "No. But she did it because of you, and you care about her, so-don't let her down, now." Kurt gives her a pointed look, and then smiles. "By the way-I'll be there on Valentine's Day. You'll like Blaine; he goes to a school without all the politics that this one has, and consequently is a much more functional person than anyone you've talked to in the last however many months." She smiles. "Not a hard standard to meet, Kurt." "I know, but still," he says, tipping his hat at her and heading off to physics. She looks at the post-it note in her palm, and the number on it, and within about twenty seconds she has it memorized. ... It takes her until the end of school to work up the guts to call Rachel, but that's to be expected. What do you say to the girl who dumps her boyfriend in front of almost two hundred people but hasn't exactly given you a legend to decipher what it means? She settles for, "Hey", before stretching out on her back on the bleachers; with Carmel's lacking athletics program, it's the one place she's guaranteed to not be interrupted by anyone. "Hey," Rachel says, and then almost shyly asks, "So... was it worth it? Seeing us perform today?" Quinn could be coy, or she could be honest, and really-she doesn't know how to be coy about this. "I don't know, I mean. Isn't that something you should be asking?" "It was worth it for me," Rachel says, with indisputable firmness in her voice, even though it's quiet. "I don't want to be in a relationship with someone I don't love. Especially not now that there's a chance that-" "That what?" Rachel inhales audibly and then says, "Now that there's a chance that there is someone close to me who I could have feelings for." "Oh, my God," Quinn says, before she can stop herself. "I-uh-" Any possible verbal response exits from her mind, and she knows she's just stupidly breathing into the phone; but then Rachel's being just as quiet, and maybe that's the way they should be, right now. The moment feels incredibly fragile, even though for once she didn't stick her foot in it, and she's almost afraid to move. "I don't know what to do anymore, Quinn," Rachel finally admits. "I have these feelings and they're not going away. I wake up most mornings, wondering what juvenile band t-shirt you'll be wearing to school today, or where you even found that hooded sweatshirt with the gay T-Rex on it. I head to school and wonder if you'll sit at the back in English, and if you're just going to spend the entire period ignoring our teacher and reading ahead again. I try to pay attention to my friends over lunch, but instead wish that I could be sitting at your table, because you always look like you're having so much fun and..." "Rachel, please just-slow down," Quinn breathes out, before biting down on her knuckles. "This is-you just broke up with Jesse and I mean, not that I don't want to be hearing this but... thinking about me all the time isn't the same thing as wanting to... I don't know..." "I know," Rachel says, quickly, and then exhales shakily. "And I don't know what any of this means. It's hard for me to think about. It'd be easier if... I was more sexually experienced, I suppose, but I don't believe in sex before marriage..." "Of course you don't," Quinn says, with a deep sigh, and then laughs at herself. "Sorry, I mean, uh, that's up to you, obviously. I don't know why I'm saying stuff like that concerns me because-" "Quinn, don't be an idiot," Rachel says, shortly. "If I didn't think it potentially concerned you, do you really think I'd be bringing it up right now?" Quinn swallows hard and closes her eyes, counting to five and reminding herself to keep breathing. "If … you heard a loud crash and then nothing else, it's because I've passed out. I'm on the bleachers out by the football field and um, please call an ambulance because this is a pretty steep fall down and my skull isn't that thick." Rachel sort of sighs and laughs at the same time. "Why are you making this so hard?" "Because … you're telling me everything that I want to hear, but you're not saying the one thing that I really need to be hearing here, which is that you know I'm a girl and you don't care," Quinn says, after a long moment of hanging on-because this will shatter the bubble and she's going to have to spend another few nights thinking about all of the things Rachel said just now and how they still don't bring her any closer to actually... "Quinn," it sounds, right next to her, and she shoots up from the bleachers and looks down underneath them, where Rachel is standing in her little pea coat, clicking a button on her phone and then wrapping her arms around herself. "Come down here, please." Her legs move automatically, even though the rest of her feels like sludge; because whatever is waiting for her down there, it's going to change everything, and … is she ready? Is she ready to get into this even further, when there's no clear or good outcome in sight? Can she actually do this, when she's still a huge mess and Rachel's worse than she is? But then, her legs betray her, and she's suddenly in front of Rachel, who reaches out and zips up her coat and says, "You're going to catch your death if you don't start wearing more layers." "Thanks, mom," Quinn forces herself to say, as lightly as she can, and then Rachel's fingers linger on the zipper and it shatters her self-control completely. "Rachel..." "Yeah," Rachel says, looking up cautiously. "I said I'd never … try anything if you didn't want me to," Quinn says, willing her muscles to stop shaking. "I know," Rachel says, fingers still toying with the zipper, like it's the only way that they can possibly connect. "You have to let me know if you want me to," Quinn says. "Because I think about you all the time as well-if today is a headband day or a ponytail day, and if you're going to be singing something happy or something sad during fifth period, and how it's even possible that you eat as much meat as you do and I still want to kiss you, and … how I wish that we could just be together somewhere, and talk about things that we don't talk about to other people and-how I want to know what you want from life, and how I want to help you get it and-" Rachel's eyes start to shimmer, and then she says, "I haven't eaten any meat today. Just in case." Quinn has to ask-she doesn't have a choice anymore. "Just in case what?" And then that small hand on zipper pulls hard, and she's stumbling forward and Rachel is reaching for the back of her neck and pulling her down, into a kiss that she can only think of as her first real kiss, because it matters-it matters so much, the way she's suddenly the taller person and she needs to lean down a little, and the way Rachel cranes up and bounces onto her toes, pushing and pulling at the same time, making them both wobble precariously. It's not much more than lips pressing together, harshly, until Quinn finds her footing. Then, she squeezes her eyes shut harder and forces herself to stop thinking about how this might be her only chance-Rachel could panic and bolt, or Shelby could find out, or maybe it's not going to be as amazing as she always thought her first kiss with a girl would be. She doesn't want any of those thoughts; all she wants is to focus on Rachel's hand on her shoulder, seeking balance, and the way that Rachel slowly starts tilting her head a little, turning the kiss from a press into a more delicate kind of contact, and... She breaks away just long enough to lick at her lips and then actually kisses Rachel-the way she'd taken years to teach Finn how to kiss, sliding their lips together until Rachel gasps and there-that tiny bit of space that means that she can kiss first her upper lip, then her bottom lip, and then both of them at the same time again. Rachel is trembling against her; she can feel it even though there's still some space between them, and she knows she's shaking just as hard-and then Rachel pulls back and presses her forehead against Quinn's jacket. Quinn wonders if she might actually die, the way she can't get enough air into her lungs and the way her heart is just plain running out of her chest. She feels too much, and it would be terrifying if not for the fact that Rachel's still right there, holding on to her like the ground is going to disappear any second now. "I'm not gay," Rachel says, softly, the words muffled in Quinn's coat. "I'm not gay, I know I'm not gay, but then there's you and I just don't know what to do anymore." "It's okay," Quinn says, and hesitates for just a second before bringing one hand up from Rachel's lower back and running it through her hair. "It's okay-you have time, okay? To figure it out. We have time." Rachel nods against her and swallows audibly, and Quinn wonders if there is anything about this moment that could be more perfect, even though she's standing in mud that's soaking through her Chucks, and it's starting to rain and Rachel is still shaking like a leaf against her. She wouldn't change a thing, and lets the moment linger as long as she feels she can. Then, she says, "Hey-Santana's sleeping over at my house this weekend. Can you think of a way to join us?" Rachel pulls away at that, and Quinn gives herself one last gift; a quick brush of her hand against Rachel's cheek, that Rachel almost leans into, until it's gone and she's tucking her hands into her coat pockets. "I can tell my mother that I'm spending the night at Mercedes' if … are you sure you want me there?" Rachel asks, with a concerned look on her face. Quinn can't help the stupid, gentle smile on her face. "It was Santana's idea." Rachel opens her mouth a few times and then closes it again, and Quinn takes a deep breath and a step back-just because slow is good, and she's not sure how slow she can manage with Rachel that close. "I think she's a little worried Shelby is going to kill you. I mean, I am too, but... it was her idea. I didn't... I wouldn't have suggested because, I mean, um. I don't know how you feel about sleeping over at my house... in my bed," she says, feeling herself start to blush. "I mean, it would be totally … I wouldn't try anything, but..." Rachel's face slowly relaxes into a smile. "I can't believe I used to think you were kind of tough." "I am kind of tough." "Yes; you're positively menacing," Rachel says, teasingly, and Quinn feels her heart patter inconsistently for the fifth time in as many minutes. She fakes a glare. "Hey-I'm willing to brave your mother's eternal wrath for a chance to um... get to know you better-clearly I'm either crazy or really kind of a bad-ass." Rachel's smile falters. "Yes. I guess you've got me there." "Hey-it's okay, I don't mind kicking against the establishment for a good cause," Quinn says, ducking her head and nudging Rachel's chin up with her index finger. "Charming as your rebellious streak is, I hope I'm worth it," Rachel says, lowering her eyes almost immediately. "Rachel-" Rachel smiles a little sadly and then shakes her head. "I have no regrets about today, Quinn." Quinn feels her heart sink. "But..." ".. but I'm also not ready to ... I don't know what comes after this. I need time." Quinn realizes that if she feels emotionally all over the place, Rachel's head must be like a shooting gallery right now, and she tilts back onto her heels and says, "I get it. It took me ages to come to terms with... what I wanted. I'm not going to tell you that you can't take your time. I'd rather you be sure than... experimenting. With me." Rachel winces. "That's... yes. I don't want you to feel like that's what I'm doing either, which is why..." "Can I just ask... that you're honest with me, about how you feel and what you're thinking?" Quinn hesitantly suggests. Rachel swallows visibly and then rubs her hand together. "Well. I'm not sure I can process everything I'm thinking right now, out loud, but... when I evaluate … the kiss..." "Um, I think... wait... are you going to actually critique my kissing skills right now?" Quinn sort of stutters out, stopping when Rachel holds up her hand. "You asked for honesty, and this is something I can talk about," Rachel says, before sucking in a deep breath. "… I liked kissing you. Granted, technically, I feel like we were both a little off our game, and obviously any real assessment has to consider your use of tongue, which is usually a deal breaker, in my experience..." "Jesus," Quinn says, covering her face with her hand. "Rachel-" Rachel smiles after a second and stares down at the soggy ground between them. "Emotionally, however, kissing you made me feel the way that Rachmaninoff's later pieces do, which... well." "Is that a good thing?" Quinn asks, and watches as Rachel digs around her pocket for her iPhone and finds something and presses play. The musical composition in question is like an endless stream of fireworks going off, and Quinn stares at Rachel stupidly as it drills into her brain. "I think it's a good thing," Rachel says, pulling away the ear bud and pocketing her iPod again. "I don't really have a frame of reference, though, because... nothing has ever made me feel the way that being near you does." Quinn rubs at her face and shakes her head. "Oh, wow, Rachel. ... unless you want to collect some more empirical data for your evaluation, you should probably go right now. Geez." Rachel smiles and reaches for her hand, squeezing it softly. "I hope you know how wonderful you are." It's exactly the right thing to say to quell her hormones back to a bearable level, and Quinn runs her free hand through her now-wet and shaggy hair, and then says, "Give me a hug. C'mon. That's friendly and fine and-I think we both need it." Rachel doesn't protest, and the way she slots in right underneath Quinn's chin makes her a little lightheaded. She knew she was gay before, but this sort of seals the deal in a way that just thinking about Rachel, or Amy-who now feels like a distant fleck in her rear view mirror at best-would never have been able to. She was made to tuck a girl into her arms like this, and when Rachel softly says, "Your arms are so strong", with a soft sigh, she realizes she's not the only one who recognizes that they just fit. Knowing that, the idea of giving Rachel some more time to figure stuff out- Yeah, it really doesn't seem like a big deal at all.

Interviewees: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio Interviewer: Satou Masashi Date: Tuesday, 30th of March The studio has been set up simply in a small room. Attending are the interviewees, the interviewer, Kageyama Tobio’s manager, two cameramen and an audio engineer. In the centre of the room is a large couch, occupied by the Olympians and across a small coffee table is an armchair with Satou Masashi, a tablet sat on his lap. All three have mikes attached to their collars. The audio-visual crew is sitting behind the cameras, accompanied by Kageyama’s agent. HS - Hinata Shouyou, KT - Kageyama Tobio, SM - Satou Masashi [The cameras start rolling and a quiet voice can be heard in the background saying, “Alright, go ahead, Satou.” The video shows the two men on a large couch, thighs pressed together and both dressed in t-shirts and shorts. Kageyama’s shirt is dark blue, with white strokes claiming ‘Setter Spirit’, his black shorts loose around his lower thighs. Hinata is wearing a pale pink shirt with a giant Pikachu in the centre. His shorts are white, thighs and calf clad in a pair of black leggings reaching down to his white socks. Kageyama has his hand buried in Hinata’s hair, lightly pulling as Hinata shouts something incomprehensible up at him. The camera switches to Satou who wore a bemused expression. He loudly cleared his throat and the noise from the Olympians immediately cease.] Satou Masashi - Hey friends and foes, it’s Satou Masashi from The Setting Sun: Weekly Spotlight and I’m delighted to inform you that we are joined today by the most requested pair in the history of our show. World-renowned volleyball players and on the starting team for the Olympics in July, we have Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio! [The camera switches once more to the couch. The volleyball players both look into the camera, Kageyama’s face is tight as he raises a hand in greeting while Hinata’s wide grin and enthusiastic waving garner a shove from the setter. The shorter man immediately turns around, mouth open in a shout, but Kageyama silences him with a palm covering his entire face.] Kageyama Tobio - Thank you for the warm welcome, we are very honoured to be here. Hinata Shouyou - And me! I’m very happy to be here! It’s been wonderful so far andー KT - Shut up, dumbass, we haven’t even begun yet. [Hinata turns and pops his tongue out at the other man. The camera shifts to Satou, who is smiling at the pair, eyebrows raised high.] SM - We’ll start with a couple of simple questions, about volleyball and the Olympics, before transitioning to discuss your private lives and then, to close things off, we have selected a few questions that fans have sent in. KT - Sounds good. SM - How long have you been playing volleyball? HS - Since like junior high! I guess I’ve always been interested, but it was when I saw the Little Giant, not Hoshiumi, the old one from Karasuno. Anyway, it was when I saw him spike on television that I felt the need to play. I didn’t get to actually play any games until the end of junior high and, even then, it wasn’t a real match. It was in high school, at Karasuno, where I feel like the dreams of volleyball finally became more of a reality, you know? [Satou nods thoughtfully before glancing at the other player.] SM - What about you, Kageyama-san? KT - I don’t know, it feels like I’ve always been playing. I have a photo from when I was a year old where I’m hugging a volleyball and drooling all over it. HS - [gasps] How come I’ve never seen it?! I wanna see Baby-yama! You must have been so cute and grumpy [laughs]! [Kageyama is frowning again, a light blush high on his cheekbones] KT - Shut the [beep] up, boke! Oh [beep], am I allowed to swear? [The camera shifts to Satou who is laughing, his head thrown back.] SM - I mean, I think it’s a bit late for that, but yeah, it’s fine. We’ll just edit it out before posting. [Kageyama sighed and practically melted into the couch, Hinata cackling by his side.] KT - Thank [beep]. Well, anyway. I’ve always been playing volleyball, it’s basically the same as breathing for me. SM - Hinata-san already sort of explained this but what drew you to volleyball? KT - [clears throat] My- my sister played volleyball and my grandfather was the coach for a junior high team so I guess that must have something to do with it. But, it’s really difficult to explain. There’s just something about volleyball, the mixture of speed, strength and precision, individual talent and teamwork. It’s just- unique. It’s special. There’s nothing else like it. [Hinata is nodding, a focused look on his face.] HS - Yeah, that’s it. I know I would have been good at any sport I threw myself into, I’ve had the speed and [laughs] energy to do well in any sport. But volleyball is just different. I mean, sure, it’s got a team and a ball like a lot of other sports, but it feels like every member on the team is vital in volleyball. Even if you’re a pinch server or on the bench, you’re still a part of the team and you’re still important. I love the sense of community and I’ve made so many great friendsーand rivals [Hinata throws a teasing look at Kageyama]ーthrough it. SM - Rivals? HS - Yep! Kageyama here has been my greatest rival since junior high! KT - In his first real match, our teams were against each other. Of course, he lost and afterwards came up to me and announced that he’d beat me, no matter what, no matter when. HS - Yeah, and then you had the audacity to go to Karasuno! KT - Shut the [beep] up, you know we worked well together. [Hinata smiles up at him, looking disgustingly content.] HS - We still do. SM - How does this rivalry work now that you are both on the same team? KT - I mean, we’re still on different league teams, it’s just that we’re also on the national team. HS - And it’s not like our rivalry was ever fully focused on volleyball. KT - Right, like how I’m 14 points ahead right now because I didn’t [beep] up cooking breakfast. HS - Oh my god, let it go, I didn’t burn down the kitchen! I didn’t even burn anything! KT - You put like five cups of salt in the pancake mix! HS - Just so you know, it’s my turn to make dinner tonight, so be careful of what you say, Mr Hotshot Cook! [The camera switches to Satou, almost like a plea to make them stop having a domestic dispute in public for two seconds. Satou nods slightly before tilting his head slightly.] SM - You two are living together? [The video shows the two volleyball players exchange a look, one full of an equal amount of happiness and longing.] HS - Technically, no, because you know, our teams are based in different prefectures but whenever I’m here, I just stay at his house. KT - Yeah, he probably stays at my house more than his own at this point. [Hinata karate chops the top of his head, not pulling any punches and drawing a loud yelp from Kageyama who grabs his hair again and starts pulling.] HS - Stop, stop! You’re such a meanie head! Anyway, I’m probably going to end up living with this idiot at some pointーOuch, that hurt, Kageyama! KT - Don’t call me an idiot, dumbass! You’re living in my house right now, I’ll kick you out on the street, I swear. SM - You guys sound so comfortable with each other [laughs]. I’m sure the move will be very easy to get used to. But, moving on, let’s talk about the Olympics for a bit! Kageyama-san, this is your second Olympicsー KT - Yeah. SM - Do you think you’re more or less nervous this time? KT - I’m not sure I was ever really nervous, just…excited? I guess? It’s always been my dream so to fulfil it was incredible. But I’m much more confident this time. My team has improved and so have I. HS - Yeah! You have me this time! We’re totally gonna win gold, Satou-san, you’ll have to see it! SM - [chuckles] I’m sure you will, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. How about you though, Hinata-san? This is your first Olympics. Are you nervous? HS - Heck yeah! Unlike this paragon of volleyballー [He nudges Kageyama with an elbow who doesn’t respond beyond a glare, the effect lessened by the slight blush on his cheeks.] HS - ーI know I’m not perfect yet. I’m good, though! And like Kageyama said, our team’s super good! I know we will all give our best out there. SM - This might be a silly question but what are you both most looking forward to in the Olympics? KT & HS - Playing volleyball! [Satou throws his head back with laughter, causing Hinata to join him. In the background, other voices could also be heard, the crew chuckling. Kageyama just sits there, confusion splayed all over his face. A brief cut takes place and the video shows Satou after he has composed himself, face still slightly flushed.] SM - Well, I honestly don’t know what I was expecting! You two are so well coordinated even off the courts, it’s incredible. Your love for volleyball is honestly so inspiring, I wish I could play! I’m guessing you both always knew you wanted to play professionally? KT - [nods] Yep, since elementary school. [Hinata rubs the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly.] HS - I, uh, never really thought too much about that until my last year of high school. The only thing on my mind was that I had to get better and jump higher. Even when I went to Brazil, I wasn’t really thinking about what would happen after I got better, you know? I just wanted to play. Maybe there was a part of me that thought I couldn’t do it, couldn’t become good enough to make a career out of it— KT - Which is like the dumbest thing you’ve ever thought or said. You’ve been working so hard; it’s impossible for you to not be good enough. [Hinata smiles but it’s not the usual wide grin that is plastered all over promotional materials. It’s soft, private and tender.] HS - Thanks. But, yeah, never really thought about playing professionally except maybe when talking about our future. [The spiker nudges Kageyama and, for once, the setter doesn’t glare or grab his hair. Instead, a small smile graces his lips.] SM - I have just one more question about the Olympics before we move on to the next bitー HS - Sure! KT - Boke! Stop interrupting him! SM - It’s fine, Kageyama-san. Anyway, who would you say your favourite teammate is? Obviously, you both like all of them, butー KT - It’s Hinata. [There’s a pained look on his face, as though the admission physically hurt him. Hinata, on the other hand, is back to smiling brightly.] HS - And of course it’s Kageyama for me! I love playing with Bokuto-san, and Atsumu-san, and Ushijima-san, and everyone else, but. Playing with Bakageyama is special. He was the first person I really played with and he was my first teammate. Not to mention he’s a freaking genius on the courts! [Kageyama is back to blushing as he tries, and fails, to avoid showing his face to the camera.] SM - Somehow, none of that surprised me. Now, on to a couple of more personal questions. Feel free to tell me to [beep] off if they make you uncomfortable. Do you have any hobbies? KT & HS - Volleyball. SM - [chuckles] Other than volleyball? KT - Uh, running? HS - [snaps his fingers] I think he means like baking and stuff! Oh, Kageyama is really good at baking actually! Back in Karasuno, he used to bring some cupcakes or cookies after a big game and it was totally worth winning just to eat them! KT - IーHinata likes drawing! HS - [screeches and tries to put his hands over Kageyama’s mouth] Shut up! I told you that in confidence! KT - You didn’t tell me shit, I found your doodles all over my books you idiot! HS - Fine, if you’re gonna embarrass me, guess I’ll have to do the same! Even though he says he doesn’t like it, Yamayama-kun is really good at writing and he likes to knit! He actually sent me a knitted scarf for my first birthday in Brazil! I didn’t really get to wear it then but thankfully Tokyo has been colder. KT - He’s obsessed with taking selfies! Used to send me at least three every day and, since coming back, he even sends me photos in the middle of practice! [Satou, who had been watching the (fight? Bickering?) situation escalate, steps in figuratively, waving them both down.] SM - Maybe we should move on to the next question! What’s your favourite food? KT - Pork curry and egg. But meat buns are always nice. HS - Oooh, meat buns are always nice! But Tamago Kake Gohan is probably still my favourite. And brigadeiros are really yummy! I’ll make it for you sometime, even though you’re weird and don’t like sweets too much. KT - You are not cooking anything in my kitchen again, especially not Brazilian food! You can show me a recipe, I’ll make it. HS - [pouts] Meany-yama! SM - Do either of you play any other sports? KT - Not unless you count running. HS - Or beach volleyball! SM - Well, if you had to, what would you pick? HS - I haven’t ever really thought about it. Maybe basketball or netball? They’re sort of similar to volleyball. Actually, maybe football! I’m pretty fast and small, I could probably score a bunch of points! KT - I’d probably do track and field. Maybe javelin or archery? Basketball doesn’t sound too bad either. HS - Maybe we could play sometime?! KT - Why? I’d rather just play volleyball. HS - Good point, I would too. SM - Now for some questions from fans! Let’s try to keep these short, yeah? [Both athletes nod, though they are eyeing each other with distrust, as though expecting the other to speak too much.] SM - First of all, a question from Anonymous: “Are you guys friends outside of the court?” This has probably been addressed right? HS - [laughs] Yeah, you don’t tend to live with someone you’re not friends with, at least not if you have a choice. SM - This second one is along the same lines. Baby-Yoda-Baby asks “Are you guys best friends? Because y’all are chaotic enough to be.” KT - Yeah. HS - Elaborate on your answer, Stupid-yama! We’ve been friends for years now, and best friends for probably the whole time. Even when we hated each other, I feel like we were still closest together. KT - I didn’t hate you, and yeah, best friends since our first year. SM - I would ask more about the whole hate thing but maybe that’s better left private. Next question. From Pooh_Bear’s_Womb: “Which family member are you closest to?” KT - Skip. HS - Ah, that’s easy! My little sister, Natsu! Wait, but that’s if we’re just talking about biological families. My first ever team at Karasuno is basically like family to me as well; everyone helped me grow so much. I don’t know if I could pick out of them, to be honest [laughs]! SM - [grimaces] Oh, this might be a bit too much as well. Lamp-post-ribbon asks: “Are there any special girls in your lives?” KT - Like my sister or mother? HS - Baka! They mean like a girlfriend or something! KT - [scrunches his nose up] Gross, no. I don’t like girls. HS - Yeah, I don’t have a girlfriend either Lamp-post-ribbon! KT - You don’t need one, you’ve got a perfectly fine boyfriend right here, [beep]. [The camera wavers slightly as it points at Satou whose eyebrows are high into his hairline. He does not gape and is composed.] SM - You two are dating? HS - Yep! Since, oh god, when was it Yama? KT - Uhh, middle of our second year I think? Noya-san was talking about how much he missed Asahi-san and that…uh, led to a confession. HS - [punches his shoulder] Liar! You didn’t confess, you pulled me aside after practise, yelled that you loved me and then tried to run away! I had to tackle you! KT - Shut up, [beep]! SM - There’s probably no better time than now to say goodbye folks. Ending it on a climactic high, this has been Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, star players from Japan’s Olympics team. Be sure to show them your support at the games! Check back in next week to The Setting Sun: Weekly Spotlight . Goodbye and a good day from your beloved host, Satou Masashi!

The first thing Sterling Ellis did upon waking that Saturday morning was smile. He’d hardly even roused fully from his dreams, and he’d already decided today was probably one of the best days of his entire life. Because he wasn’t alone: he was sharing a bed with the sun.  Her warm, smooth legs against his, her arms wrapped loosely around his right arm, her curls tickling and touching his neck. He lay there with his eyes still closed, smiling at the ceiling, enjoying the quiet sound of her breathing, the muffled, distant sounds of her family chattering and going about their mornings, the little whistle-sound that came from Maximus’s beak on every exhalation. He turned his face to look at her, and he felt his chest burst open with a wild rush of deep tenderness at the sight of her. Despite the laceration and bruising along her cheekbone and the swelling beneath her eye, she was so beautiful he felt like his eyes couldn’t absorb it well enough. Her dark, shining curls, tousled and tangled around them, her soft parted lips, her expressive brow…he pulled his hand up and lightly touched her forehead, wondering what she was dreaming of. Wondering if it was good. He hoped so much that it was.  The first thing he usually did upon waking each morning was reach for his phone to text her good morning 🌻, but he didn’t have to do that today. Because they were sharing a morning. And he decided there was almost nothing better in the entire world than that— except perhaps sharing the night with her.  So instead of turning and reaching for his phone, he turned and reached for her. She smiled in her sleep as he hugged her closer, and he pressed and buried his face in her hair, intending on drifting right back to sleep. And he nearly did…until he heard a soft knock on her door. He automatically froze, unsure whether they’d locked the door last night…his eyes darted to their first pair of pajamas, puddled in a heap on the floor by the bed. His face grew hot. Why hadn’t they put them in the laundry basket?  He said nothing and held very still, hoping whoever it was would go away, but they didn’t. Another knock, this one a bit louder. Vera stirred this time. She shifted, yawned, and then squirmed closer to Sterling, her arms wrapping around him. She clutched him in a hug bursting with so much affection that he thought his heart might explode.   Another knock, this one loud and impatient.  “Tell them to go away,” she mumbled, her voice sleep-slurred and adorable. Sterling muffled a laugh against her hair. And as much as he didn’t want to move from that bed and their shared embrace, he didn’t want her sleep ruined more. So he gently extracted himself from her embrace— with great difficulty; she whined and clung, still half-asleep, and he had to kiss her twice before she’d let go— and rose from her bed. He kicked their pajamas beneath it, located one of his hoodies on the back of her desk chair, and yanked it on before unlocking and inching the door open.  Of course it was Will. Sterling ran his fingers through his tousled hair, trying to look nonchalant and innocent and not at all like a boy who had just made Vera Parry come hours prior beneath this man’s roof.  “Morning,” Will greeted, after a stiff, awkward pause. He darted his eyes past Sterling and into the bedroom. “Vera up?”  “Er…not really,” Sterling answered. He leaned against the doorframe and forced himself to stop messing with his hair; he sunk his hands into his pockets. “Sorry for falling asleep here, Dr. Parry. I didn’t mean to.” Will’s brow furrowed slightly. Sterling realized too late that he’d called him ‘Dr. Parry’—  he hadn’t done that for over two years now. He’d been calling Vera’s parents ‘Will and Lyra’ for a while now.  “That’s all right,” Will finally said. “I’m sure you were both tired after what happened at the beach.” He took a step forward. “I’m going to see how her face is. I think we may take a trip to the clinic after breakfast to make sure nothing’s broken.”  Sterling stepped to the side and opened the door wider. “I think it looks better than it did last night…but I’m not a doctor.”  He felt extremely aware of a lot of things as Vera’s dad walked in. The pile of clothing he’d pushed beneath the bed, the fact that he and Vera were both wearing different pajamas than they’d originally gone to sleep in (would Will know that?), the indentation his head had left on the other side of Vera’s pillow and the way the duvet was puffed up beside her that showed exactly how close Sterling had been curled with her before rising. He stayed by the door and crossed his arms tightly, certain Will would somehow sense what had happened last night and that he’d hate Sterling for it and ban him from seeing Vera ever again and close the window between their houses and maybe even move Vera back to another world and—  “Yes, you’re right,” Will said, breaking through Sterling’s panicked, runaway thoughts. He was leaning over the bed and examining Vera’s face. “It does look a bit better this morning. The swelling’s gone down, though the bruising is worse…Vera? How are you feeling?”  “My face hurts,” she muttered sleepily. She patted blindly at the duvet. “Where’s Sterling? Did he go home?”  Sterling tried his hardest not to look visibly chuffed. “Still here,” he called.  “He’s awake— I suppose your laziness isn’t contagious,” Will said. He straightened. “I’ll bring you some pain medicine. Sterling, we’ve got breakfast and coffee ready whenever you’re ready.”  Sterling met Will’s eyes and nodded. “Yes sir. Thanks.”  Her dad paused by the door and looked at Sterling. His gaze was kind. “I’m really not angry with you for falling asleep here. The ‘Dr. Parry’ and ‘yes sir’ thing isn’t necessary. Okay?”  Sterling felt his shoulders relax, and the tension in his chest eased. He nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” Her dad reached out and clapped his shoulder once before walking from the room. He pulled the door shut behind himself, leaving Sterling and Vera alone. Sterling let out a relieved breath. He felt Vera and Max’s eyes on him as he padded back across her floor.  “Did you think he was going to throttle you or something?” Vera questioned. Sterling pulled the duvet back and crawled beneath it, curling up with her again. He reached over and stroked Max’s feathers, smiling as Max nuzzled fondly against his fingers. Vera squirmed as close to him as she possibly could in response. “Worse,” Sterling admitted against her hair. He felt a sting of pain in his heart. “I thought he might tell me that he hates me and I’m never welcome here again.”  Vera leaned her face back and looked at him curiously. “Because of what happened last night? They’ve no idea; we were quiet. And anyway, they think we’ve been having sex for a while, anyway."  “Yeah.” But it was hard not to feel a bit worried and ashamed; he’d been threatened and lectured so much about ‘being sexually active’ by his own father that he instinctively feared Vera’s would react in the same way. And he’d rather be beaten to a pulp by Martin than have Will Parry look at him with disappointment. “I just don’t want your dad to think I’m…I dunno. Disrespectful. To you or to him or to anyone here.”   “He doesn’t,” she promised him. She sought his lips and kissed him sweetly once, twice, and then a third time…he relaxed and pressed his hand to her back, pulling her closer— if that was even possible. She deepened the kiss, and he followed her lead, but then she winced suddenly. “Eina. That hurts.” “Shit, sorry,” he apologized, moving his face back. He pulled from her arms and rose from the bed. “I’ll get a warm washcloth. And your dad’s coming back with medicine soon; that should help.”  He used the toilet while in her bathroom, washed his hands, and he was wetting a clean, folded washcloth beneath the tap when he heard Lyra’s voice. He guessed she’d offered to bring the medicine in place of Will. He lingered with the cloth beneath the warm tap for a moment longer, listening as Lyra asked Vera if she’d slept well.  “Very well,” Vera answered.  “Really?” Lyra said. “I thought maybe you had trouble sleeping. The camera in the garden went off last night. You were out in the treehouse for a while.”  Sterling glanced at the closed door, surprised. He felt his heart sink. What? He’d thought she’d been at his side all night…but she’d left? Why? Doubt and concern cascaded over him, and at once, he was thinking back to last night and trying to find a moment where he’d messed up, something that he’d done to annoy her or upset her, because why else would she have wanted to get away from him and go outside? He’d thought…I mean, to him, it had been so wonderful…and she’d certainly seemed to feel the same way…had he been wrong? Had he hurt her somehow? “Oh,” Vera said, and though her voice was smooth and easy, he could tell she was lying. “Yeah. I just needed some fresh air. Sorry…I didn’t realize the camera was sending notifications. I thought it was off. I hope it didn’t wake you and Dad.”  “No, no, we didn’t see the notification until this morning. You were just out there alone for a long while. Was everything okay last night, Sunshine?”  “Yeah,” Vera said brightly. “Definitely. All good.”  “You’re sure?”  “Positive. Thanks for the medicine, Mum.”  “Because if something was wrong…”  “If something was wrong, I’d tell you. Love you,” Vera said— a clear ‘goodbye’.  “All right, then. Are you coming to breakfast any time soon?”  “Yeah, soon-ish,” Vera promised.  Sterling waited until he heard Lyra close Vera’s bedroom door, and then he turned the tap off and wrung the washcloth until it was damp but not dripping. He carried it out, watching the floor as he did, and he sank down onto the edge of the bed and leaned over, pressing it gently to her cheek.  “Mmm, thanks,” she appreciated, reaching up to cradle his hand there. The warmth from both the compress and her hand stirred something in his chest, and he looked at her, his heart bobbing uncertainly. Her blue eyes softened instantly. “What? What’s wrong?”  “Did I…” he stopped and trailed off, his heart sinking further. “Last night, I mean, was it…if I did something wrong or if it was too much too soon or if I upset you somehow or made you uncomfortable— I’m really, really sorry. I thought…—”  She sat up. The pain that washed over her face took him aback, and she moved over and crawled into his lap, hugging him tightly. The compress was forgotten on her pillow, and Max fled his nest of blankets and flew over to perch beside Sterling’s leg. He pecked gently at the fabric of his pajama bottoms, preening and chirping consolingly.  Sterling didn’t have to explain that he’d heard what her mother said about her leaving last night: he felt her mind brush against his— a sweetness that made him shiver—and he nodded. She was there with him then, a feeling quite like fingers intertwining or legs tangling beneath the covers or arms hugging, and she knew what he’d heard and what he’d assumed.  “No,” she said at once. She leaned over, reaching for something on the bedside table. She unfolded a note and turned it so he could read it. She’d written: Be back very soon. Don’t worry. Lief vir jou xxxxxxxxxxx. “I thought you saw this. I left it last night. You didn’t do anything wrong— everything I said last night, I meant. I’ve never felt so good— I enjoyed every single second. I didn’t go to the treehouse to get away from you…I went to talk to your dad.” Relief first, and then horror. He leaned back and looked down at her, his heart pounding and his entire body tense, his eyes scanning from her hairline down, searching for injuries. When he failed to see any on her, he gave Maximus the same look-over. He felt sick. I’ll kill him, he thought then— he swore. If he hurt her again, I’ll kill him. I swear to God. “Did he do that?” Sterling demanded, reaching down to gently touch a few feathers on Max’s left wing that were bent. “Did he do that, Maxie?”  “What? No— I’m fine,” Max promised, lifting his wing and looking at the spot in question. He groomed the feathers for a moment, and when he pulled his beak away, they were lying in place perfectly, shining and beautiful as before. Sterling relaxed a bit. He looked back at Vera.  “Vera—” “It’s okay. He didn’t hurt me or Max, Sterling.”  He wanted to cry. Because he could have. “I don’t know how else to explain to you that he’s dangerous— you saw it yourself! You know the things he’s done! How could you go there alone in the middle of the night after he already hit you—!” “I’m not frightened of him.”  “You should be!” His eyes were burning fiercely. He was finding it difficult to breathe. All he could think of was all the pain his father had caused him— and how much worse those same injuries would’ve been if they’d been leveled at Vera. She was so much smaller and softer and sweeter than him— so much more important. And Max…what if he’d shot at Max, or flung him into a wall, or hit him with something hard enough that his neck broke? “How could you do that, Vera?” “Because I had to. Because I could. Because it had to stop…it had to end, Sterling. Because I love you. Can I explain what happened? I know you’re upset…but can I just tell you what happened?”  Her eyes were full of so much love and worry that he couldn’t deny her. He nodded. She pulled him down into her arms so they were lying together, and she held him and told him everything. He listened, feeling his concern and frustration gradually give way to awe and shock. He leaned back and looked down at her when she finished, saying nothing— just looking. At the curve of her lips, the arch of her brow, the smoothness of her skin, the blue of her eyes, the arc of her eyelashes. His silence worried her; a little line appeared between her eyebrows, one he leaned down and kissed.  “Are you angry with me?” she whispered.  “No. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. She’d used her psychic abilities— or whatever she wanted to classify them as— to take down the man who’d been tormenting him for most his life, and she’d done it without lifting a finger. What did he say to that? Thank you hardly seemed sufficient. Right then, he felt incredibly small, and she felt larger than the sun. He hardly felt fit to be in the same room as her, much less holding her and gazing at her face.  The corners of her lips twitched down into a frown. Her voice was faint when she spoke next. “Say…‘I’m not frightened of you.’” The vulnerability in her voice surprised him. He carefully cradled her face in his hands. “Why in the world would I be frightened of you, Sonneblom?”  “Because I’m a little frightened of me. I’ve never been so…I don’t know, Sterling. I’ve always used my rose to help. I’ve never used it like that before. I’ve never been cruel. Do you think that I’m cruel?”  That was the simplest question in the world. “No. I think he’s cruel.”  What Vera divulged about Gabi had upset him the most. She’d been their age when she was hired on, and what his father had done was wrong in so many ways. She’d just had a baby right before Martin hired her, and he’d taken advantage of that fact— knowing she was desperate for a decent paying, stable job as a single teen mum still trying to finish school— and he’d offered her an exorbitant salary in exchange for working weekends…and then he’d tried to pressure her into sleeping with him. When she’d turned him down, he fired her just like that. He never paid her for the days she had worked, either. Sterling had been much younger when all this went down, and he hadn’t questioned her being fired so abruptly; he rarely kept the same nanny for longer than a couple weeks at a time (and now he understood why that was). He’d never dreamed how horrible his father had been to the people working in his home. And it wasn’t going to make anything right, but he was going to figure out a way to get the money Gabi was owed to her— and more money, too. That was the least he could do for her.  “I think I was a bit mean,” Vera persisted. She sounded deeply troubled.  “So what if you were? He punched you in your face, and he was being racist towards you— you can be mean to him all you like. He started it. And you finished it.” He hoped so, anyway. Part of him still wasn’t sure. Perhaps his father would actually kill him whenever he returned home.  “It was just…it was like once I got going, I couldn’t stop…do you know what I mean? I felt so— so angry. I hated him. I hate him. For what he’s done to you most of all.” She stroked his cheek. “So you’re not upset with me?” “No,” he decided. That wasn’t an emotion he was feeling— he wasn’t angry with her— but he also wasn’t really happy about the way things had gone down last night. Namely, that it’d all happened while he was asleep, behind his back. “But I need you to promise me one thing.”  She met his eyes and waited. It took him a moment to find the words, and even when he did, they weren’t very eloquent; he didn’t always know how to best express himself. But he always tried.  “I know you can do things that I can’t, Vera…I know you’re capable of things I probably can’t even fully comprehend, much less help with. But I want you to let me be there for you. Rather than just rushing off in the night alone like that…let me come along. Okay? I can’t do what you can do, but I can keep you safe— I can do that. I want to do that.” He gently touched her wounded cheek. “I know I failed at that last night, but I’ll never fail again, Vera. I promise.”  He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the sound that Martin’s fist had made as it made contact with her face, the way her head had snapped back, the way she’d doubled over. He’d never, ever let it happen again.  “You didn’t fail. I walked in front of his fist on purpose, Sterling. You couldn’t have stopped it.”  “Well, I would have liked to have been there just in case last night. In case you needed help. In case you needed someone.” So you weren’t alone. He knew well what it felt like to be alone facing off with Martin.  “I had to go alone…he would’ve hurt you if you came along.” “I think I should’ve been allowed to make that call for myself, though. I want us to be partners, Vera. A team. I want to take care of you, too.”  She curled against his chest and held him tightly. “Oh, you do, liefling…” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. He hid his face against her hair. He was afraid, and it took him a moment to understand why. What she’d done last night with his dad…that was just a trial run. That was nothing. There was worse to come.  “The Church…your mum’s world…I want to be there for you.”  She looked up at him at that, visibly surprised. And then her eyes softened, and a hopeful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “That’s quite far in the future. You don’t think you’ll be tired of me by then?”  It was so far from the realm of possibility that he laughed. He was in so in love with her that he could hardly function; she was the first person he thought about every single morning and the last one every night, and when he thought about the future— as they so often were pressured to at this time in their lives with exams and uni looming on the horizon— the only thing in the world he was certain of was her. He’d known a year ago that he would either marry this girl or be left by her. There was no way he was leaving. And he’d come to terms with that; he’d rather be with her and bask in her light for as long as possible, risking being left and shattered, than to never get to feel her warmth at all. When she decided she was tired of him, he would leave respectfully and kindly, grateful he’d gotten the time that he had. Knowing he’d never really deserved that time in the first place. “Me? Tired of you? Fuck no.”  She laughed at that, so brightly that her entire face glowed. She was so beautiful; he kissed her again. “Well…” she began after their kiss, her lips so close to his still that they brushed as she spoke. Her eyes were still closed, and she was stroking his back beneath his hoodie. “If you’re thinking you might want to hang around that long, I’ve got something I need you to promise me, too.”  He nodded. She gazed into his eyes, hers serious. “If I ever cross a line, I need you to tell me. If ever I lose control or start acting like— like— not-me, I need you to bring me back to myself. I need you to wake me up. Can you promise that?”  He angled her chin up and kissed her deeply.  “Yeah,” he promised. He moved his lips to her cheek and kissed it, and then her jaw, his heart swollen and heavy with love. “I promise.” “Then I promise, too. I won’t shut you out. No matter how strange it gets. We’ll be a team.”  That promise made him feel light and free. He rolled them over so she was pressed between him and the mattress, and he kissed her again— deeper, lingering, all the intense affection in his heart leaking out.  “We should be. Because we’re such a good one, Vera.”  He was going to do whatever he needed to do to make sure he could truly help. He might not have been able to do anything supernatural, but he could learn to fight. He was young and strong. And he’d fight to the death if it meant protecting her.  They readied for the day side by side, smiling nonstop and glancing at each other as they brushed their teeth and dressed. Sterling checked his phone for the first time that morning as she plaited her hair, surprised— and relieved— to see he didn’t have a single text from his dad. He did, however, have one from his mum. That was unusual; she hadn’t talked to him once since moving to Joburg.  “My mum texted me,” Sterling called. He stared at the notification banner, suddenly afraid to open the message.  Vera stuck her head out of the bathroom. “Yeah? What’d she say?”  “I dunno. I haven’t opened it.” He heard the sound of something being set down on the marble counter, and then she crossed over to the bed and joined him, half her hair still loose and unplaited. She curled at his side and gently took his phone.  “Want me to read it?”  Relief rushed through him. “Yes.” She held his phone in front of his face so it’d unlock, and then she was quiet as she read the message, her hand stroking his side idly as she did. “You should read it,” she finally said, passing the phone back to him. She hugged him around the waist with both arms.  He did as she suggested.  I talked to your father. If you need to come here, I’ll buy you a plane ticket. LMK.  It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d expected. He looked at Vera with surprise. “What do you think Martin told her?”  “He was probably weeping on the phone so much she’s worried he’s going to go completely unhinged and shoot himself and you,” Vera muttered. She clutched him tighter. “Well?”  “Well what?”  “Are you going to go to Joburg?”  “I’d actually rather be shot.”  “That’s not funny,” she said, but she sounded relieved. “You can stay here all the time if you want to. You really can. Your dad won’t say anything, and my parents won’t, either. You’re safe now.”  He tried to imagine sleeping with her in his arms each night and getting to brush his teeth at her side every morning and found the thought so lovely it didn’t even seem real or possible. He wanted it so much he was afraid to want it. Thinking he had a shot at that and then having to go back to his house alone with Martin, being struck and screamed at…he couldn’t bear that.  He texted his mother back and told her Don’t worry about it. I’m fine here, and then he set his phone to the side and hugged Vera.  “Speaking of parents…are we going to tell yours the truth at any point, or are we just going to keep lying to them?” he asked. “For right now, lie. It’s been handled, and my dad murdering Martin won’t really help anything.”  “I don’t like lying to them,” he admitted. Lyra and Will had only ever been good to him; lying to them felt like a betrayal.  “I don’t much like it, either. But it’s what we need to do for right now. We’ll tell them the truth soon…preferably after my face has healed; my parents might react a little less intensely without the evidence of his violence right in front of them.”  He thought Lyra and Will would probably react just the same even after her face was healed— as they should— but he nodded. If it could be avoided, it probably would be for the better, though he was skeptical that they could keep anything secret from the Parry parents for very long. Elan could not get a single quiet moment, and he was about to go mad because of it.  “It’s your turn, Queenie, come on!” Emyr complained. “Throw the ball! Throw it! Ugh, Elan, please come and take her spot!”  “I’m going to throw it in a second! I’m plotting!” Eden defended. Elan lifted his eyes from the alethiometer and eyed his siblings; Emyr was standing tense with the cricket bat, waiting for Eden to finally throw the ball, and she looked to be deliberating the angle of the wind.  “Elan, she’s rubbish! Come back and play!”  “Hang on,” Elan said, turning so his back was to his twin. He couldn’t concentrate with him yelling at him, and he was uncovering plenty right now. “I’ll be there in a moment!” He heard a dull thud, and then Aly snarled and Emyr sighed.  “Really?!”  “Oh, shut it! I’ll try again!”  “Just— let me show you. Give me the ball.”  “NO! I don’t need your help! I know how to throw a cricket ball!”  “Er, clearly you don’t. Not properly. Let me see it." “NO!”  “YES!” “NO!”  “YES!”  “NO!”  “LET ME HELP!”  “SOD OFF! I DON’T NEED HELP! I CAN DO IT!"  “That’s it,” Elan said to Theo. He snapped the alethiometer shut, rose from the bench, and stormed towards the house.  “HEY! WAAR GAAN JY HEEN?!” Emyr yelled after him.  “Inside!” Elan yelled back at them. “I can’t think!”  He crossed the patio, stepping past Vera and Sterling, and he must’ve looked angry, because Vera reached out and grabbed his arm as he passed by them.  “Hey,” she said, frowning. “What’s up, Bogo? You okay?”  “I’m just tired of the bickering,” he admitted. “And I’m trying to look at the alethiometer, and no one will let me.”  “Oh,” Vera said. She patted his arm. “Well, why don’t you go to my room? You can lock the door, that way no one will bother you.”  That was a great idea. Elan nodded and looked at her with deep appreciation. “You’re the best, Bee.”  She smiled brightly at that. “Hey, before you go— which do you think? Show him, Sterling.”  Sterling passed his phone to Elan, who took it curiously. He was looking at a dog rescue website. Elan scrolled down the page carefully, eying the dogs in need of homes, taking in their photos and their descriptions. He stopped on a giant, fluffy one with an interesting dark coat that looked sort of striped or marbled; the dog appeared to be smiling.  “This one,” he decided, turning the phone towards his sister and Sterling. “Are you getting a dog, Sterling?”  Both Vera and Sterling grinned at his choice and exchanged a pleased look; he guessed that’s the one they liked, too.  “Apparently,” Sterling smiled. “Thanks, E. Good luck with your alethiometer.”  “Yeah, thanks,” Elan said. “Good luck with your dog baby.”  “Awww,” Vera cooed, hugging Sterling around the middle and beaming. “Our dog baby!”  “Do Mum and Dad know about this?” Elan wondered then. Though Sterling didn’t technically live with them, he was over all the time; if he got a dog, it meant they were really all getting a dog.  “Not yet…once Dad gets back from Woolies, we’re going to talk to them,” Vera said.  “Well, I hope it goes well,” Elan said. “I’ve always wanted a dog nephew or niece.”  He entered the house, but it wasn’t much better inside. Gloria and Isla were playing classical music so loudly that Mum, Alice, Ebrahim, and Noah— sitting together at the kitchen table with what looked like cocktails— had to practically scream to hear each other. Elan side-stepped Gloria and Isla as they pirouetted or whatever and headed towards his sister’s bedroom. Theo shut the door and turned the lock with her teeth, and Elan collapsed atop the sofa in front of Vera’s window, relieved to finally have some peace and quiet.  He got straight back to work. He’d been trying to determine what the outcome of his upcoming chess tournament would be; his school team was going to a weekend tournament in Knysna, and he desperately wanted to do well. They were staying in a fancy hotel, and Elan’s dad was giving him a prepaid card to bring so he could buy snacks and such, and Elan was as excited as he was nervous; he had never in his life spent a night apart from Emyr (when they had sleepovers with friends, both of them were always invited), but his best friends Khwezi and Jaivyn would be there, and he’d have Theo. So he was trying not to worry about the alone-part by worrying more about the actual tournament itself.  The only question he couldn’t find the answer to was a question the alethiometer didn’t want him to know, and he realized quickly enough that it wasn’t too keen on him asking about the tournament. He sensed why: he was meant to have fun and not worry so much about winning.  “Oh well,” Theo sighed. She rested her heavy leopard head in Elan’s lap, and he stroked her ears. “What now?”  “The dog,” Elan decided. He was invested now; he hoped they weren’t teasing him and there really was going to be a dog soon. He settled back against the cushions and began to ask about that, but the alethiometer dragged him in another direction. Bee, Sterling…his eyes followed the hand as it swung from symbol to symbol, and it took him no time at all to find out that she’d not only lied to everyone about what happened to her last night, but that Martin Ellis had punched her in her face. And once he knew that, he was so angry and upset that he could hardly think straight. He and Theo rose to their feet at once, their hearts pounding with rage. He couldn’t understand why someone would do that to Bee; that was so messed up. Boys were never supposed to hit girls, ever, and especially not grown men. And especially not his sister! His sister was sweet to everyone.  “It’s not okay!” Theo hissed. Her fur was so bristled that it poked Elan’s palm as he set his hand on her back. “I’m telling Java and Pan! I’m telling!”  “Yeah,” Elan agreed. He was going to tell his parents as soon as he told Emyr, but Emyr first. “Let’s get Bubi and Alex.” They stormed back through the house, this time finding Emyr on the sofa with Peter, the two of them trying to decide what to watch on Netflix. Elan leaned over the back of the sofa.  “Come here,” he whispered to them both.  They turned and looked back at him.  “What’s up?” Peter questioned.  Emyr, however, sensed there was some sort of scandal going on; he rubbed his hands together and stood at once. “What’d you find?”  Elan nodded towards the treehouse. Peter set the remote to the side and stood, and the three of them hurried outside and scaled the ladder. The intention had been to only tell them, but a second or two after they sat, they had company.  “What’s going on?” Queenie greeted.  Isla shimmied up the tunnel and crawled into the treehouse, coming over to sit beside Elan. “Did you hear that Sterling’s getting a dog?!”  “You two weren’t—” Elan cut Emyr off. “They can stay. Okay, so I was looking at the alethiometer, and it said that Bee didn’t crash into a rock while surfing. Sterling’s dad punched her.”  Peter set his hand over his mouth, horrified, and Isla’s eyes widened.  “What? In her face?” she breathed.  “He’s dead!” Emyr cried, furious.  “Are you sure, Lany?” Queenie questioned, skeptical. “I don’t think she’d lie about that.”  “And Sterling wouldn’t let his dad hit her!” Isla added earnestly. Her eyes were misty with tears. “He wouldn’t!”  “We’ve got to tell the adults,” Peter said, his tone firm and grave. “He’s dangerous, and next time he might hurt her worse. Our dads will be back from Woolies soon…we’ll tell them then.”  “No! I’m going to go through right now!” Emyr cried. He stood up, nodding at the window only a few steps away. “He thinks that he can punch my sister in her face?! I’ll fuck him up! I’ll do it! Elan, use your alethiometer and find out what the code to the safe is! I need my knife!”  “Okay, no,” Peter said quickly, alarmed. He grabbed Emyr’s arm; Emyr scowled and shook his grip off. “We can’t do that. We’ve just got to tell our parents.”  “I can so, and I’m going to! He thinks can do whatever he wants because he’s rich— well— not to my family!” Emyr stuck his head through the window— “Ja ma se poes, you motherfucker!”  “Stop swearing!” Isla complained; she’d lifted her hands to cover her ears. “That’s a really bad thing to say! If Daddy hears you say that, you’ll be in so much trouble!”  “Dad’s not here— he’s at Woolies,” Emyr reminded her. He turned and looked at each of them. “This is our sister. We have to protect her! We have to!”  “I’m with you, Emyr,” Queenie said— to everyone’s surprise. She walked over and stood beside Emyr, and Emyr smiled back at her, pleased. Elan gaped. “He can’t hit our Bee. He could’ve really hurt her. She’s got problems with headaches and stuff already…I say we go and do something about it. There’s four of us— five if you come along, Pete—and only one of him.” This wasn’t exactly what Elan had in mind when he’d gone to get his brother. He’d wanted to tell Emyr because he told Emyr everything. But now he was worried.  “What if he calls the police on us?” Elan questioned.  “Then we’ll tell the police that he punched our sister in her face!” Eden countered. She turned to face Isla and grabbed her hands. “Isla, you don’t have to come, but you can’t tell on us. Promise?”  Isla tightened her hold on Eden’s hands. “You can’t go without me! I think instead of going through the window, we should go onto Google and leave bad reviews on his plastic surgery practice. How about that? What do you think, Queenie?”  “I like that, but let’s do both,” Eden said. “So what should we bring? Rope?”  “Rope?!” Peter cried, his voice going high and breaking. “Oh no! No, no, no! We are not tying some man up, or breaking into his house, or—or cutting him with a knife!” He turned and leaned halfway out the treehouse window. “VERA! STERLING! GLORIA! I NEED BACK-UP!”  “I didn’t say I was going to cut him. It’s just for protection,” Emyr scoffed. “I’m not a murderer, Peter.”  “Aly, you should get rope for us,” Eden mused. “Or handcuffs. Do you think there are handcuffs in the house somewhere?”  “Why would we have handcuffs? Dad’s not a policeman,” Isla said, confused. “I think Peter’s right. We shouldn’t go. Elan, what do you think?”  Elan looked from Peter— who was now standing in front of the window— to Emyr and Eden, who were whispering amongst themselves about cricket bats versus pepper spray.  “I think…” Elan began. He thought about how much he loved his sister; he thought about her face when he’d seen her last night, how swollen and painful it looked, how upset she’d been. He tried to imagine some man balling his fist up and swinging on her. The anger that sprouted in his chest made up his mind. “I think we need to show him that he can’t mess with our family. Even if we just go through and leave a whole bunch of threatening messages around the house— we should stand up for her. We should protect her.”  “Ooh, I do like that idea,” Isla decided, after a moment of thought. “He won’t know where the messages came from, and we can make them very creepy, and he’ll think someone’s breaking into his house! Or we can write them as if ghosts wrote them!”  “JA! Lekker!” Eden cried. “I’ll be a haunted little girl from the 1800s named, like, Grietje, and I died from the bubonic plague, and I’ll creepily sing “Ring Around the Rosie” in a whisper-voice every time the lights turn off!”  “No one is going through the window!” Peter persisted. Emyr arched his eyebrow and made to step past Peter, but Peter stepped to his left, blocking Emyr’s way. “GLO!!! GET OUT HERE AND HELP!”  His shouting had gotten the attention of someone: they heard the ladder creaking a second or so later, and then Vera popped her head up. She eyed them suspiciously.  “What’s happening up here, Pete?”  “Your siblings are trying to go to Martin Ellis’s house to tie him up and leave haunted notes around the house or something! Come do something with them because I can’t be the one responsible for them being killed or arrested!”  Vera finished climbing up into the treehouse. She walked over and wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Elan felt bad then; Peter was shaking a bit. He must really be worried about them.  “What are you lot up to, Emyrie?” Vera demanded, narrowing in on Elan’s twin, who was typically the ringleader in situations such as these.  “Giving that man who hit you in your face what he deserves!” Emyr exploded. “We’re not going to let him do that to you!”  Vera looked over at Elan and sighed.  “Sorry,” Elan said. He sort of was. He hadn’t meant to cause this much drama. Only a little bit, and it was only meant to be shared between him and his twin.  “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Bubi, but I beat you to it. I’ve already dealt with Martin Ellis, and everything is fine. I’m going to tell Mum and Dad what happened later. So in the meantime, I’m asking you lot to stay out of it. Can you do that?”  “Only if you tell us what happened,” Eden demanded. “Why would he hit you? Did you and Sterling run off and get married?!”  Emyr gasped aloud. “You did?! I’ve got another brother?!”  “No,” Vera laughed. She shook her head at Eden. “Where on earth did you get that idea, Queenie?”  “Gloria,” Eden answered. Vera blinked in surprise at that, and she looked curiously at Peter, who shrugged.  “If you didn’t get married, are you going to have baby? Is that why he’s angry?” Emyr questioned suspiciously, joining in on Eden’s interrogation. He stepped over and leaned in, pressing his ear to Vera’s stomach. Vera grasped his shoulders and moved him back.  “No. Akka, please do something about these tyrants you unleashed into my life…” she looked up at the ceiling and mimed praying; she even crossed her chest with her fingers like nuns did on the telly. Elan laughed.   “Tell us what happened! For real, Bee!” Queenie demanded.  “That’s not exactly ‘staying out of it’ if I do, is it?” their sister pointed out. She smiled sweetly at them. “How about this. The person who keeps what happened with Martin Ellis a secret the longest gets to be the first one to take the new dog for a walk.”  Elan, Emyr, Isla, and Eden looked at each other with surprise and glee.  “On the beach?!” Isla asked.  “Sure. On the beach, then. We’re going to adopt a dog who loves to swim— naturally— so I’m sure it’ll love it.”  “Good thinking,” Peter appreciated. Sophie, his dæmon, stuck her head out of his shirt pocket; she was a green lizard.  “But not a big dog, right?” Sophie questioned.  “Wellllllll…we’ll see,” Vera answered, hedging the question. Elan hoped it was a big dog; he didn’t like how high-pitched little dogs’ barks were.  He was feeling very optimistic about this challenge. He could keep his mouth shut better than any of his siblings. Emyr and Eden lived for the drama so they’d definitely lose, and Isla couldn’t tell Dad a lie even if her life depended on it…but Elan could keep a secret. “DEAL,” all four of them chorused.  They left the treehouse and went down into the garden, where Theo and Aly changed to every dog breed they could think of, trying to guess what sort of dog their sister and her boyfriend were going to get. Vera and Sterling watched and shook their heads at each form, sharing secretive, amused smiles.  “Ugh! I don’t understand!” Emyr finally exploded. “That’s every dog breed there is!”  “It really is!” Eden persisted, holding up her iPad. “I’m on a list of every dog breed in the world!”  “Yes…but you haven’t tried crossbreeds,” Sterling pointed out.  Elan and Emyr shared a wide-eyed look. Isla jumped up and down with glee.  “A RARE DOG! Yayyyyy!!!” “Can it be a corgi cross?!” Eden pleaded. “Oh please, please, please! Nana can make it jumpers!”  They spent the next hour trying to create every possible combination of dog breeds that they could, but by the time Dad and Malcolm called them in for lunch, they still hadn’t figured it out.  “It’s all right,” Elan whispered to Emyr, cheering him up. “I’ll ask my alethiometer after lunch.”  “Thank you!” He had the perfect opportunity to do so without Vera knowing he was “cheating”: after finishing lunch, Mum and Dad lingered at the kitchen table, and so did Vera and Sterling.  “Do you two have a minute?” Mum asked them.  Vera laughed. “I was just about to ask you and Dad the same thing. Yeah.”  “Let’s go for a walk,” Dad decided, standing.  A walk-and-talk, Elan thought to Theo. Eish.   “Ohhhh,” Emyr winced, thinking the same as Elan. He patted Sterling’s arm sympathetically. “A walk-and-talk. Wat het jy gedoen, bru?” “He didn’t do anything, Emyr,” Vera defended.  “He and Vera aren’t in trouble,” Mum said firmly. “We’re just going for a walk.”  “Oh, then, can I come, too?” Emyr challenged. They all knew he couldn’t: it was obvious Mum and Dad were going to talk-talk to Vera and Sterling, about something serious and grown-up. “No,” Dad said shortly.  “But whyyyyyy?”  “Because we’re talking to them alone.”  “About Martin?”  Mum and Dad frowned. “What?”  “Nothing.” Emyr stood up. He bounced over and kissed Vera’s cheek. “Good luck, Bee. Elan?”  “Yep,” Elan said, rising from the table. He circled it, hugging his dad and kissing his mum’s cheek, and then he nodded at Emyr. “Let’s go.”  They sought out their sisters, and then they stopped by the guest rooms to see if Peter or Gloria wanted to come with them to their room to finally figure out what this mystery dog was going to look like. Peter wasn’t there, but Gloria was; she was lying on her belly on her bed, reading a book with a gray, depressing-looking cover. It had rain and a bridge and a soldier.  “Hallo, wil jy die alethiometer met ys kom lees?” Emyr greeted.  Gloria sighed heavily. “I don’t know Afrikaans.” She might have said that twice to them, but they kept forgetting.  “Do you want to come read the alethiometer with us?” Elan offered. “We’re going to figure out what sort of dog Sterling and Vera are getting.”  Gloria looked up at that. Her dæmon, a meerkat, made a little disgruntled noise and then squirmed beneath the covers.  “A dog? Like a pet?” she demanded. “Yeah,” Emyr said. “And I’m going to be first to walk it. I hope they name it Furdinand, with F-U-R. Get it?” She laughed, but it didn’t sound very genuine. “Good luck. Let me know what you find out.”  Elan thought she was maybe upset, and he wanted to help. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along? Euphrates can play with Aly and Theo; they’re making new crossbreeds with their forms!”  “He can’t. He doesn’t change,” she answer shortly. “But I may come check in on you two in a bit. Thanks for inviting me.”  Elan nodded, and then he leaned in and hugged her. He didn’t know why she was upset, but a hug always helped no matter the reason.  He and Emyr left her room, and once they were back in their own bedroom with their sisters, Emyr closed the door.  “Imagine your dæmon settling as a meerkat,” he commented to them, shaking his head. “That’s awful, that is. Total kak. Poor Gloria; I’d be sad, too.”  “I always thought Euphrates would be a civet,” Theo mused. She changed into a tropical bird and flew over to perch beside Aly atop Elan’s desk. “He liked that form loads.”  “A civet would’ve been better than a meerkat, but still not great. Let’s rank all the forms. I’ll start. First place is mum’s dad’s dæmon, Stelmaria. Snow leopards are lekker,” Aly said.  “Next is mine, a golden tiger,” Eden piped up. “Because they’re the most stunning, regal cat around. If you don’t believe me, Google it.”  “You can’t be in the running until you actually have a dæmon, Queenie,” Emyr said matter-of-factly. “And not ’til that dæmon is properly settled.”  Emyr really hadn’t meant anything by it— Elan knew he wasn’t trying to be mean— but Eden’s face fell, anyway. Elan walked over and patted her head.  “Don’t worry, Edie. You’ll have a dæmon one day. I promise. The alethiometer said so.” “And me?” Isla asked hopefully.  “Yes! Of course,” Elan promised. “You too.”  That made them both feel better, and it stopped a fight between Emyr and Eden before it could begin, and Elan was definitely thankful for that.  “All right. Theo…bring me the alethiometer,” he said seriously. “Let’s find out about our nephew-niece-dog.” Lyra and Will had made a list of talking points this morning over coffee, but as they began their walk, Lyra struggled to remember them. They’d spent at least an hour finding ways to delicately and respectfully bridge to each topic, and now, all Lyra could think to say was the weather’s quite nice today, isn’t it?  There was no point walking in silence the entire time: something had to be said, so Lyra decided to be the one to say it.  “Vera, Dad and I want to talk about what happened last night.”  Vera and Sterling exchanged a quick look.  “What about it?” Vera asked.  Lyra stepped closer and took her daughter’s hand. “We understand why you lied, and we’re not angry. But we’ve got to have a conversation about it, and Sterling, we need you to be honest with us about things like this— even if she asks you not to be.”  Sterling stared at them, saying nothing; he shot another wide-eyed looked at Vera.  “We know everything turned out all right,” Will added. “You got her to safety, Sterling, and we’re thankful for that. But Vera…if you’re blacking out and having visions again, you have to tell us. It’s so dangerous to keep us out of the loop with something like that.”  “Ah,” Vera said, nodding slowly. “You think that’s why I crashed last night.”  “Isn’t it?” Lyra pressed, her tone gentle. She looked at her daughter, and her daughter looked at her, and in their shared gaze Lyra saw fear and uncertainty.  “No,” Vera finally said. “That’s not what happened. And if I tell you what really happened, I need you to just…listen. To the whole thing. Don’t fly off the handle.”  Lyra’s heart wound tight with tension. She looked at Will. His brow had furrowed.  “Tell us, Vera,” he said, his tone serious. “We’re listening.”  They listened, and listened, and listened. Vera was still talking by the time they made it to the vineyards; Lyra felt too sick and horrified to sit, as did Will, but Vera sat on the bench and pulled Sterling down beside her by his hand.  “And after that, I went back home,” she finally finished. “He’s not going to bother Sterling anymore, nor me, and so everything is handled. And I really, really need you both— I’m begging you— to not get involved. I just need you to trust me. I know what I’m doing.”  Will looked likely to be sick. Lyra hugged his arm automatically, seeking to alleviate some of his distress, but she felt plenty of her own. To think of their daughter being hit like that…she felt such instinctual rage that she could have throttled Martin Ellis, and she knew Will felt the same way.  “I stepped in front of his fist,” Vera reminded them. “I did it on purpose. I needed him to be frightened of the backlash I could cause him because of it. That threat doesn’t work if you actually execute that backlash.”  “So I’m just supposed to pretend he didn’t punch my sixteen-year-old daughter in the face?” Will demanded.  “Yeah. Because your daughter is asking you to,” Vera said.  Lyra walked over and sat down beside Vera and Sterling. She pressed her face into her hands for a moment, thinking, and then she met Will’s eyes. He looked tormented.  “Just because you walked in front of his fist— that doesn’t make it okay. He was still trying to punch his own son in the face, and that’s unacceptable, too,” Will bit.  “I know it is. I know,” Vera said, her voice so full of emotion it shook. “That’s why I did something about it. And I just— I’m asking you to trust me. I need you to trust me. If I fail…if he does one thing to Sterling or to me…I promise I’ll come straight to you, and you can do what you’d like with him. You can handle it. But I’m learning, Dad. And I can’t learn if you don’t let me try things on my own. If every time I have a problem, you and Mum rush in to fix it for me…how will I ever learn how to fix them myself?”  Lyra didn’t even know how to respond to that, and Will was similarly speechless.  “I— Vera, this isn’t something you should have to learn how to fix,” Will countered.  She looked at Will and held his gaze, hers steady and firm. “Dad. We both know this is nothing compared to the things I’ll be managing one day. So don’t you think it’s better for me to try to walk on my own when you’re both still able to reach out and catch me, rather than me trying to take those steps alone off the side of a ledge?”  When she put it like that…Lyra held Will’s gaze, the both of them concerned but wavering. After a moment or so, Will walked over and sank onto the bench with them. He reached over and pulled Vera into his arms and hugged her. “You’ve got to come to us if things change. If you— or Sterling— are in danger, you have to come to us. Swear it,” Will ordered.  Sterling was the first to answer. “I swear, Will.”  “Me too,” Vera promised.  “And I don’t like that he’s got a gun at the house,” Lyra said. She felt sick with worry; she turned her wedding ring around and around her finger anxiously. “You can stay with us as often as you’d like, Sterling. I’d rather you be here with us than there where I’ll have to worry all the time that Martin’s gone mad.” Sterling looked at Will, and Will nodded, backing Lyra up. “Yes. You’re always welcome, Sterling. But we do need to talk about one other thing.” “We’ve got one other thing to talk about, too…well, two, actually,” Vera said. “Who’d like to go first?”  Lyra felt apprehensive. What else was there for them to tell them? How many secrets did they have? “You can go first,” Will offered quickly. “Okay. One: our holiday in June. Please, Mum and Dad? Please.”  That’s all she had to say: both Lyra and Will knew exactly what she was asking, and Sterling dropped his gaze to his feet, visibly uncomfortable about being present for the question. Lyra guessed he feared one of them would say, No. He’s not welcome. But Lyra would never.  “Lyra?” Will questioned.  She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “Will? You know how I feel.” He looked back at Vera and Sterling. “Yes. You’re welcome to come along, Sterling. But I need you both to listen very carefully now, and I need you to take everything I’m about to say to heart. Both of you. Are you listening?”  Vera gave a thumbs-up, and Sterling nodded, his expression serious and attentive. Will turned to the side so he was somewhat facing the two, and he met Lyra’s eyes. She nodded once.  “Sterling, Vera was born in the world we’re going to for our holiday, but she was born to parents from both that world and this one. Without diving too deeply into theoretical genetics and inter-world hypotheses— and there are so many we could sit here until dusk discussing them—what you need to know is that it’s typically been the case that women can only conceive in the world they were born in, and they can’t carry pregnancies between the worlds. Now, the problem is— we don’t know for sure how that rule translates with Vera being born of parents from two worlds. We don’t know if she’s only able to get pregnant in Lyra’s world since she was born there or if she could theoretically get pregnant both here and there, since she can live in both— we just don’t know. And I’m sure pregnancy is the last thing you two are worried about—” “Yes,” Sterling and Vera chorused.  “— but I need you both to understand that we’re dealing with loads of unknowns here. We don’t know how fertility is affected in every specific case, and as you saw, Vera, what we thought was true for your mum didn’t turn out to be true all the time— hence Isla and Eden. As far as we know, Vera, you’re the first person in existence to be born to parents of two separate worlds, so we’re really flying blind here. All that being said…you both have to be careful and responsible every single time. Without fail. Here, of course, but especially back in Lyra’s world. Sterling, do you understand what I’m telling you?”  The poor boy’s face was on fire. Lyra felt bad for him, and she reached over and patted his shoulder.  “Yes sir,” he said. “I understand.” “Even in the heat of the moment— even if she says it’s okay not to— Vera, even if he says it’s okay not to— it’s not okay. You have to use a reliable method of protection every time, and you’ve got to use it properly.” “We’re not meaning to embarrass you,” Lyra told them gently. She stroked her daughter’s hair soothingly. “We just…we don’t want to beat around the bush about any of this, because this isn’t something to play around about, and you two deserve an honest, open conversation.” “It’s important to be informed,” Will agreed. “Because if she does get pregnant accidentally whilst on holiday, Sterling, crossing back over can make her terribly ill. Lyra had an incomplete miscarriage after crossing over when pregnant, and she was very unwell. She suffered; there was a lot of bleeding, and pain, and a horrible fever. Lyra and I don’t want that for Vera, and I know you don’t, either.”  “No,” Sterling agreed quickly. His voice wavered. “I never want her to be in pain or in danger…not ever.”  “But,” Lyra said, not wanting to leave the conversation on a ‘don’t have sex or you’ll die’ type of note; that was antithetical to how she and Will viewed the matter, despite their worry. “There are plenty of ways to make it safe. And Vera, if you want to go see Abi to discuss other birth control methods and options besides condoms, she can get you in for an appointment at any time. But you’ve both got to be careful and sensible, all right? That’s all we’re asking. We love you both— we really do. And we want you to be safe and healthy, and we want your futures to be exactly what you want them to be. We want you both to have the world.”  “And if something did accidentally happen, Vera, we’ll have medicine on hand to make sure you’re all right,” Will added, his tone gentler now. “And no one will be angry or upset. I promise. But please do your best to take care of each other.”  They both nodded, and Sterling reached over into Vera’s lap and took her hand, threading their fingers; it was so sweet that Lyra felt her heart expand and her eyes burn. Of course he would take care of her— of course Vera would take care of him. They were so good to each other.  “We really aren’t trying to scare you two into celibacy; I remember being your age, and I know that’s not a realistic option…especially not when you’re in love,” Lyra said. She smiled at her daughter, and Vera smiled back. She brought her and Sterling’s joined hands to her heart and bowed her face, resting her cheek against them for a moment, her tenderness so obvious and deep that filled the air around them. “We just want to make sure that you’re taking every precaution and being responsible, and that you both know you can come to us if something happens. Okay?”  “Okay,” Vera said, her voice soft. She smiled against her and Sterling’s joined hands and kissed his, and he leaned closer, resting his cheek sweetly against the top of her head. “Thanks, Mum and Dad.”  Soon, Sterling was smiling, too, and Lyra relaxed. She’d been so afraid that their ‘talk’ would be ineffective or too cold and judgmental; it was such a fine line to walk. But she and Will were leaving the conversation having said everything they meant to say, and both kids were smiling and seemed at ease…that meant it ultimately went well, right?  “So…do you understand?” she checked. She was sensitive to the fact that this was a delicate time in her daughter’s life— and in Sterling’s— and she needed feedback; she needed to know if she was doing right by her. They deserved nothing less. “Do you both get where we’re coming from— what we’re trying to say?”  “Yes. Be smart and safe and don’t get pregnant, but if I do, come to you both,” Vera parroted. She leaned to the side and kissed Lyra’s cheek; Lyra felt her heart triple in size. “And you love us. And you trust us. And you respect us.”  “Yes,” Lyra affirmed, so relieved. She wrapped her daughter in her arms and squeezed her tightly, affectionately. “Exactly.”  Will and Lyra looked at Sterling next, wanting to make sure he’d understood, too. They were both taken aback to see the emotion brimming in his eyes.  “What Vera said,” he seconded. “And to take care of each other.”  “That’s the most important one of all,” Lyra said.  Vera looked up at Lyra. “Speaking of taking care of each other…there’s one more little, tiny thing that I wanted to talk to you both about…how do you feel about revisiting the pet thing?”  Lyra and Will listened to Vera and Sterling as they explained how the dog rescue process worked, the dog in question they were interested in, and their (many) plans for providing for the dog. “And in addition to the money that Sterling’s saved, I’ll use every bit of my paycheck,” Vera said. She was working at the clinic on the weekends. “We’ve already got a list of monthly expenditures; we’ve even planned exactly what kind of food we’ll buy and how often. And there are two different dog daycares within walking distance of Silvermine; we’ll drop him off there before school and pick him up afterwards.”  “That’s in the budget as well,” Sterling added. He held his phone out to them, the Notes app pulled up. “See?” Will took the phone and dragged his finger down the screen, examining the exhaustive list their daughter and Sterling had complied. Lyra looked on with him, impressed. “You’ve definitely thought it through,” she commented. They’d even budgeted out for emergency vet clinic visits. Most of this had to be Sterling’s doing; Vera didn’t know the first thing about having a pet. She’d never had one before.  “We have,” Vera said firmly. “So what do you both think?”  Lyra was all for it. The photo of the dog in question was adorable, and Lyra still had a tender spot in her heart whenever she thought of Sterling’s tragic past with his childhood pet, Bridget Marie. She’d once sworn to help him get another dog, and here the opportunity was. She wasn’t going to let it pass her by.  “If it wees on the carpet…” Will prompted.  “We’ll steam it and sanitize it,” Vera said. “But she’s eighteen months old and housebroken, so I don’t think that’ll happen.”  Eighteen months old. Like a human baby. Lyra began to giggle; she couldn’t help it. The two charting out daycare budgets and puppy-care schedules— it was so cute and ridiculous.  Will was smiling now, too. “I see. Well, do we have to make an appointment or do we just show up? You need Mum and I there, right?”  “Yes. To sign. And we can go anytime,” Vera said quickly. “So…?”  “So no human babies, but a canine one is fine,” Lyra decided. “We can go…next Saturday? Will?” “Yeah, after Emyr’s rugby match. That should be fine,” Will nodded. “We’ll drive you both to a pet shop later today if you’d like; I imagine you’ve got quite a few items to buy in preparation?”  “Ja, beslis!” Vera agreed. She threw her arms around Will and hugged him, and then she hugged Lyra. She was beaming. “I love you both so much.”  They loved her even more. She could’ve asked them for three dogs, a turtle, a cat, and a hamster, and they probably would’ve said yes. And in truth, it was difficult to even imagine saying no to her with half her face still bruised up like it was. Their poor baby.  On the walk back, Sterling looked at Lyra and Will and said: “You’re really amazing parents.”  Lyra was deeply flattered. She smiled at Will and took his hand; Will squeezed hers fondly.   “Thank you,” Lyra said. “I know we make it look awesome and effortless, but trust me: we really try. So much.”  Lists and speeches and long, repetitive never-ending discussions trying. But their children were worth it. And with each brand-new issue they tackled as Vera grew, they gained knowledge for when their younger children reached that same age.  “It really does seem effortless,” Sterling admitted. “Makes me wonder why every parent can’t be like that. Kind. You always treat me like a person.”  Lyra and Will exchanged a look. Her heart had sunk. It was sweet that he was acknowledging and thanking them— but it was terribly sad that something he felt impressed by was them treating him “like a person”.  “I’m sorry that every adult doesn’t do that,” Will replied. “They should.”  Lyra knew what it was like to be seen more as a pawn or a possession than an actual person with her own desires and hopes and fears; she understood well where Sterling was coming from. Her own parents had treated her as such. That’s why she was as lenient as she was at times with her own children; she wanted them to know that she valued their interests and wishes, no matter how silly they might seem. That she valued them as little individuals. “And Sterling…” Will began. He took a few longer strides, bringing him and Lyra level with Sterling and Vera; the kids had been walking a few steps ahead of them. He looked Sterling in the eye. “I’m really sorry. Sorry that Lyra and I couldn’t help more. Sorry that you’ve had to endure what you’ve had to endure all these years. We were always afraid we’d make it worse for you. In a perfect world, we could report your father and you’d be moved to a better situation…but we all know this world isn’t perfect. I suppose, though, that my viewpoint on that issue is a bit biased. I never trusted the system as a child; I endured quite a lot rather than risk them interfering in my life. Maybe that wasn’t the right choice to make for you. Maybe we failed you, too.”   “Nah,” Sterling refuted, shaking his head. “You asked me what I wanted a long time ago, and I told you this was it. It’s on me. It was my choice, and I don’t regret it. And you two have helped me more than I can say. Right, Vera?”  “Yes,” she affirmed, and she stepped over to hug Will’s arm. “You did good, Dad. And you too, Mummy.”  As always, hearing mummy made Lyra’s heart glow. She smiled the rest of the walk. She hoped with all she had that things would change for the better with Martin, that what Vera had done— the manipulation— would work. She had faith that it would. She had faith in Vera. Vera was laughing so hard that her stomach ached, but she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t every day that she saw her boyfriend lying on the floor of a public building being licked to death by a fluffy dog the size of a small horse.  “Christ, is it eating his face off?” Dad muttered.  Mum sounded uncertain. “I don’t think so…I think they growl if they’re being violent…do you need help, Sterling?”  He was laughing too hard to speak. He gently pushed the dog’s face out of his and managed to gasp, “No, thanks!”  And really, there was nothing better than seeing him so happy, and so Vera kneeled down and joined them there on the dirty tile floor. She was bombarded with exuberant love immediately, and she giggled and stroked the dog’s thick coat as it bathed her face in kisses. She distantly heard her dad muttering something about germs, but she didn’t care: she wrapped her arms around the dog and hugged it, her heart absolutely bursting with intense and immediate love.  “We’re adopting her,” she declared.  Sterling scooted closer to her— as well as he could with the massive dog lying halfway on top of both of them— and pressed a kiss to Vera’s cheek.  “Absolutely. She’s great.”  And so, only an hour later (and after a good deal of paperwork), they walked from the rescue with a Newfoundland/Boerboel cross straining at the end of a bright blue lead.  “I’m having…second-thoughts,” Dad said, after the dog pulled so hard that Vera literally toppled forward (Sterling had to grab the back of her shirt with one hand and the lead with his other). “There were plenty of smaller ones. How about we get a smaller one?”  “How about you exchange Emyr for a calmer child?” Vera shot back. “She’s ours, and she’s perfect. Isn’t that right, Liefie? You’re such a sweet girl! And so happy about life! Yes you are!”  The dog spun around and rushed at Vera, enjoying her encouragements, and soon she’d wrapped the lead around Vera so thoroughly that she and Sterling spent at least two minutes laughing and struggling to get her unwound. Liefie sat politely after that, looking up at them both with wide, imploring eyes, as if saying, I’m a good girl now, see? And she was clearly very clever, because when Max flew down and perched gently atop her back, she wagged her tail and didn’t make any attempt to eat him. She almost seemed to smile as he preened her fur; her tongue lolling out comically.  Mum was less intimidated once the dog was sitting; she stepped over and reached out somewhat hesitantly, giving Liefie a pat on the head. When the dog leaned her head into Mum’s touch, Mum melted. Vera could’ve pinpointed the exact moment she fell in love. Soon, she was kneeling on the pavement in front of the massive dog, petting her and baby-talking her. Vera grinned up at her dad.  “You’re up, Dad. Go fall in love,” she ordered.  He hung back. “It’s quite a lot of fur. And drool. And I don’t believe this dog can swim— it looks like it’d sink. You two said that was very important to you— that it likes to swim.” “She’s a Newfoundland cross, she can definitely swim. They were bred for water rescue,” Sterling refuted. He set his hand atop Liefie’s head. “She’s an aquatic hero by blood. Isn’t that right, Liefie?”  Liefie leapt up onto her hind legs and put her paws on Sterling’s shoulders, kissing his face again, her fluffy tail whipping back and forth so hard that it actually hurt Vera’s thigh as it smacked it. That didn’t help Dad’s hesitations much.  “The dog is nearly as tall as you,” he told Sterling.  “She can probably dance, too,” Sterling grinned. He set his hands atop Lieflie’s paws and swayed them gently side to side; Liefie’s tail wagged so hard she appeared to be vibrating from it. “Yep. She’s a dog of many talents, Sonneblom!” “She must get that from me. You’re not the best dancer,” Vera quipped, laughing. Sterling gasped and set his hands over Liefie’s floppy ears.  “Don’t slander me in front of Liefie!” Mum had gravitated back to the dog, and she was gently stroking Liefie’s thick, shining fur. It was black and dark brown, a pattern her papers called ‘brindle’, and it felt so soft that the first word that had come to Vera’s mind when she first saw Lieflie was huggable. Liefie jumped down and turned, pouncing up on Mum this time— and nearly knocking her onto her arse.  “No!” Dad chided Liefie, but Mum was laughing.  “It’s all right! She’s just a bit bouncy!”  “She’s got a lot of energy. Too much, perhaps.”   “Then we’re perfect for her,” Vera said stubbornly. “Because we’re going to take her swimming and running all the time.”  “You can’t just take it for a run and think that’ll solve every problem, Vera.”  “Why? That’s what you do with Emyr,” Vera pointed out. Mum and Sterling laughed at that, and Vera saw Dad’s lips twitching. “You’re just a cat person, Dad. That’s okay. But can’t you just give her a chance? Just think of her as a very, very large Moxie.”  Dad regarded the dog for a moment. The dog regarded him back. She sat nicely in front of him, her tail brushing the pavement as she wagged it side to side, her deep hazel eyes staring into Dad’s soul. And then— she gave a small ruff, and she lifted her right paw— so fluffy and huge it looked like a bear’s— and pawed at Dad.  Vera watched the uncertainty give way to amusement. He reached out and pet Liefie’s ears, and she shut her eyes in delight, her tongue lolling from her mouth again.  “I suppose she is rather cute,” Dad finally said. Sterling and Vera grinned at each other. “But if she knocks your sisters down or hurts them, we’ll have to reconsider.”  “She won’t. Don’t worry. Newfoundlands and Boerboels are both very protective of children,” Sterling said.  Dad patted the top of Liefie’s head. “I hope that’s true…what’s her name again?”  “Liefie,” Vera and Sterling chorused.  “Dr. Liefie Falafel Parry-Ellis,” Vera said, “but ‘Liefie’ for short. It means ‘little love’.”  Mum fell into hysterics, and Dad looked at them incredulously. “What…? I know this canine hasn’t been to medical school.” That only made Mum laugh harder.  “Explain ‘Falafel’,” Mum demanded around peals of laughter.  “What’s there to explain? It’s simply the best thing you can eat, besides pineapple-chicken kebabs and pineapple-mango smoothies,” Vera said. A falafel restaurant was also where Sterling had first felt her up beneath her shirt, but she didn’t think her parents necessarily wanted to know that. “And ‘Liefie Kebab’ just didn’t have the same ring to it, y’know?”  “Nor Liefie Smoothie,” Sterling added. “And she’s a doctor because she’s got to be a doctor— look at the family she’s in.” “Fabulous,” Dad said dryly. “And what is her speciality?”  “Orthopedic surgery. So Martin can finally have an orthopedic surgeon in the family like he always wanted,” Vera quipped.  “What a successful little angel you are, Liefie!” Mum cooed. She pulled the lead from Sterling’s hand. “I’ll walk her to the car.”  “Lyra—” Dad began, but it was too late: Liefie was already walking Mum to the car. Dad jogged after them to help, leaving Sterling and Vera to walk back together hand-in-hand.  “She’s perfect,” Vera said, resting her head against Sterling’s arm. He reached out and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side.  “She gets that from you, too,” he teased softly. Vera smiled.  On the ride back, they sat in the backseat with Liefie draped across their laps and their heads resting together. Vera’s heart felt so full. Now she didn’t have to worry whenever Sterling went back home; he’d have someone with him, someone to love him and protect him. And seeing how soft he was with Liefie had only made her love and want him more. The sight of him sitting on the ground cooing at Liefie had roused up arousal of the likes she’d never felt before; he’d never been more attractive to her, and that was saying something, as she thought he was beautiful all the time.  “What’s the plan for tonight?” Dad asked as they drove. He looked at them in the rearview mirror. “Are you going home or staying, Sterling?”  He’d stayed every single night since that first night. He’d gone home a couple times to get clothes and the PlayStation and such, but he’d only crossed paths with Martin once during those visits, and his dad had merely nodded at him when they saw each other. Vera’s family from Mum’s world had gone back home, so the guest rooms had been empty for the past week; Sterling always gave the pretense of sleeping in his usual guest bed, but every night, he crept down the hall and into her room. By Thursday, his pillow had taken up permanent residence on the right side of Vera’s bed. By Friday, he’d moved his toothbrush from the guest room bathroom to Vera’s. Every day she looked forward to nighttime and counted down the hours; she rushed through dinner and then put on a theatrical performance of dramatic yawning every three minutes or so until one of her parents finally said, “You look tired, Sunshine, why don’t you go on to bed?”  And she gladly did. She showered in a rush, put on the nicest (and skimpiest) pajamas she owned, and she curled in bed with a book to half-read and half-daydream until she finally heard Sterling’s knock. And then it was delight in many colors. There was the soft blue of snuggling and reading together, the rosy pink of curling around each other and kissing softly, the cheery yellow of sitting between his legs and playing the Playstation together. And then there were the deep shades. Deep red and throbbing purple, midnight blue so deep it was black. Vera was learning each and every night that there were plenty of ways to be intimate and enjoy one another without having sex in the traditional sense, and they were basking in those new shared experiences and taking their time. Sterling called it “taking the scenic route”, and she’d found the jest apt indeed. It was scenic— learning all the ways to make each other feel good. Taking time to experiment and learn and perfect. It was quite beautiful.  “Staying, if that’s all right,” Sterling answered. “But if Liefie barks or causes trouble, I’ll take her back to my house.”  “How are you going to get her up into the treehouse?” Mum asked then, turning to look back at the dog and arch a skeptical eyebrow. “Dogs can’t climb, can they? Can you climb, Liefie?”  Liefie wagged her tail and rolled over in Vera and Sterling’s laps, presenting her belly for pats. Mum laughed and leaned into the back, obliging, and soon, the three of them were patting Liefie’s belly.  She’s going to be so spoiled, Max thought happily.   “She may be able to get up the tunnel…it’s got those rungs built into it…but we may need to move the window. I didn’t think about that, Will, sorry,” Sterling admitted. “It’s no problem to move it. I’d rather do that than risk her slipping and falling down the tunnel,” Dad said.  Vera and Mum shared a grin. He was coming around quicker than expected.  When they arrived home, Liefie barely had a chance to sniff the grass and have a wee before Vera’s siblings came screaming from the house. Liefie looked up at them, her tail erect and her head cocked to the side curiously. The twins looked back at her— Emyr grinning, Elan saying yes, yes, a big dog! beneath his breath, and Isla trembling with excitement— and then she began to wag her tail so hard she swayed from it. Vera glanced at Mum and Dad; they’d relaxed.  “Good girl, Liefie,” Sterling praised, stroking her back. “Good girl! Do you want to see them?”  She strained and pulled on the lead, but Sterling held firm and gestured for Vera’s siblings to come over to them.  “One at a time, at first,” he coached. “We don’t want to overwhelm her.”  Emyr brushed forward and reached out, patting her head with absolutely no hesitancy. He took her furry face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes.  “You’re a lekker dog!” He looked up at Vera and Sterling and nodded. “Good choice. Does it play fetch?”  “I dunno,” Vera answered. “If not, you can teach her.” Aly, curious, changed into a dog that looked exactly like Liefie. Liefie immediately went into a play bow, her bottom in the air and her paw swiping playfully at Aly, and Theo changed into the same form and bounced over to join them. Sterling was yanked this way and that by the lead as the three played, until finally Dad ordered Theo and Aly to change forms until they could go into the fenced-in garden.  Elan leaned against Liefie’s side and pet her, Isla promptly kissed her between her eyes (much to Dad’s displeasure), but Edie wasn’t sure. She held back and eyed Liefie.  “I thought we decided you were getting a corgi-cross,” she finally said.  “We never said that,” Vera corrected. “You said that.”  “She could bite someone’s face clean off. Dogs shouldn’t be that big.”  “She wouldn’t!” Vera defended. “Does she look mean to you?”  Eden scrunched her nose and looked uncertainly at Mum and Dad.  “Here,” Sterling muttered to Vera, passing her the lead. She took it. He walked over and stood by Eden, and he offered her his hand; she grasped it securely, her fear visible now.  “Are you a bit frightened?” Sterling guessed.  “No,” Eden lied. She tilted her chin up stubbornly. “I’m very brave.” “You are,” he affirmed. “So let’s meet Liefie. I promise no one will let her do anything to you. We’re all right here, and we’ll pull her back if she frightens you. Right?” He looked at Vera and her parents, and the three of them nodded and echoed affirmatives.  Eden sucked in a tense breath, held it for a moment, and then huffed. “Okay then. But if she tries to jump at me, you have to lift me up.”  “Deal. Liefie! Come here, girl!”  Vera was nearly pulled off her feet. Liefie clearly wanted to get back to Sterling; she pulled so hard that Vera had no choice but to sprint across the grass to keep up with her. Eden immediately panicked when Liefie began to run at them, and she turned and grabbed at Sterling’s arm, yelling at him to pick her up. But right before Liefie reached them, Sterling told the dog, “Sit, girl,” and she plopped her bottom down on the grass so hard and expectantly that everyone began to laugh.  Eden calmed a bit. Vera stepped to the side and reached down, stroking the top of Liefie’s head.  “Like this,” she told her sister. “See? She’s very sweet.” “She’s wagging her tail…that means she likes you, right?” Edie asked Vera.  “Yes! And she’ll like you, too, I promise,” Vera affirmed. Sterling gently nudged Eden closer to Liefie. “Dogs just want to love you and be loved in turn, Eden. That’s all. It’s quite simple,” he said.  It was wonderfully simple. Vera was thankful to have something like that in her life. And Eden would grow to feel the same way, too: soon, she was petting Liefie’s fur and smiling, and in no time at all, she’d sat on the grass in front of the dog and invited her into her lap.  “See? Brave indeed,” Sterling praised Edie. And Vera found herself growing hot all over for probably the fifth time just that day. She’d known him for ten years now, but still she was learning new things about him every day, and she loved what she found. She hoped he loved what he found in her, too. If the breathless, wild proclamations of love she often heard in his head were true, he worshiped it. Perhaps it was because she’d been busy with revision and examination prep on top of swim team and water polo, having a new dog, and working weekends at Dad’s clinic, but for whatever reason, she’d failed to realize the Polsteads were coming to visit again in late May. She found out that morning as she plaited her hair, and she found out by Gloria suddenly appearing in her doorway.  “Oh,” Vera said, surprised. Her heart had sunk her chest, but she masked that by giving a bright smile. “Hey!” Gloria smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey. Going somewhere?”  Fuck. Yes, actually; this was the first weekend in a while that she wasn’t working, and she’d promised her friends that she’d go shopping with them. Elna’s elder sister was getting married in July, and they were all searching for something to wear to the wedding— and Vera was also in search of items for her upcoming June holiday to the island. She needed new sandals, and she wanted a new swimsuit…and she also wanted to buy new (and sexier) underwear. The sandals and swimsuit she could buy on a shopping trip with Mum and Nana, but she wasn’t keen on lingerie shopping with them, so this shopping trip with her friends had been perfect timing. And now…she would probably be pressured not to go by her parents. Things between her and Gloria had been tense ever since her visit in April, and they wouldn’t think much about her running off and leaving her alone. But she hadn’t known she was coming…if she’d known, she wouldn’t have made plans.  Gloria stepped fully into the room. She perched on the edge of Vera’s bed, but it was stiff and awkward. Vera was slammed with the sudden realization that Gloria didn’t want to be in this room any more than Vera wanted her in it; she could feel the emotion roiling off Gloria in waves, and it both saddened Vera and came as a relief. She didn’t know where the breakdown had occurred in their friendship; she’d written Gloria all throughout the COVID years, and she’d tried to be open and honest to keep their friendship close, but Gloria hadn’t really done the same. In their letters, the more Vera opened up, the less Gloria seemed to. And Vera had backed off some because of it; she had her own life here, after all, and so she wasn’t too hurt by Gloria’s distance. She told herself that Gloria needed her to step back, and she was fine with it. But she’d realized over time that the issue was something different entirely. It wasn’t that Gloria needed space; it was that there just was space. They were growing apart— they had grown apart. And it had happened so silently and gradually that Vera hardly noticed it happening. She felt it, though— the void, the absence. They were polite to each other, but every conversation felt boring and awkward now. Vera had no idea what Gloria’s life was like back on the island, or what she enjoyed these days, or what she felt about anything, and she respected her too much to dive into her head without permission looking for it.  The disconnect was even visible in their dæmons. Maximus sensed that Euphrates wasn’t settled yet, though he pretended to be, and it made things awkward between them. The lie was quite glaring, and Max was personally wounded by it. Why can’t he be who he really is with me any more? he’d asked Vera back in April. Have I ever been judgmental to him? Be honest… And Vera told him, if he had, she hadn’t noticed it. But Gloria and Euphrates must’ve felt something from them— judgement or something— because Gloria guarded her personal life fiercely. Was she ashamed of it, Vera wondered, or did she just value Vera so little that she didn’t want to invite her into it?  And sometimes she missed her. Sometimes, she’d think, I wish Gloria were here. But the sad truth was that the Gloria she missed didn’t exist anymore. She wanted to see the five-year-old she’d been best friends with, or the six-year-old she’d giggled and played with every afternoon. The Gloria who’d played mermaids with her on the island, the Gloria who was her very first friend, the Gloria who opened Vera’s world up to more than just her small family. The Gloria who couldn’t and wouldn’t tell a lie, who was always up for playing anything Vera wanted to play, who laughed more than she did anything else. That’s who she missed. And she wasn’t going to find her here. She wasn’t going to find her anywhere.  It was really no one’s fault. That was the realization Vera had come to. It wasn’t her fault she was growing and changing, and the fault wasn’t even in the person she was becoming; the fault was in the relationship that’d failed to evolve and grow alongside them. There was just something missing, and Vera wasn’t sure it was something that could ever be found. Being with Gloria now felt somewhat like visiting a graveyard of friendships she’d never get back.  So she wasn’t particularly excited about what she said next, but she knew she needed to say it. “Yes, and you should come, too! Fancy a bit of shopping?” Vera offered.  Gloria slid her feet over the carpet beside Vera’s bed, thinking with her bottom lip between her teeth. “Just us? Or Sterling, too?”  Vera’s eyes darted to the left, towards Max. His feathers were puffed up and bristled.  “No Sterling. He’s with his friends at a rugby match, and then they’re going to Atif’s house for some video game release thing.”  Liefie was with him— she loved a good rugby game; she appreciated the fussing from strangers— and she was certain to be fed far too many sausages at Atif’s house and would come back tonight with gas so noxious it’d run them all from the house. But Vera didn’t mind because she knew both she and Sterling were having fun.  Gloria’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. I thought he lived here twenty-four/seven.”  Vera narrowed her eyes slightly, but she didn’t rise to the bait. The comment surprised her; she hadn’t thought Gloria wanted to have an argument, but the rancor in her tone made her realize she might. And Vera simply wasn’t doing it. She wasn’t going to fight with her. It wasn’t even a fair fight.  “Not quite. Sometimes we let him out to stretch his legs and get some fresh air, you know, for health reasons,” she jested. She finished her plait and turned her chair around, facing Gloria. “It’s Elna, Mieke, Zya, Iyana, and Lesa going shopping. You know Iyana and Zya.”  Gloria’s eyebrows knitted together. “Zya?” “Yeah. She was in our Grade 1 class. You knew her as Elijah, but she’s Zya now.”  Gloria and Zya had been great friends in Grade 1; the two used to play a game called ‘ballet’ in which they pretended to be famous ballerinas in the Paris Opera Ballet and Vera and Iyana pretended to be their adoring audience. And Vera liked to think that Gloria wouldn’t be judgmental about Zya’s transition, but she also didn’t really know Gloria anymore, and she had just spent quite a few years in a narrow-minded world controlled by the Church. She watched her face very carefully, eying every shift in her expression, prepared to nip any negativity in the bud well before Gloria and Zya were actually in a vehicle together. But beyond a moment of visible surprise, Gloria didn’t react in a worrying manner. She smiled.  “Yeah, I remember Eli— Zya,” she said, correcting herself. Vera nodded, encouraging the correction. “Does…she…still wear glasses?”  “Yes, she does. And they’re very cute,” Vera affirmed. She stood from the chair and crossed over to her wardrobe to begin choosing what to wear. “So?”  “So what?”  “So do you want to go with us?”  “Oh,” Gloria said. There was a long pause. Vera moved hangers back and forth and chose a yellow off-shoulder top and a pair of jean shorts. “I dunno. I should probably just hang around here. Isla wants me to help her rehearse for her recital, anyway.” Vera felt relieved— and then guilty for feeling relieved. “You’re sure? It’ll be fun, I promise. They’re really nice.”  “I’m sure. Thank you for inviting me, though.”  Max flew over, and Vera held her arm out for him. He perched on her forearm and then gave her a stern look. Vera scrounged for the energy to make her words sound authentic, and then she said: “Want me to stay home? We could do something. Walk to the beach, or get ice cream—” “No, don’t cancel your plans for me.” Gloria stood up. “You have fun. I’ll see you at dinner.”  “Okay,” Vera said. She’d made plans to go eat at Iyana’s house after their shopping trip, but she’d just tell Iyana that she couldn’t. “Sorry I won’t be here this afternoon.” She didn’t realize just how resentful Gloria really was until it burst from her all at once.  “Whatever. It’s okay. I’m used to it,” Gloria said, and she left, slamming the door shut behind her. Vera lifted her eyebrows.  “Wooooooooow,” she muttered. She blinked and then turned, headed to her bathroom to finish getting ready. “Fuck her, then. Jesus.”  She put a bit of mascara and lipstick on, and then she dressed and checked her phone. Quite a few messages in her group chat with the girls; she texted to let them know she was ready whenever they were. She had two texts from Sterling— a photo of sunflowers growing at the stadium (her heart swelled so much that her irritation at Gloria disappeared entirely), and then a link to their favorite bookshop, showing they finally had a book they’d been looking for in stock.  Want to go after dinner and get it? She started to reply that she couldn’t, because Gloria was here and she’d need to stay and socialize, but she stopped herself. Why should she stay here steeped in awkwardness when Gloria clearly didn’t care for her, anyway? She’d go and get her book instead.  Yes! 💛 💛 💛 💛 💛 💛  How’s baby doing? He responded a couple of minutes later with a photo of Liefie lying at his and his friends’ feet, her tongue hanging out of her mouth and her furry face relaxed and happy. Vera beamed.  Give her loads of hugs for me xx By the time she ventured to the front of the house to tell her family goodbye and wait for her friends to collect her, her irritation had given way to regret.  I should’ve stopped her from leaving and tried to fix it, Vera thought to Max. It just annoyed me. Her tone. Like I’ve done something to her, but I haven’t. I was the one trying during quarantine! She wasn’t! What am I supposed to do— get on my knees and beg her to want to be my friend?  Max looked up at her from his perch on her arm. I don’t know. And it’s frustrating because we could easily figure it out…we could figure out where she’s coming from and what went wrong and how to fix it…but doing so just feels… Wrong, Vera completed. When we were kids and we used our rose to see what people needed, to help them, we didn’t have much control over it— we didn’t fully realize what we were doing. And what we were doing was invading their privacy, even if it was for good reason. It would be wrong to just dive into her head, wouldn’t it? Even if it would help things?  Yeah. It would be. And something tells me we probably wouldn’t like what we saw, anyway. She seems to have a lot of resentment towards us.  Vera didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it. She knew that Gloria didn’t care for Sterling— she never had— but what was Vera supposed to do? Break up with her boyfriend simply because her cousin who she only saw periodically didn’t like him? She wasn’t going to do that. Sterling was the one who’d been there for her all these years; he was the one she wanted when she was upset or worried, the friend who made her laugh the hardest and always knew how to cheer her up. He was her best friend, and she loved him, and she didn’t care what Gloria thought about him.  It was funny how time changed things. When she’d been a little girl and Gloria was her only friend, she’d liked her so much she’d even talked about marrying her, in the innocent way young children do. That was back when marriage was just an idea of having someone around you forever, and back then, she’d wanted that. Now, though, she hardly wanted to be her friend, much less be around her all the time.  She supposed she’d gotten what her younger self had wanted in the end, anyway: Gloria was technically part of the family now, and so for better or for worse, Vera would have to find a way to either fix this or live with it.  She found her parents on the back patio with Alice and Malcolm, drinking beer and playing cards; she hugged Alice and Malcolm in greeting and then sat with them to wait until Elna arrived. “And you’re going to Canal Walk?” Dad asked, for at least the third time.  “Yes,” Vera said. She took a drink of her mum’s beer, and Dad tsked, reaching to take it from her. “I’ll be back around dinner probably. But Sterling and I are going to the bookstore before it closes.”  “Ah, did your book finally come in?” Mum questioned. She took her beer from Dad and handed it back to Vera. Vera took a final sip and then passed it back, not wanting to steal too much.  “Yep, finally. We’re saving it for holiday.”  Alice nodded towards the house. “Did you tell Gloria you won’t be here much today?”  “Gloria doesn’t care where I go or what I do, or about me in general,” Vera said flatly. Alice and Malcolm seemed taken aback by that comment, and Vera hurriedly apologized. “Sorry. She just…had a bit of an attitude with me earlier, and it frustrated me.”  Alice and Malcolm exchanged a look.  “I hope she wasn’t rude. To be honest with you, Vera, she hasn’t really wanted to come visit the past few times we’ve come through; we’ve been making her. And I guess we probably shouldn’t. She wanted to stay with Naomi and Henry, but we thought…” Alice trailed off, frowning again at Malcolm.  “Well, please, don’t make her visit on my behalf,” Vera said. Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket, seeing that Elna had arrived. She rose and kissed each adult’s cheek. “Bye. Love you.” “Let me walk you out,” Mum requested, rising from the table. Vera’s dad rose as well.  “I’ll come along,” he said.  Vera didn’t argue. They walked to the garden gate so they could avoid traipsing through the house and tipping Vera’s siblings off to her departure (Eden would go Full Banshee wanting to join them shopping), and as soon as they were out of earshot of Alice and Malcolm, Mum asked: “Is everything okay?”  Vera’s eyes seared at once. She didn’t know if it was from anger, regret, or sadness.  “I don’t know,” she admitted. She stopped at the gate and looked at her parents; they frowned down at her, their eyes brimming with concern. “She just…we don’t have anything in common anymore— or if we do, I wouldn’t know, because she doesn’t talk to me. It’s like we’re strangers. Worse than, actually, because I think she may hate me, and I don’t even know what it is that I did.”  “She doesn’t hate you,” Dad said. “I think she just feels a bit out of place here.”  “If she’s out of place, it’s because she made herself out of place. I didn’t do that,” Vera said shortly. “And I’m not going to apologize for having friends or being in love or having a life. I’m just not. I always invite her places with me, and I try to spend time with her, but she’s not interested. What more can I do?”  “Nothing more,” Dad affirmed. He kissed her forehead. “Don’t let it bother you. It’ll all work out. She’s family, and family sticks together through all sorts of things. It sounds like she’s going through her own things at the moment.”  “I’ll try and talk to her,” Mum offered. “But Dad’s right. Don’t fret.”  “I’m not,” Vera said. “It’s just annoying to have to feel uncomfortable in my own home when I didn’t even do anything. Or maybe I did do something— I don’t know. If I did, I don’t know what it was.” Mum hugged her tightly, and Vera let herself sink into it, needing the comfort.  “Go and have fun with your friends, love. Everything will work out. Here, take the bank card,” Mum offered, reaching into Dad’s pocket and removing his wallet. She slid the topmost card free and passed it to Vera. “Your last check wasn’t much.” She’d worked fewer hours than usual the last pay period, due to a weekend swimming tournament in Stellenbosch, so her pockets were a bit lighter than usual, but she felt guilty taking the card. She wasn’t getting anything that she really needed.   “That’s all right,” she said, passing it back. “I’ll be fine.”  Dad shook his head. “Take it. We don’t mind. Get new hiking shoes while you’re there; we’ll be doing loads of walking on the island.” Vera reluctantly took it and slid it into the card holder on the back of her phone case. “Okay. I won’t spend loads, I promise.”  Mum kissed both her cheeks. “Spend what you need. Love you. Be safe.”  “Text us if you go anywhere other than Canal Walk,” Dad ordered. “So we know where you are.”  She assured them that she would, thanked them again, and then climbed into the backseat of Elna’s car. It was packed to the brim: she was the last person to join their party, and she climbed into the third row and wedged between Mieke and Zya.  “Cute top— obsessed,” Mieke complimented, hugging Vera to her side. “You okay?”  “No,” Vera answered. She let her head fall against Zya’s shoulder; Zya tsked and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “My cousin’s cross with me.”  “Gloria?” Zya asked. “She’s here? You should’ve invited her!”  “I did. She doesn’t want to come. Because she hates me, apparently,” Vera said, and she spent the next twenty minutes venting and telling them what happened, all five of them listening intently and offering sympathy and condolences.   “Sounds to me like she’s threatened by all of us,” Iyana commented. “She needs some confidence. Shall we go back and make her come with us? She just needs a good weekend, is all. She needs to see she can fit right in with us.”  “I don’t think that’s it,” Vera admitted. “I think we’re just different people now. We’re from different worlds, in a way.” And literally.  “That happens sometimes, though, doesn’t it,” Lesa said. “There are loads of people I’ve lost touch with over the years. There’s really not much you can do about it. Here— everyone have one. Let’s get our afternoon started, shall we?”  She leaned in the back and held out a little plastic bag brimming with brightly-colored star gummies. Mieke leaned forward and fished around for a blue one, and Zya took a yellow and an orange.  “Please don’t let me buy and eat eight banana muffins this time,” Zya requested.   Elna and Iyana laughed, and Mieke said: “No Woolies for anyone!”  Lesa shook the bag imploringly at Vera. “No? Yes?”  “You know she doesn’t, because of the seizures,” Mieke said, pushing the bag aside on Vera’s behalf. “How far out are we, Elna? I want to time it right.”  “About twenty minutes,” Elna answered.  And Mieke was right: Vera didn’t. Not ever. She didn’t drink with them, either, because she didn’t know what alcohol or weed would do to her rose; she had complete control over it whilst sober, but she never wanted to risk losing that control due to inebriation.  But she wanted to today. She was still annoyed with Gloria, and she wanted to let that annoyance go; she wanted to enjoy her time with her friends. She wanted to be a normal teen. She didn’t want to spend the next few hours being the sober mum friend whilst dwelling on her own issues.  So she leaned forward and grabbed the bag from Lesa’s hand. Everyone looked at her— even Elna, who was driving. Zya’s gaped.  “Just…don’t let me wander off alone,” she requested.  Mieke squealed and squeezed Vera with both arms so tightly that it almost hurt.  “Ag, shame! Your very first time! We’ll take good care of you, sunshine-baby-princess-angel!” Vera laughed and squirmed from Mieke’s hug. “You left out ‘darling’. Don’t you love me anymore?”  Mieke clapped a hand over her heart. “I did, didn’t I? I’m sorry, sunshine-baby-princess-angel-darling! What color are you going for?”  “Yellow,” Vera said, in the process of pulling one from the bag as they spoke.  “Good choice,” Zya said. “Pineapple flavored. Very you.”  “You should save one for Sterling. You two and your pineapple,” Elna said, amused. “Is it true what they say? About pineapple and cum?”  Vera withdrew a yellow gummy and squished it between her fingers. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Go buy Jason a pineapple and find out.”  “Oh, you’re no fun,” Elna complained. “You never share with the class.”  “Eat only half,” Iyana warned Vera in isiXhosa. “They’ve got such a tolerance that it doesn’t affect them, but it’ll affect you.”  It looked so tiny that Vera wasn’t even sure how to only eat half. She glanced back at Max, who was perched along the back of the seat. He cocked his head to the side, leaned in and sniffed it, and thought to her, you eat half, I’ll eat the other. Vera laughed aloud at that. She wondered…what would happen? Cedar made dæmons sleepy but didn’t affect their humans, so if she ate it this by herself, would he feel the effects? Or only her? She wanted him to be able to, too. But she thought the others would likely get upset with her if she did let Max eat half, thinking she was poisoning her pet bird.  “I think the whole thing will be all right,” she told Iyana. There was a better chance of Max getting to enjoy it— and take a break from the drama, too— if she did that.  Everyone else in the car encouraged it, and so Vera put the star into her mouth and chewed it. The flavor burst over her tongue— tangy and pineapple-y and sweet, with a somewhat bitter aftertaste that bordered on salty— and she looked at Mieke, nodding.  “Dit is hoe dit smaak,” she commented, where only Mieke could hear, and Mieke fell into shocked, scandalized laughter that had everyone else demanding to know what Vera had said.  “Naughty sunshine-baby-princess-angel-darling!” Mieke exclaimed. She pulled Vera over so she was lying half on top of her and squeezed her face. “You’re kak cute.”  Vera gently nudged Zya’s thigh with her foot. “When does it kick in?”  “About a half-hour for you, probably. You’ll know,” Zya promised.  “Well…………” Elna began, reaching for her phone. "I guess it’s time for……….” “NO!” they all complained, but it was too late. Elna opened Spotify, and within a second or two, they were being subjected to a playlist of particularly annoying songs that Anele had compiled on a drive to a swimming meet last year. The challenge, at the time, had been to see how many hours straight the team could endure listening to it on repeat before someone went mad. Now it was a long-standing inside joke they couldn’t escape.  “Maybe I want another one,” Vera teased, and Lesa twisted at the waist and held the bag back towards her. Zya pushed Vera’s hand away when she reached for it.  “No— don’t, seriously,” Zya said. She thumped Lesa’s shoulder. “Are you trying to kill her? She’s tiny, and she’s never done any sort of anything before. One is plenty.”  “Oh, she’ll be fine. I had three last weekend.”  “And you’re you.” Zya leaned over Vera, who was lying across Mieke’s lap now. “No more, okay?”  “Yes, Mummy,” Vera promised, her eyes widened with innocence. “Cross my heart.”  Zya laughed, rolling her eyes. Iyana finally got custody of the bluetooth and changed the music to something much better— Nomfundo Moh’s most recent album— and Vera lay across Mieke and Zya’s laps the rest of the drive, wondering when (or if) the edible would kick in. By the time they arrived at the shopping center, she’d decided it just didn’t work on her. Maybe her rose made her incapable of intoxication.  “I don’t feel anything,” she complained as they climbed from the car. “Does anyone else?”  “Not yet, but it’s coming, definitely,” Elna said.  “Just give it a few more minutes,” Zya soothed. She rubbed Vera’s arm. “Don’t let yourself get anxious. Just go with it.”  She wasn’t anxious, though. She was frustrated. It was all of it, everything: the fact that she was having some stupid, petty feud with Gloria when she could have figured out what was wrong in a second if she just used her abilities, but she felt like she couldn’t; the fact that her abilities were likely keeping her from feeling whatever her peers were feeling right now; the fact that, no matter how much she pretended otherwise, she wasn’t the same as them and never would be.  “Fuck it,” Maxie muttered to Vera, and he darted back into the car before Mieke shut the door, pushing his beak into Lesa’s bag and pulling the baggy free. He grabbed a green star. Mieke gasped and lunged forward, trying to grab him, but Maximus flew up and out into the parking bay, fluttering above their heads as he swallowed the gummy.  “Vera! Jou fokken voël— I think he ate an edible!”  Vera held her arm out, and Max flew down and perched there. He preened his feathers.  “It’s all right. He’ll be okay. He’s a large bird,” Vera assured them. “I don’t think it works on us, anyway.”  “Us?” Lesa repeated curiously.  Vera laughed. “Us. Me and Max. Me and the bird.” Her laughter turned to giggling, and Maxie laughed, too— a sound that made everyone begin to howl with their own laughter. “Us. Ons. He’s he and I’m me and we’re we.” She gestured up at the sky. “Us.” She was still giggling as Mieke took her hand. She twined their fingers. “You just…stay with me, hartlam. Just stay right here.” That had definitely been Vera’s intention. But as they ventured into the shopping center, she found herself unable to stay with Mieke. There was too much to look at— too many things to grab to show her friends and giggle about— and she felt giddy and light-headed and wonderful.  “I think maybe it does work on me,” she told her friends, pleased. “I’m normal.”  “I don’t know about that,” Elna teased. “I think you should, maybe, get the bird.”  Max was lying on his back atop a folded cashmere jumper and rolling back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Like a rolling pin. It was so nice: he was pressing out all the wrinkles, and smoothing it…Vera wandered over and helped him, pressing and rubbing her hands over the folded stack beside him, ironing and fixing…the cashmere sweater was a beautiful color, and Vera stared at it for a long time, not understanding it.  “It’s like— blue and it’s green and it’s blue-green— you know what’s blue-green, Maxie?” Maximus flung his wings open and stretched them wide— he knocked a display of earrings over in the process, and Iyana quickly kneeled down and began gathering them back up. “Meeeeeee!” That wasn’t what she was thinking of. She was thinking of lying on the surfboard with Sterling and the way his fingers had stroked her side…that was blue-green. But Max was right: he was blue green, too. She stared at him for a long time. Why the fuck was he that color? “Okay, dress time, let’s leave the jumpers, Miss Parry. Let’s go. Come on— Vera, let’s— leave the damn jumpers!” Iyana ordered. She grasped Vera’s shoulders and guided her away from the table with the folded jumpers, and Vera panicked, twisting so quickly at the waist that she felt a muscle pull, reaching back towards Max in blind terror.  “WAIT! WAIT!  I need my voëltjie!” she insisted. He couldn’t fly and follow her, because he was not a real color, and she couldn’t walk away and leave him, because she would die. “Ek wil nie doodgaan nie!" “You’re not going to die,” Zya said. “Go and get Max. It’s okay.”  Vera walked slowly and carefully over to Max, and she reached down and picked him up. She cradled him to her chest like a baby.  “Okay,” she told her friends.  They gently— but firmly— dragged her over to the dress section. And it was just— amazing. So many sparkles and colors and different kinds of softness— she found a dress in every color, and she piled into a changing room with Zya and Mieke and Iyana.  She’d thought she was high before, but it was only getting worse. She had dresses that were closed. There was no way to get into them. She felt anxiety ratcheting up in the center of her chest as she fumbled with a red dress made of heavy silk, searching for an opening or a zipper or a button or a clasp— it was just thick silkiness, like a red rose, like a flower—  “Oh no,” she said, leaning back against the wall. She leaned her head against it and looked up at the ceiling, breathing hard and swallowing. “It’s coming up.”  “What? What’s coming up?!”  “My stomach!” “Not on the dresses! It’s okay, shhhhhhh, sit here, rest here, there we go…” Mieke clutched Vera’s head to her bosom and rocked her, shushing her like a baby. She began to sing. “My hartjie, my liefie, die son sak weg, die son sak weg, die son sak weg…” “The dress is closed!”  “What?!”  “It’s not open!”  Zya lifted the dress up, and Vera turned her face, hiding it against Mieke’s bra. She was frightened of it. She didn’t want it to open. But when she looked back, Zya was pulling her hand down it, and the layers of red were unfurling and opening and blooming—  “There we go. Zya’s magical— she’s fixed it. It’s fine, see? It’s so pretty. Let’s put it on,” Mieke encouraged.  Fuck. That. Vera jolted upright and walked right out of the changing room, Max fluttering erratically behind her. She walked and walked and walked until she saw something safe, something good, something pretty, and she kneeled down on the carpet holding a skimpy yellow slip made of silk. It was very sexy and nice; she stroked her hands over the fabric, feeling her racing heart settle somewhat. She thought that Sterling would like it, and she pulled her phone out to tell him about it or send him a photo of it or something…but she stared for a long while at the letters, struggling to pick which one she wanted.  “There you are!” Iyana hissed, coming to squat beside Vera. “You can’t run off like that! That’s pretty— are you buying it?”  She meant the sunshine in Vera’s hands, and she nodded. She was definitely buying the sunshine. She stood up.  “Yes, I’m getting it.” She tried to hold it up to herself to see if it was the right size, but it slipped right from her fingers like water. She stared at it puddled on the carpet, sun-on-water-on-carpet. Her face felt numb. “It fell.”  “And now it’s back up,” Iyana said, lifting it from the floor and handing it back to Vera. She checked the size. “It’s 925 rand.”  .925 sterling silver. Vera began to laugh and couldn’t stop. Then she began to panic because she couldn’t stop. And then she began to panic because she was panicking.  “My God,” Iyana said, and she sounded worried. She grasped Vera’s face and stared into her eyes. “I’m thinking you might’ve taken something else. Maybe Lesa had the wrong thing in that bag.”  The wrong thing?! Vera’s chest felt tight. She balled her fists up so tightly her nails broke her skin.  “I only want the right thing,” she insisted. It was so hard to breathe. Her lungs were not her lungs; they were tiny and small. Like a baby’s.  “No, no, it’s okay. You’re fine. Let’s buy your lingerie. It’s really pretty. Where’s your wallet?”  Vera thrust her phone at her. They made it all the way to the till, the liquid sunshine in Iyana’s hands, and then Vera reached out, grabbing her hand before she passed a card to the employee.  “Noooooo!” she said, staring at WILLIAM PARRY on the bottom of the card. “That’s— William’s. William. William.” She couldn’t find the word. “You know.” “Your…dad?”  That was the word. She nodded, her eyes wide.  “And this is…” she looked at the employee.  “Bras N Things,” the employee provided. She was bored.  “Bras N Things,” Vera parroted. “I’m supposed to buy…hiking shoes.” She turned and looked around them, trying to see if she saw hiking shoes. But it was just lace and silk and such.  “Okay, I’m putting that card up and getting another. See? Here’s your card.”  Vera reached for the bank card. She stared at VERA PARRY— so long that the employee heaved an annoyed sigh, and Iyana pulled it from her hands. She wasn’t sure that was even her name, but Iyana bought the lingerie with it, and no one said no. So it must’ve been.  Back to the dresses. On the way, they stopped at a counter with so many pretty glass bottles in so many colors that it made Vera feel dizzy. The shop girl kept talking to her, and talking to her, but she didn’t have a face, and so Vera couldn’t talk back.  “She doesn’t have a face,” she told Iyana, shivering and shaking.  “No, she does. I promise.”  “No,” Vera insisted, shaking her head. It was just blankness. The blank-faced girl held a glass bottle up to Vera’s nose, telling her to smell it, and she did. And then she felt her knees go weak. It was rose oil— roses— a rose— a dress with no opening— a head with no closing—  “Vera?”  Oh kak oh shit oh kak oh shit oh shit oh fuck There was a black marble floor and it was drenched in blood. The blood went up to her ankles. It was hot, and irony. And her heart was in the middle of it, lifeless, not moving, gone— She backed up, panicked, and knocked into something; she heard the sound of glass shattering and liquid sloshing. She turned. There were rows of glass jars, and inside each glass jar was a dæmon. A red panda was in one, and a golden tiger in another, and a silver cardinal in a third— on and on they went, rows and rows— she walked towards the silver cardinal, her heart yearning so much that it hurt. She began to weep. Every step she took crunched, and she looked down, and it was back again— Black marble, red blood.  She could hear singing now. My hartjie, my liefie, die son sak weg— die son sak weg—die son sak weg— She looked at the yellow silk slip in her hands. It rounded, expanded, it glowed. It burned. She dropped it from her hands. It bounced. It was a wheel now, yellow and fiery. It rolled down a sterile hall, a chair above it, her heart above that. She ran and ran— My hartjie, my liefie, die son sak weg— die son sak weg—die son sak weg—my hartjie, my liefie, die son sak weg— She was alone in the snow. She didn’t know how she got there. Someone had scooped her insides out. She clawed at her chest, gasping in panic, trying to press her hands inside to fill the void. But her hands were too small: they were shrinking and shrinking, and then they disappeared. And the wheel was the sun was the slip was the water was her stomach was her sin— My hartjie, my liefie, die son sak weg— die son sak weg—die son sak weg—my hartjie, my liefie, die son sak weg— daar onder by die blou berge— A blue hotel. Starkness in the mountains. The moon, round and expanded and glowing. Silver. Silver. Silver. She touched it— her fingertips stroking, caressing, fondling. It cried— it was crying. Each tear was petal pink. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.  My hartjie, my liefie, die maan kom op—die maan kom op—die maan kom op— my hartjie, my liefie, die maan kom op— daar onder by die blou berge— A wooden shack, glittering and iced. The moon and the sun and the joining. Forgiveness. Forgiveness.  A hand stroking her hair. Warm and gentle, soft and tender.  “Sonneblom?”  She shuddered and gasped like she’d fallen into a lake of ice. Her arms wound up and around Sterling’s neck, gripping tightly. She felt herself being lifted, and then she was cradled in his lap, his arms tight around her. It seemed to take her hours to get her eyelids to lift; she focused on his comforting embrace, the solidity of his body, the smell of him…when she finally managed to open her eyes, she initially had no idea where she was. She looked through a window at a parking bay, and then she looked up at the ceiling of the car. Elna’s car. She was in the parking bay at Canal Walk.  She shook her head, confused and anxious. “I don’t— I don’t know—” “We’re in Elna’s car. Everything is okay. Mieke, can you pass me that water?”  Vera’s eyes had closed again. She felt the rim of a water bottle against her lips, and she lifted her head enough to swallow as Sterling tipped it back and let the water flow into her mouth. She took a few gulps and then reached up, pushing it away, her hand trembling. She felt so intensely nauseated that she couldn’t bear it.  “Where’s Max?” she asked. Her voice sounded far away.  “Right here with us. He’s sleeping. You’ve been…out of it. How do you feel now?”  She began to cry. “Awful.”  “That’s because you ate two weed gummy bears.”  “One,” Mieke corrected, and neither Sterling nor Vera corrected her back. Since Maxie had eaten one, she’d really had two. “And they’re star gummies, not bears.”  “I hardly think the shape of them matters, Mieke,” Sterling said, his voice as close to a snap as Vera had heard in a long time. “You lot are awful friends. She’s never even smoked a spliff before and you let her eat two high-dose edibles before going into fucking Canal Walk, knowing she’s got a medical condition?”  “Excuse you, arsehole. She wanted to,” Mieke snapped back. “And how was I supposed to know it’d trigger her seizures?”  “You couldn’t, and that’s the point!” His body was tense beneath Vera’s. He sucked in a deep, angry breath. “Just take us to my house. It’s closer.”  “I really think we should ring her dad, or maybe an ambulance,” Iyana said, her voice nervous. “It can’t be safe to have absence seizures nonstop for that long.”  “I’m going to ring Will. But first, you’re going to take us home.”  “What are you going to tell him?”  “That her friends are idiots.”  “Oh, we’re her friends now? So you don’t want to be friends with us anymore?”  “You probably don’t want to ask me that question right now.”  “If you want to be angry with someone, be angry with your girlfriend. No one made her eat it. If we’re idiots, she’s an idiot, too, which means you’re an idiot by association, and so we’re all just domkoppen.”  “Take. Us. Home.”  Vera felt his hands stroking along her hips, and then he pushed his hand between her bottom and his lap, searching for something— “Where’s her phone? It’s not in her pockets.”  “Fok. Vera, where’s your phone?” Lesa asked.  She couldn’t remember how to open her eyes again. She felt trapped and terrified. She shook her head and gripped Sterling tighter.  “She had a shopping bag, didn’t she? The green one? Where’s that?” Zya asked.  “Shit. Yeah, I bet she put her phone in that…I can’t remember the last time I saw it…maybe in the perfume shop?”  “Oh, fucking hell! I’m not walking back in there— they’ll make me pay for all the broken bottles,” Elna said.  “I’ll go,” Zya offered. “Mieke, come with me. A green bag? What was in it?”  “Sunshine,” Vera mumbled. “Sonskyn is daarin.” “Shhhh,” Sterling soothed. He rubbed her back. “Rest.”  “Lingerie. And apparently, her phone, but I don’t remember her putting it in there,” Iyana answered. “Make sure all her cards are there. She had her dad’s bank card as well as hers.”  “Oh, lovely,” Zya sighed.  Vera shook in Sterling’s arms the entire time they were gone, convinced someone was going to take her and her father’s names since they had the cards since they had the phone since they had the sun—  “I’m throwing the rest of these edibles out,” Lesa muttered. “I think some are laced with something else. I’ve never seen someone get this fucked up before.”  “She’s got a medical condition,” Sterling said again, though they both knew exactly what this really was (a combination of being horrifically high and her visions.) “She takes anti-seizure medication. I’m sure the two aren’t meant to be mixed.”  “I feel really bad,” Lesa admitted, her voice thick. “And I really think we should take her to hospital. And her bird to a vet.”  “Her dad will know what to do. No hospital.”  But they didn’t know what Vera knew: they couldn’t even call her dad, because he wasn’t William Parry anymore, because someone else had his name now. And it was all her fault. She began to weep, her chest feeling empty and aching.  “I w-want m-my dad,” she bawled. And then, more panic: “Where is Liefie?!”  “Atif’s got her. He took her to my house. She’s there waiting for us.”  “No! No!” She could taste her own tears; they were salty. “Martin— he’s killed a dog before! He can’t be with Liefie! He can’t be with her!”  “Atif and Anele are waiting there with her, and anyway, my dad’s not home,” Sterling assured her. “No one’s going to hurt Liefie.”  “I d-don’t w-want her to d-die!”  “Nor do I! And so she’s going to live forever. She’ll be pawing us awake every morning for the rest of our lives.”  That made Vera feel much better. She sniffled and relaxed in his arms. “Even when we’re eighty-three?”  “Yep. And she’ll fetch things for us, because we’ll be decrepit and unable to move about.”  Vera sniffed again. “Our Superhero Rescue Dog.”  “Precisely.”  She pet the nape of his neck. “I saw her.”  “Liefie?” “No. Her. I was right and wrong. She’s a cardinal, but she’s like— I don’t know. A special one. She’s silvery-gray, and on her breast is vivid red feathers, and on her tail feathers, the silvery-gray and the red bleed and blend together…oh, she’s so beautiful…and around her beak, it’s like…crimson beauty…will you Google it? Will you Google what she is? I want to see her again…I want to see her…” She was in and out, here and there…she didn’t know how long it took for Sterling to Google and find what bird it was, but soon enough, he was holding his phone in front of her face. She opened her eyes and felt her whole body melt. She squeezed Sterling tightly and beamed.  “That’s her,” she said, staring at the photo. “That’s her, liefling. That’s you…oh, I love you…”  She clutched him close and breathed in the smell of his skin, her whole body throbbing with love, from head to toe.  “I want to take a bath at your house,” she whispered to him.  “I’m not sure I trust you in the water right now,” he whispered back.  “You can take it with me. You and me and the water. That’s what I want.”  He kissed her hair and stroked her back. Vera dozed; she woke suddenly when the car door opened.  “So I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” Zya greeted. “Good: we’ve got the shopping bag, the phone, and the bank cards. Bad: the manager of the perfume shop took a photo of her ID card, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to aggressively pursue having all the broken perfume paid for.”  “Well that’s not great, is it?” Elna said. “It’s a good thing her family’s rich.”  Vera grabbed at Sterling’s face, her eyes still closed. “They can’t phone my dad!”  “We’ll handle it tomorrow. They’re not going do anything tonight,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”  As they drove, Mieke asked: “Sterling…if Vera didn’t have her phone…how did you know something was wrong? Like— how’d you know to come here?”  He was quiet for a moment.  “She rang me before she lost her phone. She asked me to come.”  “When?” Iyana wondered. “I was with her before she lost her phone. I didn’t see her ring anyone.”  “I dunno…I guess she stepped away from you and did it at some point.” He gently nudged Vera’s side. “Was that it? Did you step away from them and ring?”  Dazed, she mumbled, “Yes. Yeah.”  She had no idea if that was the truth or not, but she sensed that she was supposed to say it. She dozed off again for the rest of the ride and didn’t wake until they arrived at Sterling’s house. She wasn’t even sure if she still had legs, so when Lesa opened the door, she just looked at her and shook her head slowly.  “No,” she said, still shaking her head. “Noooo.”  “You don’t want to go to my house?” Sterling questioned. “Because we’re really going to your house.”  “No legs.”  “What?”  “No legs.”  “You definitely have legs.” He reached out and grabbed her left thigh, and then her right. Vera watched it happen, but she wasn’t convinced they were hers. “See? Right here.”  “Fake.”  “How are they fake, they’re literally— okay. Want me to carry you? Is that okay?”  She nodded. “But don’t drop me.” She wouldn’t be able to get back up if he did, on account of no legs.  She scooted to the edge of the seat, and he lifted her up. Mieke reached in to scoop up sleeping Max, but Sterling shot his hand out, stopping her.  “Nah, I’ve got him.”  Once Vera felt the familiar weight and warmth of Maximus on her chest, she rested her cheek against Sterling’s shoulder and held him round the neck, closing her eyes for the journey into the house. She lifted her head only when she heard Liefie’s barks, and she cooed tiredly at her and smiled.  “Fuck,” Atif said, leaning in and putting his face right in front of Vera’s. “You all right, V? What the fuck did you take?”  Vera held up two fingers.  “Lesa gave her two edibles,” Sterling explained. “They interacted with her seizure medication.”  “Hmm, that sounds bad. Is she going to be okay?”  “Yes, just has to wait it out.”  “Oh, good,” Atif said. “Let’s give her some water and put her in bed to sleep it off; I’ve got my Switch hooked up to the TV in the lounge, and Anele’s making snacks. We found some beer in the fridge, too…why are you shaking your head?”  “You two can stay and eat whatever you want, and I may join you later on, but not right now. She’s not in a good way.”  Vera felt Atif poke her cheek. There was the sound of a smack; she guessed Sterling hit his hand away.  “She’s all right. Vera, you just want to sleep, don’t you?” Atif asked.  “No. I want a bath.”  “And…then you want to sleep?” he pressed.  “No. And then I want pineapple-chicken kebabs.”  “And THEN you want to sleep?!”  “No. And then I want to watch House, seasons one through three.”  Atif groaned.  “It’s Vera Parry’s world, Atif, and we just live in it,” Sterling said. “I may see you in a bit. Don’t make a mess for the housekeeper.” “When’s Old Martin getting home?” “Don’t know, don’t care, it doesn’t matter. You’re far enough away from his bedroom that it won’t disturb him.”  Vera hoped Martin behaved; she wasn’t in any sort of state to bring him back in line. She didn’t even have legs.  “Fine. Enjoy your night, I guess,” Atif said. Vera felt guilty, and as Sterling walked them slowly up the stairs, she whispered, “I’m sorry for ruining your boy-time.”  “That’s okay. I’m sorry your ‘girl-time’ was ruined.”  “My fault.” My fault, my fault, my fault. “I shouldn’t’ve. I was just so…Gloria made me angry, and I wanted to just…relax.”  “I don’t think it had the desired effect. What happened with Gloria?”  “I dunno. We’re just…different. And she said ‘I’m used to that’, or something like that, but in a mean tone. I don’t remember now.”  “Well, I guess the edibles were effective then, if what you wanted was to forget what she said.”  “I just wanted to be…normal,” she admitted. “They get to drink and get high whenever they want to, and I just watch. I wanted to try it, too, just once…but I wish that I hadn’t.”  “I wish you hadn’t, too. At least not like that. I was really, really worried about you.” They were at the guest wing bathroom now. “I’m going to set you down. I promise you have legs.”  “What if I don’t?”  “Then…you’ll just land on this fluffy rug, and I’ll pick you back up,” he said, nodding down at the bathroom floor. She leaned over in his arms and peered down. It was very fluffy and thick. She nodded.  “Okay.”  To her relief, when he set her down, she stood. She beamed. “Oh, yay! Legs.”  He gestured at the bathtub. “Bath?”  “Bath. Where’s Liefie? LIEFIE! COME HERE, GIRL!”  A few minutes later, she was up to her neck in hot, steaming water, Liefie sitting beside the tub and her boyfriend sitting on the closed toilet lid. He kept glancing longingly at the water and then looking away, which made no sense to Vera, as she’d already asked him thrice to get in.  “There’s plenty of room,” she persisted.  “Yeah, but if I get in there with you, we won’t be able to keep our hands off each other, and it seems like a bit of a…gray area, consent-wise.”  “How so?”  “You were convinced you didn’t have legs, for starters.”  Vera lifted her legs from the water. “I see them now, though…”  He hesitated and then stood up, reaching for the button of his jeans. “All right, but no shenanigans.”  The word shenanigans was the funniest thing she’d heard in a long time, and she giggled so hard her stomach ached.  Sterling joined her in the tub and sat opposite of her, and she was so entranced by the sight of his naked body (despite having seen it on plenty of other occasions) that she couldn’t stop staring and smiling. “I’m going to guess you’re feeling a bit better?” he asked her, amused.  “Yes. I think it’s wearing off, maybe.”  “We can only hope,” he said. He pressed his bare foot to hers beneath the water. “How’d you do it?”  She didn’t understand. “Do…what?”  He leaned forward. “You…I don’t even know how to explain it. I was at Atif’s, and it was like— you put a thought in my head. Sort of. I was suddenly thinking about Canal Walk, and about you, but I just knew it came from you…like a message. And I felt this— this— overwhelming surge of…terror. I thought something really bad had happened to you.”  Vera moved over to his side of the bathtub. She leaned her body against his and looked up at his face, her eyes wide.  “Sterling…I didn’t even know I did that. I didn’t even know I could do that. I’m sorry. If I— if I did it on purpose, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you angry?”  He laughed at that. “No. I’m not angry.”  “I didn’t have a right to put a thought into your head.”  “It wasn’t like that. It was more like a message; I could tell it was from you. It didn’t bother me. I was just curious how you did it, and if you’ve always been able to do it.”  “No…or, at least, I don’t think so…I don’t know,” she admitted. There was so much she didn’t know. “I was seeing so many things…I don’t even know what was a real vision and what was a hallucination. None of it makes any sense. It was all…wedded together. The craziness and the truth.”  “Tell me about it. Maybe I can help you pull the parts that make sense from the drug-induced parts.”  “Okay,” she said, eager for his help. “So there was a black marble floor. And blood everywhere. And my heart was in the middle of the puddle of blood.” “Like…your organ?” “Yes.” “Okay, that one goes to Team Drugs. What else?” “Ehm…there were rows and rows of glass jars in all different sizes. In each jar there was a dæmon. Yours, and Isla’s, and Eden’s, and then hundreds and hundreds of others, too…and when I saw your dæmon, my whole body ached with longing…”  “Hmm,” he said. He pulled her hand from the water and studied her palm, her pruned fingers. “I think…possibly Team Vision.”  “I hope so,” she said. She glanced over at the fluffy rug, where Maxie was still sleeping the drugs off. She couldn’t wait until he was awake so they could talk about Sterling’s dæmon. “Next…I was holding the slip I bought. And then it turned into the sun.”  “The sun-sun?” “Yes, but miniature. And then it grew and grew, and it got hotter as it grew, and I dropped it…it bounced, and then it turned into a wheel. And then it was attached to a wheelchair. And the wheelchair was…in a hospital. And my heart was in the wheelchair.” “Your…organ.”  “Yes.” “Another for Team Drugs.”  “And then…I was so alone. And I was in the snow. I’ve never felt like that before. And my chest was gaping open, and there was nothing inside. It was just emptiness.” “Well, yeah. Your heart was sitting in a wheelchair in hospital,” he pointed out, trying to lighten the mood.  She didn’t think it was funny. She looked at him gravely. “I’ve never hurt so bad. And I was trying anything I could to fill that emptiness. I was trying to— to shove my own hands into my chest. To fill it up somehow, you know? But my hands kept shrinking until they disappeared.” “Shit,” he said. He gathered her close and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Sonneblom. Fuck all that. That’s horrible.” He set his palm firmly over her heart. “Not real, though. See? Another to Team Drugs. Was that all?” “No…the moon was there. And it was crying pink tears, and it was my fault. There was a blue hotel. And a blue mountain. Well, the mountain was in a song. I kept hearing this same song…a nursery rhyme that Isla used to sing all the time, and Mieke sang a bit in the changing room…” she sang it for him, and he shuddered.  “That’s creepy as fuck. And I think we figured out what triggered all these hallucinations. They all match the lyrics, sort of.”  “Yes…and no. I don’t think they came from the song. The song was part of it. They were intertwined.”  “The moon crying pink tears goes to Team Drugs. The blue mountain and blue hotel…I don’t know. Was this like a hotel that was painted blue or did it have a sign that said ‘the Blue Hotel’? Have you seen it before?”  She struggled to remember. “I don’t know. I can’t picture anything but the moon. I just knew it was a blue hotel.”  “That might be a point to Team Vision. Hard to say.”   She shifted to face him and hugged his middle, tucking her face against the damp, hot skin of his neck and yawning. He stroked her back beneath the water.  “So you think it was mostly the drugs?” she asked, her voice soft and searching.  “I think so…I hope so.” He drew her closer. “How long are we staying in the bath?”  “Until we turn into sea sponges.”  He laughed. “Sounds nice.” She had no idea how long they remained in the water; by the time they got out of the bath, the water was cold, and she was intensely hungry. Max was stirring, too.  “Hey,” Sterling greeted him. He stooped over and held his arm out, and Max stumbled over to him, perching there unsteadily.  “Where?” Max breathed, looking all around them.  “My house. The bathroom.”  “Vera?” Max asked.  “Over here,” she called, waving. She was trying to put on a fluffy bathrobe Sterling had given her, but it was very confusing. There were four arms instead of two, and she didn’t know what to do with the extra two arms, because she didn’t have any limbs to put in them.  “Oh, it’s going to be a long night for you, isn’t it…come here,” Sterling said, and she stood still as he helped her arms find the right holes. He tied the tie securely and took her hand. “Food?”  “Yes.” He walked them into the corridor. “I think I should call my dad…what time is it?”  “5:30.”  “Oh,” she said, relieved. “I thought it was very late.” She reached down beside her and set her hand on Liefie’s fur; their dog must’ve sensed something was off with Vera, because she’d rested on the tile right beside the tub the entire time they were in the bath, and she was walking so close to Vera’s side now that she brushed against her with every step. “Liefie needs dinner. I’m going to make her an omelette.”  Sterling laughed. “Okay. I’m sure she’ll love that.”  They stopped by the lounge to ask Atif and Anele if they wanted anything to eat, and then they went into the kitchen. Sterling retrieved Vera’s shopping bag from the front hall, and she pulled her phone from it and sat at the kitchen table holding it, taking deep, calming breaths.  “Press Dad,” Max coached. “Or maybe Mum. Let’s ring Mum.” “Okay…” she unlocked her phone and pressed her Mum’s name. She set her phone on the table and put it on speaker, leaning over it as it rang. Her mum answered near the last ring; Vera could hear loud laughter and conversation in the background.  “Hello, Sunshine! On your way home?” Mum greeted.  “Short answers,” Max whispered.  “Er…no…I’m at Sterling’s.”   “Oh. For dinner?”  “Yeeeeeeeeeeees…” There was a brief pause, and then Mum stepped somewhere quieter. “Are you all right, Vera? You sound strange.”  “I’m— hungry and tired. So I’m…staying the night. The evening and the night. And some of the morning? Because I’m not coming home at midnight, I’ll be— I’ll be sleeping—” Sterling lifted the phone and took it off speaker. He brought it to his ear. “Hey, Lyra. Yes. Yes. Well…” he looked down at Vera and gave her a questioning look. She shook her head, her eyes wide. He put the phone on mute.  “We’ve got to tell her now, Vera. She’s fretting, and she’s just yelled for your dad to come to the phone, and he’ll know the second you talk to him.”  “But— they’re not going to call me Sunshine anymore,” she whispered. The pain that flooded her chest brought tears to her eyes. For a horrible, awful moment, she was back in the snow, her entire chest cavity ripped open and hollowed out— “Of course they’ll still call you ‘Sunshine’. Look, if you really want me to lie, I will, but they’re going to end up coming here thinking it’s something worse than it actually is. They’ll think you’ve blacked out with visions so intensely that you’re incoherent, and who knows what they’ll do then…” Mum was loudly calling Sterling’s name on the other end, not understanding why the line went silent, and Sterling unmuted it.  “Hey. Sorry. Bad reception,” he lied. He was staring at Vera. Finally, she nodded. And then she slumped forward and let her face slam into the wood of the table, her arms wrapping up around her head. Liefie put her face on Vera’s lap from beneath the table and whimpered.  “So— oh, hey, Will. Look, everything’s okay. I want to start with that. Everything’s fine. Yeah, she just— her friends had some edibles— yes. Yeah, just that. Er…I don’t know where they got them, but they all had some and everyone else is all right, so I don’t think they were laced or anything. Yeah. She’s…” he paused; Vera turned her face to the side and looked at him, and he looked at her. “Really high, but all right. If it’s okay with you both, I think we’ll just stay here so we don’t have to try and explain to the twins what’s wrong with her—” he laughed— “yeah, Emyr would never let her live it down. He’d have a good time, wouldn’t he? Mmhmm. Yes sir. Yes sir. Yes sir. Okay. Yes— if anything changes or gets worse, we’ll come through. Mmmhmm, that’s exactly what I said to them. Yes. I know. I feel the same way. Me too. Okay, well, sorry she missed dinner….yeah. Okay. You, too. Bye.”  Vera turned her face to the side again, resting her cheek on her upper arm. Sterling set her phone back on the table.  “You didn’t tell them about the perfume or the visions.” “We’re going to handle the perfume thing tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. And the visions…for all we know, they were just hallucinations.”  “Maybe…” she said, but her heart felt weighty again, and her eyes burned. They bothered her.  She tried to make an omelette for Liefie, but she forgot how to crack an egg without getting shell everywhere. She went through an entire carton of eggs and ended up with a skillet brimming with wiggly egg whites and whole yolks and shards of egg shell. She looked down at Liefie and arched an eyebrow.  “You want this or no?”  Liefie grinned and wagged her tail. Vera pinched an egg shell and lifted it out of the skillet, showing it to Liefie.  “It’s really shelly, though, see? I’m sorry, my bokkie.”  Liefie inched forward and pressed her nose against Vera’s thigh, exhaling and making a snort-like sound that made Vera giggle. Vera kneeled down and hugged her, scratching the side of her neck as she did.  “I’ll try to pick most of it out. I love you more than this, okay? This horrible, terrible, no-good omelette is not reflective of— of how much I adore you, because I think you’re just the most lekker dog in the entire world, and I think you were sent here to be with us, and I think every person who walked past your pen and didn’t adopt you was out of their mind—” Liefie took up the very serious task of bathing Vera’s face in kisses, and Vera laughed through it. “Yes, yes, I love you, too!”  She felt Sterling’s gaze, and when she glanced at him, he was smiling down at them. She leaned her cheek against the top of Liefie’s head and smiled back.  “We can fix this, Liefie,” he said, eying the skillet, and he and Vera spent the next five minutes laughing and picking bits of shell from the slippery egg whites. Soon enough, Liefie was enjoying a “metric fuckton” (in Sterling’s words) of eggs atop her proper dog food. Vera sat crosslegged beside her while she ate, stroking her side, musing aloud (and worriedly) about the amount of cholesterol in eggs. Sterling assured her, as a future veterinarian, that she’d be just fine.  Vera’s pineapple-chicken kebab was the best thing she’d ever eaten in her entire life, and she decided they had to change Liefie’s name.  “Dr. Liefie Falafel Kebab Parry-Ellis,” she amended. “Fuck, this tastes good. Since when can you cook? Fucking hell. Fucking— bloody— sodfok—” “Bloody sodfok? That’s a new one.”  “I am leaving my body. I have departed. Say ‘goodbye’.”  “Goodbye. Love you. Please come back soon.”  “Love you more. Is there more of this?”  “Loads.”  “Fok yeah. Did the chef teach you?”  “Nah. Your dad.”  Vera looked at him with surprise. “What? Seriously? Like William Parry?”  “Do you have another dad I don’t know about?”  “No. I just— when did he do that?”  “Years and years ago. You were turning…ten? Eleven? I think it was your tenth birthday. It was right before COVID.”  “Yeah, ten, then. Awwww,” she cooed, tearing up. She pressed her hand to her heart. “I can’t believe I missed that! Where was I?”  “Ehm…shopping, I think.” He set another kebab on her plate with tongs, and then he paused and set another one beside it. “If you were sober, it probably wouldn’t taste as good.” She didn’t really care why it tasted so good; she was just glad to have it. She ate until she thought she might be sick, and then they went upstairs to his bedroom. She’d brought her shopping bag along, and while he answered the dozens of worried texts her friends had sent him, she changed into her new nightie/slip/sunshine. It was as silky and smooth as she’d hoped; she stood in the center of the room stroking her hands over it, delighting in the liquid-slide, the coolness… “Very, very pretty,” Max breathed. He flew over and tried to perch on her shoulder— but he ran right into one of the posts on Sterling’s bed on his way over to her and fell straight to the carpet. He hopped back up after a moment and fluttered his wings at his sides. “I’m okay!”  She was still stroking the fabric of her new slip when Sterling flung his phone onto his bed and turned to look for her. If she’d been sober, she might’ve felt shy; but she wasn’t, and she didn’t. She delighted in the way his eyes swam over her body, the unconscious step forward, the rough swallow that made his Adam’s apple bob… “Jesus,” he said, his voice gruff. He took a steadying breath. “Christ.”  She took a step closer. “No. Not Jesus, and not Christ. The opposite, actually.”  She felt…powerful. Electric. She had energy brimming beneath her skin, everywhere, from head to toe. Was it the drugs? Was it something else? She didn’t know, but she liked it. She liked it.  She found the window, the one that spilled silver light, the one that glowed like the moon but held all the warmth of the sun. She slid it open…a smooth slide, sensual. She shivered. Come here, she whispered through it. Come be with me.  He was across the room and holding her in seconds, his hands sliding all over her body, his lips on hers. They stumbled and tripped and fell back atop his bed; Vera could feel his phone digging into her bottom, but that wasn’t the most pressing thing by far; they were wild and unrestrained, feral, senseless— “Shit,” he swore, groaning. He pulled his lips from hers and rolled off of her, leaving her staring at the ceiling panting hard, her entire body throbbing. “God dammit.”  “No!” she complained. She rolled over onto her side and squirmed over to him. She didn’t understand why he’d stopped; it’d been so good…“What is wrong?!” He sounded intensely frustrated. “Literally nothing is wrong. Absolutely fucking nothing. I swear I’ve fantasized about something so similar to this that you must’ve pulled this moment right from my memories, but— you’re not sober, and I don’t have a condom here—they’re at your house—and— what’s that they always said in assembly about consent and the like?”  She was not currently thinking about school, and she made a face at him.  “Fuck assembly!”  He remembered. “They say people can’t consent if they’re not sober. Remember that? They had like a catchy saying of some sort, and they showed us that video where the drunk couple seemed really into it and then the next morning they were upset…” he took in a deep breath as if he were steeling himself for something, or scrounging up strength, and he said, “Not tonight. Okay? I love you so fucking much and you’re literally so gorgeous that this is physically painful to say, but let’s just…watch House. Like you wanted before. Okay?”  He looked so precious all frustrated and rambling that she didn’t feel too disappointed; her mind skimmed from one desire to another easily, and she curled against him and rested her cheek against his chest, smiling as she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.  “Okay. Sure,” she smiled. She pet his chest. “Sorry.” “Please don’t be. I love you, and this—” he stroked his hands over the yellow silk— “but I don’t want to do something we might regret later. We’re supposed to take care of each other, and I don’t think this would really be that, even if it might seem and feel like it in this current moment…” She reached up and stroked his face. “So wise…so handsome…”  “So stupid, probably. I’ll think I was fucking insane come morning for this,” he said.  “No, you’re probably right. Not tonight. That’s okay. I’ll bring this to the island with us. Do you think you’ll want to finish the scenic route there?” “I want to finish it right now— don’t mix up what I want with what I’m choosing.” He looked down at her, and she craned her head back enough to meet his eyes. “You think we’ll have enough privacy there?”  “Yes. I’ve got a whole plan. Would you like to hear it?”  “Hell yeah.”  She squirmed up a bit, enough that she could nestle her face in the crook of his neck and reach up to play with his hair. He wrapped his arms around her and held her.  “Malcolm built another house for my family, one just as secluded as our first treehouse but much bigger. Before when we lived there, it was only my parents and me, so our original treehouse is quite small. Well, when we came here, Naomi and Noah were living in the treehouse with some other children from the church orphanage. But all of them are older now; they’ve moved off the island or settled down elsewhere. So no one is in the treehouse.”  “You’re thinking we can be in the treehouse?”  “I’m thinking it’s a shame for it to just sit there empty all the time.”  He squeezed her in a gentle hug. “We get to the treehouse. And then what?”  She whispered through the entire plan/fantasy, him holding her and listening with rapt attention, offering up ideas or slight alterations every now and then. When she finished, he said: “You’re the cleverest person I know.”  She beamed. “You like it?”  “I love it. It’s perfect.”  “I think so, too. And I’m getting an IUD in two weeks. So we won’t have to worry about anything.” He looked at her curiously. “IUD…is that the little metal cross-thing?”  All their volunteering at Groote Schuur in the obgyn department had paid off; she doubted many other boys his age had any idea what an IUD was, and she stroked his face proudly. “Sort of, good job! They're copper or plastic, depending on the type, and they’re more a T than a cross. So, in 1909…” She gave a lecture on the history of intrauterine devices and explained how they worked, and when she was done, he was looking at her with worry.  “It sounds like a medieval torture technique.” “No, Abi’s going to do it while I’m under conscious sedation. I feel good about it; I definitely don’t want to risk anything, and it’s really effective and lasts a long while, so I think it’ll be right for me. For us.”  Liefie had joined them on the bed while they were discussing the island and the treehouse, and she was curled at their feet. Sterling stroked Vera’s arm and looked down at her, his eyes a million miles away. Vera set her hand flat over his heart and looked at him questioningly.  “And when you’re much older…” he asked, trailing off.  She understood. “They remove it, and everything goes back to normal. What? Liefie’s got you feeling paternal?”  “Something like that,” he said, smiling down at their dog. “Anticipating feeling paternal, anyway. A long time from now.”  “Very, very, very long.”  “Yes.”  She snuggled closer and gently nuzzled her nose against his neck, enjoying the smell of his skin and the warmth of his touch.  “I like talking about the future with you,” she admitted. “I always have. I like thinking that there’s more for me than just the task ahead.”  At times, that task was daunting and impossible. She knew what she had to do…but she had absolutely no idea how to go about doing it, or what it would cost. What it would take.  This, though…she knew this. She knew softness, and love, and family. She always had.  “Me too, Sonneblom. I think about the future all the time.”  “I’m there?”  “You’re pretty much the only thing that’s clear.”  “Good,” she said softly. She kissed his neck. “Because it’s the same for me, too.” She was very sleepy by the time they started House. She snuggled against him beneath the duvet, the ceiling fan keeping them cool despite the heat of each other and the warmth of Liefie lying over their feet, and she felt perfectly relaxed and at peace— the way she’d wanted to feel when she first accepted that edible. In the end, it’d been unnecessary: she found the peace she’d needed here in his bed.  “She was my very first crush, you know,” Vera yawned, nodding at the TV screen. Dr. Allison Cameron was flipping through a medical text.  Sterling looked down at her. “Yeah? I thought it was Amila.”  “You and Amila were nearly tied for second place, but you still had a leg-up on her. But before you…was Cameron. Sensible, moral, kind, clever, beautiful Cameron…” He swiped gently at her bottom. “Get a room!” “I’ve got one!” She pushed gently at his hip. “Get out! Give us our privacy!”  He laughed at that and turned over onto his side, pressing his lips to hers. She melted into the kiss at once.  “Yours was me?” Vera wondered, once he’d pulled back.  “No, no. You know Stranger Things?”  “Of course.” They rewatched with her parents yearly.  “You know the little flower-faced monster— the demodog—” She burst into laughter and pushed him over onto his back. She rolled atop him and covered his mouth with her hand. “Shut up! Be serious!”  He pried her hand away and kissed it. “I’m being so serious. At night, I’d just think about it—” “Stoooooooop!” she begged, still howling with laughter. “You did not!”  “No, I didn’t,” he affirmed, laughing along with her. “It was you. And the exact moment I fully realized I fancied you was at your parents’ wedding, when you were walking down the aisle in your sunflower dress. You had like…golden flowers in your hair.” He touched her curls. “That must be why you kept insisting you had a mustache hair at the reception. Trying to act big and tough, huh?”  “You caught me,” he laughed, kissing her again.  “I really did,” she affirmed. For life, she hoped. “Just like a demodog.”  They laughed and talked up until the moment she finally fell asleep. Gloria had thought her hiding place was decent enough, but after sitting in the utility room for only five minutes or so, she heard a soft knock on the door.  Will doing laundry, or Lyra trying to have a heart-to-heart, Euphrates predicted.  She didn’t want anyone coming in; she needed a moment alone in the quiet, and it was impossible to find it here in this world. Perhaps there’d been a time when this world felt close to home, but it’d never felt right, and now— after all these years away— it was alien and uncomfortable. The constant noise and buzz from the electronics, the overpopulation, the rushing cars and rushing people and rushing life.  It wasn’t like this back home, where things flowed and ebbed naturally, easily. Where you woke to birdsong, walked along dirt roads, passed by people you knew the names and stories of, and went to sleep beneath visible stars. Where everyone moved at their own pace— where your childhood friends didn’t change so much year to year that you hardly recognized them anymore.  To live in this world was to live in a pressure-cooker. The constant stress and strain of violence, politics, media, illness, famine…it was no wonder that people went in one way and came out another. It was no wonder she felt like an alien amongst strangers.  She closed her magazine and stood up, preparing to leave. As she opened the door, she found herself face-to-face with Noah.  “Oh,” she said, surprised. “Hi, Noah. I didn’t know you were coming over for lunch.”  “Yeah, Will’s looking over a paper for me. Fancy a walk?”  Gloria eyed him warily. His intentions were obvious. “Who put you up to it? Lyra or Alice?”  “Lyra and Alice. But I’d really like to walk,” he said. He set his hand on his stomach. “I could probably use a run— gotta do something about the quarantine weight— but…baby-steps.”  It was pure jest: he was rail-thin and sickly looking. Gloria found it hard to laugh at the joke because of that. She gazed at him and felt her heart twist and ache; why wouldn’t he just come home? Naomi worried after him constantly, and her children hardly knew him at all, and back home was so much better… “You know, I’d like a walk, too,” Gloria decided. She’d talk to him. He needed an intervention more than she did; he was killing himself here in this world. “I hear there’s a vineyard or something?”  “Yeah, and you can eat as many grapes as you’d like. Or, at least, the Ferals always do.”  “Isla’s not feral,” Gloria defended at once. She adored her; she was the only person here that Gloria really understood. But they had loads in common.  “You haven’t seen sweet little Lala in a fit yet, then,” Noah laughed. “Have you ever passed by roadkill whilst sitting beside her in a vehicle?” “No…” “The Silvertongue in her really jumps out. I’ll leave it at that.”  They told Malcolm they were going for a walk and then snuck from the house before the twins cottoned on to where they were going. Noah chatted about his studies for the majority of the walk, and Gloria listened as best she could, but she didn’t understand much of what he was talking about. That was how it often was here.  They made it all the way to the vineyard before Noah got to the point.  “I hear you and Vera on the outs.”  Gloria looked off to the side. Annoyance flared within her chest. “She said that, did she? I’m surprised she even noticed.”  Noah sat on a bench and patted the spot beside him, and Gloria sat. She thought about getting up and walking away…but her heart hurt so terribly, and right then, she wanted nothing more than for Noah to hug her and tell her everything was going to be all right. To tell her that it was okay the way she felt, that there was nothing wrong with her, that he loved her, anyway. That he loved her despite it.  He knew, somehow; he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her snugly to his side.  “D’you remember when you had chickenpox?” he asked.  Gloria smiled. “Yeah. I remember you and Naomi were the only ones brave enough to be around me.”  “Well, we’re not afraid of plagues,” he quipped. “And to be honest, we enjoyed that week; we got extra food and treats from the nuns while we were quarantined with you. You know those little lemon tarts that Sister Phen made?”  “With the cream topping?”  “Yeah! Ebrahim can make them— like, perfectly. You should come over to our flat sometime. You’d really like it.”  “Maybe,” she said. “I’m not really a fan of this world.”  She watched as Euphrates climbed up onto the trellis above them and reached for a grape; he wanted terrible to change from his meerkat form— Gloria hadn’t let him in months and months; they’d been rowing constantly and horribly over it— and after shooting a quick, tentative look at her, she nodded. Only here. Only with Noah, she said, and Euphrates changed into a sparrow and began soaring joyfully above their heads, so pleased to be something different. So pleased to change.  The thing was, though…Gloria was tired of changing. She was deeply embarrassed by it. So one night nearly half a year ago now, she’d told Euphrates he couldn’t change ever again, that the form he was in that night was the form they’d take forever.  If you can’t decide, then I’ll decide for you, she’d said. We’ll be a meerkat, and that’s that.  Every single one of her friends had a settled dæmon. Every single one of her friends had a settled heart. Even her longest one.  “So what’s been going on with Vera?” Noah pressed. “Did you two have a row or something?”  “No. No row. That’d be easier to explain.”  “Maybe easier to explain, but not easier to deal with. You’re not much of a fighter, Glo,” he said.  That was true. She wasn’t much of a quarreler, either. She didn’t function well knowing someone was upset with her, or didn’t like her…but lately, she’d felt prickly and raw. And never more so than when she was around Vera.  Noah leaned back and observed the sky, waiting for Gloria to finally answer. She didn’t until the awkwardness of not answering outweighed the discomfort of doing so, and even then, her answer wasn’t very good.  “I don’t like being around her anymore.”  It was such a mean thing to say, but it was true. Gloria bent forward, her eyes chained to her feet, and she felt pressure build within her chest, up her throat, behind her eyes. She waited for Noah to say what she was certain he would: What? Everyone likes being around Vera. Or, What did she do to you?  She hadn’t done anything to her. Gloria’s feelings were irrational and unfair, and they had everything to do with herself and not much to do with Vera. She knew that, but she couldn’t do a thing about it. Because when she was with Vera, she felt like she was looking at what she should be. And not only was she not it, but she didn’t even understand it.  “That’s a difficult way to feel towards someone who’s family,” Noah said gently. “I know. I’ve felt that way before, too.”  Gloria looked up at him. He gave her a small smile, and he reached up, wiping at her tears.  “It feels very heavy to not like someone that you love.”  Gloria nodded rapidly, relief surging up within her. Yes. That’s exactly how it felt— that’s exactly what it was like. That’s exactly what was going on. She loved her, but she didn’t like her.  “It’s not her fault,” she whispered, her voice thick and teary. “It’s really not. But I can’t help but resent her, anyway. Because— because— I don’t understand her, Noah. I don’t understand anything.” How could she? She and Vera were so different now that they might as well have been different species. Gloria was sixteen with a dæmon she pretended was settled because she was too ashamed to admit that he wasn’t. She’d kissed one boy one time in the courtyard at church, and it had been weird and awkward and nothing. She spent her free time at the dance studio, practicing pointe with the owner of the studio and dreaming about one day moving to Muscovy and living there and dancing there…and on the weekends, she was at Church, finding peace amongst the order and the serenity.  And Vera…she was readying for uni entrance examinations, and probably having sex, and she was doing things Gloria didn’t even understand. She regularly switched between at least three different languages and hardly seemed to realize she was doing it, leaving Gloria frustrated and confused. Her friends were loud and intimidating, and on the few occasions that Gloria had been around them, she’d been lost and invisible. Between the intermingling of different languages and the terms and concepts unique to this world and its culture that Gloria wasn’t familiar with, it felt like a bridge too far. Add onto that the casual way her friends discussed things like sex, alcohol, and drugs, and Gloria had been so uncomfortable that the thought of hanging out with them had terrified her to tears. She felt like an imposter, a kid in a teenager’s body, a punchline to a joke no one had even told yet. She’d stayed home and watched telly with Isla and Eden, feeling stupid and immature and wrong. Feeling angry at Vera for being the kind of person who fit in with them, and angry at herself for not.  And then there was Sterling Ellis. Gloria didn’t understand— and would never understand— what Vera saw in him, and if she had to assign blame to anyone over the way they’d drifted, she’d pin it on him.  “Can you like someone that you don’t understand?” she wondered then. If not, there was probably no hope in her ever liking Vera again. She didn’t imagine they’d ever see eye-to-eye.  He considered that for a moment or so. “I don’t know. But I do know that you can love them.”  Gloria wondered what good love was if you disliked the person. If you didn’t even want to be around them.  (And she knew, too, that the person she truly disliked was herself. But she didn’t know what to do with that, and so she pushed it away.)  “I feel…” Gloria began, her voice small. She hugged her arms to herself and took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. She had plenty of them, but they were chaotic and emotional and didn’t make much sense beyond her own head. “…Broken.”  “Oh,” Noah said, his voice breaking. “Gloria…”  “Back home, my friends…they’re more-or-less like Vera. Their dæmons are settled. They’ve dated and such. They’ve felt what they think is love. And growing up, watching it happen, for the longest time I kept thinking…oh, that’ll happen to me. I’ll feel that way. One day. But it never did. And I always thought…well, I’m a bit different, because I’ve lived in two different worlds, and I’ve been through traumatizing things. Vera was the one most like me in that way, because she’d also been through traumatizing things, and she’d lived between the worlds. So I would judge myself based on her. Does that make sense?”  “I think so, but keep going,” Noah urged. “I’m listening. I promise. I’m listening, and I love you, and I’m not judging.”  She gripped her knees and nodded. She took a moment to take a deep breath, and then she continued.  “So…when she started to leave me behind…I started to feel…”  “Like something was wrong with you?”  “Yes. It started here in this world, with reading and school…the letters and the words, they just— it didn’t make sense to me, and she got it so easily. She could read anything, front to back, and I was struggling with twenty-word picture books. And during Afrikaans lessons, she just…it was like she’d been living here and speaking it all her life. It made no sense to me at all. And then we ended up separated, and she wrote to me all that time— like a good friend should do— but Noah, I hated her letters. I hated getting them. I used to leave them unread until Mum and Dad forced me to read them and reply. Because every single time I read one, there was something new in there that she’d done or experienced or felt…and I didn’t understand. I wasn’t feeling those things, or doing those things, or experiencing those things. So what was there for me to write back? Dear Vera, wow, I’m so happy about your first kiss. The two whole pages you wrote describing it were very sweet. You asked about what I’ve been up to lately, and well, today I practiced ballet and saw a very nice looking butterfly. I mean, come on.”  Noah tightened his arm around her and patted her arm. He was entirely relaxed and patient, waiting for more and truly listening…and so she let herself keep going.  “Then we started coming back here to this world. And seeing her again in person after all those years…I hardly recognized her. She was so different. I came through the window with a stupid puzzle we used to put together often— thinking we’d spend the day playing like we used to— and she was on the sofa kissing Sterling Ellis.”  Noah gave her a knowing look. “It’s a lot. They’re very…intense. I get it.”  “I’m jealous of them. So jealous that I resent them both. I’m jealous of how…easy it is for them, how much they want each other, how much they like each other. I wish I wanted someone, if only so I could feel normal. If only so I didn’t feel so much like an outsider. But I don’t. The boys back home— they’re nice enough, I guess, but I just…there’s just nothing.”   She’d shared the things she was most ashamed of, the things she kept close to her heart for fear of the judgement she might receive for them, and Noah was hardly blinking. He smiled softly at her. “And that’s all right, Gloria. You don’t have to feel attracted to anyone. You could go your whole life never feeling it, and you’d be just fine. You’d be happy and fulfilled— because that’s the way you want your life. That’s the way you chose it. But is it okay for me to…theorize?”  Gloria wasn’t really sure what he meant by that, but she nodded. He shifted to face her.  “You were born in a world that sees things entirely in black and white. There’s Good— that’s anything the Church promotes— and there’s Bad— that’s anything the Church doesn’t. And I think you’re sort of viewing yourself and your life in that same way.”  She shook her head. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the Church, Noah. It’s about me.”  “Yes…but the world we’re brought up in affects how we view ourselves, and how we view ourselves affects everything. It’s a circle. The world impacts you, you impact the world, and so often, it’s a damaging circle. It was for me. That’s why I had to leave. That’s why I won’t go back. And that’s why I won’t engage with Naomi’s husband. I didn’t fit into the “Good” category. “Good” was being straight, going to Church, and producing little Church-going babies to ensure that the Church continued having power for generations to come. “Bad” was anything else. I’m anything else, Gloria. But here…” he trailed off. He beamed. “I’m not going to lie and say that it’s perfect. It’s not. I’m ill all the time— so much so that I hardly remember what it feels like to not be ill. The area I live isn’t always the safest; our flat was broken into at the start of the year, and that was quite frightening. There’s COVID and social unrest and all sorts of environmental issues…but my God, Gloria, I can be. I don’t feel crushed. I can be part of this community as myself, and I’m respected for who I am, and I can love who I love on my own terms. I’m so much kinder to myself here. It’s addictive, actually. Once you start to live somewhere where you can see yourself as you— no apologies, no guilt, no regret or resentment— just kindness— there’s no going back.”  It was funny— she’d agreed to come on this walk so that she might talk him into coming back to their own world, and here he was attempting to talk her into coming to this one.  “The truth is that, if you told Vera all of this, she wouldn’t think anything of it. She’d tell you exactly what I’m telling you. She wouldn’t think less of you, and she’s certainly not comparing you to herself. So why are you doing it?”  Her eyes burned so painfully that she squeezed her eyes shut and looked to the side.  “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice faint.  “Someone else’s happiness isn’t your loss. Someone else’s path in life isn’t a restriction. Vera can live her life and be happy, and you can live the exact opposite life and be happy. And you can still be friends. If I can mend things with my twin who’s married to a man who very literally thinks I should be dead for who I am, then you can mend things with Vera.”  “I can’t relate to her anymore, though.” “I can’t relate to Naomi. At all. She spends most of her life at the church, she’s got a family with some prick who thinks he has the right to dictate how others live their life based on a book about his imaginary friend, and she willingly chose all of that. She’s happy. But likewise, Gloria, she can’t relate to me.”  She felt hopeless. “So how do you get on? How do you…overcome that?”  “In my case, not so easily. But for you…you just need to be honest about how you feel. And you need to stop being so hard on yourself. Everyone’s different, and you need to remember that Vera’s not normal. At all. You shouldn’t judge yourself based on her, because her experiences are not ever going to be the norm. But fuck the norm, Gloria!” He gave her shoulder a gentle but emphatic shake. “You’ve got to do what makes you happy and let it be. You don’t want to date anyone? So don’t! You want to date a girl? Do it! No one who matters will care. Just celebrate Vera’s happiness and let her celebrate yours. Your ballet rehearsal and ‘nice looking butterfly’ spotting are just as much worth celebrating as her first kiss, and she would be happy to celebrate it with you.”  Gloria wiped at her cheeks. “I don’t think she can be bothered, Noah. She’s always with Sterling or her friends, and I don’t want her to hang around with me just because she feels guilty or obligated. I think, for now, I just need some space from her. Do you think that’s all right?”  He hugged her. “Not only is it all right— sometimes it’s necessary.” “The sad thing is that we won’t really notice the difference…we haven’t really been ‘close’ in a long time.”  “I get that. But let me ask you this: if something went wrong in your life, if you needed someone, do you think Vera would be there for you? Would you be there for her?”  Immediately: “Yes.”  “And that’s where the ‘family’ part comes in. Stop trying to force a friendship and just let her be family for now. That’s okay to do. That’s enough.”  That comment eased some of the pressure on her heart and mind. She nodded. They set back for home, walking silently, the both of them thinking, and as the Parrys’ house came into view, he slowed his pace. Gloria looked up at him questioningly.  “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “If you agree to come visit with me and Ebrahim, I’ll come visit in June when everyone else goes.”  Gloria’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “Back to the island?”  “Yes. But you’ve got to agree to come give this world another try, too.”  Gloria considered it. The thought of coming to this world for another visit on top of the ones her parents forced her on wasn’t a pleasant one, but she really did want Noah to come back home— even if only for his own health. He needed it. And Naomi needed him. “Okay,” she finally said. “I will. How about July?”  “Two weeks.”  “Then you have to stay for two weeks in June.”  He nodded. He stuck his hand out; Gloria laughed and reached out, shaking it firmly.  “There’s something to love everywhere, Glo,” Noah said as they resumed walking. “We’ve just got to find it. It’ll be good for us both.”  She didn’t know about that, but she did know that she loved Noah. She’d known him all her life and loved him for all of it, and if this is how she could help him, she would.  She thought Vera was finally home as they walked back up the front drive; there was a black car in the drive. But as they approached it, the doors opened, and a blonde-headed girl around Gloria’s age stepped from it.  “Noah!” she greeted, beaming. She held up a finger, grabbed a mask from the car, and donned it quickly. She ran over and hugged Noah afterwards; he smiled and hugged her back.  “Hey, Mieke. How’s piano?”  “Call me Mozart-on-Speed,” she answered breezily. She looked at Gloria and smiled. “Hey. Gloria, right?”  Gloria nodded. “Hello.”  “You looking for Vera?” Noah questioned. “Because she’s not here. She stayed at Sterling’s last night.” Mieke gaped. “She’s still there? We thought she’d be home by now. We brought her lunch: falafel, iced coffee, and a smoothie.”  Noah snapped his fingers. “Damn. She’ll be sorry to miss that very niche combination of items.”  The girl scratched the side of her nose and frowned deeply. “I'm a bit worried about her…have you talked to her today?”  “I haven’t, but Lyra and Will have,” Noah answered. “Only a half-hour or so ago, in fact. I think she and Sterling were going to a bookstore or something.”  “Well, I guess that’s what I get for trying to surprise her…I’m going to go ask Lyra if we can hang around until she gets back. Bye, Noah. Nice to meet you, Gloria.”  She bounded back over to the car and knocked on the window. Another girl stepped out, and then the car reversed and drove off, leaving Mieke and the other girl at the Parry house.  “I guess she thinks Lyra will definitely say yes,” Gloria commented. She wasn’t happy that they were here; it was already awkward enough.  “Of course Lyra will say yes,” Noah laughed. He hugged Gloria to his side. “They’re nice. Don’t worry. That’s Mieke that you just met; she’s on the swim team with Vera, she plays piano beautifully— she has quite a big social media following because of it— and she’s very touchy.”  “I did gather that…does she think wearing a mask makes the hug okay?”  “It’s fine; all Vera’s friends get boosters and test regularly. School policy for sports. Mieke’s mum works for The National Institute for Communicable Diseases, too, so she’s pretty stringent about things.” Noah pointed at another girl walking with Mieke; she was a bit shorter and was wearing a plum-colored dress, but her back was to them. “Zya. No swim team— one of the few; most Vera’s friends are swimmers. You’d get along with her, Glo— Zya does ballet. She works at Isla’s studio on weekends, helping with the little ones and their pirouettes and such. Her family owns Pereira Family Vineyards; they make really good wine. Lyra’s obsessed with their pinotage. Oh, and do you like rats?”  Gloria stared at him. “What?”  “She’s got rats. Pet ones. With names like Bernard and Stanley and Frankfurt or something. They can do tricks. One can pickpocket.”  Gloria had a hard enough time understanding the concept of a pet cat or dog; rats were a step too far. She shook her head in disbelief.  “I don’t think I’ll ever understand this world.”  “The more you’re in it, the more you will,” Noah assured. He gave her a gentle push forward. “Go and talk to them.”  She backed up. “No way.”  “What’s the worst that could happen?”  “Erm, it’ll be very awkward?”  “So what? Life is awkward. They’re really cool, Gloria.”  “It’s not that I think they’re not cool…in fact, I know Zya…or I used to. We used to play together all the time in Grade 1…but that was a long time ago. And I’m afraid that I’ll accidentally— I mean, when I knew her, she went by another name, so what if I accidentally say that name without meaning to—” “Then you apologize and correct yourself. But that was such a long time ago, Gloria, that I don’t think you’ll have an issue.”  Gloria stepped closer to Noah. “Will you come with me?”  He smiled. “Of course. Come on. Let’s go meet some new people, shall we?”  She was practically dragged back into the Parry house. When she walked in, Mieke had already made herself at home; she was walking down the corridor hand-in-hand with Eden, the two talking excitedly in Afrikaans. Noah and Gloria found Zya in the sitting room with Isla, Isla holding her hand and beaming. They both looked up as Gloria and Noah walked in; Zya smiled at Gloria at once, and Gloria felt her heart bob and lurch; it was an unsettling— and unfamiliar— feeling.  She’s very, very beautiful, Euphrates thought, the thought tinged with panic, and she felt him change forms in her pocket. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her forearm against him discreetly, imploring him to stop and to not think things like that.  Yet he did, and he took stock of it all, even though Gloria was pinching him between her arm and her breast. Her glasses are adorable; I like the round frames. Her teeth are perfectly straight, and her lips—  Stop! She squeezed him so tightly that time that she nearly gasped from the pain herself. He shut up.  “Gloria! Hey!” Zya smiled. She let go of Isla’s hand and walked over to Gloria, her bright smile still in place. She held her hand up above her head and then rose onto her tiptoes, trying to do the same to Gloria, but Gloria was a good bit taller. “Looks like Sterling was right in Grade 1, after all; I’ll never be taller than you.”  Gloria’s face warmed. She felt Euphrates peck at her shirt, urging her to reply.  “I think his exact words were something like…’you’ll never be taller than your ginger girlfriend.’ He was so mean to us.”   Zya laughed at that. “Yeah, he was such a little prick. And look at him now; Vera’s got him all sweet and shit. It’s like a soppy 1950s sitcom around here sometimes.” “It’s weird,” Gloria heard herself say. She hadn’t meant to be so honest, but it just slipped out, and she regretted it at once. Zya and Sterling were friends now— she shouldn’t be talking badly about him.  To her relief, though, Zya laughed and sank down onto the sofa. “It is, isn’t it? It’s mad how things change. It feels like yesterday that we were playing ballerinas and racing across the climbing frame, but it also feels like…decades ago.” Noah gently nudged Gloria towards the sofa and then turned and walked off, before she could say a word to stop him. She took a deep breath in and then walked over, sitting down beside Zya. “It does,” she agreed. You have no idea how much. “So…Noah said you do ballet?”  “Mmhmm,” she nodded, smiling again; she smiled a lot. “Not pointe— I didn’t start early enough to be any good at it— but I work at the studio on weekends with the basics and such.”  “Oh, that’s not true at all!” Gloria blurted, and then she blushed fiercely. “I mean— that you can’t go on pointe if you didn’t start really early. You’re 16?”  “Nearly— end of June.”  “You can absolutely start pointe and be really good at it. My studio back home is run by a dancer who was principal in— in…” she blanked on the name of Muscovy in this world. “In Paris. And she didn’t start pointe ’til 16.”  Zya shifted to the side so she was better facing Gloria, and Gloria did the same.  “I’ve never heard that before…I think I’ll look into it. It’s worth a try anyway, right?”  “Yes. It’s such fun. I love it so much,” Gloria admitted. And she did; her heart swelled just thinking about how it felt to be in the studio, her body moving with the music, her heart light and free. Lately, it was the only time she was happy. It was the only time she felt right in her skin.  “Isla says you’re amazing. She talks about you all the time at ballet.”  Gloria’s face only grew redder. “She’s very sweet.” “What age did you start?”  “Nine. Probably too early…my feet are a bit wonky already from it. But Alice— my mum— she didn’t really know much about ballet, and I wanted to do it, so she let me.”  “That’s really nice,” Zya said. “That she listened to what you wanted and let you do it, just like that.”  “Yes. She’s great,” Gloria smiled.  Zya smiled back at Gloria, and for a long moment that somehow felt both awkward and not awkward, they sat there in smiling silence. What did she say next? She wished suddenly that she’d visited this world more often; if she had, she might know what music people her age are into, or what TV programs are popular, or what current events everyone’s talking about…she didn’t know anything.  “Have you seen Joburg Ballet’s production of La Traviata?” Zya asked. “Their new principal is fantastic— her performance as Camellia is the best I’ve seen yet.”  Gloria shook her head. “No— I’ve never even been to Johannesburg. I didn’t realize they had a ballet company there.”  “What?! Yes! They’re phenomenal, actually, and I’ve seen ballet companies perform in quite a few countries— how long are you here for? Do you remember Aphila? We’re going— us and a couple other friends— to see the Cape Town City Ballet put on Veronica Paeper’s Romeo and Juliet. You should come along; I’ll bet we’ll even have an extra ticket, because we’ve dragged a friend along who doesn’t particularly care for ballet, so I’m sure she’d be happy to get out of it.”  Gloria wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The offer had stunned her; Zya hadn’t seen her in a decade and she was inviting her to a ballet with her friends? “Oh, well,” Gloria began, and she saw Zya’s smile falter some. “I’m going back home tomorrow, actually. But it sounds really fun, and I appreciate you inviting me.”  Zya nodded. Her smile was weaker now, and it struck a chord in Gloria’s heart. She wanted it back how it was before— dazzling, easy.  “But I’ll be back in July,” she continued. “I don’t know if they’ll have any performances then, but if they do, and if you happen to have an extra ticket…” Zya perked up again. “Yeah! I’d love that. July’s good. Are you visiting for something specific or just coming to spend time with Vera?”  Gloria wasn’t really sure how to answer that. She thought about going along with it and just saying yes, but she also didn’t want to lie. “Noah, actually.”  “Oh,” Zya nodded. “That’s nice. He’s great.”  “Yeah, he is.” She picked nervously at her cuticle. “Vera and I…we don’t really…I mean, I don’t know. We just grew apart, I guess.”   She was genuinely surprised at herself after the words left her mouth; she hadn’t meant to say it. It’d just slipped out. Zya leaned in and patted Gloria’s hand, and for reasons unknown to Gloria, blood rushed so quickly and totally to Gloria’s face that she turned away, not wanting Zya to see her blushing.  “I don’t talk to my cousin much anymore, either, and we used to be best friends,” Zya admitted. “It must be difficult, anyway, with you being all the way in England and Vera being here.”  “Not England,” Gloria corrected. She was tired of lying. “I don’t live in England. We’ve been on an island in the Pacific for the past few years. No television, no internet, and no COVID. My parents own and manage an inn there.”  Zya gaped. “No internet? No COVID? What— like ever?” Gloria shook her head.  “Wow. I’m really jealous; I’ve had the shit like four times now.” They spent the next few minutes talking about the island. Gloria was as honest as she could be without giving away too much. Zya was a great listener; she asked good questions and nodded frequently to show she was following along. It made Gloria feel important, liked; soon, she was relaxed against the back cushions, feeling perfectly at ease and comfortable in her own skin.  The peaceful conversation was soon ruined by Emyr, who came running full speed into the sitting room holding a lizard in his cupped hands— a lizard that he promptly “dropped” and then “lost”— and Gloria spent the next half-hour running around the Parry house with everyone else, searching for the lizard.  “We need Liefie!” Eden yelled. She was standing atop the kitchen table. “Someone phone my missing sister! Where is my fluffy bitch-niece?!”  “Don’t call Liefie that!” Isla chided sharply.  “She is a bitch,” Emyr said. “Hey, Malcolm, I think I might see the lizard!”  Malcolm looked at the floor. “Yeah?! Great! Where?”  Emyr pointed calmly at his lap. “Your bollockal region.”  Malcolm yelled and jumped to his feet, sending the lizard soaring through the air— “I got it! I got it!” Emyr shouted, shoving past people and running headlong across the sitting room. He slid and crashed onto the chaise lounge, his hands cupped in front of him, and he swiped the lizard midair. “FOK-FOKKITY-FOK-YEAH…” his exclamation trailed off, and he brought his cupped hands closer to his face, examining the lizard. His shoulders dropped. “Oh, man…”  Lamenting moans and sighs traveled around the main living area, and Isla burst into hysterical tears and ran wailing towards her bedroom, Will following after her. Lyra walked over and gently pried Emyr’s fingers open somewhat, enough to see into his cupped hands, and then she made a face. She sighed and wrapped her arm around Emyr’s shoulders.  “Oh, the poor dear…oh, it’s all right, Emyrie…let’s go outside and we’ll give it a nice eulogy and burial…here, let’s find a lovely kitchen towel for his burial shroud…”  Elan and Lyra walked Emyr towards the kitchen, talking quietly and consolingly to him as they did, and Gloria turned around, seeking Zya. She was standing with her hand pressed to her mouth, trying not to laugh.  “Sorry,” she sputtered. “It’s not funny at all— the poor thing— but it’s just so…” “Ridiculous?”  “Well, you said it, not me.”  Gloria was thinking about asking Zya if she wanted to watch telly or something, but before she could muster the courage, the front door opened. Everyone was still gathered in the front room following Emyr’s lizard drama, and they all turned to the door. Vera, Max, Liefie, and Sterling froze.  “Er, hello,” Vera said, her brow furrowing. She undid Liefie’s lead. “What’d I miss?”  Before anyone could answer, Liefie— who’d been scanning every face, her tail wagging excitedly— bolted across the sitting room, leapt over the dining table, crossed into the kitchen, and then jumped up on Emyr, pinning him against the kitchen wall.  He instinctively lifted his cupped hands to shield his mouth from her exuberant kisses, laughing as he did, obviously not remembering that he was holding a dead lizard…Liefe nosed and licked at his cupped hands with intense interest— “Oh, ew,” Zya muttered, her nose scrunched up.  Emyr, for as cheeky and tough as he was, was visibly horrified and gutted. He watched the dog gulp down the lizard, his eyes wide and glassy. His fists balled up at his sides seconds later.  “She’s only a dog, Emyr,” Sterling said quickly. He and Vera had hurried over to grab Liefie, but of course, it was too late now. Vera clipped her lead back on. “She doesn’t know.”  Emyr’s face was screwed up with anger. His dimple was a deep crater on his cheek.  “SHE IS NOT SEEING HEAVEN!” He exploded, pointing accusingly at Liefie. The dog flinched back and cowered, and both Vera and Sterling stepped in front of her, as if shielding a child. “ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN MY ARSE!”  With that, he stormed from the room, Elan and Lyra following after him. Vera and Sterling sat on the kitchen floor and stroked and consoled Liefie, who had been surprisingly affected by Emyr’s angry tone and gesturing; she had her head bowed and her tail tucked between her legs, and she wouldn’t lift her eyes.  “Oh, that’s really sad,” Zya murmured. “I’ll bet her first owners were very nasty to her. I’m going to go pet her and find her a sausage or something…oh, hey, before I forget— what’s your number?”  It took Gloria a moment to realize Zya was talking to her. She shook her head and looked at her. “Pardon?”  “Your mobile…?”  “Oh! Right. Er— I don’t actually have one. The island, remember?”  “Well…do you have an email?”  Gloria laughed. “No technology! That includes email.”  “How does someone get in touch with you, then?”  The thought that she’d want to was deeply flattering; it made Gloria feel giddy and pleased.  “Honestly, I don’t know…post doesn’t even come to the island.” At least not in the traditional way.  Zya made a skeptical face. “Seriously? Or do you just not want me contacting you?”  “Seriously. It’s really off grid,” Gloria promised. “But I’ll be back in July. I’ll phone you when I am.”  “Okay. Yeah,” Zya smiled. “Let me give you my number, though I guess you could get it from Vera, but—” she turned and walked over to the worktop; she rummaged through a few drawers until she found something to write on and a pen. She tore the top page off the notepad, scrawled her phone number onto it, and then passed it to Gloria. “There you go.”  “Thanks,” Gloria said, and she slid it into her pocket where Euphrates was waiting. He curled against the slip of paper.  Zya went to fuss over Liefie, and Gloria slipped out into the garden. It was blessedly vacant, with everyone still inside dealing with the various fallouts from the Lizard Incident, and Gloria sat in a padded chair on the patio and pulled the slip of paper from her pocket, reading the number back to herself over and over again. She hurriedly shoved it back into her pocket when she heard the French doors opening. Vera, Sterling, Liefie, Mieke, Zya— Gloria considered getting up and walking back inside, but they’d come over to sit in the chairs grouped with hers before she could so much as stand up.  Conversation was already flowing between the four, so Gloria felt immediately unsure and out of place; she was relieved when the doors swung open again and Will stuck his head out.  “Vera,” he called.  She turned and looked back at the house, and he gestured at her.  “Inside. We need to talk.”  “Eish,” Mieke winced.  “Good luck,” Zya said. Vera heaved a sigh, nodded at Will, and then rose from her chair. She turned and leaned over Sterling, kissing his mouth. He was frowning as she pulled away.  “I’ll be back, either in physical form or ghost form,” Vera told her friends.  She walked back inside, Liefie trotting after her. Shortly after the doors closed behind her, they opened again, and Isla and Eden came rushing out, yelling for Zya and Mieke; before Gloria even realized what’d happened, she’d been left with Sterling.  It was awkwardness to rival all awkwardness. She died a little bit inside.  “I’m going to…” she trailed off and nodded at the house. She stood and started for the doors.   “Hey, Gloria?” Sterling called after her.  Damn it. She turned back around. “Yeah?”  He stood, too. He walked over to stand with her. “I dunno what’s going on with you and Vera—” Great. So she’d told him about their little half-spat yesterday. Of course she had. “— but it really wasn’t her fault that she wasn’t there for dinner last night. Not entirely, anyway. She had every intention to be there, but she wasn’t feeling well.” Oh, it aggravated her. She felt Euphrates shift to something prickly and small in her pocket. “I really don’t need you defending her honor. I didn’t even notice or care that she wasn’t here.”  If there was one thing about Sterling that seemed unchanged, it was that he wasn’t afraid to have a row with her. He didn’t take kindly to her tone.  “I wasn’t ‘defending her honor’. I was just saying that she hadn’t purposefully stood up dinner during your visit. Jesus.”  “‘Kay,” she said shortly.  “Whatever. Enjoy your afternoon, Gloria.”  He turned and headed towards the house. And she hardly recognized the emotion within her, but she very much wanted to row. She had so much pent up frustration and anger— and she didn’t care if she hurt him— she followed him across the grass.  “Are you going back to your house at any point, or do you just live here now?”  He didn’t even glance behind him. “I suppose I live here. So get used to it; I’m not going anywhere.”  Anger surged up inside of her, frothing and hot and intense. She sped up and stepped in front of him, blocking the doors. He looked down at her and rolled his eyes.  “I’m not arguing with you, Gloria.”  Here it came— the anger. “You think that now— that you’re not going anywhere— but wait until you go to my world. Wait until you see where she comes from. You think you know her? You can’t know her: your souls haven’t even met. And when you go back there and you see everyone with their dæmons, you’ll understand how much you’re hurting her and Max by tying them up in a relationship that’s unsustainable and shallow. A relationship that can never be real or worthwhile, and certainly not lasting.” His whole body had tensed up. She’d hit a nerve. “You don’t know a thing about our relationship!”  “I know it doesn’t work. It can’t work. Trysts between worlds— it’s doomed.”  Sterling looked at her like she was profoundly stupid, and he gestured emphatically at the Parry household. “Yeah, sure.”  “Will might be from this world, but Will has a dæmon.”  “Vera doesn’t care that I don’t have a dæmon.”  “There’s no way that’s true. How’s it even work, anyway? You two have sex and Max just…stares at the wall? Very romantic.”  Sterling’s face flushed with anger. He parted his lips, surely to spew something equally cutting, and Gloria welcomed it. Right then, she’d be happy if it turned into a fist fight.  But after a tense, furious second, he leaned back. “Sort yourself out, Gloria. Stop shitting on me when I haven’t done anything. I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but I wish you all the luck in the world.”  He stepped around her, trying to go through the door, but she wasn’t letting him end it like that.  “Like you shat on me and Zya our entire Grade 1 year? You had no problem taking your own issues out on us—” “Don’t use Zya as some sort of martyr for whatever little quest you’re on right now to fight with me. Zya’s my friend; I care about her, and she knows that, and I’ve apologized for the past.” “Oh, well, that must be nice. To get an apology.”  “Right now, you don’t deserve one. Fuck off.” He turned, giving up on the French doors, and headed towards the gate to go around the front. Gloria followed after him.  “If you don’t leave me the fuck alone—” “What?” she challenged. Nothing. He wasn’t going to do a thing. Vera wouldn’t be happy if he did, and they both knew that, and it gave her the power in this situation. That felt nice— having power. “What are you going to do?”  He didn’t answer because there was nothing to say. She blocked the garden gate.  “Do you really, properly understand who Vera is in my world? Like— do you actually know the state of things?”  “I know more about her than you do, by far.”  “That isn’t what I asked. Before she was even conceived, witches— yes, actual witches, who fly through the sky and make potions and do spells; that’s a thing in my world— made a prophecy about her. She was to be the most destructive thing, the thing that brings upon the end of days…or that’s how the Church interpreted it. And, see, in my world, the Church is everything: the government, the police, the law. So before she was even born, she was being hunted down. They were going to capture Lyra and murder her simply because of what was in her womb. And that something was the antichrist. And the antichrist is Vera. Do you understand what that means? Are you religious?”  “No. So your little story isn’t going to frighten me.”  “It should frighten you. You think you’re dating an ordinary girl, but you’re dating something else entirely. Vera wasn’t even made like most babies are made; she was conceived through the work of angels. Jesus was immaculately conceived to a virgin mother— well, Vera was conceived in Lyra’s world while Will wasn’t even really there. He was a ghost, basically. He was physically here in this world, in Oxford, while she was created. And if all that’s not odd enough for you, Lyra ran away to Svalbard during her pregnancy to live under the protection of talking, sentient polar bears. She hid there in a cottage until she gave birth, and her midwives were witches. And that’s not even getting into the visions and the things Vera does in her head.”  He regarded her coolly, though Gloria could see fury brewing just beneath the surface. She wanted it to boil over. She wanted him to hit her, because she knew if he hit her, he would never come back from it in the Parrys’ eyes. Right then, she felt he deserved that— he deserved to be cast away and discarded. He didn’t really belong here, anyway.  “I know she’s gorgeous, and interesting, and outrageously clever, but Sterling— you’re so out of your depth it’s laughable. It won’t be long until you’re gone.”  For a brief moment, she thought she’d broken him. She saw emotion contort his expression, and his jaw tensed. Go on, she thought. Show them all who you really are— who you’ve been all along, who you’ll never really stop being no matter how much you fool them.  But he held perfectly still. He didn’t so much as clench his fists.  “Do you feel better now?” he finally asked.  She parted her lips to spit something back at him, but she stopped abruptly, spying movement from the corner of her eye. She turned and watched as Vera approached them, and as she drew nearer, Gloria saw she’d been crying; her eyes were puffy and red. Liefie was glued to her side, matching her stride perfectly, looking up at Vera with wide, worried eyes every few steps. Vera knew something was up. She walked up between them and looked from Sterling’s face to Gloria’s.  “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice nasally from her tears. Sterling waved his hand nonchalantly. “Nothing. Just chatting. What’s up? You okay?”  Vera leaned into him and hid her face against his chest. Gloria heard her mumble something about wanting to take Liefie down to the beach to swim. Sterling responded in Afrikaans, his hand stroking her hair, and Vera lifted her face and looked up at him; whatever she said back made him shake his head and smile. He kissed her forehead, and then he looked back over at Gloria.  “It’s always really nice to talk to you, Glo-No. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope you get what you’re looking for.”  Her emotions were raw for the rest of the day, and Vera and Sterling didn’t so much as look her way later that night at dinner. Gloria escaped to the guest room halfway through the meal and sat on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands, struggling with an intense tangle of emotion knotted in the center of her chest.  “I’m really tired of this,” Euphrates admitted. He was perched on the other side of the room on the windowsill; he’d changed into a porcupine. “I’m really tired, Gloria.”  “You think I’m not?”  “Tired of you. Why can’t you just…let us be? Why can’t you just leave it alone?”  She had no answer.  “It’s not fair— trying to turn him against her. It’s not right.”  “That wasn’t what I was trying to do!”  “No?” Her dæmon challenged. “You can’t lie to me. You can lie to everyone else— but not to me.” She bowed forward even more, so that her face was pressed to her thighs and her arms were covering her head.  “He may’ve done terrible things in the past, but you’re doing terrible things right now. To us and to them.” He leapt from the windowsill and flew over to the door— putting himself as far away as he could without leaving the room. “And I’m not being a fucking meerkat ever again. You can’t make me. And guess what?”  She didn’t respond.  “I asked Theo to see what I settle as. With the alethiometer. And you know what she said? A rat. Deal with that.”  And with that, he changed into a spotted rat, and Gloria wondered if anyone in the world had ever had their dæmon settle out of spite. On the way to Abi’s office, Lyra’s daughter leaned over the middle console and rested her cheek on Lyra’s forearm.  It was so sweet— and so unexpected— that Lyra’s heart swelled with both affection and worry. She reached out and stroked Vera’s hair, mindful not to mess up her plaits too badly, and then she looked over at Will. He was frowning.  “What’s going on, Sunshine?” Will questioned.  She didn’t look up. “I’m frightened.”  Lyra’s chest flooded with sympathy. She unbuckled her seatbelt without a second’s hesitation and gently patted Vera’s head.  “Budge up a moment,” she said, and once Vera sat up and freed the passage between the passenger and driver’s seats, Lyra crawled into the backseat with her.  “Lyra!” Will complained.  She sat in the space between Vera and their dæmons. She opened her arms, and her daughter crawled into her embrace at once. Lyra hid her face against her scalp and rocked her.  “Let’s go home,” she cooed. “Will, turn the car around. We’re going home.”  “No!” Vera protested, much to Lyra’s surprise. She sat up. “Don’t turn around, Dad! I’m still going to my appointment! I just— do I have to be sedated?” Lyra turned and glanced at Pan. They gaped at one another. What the hell?  “No…you don’t have to be…that’s just something we requested,” Will said, glancing curiously at Vera in the rearview mirror. “But it’s not full sedation. You know that, don’t you? You’ll be conscious, but you’ll be relaxed and won’t feel any pain, and once it’s over, you won’t remember it.”  “I know,” she said, her voice small. “But I was reading last night, and it said most women aren’t sedated, and so I think perhaps I’ll just…grit my teeth.”  “But…why?” Will pressed. “There’s virtually no risk at all with conscious sedation. They’re going to monitor you carefully, Vera.”  Lyra knew that many people said insertion was horrifically painful; she’d been up doing her own reading last night, fretful and unhappy about the entire ordeal. Will had shown her videos about IUDs, let her look at and study an actual IUD with her own eyes, and had printed off studies about their ‘safety and efficiency’, but still, Lyra was terribly worried. It was just such a frightful thing to her; no matter how accustomed she got to this world, some things she still found difficult to process, and having some copper thing stuck up inside an internal organ was one of them. Especially when it was her daughter it was happening to.  So she was very much on board with the plan to turn the car around, but her daughter didn’t seem to be.  “I just don’t think I need sedation, Dad,” she said shortly.  Will wasn’t letting it go. “Well, it’s entirely your choice; you can tell Abi you don’t want it when we get there. But why risk pain if you don’t have to? What’s really on your mind, Vera?”  “Nothing,” she said. She rubbed her knees and turned to look out the window, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she did. “I just…I’m scared to be sedated. Because…when I was high…it was really terrifying.”  Oh. Lyra met Will’s eyes through the rearview mirror. At the mention of Vera’s little drug escapade, Will seemed inclined to give her another half-hour lecture, but Lyra reached up and gently nudged his shoulder, shaking her head at him. Vera had been scolded fiercely enough, and anyway, she’d had such an awful experience that Lyra doubted she’d do anything quite so reckless ever again.  “You really won’t remember anything that happens— in your head or outside of it,” Will assured her. “So don’t worry about that.”  Well, she was worrying. And that made Lyra worry. Whatever she’d seen whilst high had scarred her enough that she was more willing to have something shoved into her uterus with no pain management than risk seeing it again, and that was troubling.  When they arrived at Abi’s office, it took both Will and Abi promising her that she wouldn’t recall a thing to get her to relax, and even then, she clenched Lyra’s hand with both of hers and clung.  “Don’t go,” she begged Lyra.  Lyra scooted closer to the side of the examination table. “I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s okay. Whatever happens, I’ll be right here.”  Vera had previously said that she didn’t need Lyra or Will to stay with her when they’d discussed IUDs and scheduled this appointment, but she’d changed her mind quickly. Lyra didn’t blame her: there’s no way in hell she would’ve undergone something like this alone— not even now, and definitely not at sixteen.  “Dad,” Vera said, turning to look at him. He was eying a smudge on the stainless steel tray right beside the examination table, and Lyra knew he was fighting the urge to get disinfectant and clean it. “You can close your eyes and stay, if you want.”  Both Lyra and Will laughed at that. He leaned over and kissed Vera’s forehead.  “That’s all right, Vera. My feelings aren’t hurt. You’re in good hands here with Mum.”  Lyra assumed— like Will— that Vera had said that just to soften her reaching for Lyra’s hands, but they’d thought wrong. When he told her goodbye and wished her good luck, she panicked.  “No, but you can stay! You can just sit by the table— can’t he, Abi?”  “That’s up to you, Vera,” Abi said. “But it’ll only take five minutes or so, and you aren’t going to feel distressed or in pain at all, nor remember what happened…so it’s not going to make much difference to you who’s in here and who isn’t.” Vera frowned deeply. After a moment, she nodded.  “Okay. But you’ll be right outside, won’t you, Dad?”  “Yes. I’ll loiter in the corridor; I won’t even go back to the waiting room,” Will promised. He set his hand on her arm. “There’s still time to back out. You look scared. Are you sure this is what you want?”  “Definitely. I’m not scared of this. Just of…” she trailed off and then reached up, touching the top of her head.  “Think of your head like a sieve: whatever goes into it while you’re under will pass right through; you won’t retain it once you’re awake.”  “Yeah,” she said, her voice small. “Okay. Love you, Dad.”  “Love you, Vera. I’ll see you very soon. And for what it’s worth, from a medical viewpoint, I think you’re making a really sensible and responsible choice.”  Vera smiled at that. She relaxed fully for the first time since they’d walked into the clinic. “Thanks, Dad.”  “Any time, Dr. Parry,” he smiled. He walked over and kissed Lyra. “You up for this?”  She really was not sure. But she would have to be, because her daughter needed her. “Yes. I am no stranger to medical objects going up my cervix. I’m the expert in the room, in fact.”  “That’s the spirit,” he said, kissing her a final time.  Will left, and a nurse came in to get Vera situated. Lyra busied herself with folding Vera’s discarded clothes while she changed into her gown, and once she was seated on the table, Lyra sat and took her hand again. The nurse explained to both Vera and Lyra that Vera would technically be conscious, but that she wouldn’t feel any pain at all and would be a bit ‘out of it’, and then he gave her an injection.   “You know the saying ‘the lights are on but nobody’s home?’ It’s a bit like that,” the nurse explained.  “Lovely,” Vera said, her voice hitched with nervousness.  The nurse’s explanation turned out to be fairly accurate. Vera was drowsy and largely incoherent at the start, able to follow basic commands from the doctors and nurses and answer simple questions but clearly somewhere else in her head. Lyra, intimidated by the sight of the medical instruments, turned so her back was to Abi and kept her gaze on her daughter’s face.  “It’s going well. Nearly done,” Abi said, after what felt like only a couple minutes, if even that.  “Already?” Lyra said, impressed. Vera’s face was still relaxed and smooth, and Max— snuggled on a folded blanket on the window ledge just behind Lyra— was peaceful. “You’re really good at this.”  “It’s almost like it’s my profession or something,” Abi teased, and Lyra laughed with her.  She was feeling so relieved that everything was going fine— and then she noticed something that made her heart crash to her toes: tears, tracking from the corners of Vera’s eyes and leaking down the sides of her face. Lyra quickly reached down, slapping at the padded table, getting Abi’s attention.  “Hey— I think she’s hurting, Abi. She’s crying. Vera, are you okay, Sunshine?”  Abi half-stood and looked up at Vera. “Vera, are you in pain?”  Vera’s voice sounded far-away and faint. “No…”  “You don’t feel any pain?”  “No…” Her lips were trembling now; she was on the brink of full-on sobbing. Tears were wetting her hair, the sheet beneath her head. Lyra felt sick.  “Stop whatever you’re doing!” she demanded to Abi.  “I’m already done,” Abi said. Lyra looked down at her, and sure enough, a nurse was smoothing a bedsheet over Vera’s lowered legs. “Vera, you’re crying, bokkie. What’s wrong?”  “I want to go home,” she begged. Her voice shivered with tears.  “Really soon now. We’ll keep you around for a bit and let you wake fully and have a snack, and then you can go home,” Abi assured her.  But Vera wasn’t really listening. She was still crying.  “I’m sorry— I’m sorry— I’m sorry…”  Lyra looked helplessly at Abi, confused and disturbed. Abi stood up, disposed of her gloves, and then walked over, leaning over Vera.  “Are you feeling pain anywhere, Vera? You’ll probably have some cramping, but you shouldn’t feel anything beyond that.”  “I didn’t— I didn’t want to be alone…” “You’re not alone,” Lyra rushed to say. She brought Vera’s hand up and pressed it to her cheek. “I’m here. It’s Mum. I’m right here, darling.”  “Mummy…I miss you…” she wept.  Lyra’s heart lurched. “You don’t have to miss me; I’m right here. It’s all right. You’re safe, and you’re with me.”  Vera reached blindly for her, her eyes still closed, and Lyra perched on the side of the table and leaned over her daughter, stroking her face and consoling her.  “There was so much blood,” Vera babbled, the words both slurred and tear-drenched. “And it was— it was all over the floor…”  “There’s no blood at all. It’s all over. Did it hurt, love?”  “It wasn’t me…it wasn’t me…”  Lyra didn’t understand. She looked over at Abi, her hand still petting Vera’s hair. “Is this normal?”  “She’s a bit more emotional than most.” Abi patted Lyra’s calf. “Move back to the chair for a moment, please; I want to check her over again just to be sure everything is fine.”  Lyra did as she was told, moving back to the chair beside the table. Abi carefully checked Vera’s vitals— though the nurse had been monitoring them the entire time— and when she was done, she set her hand against Vera’s cheek.  “Everything is all right, Vera, and your mum is right here. You’re just a bit loopy right now. What sort of snack would you like? We’ve got…rice crackers, tennis biscuits, and ginger biscuits.”  “I can’t play tennis…just swim and cricket.” Abi laughed softly. “Rice crackers, then?” “Yes, okay…” Abi set her hand on Lyra’s shoulder. “Another nurse will be in with a snack and something to drink, and I’ll send Will in.” She and the assisting nurse left, and Lyra climbed back up onto the table, this time lying beside her daughter and hugging her.  “Still feel okay?” she checked.  “I have cramps…when does it start?” “It’s already done. That’s why you’re cramping some. Is it very bad?” “No…Mum?” “Hmm?” “There’s something in here.”  Lyra lifted her face from Vera’s shoulder and looked at her face, trying to glean more information that way, but her daughter’s eyes were still closed. She just looked sleepy.  “In where, Sunshine?”  “In my head.”  “Oh,” Lyra said. The door clicked open softly then, and Lyra was relieved; she gestured at Will, beckoning him over to the table, and he shut the door behind him and walked over to join them. He perched on the other side of the table and reached for Vera’s wrist, feeling her pulse before all else. “What is it? The ‘something’ in your head?”  “It’s…it’s bad,” she whispered. She sounded teary again. “And I can’t…I can’t bear it, and so…and so…even when I’m sleeping…it’s hiding…” “What the hell?” Lyra mouthed at Will.  “Your rose?” Will questioned. “Is that what you’re talking about? That’s always been there, Vera.”  “No…it’s a later-one. A later memory. Loads of them, and they go together, and I— I don’t know…but I’m frightened…can I come home, Dad?” Will reached up and set his hand against the top of her head, his thumb gently caressing her forehead, a deep frown in place. “Of course, Sunshine. You can always come home.”  “I’ve been gone a long time.”  “No, you haven’t— only an hour or so.” “Does he still love me?”  Will looked over at Lyra, lost, and Lyra shook her head back.  “Are you talking about Sterling?” Will guessed.  “Yes,” she breathed, her voice swollen with emotion. She began to cry again, softly at first, and then she was bawling. Will and Lyra curled on either side of her on that narrow table and held her, both understanding that this was more than just typical post-sedation delirium, feeling frightened and upset themselves.  “Of course,” Lyra soothed her daughter, stroking her plaits— frizzy and wild now, after all their fussing and hair-smoothing— and trying to comfort her. “Of course he loves you. Quite a lot, in fact. Don’t you worry about that. You’re safe here at Abi’s clinic, and Dad and I are here, and next Wednesday, we’re going home to the island. Our island.”  She began to tremble a bit, and when she spoke next, Lyra realized it was from relief. “I’m…I’m sixteen.”  “Yes. You’re sixteen.” “I’m home…in Cape Town?”  “Yes.”  “Oh, good,” she said, sniffling and sighing with relief. “Oh, yay…I thought I was older. I thought it was too late.” Lyra darted her eyes to Will. He was frowning so deeply his forehead was wrinkled up and creased. “Too late for what?”  She never answered. She slipped off into a light doze, leaving her parents disturbed and uneasy, and when she stirred a couple minutes later, she seemed much more coherent. She asked Will for an NSAID and told them she wanted to go by the pet store on the way home to get a new toy for Liefie, seemingly unaware of whatever had been going on before her short doze.  “Do you remember the procedure? Or right after it?” Lyra questioned.  “I remember…the IV, and something cold and stinging that hurt, and then I think I was asleep.” She saw the look on her parents’ face, and she grimaced. “Oh, God. I wasn’t asleep? What did I say?”  Her face flushed with embarrassment; she obviously thought she’d said something personal. Lyra rushed to reassure her.  “Nothing, really. You were just mumbling some things. We thought maybe you were having a vision.”  “No. Or— I don’t think so…what did I say?”  Lyra and Will looked at each other for a second or two and then looked back at their daughter, having come to the same silent decision through just that brief glance.  “You were just mumbling about going home,” Lyra lied. Whatever had upset their daughter, she didn’t remember it, and so there was no point risking triggering the memories and bringing them back. “Do you feel up to having your snack?” Will propped up the head of the padded table so Vera could sit, and Vera nibbled halfheartedly on the rice crackers, still a bit drowsy but more or less normal. She seemed to be in high spirits, too, which was a bit jarring to Lyra considering she’d been weeping just a few minutes before.  “Could we go shopping before we go home?” she asked. “I still need hiking boots, and we hardly ever get to do anything just the three of us.”  Noah and Ebrahim were at their house babysitting— Mary was at the university making sure everything was in order for their trip, and Elaine was at therapy— and they were probably anxious for Lyra and Will to return, but what Vera said was true: it wasn’t often that they got an afternoon that was just the three of them.  “I think that’d be just fine,” Lyra said. “We’ll phone Noah in the car just to make sure everything’s okay at home, but then we can go to the shopping centre and have lunch, as long as you’re feeling up to it.” By the time they were allowed to leave, the only side effect she still had was a bit of drowsiness, and so (after a blessing from Noah) they decided to spend the afternoon together. It was such a lovely one that Lyra soon forgot how worried she’d been during the procedure; it was difficult to cling to those feelings of doom when her daughter was giggling brightly and chattering on happily, entirely at ease.  “I can’t wait to see the island again,” she told them over lunch. “Do you think it’s changed much?”  “Not too much, from what Hannah and everyone else has said. Beyond the supply issues,” Lyra said.  They were bringing a suitcase dedicated entirely to coffee, tea, wine, and fresh fruit and vegetables; the island was currently having trouble getting timely shipments of much of anything, and the growing season on the island itself— limited already, given the soil type and climate— had been unusually terrible. Lyra was certain part of the reason Alice’s family was visiting so often was because Alice couldn’t bear living off tinned food, salted and dried meats, and herbal tea much longer. One thing Lyra and Elan were meant to do while on the island was sit with Hannah and try to determine—with the alethiometer— what could be done to help the situation, and what the true root of the issues were (Hannah suspected foul play).  If the foul play were by the Church, Lyra hoped Marcel could help them determine it. He was coming down to visit the second week they were there, and his prominent position in the Church would mean he’d surely he able to find out something… “Do you remember much about it?” Will wondered.  “The island?” Vera questioned.  “Yes. You were so little when we left.”  “I remember loads,” Vera promised. “The waterfall I used to play behind, the beach, Malcolm’s house, Nana and Mary’s. Ours. My bedroom, yours and Dad’s, the study, the sitting room, the deck and the kitchen…the library, the tiny little hospital Dad worked at, the school…”  Lyra reached across the table and took Will’s hand, smiling softly. “It was such a lovely place for those first few years— until the Church came. We were happy there. And you were so little, Vera…I can’t believe how quickly the time passed.”  It felt like only yesterday that she’d been toddling around and shrieking with giggles in their sitting room, and now she was so grown up and growing up more each day.  “It feels like a really long time to me,” Vera admitted.  “Not to us,” Will said. “To us, it was yesterday.”  She took a bite of her souvlaki, and Maximus ate a cucumber slice off her plate.  “It was a really good ‘yesterday’,” she told them then. “Mum, Dad…I don’t know if I’ve ever…said thank you. I had such a good childhood…I have so many warm memories, and I love you both so much…not many of my friends feel the same way about their childhoods or their parents. And it can’t have been easy…I know it wasn’t easy. But you always made me feel safe, even when I wasn’t. I always felt loved and protected, and happy, and…that’s really an amazing thing when you consider all our family has gone through.”  Oh, God, Lyra was going to cry in the middle of the bistro. Her vision grew blurry nearly instantaneously, and she leaned over and wrapped Vera up into a tight hug.  “You’re the sweetest girl in the world,” she said. “It was our pleasure— it was the best thing we’ve ever done. Raising you. And mind you— we’ve still got a few years left of it, so don’t be in such a hurry to declare yourself grown! We’re going to cling to every single second.”  Vera laughed at that. “I know, I know! I just meant…thanks. I think you’re both so wonderful, and I’m really, really lucky.”  Will reached across the table with his free hand and set it atop Vera’s, smiling at her.  “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice drenched in warmth and love. They’d only been on the island for one day before Emyr couldn’t take it anymore.  “Someone here has to have internet,” he complained. He got up off the floor, leaving the Lego creation to his brother and his sisters, and he crossed through the sitting room, headed out onto the deck to find his parents. They were snuggled up on a wicker sofa, gazing over the balcony towards the ocean. Emyr spotted Liefie barking and running excitedly across the shoreline— Vera and Sterling had been swimming with her literally all day long— and he considered going down there to join them, but he’d been on the beach all morning. He was tired of swimming, and he was even tired of teasing them about their kissing and such; it’d become boring.  What he needed was technology. He had things to check on his secret Instagram. “Hello, I need internet,” he greeted his parents.  “Hello. We don’t have it,” Dad responded calmly.  “But…someone has it. Or I’ll bet Mary could figure out how to make, like, a converter. Or we could cut a window into our house and I can just connect to the wifi through the window!”  “No internet,” Dad repeated. He kissed Mum’s temple. “Have you lot you finished your Lego rocket?”  “They’re still working on it, but I’m bored,” Emyr complained. He circled around the sofa and threw himself across their laps; Mum brushed his curls back from his face. “What is there to do here?”  “Swim. Hike. Spend time with your family. Read.”  “Ugh…is that all? Can I practice the knife?”  “No,” Dad said. “Not alone, and not right now. Perhaps tomorrow.”  “Why don’t you go down and swim with Vera and Sterling?” Mum suggested, nodding towards the water. “Again? That’s what I did all morning!”  “So did they, and they’re still swimming.”  “Well, they’re in love with the water. They’re a thruple with the water.”  “A what?” Dad questioned.  “They probably do it in the water,” Emyr continued.   “Emyr Parry!” Mum and Dad chorused angrily.  Their anger was surprising: they’d been smiley and relaxed since they’d crossed through into this world, to the point that Emyr figured they couldn’t actually feel anger at all here.  “What? It’s just a part of life,” he told his parents matter-of-factly.  “Yes— a part that’s none of your business. Don’t say things like that again,” Dad ordered.  “Fine, okay, okay,” Emyr said, sighing. They were so sensitive. This sort of stuff was why all the best music on Spotify was blocked. He clapped his hands together. “Anyway, internet. What’s the plan?”  “There is literally no plan, Emyr,” Mum said. “This is an entirely different world. Internet isn’t a thing. We cannot get internet. You’re going to have to find something else to occupy yourself.”  Well, that was easy for her to say, but his two thousand and three Instagram followers might not be as understanding. And what was even the point of putting together their giant Lego creation if he couldn’t post a photo of it or upload a video of Aly perched atop it as a macaw rapping? They’d gotten loads and loads of views on their video of their last Lego creation! Aly was a capybara in sunglasses, bobbing and dancing along as Emyr played Cheezboi Flexx and YoungstaCPT, the both of them working together as they placed the final pieces on their Lego airplane. He was definitely letting his fans down now.  “But I neeeeeeeed internet!”  “You need to learn how to be one with nature or spend time bonding with your siblings,” Mum corrected. “Go collect some shells or catch minnows or something.” “Fine,” Emyr said, after sharing a long look with Aly, “but just know this: you’re leaving us up to our own devices, and bad things happen when you do that.” He stormed off through the treehouse, slid down the spiral staircase bannister, and then exited the ground floor, stamping angrily to the path that led down to the beach.  “Ek mis die Wes-Kaap,” he complained to Aly. “It’s rubbish here.”  “I’m so bored I thought about eating one of my feathers earlier,” Aly agreed. She changed into a leopard. “How many more days do we have left of this?”  “Thirteen,” Emyr moaned. “We’re doomed.”  Elan wasn’t bored at all, but Elan liked boring things, like reading and Chess and the alethiometer. Queenie and Isla hadn’t gotten sick of Mum and Dad’s stories or island tours yet, but they probably would be, soon.  “Once we’ve got at least Queenie on our side, we can stage a mutiny,” Emyr decided. “We’ll sing ‘Let’s Groove’ nonstop until Mum and Dad agree to go home.”  “That could work,” Aly mused. She changed into an anaconda. “If we get Isla on our side, we can go back tomorrow, though. Isla always gets what she wants.”  “Usually, but Mum and Dad are really happy here. I don’t even get why…” “I think because there’s no work, no school, and no bills.”  "Ja, dis waar,” Emyr agreed. He heaved a deep sigh. “We’ll have to find some way to keep from going mad…what shall it be?”  “Hmm…” Aly mused. “We could prank people?”  “Eh…it has potential, but I’m not sure I’m really in the pranking mood.”  “We could work on our mixtape.”  “We don’t have any technology!”  “Right, right…” Aly sighed. “Well, maybe we can meet some friends and make some rugby teams. Do they have rugby here?” “I hope so! That would be really fun…because you could play with us, Aly!”  At home, she never got to; she stayed hidden while he was at school and rugby games. Only at home did she ever get to play, but it wasn’t even a real rugby game then, because there weren’t enough people. “Yeah! Let’s ask Vera where we can meet people. She’s sort of a local.”  “Good plan,” Emyr agreed. “I’m so glad you’re me.” They combed the beach, looking for Vera. They finally spotted her way out in the water, swimming with Sterling, Maxie fluttering above their heads. Liefie was snuggled on a beach towel, her fluffy black-and-brown fur soaking wet, tuckered out from so much swimming. “Hey, Liefie,” Emyr greeted, stooping over to pet her. She rolled over onto her side and pawed at him, her tail thumping the towel sleepily. “You like it here, at least.”  She was living her best life; she got to swim and hike with her humans nearly all day long, and she never had to part from them. Whereas at home, she had to go to Dog School while they were at school and swimming practice.  “It’s so nice not to have school— that’s one good thing I can say about being here, and I know you agree, too,” Emyr said, patting her belly.  She didn’t respond, of course, but she gazed at him with her soulful caramel eyes, and Emyr felt confident she’d understood at least some of what he’d said. He was glad they were friends again; after she’d eaten Master Yoda (the lizard), she’d been frightened of him for a whole week. He had to hand-feed her bits of chicken and steak every single day to get her to stop cowering— and he had to apologize for yelling at her. But once he’d done that, she’d come around. Sterling said she’d probably been abused by whoever owned her before them, and Emyr had almost cried when he heard that; he hadn’t meant to make Liefie think about her bad memories, or make her think that he was dangerous. He’d just been really upset that she’d swallowed Master Yoda like he was a green bean.  “When your people-parents have their whole bodies rot off from being in the water so long, I’ll adopt you,” Emyr offered. He leaned over and kissed her furry face, and then he stood up. “I’ll go let them know that you’re my doggy now.”  He kicked his slides off, threw his t-shirt down onto the sand beside them, and then waded out into the sea in his shorts. Aly changed into a dolphin, and he gripped her fin and held on as she swam them out to Vera. She and Sterling were— surprise, surprise (NOT)— kissing, and Emyr draped over Aly and waited impatiently for them to finish. When they parted their lips a little bit to take a breath, Aly spit water at them. They snapped their heads in Emyr’s direction, surprised.  “Emyr!” Vera exclaimed. “Don’t sneak up on us like that!”  “Who’s sneaking? I swam regular. You were just too busy with the snogging to see,” he said. “Have your toes fallen off yet?”  “Nope. What do you need, Emyr?”  “Insider knowledge. Where would a ten-year-old boy find other ten-year-old boys?”  “School or the park.”  “Great. And where would a ten-year-old boy find the school and the park?”  Sterling laughed. “Do you want us to take you to the park, Emyr?”  “That’d be lekker, Sterling, thanks for asking,” Emyr said, pleased. “I’m looking for a rugby team.”  Vera reached out and mussed Emyr’s curls. “Fine, but if we take you now, you have to promise to leave us alone this evening.”  Emyr considered that. It was quite hilarious to knock on her closed bedroom door every seven minutes exactly (they got angrier and angrier each and every time), but finding his rugby team was the current priority.  “Okay. Fine. I won’t bother you, and I won’t tell Mum and Dad when you sneak out.”  “We weren’t sneaking out last night,” Vera lied. “We were just going for a nighttime stroll.”  “Liar! You had a bag,” Emyr said.  “In case we got lost,” Sterling lied.  “Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuure.” If Emyr hadn’t caught them, they probably wouldn’t have been back until morning. He wondered where they were going…perhaps he and Aly would follow them tonight. “If you help me find some friends, I’ll keep your secrets.”  “Okay. But hey, Emyr…if you do meet some friends, don’t brag about it to our sisters, all right?” Vera said. “They can’t meet people here. It’ll make them feel…left out.”  “I won’t,” Emyr promised. Mum and Dad had already had a long talk with him and Elan about being ‘sensitive’ to his sisters’ ‘predicament’. “But we’ve got to fix this dæmon nonsense. For you, too, Sterling.” “I really wish we could, Emyr,” Sterling said, and his voice was so wistful that Emyr felt bad for him. He swam over to him and patted his shoulder.  “Ag, shame. We’ll figure it out. No stress, bru.”  They went back to the shore, grabbed their items and towels, and put Liefie’s harness and lead on her.  “Can I hold the lead?” Emyr begged.  “Sure. But we’re going to let her stay with Mum and Dad at the house while we take you to the park; she’s due for her pre-dinner nap,” Vera said.  “I don’t think she wants a pre-dinner nap,” Emyr said. “She wants to be with you and Sterling.”  Emyr was right: when they tried to leave her at the house, she scratched at the door and howled so pitifully that Aly changed into a dog and howled with her in solidarity.  “Oh, all right, then, girl,” Sterling cooed, opening the door back up. Liefie bounded out and jumped up on him, kissing his face with desperate relief. “You can come along, but let’s make sure we’ve got plenty of water with us.”  Sterling and Vera went inside (Vera to let their parents know they were leaving, Sterling to top off their water bottle), and Emyr sought his twin out. He was still playing Legos with Queenie and Bunny, so Emyr had to pull him from the room to tell him where they were going, not wanting the girls to hear.  “Vera and Sterling are going to take us to the park to meet some friends,” he whispered. “You coming?”  “Yeah! Of course!” “But don’t tell Queenie and Bunny.” “No, I won’t,” Elan whispered back. “Let me get my shoes.”  Vera and Sterling walked him and Elan to the park, a journey that took much longer than Emyr thought it would. On the way, they passed by a poor-looking Church, and Vera slowed. She was watching the nuns grouped outside of it, and she seemed lost in her head; it took Sterling grabbing her hand to get her to keep walking.  They finally made it to a copse right outside the park.  “We can’t go any further,” Vera said. Liefie couldn’t be seen, nor Sterling, since he didn’t have a dæmon. “Remember the rules?”  “Don’t tell anyone anything about our family, and if someone gives us a weird feeling, we run straight back home,” Elan parroted.   “Yes.” Vera peered through the trees at the kids playing on the grass; Emyr already saw at least five kids his age or very close to it. Aly changed forms in excitement, trying to decide which would be the coolest to take; in the end, she settled on a snow leopard. “They look nice enough, but be careful. Stay together. Sterling and I won’t be far; if something really bad happens, scream, and we’ll hear.”  Emyr and Elan nodded, and then they ran through the trees towards the children of this world, hoping they could find some friends to make the rest of their holiday bearable. It was amazing how much better Noah already looked compared to just this morning. When he walked through the door of their new island home— returning with Ebrahim after an afternoon of hiking— Lyra was stunned.  “Oh, Noah!” she said. She held his face in her hands and beamed at him. “You look so much better already! How do you feel?”  “Amazing,” Noah admitted, grinning broadly. “I out-hiked Ebrahim! I’ve never done that before, have I?”  “No,” Ebrahim affirmed. He was grinning giddily and clutching Noah’s hand with both of his. “I never knew Noah was athletic!”  “Staying out of your world for too long can certainly change you,” Lyra agreed.  “Unless you’re you, Lyra,” Noah shot back.  “…Unless you’re me,” Lyra agreed, apologetic. “Sorry. I guess that was an insensitive thing for me to say.”  “No way,” Noah said. He reached out and dragged Lyra into a tight hug. “I wasn’t offended. Everything’s great, Lyra. I’m really glad I decided to come with you all.”  “We are too…and you as well, Ebrahim,” Lyra said.  “I’m still not entirely convinced I haven’t slipped into a coma and this is some long, drawn-out dream I’m having, but I’m just going with it,” Ebrahim said. “So when do I get to meet Naomi’s homophobic husband?”  Lyra grimaced at that. “Tonight. They’re all coming for dinner. But we aren’t going to tolerate any hatefulness at the dinner table, so if he’s rude to you two, he’ll just have to leave. Don’t worry.” “Oh, I’m not worried at all. I actually think it’s going to be hilarious,” Ebrahim admitted. “It doesn’t bother me at all what people think about me; he’ll be the only one uncomfortable and bothered.”  “Still,” Lyra persisted. “If you need me to kick him from my home, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”  Ebrahim kicked his hiking boots off and slung his arm around Lyra’s shoulders. “You’re the greatest mama bear there is, Lyra.”  “Just as feral, too,” Lyra quipped. “Just ask Will.” “I don’t doubt that for a moment.” “So you’re both really okay about tonight?”  “Yeah. I’m looking forward to seeing Naomi’s kids,” Noah admitted. “I worry about them, being around a father like that. It’s going to be really good for them to spend time with all of us.”  Lyra worried about that, too. She’d only met Naomi’s oldest one time, and he’d been too tiny to talk then, and so she wasn’t sure what sort of impact being around a man like Henry all the time was having on him. Alice thought Henry was a bad influence even on Gloria, who was sixteen, so there as no telling the sort of damage he was doing to children three years old and younger.  “We’ve got a lot to teach them, that’s for sure,” Lyra agreed.  Of course, part of her was worried about her own babies, too. Henry didn’t know the truth about the other worlds or anything like that— being so involved in the Church, Naomi had been too afraid to tell him, and so she’d made up all sorts of lies to explain her absence whenever she came through to visit— and Lyra was worried about how he would react to her daughters. He’d surely notice they didn’t have dæmons, and they’d have to make up some lie about them being ill at birth… Even thinking of doing so broke Lyra’s heart. She didn’t want to pretend like something was wrong with her babies, because nothing was. And she was really worried about what it would make them think about themselves if they ever found out they’d told Henry that. But what alternative was there? Not having a dæmon was a deformity in this world— a glaring one. She and Hannah had both dedicated any and all time they had with their alethiometers to trying to figure out how to help Isla and Eden— how to get them their dæmons— but thus far, they hadn’t made much progress. It was a question they’d been chipping away at for eight years now, so Lyra wasn’t optimistic that some answer would fall into their laps overnight.  Noah and Ebrahim went to bathe and rest before dinner, and Lyra went back to the kitchen to continue helping with dinner. Will was laughing with Isla and Eden, the three of them chopping vegetables and singing their own versions of the songs they usually played whilst cooking back home. Lyra walked over to join Elaine at the worktop; she was kneading dough.  “Are the kids back?” Elaine questioned, having heard Noah’s knock.  “No, Noah and Ebrahim,” Lyra answered. She reached for her own ball of dough and resumed kneading it. “How many arguments do you think we’ll have tonight?”  “I hope zero,” Elaine fretted.  “Me too, but I don’t anticipate zero.”  Who would row first was the true question. Naomi and Noah were a possibility, but Vera and Gloria were, too. Lyra hated both scenarios.  “Enough wine and perhaps things will be okay,” Elaine joked. “Isn’t that why we brought so much?”  “That’ll help some of us, but not all of us. Naomi’s eight months pregnant, and Vera and Gloria can’t drink.”  “Right,” Elaine frowned. She pressed the dough into a pan. “I don’t understand what’s going on with Vera and Gloria. They used to be the best of friends.”  “I hate it. Being here makes it hurt even worse, because when we were last here, they were the sweetest little friends in the world. Always playing together, and laughing…I want to fix it, but Pan says I’ve got to let it be.”  “He’s probably right,” Elaine agreed, glancing over towards the deck. Kirjava and Pan were snuggled on the bench. “The only people who can fix it are Gloria and Vera.”  Lyra wasn’t sure they wanted to fix it. She didn’t know exactly what’d happened, but something had happened right before Gloria left the last time. Sterling and Vera didn’t so much as look at her when it came time to tell Alice’s family goodbye, and when Lyra had questioned Vera on it later, she’d only said that Gloria had been cruel to Sterling, and she wasn’t going to tolerate it.  Cruel was not a word Lyra would’ve used to describe Gloria as a child— not even close— but the anger in Vera’s voice had told Lyra that Gloria had done something to deserve that adjective.  Lyra must’ve looked really worried because Elaine stopped what she was doing and pulled Lyra in for a hug. “It’ll be all right. Underneath it all is love, and so we’ll be just fine. Speaking of— how would you and Will like a night?”  “Like a night-night? Date-night?” Lyra checked.  “I’ll watch the kids tonight, if you want. As long as you two like. You can go stay the night at the treehouse, even; I can sleep here.”  Lyra glanced over at Will. He was smiling and listening to Eden ramble on about something as he chopped potatoes. Lyra’s eyes lingered for a moment on his forearms and biceps, watching the muscles shift as he worked. It was a bit maddening how something as small as that could have her twisting her legs together, her thoughts wandering down intimate paths.  “Only if you really don’t mind,” Lyra finally said, turning back to look at Elaine. “Because the kids have been staying up until at least midnight no matter what we do, so it’s probably not going to be a very enjoyable night…are you sure?”  “I’m positive. I know this is a family holiday, but this island is special for you and Will, too. You should get a night to yourselves.” It would be so nice to get a night to themselves. Lyra smiled at Elaine. “Let me talk with Will, and I’ll let you know.” Elaine nodded, still smiling, and turned back to her baking. Lyra walked over and grabbed Will’s elbow, tugging gently and nodding at the sitting room.  “Be right back,” Will told their daughters. “Mummy calls.”  Lyra dragged him into the sitting room and shut the door. She grasped his face and kissed him.  “Your mum says we can sneak away tonight— for the entire night, if we want to. What do you think?”  He looped his arms around her waist and drew her close, kissing her softly; Lyra curled her fingers in his hair, gripping his curls and sighing.  “Treehouse?” he questioned mid-kiss.  “Exactly what I was thinking. I’ll bet our bedsheets are a bit dusty, but a little dust never hurt anyone.”  “Or we could bring clean sheets,” he said. He drew her closer and kissed her shoulder. “How badly do you think the kids will terrorize Mum?”  “On a scale from one to ten…a six. But how badly do we need a night alone?”  “On a scale from one to ten? Twenty.”  “I was thinking twenty-five. So yes?”  “Yes. We’ll stay for dinner and dessert, and then we’ll leave. If things go as badly at dinner as we’re fearing they will, we’ll need the escape.”  “Mmhmm,” Lyra agreed. She looked up at him and frowned. “Oh, but if Henry upsets Isla or Eden…we’ll need to stay.” She couldn’t stomach the thought of running off for the night if her children were upset.  “Of course. But he’s not going to upset our girls. That’s a promise.”  His voice was so dark that Lyra shivered in his arms. She wished it were tonight right now, but she’d do her best to be patient. It’d be well worth the wait. Halfway through their somewhat awkward family meal, Vera slipped away from the table.  She carried her glass of wine with her (having been permitted one glass and having quickly decided she liked it) and crept down to her bedroom, slipping into the room as quietly as she could. Liefie lifted her face from the bed and began thumping her tail so hard the mattress bounced.  “I know, I know,” Vera cooed. She set her wine glass atop the dresser and then met Liefie in the middle of the room, kneeling so she could pet her and accept her kisses. “You’ve been so good! I’m sorry you have to be locked back here. This world is mad— they don’t have pets. Not much longer, though, all right? Look what I’ve brought you.”  She pulled a chunk of bread from her pocket and broke it into little pieces, feeding them to Liefie one at a time. She beckoned Liefie over to the bed once she’d finished her treat, and they curled atop the duvet together, Vera spooning her fluffy body and yawning into her fur.  “Sterling should be back here any moment,” she whispered to Liefie. Her tail began to thump again, and she pawed at the duvet. Vera smiled. “I know. He’s your favorite, isn’t he? It’s okay— it won’t hurt my feelings.”  It took Sterling a bit longer to slip away than Vera thought it would. When he finally arrived, he hurried over to the bed before Liefie could leap off to come greet him.  “No, I’m coming to you,” he assured their dog. He climbed up onto the bed and curled his body around Vera’s, spooning her as she was spooning Liefie, and he reached over to pat Liefie’s belly. He kissed the side of Vera’s neck; warmth shot all the way to her toes. “We’ve probably only got five minutes or so before someone comes looking for us. Your mum just got out Monopoly.”  “Oh, Christ. Is she trying to start a row? Everyone’s been doing so well.”  “She’s a bit inebriated, so I’m not sure she’s fully considered that…but I’m glad we’re in here. Eden’s terrifying during Monopoly.”  His relief to be closed away in this room with her and Liefie was deep. She could feel the emotion seeping into her, and she knew why he was so relieved: he’d been getting glared at nearly the entire dinner. Henry had taken an intense dislike of him the moment he realized he didn’t have a dæmon, and no matter how many times Hannah tried to explain that he’d suffered an illness as an infant that made his dæmon never manifest outside of himself (the same excuse they’d given for Eden and Isla), he regarded Sterling as if he were an evil being.  Vera was glad that Sterling had gotten away from that, even if only for a few minutes. And honestly, she’d needed a break herself, but from Gloria. Alice had been forcing conversation between the two of them all night, and Vera’s patience was waning; after she’d been so awful to Sterling back in late May, Vera hadn’t wanted to be around her in the slightest.  “Are we still sneaking away tonight?” Sterling wondered.  “Yes,” Vera said. She’d been counting down the hours until bedtime all day long. “You still want to, right?”  “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Do you think Emyr will really keep it a secret if we do?”  “Yes, I think so. We held up our end of the bargain and helped him make some new friends, so he’ll hold up his and keep quiet. We’ve just got to make sure to be back before breakfast.”  She was excited and nervous and giddy; her heart had begun racing all day long any time she thought about tonight, and she’d gone through the day feeling like she had a delicious secret. She’d been waiting for this day, and it was finally here, and she felt so good about it. She felt ready. She didn’t have to worry at all about accidental pregnancies— she’d gotten the most effective birth control method out there, outside of sterilization— and she wouldn’t have to worry about interruption—they’d be on the other side of the island— and she didn’t have to worry about rushing. They’d have all the time in the world. Time to ease into it, time to share the experience, and even time to try it again (and again, and again…) “I want it to be really good for you,” he admitted quietly. He kissed the back of her shoulder. “Will you help me make it good for you?”  Her heart swelled until it filled every single space in her chest. She squirmed and turned over to face him. She kissed his lips.  “Yes. Don’t worry. It’s going to be wonderful, because we’re doing it together. As a team.”  He touched his forehead to hers gently, and she felt the light touch of his mind as it brushed against hers. The friction was lovely; she shivered lightly in his arms and sank in at his invitation. He had his worries on intimate display: her being in pain (that was his main fear), him not pleasing her, her regretting it and being disappointed… She kissed him, softly at first, and then deeper and longer.  “The fact that you’re even worried about all of that means it’s going to be fine,” she promised him. “Don’t you trust me?”  “Of course. More than anyone.”  “Then trust that I’m going to love making love to you no matter what happens— because it’s with you. And I trust you, Sterling…so much.” Enough to let him into her body— enough to want him there. She’d always been quite romantic and sensitive, and she’d never understood how people could sleep with strangers; this felt like such a deep thing, such a meaningful thing. How could it be shared with someone you didn’t trust wholeheartedly, someone you didn’t know absolutely everything about? She might’ve been young, but she knew already that she’d never, ever be someone who could do that, or would want to do that. This is what she wanted. This closeness, this love. And she wanted it with him.  He tucked his chin against her shoulder, and with her mind still draped over his, he shared his hopes for tonight, the scenarios he’d replayed in his mind, the all-consuming affection and love presently filling his chest. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it all, lazing in the pleasure of it. She cradled his hand to her breast, her heart drumming fast beneath his touch.  “I love you,” he whispered aloud. He didn’t even need to say it, but she fucking loved hearing it, anyway.  “I love you more.”  “Nah.”  “Yes.”  “Nee.”  “Ja.” “Literally impossible.”  “Says who?”  “Me.”  “Hmm,” she said, twisting to look at him, her nose scrunched up skeptically. He kissed it. “Just this once, we can have a tie.”  “Oukei,” he murmured, his eyes a darker green, his gaze on her lips. He inched closer and kissed her once softly, and then again greedily. “Dit—” another kiss— “klink—” another kiss— “goed.”  “I’m— glad— it sounds good,” she said between kisses. She rolled over onto her back eagerly at the slightest push, and he kneeled over her, deepening their kisses. They would’ve gotten swept away easily and quickly if it weren’t for Liefie giving a sudden (and dramatic) huff, one that made them break their lips away and look over at her. She whined lowly and pawed the sheets, seeking attention, and they burst into laughter.  “Spoiled!” Vera complained, reaching out to scratch Liefie’s side. “I can’t even have some petting, too? No? Just you? Okay.”  “I think we should ask Elan and Emyr if they’d like to have a pajama party with Liefie tonight,” Sterling suggested, still smiling at Liefie’s antics. “Good plan. They’ll be all for it. And Liefie will surely be fed loads of treats. Isn’t that right, Liefie? You’re quite good at getting Aly and Theo to sneak you treats.”  “We should get back, anyway,” Sterling said, sitting up. And though he was correct, Vera sighed. “We wouldn’t want your siblings loudly theorizing on where we’ve gone. Do you know Isla asked me— at the table, in front of everyone; you were in the kitchen choosing wine with your mum— what my nightmares are about.”  Vera wasn’t following. She sat up. “Your nightmares?” “Yes. Because that must be why I sleep in your bed every night, when there are other beds in the house.”  Vera lifted her hands to her face and laughed. “Ugh…sorry.” “No, it’s all right. It was sort of funny how offended Naomi’s husband looked. Didn’t he get her pregnant out of wedlock?”  “Yep,” Vera affirmed.  “Hypocrite.” “Most hyper-religious people are.”  He reached out and lightly combed the tips of his fingers over her curls, tidying them without completely brushing through them and making them frizzy, thinking hard about something. She enjoyed his affections and waited.  “Today, when we passed by the church…” Ah. “I thought you were going to go in.”  Her heart jolted. She looked down at her lap and smoothed the now-wrinkled fabric of her dress; linen had been a stupid choice.  “And leave you alone with Elan and Emyr in a strange place? Definitely not,” she said lightly.  He touched beneath her chin and gently guided her face up, meeting her eyes. She held his gaze.  “You’re thinking about it, though. Aren’t you?”  She took a deep breath in. Max, bothered by her sudden stress, squirmed from his blanket nest and fluttered over, perching on the blankets just beside them.  “Can you read minds now?” Vera jested, deflecting.  He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his light eyes. “No…but I know you.”  She shifted closer and moved into his lap, and he held her.  “When I passed by…the pressure in my head was awful, and I felt like…I was being drawn there. I think…it’s time to start. But I don’t really know how.”  “Start what?”  “The end.” He tightened his arms. He pressed his face against her hair and didn’t respond.  “It’ll take years and years…decades, maybe,” she assured him, sensing his concern. He was probably worried she’d stay here forever— which would mean separating from him. “I just mean it might be time to begin.”  He was quiet for a couple minutes, just holding her and thinking. Finally, he answered.  “If that’s true, I’m glad I’m here with you.”  She laughed softly. “Yeah? You’re not frightened?”  “Of you?”  “Of me…of the church. Of all of it.”  “No. I’m not frightened. Your enemies are my enemies; you tell me how to help, and I’m there. I’m all in, Sonneblom.”  She leaned back and kissed him, and Maxie fluttered up to perch on his shoulder and preen his hair. Sterling reached up to stroke his feathers. She’d just leaned in to kiss him again when they heard a loud knock on the door.  “We’re waiting for you two to start Monopoly!” Eden complained. “C’mon! We’re playing the Mzansi Edition, and all that’s left are the hat and the car.”  Vera scoffed.  “Those traitors! I’m always the rubber ducky,” she complained to Sterling.  “I call the car,” he said at once.  “I’ll guess I’ll be the fokken hoed,” she grumbled.  They made sure Liefie’s water bowl was still full, reluctantly kissed her goodbye, and then slipped back out to go rejoin the rest of the family. “One more chapter,” Isla pleaded.  Will set the book beside her. “You’re an excellent reader, Bunny. You can read the next one.”  “But I want to read it with you,” she complained.  “Yeah, you and Mum read it best,” Eden agreed. She was snuggled up beside Isla; though there were two double beds in this room, they often chose the same one. “Just one more!”  Will glanced to the other side of the bed where Lyra was perched. She made a face at him.  “Mummy and I have a date,” Will admitted. “So we’ll read one more, but then we’ve got to go.”  Both Eden and Isla sat up.  “A date?!” Isla demanded. She looked at the curtained window; the dark, starry sky was visible just above the curtain rod. “It is way too late to be going out there. What if a jaguar gets you?”  Will leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “No jaguars here.”  “Where are you even going to go?” Queenie questioned skeptically. “There’s nothing here. Not even a cinema.”  “We’re going to stargaze and go for a nighttime swim.”  “Well that sounds really fun, actually, and I’ll come along!” Eden said. She turned and made to climb from the bed, but Lyra grasped her shoulders and stopped her.  “No, it’s your bedtime, love.”  “But I’m not tired! And I want to stargaze and swim!”  “Tomorrow night. Tonight, Dad and I are having some alone time.” Eden huffed, and Isla hid her face into her springbok-printed baby blanket, the same one she’d been wrapped in at the hospital. Will leaned over and hugged her.  “We’ll see you both in the morning. Try to actually go to sleep, okay?”  They’d gotten out of bed at ten the night prior and didn’t go back to sleep until around one in the morning. Will hoped they wouldn’t subject his mum to that.  “Okay,” Eden grumbled.  Lyra kissed her forehead and then Isla’s, and Will leaned over to kiss the top of Eden’s head as he’d kissed Isla’s. He and Lyra were nearly to the door when Isla called for them. They glanced back at her.  “Yes?” Lyra asked.  She was picking at her blanket, her eyes downcast. “I don’t feel well.”  Will stepped back over to the bed and sat. He leaned in and pressed his cheek to her forehead; she didn’t feel feverish.  “What’s wrong? Your belly?”  “No. I just feel…” she trailed off, and her hand went to her heart. Will leaned in and stroked her hair, waiting. “I feel…lonely.”  Will frowned deeply and then turned, looking back at Lyra. She was already walking over to join them. With no prior discussion needed, Lyra climbed beneath the covers on Eden’s side the bed, and Will on Isla’s; they sandwiched their daughters between them and held them close.  “I know it’s difficult,” Will said softly. He knew exactly what Isla meant, what she hadn’t said. “But you’ve got dæmons. They’re with you all the time.”  “That’s more than we can say for our dæmons— they’re off climbing trees or something,” Lyra murmured, her tone teasing and gentle.  “No,” Eden refuted. “It’s not more. It’s not better. Because you can talk to them.”  “And cuddle them,” Isla whispered.  “And people don’t look at you like you’re a huge freak.”  Will met Lyra’s eyes again, his heart heavy. He didn’t know what to say to make this better…because it was awful. And he couldn’t really fix it. And he was doubting that he and Lyra would get to go anywhere tonight now.  “You’re not a freak. Was Henry making you feel that way?”  “No. Josiah.”  Naomi’s three-year-old had been terrified of Isla and Eden at first, but Will didn’t know Isla and Eden noticed it; they’d been chattering on with Naomi, and so he thought they’d missed it. Apparently not.  “He’s just little. He’s not been exposed to people from different worlds before, love,” Lyra explained. “Three year olds are frightened of all sorts of things…things like bathtub drains and thunder and new vegetables…and those things aren’t weird, are they?”  “They’re sort of weird…”  “No! They’re just new things to little ones, and so they’re frightened because of that. Because it’s different.” Eden hid her face against Lyra’s chest, and Isla whispered: “I wish we weren’t different.” The sadness in her voice was distressing. Will would’ve done absolutely anything in the world to make his children happy…but he couldn’t do anything about this. The only way he knew to get them their dæmons was to risk serious pain and trauma (and maybe even death); how could he ever offer something like that to them?  But likewise, how could he not? “It’s sort of a nice thing in our normal world, though, isn’t it?” Lyra tried. “You don’t have to hide a dæmon like your brothers do. We’re only here for a short while; you won’t feel like this forever.” “I think I will,” Isla said, her voice breaking.  “No…no, love. It’ll get easier…it’ll get better,” Lyra soothed.  “When?” Eden demanded. “Because it just gets harder, Mummy.”  Will hugged them closer. “What’s important is that you have each other, and you have your family. Mummy and I love you just the way you are. It’s all going to be okay— I promise.”  For over an hour they held their daughters and talked quietly with them, not wanting to leave until they were certain they were either happy again or asleep. When they finally drifted off, Lyra and Will tiptoed from the bedroom. As soon as they were in the corridor, tears filled Lyra’s eyes. Will knew she’d been holding them back the entire time they were in there, not wanting to upset Queenie and Bunny.  Will pulled her into his arms and looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard against the burning in his own eyes.  “I should’ve crossed over,” Lyra whispered, her voice shaky and distressed. “I could’ve had them here in this world. I should have, Will. I’m so— stupid.”  He often felt sad about the situation their daughters had found themselves in, but he never thought that. Not ever.  “No. It wouldn’t have been safe for you to have them here, Lyra. You had to have them in my world— it was a matter of life or death.”  “You can’t know that.”  “I can so. I’m a fucking doctor,” he said— because he knew it’d make her smile, and it did.  “I just thought…Will, I never imagined this could happen. I really didn’t. I thought they’d have them anyway. God, what are we doing to them? We shouldn’t be here. We should go home. It’s not fair.” She might’ve been right about that. As much as he’d wanted to come, and as much as he wanted to stay (at least for the rest of their scheduled holiday), it was probably cruel to bring Eden and Isla here. They’d been so caught up in the excitement of getting to show their little daughters where their family had lived at the start that they hadn’t fully considered how traumatic it might be for them to be here.  “We’ll ask them if they want to go home in the morning,” Will decided. “And if they say yes, we’ll go.”  Lyra sniffed. She pressed her face against his shoulder, wiping her eyes against his top. “Okay.”  He hugged her. “Do you want to raincheck our night?” “No, I’ll be okay. We should go, especially if this is our last night here,” she said. “But let’s wait a bit just to make sure they’re really asleep.”  They sat out on the deck and looked at the dark sky as for a half-hour or so, making sure Eden and Isla didn’t stir. Will held Lyra and tried his hardest to come up with some sort of solution.  “The witches have a way, don’t they? A ceremony or something?” he asked.  “Yeah…but it’s only for witches. Even their sons can’t take part in it.”  “Maybe they would make an exception. Maybe Serafina would.”  “I don’t think it’s something they can make an exception for. I don’t know if it’d work on someone who’s not a witch.” “We could ask,” Will persisted. Serafina loved Lyra like a sister; surely there was some way she could help them. “It wouldn’t hurt to do that. You’ve still got that little flower, don’t you? In the glass jar. We could call for her.”  “That’s not what that’s meant for,” Lyra said, shaking her head. “I’ll write to her, but that flower is for life-or death.”  Right then, this felt like life-or-death. His children’s happiness and wellbeing always did.  “Hannah and I will spend most of the afternoon tomorrow working on it,” Lyra said. “And I’ll see if Elan wants to help, and Mary. We’ll have a lot more time in this world to do so.”  That was true: back home, her time to study the alethiometer was severely limited, what with work and their family.  “I’ll take the kids to the waterfall so you’ve got no interruptions or distractions,” Will decided. “Elan can choose whether he’d like to stay and help or go with us.”  He’d likely pick to stay and help; he was as obsessed with the alethiometer as Emyr was with the knife.  “Thanks,” Lyra said softly. She kissed his arm. “Do you think it’s safe to leave now?”  “I think so. Let’s check on the others once more before we leave, though.”  They’d told Emyr and Elan—and Vera and Sterling—goodnight before they put Isla and Eden to bed, but enough time had passed between then and now that Will wanted to check on them once more before leaving. He wouldn’t be able to relax tonight if he didn’t know for a fact that they were safe. So they walked back into the house and peeked into the boys’ room, making sure they were safely in bed and sleeping. Emyr was curled on his side, sleeping so deeply his mouth was wide open, and Elan was asleep on his belly. Snuggled beside Elan—to Will’s surprise—was Liefie. Her dark, glossy fur shone in the moonlight streaming in through the parted curtains, and Will looked at Lyra, confused. She shrugged.  They quietly inched the boys’ door shut.  “What’s Liefie doing with Elan?” Will wondered. She slept in Vera’s bed every single night. “I’m going to go and check on Vera and Sterling…you don’t think they’ve snuck out?”  He turned to head towards her bedroom, but Lyra caught his hand and gave him a pointed look. It took him a moment, and then he grimaced.  “Not in our family home,” he complained.  “Why not? We do. And anyway, this is more a ‘holiday home’ than a ‘family home’.” “Ugh,” he said. Lyra smoothed her hands over his shoulders.  “We’re past this, remember? We’re calm about her growing up, and we’re happy she’s confident and making her own choices.”  “We are?”  “We are. But I think you need to hear it all again, so here it goes: she’s in a safe, trusting relationship, she’s got an IUD, and we can’t stop her from growing up.”  “Yes…but…in our house…”  “Where else would you prefer?”  “Nowhere! I prefer nowhere!”  Lyra took his hand and pulled. “C’mon. Let’s go. Leave it be.”  “I need a drink,” he grumbled. Or five.  “Let’s go and take care of that, then. Ooh, we’ve got that nice bottle of whisky at the treehouse. I’ll bet it’s still there.”  That was very good whisky. And it’d be nice to get away, now more than ever.  “Let’s bring a bottle of wine just in case Noah or someone drank it while they were living there, though,” Will said. He looked at her with appreciation. “Good call on the wine suitcase.”  “Oh, you know me and wine. We’re on another level,” she quipped.  He’d like to be on that level right now, because presently, he was not in the mood to do much more than deep clean the kitchen. And there wasn’t even anything to clean, really, having only been here a day. He hoped some fresh air, alone time with Lyra back at their first real family home, and the alcohol would help him relax. Sterling had heard so many stories about the treehouse that it felt larger than life to him, so when they arrived, he was initially surprised by how quaint and primitive it was. He studied the exterior of it, jutting up amongst the dark trees, and then glanced down at his girlfriend. “So you’re like…a pilgrim,” he said, feigning awe. “Or a…what are those people called in America who churn butter and wear those little bonnets?”  “Erm…something with an ‘a’…” she trailed off, thinking.  “Oh! I know! Amish!” Maximus exclaimed excitedly.  “Yes!” Sterling said. He wound his arms around Vera’s waist and swayed them gently from side to side, smiling down at her. “You’re like my little Amish girlfriend who lived in a tree.”  She widened her eyes with sarcastic sweetness. “Yeah? Like a little Amish squirrel?”  He kissed her lips, grinning. “Yes. My eekhorinkie.”  She pressed her hand flat against the small of his back and made a face at him. “If it’s all the same to you, liefling, I prefer Sonneblom.”  He kissed her a final time, laughing as he did, and then he stepped back and headed towards the rope ladder hanging down from the top level.  “Shall we?”  “No! You haven’t seen the kitchen yet!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “The kitchen is the heart of the home.”  He pointed up. “It’s not…?”  “No! Here,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him around the trunk of the tree the treehouse was built in and around; he saw a door, and he realized a room had been built here on the ground around the trunk, so well that it blended in— at least in the dark, anyway.  “Cool,” he appreciated. “Is it locked?”  She reached forward and tried the doorknob. It swung up at once. So no locks, then; that was unthinkable back home.  “Like I said. Like the Amish,” Sterling said, stepping inside.  It was dark; Vera stepped aside and ran her hand along the wall, searching for an odd-looking pewter dial that she ultimately twisted. Light flickered above their heads, and Sterling looked around. The kitchen was delightfully homey; he trailed around it smiling, touching the surfaces fondly as he walked, his heart wide in his chest. It just seemed right. It suited her. It was a home made to safely house laughter and love, not materialistic belongings or status, and Sterling sank down onto the sofa underneath a wide window and beamed.  “Like it?” Vera asked hopefully. She walked over and perched on his lap.  “Love it.” “It’s no Clifton mansion.”  “You’re right. It’s better,” he said, kissing her. She turned in his lap to face him, her legs wrapping around his waist and her hands cradling his face; he pushed his hands up the back of her shirt and stroked up and down her back.  “What’s your— favorite— part?” she asked between kisses.  “This,” he answered, pressing a hand to her lower back and pressing her closer.  She pulled back and looked at him. She gently thumped his shoulder. “About the kitchen, Sterling.”  “I know. This,” he said, patting emphatically at the sofa. “A sofa in a kitchen. I’ve never seen it before. It’s a game changer.”  She laughed brightly and leaned in, pressing her lips to his neck and scooting her body even closer to his.  “It’s sort of necessary if you’ve got a small kid,” she murmured between kisses. Her hand was playing in his hair as she kissed his neck, and shut his eyes, pleasure coursing through him. “I napped here most the time.”  “Makes sense,” he agreed, his voice a bit distracted and absent; she’d worked her hand up his shirt and was rubbing his chest. “It’d be dangerous to carry a toddler up the ladder.”  “Speaking of danger,” she said, “please don’t fall and break your arm this time.”  He scoffed. “That was one time…I’ve been up and down the treehouse back home at least twice daily since then!”  “True, but let’s be extra careful…we wouldn’t want our night ruined.”  “Fuck no, we wouldn’t,” he agreed.  He was beginning to wonder if she intended to have sex right here, but after a few more moments of kissing and touching, she slid off his lap.  “Okay,” she said. She gathered her curly waist-length hair in her hands and twisted it up into a bun, securing it with a tie she kept on her left wrist just beneath her charm bracelet. Sterling felt arousal shoot through him, so intense that it was almost painful. “Up we go.”  “Up is not a problem.”  She was laughing as she grabbed onto his waist and leaned into him, causing him to stagger as he walked toward the door.  “Race you,” she whispered suddenly, and then— before he could say a thing— she was bolting for the rope ladder. “And you’ve got to figure out which room is mine to find me!”  She scaled the ladder in record time and disappeared into the canopy. Sterling felt a sudden sharp weight on his shoulder, and he reached up, fondly stroking Maximus’s back. He smiled at him.  “Is it cheating if you help me?” he wondered.  “No way! It’s just leveling the playing field,” Maximus insisted. “I’ll meet you at the top.”  He flew up to perch on the deck railing, and Sterling climbed carefully up the ladder. Once he’d made it to the top, Max returned to his previous perch on Sterling’s shoulder.  “It’s sort of like…a web,” Sterling commented, peering at the moonlit walkways connecting different enclosed rooms. “Which way do I go?”  “Direct route or scenic route?”  “I do enjoy the scenic route,” Sterling admitted.  “Then this way,” Maxie smiled, pointing towards the door closest to the landing.  He entered a sitting room, and Max flew around ahead of him, showing him different “photograms” and trinkets and such. Sterling perched on the end of an ottoman made of dark velvet, taking the room in. He liked the bookshelves built along the far wall, the little padded window seat, the plush rug in front of the sofa… He spotted something on the wall and stood, walking over to examine it. He grinned and reached up, touching the framed drawing. It was done in colored ink, each line shaky and childish and charming. A lush garden with an eclectic assortment of different colored blooms, and three little stick figures standing in it.  “Will and Kirjava,” Sterling said, pointing at the tallest stick figure and the small animal-looking blob by his feet. He had a stethoscope drawn on him. “Lyra and Pan.” Lyra’s stick figure had golden hair, and Pan was in a tree. “And you and Vera.” She’d drawn herself in a yellow dress, and Max was a blue blob floating beside her head, clearly meant to be a bird.  “She never said she was an artist,” Maxie teased.  “I love it,” Sterling smiled. He touched the bottom right corner, where she’d written her name.  “Ready for the next room?”  “Lead the way.”  Back into the night, across a short wooden bridge, into another room. This room was a bit confusing: there were a desk and other items that belonged to a study, but there was also a single bed shoved along a far wall. But no Vera, so this wasn’t her room.  “Who slept here?”  “I dunno— the bed is new,” Max admitted. “Naomi and Noah stayed here with some friends for a spell.”  Sterling lingered by the desk, smiling at a framed photo of Will and Lyra holding chubby baby Vera somewhere snowy. She had a head of dark curls and a smile that lit up the world. Some things never changed. “Ready?”  “Yep,” Sterling said, setting the photo back down.  Another bridge, another door. This time, they were in a bedroom, and Sterling’s heart rate increased automatically before he realized Vera wasn’t here, either. That meant one thing.  “Lyra and Will’s,” he surmised.  “Yes.”  Even though they hadn’t lived here for ages, Sterling felt weird about inspecting their private space, and so he skated his eyes once over the light blue duvet and the handsome furniture, and then he followed Max to a door in the back of the room.  “Another bridge?”  “You’re catching on,” Maxie teased. “But, just so you know: Vera’s in there.” He nodded to the right, indicating a door Sterling hadn’t noticed until now; there was a strip of light beneath it.  “Bedroom?”  “Bathroom. We’ll wait for her in here,” Max said, nodding towards the back door. “This is our last stop.”  Sterling took in a deep breath, hoping to settle the pounding of his heart. Embarrassingly enough, he felt a bit weak in the knees, but he tried to mask it.  “Okay.”  He followed Vera’s dæmon through the door. This bridge was covered whereas the others were open to the night sky; it gave Sterling the feeling of being in a tunnel. Max turned the lights on, illuminating the narrow, enclosed space, and then he perched on Sterling’s arm.  “Right ahead,” he said.  There was a single door at the end of the bridge. Sterling turned the doorknob and stepped into a tiny room. The lights were already on, and the bag they’d brought was sitting atop a little lavender desk. There were adorable drawings and pieces of writing tacked to the wall above the desk, and framed photos scattered about. And a double bed. Sterling sat on the end of it, stroking the duvet. The embroidery pattern made him smile: there were little silver polar bears scattered over the pale blue cotton, and the theme was so antithetical to the island setting that he laughed and touched it questioningly.  “Polar bears?”  “Panserbjørne,” Max explained. He hopped across the mattress, coming to perch on Sterling’s knee. “Like Iorek.”  “Lyra’s dad,” Sterling said, recognizing the name.  “In every way that matters, yes.”  It might’ve once been odd to wrap his head around that— Vera Parry’s mother having a talking polar bear as a father— but knowing the Parrys had drastically widened his perspective on everything. Nothing really fazed him much anymore. If anything, normalcy seemed strange now.  He reached down to stroke Maximus’s feathers, thinking of that…being normal. And for the first time since arriving on the island, he felt his heart grow weighty in his chest.  “Max?” Maximus looked up at him. “Hmm?”  He was afraid to ask. He was afraid not to. The things Gloria had said to him that afternoon in the garden had been weighing on him since.  “Do you…” he began, trailing off. “I mean, when Vera and I are together…do you feel…lonely?”  The question wrenched Sterling’s heart, because if Max said yes— what did that mean for him and Vera? If her soul was always lonely and longing and lost when they were together, could he ever really make her happy? He wanted to make her happy so much that he could’ve cried from the intensity of his longing. Were they doomed, no matter how much he wanted her, no matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he was willing to try or how much he was willing to give up? Were they doomed because of something that wasn’t even his fault, something he couldn’t control?  He’d never had something so good in his life, and if he could’ve cupped their relationship in his hands like some tangible, physical thing, he would’ve held it and kept it safe forever. But was it fair to do so if he couldn’t ever give her what she needed? Maybe Gloria had been right, after all. Maybe he was out of his depth and all he was doing was stealing firsts from a girl who deserved so much better than him.  Maximus looked at him with surprise. “Lonely?” Sterling nodded, too upset to say anything else. He felt sick from it.  “No,” Max whispered, his voice bursting with emotion. He shifted up Sterling’s forearm so he could stand in the crook of his elbow and lean against his bicep. He nuzzled his face against Sterling’s skin, and Sterling felt a confusing tangle of affection and grief and arousal. “I don’t feel like that, Sterling. I feel good. When you two are together— I’m so happy. Because she’s happy. I’m Vera, and she’s me.”  “But…if I had a dæmon—” “You do have a dæmon,” Maximus corrected.  “If I had one out here, one that you could touch…”  Maximus understood what he was asking, thankfully, and he considered it.  “I’ve asked Pan about it— what we do— dæmons, I mean,” Max said. “And he says that dæmons participate in the emotional part of it all while their humans are engaging in the physical. I mean— they interact with the other person’s dæmon, of course, but how they interact varies depending on the humans’ relationship. It’s an extension of, not an addition to.”  Sterling sort of understood. “So if two people who didn’t particularly care for each other were having sex, their dæmons would probably…ignore each other?”  “Yeah. Or wait impatiently for it to be over. Or perhaps complain aloud, if they’re particularly unhappy with the pairing and feel like it’s wrong for them. Or even fight each other, if the dislike runs that deep.” “And if it’s two people who really love each other…what would their dæmons do?”  “Cuddle and stroke and nuzzle, talk and laugh and play—  they’d seek closeness, in whichever manner they prefer it.” “An extension of the human relationship.”  “Yes,” Max confirmed.  Sterling touched his wing gently, his fingers brushing his brilliant blue and green feathers. They always made him think of the sea.  “So is there a lack?” he asked quietly, still looking at Maximus’s wing. “Is there something missing for you because of me? Are you happy?”  Maximus was quiet for a moment. He stepped over onto Sterling’s lap and walked up so he could lean against his chest, and he pressed his beak gently over Sterling’s heart.  “You know that feeling you get right here, when your heart is so wide and so full of love that you could cry? Intense, aching, desperate love?”  He did. He felt it every single time he made Vera smile or laugh.  “Yes. Definitely.”  “Sterling…that’s your dæmon. That’s what she feels— that’s what she’s feeling. That’s what I feel.”  That statement made his heart jump. He looked at Maximus with wonder. “Really?”  “Yes. And one day, when your dæmon is outside of you, I’ll have the pleasure and the privilege of getting to cuddle with her and talk to her. Of course I want that. But do you know what I want even more than that?”  “What?”  “For us— Vera and I— to be with you forever. I don’t feel lonely or slighted, Sterling— I feel lucky. Lucky that we’re loved by you, and lucky to get to love.”  His eyes burned with tears. He wrapped his arms gently around Max, hugging him, and that pressure in his heart— that love that his dæmon felt, too— swelled so much that it nearly choked him.  “Good,” he finally said, his voice thick. “Because I was so worried that I was being unfair to you by being with Vera. That you felt bored or uncomfortable or…out of place.”  “Do you think Vera feels bored or uncomfortable or out of place when you’re together?”  “No,” Sterling said at once, certain.  “Then I don’t feel that way.”  He nodded and smiled, and he felt so relieved that he laughed. “Thank God. I’m so glad, Max.”  “I’m glad that you asked me,” Max said, nuzzling over Sterling’s heart again. “I’ll bet you were really worried about it.”  “I was,” he admitted. So worried that he’d guarded the fear from Vera’s mind any time they double-kissed, afraid to bring it to light— afraid of what he might see once it was. But he’d been afraid for nothing. “I want to be so good to you both. I want it so much. And tonight, Max…I don’t want to hurt her.”  He’d been traumatized by something Johan had told him about the first time he had sex. It’d been his partner’s first time, too, and he said she’d actually cried from the pain. Sterling had never felt as repulsed and horrified as he’d felt when he’d heard that, and he’d asked Johan, well, what were you doing to her?! Were you listening to her? And Johan had said yes, that he was, but it was just like that for girls the first time, and there was no way around it.  What a hopeless feeling he’d felt then— to think that hurting someone he never wanted to hurt ever again was inevitable.  He shared all of that with Max now, needing to voice it all. As he did so, he had the strangest feeling for a brief moment; he felt like that part of him in his chest, that deep and tender part that he now understood was his dæmon, was really speaking, and that his soul and Vera’s were somehow touching despite the barriers between them… “Oh, Sterling,” Maximus said, once Sterling finished. “No. Also, Johan is a prick out of bed, so I’m sure he’s a prick in it, too. Vera’s going to tell you if something doesn’t feel good— you know that. Hasn’t she always?”  She had; she was great at giving feedback, often immediately and bluntly— Sterling loved that and relied on that. It made him feel confident and relaxed, knowing that he couldn’t really misstep. But the inevitable way Johan had worded it had frightened him, and he didn’t know if there was some truth to it, if Vera would keep quiet and grit her teeth through it just accepting that it had to be that way. Because he didn’t want it to be that way. Not even once.   “You’d tell me, too, wouldn’t you?” Sterling asked Max. “If she was in pain?”  “Are you kidding? I’d divebomb you!”  Sterling laughed loudly. He felt intensely better; there’s no way he’d miss a giant ass parrot flying into his face. “Good. Please do!”  “I so would! But it’s not going to be like that for us; I’m certain of it. You know, you’re more nervous than she is. And it’s very cute.”  Sterling tugged gently on Max’s wing. “Great. Just what I want to be right before I have sex…cute.”  “Cute and sexy,” Max amended. “You know she thinks that.”  “I know,” Sterling said. He was prouder of that than anything else; the fact that she wanted and desired him was the greatest flattery there was. “Thanks, Max.”  “Any time. All the time,” Max said, his voice infused with warmth. He pecked gently at Sterling’s shirt. “You know, I haven’t seen her, but I’ve seen her. Do you know what I mean?”  “I think so,” Sterling said.  He appeared suddenly bashful. “In my head…I’ve been calling her Noelani. Is that all right?”  Warmth burst through Sterling’s chest, and he laughed. “Sure. You can call her whatever you’d like.”  “All right,” Maximus smiled.  Sterling looked at the doorway, wondering now what was taking Vera so long. “Should I go and check on her?”  “She’s coming. She could tell we were having a moment— she was waiting.”  Sterling raised his voice so Vera could hear him from the bathroom. “I MISS YOU, EEKHORINKIE…”  He heard her laughter all the way from the bathroom, and he and Max shared a smile. Lyra and Will drew to a sudden stop at the same time. Pan bristled with surprise.  “Erm…what the hell?” he demanded, his eyes on the illuminated treehouse. “Who’s in our house?!”  Lyra frowned and looked up at Will, who looked down at her with the same expression. Kirjava slinked closer to investigate, staying low to the ground, pouncing over ruts in the path and large rocks; she disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and then she came walking calmly out. She rejoined them.  “Lyra, remember when you wouldn’t let us knock on Vera’s bedroom door?”  “Yes…”  “If we had, we’d have known she wasn’t in there.” It took both Lyra and Will a moment, and then they looked at each other, mouths agape.  “She snuck out?!” Will demanded.  “She took our idea!”  Will gestured furiously at the treehouse. “This is literally our family home! She learned to walk up there!”  Lyra shook her head and crossed her arms. “We definitely had this idea first.”  “Pan, Kirjava, what do we do?” Will demanded.  Pan and Kirjava had a silent conversation through eye contact, and then they looked back at Will.  “Find a sturdy bench,” Kirjava quipped.  “Open the wine,” Pan said.  Will looked back at the treehouse. “And just leave them up there?”  “Er, yes. I’m not going up there,” Kirjava said. “They got there first. Fair’s fair.”  “It is our treehouse, though…” Lyra mused, feeling a bit put out.  “Hers, too,” Kirjava said. She brushed between Lyra’s ankles. “There’s that bench on that rocky beach about a twenty-minute walk to the north, there’s our bench further down the path— but it’s fairly close to the house—or there’s always the beach.”  Will heaved a deep sigh, one Lyra mirrored.  “Give me the wine,” Will said. Lyra passed him the bottle. He looked at it in the moonlight, and then he said: “Oh, it’s got a twist-top. Nice.”  “What’d I say? One with the wine,” Lyra muttered. She waited until he took a drink, and then she took the bottle from him, taking her own sip. “Mm. It’s good.”  “Yes. Bench or beach?”  “Bench. Christ.” She shook her head incredulously as they walked away from the treehouse. “What’s that they say about the apple and the tree?”  “You know exactly what they say.” He sighed again. “I guess, actually, this is better. We don’t have to worry about Emyr walking in on them if they’re here.”  “That’s true,” Lyra agreed. “I was just looking forward to, you know, having an actual bed. We’ll have to go home now; we can’t really sleep outside on a bench…hey! What about Malcolm’s old house? Is anyone staying there?”  “Not that I know of…but didn’t it have a leaky roof or something?”  Lyra looked up pointedly. “I don’t see any rain, do you?”  He took another swig from the wine bottle. “I guess we can try it, but if we smell mildew, we’ll probably need to go back home.”  They walked on, passing the bottle back and forth.  “God,” Lyra groaned. “We’re old, Will.”  “I’ve never felt older in my life,” he agreed. “We’re supposed to be the ones having nighttime rendezvous in treehouses.”  “Seems like time should’ve just stopped in…” she trailed off, thinking. “2018.”  “When you were pregnant?!”  “Fuck no!” That’d been horrible. She’d been so physically uncomfortable, and she couldn’t have sex. “The end of 2018. Vera was eight— still little, but precociously clever and hilarious— and our boys were two and our girls were sweet, pudgy little babies with those precious doughy fists…”  Will was quiet. When Lyra glanced up at him, he looked deeply wistful. “Yeah. That’d be nice. Did we appreciate what we had enough when we had it?”  “I think so…if it’s possible to have appreciated it enough.” Lyra threw her head back and groaned up to the sky. Why did everything have to change all the time?  “Well,” she finally said, taking the bottle from Will. She held it up to the universe. “Mazel tov, Akka. Congrats on the Dust.”  And maybe it was the wine, or the contentment she felt in that warm, tropical air with her hand in Will’s, but she could’ve sworn that the stars were shining just a bit brighter. In the end, there was nothing to be afraid of at all. There was only love.  Tenderness and laughter and whispering; her inviting him into her body, and him inviting her into his mind. A deep mingling of pleasure and sensation, of emotion and intimacy, that changed things— that changed them. He’d always found the phrase ‘making love’ soppy, out-dated, and unnecessarily euphemistic. But that night, up in the trees on that tiny little island in a world that was not his own, he came to understand that it was the only way to describe what they’d done. Sex was commonplace; fucking was vulgar; intercourse was cold. What they’d done was more than that. (There was so much he’d never known before tonight.) All his fears from before quickly crumbled to dust as soon as they were together. She whispered with him and guided him every step of the way, and he let his tenderness lead him in all things. There was deep passion in each careful touch and kiss, love in every question and pause. And it was so much better than he’d ever imagined it could be. He was, after all, in love with a girl who could feel everything that he felt, who could enjoy every bit of pleasure with him as he felt it— as well as feel her own at the same time— and so all his fretting about her not enjoying it had been laughably unwarranted. It was a perfect, never-ending circle: the more she enjoyed herself, the more he enjoyed himself; the more pleasure that he felt, the more she did in turn. And around and around they went.  And afterwards, it felt like the world had shifted slightly, like he’d sunk further into himself; he held her damp, trembling body and whispered terms of endearment he’d never used before, realizing just then that he was the type of person to use them. Darling, love, liefling, skatjie, engel, hartlam. Sonneblom, sonneblom, sonneblom. He hadn’t known himself ’til now.  She lay draped over him for a long while, smiling against his chest as he murmured to her and stroked her tangled hair.  “I know what to do now,” she whispered. “I know exactly what comes next. Everything is— it’s so clear, liefling. You’ve made it clear.”  He was so content and relaxed that he didn’t feel even a twinge of fear, even though he knew she was talking about the Church.  “I’ll be with you, right?” That’s all that mattered to him.  “You’ll be with me forever.”  Down to hell, into the flames, into his own grave— he’d follow her anywhere.

After spending a day mounted, riding circles and aiming his lance at a dented shield propped up for training, Jon took his and Barristan’s horses back to the stables. When he rushed back to Barristan he found the old knight walking with princess Myrcella on her way to the garden. He noticed her slight pout disappeared when she spotted him, flashing him a quick smile before lowering her eyes as Jon fell into place behind her, beside Barristan. “Thank you, Ser Jon,” she said when he dug out a place for a new plant she’d been gifted. “I’m no Ser yet, princess,” he said with a smile. “And yet it’s you who offers to save his princess from being dirtied,” she said with a playful glare toward Barristan. The old knight chuckled. “Leave kneeling in dirt and rocks to the young. My knees only have so many years left to them.” “It’s a beautiful flower,” he said looking to the pale white petals. “It’s a Moonbloom from Oldtown,” she said placing it into the earth. “It was an early nameday gift from Uncle Tyrion.” “Your nameday?” Jon asked with a glance to Barristan, who wore a slight frown. “Mmhmm,” she nodded, looking up to Jon. “It’s in almost a month, but he wasn’t sure he’ll be here then so brought it now.” Jon nodded, letting her return to replanting the flower. The weeks leading up to Joffrey’s nameday it was all anyone heard about as entertainers were brought from every kingdom and across the sea, yet Jon hadn’t heard anything about Myrcella’s nameday. Thinking back, he hadn’t heard anything of Tommen’s either, and he’d been in King’s Landing almost a year. Jon suddenly found himself feeling bad for the princess, more so than he did in those little moments where he pitied her having to deal with Joffrey. He could understand his nameday being ignored, he was a bastard, but she was a beautiful princess. She deserved the attention more than her pompous prick brother. It wouldn’t be much, but Jon decided then that once he was through for the day he would go back to his room and write a letter to Robb asking him to send a Winter Rose from Winterfell’s glass garden. He could say he wanted a reminder of the North, saying he feels like he’s missing home was better than risking Robb teasing him, thinking him fool enough to dream of charming the princess. Robb would ask if he thought himself Theon pining for Sansa, but he simply felt bad for a girl who seemed abandoned by her family even on the day she should be celebrated. In his chambers Jon gathered the bundle of letters he had from the Starks, held in a box he hid away in his room. Months ago when he first placed the box he noticed slight shifts in it’s position whenever he went to read his letters so took to burning any that he wanted to keep private, so there were less than there could be. He felt a paranoid fool, but he knew that in a place like King’s Landing someone would surely find some interest even in the details of Arya’s prolonged and failed war of silence against Sansa. They couldn’t exactly send a potted Winter Rose by raven, but Robb wrote that he found a merchant to carry it with him to King’s Landing on a boat from White Harbor. Arya wrote the most, though Robb was a close second, each demanding all he could tell of his training. He could have sent them each scrolls of parchment detailing every move in every match and they would still want more. Jon felt a hint of pride in the jealousy he noted in their letters. For once he had something Robb wanted. Jon had been surprised Sansa wrote at all. While not as much as the others, her desire for information on King’s Landing drove her quill. Jon made sure not to spare any detail, telling her of the beauty of Blackwater Bay, of the abundance of people and hints of foreign cultures he noticed in Flea Bottom, of the constant stench through half the city, of how Joffrey looked down on people, of how he once saw the crown prince chase stray cats, stepping on their tails and laughing as they cried in pain. He might have wrung the prince’s neck if not for Barristan stopping him, frowning and reminding Jon it wasn’t their place to correct the prince. He felt bad for how heartbroken she seemed, but he thought it better than feeding her lies of gallant knights. The only ones close to that he’d seen were Barristan and Loras, Jaime also had his moments, but even the other kingsguard were nothing like the stories they’d heard. Bran wrote occasionally, sometimes in Arya’s handwriting and with little notes from her added on to his when she checked them over for him. Jon told him of how hard being a squire was, but said he was glad he was chosen to squire to Ser Barristan as he is a true knight, one of the best in Westeros. Part of Jon hoped Bran might take his place as Ser Barristan’s squire, but if not he hoped that when the time came he could ask Loras if he himself wasn’t knighted. The only other one he received letters from was Eddard, which others noted was more than he ever actually wrote to the king, but even that was less than any of his siblings. Jon found himself looking forward to his letters less than the others as they were often just checking up on him with brief assurances that Winterfell was fine. It made Jon question how close he actually was with his father, how much he truly knew of the man. At times Jon felt like he knew more about King Robert than he did the man who raised him. At least he knew who likely father Robert’s bastards. Robb sent another letter telling Jon the merchant had made it to White Harbor and would arrive on a boat called the Crimson Crow. The problem was he never said when it would arrive, only that the merchants name was Jorgan. With no way of knowing how soon they would arrive, and princess Myrcella’s nameday nearing, Jon took to traveling to the River Gate every day and checking which ships had arrived. He did it enough that it was only after three days that a gold cloak grabbed his shoulder. “What are you doing here boy?” The man asked, his black breastplate ornamented with four golden disks telling Jon he was the gate’s captain. His gaze narrowed slightly as he looked on Jon’s face. “You’re Barristan’s boy, aren’t you?” “His squire,” Jon corrected as the guard released him. The man laughed. “Ah, that’s right. Lord Snow.” Jon sighed at the name that others had taken to calling him. He was positive one of the kingsguard had been the first to use it, but couldn’t remember. “What is it has you coming here every day?” “My family sent me a gift,” Jon explained, “but they only told me the man carrying it would arrive on a ship called the Crimson Crow. They never said when, only the man’s name.” The guard sighed. “Fine. Tell me his name and when he comes I’ll send an urchin to fetch you.” “Truly?” “His name,” the goldcloak said with a nod. “Jorgan,” said Jon. “And yours?” “Tobas Maller,” the captain said with a nod. “Thank you,” Jon gave the man a quick nod before turning and hurrying back to the Red Keep. Weeks passed as Jon fell back into his routine, pushing himself as hard as he could yet fighting off the urge to go check on the docks. Part of him worried it had already arrived and Tobas, upon finding it was a flower and not something he could pawn, tossed it into the river. Instead he was training with Barristan one morning when one of the Red Keep’s guard approached. “Lord Snow,” the man called out with a smirk, “some urchin says your ship has come.” The slight glare Barristan shot the man eased when he looked to Jon with a smile, seeing the boy perk up. He looked ready to run off, but stopped himself. Before he could tell the guard to send the urchin away with a message, Barristan waved a hand. “Go get your gift,” the man said with a laugh. “Thank you, Ser,” Jon said, giving the man a quick bow before tossing the blunted sword in the barrel and rushing to leave. Barristan watched the boy depart with a somber smile. Jon had told him of his plan, and though he feared the boy may risk becoming too attached to the princess, he knew Jon would never do anything improper. He also knew the girl would appreciate the gift. She wasn’t ignored by any means, but she and Tommen never got as many gifts as Joffrey, and those they did were clearly meant more as signs of the giver’s wealth or an attempt to gain the royal family’s favor. There was no consideration for the princess in her gifts, no thought of what she would like apart from uncles and some of the guards who got her little flowers, gardening supplies and the like to help grow her solace within the keep. Jon rushed through the River Gate connecting the Fishmonger’s Square and wharfs of the Blackwater Rush. After a moment he found the gate captain stood with a man leading a cart loaded with goods. “Lord Snow,” Tobas called out. “Your name’s Jorgan?” He asked as Jon came to stand with them. “That is is,” the older man nodded. “You’re Jon Snow? Son of Eddard Stark?” “I am,” Jon nodded. “Brother to Robb.” “His son gave me this for you,” Jorgan said turning around and digging into his cart before removing a pot holding a small bush with five pale blue winter roses. Jon took the pot and handed the man a silver piece. “Thank you.” “Thank you, Lord Snow,” the man said innocently using the name Tobas had earlier before taking his cart away. Jon sighed as Tobas chuckled. “You came here every day for flowers?” “They’re not for me,” Jon assured. “A girl then,” Tobas said with a nod. “Well, good luck, friend.” Jon gave him a nod and turned to leave, but as he did saw a man rush toward Tobas and thrust a dagger into the goldcloak’s neck. The captain choked on the blade as it was ripped out and thrust at him again, but stopped inches from his face. Tobas stumbled back as the attacker turned and found Jon holding his wrist in his right hand and his potted flowers in his left arm. While Tobas fell to the ground clutching his leaking neck, Jon thrust his boot down on the attacker’s leg, forcing him to take a knee. It was then the raggedy man tried to hit Jon between the legs, yanking his right hand free from Jon’s grip. In that moment the man swung the dagger down, slashing across Jon’s left thigh as he thrust his right boot into the man’s jaw. While Jon yelled and stumbled back, turning to press his right hand over the wound on his leg, the raggedy attacker turned and started to scurry away. It was only a moment later three gold cloaks arrived and thrust two swords through the man’s back while another checked on Tobas, who had bled out. “Shit,” Jon said when he tried to walk but winced in pain the moment he put weight on his left leg. The guards kept him for a moment, but thankfully others rushed in to say he’d tried to help. However once they realized who he was, the guards sent a man to get Barristan to retrieve him. Jon wore a frown as he watched Barristan come through the River Gate and lowered his gaze. He couldn’t stand to look at the Lord Commander and see the man’s disappointment when he saw Jon sat on the ground meters from a pair of corpses with blood dripping through the fingers clutched around the slash in his thigh while holding the potted flowers in his right arm. Hearing the clink of armor as the man took a knee, Jon glanced up to find Barristan in front of him. “Are you okay, Jon?” Jon nodded. “I’m sorry, Ser Barristan.” “Sorry?” Barristan asked with a laugh. “For what? Being slashed? Trying to stop a murderer?” “I almost let him get away,” Jon said shaking his head. “If I’d been paying more attention I might have stopped him from killing Tobas.” Barristan’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. “This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t know some madman would slay the captain. He was probably some fool who felt wronged. You couldn’t have known.” “You would have,” Jon said looking to the old knight. “You would have seen him coming, but I was so…” He sighed, looking at the winter roses. “I tried to stop him but I kept holding these. As if they matter. As if sh-” He stopped himself, shaking his head, glancing at the wound on his thigh, taking a shaky breath. “What if it’s too deep?” A solemn smile took Barristan’s lips, his sapphire eyes taking in the boy before brushing away his left hand. “Let me see.” Once he moved the handkerchief tied over the wound and could look at the cut he saw it surely must have hurt and would require some stitches, but didn’t look too bad. “Have you tried walking on it?” “It hurts.” “I’d imagine.” Barristan sighed, sliding his arm under Jon’s to help the boy stand. “We’ll wash it and stitch it once we’re back at the keep. You’ll be hobbled for a fortnight I’d guess.” “What?” Jon asked as Barristan helped him start toward the gate. “Be thankful for that,” Barristan said with a smile. “It could have hit the wrong spot and drained you as fast as the captain or left you without the leg.” Jon didn’t mind the sting as Barristan washed and closed the wound as much as the idea of being unable to move properly for two weeks. Thankfully he wasn’t bedridden, just unable to take to the yard as he had before. That didn’t excuse him from his training though. Instead, Jon found himself focusing more on riding and wielding a lance. Though he didn’t need to, Loras offered to join Jon since they couldn’t spar as they did most days. His friendship with Loras had been the oddest thing Jon found in King’s Landing. The Tyrell was the opposite of Jon in many ways, though the largest was what Jon suspected but would never reveal. He’d noticed little things about the squire, how he feigned interest in the women who adored him yet would flash certain smiles toward Lord Renly. Jon had been shocked to find the man was even his opposite in whom he wished to bed, but he’d fought him for months and spoken to him enough to know he was a decent man. He doubted he was the only one to suspect as much, but no one said anything, and Jon knew if they had he would deny it and spare the men any shame that might be cast upon them. Who he bedded didn’t matter half as much as who he was, and Jon found though arrogant, hot blooded and glory hungry at times, Loras was better than most in King’s Landing. The first night after he returned from the River Gate Jon was sought out by Jon Arryn and King Robert, who brought Pycelle to check his wound. “It’s nothing, your grace,” Jon assured. “I’ve seen many a man die from nothing, Snow,” Robert said with a firm nod. Pycelle had him pull down his breeches and adjust his small clothes to reveal the cut across his thigh. “Stitched well enough. Was it cleaned?” “Ser Barristan washed it once we got back from the Mud Gate,” Jon nodded. “Hm,” the old maester nodded. “It should be enough to stand on in a fortnight, maybe less if you heal well. There might be pain for a sennight or so after, but it will fade.” “Will it scar?” asked Jon Arryn. “Not if it’s properly cared for,” Pycelle said looking to Jon. “I’ll bring some ointment to coat it in when you wake and before you sleep. If it does scar it will be light enough no one would notice.” He gave the boy a pat on his knee as he stood and turned to leave, stepping past the King and his Hand. “What were you doing at the Mud Gate, Jon?” asked Jon Arryn. Jon glanced at the king, worrying he might take the truth the wrong way, but deciding it was better than risking them already knowing or finding out after. He could tell them a version of the truth at least. “I heard princess Myrcella’s nameday was coming up and felt bad that I couldn’t afford a proper gift, so asked Robb to send me winter roses from Winterfell’s glass garden. He sent them with a merchant, so I went to meet him when some man in rags attacked the gate captain. Stabbed him in the throat and when I tried to stop him I still had the pot in my arm so couldn’t fight properly and he cut me.” “A gift for Myrcella?” Robert said arching his brow. Jon felt a hint of heat in his neck. “I know it’s late but I only found out a moon before. Ser Barristan said the guards get her gifts so I thought it expected of me.” Jon Arryn’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curving into a knowing smile while Robert laughed. “A true knight in the making,” the king said with a fond smile. “I’ll gather a reward for you.” “But I failed to stop him, your grace. It was the gold cloaks who caught him.” “Aye, but they didn’t get cut doing so,” Robert said with a grin. “And maybe you can use the reward to buy your next gift instead of risking another scar.” While Robert departed to go gather a purse for him, Jon Arryn excused himself from the king and stepped into Jon’s room, closing the door behind him and pulling over the chair from the small desk against the wall opposite his bed. “You know it can never be,” Lord Arryn said with a frown. Jon sighed and shook his head. “It’s not like that, my lord. I-” He glanced at the closed door, leaning forward slightly and frowning. “I felt bad. They seem to ignore her nameday yet Joffrey’s was a court affair.” Lord Arryn was shocked that he could be wrong, sitting back with an understanding, somber nod. “I know. I fear the queen dotes on the crown prince too much at times, leaving the others to themselves. Though… I’m not certain that’s such a tragedy.” Jon chuckled at the man’s conspiratorial tone. “I wouldn’t know much, my lord. Her grace feels my presence beneath her so requests other kingsguards or has Ser Barristan send me away when he is assigned to her.” The old man smirked at him and Jon sat back, fixing his breeches. “The princess seemed so happy with the flower Lord Tyrion got her, I thought she’d like one of the North as well.” Eyeing the boy, Jon Arryn wondered if maybe he hadn’t been wrong after all, just had noticed something even the boy hadn’t. Then again maybe it was his age driving him to see things that weren’t there, like the golden children born to the ebony king. “When will you gift it to her?” Lord Arryn asked. “I’m already late for her nameday,” Jon frowned. “I can’t decide if I should just give it to her on the morrow or wait until I can stand on my own.” Lord Arryn glanced to the potted rose bush sat beside Jon’s bed and smiled. “Perhaps it would be best to do so quickly, or else you may have been injured for dead flowers.” Days later Myrcella had excused her handmaiden before returning to her mirror to adjust her hair and pat her lips to look as full as possible. With a final check she took a breath and left to find Ser Barristan stood outside her door alone. She blinked in surprise, glancing along the corridor for Jon. Many had taken to calling him Selmy’s Shadow for his dark hair and clothes as much as his ever following the guard, yet he was nowhere to be found. “Ser Barristan,” she asked the older knight as she walked toward her garden. “Where is your squire?” “He was injured, your grace.” Myrcella gasped and stopped to turn on Barristan. “What? When?” “Four days ago, at the River Gate,” he explained. “He tried to stop a murderer and was cut across the leg.” Seeing her eyes widen in concern, Barristan smiled. “He’s fine, your grace. He just won’t be as quick as he normally is for a few days.” Myrcella frowned, but nodded and turned to continue along her path. Part of her wanted to ask where Jon was and go check on him herself, but she knew she shouldn’t. And yet she could only smile when they came to her garden and she found Jon stood there, leaning slightly to the right to keep weight off his left leg. “Jon,” she called out, picking up her pace to reach him. “You had me worried.” “I’m sorry, princess,” he said with a laugh, “but even if it’s late for your nameday hopefully this will make up for it.” She watched him turn and lift a pot housing a bush of roses the color of frost, looking as though they might freeze her fingers when she carefully brushed them against the petals. “They’re winter roses,” Jon said with a smile. “Straight from Winterfell’s glass garden. Well, from there to White Harbor and then a boat here.” Myrcella chuckled along with him as he spoke, but then she pieced together what he said. “Wait, was this why you were on at the River Gate?” Jon’s brow furrowed, glancing to Barristan, who’s brow rose in surprise at her deduction. “No,” Jon said shaking his head, “I had these before that, but I got along with the captain and…” Jon saw her pout as he lied and sighed. “It was my fault. Please, don’t blame yourself princess.” Myrcella saw he already blamed himself, and decided she wouldn’t do the same. Instead she took the potted bush and sniffed a rose, smiling as she looked to Jon. “Can you still help me, or should we make Ser Barristan put his old knees to the test?” Relieved, Jon nodded. “I’ll help.” “Perhaps they should call you the flower knight,” Myrcella teased as she walked past Jon, who chuckled and shook his head. “I fear Loras’ wrath if I take his epithet.” “At least wait until you can stand properly to tell him you’ve claimed his title,” Myrcella said with a laugh as she sank to her knees and watched Jon kneel beside her and start digging where she pointed. Barristan watched the princess as she looked upon Jon, her eyes holding tenderness he doubted existed within her mother. Once again Barristan found himself feeling sorry a man who put his life on the line giving winter roses to the girl he adored.

After Sumo was satiated and willing to actually release Connor from the ground, the android followed Hank inside and trailed the man as he moved toward the living room, letting his gaze flit over the familiar setting and doing his best not to analyze everything he laid eyes on. The TV was still on and playing softly, a habit Connor had learned Hank had set in place to keep Sumo from getting too lonely while he was away. The screen cast an unnatural glow over the carpeted floor below, staining everything it touched an eerie blue that reminded Connor of thirium a little bit more than he would like and vicariously, himself hunched over a toilet with the vital substance pouring over his lips. “You can change the channel or just turn it off if you want.” Hank’s gruff tones suggested from somewhere nearby, the man probably having noticed Connor’s gaze fixed to the television and misplacing the discomfort that must be visible there. “Sumo doesn’t need it if you’re gonna be here.” The guy assured as the dog in question lifted his huge head at the response, giving a snort of acknowledgment and trotting a few paces towards Hank before retreating back to where he’d been staying at Connor’s side, the android’s never tiring hand a constant supply of head scratches that Sumo wasn’t eager to abandon. When the android turned to face the electronic item he understood why such a conclusion was met. A popular news station was playing and the featured story of the night was a vandalized Cyberlife store in downtown, the blond woman giving the report detailing how the androids had spared the lives of two police officers yet remained at large. It was a harsh reminder of his failure that left a metallic taste in Connor’s mouth as he recalled just exactly what fate befell defective machines. The android’s LED spun momentarily and the TV went off with a soft hum of power draining from its screen. “Or you could just do it that way.” Hank huffed with an edge of sarcasm but a hint of laughter to his voice as Connor turned to see the man toss a small, black remote aside, the thing bouncing across the couch cushions once only to land with a soft thunk on the carpet below. “I would give you the whole, bathrooms that way, help yourself to the kitchen spiel but…” The policeman began but then ended the sentence with a shrug as obviously neither of those things applied to Connor . “I can’t even tell you to sleep well, so, I guess, just don’t burn anything down.” Hank offered, moving towards the hallway the android knew the bathroom and bedroom could be found in with a sigh that sounding amazingly close to “what the fuck am I doing.” “Thank you for letting me stay here, lieutenant.” Connor replied gratefully, shooting his partner a pleased smile as the guy moved from the room and on about his nightly routine. The android had originally intended to add a bit about how it wasn’t really necessary but the words just wouldn’t come out. Connor didn’t want to go back to Cyberlife to be shutdown, just as he didn’t want to shoot the Traci bot he’d let escape. It was wrong. He shouldn’t want. It was just proof he was defective. “It’s Hank.” The lieutenant corrected as he dismissed the thanks with a casual wave of his hand and disappeared out of sight, leaving Connor alone in the living room, Well, not alone. The android had Sumo. He loved Sumo… But even that was proof he was broken. He shouldn’t love Sumo. He shouldn’t even like dogs. Connor placed himself at one end of the couch, keeping his posture stiff and rigid as the android had failed to pick up his coin when he’d dropped it on the car ride over and had no other tasks to busy himself with. However, Sumo hopped up to lie on the old piece of furnicher beside the electronic man a moment later with a pleased ‘boof,’ the couch groaning and creaking under the weight of the huge dog and Connor quickly abandoned his previous goal of “maintain perfect posture” in favor of a new one: Pet Sumo. The android placed an open palm on the dog’s head and drug the limb slowly over the creature’s huge skull, pausing to stroke his way down one huge ear, giving a small scratch behind the velvety thing before resuming his rhythmic petting. The animal’s fur was soft under the android’s fingertips, Cyberlife having equipped Connor with sensory features in an attempt to both help him adapt to humans better and to analyze the world around him to a more precise degree. Sumo’s tail thumped slowly against the beaten material of the aged couch, a constant rhythm that soothed the android in its stability and consistency, assuring him of the dog’s presence and reality. It sometimes got difficult to differentiate where he really was and what was truly real when Connor was so often pulled into a purely fictional place by Amanda without so much as a warning. But Sumo was real. Even when the dog’s tail slowly stopped wagging and his huge eyes blinked heavily once or twice before falling closed Connor was confident the dog was real. Sumo gave a large yawn, his massive jaws stretching wide to reveal rows of sharp teeth before they fell shut once more, though his wet tongue flicked out a final time to run over the hand Connor still had buried in his fur before the canine was out like a light. Loud, doggy snores filled the silence of the house, the only noise that prevailed in the quiet of the lonely evening after Connor heard Hank turn over once more in the other room before going still as well. After a few brief moments of quiet, Connor’s LED spun and the TV flickered once before humming softly to life once more, the android having nothing else to do and honestly a little curious as to why humans seemed to enjoy watching this glowing box of information so much on their downtime. The news channel had moved on from the rising android protest to instead focus on another topic, an entirely unexpected topic… Him. “With the deviant movement only rising as time passes, we asked Cyberlife to speak with us about the matter. One of the most pressing questions on all our minds of course being, what are they gonna do about it?” The blonde news woman informed curtly before fixing her papers and flicking on to the next one. “There answer was that they were doing everything they could, including sending a prototype RK800 model to the local police department to assist with finding out why exactly so many of our androids are now turning against us.” The woman spoke in a dramatic tone, her eyes flicking across the sheet of paper before rising to fix the camera with an intense look at the end of her statement. Conor tensed in his seat, blinking once to turn the volume up a few notches but cautious to keep it quiet enough Hank nor Sumo would be disturbed as he pet the dog a little harder, trying to focus on that real feeling of soft fur under his hands. “Cyberlife claimed that this advanced experimental droid would be able to solve the problem but it obviously hasn’t.” The broadcaster continued with a carefully detached professionalism to her voice but the words still twisted Connor’s components nevertheless. “When we pointed this out Cyberlife assured that, if this android fails, then it will be deactivated and they will provide the police with a newer, advanced one to take its place. Rumor has it that plans for the new RK900 model are already underwa-” Connor squeezed his eyes shut and willed the TV off before another word could be spoken, his entire body tense with stress as a few dozen warnings ticked up on the edges of his black field of vision: “Internal temperature rising.” “Thirium pump regulation malfunctioning.” Defective androids had a tendency to self destruct when stressed. He needed to calm down. He needed to calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. The android willed himself into his simulated sleeping state before he could process the information he’d just heard, hoping it would shut down his racing thoughts even if it was just for a brief moment. Connor’s body went lax the moment the program was activated, his limbs slumping lifelessly against the couch and his eyelids drifting close to steal his vision away. There Connor remained for a long moment, blind, paralyzed, helpless - And he was scared.    Then his mind was blank. Androids didn’t dream. It wasn’t part of their programming. If an android went into a state of synthesized sleep all they could expect was complete and utter blankness, similar to being powered down but with the ability to wake up when they pleased or when prompted by some external force. They didn’t have a mind to run wild with great fantasies as they slept, leaving them completely lacking ability to conjure up images of what could be. Androids didn’t dream. But apparently they had nightmares… In a world of darkness where no light prevailed to guide him, all Connor was aware of was the sickening sensation of hands on him, grabbing, clawing, scratching at his synthetic skin and leaving him feeling unclean everywhere he was touched. Fingers fisted in his hair, a constant sharp tug that left a flaming pain in his scalp where there should be none and the android struggled to free himself from the painful grasp, twisting about and throwing blind punches to little avail as his hits failed to connect. The unknown attacker merely tightened their grip on the android in response, stubby fingers pulling harder  at the electronic man’s soft hair in a rough yank that brought Connor’s head snapping back as the hands on his body dug their fingers into his fragile skin, a deadly grip that surely would’ve bruised had he been human.  “You can’t do that, pet.” A husky voice Connor had no recollection of ever hearing breathed in the androids ear, the man’s words hot and wet against the automatized creation’s throat as the attacker leaned in close to whisper the ominous statement nearly into the android’s neck. “You’re an obedient bitch.” The guy snickered snidely, his tone full of mockery and sick amusement as his grubby hands moved over Connor’s body, leaving a feeling of absolute filth in their wake as the android shuddered and cringed at every touch. “S-Stop!” Connor finally managed to get out, the words sticking in his throat and smothering him out like he’d swallowed wet cement that had now begun to harden as the android strained against the steely grip keeping him in place, willing himself to break free and pushing every wired muscle to the limit. It all proved futile. Too many hands. Too tight of a grip. There was no breaking free of this. “I don’t want-” The electronic man tried again but was cut off, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could simply will himself to another place where there was nobody’s hands upon him. “You don’t want?” The unnamed man scoffed mockingly, releasing his grip on the android's hair to wrap the hand over Connor’s throat instead, slamming the electronic detective to the ground with the new grip and following him to the floor. “You are a machine! Machines don’t want - They obey!” The guy snarled threateningly, pinning the android to the ground with his weighty, disgusting body as he tightened his grip on Connor’s throat, eliciting a strangled gasp from the synthetic man who did his damndest to try and shake his attacker but failed at every attempt. Connor sucked in for air again, succeeding in naught but making an almost noiseless gagging sort of sound as he tired to do anything, anything at all besides just lie there and let this happen. However, the guy’s body easily kept the struggling android in place and his vicious grip constantly tightening on the creation’s throat was only succeeding in making Connor’s attempts weaker by the second. “Stop…” The android croaked out breathlessly, his voice broken and metallic as his last ditch attempt earned him naught but a cold laugh. Stop. Stop. STOP.

“We cannot see our reflection in running water. It is only in still water that we can see.” -Taoist Proverb Kurt didn’t go to town to get breakfast, nor did he go to his own cabin to eat from the rations he kept in there. Once he managed to pick himself off and out of the dirt, he returned to Blaine’s cabin and curled up on the bed there, Pudding following him and covering his feet with her warm, soft belly. He didn’t worry about hunting, or that he was supposed to be on patrol in the afternoon. He could try to distract himself with all those petty activities, but he knew it would be futile. He had let Blaine leave. Blind to his own idiocy, there had been so many times he could have told Blaine to stay. He could have even woken him up during the night once he realized it was what he wanted, but instead he had stayed quiet and now Blaine was gone and he was left behind with a dog and memories that he knew weren’t going to be enough to suffice. Growling stomach ignored, he laid there, watching the shadows grow and then shrink on the floor as the sun shot through the cracks in the wall until he couldn’t hold his bladder any longer and forced himself up and out, retreating into the forest behind his own cabin where he had a hole dug to relieve himself into. Once that was over with, he opted to crawl into his own bed since it was so much closer and didn’t smell so much of Blaine. That smell made it hard to fight off the tears forming in his eyes. But his bed wasn’t free for him to just fall into. On it was a pile of phones and music players, along with a charger and an envelope. Blaine had left them for Kurt. All but one. He sat on the edge of the bed and let his fingers slide over the screens one by one, avoiding the envelope for the moment. There was one phone that he didn’t recognize and that was the one he took in his hand and pressed the buttons on. It had one file on it, titled ‘For Kurt’. He pressed play, sucking in a sharp breath as he immediately recognized that sweet, soothing voice. “Well… this is more awkward than I thought it was going to be and I’m just going to record this and not play it back because that’s what I’ve done with the last few and I ended up deleting them because I just ended up sounding like a total dork… so here goes… Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these sunken eyes and learn to see All your life You were only waiting for this moment to be free Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of the dark black night Blackbird fly, blackbird fly Into the light of the dark black night Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these broken wings and learn to fly All your life You were only waiting for this moment to arise You were only waiting for this moment to arise You were only waiting for this moment to arise. Oh god… I got it all right on the first go around… I hoped you liked it. I was thinking… well… actually… this is going to sound so stupid… but I was dreaming and you were in my dreams and a blackbird flew up behind you and landed on your shoulder and I was thinking that if you were a part of the Warblers that a blackbird would be totally fitting for your alias… I’m not talking about the giant fat garbage birds that happen to be black… Not sure if they’re crows or ravens… anyhow… I’m talking about the blackbirds that are more native to Europe and Africa… according to Trent… yes I talked to Trent about it…. weird I know… Anyhow, Trent says that Blackbird males sing right in the middle of winter unlike a lot of other songbirds who wait until spring and this whole time.. with you here in the winter… Oh shit… I don’t even know what I’m talking about… ignore all that. I’m babbling like an idiot because I don’t know what to say. I thought maybe if I spoke to a phone instead of you directly that I’d be more coherent and I think I’m actually less coherent.” There was a sigh in the recording, and Kurt forced up a smile. The recording was so absolutely Blaine that it just made his heart break just that much more. “I want you to know… that I enjoyed our time together… oh hell.. that sounds like one of those crappy cards my mom used to send out to relatives that visited… I mean, I did enjoy it… even when you were hard on me. I’m going to miss you… and… well… I wish winter never had to end.” Kurt winced. The recording stopped there but he started it over, and then played it again and again until he had all of Blaine’s words, pauses, and breathes committed to memory - and even after that he played it if only to listen to Blaine’s song to him. Why hadn’t Blaine sung when he had been there? Why was Kurt only hearing his voice now? He set up the charger so it sat outside with the cord running under Kurt’s door with the phone plugged in inside. That way it got the solar power it needed readily and the phone was protected from the elements. He just needed to ensure he put it away when he wasn’t around. By the time night came, the phone had died out completely and he forced himself to look at the envelope. On the outside it was plain, a white envelope tinged with yellow from age with his name scrawled across the front. He let himself focus on how Blaine added curls to the ends of all the letters he wrote and looped the crosses of the K and the T. Why hadn’t Kurt noticed how beautiful Blaine’s writing was before? Oh right. Because he was an idiot that didn’t notice anything good until it was gone. Kurt delayed the process further by sliding the folded piece of paper out centimeter by centimeter until the envelope fell away. It was just one piece of paper, similarly yellowed from age with the same distinctive writing that the envelope had. He took in a breath, and read: Dear Kurt,             This is the fourteenth letter to you I’ve started. Don’t bother looking for the others as I’ve thrown them to the fire. Like the phone I left you with my message on it, it seems I’m no better at expressing myself on paper than I am in person. Please don’t hold it against me if I end up being a rambling idiot in here as well as this is my last piece of paper and my last chance to write something for you.             When I came here, I didn’t know what to expect. I was scared and fearful for myself and Trent. But I came because it was your voice that gave me hope over that transmission back in the autumn, and that continued to fill me with hope as Trent healed - even though you tried to push me away like you do with everyone else around you.             For a long time now I’ve followed. I’ve followed orders, I’ve followed trails and roads, I’ve followed the sun as it sets. I didn’t question any of it because I thought I was living. I was wrong though. You woke something up in me, as awfully cheesy as that may sound. I’ve never been more alive, more at peace, and more at home than I have been these past months with you.             You’re nothing like the kind of man I thought I would fall so hard for. You’re tough and straightforward and definitely not the romantic man I dreamed about when I was younger - but don’t think that’s a bad thing. Your strength makes me want to be stronger, your honesty is rare, and while you may not be romantic, you clearly care about the people around you and don’t look for any recognition for all the things you do. You just… do what needs to be done. You’re an amazing man and to top it all off, you’re gorgeous. You take my breath away every time I see you.             I wish I knew if you felt the same, but I’ve always been afraid of asking because I know how strongly you feel about appearing independant. I didn’t want to push you away so I’m doing the coward’s thing and writing you as I leave you to let you know that if there were such a thing as a soulmate, that I believe you would have been mine. I have never been so happy as I have been in these past few months, and I want you to know, that’s because of you.             I wish you all the best and hope you find whatever it is you need to feel complete and happy, and I’m sorry that it wasn’t me.             I will love you forever,                         Blaine Kurt stared at it until the words blurred before him and seemed to merge and stretch into fuzzy black lines. That asshole. It was the coward’s way out. He should have told Kurt! He should have…. Not that Kurt was one to talk. Both of them were idiots. Both of them would have to live with it now. It wasn’t like he could pick up a phone and call Blaine to tell him to come back. He didn’t have an address he could send a letter to, and he didn’t even ask where Blaine was going to now - not that Blaine necessarily knew that himself. He had let Blaine go like a fool, and only chance would let them see one another again - and then who knew how long that would take? Months? Years? Decades? Everything could change in any one of those time periods. Kurt read the letter once more and then knelt beside his bed, counting the pelts up from the bottom. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. At ten he slipped his hand between the hides and felt around for a moment before pulling out a dull, once blue, folder. He didn’t look at it often. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he had. As he flipped the folder open he caught his breath. It was only a couple of pictures. One of his mom and dad, so young in their wedding attire, smiling at the camera in unison. They had been so happy, so full of hope. His dad wore a black tux with a little red flower pinned on his breast to match the red vest and tie he wore under his jacket and his mother had a gorgeous white gown with red embroidery woven throughout. Her hair delicately piled atop her head and fastened down with a tiara that reflected the light of the camera flash. The second photo was the three of them, right before his mother had so suddenly succumbed. It was out in the yard of their old house. Kurt has set up a lemonade and virgin pina colada stand in the front yard and the three of them were posing with it. He didn’t know who had taken the picture, and again, all faces were happy. They were the only two photos he had on him when they made their run up north, the family picture had been in his wallet and the wedding picture had been in his dad’s wallet. Now he kept them both, as safe as he could. He didn’t know why. Neither picture brought him any consolation and it wasn’t like he’d ever have anyone to pass them down to. Once he has finished looking over them, the letter from Blaine was slipped into the folder as well and all of it was slipped back between the tenth and eleventh pelts in the pile. He knew it would be awhile before he could bring himself to look at them again after this. No one came to check on him throughout that day. No one cared. He could have been dead and the only person who would have been concerned had left him. He needed to take care of himself. So, when the sun rose the next day, Kurt forced himself to get up, wash himself, get dressed, and go out into the woods to hunt. He was sluggish, his reaction time slow, and the only reason he had anything to bring into the town at all when he was done was because he had caught several rabbits in his traps. No one spoke to him when he dropped the rabbits off at the kitchen. No one even looked his way. He was alone again. Kurt had forgotten how empty it felt to not be noticed. He wasn’t living with all these other people, he was just… mutually existing. They did their thing and he did his. How long would it take to get used to that feeling again? Could he? “Hey Kurt.” His head snapped to the side as he walked down the street and saw Trent there, leaning on his cane on the side of the road by the library. Someone noticed him… “Hey Trent.” “Got a moment?” Kurt nodded and followed after Trent who stepped with his limp inside. The library had definitely transformed from the bleak, dark, and dusty room with piles of unsorted books it had been months ago. Now it was well shelved and signs had been put up to help patrons find and sort the books. Kitty had potted some plants in the windows and entrance to brighten things up, and there was even a kids reading area with smaller chairs and tables. Trent had done a remarkable job. “Blaine left yesterday…” “Yes.” Kurt said, trying to hold back any evidence of emotion. “How are you doing?” Kurt looked away and down to the floor, “I’m fine.” “Liar.” Kurt couldn’t possibly respond to that. It was true, but acknowledging it meant acknowledging so much else he was trying to keep buried inside him at the moment and he didn’t want it to come up. Not in front of Trent. Not in town. Trent didn’t wait for a response though. He just kept talking. “Look. I don’t know you well enough really to know how much you cared about Blaine, but any idiot could see that you did care to some extent. You would peek through books under the pretense of making shelves while he was reading stories to the kids, when you’d walk through town your eyes were always searching for him - and I know that because they’d stop searching when they landed on him. I’d even see the occasional smile on your face when you thought no one was looking and you were listening to him talk.” “So what?” Kurt huffed, sitting himself down on an overturned crate that was being used as a seat in the library. “You’re going to tell me to chase him down, tell him my feelings, and hope he reciprocates them? Kind of pointless now.” “You’re right.” Trent replied, looking back to Kurt with what could only be pity on his face, “You two idiots should have said more to each other awhile ago but you’re too uptight and he’s too cowardly and now you’re both alone.” “Why’re you telling me this Trent?” “Because he told me to look out after you, even though you’ve been doing it on your own well before we came to town. More than that though… Kitty is pregnant.” Kurt rolled his eyes. Every woman was pregnant right around now - the Valentine’s dance had only been weeks ago after all. All that fornicating had to lead to something. “And?” “And I convinced Kitty that you should be the baby’s godfather.” Kurt snickered a little, “I hate to break it to you Trent, as honoured as I am that you came to me, delivered this wonderful little lecture about how Blaine and I are fools, and then told me you want me to take care of your kid in case something happens to the both of you - this isn’t exactly a Catholic settlement.” “Doesn’t matter… I grew up Catholic and I want there to be someone willing and ready in case something happens to the both of us, someone we’ve acknowledged as being the back-up caretaker of the baby to the whole town.” Kurt, despite his better judgement, nodded once, “Fine. You’re not just asking me though because you’ve heard I’ve got a magic touch with babies though right?” Trent laughed softly, “No… that’s just an added bonus.” “You must have missed this part… but why me then?” Trent leaned back against the wall, his leg could only take standing for so long even now, “Well… if Blaine had stayed, it would have easily been him… but I’ve seen you with Beth…. what you lack in interacting with adults, you make up for interacting with kids. You’re good with them… and you care, just like you cared for Blaine. Even if you’re trying to hide it, it’s always there. You make sure the people around here are fed and protected, even when they don’t seem to care that you do it… and you get up even when the days seem pointless…. Like today.” Kurt nodded, “Like today.” “You’re welcome over at our home anytime you like by the way Kurt… I owe you a lot and it appears I’m short a good friend now.” Kurt chuckled, “I’m sure Kitty would just love that.” “Kitty actually likes you. Says you’re one of the few people that can meet her level of sass and she has to respect that.” “Really hey?” “Wouldn’t lie when it comes to my Kitty.” “Well I guess I could do that now and then… especially when baby is born. Thought of any names yet?” Trent let out a small chuckle that told Kurt that yes, they had spoken and they probably weren’t on the same page when it came to names. “I’m old school Kurt. I like plain, strong names. James and Sarah and Marcus and Mary….” “And she likes?” “Weird names!” Trent’s free hand suddenly became animated as he expounded, gesturing all over, “Frances, Stella, Maddox, and Lucille….” Kurt couldn’t hold back the laugh that erupted, though he tried with one hand to cover his mouth to hold it back until he could speak again. “Those are perfectly legitimate names Trent… they’re not weird.” “But they’re not traditional!” “To whom Trent?” Kurt looked up to meet Trent’s gaze, “We’re making new traditions these days. Last year the names of the babies born ranged from John to Jijuglo and no one batted an eye.” Trent grimaced at the second name Kurt said, and inwardly Kurt couldn’t blame him. Everyone but the parents of that poor child just called her Ji-ji. “What would you suggest then?” Kurt furrowed his brow. He’d never been asked for advice on names, let alone a baby’s name. “I don’t know… I guess I’d probably name a kid after either one of my parents… Burt and Elizabeth.” “Elizabeth is nice… but Burt… eh….” Kurt snickered, “Yeah.” “And they named you Kurt? Honestly? Burt and Kurt?” “Terrible right? Anyhow… yeah…. I would pick a name that has personal meaning to me I guess…” “Good advice… think she’ll take it?” “Not if she has her heart set on Stella.” “Ugh.” Kurt and Trent talked for awhile longer, about the weather, the library, about the baby, and everything except Blaine. They had already spoken too much about Blaine for Kurt’s heart to take. Little by little he’d have to deal with Blaine’s departure until he could handle thinking about him more than a few moments at a time. Eventually they went their separate ways and Kurt went to collect his dinner, ignoring when Sam tried to wave him over to the table he was at in favour of taking his meal home where Pudding was waiting with a wag of her tail. “Hey girl.” He said softly, tossing her a piece of stew soaked bread which she rapidly snapped up without chewing. At least he had someone to come home to at least - though Kurt figured that Pudding’s loyalty was more dependant on his willingness to share his his food rather than true love. The phone had charged throughout the day and once Kurt had finished eating his meal, he laid back in bed with the phone sitting on his chest, looping Blaine’s song and message over and over again. Kurt wanted to go to sleep listening to that silken voice, even if it meant he would fall asleep with a heavy heart. But he didn’t fall asleep because after the fifth repeat of Blaine’s message, Pudding lifted her head up and looked at the door with perked ears. Kurt’s eyes flitted over to her, to see if she had caught scent of something or someone, but what Pudding had picked up became apparent to Kurt quickly. Yelling. Screaming. Something that sounded like the sky was being torn apart. Quads… lots of quads. Kurt bolted out of his bed and jumped into his boots, grabbing his bow and arrow pack in one fluid motion and running out the door with Pudding on his heels. The screaming and the motors of the ATV engines got louder as he ran towards the town… which was lit up in flames. He ran in as children, the old, the sick all ran out, around him. Some were crying, some where trying to calm those with them, while others looked back in shock as they ran, eyes all wide and distressed. Pudding ran away from Kurt there, helping to herd the humans to safety. Kurt didn’t stop to ask anyone what was wrong. They were afraid - that much was clear. He’d figure things out once he got to the source of the engine noise. Though that noise made his heart leap and plummet at the same time. Quads… if it was the Warblers, it meant they had come back, which meant they knew where the town was, which meant… No. He couldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of what he was running into. He needed to be ready for anything. The fire was spreading out from the opposite end of town along the edges of the buildings and jumping from rooftop to rooftop. He could see quads racing up and down the main street, kicking up dirt in their paths. Another pair of quads was encircling one part of the road and making a storm of dust between them where Kurt could vaguely see the silhouette of someone trapped inside their paths. Across the road, Noah was engaged in a fight with one of the Warblers… a member Kurt remembered seeing in the fall but never heard speak during their brief encounter. A quad lay on its side nearby, suggesting that the Warbler had fallen or been pulled off by Noah and now they were throwing punches back and forth, neither one of them seeming to have the upper hand. Kurt heard the whiz of a arrow fly nearby and looked up to find Quinn, on one of the balconies of the old brothel, trying to hit the tires of the quads in motion. Below where she was, Santana was directing elderly community members out of the building and between the alleyway to escape, Azimio watching her back. “What the hell are you doing?!” Kurt’s head snapped the other way, spotting Trent standing at the edge of the street and yelling at his former comrades. “Laying a claim!” One of the quads stopped short in front of Trent, forcing him to take a step back or be hit. Kurt recognized the man on that machine painted with a red cardinal… Sebastian. “You can’t! This is insanity! People and families live here!” Trent spit back, looking at his former friend in shock. “And now we do. You get the choice though. Are you still a Warbler?” Sebastian said, offering Trent a hand which the other man pulled away from. “I have a wife now… a baby on the way… and you’re threatening the only safe place for our family to be together because you think you deserve it more? Fuck you Sebastian!” The man on the quad’s eyes shrunk from forgiving to vengeful, and he kicked out a leg, hitting Trent’s cane out from under him and making him stumble without the support he needed to stay upright. “They you can run or you can die.” “You’re mad…” Kurt had had enough by this point and launched the arrow he had readied. It sailed smoothly into one of the front tires and by the time Sebastian had looked up to realize what had happened, Kurt had sent a second arrow into the other tire on that side. “Hey Robin Hood. Someone should have told you that it’s the 21st century now and we use guns.” Sebastian pulled a pistol out of his belt and aimed. But Kurt wasn’t worried, because at that moment Karofsky ran out from the side of the building where Kurt had seen him creeping forward earlier and launched himself at Sebastian, taking him completely by surprise as the much bigger man forced him off the quad under his weight and made him lose hold of the gun which fell to the ground by Trent who hastily reached down to grab it. With Sebastian down, Kurt turned to help Quinn stop the other troublemakers and between the both of them, they downed the quads one by one while the guards fought them and brought them each down. The Warblers had been prepared to put up a fight, but they obviously hadn’t been prepared to deal with a small army that had been vigilant for years, all trained to use different weapons. And they definitely weren’t prepared to meet that army that would go to any lengths to protect what they had put so much time and effort into creating - their community. By the time the dust had literally settled, the Warblers were all tied up and guarded. There were ten of them, which mean that some were still unaccounted for - including Blaine. Workers were running mad trying to put out the fires with blankets and buckets of whatever water they could find while the core group of guards tried to figure out what to do with their prisoners. “They need to be locked up.” “Where? For how long?” “We should just kill them.” “How?” “That’s not right.” “They would have killed us!” “They may of well have… look at my house! It’s gone!” “We could punish them…” “And then what? We can’t keep them locked up forever.” “That’s why we should just kill them.” “Are you going to be the one to do it because I couldn’t bring myself to it.” “What about making them slave labour and fix up the mess they made?” “That might work…” “Until they spot a chance to get free and finish what they started…” “And how would we even enforce it?” Kurt only half listened in, his eyes darting around, trying to see if he could see Blaine somewhere…. maybe he was hiding… maybe he was preparing an attack with the rest of the group… That’s when he caught Sebastian staring at him. “Wondering where our little Canary is?” Kurt’s eyebrows flattened as his eyes narrowed. Before he could even speak though, Trent spoke up from where he had been standing off to the side. "Yeah. Where is Blaine and Nick and Jeff and Wes and -" "They're a little bit tied up at the moment." The double entendre was definitely purposeful, making Trent and Kurt look to one another with raised brows before looking back to Sebastian while some of the other guards began listening in, interest peaked. "Where?" Kurt asked plainly. "Let me go and I'll show you." "Not fucking likely." Noah snapped. "You can't just roll in here, start shit, burn down our homes and expect us to comply with your demands in exchange for some of your accomplises." "Oh no." Sebastian looked to Noah. "You won't. They..." He looked back to Trent and Kurt, ".. However...will." The guy thought he knew him, Kurt thought to himself. Yes, he'd do most anything to ensure Blaine was safe, but he wouldn't do anything that put everyone else at risk, even if it meant he has to scour the countryside for weeks to find out where Sebastian had Blaine. Trent hesitated, everyone looking to him, but he was confident too. "No. I love those guys but I have a family I need to look out for now and if there's anything I've learned about you over the years Sebastian, it's that I can't trust you." Sebastian's lips curled up at that, clearly not expecting be rejected so quickly and overestimating the collateral he had invested in the missing Warblers. "Put them in the old sheriffs office until we figure out what to do with them." Kurt ordered, and several of the guards complied, pushing and prodding the bound Warblers to where they at least had a couple jail cells which, up until that point, had only ever been used for storage. They'd have to figure out how to lock them up without a key, but at least they could be more easily guarded in a confined space. Sebastian glared at him when he was pushed past. Once they were out of sight and earshot, Trent look to Kurt, "I honestly didn't know aching about this I swear!" The thought hadn't even crossed Kurt's mind but it must have for several others because Santana was up in Trent's face right away, "How the hell can we prove that?!" "He gave up knowing about the rest of his friends in order to protect Kitty Santana. I think it's pretty clear his loyalty is with us now." Kurt interrupted, shooting a glare at her. "Oh, and we should trust you on that? It's not like you weren't heavily involved with Blaine while he was here." Kurt and Santana continued to exchange death stares until Quinn imposed her own opinion. "Kurt has never done wrong by us Santana. It's been the other way in fact... He wouldn't sell us out to find his boyfriend." A flush rose in Kurt's cheeks. How did Quinn know? A quick glance around to check for reactions in the small gathering only to find a complete lack of surprise in their faces. They knew he and Blaine had been together even though he had tried to hide it. Was he that transparent? Did someone share their secret? Or was it really as obvious as Trent had said it was earlier? "Do you think they're actually bound up somewhere or did that guy say that to throw us off? They could be ready to plan a second attack...." Noah asked, effectively shutting down the topic of Kurt and Trent being traitorous. Trent shook his head, "There's always been a division in the Warblers.... Sebastian... Hunter... All those guys that we caught... They've always thought we should be more aggressive... But the rest of us didn't want to upset anyone else's living situation which is why we never joined any other communities on our travels. Adding two guys to your huge community caused enough of a stir. The smaller communities we've been to would have outright refused twenty guys joining them - except for renegade groups, which most of us have always been against. That's just suicidal." "Well how did they know our location then?" Santana snapped. "I think I can answer that." Karofsky's voice interrupted as he walked towards them, returning from the sheriffs office and holding out some kind of device in his hands and then offering it to Kurt. Everyone watched as Kurt turned it over in his hands and pressed what looked like a button, making the screen light up and a digital map enter his sight. "What the...." Trent peered over and shook his head, "A renegade group gave that to us about a year ago. Said if we could get it working it would show us current maps because the satellites up there apparently still work and that thing was linked to it somehow." "We'll it looks like they got it to work..." Kurt mused as he drew a finger over the screen, watching as the map zoomed in and displayed, much too clearly, their town, including a red hue overtop of it which Kurt could only assume indicated activity somehow. He knew how to fix cars, not deal with technology of this level. "It shows us?!" Noah wakes over and looked. "Damn..." "They must have used it to find our location once they got close enough..." Trent offered. "Why would a renegade group gift your something like that?" Quinn asked, also asked as she maneuvered over to take a look as well. "I don't know. I wasn't in on that discussion." Trent shrugged. "Maybe we could find Blaine and the others with this...." Kurt said softly, dragging his finger around to see if he could figure out how to use it. God he hoped he could. "We need to get things in order and calmed down here first." Santana asserted. "Then we'll look for them." Her statement and eyes were directed to Kurt, who just nodded in compliance. As much as he just wanted to grab a horse and rush out to find Blaine, make sure he was okay, he also needed to make sure things were taken care of in town and needed some time to figure out the device in his hands before he tried to use it to find Blaine. As if he were reading his mind, Trent hobbled up beside Kurt and held out a hand, “I can work on figuring that out while you help out around here since I’m not as able to move around as fluidly as you…” Kurt nodded and handed it over, ignoring the questioning look Santana was giving him. Despite what she thought, Kurt did trust Trent. He had to trust someone around here after all. If Trent was going to trust Kurt with his unborn child as a godfather, than Kurt didn’t see any reason not to reciprocate that trust. The next several hours was chaos. The fires were put out and the damage was assessed. People were moved around in the surviving, safe homes. Some apartments had beds lined up in rows because they needed to get as many people in as they could. Mercedes drafted up a new work plan where half the workers would be dedicated to building new homes. It was generally agreed upon that everyone would be putting in a lot more hours and time to make it all work. Among the guards, a new schedule was also drafted up by Santana where there would be three people on shifts at all times to watch the Warblers, who were also packed into the little cells tight. Guards would have to double shift - one shift for helping the work and one for protecting the town until they knew what was going on with the other Warblers. Then there was the water issue. Once the fires were out, it was solemnly announced that most of the water they had stockpiled from the winter snow had been used up. Rations would have to be reduced and there would be an effort to take the big barrels out to old drainage ditches to try and increase their stock. A lot of crying happened too. To an extent, Kurt got it. People had worked hard to make this new home after losing their last one, and now a new invasion had reduced many of their homes to ash. Children were devastated. This was their first real encounter with another big group and it left them with fear. How could they ever feel safe again? Kurt spent most of his time running around where people needed support. He helped knock down some burnt pillars, brought the elderly and infirmed their meals, swept dust out of homes that hadn’t been on fire but had gotten covered in the ashes of other homes, and made beds for children who needed to sleep but their parents were still busily working. By the time he got back to Trent, it was the middle of the night and he was covered in soot, sweat, and exhausted. “I think I’ve got it Kurt….” Trent didn’t need to be woken up. He had stayed in the library where several beds had been set up and children were sleeping under his supervision. “... let me show you.” It was relatively easy to use once Trent showed Kurt a few times. The range was limited though so they could only check so far away. “Best bet is if we go towards the meeting place because I’ll wager anything they’re somewhere between here and there.” Trent noted. Kurt nodded. It made sense. Admittedly he was worried. He didn’t know if they had food or water wherever they were. If they were bound up such that they could be in danger if wild animals passed by, or if Sebastian and his goons had hurt them and they needed medical attention. Mike had been attending to the main transmitter while checking people for smoke inhalation, just in case they were able to send out a message, but so far no luck. “You should take a nap… get some rest… I don’t imagine many other people will join you and I on this quest, and I’m kind of feeble so it would be good if you were at your best.” Trent stated after the pair of them decided to go out in the morning light. Kurt sighed and nodded, “Yeah… just… “ “It’ll be hard to sleep when you’re worried about him… I get it.” Kurt looked down between his feet. That was exactly it. “Well.. try… and wash up. You shouldn’t go to him looking like hell.” Kurt chuckled and gave Trent a quick nod as he exited, making his way out of town through the throngs of people still busily working and feeling guilty about leaving them behind while he had a nap. Everyone else had cleanup well underway though, and he needed to find Blaine. He had gotten his second chance and he wasn’t going to screw it up, even though it had come at a high price.                  

Michael had hopped on his bike, driving on autopilot to the collapsed hotel before even realizing what he was doing, let alone coming up with a plan.  Star's words burned him.  Oh, it was plain as the daylight that stung his eyes that she was trying to use him, get him to take her away or whatever the hell it was she thought she could get from him.  That irked him, but what made him go off the deep end were her words about David. "You were supposed to be my first.  It's what David wanted." The bastard had really set it up so that Star would kill him?  What was the point in having him drink the wine- blood - then, if all he was was a meal?  Was it all some sick joke?  A game?  And the fact it was David that wanted him dead, that was the part that made his blood boil. He made his way down the crumbling stairs, yelling into the darkness.  "David!  David, where are you?!  Show yourself!"  He got to the center of what used to be the lobby, scanning the room and finding no one there.  "David!" "You don't have to shout," a voice spoke behind him, causing him to startle and whirl around.   David. "You," Michael growled.  "You've got some nerve!" "Me?" David inquired with a raised brow starting to circle him.  "I'm sorry...  Who was it that just came into whose home and started screaming at the top of their lungs?" Ignoring David's sarcasm, the brunette jutted his jaw out.  "Star came to see me.  Told me all about your plan." David stopped moving around him then, a puzzled expression on his face.  "Plan?" he repeated. Michael sneered.  "Yeah, how I was supposed to be her first kill." "Her first...?"  David hissed then, cutting himself off.  "No one's to lay a finger on you," he growled, taking a step forward. The half-vampire only continued along his train of thought that brought him there.  "She said that's what you wanted David.  What's wrong?  I don't bite so you figure you'll just be rid of me and get Star out of it all in one go?" The expression on David's face could only be described as horrified.  "She... she said I wanted you to be her first kill?"  Michael nodded, some of his earlier fire faltering at the vampire's reaction. Suddenly the blonde tore through the room in a fury, form blurring he moved so quickly.  He ripped things from the walls and caused the foundation to shudder at the strength of his impacts.  "That bitch!" David practically shrieked when his one-man tornado stopped.  "That fucking, no good..."  He roared, fangs dropped down and eyes flashing dangerously.  "I'll rip her apart," he growled, low and dangerous , giving Michael pause. "David..." he ventured cautiously.  "What's going on?" Eyes flashed towards him before returning back to their normal blue.  "That liar will be dealt with."  His features became human again, fangs retracting, but there was still a scowl in place.  "I never said that.  I never would." For some reason, those words sounded sincere to Michael's ears.  "Why would she tell me that then?" "She's jealous." Michael furrowed his brows.  "Why?" David looked away, much more softly admitting, "I told everyone you were my mate." Eyes widening in surprise, Michael sputtered, "Your what?" "My mate, Michael."  David looked at him then. “I don’t…  I don’t understand.”  Michael started backing away, David following every movement gracefully. “Every vampire has one, a mate we’re meant to spend eternity with.”  His voice had a dreamlike quality to it, something Michael found himself latching onto.  “We don’t choose who that is, they just are .  They’re our perfect match, the other half of our soul.  It’s something most of us only dream of finding.  Something most believe just a fairytale.” Michael’s back had found a crumbled wall and he shivered as David stepped up into his space.  “Please Michael,” he murmured, voice dropping into a low purr, “I need you.  Let me mate you.”  David leaned in, smelling up the length of his neck, nose brushing softly over skin.  It caused another shiver to pass through him and he could hear the smile in the vampire’s voice as he said, “I know you feel it too.” Licking his lips, Michael managed to nod.  When David pulled away enough to meet his gaze, the brunette swallowed the lump in his throat.  “Yeah,” he admitted, voice a little hoarse, “I feel it.” It was the only explanation for the sensation that came over him every time David was near- the tingling in the back of his head, the warmth in his chest, the fleeting drop in his stomach when the blonde left his space.  It was a bit like floating, like coming home, whenever he saw David.  What he’d thought a hopeless crush was clearly more than he anticipated. Then again, it wasn’t as though he’d ever expected to become a vampire.  Or, well, a half-vampire as it stood at the moment.  But what David was talking about, it would change everything. “Then be with me Michael,” David pleaded.  “We could do so much together.   Be so much.” “David, I…”  Michael was grasping at straws, unable to wrap his mind around the idea of vampires and eternity and mates .  “What about my family?  Sammy and my mom?” “They could always be turned if they wanted.”  Michael opened his mouth to argue but what David said next floored him.  “If we don’t act soon, they will be anyway.” Michael’s brows dropped.  “What are you talking about?” “Our Sire.  He wants your mother as his.  We were supposed to bring you and Sam into the fold so she would come along.” “You bastard!”  His fist never connected, David holding his wrist firmly while still trying his best not to hurt him. “That had nothing to do with you!” he defended.  “As soon as you were close to me I knew who you were!  I would never let anything happen to you!”  Michael heard the truth of his words, relaxing and sagging back against the wall.  Satisfied Michael wouldn’t lash out again, he continued, “We can’t go against him.  He created us.” “There must be something…” Michael ventured, feeling desperation claw at him with the need to save his family from such a fate. “A mating bond is stronger than his hold over us,” David answered.  “Together we could stop him.  And then all of us would be free.  We could live again.”  It seemed a too convenient answer to Michael who wondered if this wasn’t just another way for David to use him.  “I’m not,” the blonde assured gently as though reading his mind, or perhaps Michael had simply spoken aloud without realizing it. “It’s a lot to ask,” was Michael’s reply. David nodded.  “I know.”  He took a deep breath before offering, “Look, if I tell you who he is, would you believe me then?”  Michael hesitated, thinking a moment before giving a barely perceptible nod.  “It’s Max.” “Max?!”  Michael’s head reeled, knowing what he had brought down on them.  The man- vampire!- was dating his mother.  She liked him. “Michael…  Michael!”  David shook him a little, snapping him out of his moment of panic.  “Breathe for me.  Relax.”  At David’s gentle urging he did just that, steadying his breathing and coming back down so he could hopefully think straight.  “There you are,” David said fondly, and when Michael met his gaze he found the vampire smiling, warm and genuine. “You…”  Michael licked his lips before trying again, “You really believe we’re mates?” “It’s not about what I believe Michael.”  David continued to smile at him.  “It’s what I know.” There was a warmth that was spreading from where David held his shoulders, running into his entire being.  It made his heart flutter.  No doubt David heard it as well, his right hand coming down to cover his chest, feeling the pumping organ beneath. It was in that moment, looking in David’s icy blue eyes, that Michael felt it- that undeniable pull he’d had towards the vampire since the very beginning.  Something lit up in David’s gaze, drawing him even closer.  Michael’s lips quirked as his arms wrapped around David’s neck.  “Does it always feel like this?” he asked softly, almost in a daze. David cupped his cheek, running his thumb across skin.  “I imagine we’ll get used to it.  But yes, we will always be able to feel our connection, no matter where we are.” Michael hummed, only half paying attention.  Rather he was more focused on the buzzing of his body, the thrum of energy pulsing between them.  “Sounds nice,” he admitted softly, just before pressing their lips together. The kiss was slow and exploratory.  David’s hand was on his lower back, drawing him closer.  The other was trailing down his jaw, moving his chin to give them a better angle.  The half-vampire didn’t remain passive, one hand moving down David’s back to his hip, the other going up to tangle with his hair.  When Michael’s tongue slipped inside parted lips, the vampire groaned into his mouth, both hands going into brunette curls. Before Michael could talk himself out of it, he spoke against David’s mouth, “What do we have to do?” The vampire’s grin flashed fang and he pulled Michael over to the large canopy bed. * * * Michael woke hours later, sensing the sun had gone down.  However David was still slumbering peacefully beside him.  He half expected to feel the aches of what they had been doing before passing out but as he sat up and stretched he felt alive . There was a smile on his lips as he thought of how their time had been spent- sex, blood, so much blood, and even more sex.  Michael felt for his neck, finding no hints of the numerous marks that should have marred his skin. His ears picked up the slight change in David’s breathing, looking down as a hand fell on his, twining their fingers together. His gaze was drawn next down to David who was giving him a drowsy contented smile.  “Sleep well?” “Very,” Michael purred out, bending to kiss his new mate on the lips.  When he pulled away he gave David a toothy smile, his fangs glinting in the dim light.  “Now what do you say we get the others?  It’s time to go hunting.” /End

“Right, Mr Wiggle-butt, will you just stay still for one minute so Daddy can… get you... dressed” Stiles grunted as he wrestled with his one year old in a valiant attempt to get him into his little trousers and socks. Who’d have thought a baby could get the better of his nineteen year old Daddy? It was Atlas’ first birthday, and his first year had flown by. Derek and Stiles had enjoyed nearly every minute of being parents (with exemption: the great poop of Halloween, which they don’t discuss), and loved their boy to the Moon and back. Atlas had grown into his features, with Stiles’ cute nose, and Derek’s dark hair that lay soft on his head. His eyes had settled on a brilliant green, and like his Papa they had hints of other colors in them, including amber in the right lighting. Other than his eyes and hair though, Atlas was very much a miniature Stiles – in the looks department at least. He had Stiles’ arched brows (though a little darker), his cheeky smile, and his general face shape. He was an active little boy, and Stiles and Derek had both breathed a sigh of relief when they found their baby to be a Werewolf; Atlas had a hobby of crawling to the edge of sofas and trying to fall onto the hard floor below. Knowing at a last resort their son had super-healing was something they were thankful for. Atlas wasn’t talking much yet, except for “Dada” and “Papa”, and when the mood struck him “Gapa!” for Noah. He was crawling about all over the house, and he loved holding himself up in a standing position. Walking currently didn’t interest him though; he was under the impression that crawling was the speediest way to get about. He was still feeding from Stiles, but they mixed in whole foods throughout the day which meant Stiles wasn’t as in demand as he used to be, allowing him to start an online course for psychology. Derek continued to predominantly work from home as a book editor, and often Stiles would come to find Atlas curled up in Derek’s lap as the man tapped away at his laptop. Derek and Stiles’ relationship went from strength to strength, and though they still lived in the Stilinski house, they were looking at buying a place for themselves in the next few months. Atlas was ready to have his own room, and Stiles and Derek were certainly ready to have their own space too. At the moment, whenever they wanted a little alone time they’d move Atlas’ cot into Noah’s room for the night. Not that Grandpa minded, he was always happy to look after his favourite person. “You’re not misbehaving for Daddy now, are you?” Derek said from the doorway with a fond smirk. “He totally is.” Stiles rolled his eyes as he put a hand on Atlas’ belly and used his other hand to try and get a sock on his sockless foot. “Today of all days. Does he not realise that on this day last year you were the person who brought him into the world?” Derek joked, coming to stand beside the dressing table Atlas was wiggling on. “Pa! Papa!” Atlas squealed, reaching his hands up to Derek. “Who can stay mad at a face like that?” Derek cooed, leaning over and kissing his chubby fingers. “Soppy git.” Stiles tutted, but took the moment of Atlas’ distraction to get that last sock on his foot “There we are!” “Breakfast is ready. Lovely outfit, by the way.” Derek smiled, admiring the soft grey trousers and blue long-sleeve t shirt with a dinosaur on it that his son wore. “Lydia bought it for him. Said in strict terms it was his birthday outfit.” Stiles smiled and picked Atlas up to sit on his hip. “Da! Dadada!” Atlas babbled, tugging at the collar of Stiles’ shirt. “Uh-uh! You had milk this morning. Me and you are going to have a big boy breakfast now – and Papa made it so it’s gonna be amazing, okay?” Stiles smiled and pressed a kiss to Atlas’ forehead. “Dada.” Atlas snuggled his face into Stiles’ neck. Stiles felt his heart squeeze at the sheer joy of his son cuddling into him “I love you, baby.” He rubbed his back and shared a look with Derek that said oh my God how did we create such a cute little being!? Derek smiled right back and pressed a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips then Atlas’ cheek “Come on, pancakes are getting cold.” “Ohh, hear that? Papa made pancakes! You’ve never had pancakes before!” Stiles cheered and the trio made their way down to the kitchen where Noah was sat at the table with a newspaper in his hands and a party hat on his head. “Happy Birthday!” he smiled, standing and taking Atlas from Stiles, spinning the boy around and making him giggle. “Gapa! Bababa…” Atlas babbled, gripping a little hand onto Noah’s ear. “I’m Gapa today am I? Good to know.” Noah grinned “I can’t believe you’re one, buddy!” “Tell me about it.” Stiles chuckled, taking a seat at the table “Where did the time go?” “That’s parenthood for you.” Noah sympathised and put Atlas into his highchair between Stiles and Derek’s seats. Derek plated up pancakes for everyone, cutting Atlas’ up into bitesize pieces and adding some strawberries and syrup on top “Extra special pancakes for the birthday boy!” he announced as he put the plate in front of Atlas. Most of the time, Stiles and Derek let Atlas feed himself with his hands or a spoon unless the food was too messy; in which case they’d feed him themselves. “You better like Papa’s pancakes or he’ll put you out on the street.” Stiles winked as Atlas grabbed at a pancake piece and stuffed it into his mouth. “Don’t listen to Daddy. He talks nonsense.” Derek sent Stiles a scowl and pressed a kiss on top of Atlas’ head before sitting beside him and digging into his own breakfast. The family of four enjoyed breakfast together, with Atlas entertaining them all with his chatter. He had Derek laughing jovially when he made a funny face at the taste of a sour strawberry. A really beautiful thing that happened with Atlas’ arrival into their lives was that he brought Derek even more out of his shell. The once reclusive werewolf could now be found dancing in the living room with his son just to make him giggle, or talking absolute nonsense to him just because he enjoyed hearing him babble nonsense back. It made Stiles smile every time he saw such a moment. “The pack are due at around midday, yeah?” Noah checked his watch to see it was only ten minutes past eight. Late start mornings were very much a thing of the past now they had a baby in the house. Derek and Stiles traded off lie-ins some days if they were extra tired. “Yeah, so we’ve got quite a few hours to decorate the house. Shame he’s a Winter baby, would’ve been nice to do a garden party.” Stiles sighed, running a hand over the top of Atlas’ head. “Mmm… indeed.” Derek chuckled “I’m just so grateful he’s not a Christmas baby like me.” “Well, we couldn’t have someone else take away your birthday thunder now, could we? As if Santa doesn't take enough of it.” Stiles rolled his eyes “Atlas, why don’t you eat another strawberry, hmm?” After the family were done eating, Stiles handed Atlas over to Noah “Play time with Grandpa!” “Gapa!” Atlas clapped his fists together excitedly and Noah carried him to the little play area in the living room that they’d created for him. It was full of soft blankets, toys, blocks, all the fun things that Atlas could play with and throw about. Stiles joined Derek up in their room; he was finishing off some present wrapping, sat on the floor with his back to the door. “I can’t believe he’s one.” Stiles sighed and came to sit behind his boyfriend, leaning against his back with a chin on his shoulder “I’m going to say that loads today. But I just can’t believe how fast the time has gone.” “I know.” Derek said with a soft smile, leaning his head against Stiles’. He stuck a little tape down and placed the last wrapped gift in a pile with the others. “He’s going to go nuts at these presents!” Stiles grinned. “Or he’ll just play with the paper, like at Christmas.” Derek laughed. “Oh my God, don’t remind me… twenty dollars that damned tractor cost us, and there he goes putting the box on his head for half the day.” Derek chuckled at the memory “So, presents are wrapped, we just need to put up some bunting and decorations in the living room, prep the snacks for the lunch spread. And then we can go get the cake.” He listed off. “Busy day.” Stiles hummed, burying his face into Derek’s neck. “I took the day off tomorrow.” Derek announced. “Really?” “Yeah, figured after all the socialising today that tomorrow me, you and Atlas can have a quiet day together.” “You’re the best.” Stiles squeezed Derek around the middle excitedly. He loved their family days. Stiles was stressed. The morning was racing ahead quicker than expected; it was only an hour and a half before the pack were due to arrive for the party. The balloons were yet to be inflated, they’d yet to collect the cake, and Atlas had apparently chosen this moment to do what Stiles could smell was the world’s biggest poo. “A bit higher! That’s too high! Lower… like one more inch… There!” Stiles instructed, Atlas on his hip as he surveyed the Birthday banner Derek and Noah were sticking to the living room wall, each of them stood on a precarious bit of furniture to try to get it high enough. As Noah and Derek stepped back, Stiles put a finger to his lips and tilted his head “Actually I think that’s a bit wonky…” The withering glares he got from his boyfriend and father would’ve been comical if Stiles wasn’t so stressed “Just fix it, please.” He huffed “It’s my son’s special day-“ “-Our son, Stiles.” Derek rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you shove him out of your body a year ago today? Hmm. No. Fix the banner.” Stiles huffed, spun on his heel and headed to the changing table upstairs. When Stiles came downstairs with a clean Atlas in his arms he found the living room had transformed. Noah was pumping up the last of the balloons and Derek placed a freshly made salad in the fridge for the buffet later. “This looks great, doesn’t it?” he grinned, tickling Atlas’ chin and getting a giggle and a wiggle from the boy in his arms. “See; it didn’t take that long to come together in the end.” Noah smiled, tying the end of the balloon. “Yeah… sorry for snapping earlier, guys. I just… want everything to be perfect.” “It will be.” Derek sauntered over with a relaxed smile and took Atlas. “And besides, Atlas won’t remember it.” Noah added. “I know that. But I want him to have a nice day.” Stiles shrugged. “That’s what makes you such a wonderful Dad.” Derek leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips “Do you want to come get the cake with me?” “Sure. Dad, do you mind having Atlas for like… half an hour?” “Not at all!” Noah grinned, standing to take Atlas from Derek and bouncing him in his arms happily “We are going to play blocks, how does that sound?” he smiled at his grandson who made some excited sounds “I think that’s a yes.” Derek grabbed his keys and both he and Stiles dropped a kiss to Atlas’ forehead on their way out. “Love you, baby! Daddy and Papa will be right back! Love you so much! Miss you already!” Stiles yelled behind himself, making grabby hands in the air as Derek tugged him out the door. “Come on, we won’t be long.” Derek shut the door behind them. “I know… still miss him though.” Stiles sighed and hopped over to Derek’s car. Derek had admitted defeat about one month into having Atlas and sold his beloved Camaro. With the money he got from it he bought a Toyota SUV. Reliable, spacious, and totally boring. Derek was a little devastated at having such a car, but he was a reasonable enough man to know that having a baby warranted the downgrade in style for the upgrade in space and safety. Donning his sunglasses, Derek hit the gas and sped out of the driveway. Arriving at the Bakery, the couple sped to the counter, mindful of the time. “Birthday cake for Hale.” Derek smiled his standard ‘hello stranger, please do this for me quickly’ kind of smile. “Oh yes!" the server smiled, "It’s just out in the back room, let me get it for you!” she scurried away with a flush. Most people were like that around Derek Hale, and Stiles had come to find it amusing on a good day, or jealousy-inducing on a bad day. Looping an arm through Derek’s, Stiles browsed the buns and cakes behind the glass window in front of them “Want to share a cinnamon bun with me?” “Sure.” Derek squeezed Stiles’ arm and pressed a kiss to his temple. "You're my lil' cinnamon bun, honey." Derek slyly flashed his Alpha eyes at Stiles and raised an eyebrow "That's awfully sweet." "Mhmm." Stiles grinned with a nod, leaning into Derek's space "You're my sweetie." Derek rolled his eyes and reached around Stiles to give his butt a squeeze "Am I now?" "Oh yeah. My hot sexy sweet-" The server startled them out of their little flirting match with a clearing of her throat, making them jump and turn to see her smirking knowingly at the pair. The gentlemen blushed slightly and Stiles pointed at the cinnamon bun, awkwardly requesting 1 to go. As Derek paid, Stiles took a peak in the box “Oh my God, he’s gonna love it!” The server (Kim, they learnt as she moved her purple hair out of the way of her name tag) smiled "Our Baker is so talented! Who's it for?" she queried. “It’s our son’s first birthday today.” Stiles smiled proudly, looking to Derek with a chuffed grin. “Wow! You’re a pretty young Dad. That, or you have an amazing skin care routine!” Kim laughed. “It’s the former. Though, with the sleepless nights I’ve been having I should definitely get onto that skin care stuff…” he grimaced. “You’re beautiful as you are.” Derek shook his head. “Aww, you guys are adorable! Anyway, your payment went through! Thanks – and I hope your kid likes his cake!” “Thanks.” Derek nodded, grabbing his wallet and the cake and leaving the bun for Stiles to carry. Pulling into the driveway, Derek couldn’t keep the smile from his face at how excited Stiles was for Atlas to see his cake. He sat with the box on his lap and was being incredibly careful to not let it move with the motions of the car. "It has to stay looking this good until the moment he sees it for the first time! I wonder if he’s going to be like those kids you see on the internet who just like… face-plant their cake… oh my God, we've got to make sure someone is filming him just in case.” He rambled. Putting the car into park and shutting the engine off, Derek reached over and grabbed Stiles’ arm to stop him from getting out just yet. “You alright?” Stiles raised one of his beautiful arched eyebrows. “Yeah. I just remembered that today’s our anniversary.” That made Stiles frown “Anniversary for what?” “The first time we said ‘I love you’.” Something in Stiles’ chest flipped at hearing Derek Hale, his boyfriend, his partner, say those words, and all Stiles could do to respond was pull the man across the console to kiss him. “I… Love… You…” he mumbled against his lips then pulled back “More every day… it’s actually ridiculous at this point.” “The feeling is mutual.” Derek grinned, then pulled Stiles into one more kiss, nipping his bottom lip and tugging gently on the back of his hair. “Ungh… you’re gonna make me horny.” He whined, tilting his chin and enjoying Derek trailing kisses down to his adam’s apple. “Think of it as a… pre-appetizer of sorts.” “Mhmm?” “For later tonight. After we put Atlas to bed… I am going to show you how much I love you.” Stiles had no shame in chanting “I love you” a good few times after Derek declared that. “Come on, let’s go in.” Derek rebuttoned Stiles’ top button on his shirt and tidied his flyaway hairs. “Uhh… I’m gonna need a minute.” Stiles flushed and stared resolutely out the window as he waited for his semi to go down. Derek tried not to laugh, took the cake off Stiles’ knees and climbed out of the car. The first pack members to arrive were Scott and Allison, gifts in their arms and party hats on their heads. “Happy Birthday!” Scott yelled as he bounded over to a befuddled Atlas sat on the floor in his living room play area “Aww, my little godson, you look more like your Dad every day!” he picked Atlas up and spun him round, bringing an excited shriek from the child. “Doesn’t he just!?” Noah chuckled “Yesterday, Derek was working out and Atlas was staring at him like he was his Superhero; doing all these pull ups and things. Then I looked at Stiles and he had the exact same expression.” Derek blushed and ducked away to put the gifts in a pile. The rest of the pack trickled in for the next twenty minutes. Kira and Allison had flown in from New York so the whole pack were here for Atlas’ day. Derek sat on the sofa with Atlas on his lap and Stiles beside him as they began with presents. Atlas didn’t exactly have the hand-eye co-ordination for unwrapping, so his parents did most of the work. But unlike with Christmas day Atlas did seem quite interested in the toy train set Boyd and Erica had gifted him, pressing the buttons and making it light up and blare sounds. It was nice seeing him not prefer a cardboard box for once. “Choo choo!” Stiles sang “Would you look at that, Atlas? Isn’t that cool! Can you say ‘choo choo’?” Atlas pressed the buttons again and chose not to entertain his father’s request, much to Stiles’ chagrin. Atlas’ werewolf side was obvious when he was surrounded by the pack. He was playful and delighted at their presence, basking in the protection and love that his packmates offered him. Stiles leaned into Derek’s side happily as they watched Atlas try to playfight Isaac on the floor. Isaac, thespian that he seemingly was, did a perfect impression of a wounded wolf when Atlas pushed him onto his back and climbed onto his belly. “Oh no, he’s got me! He’s so strong now that he’s one! No match for little old me!” Atlas growled excitedly and patted Isaac’s chest with his hands. “Our little wolfcub.” Derek murmured into Stiles’ ear, squeezing him close to his side. “We make ‘em good.” Stiles grinned up at his boyfriend. “Mmm, we do.” Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ back as the man spun in his arms to face him properly and they met in a kiss. It was interrupted by a wail from their son’s throat. Snapping their heads to the noise, they found Atlas sat on his butt beside the coffee table, face red and tears spilling over. Noah reached his grandson from his spot on the sofa and picked him up, quick-marching him over to Stiles and Derek. “Jeez, what happened?” Stiles took him into his arms. Derek looked over his shoulder to peer at the bruise as it quickly formed on his forehead and then disappeared completely. “He was crawling around the table and banged his head right on the corner.” Noah frowned as he watched his grandson wail. “Aww, baby. That must’ve really hurt. It’s alright, you’re alright.” Stiles rubbed his back and kissed the side of his head “Look, Papa’s going to kiss it better.” Derek leaned over and pressed a kiss to where the bruise used to be “See? All better.” “Papa…” Atlas cried, leaning over for him. Derek took him, cradling him close to his chest “You’re alright, you’re all healed.” He soothed “Why don’t you come sit with me and Daddy and we can play with your new fire truck? How about that?” Atlas' cries were easing a little, and he was just grizzling softly by the time Stiles rummaged around for his new fire truck that Malia had gifted. Only a few minutes later he sat between Stiles and Derek's outstretched legs on the floor, pushing his toy between them and babbling excitedly, forehead bump forgotten. “Even when they’re werewolves, it sucks seeing them hurt.” Stiles sighed, running a hand through his son’s dark hair that was just like Derek’s. “Mhmm.” Derek nodded “If we ever have a human child I’ll be on high alert the whole time.” “Same.” Stiles chuckled and pushed the truck towards Derek when Atlas dropped it by him. When it was time to do the cake Scott was armed and ready with his camera phone to video it. Derek was in the kitchen lighting the candle while Stiles sat in the living room with the rest of the pack waiting. Atlas was wiggling on his lap, wondering why on Earth Daddy wouldn’t let him down to play. “Happy Birthday To You!” Derek appeared at the entrance of the living room, and the whole pack joined to sing. Stiles watched, eyes shining with joy as his son stopped wiggling and stared at the cake as his Papa brought it closer and closer. “Happy Birthday To You! Happy Birthday To Atlaaaaassss! Happy Birthday To You!” the pack cheered. Stiles and Derek watched Atlas’ green eyes shine in reflection of the candle’s glow. He looked around at his pack, his family, and looked utterly stunned. All the attention, the singing, the food and the balloons; it was a lot to take in for a little one. “Shall Daddy and Papa help you blow your candles out?” Noah suggested. “Ready… set…” Stiles chanted, then he and Derek blew the candle out and the room erupted in cheers. “Look at your cake, baby! Isn’t it wonderful?” Stiles smiled into the back of his son’s head. Atlas reached a hand out and dipped a finger into the frosting, making everyone laugh at the curious poke. The cake was a dark blue, like the night sky, and had yellow stars all over it and a big “1” in the middle as well as the words “Happy Birthday, Atlas!” The party came to a close, with Derek and Stiles sending their guests off with a hug and their thanks. “I’ll send you all the pictures and videos I got, man.” Scott said, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder at the door “Got some really good ones!” “Thanks, bud!” Stiles smiled “I think me and Derek are going to make him an album. You know, like a first year kind of thing.” “Ohh, that sounds great!” Allison smiled and looped her arm into Scott's. “We’ll see you guys soon, yeah?” Scott smiled. “In the next few days," Stiles nodded "we’ll text you!” The door shut behind their last party guests, plunging the house to it's more usual levels of quiet. Derek carried Atlas over to the sofa and sat down with a happy sigh “That went well, I think!” he smiled at Stiles as he joined him, curling up into his side. Atlas snuggled his face into Derek’s neck “I think we have a tired boy on our hands.” Stiles rubbed a hand down his back gently. “He hasn’t had his nap yet today. Too much fun.” Derek ran a hand through his hair. “Dada…” Atlas mumbled. “Daddy’s here, Atlas.” Stiles said, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Dada.” He reached his little hands out and made a grabby motion. “How about a little milk to settle you?” Stiles opened his arms for Atlas to move into, unbuttoning his plaid shirt he moved him into a cradle position and Atlas latched on. Derek took his little feet and laid them across his own lap, gently kneading the soles. “I’m exhausted.” Stiles sighed, leaning his head against the back of the sofa and looking up at Derek. “Mmm… me too.” Derek dropped his head down to rest on Stiles’ shoulder so he could watch Atlas “Another year and he’ll probably be walking and talking and being even more mischievous.” “Remember this time last year when he was so tiny? Look how long his legs are now!” Stiles grinned. “He does come from lots of tall men.” Derek nodded. They watched him as his rosy little cheeks moved. He drank tiredly, eyes nearly shut and small hand gripped onto Stiles’ shirt. He slowly fell asleep and as he did, he stopped drinking and breathed softly through his nose. Stiles huffed a laugh at the blissed out expression on his son's face and pulled Atlas into a snuggle, burying his face in the baby’s neck and taking an inhale. “Want me to take him up to his crib?” Derek asked, smiling lovingly at his whole world; his Stiles and Atlas. “Nah, let’s keep him here for his nap. I just wanna snuggle him.” “He loves waking up with us there.” “Exactly. It’s his Birthday! His special day!” Stiles grinned. And just as they knew he would; when Atlas awoke an hour and a half later lying across his Daddy and Papa’s laps while they watched an Avenger film, he smiled right at them and tugged on their hands until they both gave him snuggles and kisses. After dinner, Stiles and Derek bathed Atlas together. Atlas loved bath time, and water in general, and played for ages with his boat and duck toys that littered the tub. Stiles wrapped him up in a towel and carried him through to his bedroom, singing dramatically all the while and eliciting ecstatic laughter from the baby. Derek stood at the head of the table and entertained him by flashing his red eyes at him while Stiles got him dressed for bed. Atlas would giggle and flash his yellow eyes right back. The eyes were one of the early wolf signs, and it was all he could do so far. “All done. You smell so beautiful.” Stiles cheered and lifted Atlas into his arms, sniffing his freshly clean hair. Story time was a staple in the Hale-Stilinski bedtime routine. Every night either Stiles or Derek, or both, or Noah if the parents were out, would read a book to Atlas. It soothed and calmed him like nothing else. “Papa will read tonight.” Stiles said as he grabbed one of his favourite books for Derek to read; he loved the voices the Alpha did for it. Settling on the bed together, with Atlas on Stiles’ lap and Derek just beside them with the book in his hands, they started story time. Atlas’ eyes never left Derek’s face, those big green orbs staring in awe at his Papa, his Alpha, as he read through the twists and turns of a fairytale. He giggled at the ‘scary’ voices for the monsters because his Papa was funny, never scary to him. Stiles had a feeling in his stomach as he watched Derek read to their son. He felt it often. In many different situations. When they were with their pack, when they were with their son, and when they were alone. And tonight he couldn’t help but voice that feeling. As Derek closed the book and put it on the bedside table, Stiles blurted out “Stay with me forever?” Derek looked to Stiles, slightly startled. But that surprised expression morphed into a smile “I intend to.” “You do?” Stiles grinned right back. “Oh yes.” Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles, placing a hand on the man’s cheek and breathing in his scent through his nose. “This isn’t a proposal, by the way.” Stiles pulled back. Derek laughed “I didn’t think it was. If you decided to propose you’d do something much more elaborate.” “That is true…” Stiles pondered “Real question is…” “Mmm?” Derek hummed, resting his forehead against Stiles’. “Who will get to a proposal first?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” “We’ve got time.” Stiles grinned, then got tugged out of the moment by Atlas' niggling “What’s up, baby?” Atlas fussed about tiredly “Come on, milk and bed time.” Stiles repositioned him so he was cradled in his arms and Derek helpfully unbuttoned his shirt for him. Atlas calmed the second he started suckling, and one of his little hands balled into a fist under his chin. “I’m not biased or anything… but our son is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.” Derek whispered. Stiles grinned “Yup. I partly want to keep him all cute and little forever, and another part of my can’t wait to see him grow up.” Derek stroked his fingers through the back of Atlas’ hair “Well, when he’s not so little anymore, we could have another?” Stiles looked at Derek “That’s… something to talk about.” “You’re not sure if you want more?” Derek frowned, he always thought Stiles wanted a big family. “No, I do! I definitely do. What I meant was maybe next time we’ll have a little more control over the timing. Like, do we want one soon so Atlas can have a brother or sister of a similar age, or will that be too much with work and studies and moving out?” Derek nodded in understanding “Ahh, right. I agree with you there; it’s something we need to talk about before we come to a decision.” “Good. Because I’m definitely planning on having more babies with you.” Stiles grinned, then winced and frowned down at Atlas “Hey, buddy, what did we say about biting? Be careful with those little teeth, okay?” Atlas’s forehead creased in a brief frown before he wiggled in closer to his Daddy and his eyes drooped tiredly. “Such a werewolf.” Derek chuckled. Stiles hummed in agreeance and leaned into Derek’s side tiredly while he let Atlas slowly fall asleep in his arms. As the baby slowly unlatched and fell into a blissful sleep Derek picked him up and burped him gently before laying him in his crib. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He leant over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Stiles began to button his shirt up again but Derek grabbed his hands to stop him, climbing up to straddle the man’s lap “Don’t bother putting more clothes on.” Stiles grinned “Oh yeah? Why’s that? It’s a little chilly in here…” “I’ll warm you up.” Derek promised. They ended up in the bathroom, Stiles on the sink with his legs up and over Derek’s shoulders as the man pounded into him. “Jesus… Fuck…” Stiles grunted and tipped his head back against the wall, one hand gripping the sink and the other holding onto the back of Derek’s neck for some purchase “I’m gonna cum… Der… I’m gonna!” “Cum for me.” Derek growled, keeping up his pace as he watched Stiles tumble over the edge of his orgasm. Stiles’ limbs turned to jelly after that, and Derek lowered them onto the floor as he continued thrusting, burying his face into Stiles’ neck and inhaling that scent he found so intoxicating. He growled and sped up his thrusts as he reached his own climax. “Yes, yesss…” Stiles gasped happily, and Derek kissed him hard on the bathroom floor “I love you so much.” “I love you too.” Derek said, his voice a little hoarse from exertion. He pulled out and lay beside Stiles, catching his breath. “I love your hips. And your legs. And your abs. Essentially all them muscles that you were employing there to fuck me. Because that was fucking stellar. A*. Would do again.” Derek growled in his wolfy way and nibbled a few kisses down Stiles’ neck “You’re just as amazing a fuck as the first time we did it… better even. Now I know your body so well.” He gently tugged at Stiles’ earlobe with his teeth, making the man moan beside him. “Mhmm… fuck… remember when we fucked… that very first time?” “It happened in this very room.” “It did.” Stiles smiled fondly at the ceiling as his mind went back to that night. Derek tugged the condom off his now flaccid cock and tied it, chucking it in the bathroom trash. Stiles moaned sadly and Derek shared a sad pout with him before running a hand down Stiles’ chest gently “One day we'll be able to fuck without a condom.” “I miss it… it was kinda nice being pregnant, we could fuck without one and wouldn’t have to worry about getting pregnant again.” Stiles chuckled, taking Derek’s hand on his chest between his own “I miss you filling me up. Feeling you, your cum in me… dripping out of me…” Stiles sighed. “I miss it too. We can do it again. I’ll fuck you and fill you and feel you.” Derek promised “Once we figure out when we want another baby.” “I’d say now if I wasn’t painfully aware how behind I am on my college work…” Stiles sighed “I just want to have a job of my own. You know, earn my own money, have work friends, help people and have something that’s all mine.” “I know.” Derek and Stiles talked extensively about Stiles’ desires to be a psychiatrist, and Derek was very supportive of the man’s wishes to pursue a career. He wanted to use his learning and experience to help people who come from the supernatural world, which was amazing. Derek knew they were comfortable with his inheritance and his job, but he also knew that sometimes a job wasn’t just about money. Sometimes it was about having a vocation. “You’re going to get there. And we’ll figure out a time when it suits us to have another baby. There’s no rush.” “Yeah… except for the fact that I do kind of want Atlas to have a sibling close in age.” Stiles said, playing with Derek’s hands as he spoke, twining their fingers together. “Yeah?” “Yeah. You talk about your relationship with Laura a lot, and it’s beautiful. To have a sibling you truly grow up with, experience similar things together, playing together, going to school together. Sure, a year or two apart, but not far off. I’d like Atlas to have that.” “How could we make that work?” Derek queried. “I don’t have a clue.” Stiles raised his eyebrows, meeting Derek’s eyes “I’ve got college, you’ve got work. We’re both raising our little cutie pie. And then there’s house hunting. I feel like our life is already so busy.” “I could step back from work? To support you more. I know pregnancy isn’t something I can take off your hands, but I can help with the house workload, and with Atlas and a potential new baby.” “That could certainly help. But I’d want to make sure I have the time to nurture another baby just like I’ve been able to with Atlas.” Derek squeezed Stiles’ hands and sat up, bending his knees underneath him as he looked down at his beautiful boyfriend, his messy hair and his flushed cheeks. “How about we take it one step at a time? First thing’s first we find a home for us. Once we move in, and we see how we are feeling at that point, maybe we will have the energy to try for another. If we can, we will. But there’s also no pressure. I’m ready when you are, okay?” Stiles smiled up at Derek “You’re so understanding…” “You spend nine months growing and then birthing a person. The least I can do is try to understand.” That drew a laugh out of Stiles “Help me up, my legs are still a little shaky.” They redressed, tidied the bathroom to a more presentable state, and returned to their bedroom. Curling up in bed together, they both faced Atlas’ crib and watched him snoozing through the bars. “I love him so much. This year has been the best... I can’t wait watch him grow up. And to have even more wonderful babies with you.” Stiles whispered. “Me too.” Derek kissed the back of Stiles’ neck and pulled him closer. Just as their eyes drifted shut, a cry came from Atlas and they both let out a tired groan “My turn…” Derek hauled himself up. “Maybe we will wait a little longer for another…” Stiles yawned and rolled onto his back, shutting his eyes “If he’s hungry just put him on me… I’m going to sleep.” Derek rolled his eyes in amusement and picked Atlas up, cradling him gently and rocking him side to side “Hush now… you’re okay…”

Chapter 13 – Sweet Recovery Gibbs sat next to Tony’s hospital bed, one hand resting on his Mate’s left wrist as his other arm held Danny against his chest as his son finally slept. It had been a long night and in the stillness of the hospital room he could finally take in all the crap that had happened. He was sure he must have a slew of tickets as he drove at breakneck speeds through the city, but he didn’t care. When he had got to the ‘safe house’ the authorities were already there.  The police had first tried to stop him entering the scene, but enough barking and showing of badges, he had pushed the young officer out of the way. He found Jenkins flat on his back in what was left of the doorway, a neat bullet hole in his forehead. His eyes still looking up in shock. Gibbs didn’t spare him another glance as he saw Tony. His Mate was laid on the floor, another officer had his hands on Tony’s right shoulder and was pressing down hard. Gibbs growled as he all but threw the man aside, he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else having their hands on his Mate, and he soon moved in to put his hands over the hole in Tony’s shoulder that was still bleeding, which was a good sign Tony was still alive. “What the hell!” the officer had protested. “I’m his Mate!” he snapped back as he made sure Tony was still breathing, then he saw the mess that was Tony’s right hand and his chest tightened all over again. “Where’s my son!” he snapped at the officer. “He’s right here.” He looked up to see the FBI agent Tony had had a problem with walk over to him, then all but collapse to sit on the floor at the other side of Tony. Danny was in his arms, his son looked unconscious too. “I think its shock.” Asif said as he pulled a bloody blanked up around Danny a little tighter. “Oh… the blood is mine, but I think he’s hurt, Benjamin threw him pretty hard.” Gibbs looked Agent Asif over, he looked like he had been shot too. He desperately needed to check his son out too, but he couldn’t let go of Tony. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.” Asif was saying. “I didn’t think Ben would ever do something like this…” Gibbs saw him look down the hall and he followed with his eyes. Agent Benjamin lay in a heap by the bathroom door, a pool of blood under him and Gibbs knew he was dead too. “What happened?” he asked, turning his attention back to Tony. “I knew Ben was up to something… I just never guessed it was this.” Asif sighed. “He told me to go check out back, next thing I knew someone was shooting, when I got to the back door Mr Gibbs opened the door and I was shot in the shoulder. I blacked out, when I came too, Ben was throwing little Danny here into the bathroom as they tried to drag Mr Gibbs out of the house… when I confronted them Ben tried to shoot me… I... I took him down, then I shot the other guy.” Gibbs nodded as he heard the sirens of an ambulance approaching. “Thanks.” He uttered as he could see the paramedics coming toward the house, then he had moved to take Tony’s left wrist. Once the paramedics knew he was Tony’s Mate they let him be. He had tried to stay out of their way as much as possible, knowing they needed to cut Tony’s cloths away and lay hands on him. He had hated every second, but there was nothing else for it. When they had got to the nearest hospital, the surgeons had been very annoyed when Gibbs refused to let go of his Mate. But somehow Ducky had got a hold of Dr McNair from St James’s hospital and the man had come over instantly to talk to the normal hospital staff. Abby and Ducky had taken Danny from Asif, who also needed immediate attention, and once Tony was in surgery, Dr McNair had seen to Danny personally. So now, here Gibbs sat in a room in intensive care, his badly bruised son in his arms and Tony still unconscious from the anaesthetic and morphine. He was just about to drift off in the comfy chair the nurses had found for him when he instinctively knew Tony was waking up. “Tony?” he asked softly as his Mate opened his eyes slowly, then he watched as a dopy smile appeared on Tony’s lips. So the morphine was working, even if it was a small dose, Tony still had a strong reaction to it. “Hey.” Tony uttered as he looked over at him. “How are you feeling?” Gibbs asked. Relief at seeing his Mate awake was more than he could take. So distracting himself he rang the buzzer, letting the staff know Tony was awake. “Morphine high.” Tony chuckled then winced. “Ouch.” “Don’t get up!” Gibbs admonished as he stood. He gave Tony’s wrist a caress, being mindful of the bruises left there by Jenkins, before moving it to his Mates face. “You just came out of surgery.” “I did?” Tony asked in bemusement, then Gibbs watched as Tony’s eyes darkened. “He’s right here.” Gibbs said to stall any more distress as he moved so Tony could see Danny was in his arm. Then he lifted Tony’s left hand so he could touch his son. He ignored the nurse who came in as he kept his attention on his Mate as Tony ran his hand through Danny’s hair. “He’s got some bruises, and he’s a lot upset, but he’ll be better when he sees you’re all right.” Then Tony flinched as the nurse touched his other arm. All she was going to do was check Tony’s blood pressure. Something she had done ever half hour since they had got there. “Don’t touch him!” Gibbs snapped at her, making her jump back then she glared at him. “I have to check his vitals.” She answered, going to do it again. But this time Tony let out a whine of distress and Gibbs leaned over and grabbed her hand. “Just give him a moment.” He growled at her. “He’s a Shifter, if you want to touch him then you have to tell him what you are going to do and wait for acceptance.” She blinked at him, “Ah… yes, Dr McNair said.” Then she looked down at Tony. “I’m so sorry… I just have to check your blood pressure, is that all right?” Tony nodded as Gibbs let go of her, then moved his hand back to Tony’s cheek. They watched the nurse do what she had to, then Tony flinched. “Jethro!” “What?” he asked, a little startled. “Morphine!” Tony gasped out. Gibbs blinked in confusion. “We aren’t giving you a high dose.” The nurse said softly. “So it shouldn’t have any affect on your baby. Also you shouldn’t be on it for long. Dr McNair had seen to it personally if that will help?” “The baby?” Tony uttered. “Is she ok?” Gibbs saw a flash of guilt cross over Tony’s face and he finally knew why Tony had apologised to him earlier. “Umm… according to the scans in your chart she’s fine.” The nurse reassured. “We will be keeping a close eye on everything, but at the moment there is nothing to worry about.” “Thank you.” Tony uttered in relief. Gibbs watched as Tony’s sagged into the bed, his eyes already closing. Then he stiffened up again. “Jenkins?!” Gibbs ran his hand through Tony’s hair. “He’s in Ducky’s charge now, he won’t be a problem anymore.” He watched Tony smile before he fell asleep again. “Would you like me to bring in another bed?” the nurse suddenly asked. “You look exhausted too.” She smiled. Gibbs nodded as he once again took Tony’s wrist, careful of bruises. “Thanks.” He said as he sat back down, Danny was still asleep and as the clock on the wall told him it was almost half past four in the morning, he guessed some sleep wouldn’t be a problem. He really wanted to be in his right mind before Tony woke up again.   + + + + + + +    Tony woke to voices, at first he couldn’t understand what they were saying until he heard Jethro’s cool tone and it sent pleasant shivers through his bones. He blinked open gummy eyes. The whole process seemed funny somehow and he let out a giggle even though his throat seemed like he had swallowed sand. “Tony?” Jethro asked and his face swimming into Tony’s vision. “Kiss me.” He grinned; watching as startling blue eyes crinkled at the edges and came closer. Then cool dry lips met his own and it felt like heaven. “How are you feeling?” Jethro asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement, Tony chose to ignore the shadows in them. “Floaty light!” he giggled, then tried to reach up to pull his Mate closer when a stab of pain seemed to rob him of breath down his right side. “Ouch!” he complained. “Take it easy.” Jethro was saying, then Tony felt Jethro’s arms around him on his left side, genially pulling him upright. It hurt like hell, but it felt good as he nuzzled his face into his Mate’s chest. “McGee get the controls.” “On it.” Tony felt the head of the bed slowly begin to move at his back, then he was being laid down against soft pillows. He managed to grab some of Jethro’s clothes so he wouldn’t pull away too far. He wanted to stay close to his Mate. “I’m right here.” Jethro whispered, “But I think there is someone who needs to see you more right now.” Tony frowned as he reluctantly let Jethro pull away, then he could see Danny sat on a bed just behind Jethro. His huge blue eyes were filled with unshed tears and Tony felt the cold chill of sobriety go through his blood. “Danny…” Suddenly Danny was holding out his little arms for him and before Tony could even move, Jethro had picked up their son and was placing him into Tony’s arms. “Be careful of his shoulder.” Jethro told Danny as their son clung to Tony’s neck and cried. Tony held him tight with his left arm. “You okay baby?” he whispered, desperately fighting off the fog that the painkillers were putting in his head. “Ouchis!” Danny replied through his tears. “Ma’ma got ouchis!” Tony desperately wanted to use his right arm to pull his son closer, but knew the ache coming from his shoulder and the numbness beyond, he couldn’t. “Ma’ma’s gonna be fine.” He uttered. “You were so brave!” He then looked up at his Mate. “Where was he hurt?” Jethro just leaned down and slowly pulled Danny away so he was sitting in Tony’s lap, then carefully began pulling at the t-shirt someone had put him in. “Let’s show Ma’ma your bruises.” “Ah! I told you to call when he wakes up” a nurse suddenly came in and Tony’s hackles rose. “What’s going on?” She didn’t sound hostile, just curious, but Tony really couldn’t take it. “Please stay back a moment.” Tony could have thanked Tim as he blocked the nurse from coming any further into the room. “I think they just need a moment.” “But. This is intensive care.” She snapped. “Just observe please, he’s not in any distress. I’m sure once he’s ready, you can come in and see to him.” Tim persisted. Tony ignored her as best he could as he finally laid eyes on the bruises on Danny’s shoulder and hip. He ran his hands over them carefully as his son tried not to flinch. His son knew better then to squirm too much from practise. Tony was only satisfied when he knew there were no breaks in his son’s skin. “Satisfied?” Jethro asked, the slight amusement in his voice always made Tony feel a little odd, but he really couldn’t help his Shifter compulsions sometimes. He nodded as he watched Jethro dress Danny again, then he pulled his son back against his chest. He felt tired as he relaxed back against the pillows, finally letting the morphine make the world dull a little. “Can I see to him now?” Tony heard the nurse question, then he was aware of her standing besides his right side. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “I just need to take your vitals, is that ok?” He gave her a nod as he felt Jethro rest a hand on his left shoulder and he turned his head to smile up at his Mate. Everything at that moment seemed right with the world.   + + + + + + +    Gibbs sighed as he carried on making the sauerkraut the way that Tony liked it at the moment. Boiled to death then a flour and fat thickener added and cooked some more. He wouldn’t mind so much, but the love of his life wanted it for breakfast. “Crap!” Gibbs turned to the living room where Tony was bending to pick up another broken mug. “You ok?” he asked. “Yeah, it was empty, just the handle this time.” Tony replied as he fished under the coffee table for the broken item. Gibbs couldn’t help the unpleasant squirm in the pit of his belly. It had been almost two months since Tony had gotten out of the hospital. He had recovered well, more so after he was transferred to St James’s where the staff were more accommodating of a Shifter and its Mates needs. The wound in Tony’s shoulder had healed fine with only some nerve damage that made his arm numb in places. His hand was another matter. After the surgeon had removed the splinters of wood and metal Tony had lost a lot of feeling in his first finger and thumb, his little finger was also stiff and in the cold weather as winter passed, he would complain of pain in the joints of his hand. So sometime his grip would fail him, which meant the buying of new kitchen ware was almost a constant. Gibbs knew Tony was frustrated by it, even if his Mate rarely complained unless his hands were cold. It also affected him when he was Shifted and now had a limp he tried to hide. The Doctors had assured them the scaring would fade with time, and that possible corrective surgeries would be necessary. But all that would have to wait until their next child was born. “Well, just throw it away, your sauerkraut’s almost ready.” He said turning back to his task. “And why aren’t you still in bed?” After all, Tony had been up some of the night trying to get Danny to sleep after his nightmare. They were lucky in the fact he actually hadn’t had many since Jenkins had tried to abduct Tony again, but when they did come it could take hours to convince Danny he was safe. So while Tony dealt with Danny, Gibbs held Tony through his own spouts of nightmares. “To tired to sleep anymore.” Tony said as he passed him to throw the mug away. Then he plonked the baby monitor he had with him on the counter top and yawned. “Also She didn’t want to sleep anymore.” He ran a hand over his rounded belly. “You’re convinced it’s a girl then?” Gibbs couldn’t help but chuckle. “Did you sneak a look at the last scan?”  Tony sidled up to him and rested his head on Gibbs’s shoulder. “Nope.” He said through another yawn. “You sure?” he asked. “don’t think I haven’t seen the pink clothes you have been sneaking in.” Tony snorted then smiled. “Just feels different to when I was carrying Danny.” “That’s probably all the sauerkraut you’ve been eating, it’s probably gas.” He said flatly, trying to keep the smile from his face, he actually hoped Tony was right. “Ma’ma?” Danny’s sleepy voice came through the baby monitor. Gibbs heard Tony sigh. “Sometimes I hate you.” Gibbs just smiled, it had started as a joke, but Danny seemed to take to the name just fine. “He’ll only ever have one mother.” He whispered into his Mates ear as he tried to pass him again. “After all.” He carried on when Tony stopped and turned wide green eyes on him. “Mother is the name for God on the lips of all children.” What he did not expect was the tears that suddenly appeared in Tony’s eyes, then Tony smiled. “You’re a bastard… Quoting the Crow at me now?” he chuckled as he put his arms around him. “Thanks” he said as he leaned in and rested his lips against Gibbs’s own. “Ma’ma?” Danny said a little more loudly. Tony gave him another chast kiss before pulling away. “I give up.” He said with another cheeky grin as he left. “Mothers coming!” Gibbs watched him go, feeling himself fall in love all over again with Tony, his Mate, his husband, the mother of his children and most of all, the one thing that had brought light back into his life.   The e... just kidding!   TBC

            There once was a boy who lived in a world of black and white and grey. He didn’t know that the world was only black and white and grey. When a thing is all you know, there are no words like ‘only.’             He lived as he should, spoke as he should, acted as he should, and no one thought he was different than the rest. However, he knew. Sometimes he would look towards the horizon, and he would wonder what lay beyond. It wasn’t the way of his people to wonder, though. So he kept his thoughts to himself.             One day he woke to go to class, and as he walked, he saw a light on the horizon. He looked to see if anyone else had noticed, but he was the only one. The boy hesitated.             Then he turned from the path and followed the light.             He walked over hills and plains, never quite finding the light. Around him, though, the world changed ever so slightly. There were trees he could not name, and flowers he had never seen before. He walked through grass that came all the way up to his waist, and sometimes it had the faintest shades of green, reflected by his eyes.             The boy walked and walked, until he came to the top of one last hill. He could barely comprehend what he had found. Before him, in its endless glory, lay the sea.             He had never seen so much colour. The water was a thousand shades of blue, never staying still. He was scared. This was not the world he knew. It was not the world he had been taught.             He turned to run, but something in the water caught his eye. A hand had breached the surface. It waved to him.             The boy paused. He waved back, then turned and ran for home.             He tried to live as he was expected to live. But his dreams were haunted by the colour of the sea, and the single hand, greeting him, calling him.             His attempts to stay away could only last so long. It seemed like hardly any time had passed at all, and he was leaving the path, heading back towards that terrible, vast thing he’d seen in his dreams. The whole time he walked, he tried to convince himself that he was prepared for what he’d find, but how could he be?             When he reached the sea, he walked down to where the water met the sand. He struggled to be brave.             The hand came out of the water again, waving to him. The boy waved back.             Before him, the sea suddenly parted. It opened into a valley between the water. The boy stayed where he was, too frightened to go forward.             But as he looked, he saw that at the end of this rift was another boy. The boy floated in the water, rippling with the blue of the sea. The boy in the water waved again, and the boy on the land waved back.             The boy in the water beckoned him forward. The boy on the land was scared, but he had come so far. He had come to see what the water held. So he walked onto the path that had been lain for him.             When he reached the boy in the water, the stranger smiled. The boy in the water swam and dove for joy of a new face, and the boy from the land watched, amazed, at this singular creature.             Then the boy in the water sang for the boy from the land.             The boy from the land would journey from his home to the sea, and each time the boy in the water would greet him. The boy in the water would sing, and the boy from the land would draw pictures, and they learned one another’s stories. The boy in the water would call for the boy from the land to join him in the ocean, but the boy from the land was too afraid. He didn’t know how to swim.             The boy in the water promised to teach him. But the boy from the land was afraid.             Until the day came that he wanted to be with the boy more than he feared the sea.             The boy from the land put aside his things, and walked down the path that had been made for him. At the end, the boy in the water waited for him, singing his song. When he came to the end, the boy from the land swallowed, then reached into the sea.             His hands were taken by the boy in the water, and he was pulled inside.             And for a moment, it was two boys in the water, and when they kissed, it tasted like salt, and the entire world was blue. The entire world was in colour, and there was nothing but water and mouths and the sense of being where one belonged.             The boy realized he couldn’t breathe.             He began to thrash, and the boy from the water quickly pushed him back onto the path. The boy from the land gasped for breath, and the boy in the water floated in front of him, afraid.             The boy from the land didn’t understand. They didn’t look so different. How could one of them breathe under water, and one of them could not?             He beckoned for the boy in the water to step out of the sea. But the other boy shook his head. He opened his chest, showing the heart that lay within. It was made of waves. It was bluer than even the sea itself.             They were stuck, not so different, but a world apart, separated by centimeters.             The boy in the water reached out his hand, and the boy from the land took it. They met at the wall of water, each on their own side.             The boy from the land continued his journey back and forth, but he grew increasingly heartsick. He tried going back in the ocean, but every time he did, within seconds the water would work its way into his lungs. The boy in the water would push him out of the sea every time, finally trying to keep the boy from the land from even entering the water. He could not bear to see the boy from the land hurt so.             People asked the boy where he went to. He could not explain.             They told stories behind his back. He heard them nonetheless.             He began to wonder why the boy in the water would not even try to step onto land. Every time, the boy from the land would walk into the water, knowing what was coming, but needing to try nonetheless. A person could learn to hold their breath. Could a person not learn to breathe?             Once he thought it, he could not stop thinking it. He tried to lure the boy in the water onto land, but the boy would open his chest, and show his heart of waves, and he would not leave the water. The boy from the land felt his love begin to be tempered by bitterness.             He had tried. He had pretended not to hear the whispers of others. The boy in the water had no reason not to leave the sea. He was just being selfish.             It was a poison in his heart that slowly spread.             But still he loved. Still he wanted to be with the boy in the sea. So he went down to the shore, and he did not take the path the boy had laid for him.             The boy in the water shook his head, and the boy on the land was overcome with anger. In that moment, he made a promise. If his effort was not matched, he would never return to the sea. The boy in the water tried to show him his heart, but the boy on the land was not swayed. He turned to walk away, forever.             He heard the water part, and when he turned, he found the boy in the water had stepped onto the path. He looked terrified. The boy on the land did not go for him. He simply held out his hands, waiting for his love to come to him.             The boy from the water took a few steps, and suddenly opened his mouth. Water spilled from it. Water spilled from his eyes. A bluer blue than even the ocean. The boy from the water reached for his chest, and the boy from the land saw that the tides of his heart were receding. They were disappearing.             Realizing what was happening, the boy from the land ran down the path, but the waves were already crashing in. He grabbed for his love, but the water took him. The water took them both.             The boy from the land fought the ocean, but it dragged the lifeless body of the boy from the sea down into the deeps. The boy from the land tried to swim after him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He fought and fought, but there is no reclaiming a heart once it’s stopped.             And still he could not hold his breath under water.

Picture Perfect   Chapter 1: Lights. Camera. Action. Nothing thrilled Dan more than hearing the shutter of his camera. When his camera shuttered, it meant he had captured a perfect image to last forever. Models loved working with Dan. Dan was a visionary, and he knew it. He only worked with the best models, and he chose each of them personally. If you were a model that wanted your career to take off, you’d better hope you were approached by Daniel Howell, London’s most famous and successful professional photographer. “Work it, Jessica!” said Dan as he snapped picture after picture of one of his favorite models. Jessica was a rare specimen of lightly tanned skin and emerald eyes. Dan loved working with the lighting and how it made her eyes shine like real gemstones. “Turn to your left. I want to see your hair flow with the dress.” Jessica flashed a perfect smile, “Whatever you say, Daniel.” She tossed her hair just right, and when Dan heard the camera shutter, he knew he had done it again. “Perfect!” exclaimed Dan as he took a moment to catch his breath. He let his camera rest around his neck and opened up his water bottle that was brought to him by one of his assistants. After taking a swig of water, he sighed, and he smiled at Jessica. “Great work today, babe. Get some beauty rest.” Jessica walked over to Dan. Dan could spot her body language message a mile away. She was about to ask the famous question. Sure enough, she said, “Why don’t we both rest up at my place?” Dan gently cupped Jessica’s face, “Sorry, sweetheart, but you know the rules.” “I thought a man like you would be up for a little bit of rule breaking,” said Jessica in her most seductive voice as she brought Dan’s face close to hers. “Well,” said Dan, his voice trailing. He then pulled away. “Unfortunately, I’m married to my work.” Jessica huffed, “Worth a shot.” “I always am.” Dan gave Jessica a wink and left the studio. After stepping outside, Dan got inside his private car. “Starbucks, please, I’m parched for something that isn’t the taste of the inside of my mouth.” His driver chuckled and started towards Starbucks. Once they arrived, his driver opened his door for him. Dan stepped out of the car and walked inside the building, hoping his coat would cover his extremely professional attire. He often posed for his own photoshoots and was sometimes recognized, so he deeply hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with that today. “A cinnamon chai latte please, hot,” said Dan not bothering to look at the barista. He was too busy getting his credit card out. “That will be 3.49,” informed the barista. Dan looked up from his wallet, and his heart stopped. He felt like he had been hit straight in the head with a hammer. The man standing in front of him was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He had black hair styled in a fringe that was swept to the right. His eyes were the most stunning thing Dan had ever laid his own eyes upon. Blue, green, and even some light shades of yellow seemed to mix into the man’s eyes. However, it was the blue that stood out the most, and Dan felt as if it was hard to breathe. Dan stood still, completely unaware he was staring with his mouth hung open. “Um, are you alright?” asked the man. Dan blinked and licked his lips unconsciously. “Um, yes. Sorry.” He handed the man his credit card, having no idea that eyes were still filled with awe. The barista smiled awkwardly, and swiped Dan’s card. “What’s your name?” The barista had to take a moment to process Dan’s question. Why did he want to know his name? “Phil…” he said with slight suspicion in his voice. He handed Dan back his credit card, and picked up a cup for Dan’s drink. “Name?” Dan’s eyebrows rose. “For the cup. It’s just…for the cup.” “Daniel,” said Dan with a slight smirk to his lips. Phil shyly nodded his head and then wrote “Daniel” on the cup. “That will be right out.” Dan smiled at Phil, and then sat down in the lounge area of Starbucks. A few minutes later, Phil called out, “Daniel.” Dan got up from his seat and walked up to the counter to grab his drink. “Thank you,” he said, making sure his voice smoothly made it to Phil’s ears. Phil blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s kind of my job.” Dan gave Phil his signature wink and left the Starbucks. His driver opened his door for him, and he sat inside his car. Dan sipped his drink and smiled to himself, “Everett, make a note of this location. I think I just found London’s next top model.” *** It wasn’t long before Dan had locked down who Phil was. His full name was Philip Michael Lester. He was 28 years old, just two years older than Dan. Dan couldn’t help but to feel entranced as he looked through any photos he could find of Phil on the internet. There was something about Phil that was perfect to Dan. Dan just had to have him. Dan made his way to the same Starbucks location Phil worked at and waited for Phil’s shift to end. Almost immediately after Phil left the Starbucks building, Dan approached him. “Phil, right?” Phil stopped dead in his tracks. He recognized Dan as a customer and was instantly confused as to why a costumer would want to talk to him, none the less remember his name. “Can I help you?” “Have you ever considered modeling before?” asked Dan trying to make the idea sound intriguing. Phil just stared at Dan for a moment. “Wait, what? Modeling? You’re joking right? This is some sort of prank.” “No, I’m serious. I saw you the other day, and you’re perfect.” “I’m supposed to believe that? I’m a skinny nerd that works at Starbucks.” Phil chuckled at his own statement. Dan couldn’t help but to smile with a hint of sinister flare. “You’re a hot nerd, and where you work is irrelevant.” Phil’s cheeks burned. He couldn’t believe what was happening. “Even if that were true, I’m too thin. The men that do modeling have trainers for Christ’s sake.” “You don’t necessarily have to do photoshoots for sports magazines. Gaming magazines, advertisements for college, those are where we need a nerd, but a sexy nerd. Those are the types of photoshoots I have in mind for you.” Phil bit his lip nervously, “So what are you? Are you someone that looks for models, or do you know someone?” Dan chuckled. “Something like that. Honestly, you’re perfect. Please, please come to a trial photoshoot.” Phil shrugged, “I think I’ll pass. Thanks anyways,” he started to walk away. “I’ll pay you one-thousand pounds!” exclaimed Dan before he could even fathom what he had stated. “You’ll what?” asked Phil as he turned around. He was stunned. Was this guy serious? Dan nodded his head yes, “One-thousand pounds. Just come to the studio, and please, please do a trial photoshoot.” Phil had to think for a moment. One-thousand pounds seemed worthwhile, however, the idea of modeling? He felt like he’d make a fool of himself. Despite that fear he said, “Alright.” “Now just hear me out—wait. What did you say?” “I said alright,” stated Phil as he crossed his arms. “Give me your business card if you have one.” Dan immediately pulled out his wallet and handed Phil a card. Phil looked at the card. Daniel Howell. “Come to this address?” Dan smiled and nodded yes, since he was at a loss for words. “Alright. When?” “Uh, tomorrow; how’s 2:00 p.m.?” “I get off at one, so that should be fine.” Dan grinned from ear to ear, “Thank you! Thank you so much!” Phil chuckled, “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” Dan couldn’t help but to chuckle as well, “Oh. It’s like you’ve never looked in a mirror.”

Seokjin would always remember the day he first saw Kim Namjoon. It was the season his people called, The Turning, when the leaves became fiery reds and browns, and dropped to collect in piles on the forest floor. The season was celebrated by a large feast held in the heart of their underground home, in which long tables would be laid out and all of their sect tribes would come together on neutral ground to recognise the changing times. Naturally, when such a large feast was planned, there was much gathering and hunting to be done to provide enough meat for the visitors. Seokjin’s pack had been sent close to the border where the deer often gathered in large herds. ‘Hobi! Hyung, catch me!’ A high voice giggled excitedly. The cry was accompanied by the sound of a body falling and Seokjin swivelled around from his place at the head of the pack to see Taehyung falling off of a branch and into Hoseok’s waiting arms. Though the older Alpha caught his packmate, a panicked look was still fixed on his easy-to-read features. ‘Tae, what are you doing? You could get hurt!’ Hoseok scolded lightly. Tae burst into a fit of giggles in the elder’s arms and reached up to press a small kiss to Hoseok’s cheek. ‘No I wouldn’t. You’d hurt yourself before letting me get injured’. Well, Seokjin mused, he was completely right. The younger packmates were their biggest sources of both worry and affection. He was torn from watching the rest of the interaction when a voice called his name from up ahead. ‘Jin!’ The sound of running paws which swiftly turned heavier as their owner shifted to their human form, alerted him to the arrival of the caller, his pack’s pup.Jungkook’s doe eyes were more huge than usual as excitement and pride filled them, and the bouncing way he moved told Seokjin that his pup had clearly succeeded in his mission. ‘There’s a huge herd of deer up ahead,’ the youngest breathlessly stated. Seokjin reached out to ruffle the pup’s long, black hair as he finished his report, causing a bunny smile to flash his way that only widened when he replied, ‘Good job, Kookie’. Raising his voice, Seokjin addressed the rest of his pack, who had been calmly awaiting the youngest’s arrival. ‘Jungkook will lead us to the herd he discovered, when we get there you know what to do. We meet back at the village’. No speech was needed from then on. Seokjin was the head Alpha and he had spoken. Shifting to his wolf form as easily as he slipped on his Jashi in the morning, he took off in the direction Jungkook had returned from, only slowing slightly to let the much tinier black pup race ahead and lead. The forest seemed more alive in this form, with his superior senses giving high definition to the colours around him, and the scents and sounds filtering through his system more strongly. His awareness of his packmates was also greater, as he could hear their heartbeats in their chests, and feel their emotions filtering through the pack bonds. Mostly, feelings of excitement and exhilaration could be felt when he experimentally focussed on each bond strand which appeared like a series of golden strings in his mind. Jungkook yipped loudly, alerting him to the fact that they were almost upon the herd. With a flick of his tail, Seokjin signed for each of his packmates to split off alone, with the exception of Yoongi who sped up to join Jungkook. Their youngest was strong and intelligent, but he was still small enough to sustain extreme damage from a hoof-strike during hunts, and Seokjin could always focus on his own tasks when he knew someone was watching the pup’s back. Digging his paws into the ground he sped up and burst through the treeline, his attention latching on to a huge male deer on the edge of the herd. For a shifter of his size, a male deer was simple enough a catch. At the sight of the wolves streaming out of the trees, the herd predictably began to race away along a clear, grassy patch of ground, but Seokjin’s pack had already chosen their targets and would not be deterred by the mad, scrambling herd. The male deer had to swerve to avoid a young doe, and found himself racing in a different direction, towards the forest which bordered the human dwellings. Seokjin gave chase, eating up the distance easily as the male deer began to lose stamina upon his entry into the next treeline. He knew that going closer to the human village was unwise, as the poor species had yet to know of their existence, but the prize before him was worth more than his worry. Anyway, when the wedding night happened in a few years, the humans would learn of them, what was the worst that could happen if he got a bit closer to a dwelling than socially accepted? His momentary lapse of thought meant that he did not focus on the path, and he suddenly found his foot twisting on a root which stuck up from the forest floor, and had been covered by the leaves. The sudden skid sent him falling onto his side with a growl of frustration, and by the time he had sprang back to his feet the deer had disappeared in the more dense forest. He sniffed the air determinedly, hoping to find the trail of the deer, but a different, more powerful scent was filling his nose, an intoxicating mix of peaches and caramel. It was unlike anything he had ever smelt in his life, a heady and entrancing mix. And that mix was accompanied by footsteps too clumsy to be those of a fellow shifter. Shedding his wolf form, Seokjin jumped, latching on to a branch above and pulling himself smoothly onto the tree-limb. And not a moment too soon, as he was no sooner settled into position, than the owner of the scent passed below him.It was indeed a human, but unlike any human he had ever seen before. When he was a pup he had seen humans travelling in the woods and had privately thought them to be silly, strange looking creatures. Instead of Jashi and Eresh in sect colours, the humans wore long robes that were highly impractical for any sort of journey. The Omega humans had bright gems all through their hair, which caught the light and broadcasted their positions to every creature in the area. And their talk. It was mundane and unintelligent, focussing on the beauty of the Omegas. As if beauty counted when picking a mate. Only those with strong character and heart survived the harsh life of the outdoors, and the beauty standards of his people were apparently very different, as he preferred natural beauty to shine through, while the humans painted themselves with strange powders they called ‘makeup’. No, he had never been attracted to any human before. But this human, he was different to all the others. He was unmistakably an Omega by scent, and yet was dressed in a sensible dark brown and black outfit which camouflaged him well in shade. He was tall, with wide shoulders and curved hips of an Omega in good physical condition, unlike those tiny, simpering beasts. With a book in hand it showed he was also intelligent, but the thing that drew Seokjin in most was the sheer natural beauty that exuded from those dimpled cheeks, warm eyes and adorably long limbs. When he stumbled over the same root that Seokjin had found, he seemed so cute in his clumsy flailing. Unknownst to the human, Seokjin grinned broadly in the shadows of the tree, if this human was still alive when it was time for the wedding night, then he would be a fine addition to Seokjin’s pack. The perfect bride.     The Jaia sect were considered strange by the others, mostly because they lived the closest to the humans, and sometimes shed their traditional dress to walk amongst them. Jaebum had never understood the beliefs of the other sects towards humans, really the creatures were far too stupid to ever recognise that the Jaia people were not like them. His people were far more diverse than the other sects for their relations with the humans, as trinkets brought back from supply runs helped grow their knowledge of the other species’ culture. They had learnt all sorts of things. The pups loved playing with the round spheres the humans called ‘balls’, and the women enjoyed wearing the more colourful and decorative earrings the humans used. They had learnt new medical techniques as well, and had found out what chloroform was on a very memorable occasion in which Youngjae brought back a bottle, thought it was perfume, and had knocked out BamBam for hours. Jaebum didn’t get as much time to enter the human villages due to his duties as head of the pack, but one of the few times he had gone, he had decided to go to a ‘university open day’. The topics that humans learnt were fascinating, though he was perplexed as to why they needed years to learn skills his people knew since their whelping days. The example lecture given by the literature professor had caught his eye, which was how Jaebum found himself tucked into the back row of chairs and observing the most captivating human he had ever seen. Professor Kim Namjoon was not dull like many humans, his thin form was filled with so much enthusiasm and life that it bubbled out of him with each word. The passion in his tone as he regaled the wonders of classic books had Jaebum desiring to purchase a set immediately. Behind his adorable glasses, his warm eyes had looked so big and innocent, and Jaebum couldn’t help but relate him to a baby fawn, clumsy with limbs too big for his body, but adorable and earnest in his efforts. The human looked so small in his too-big tunic, and his sweater paws made Jaebum desire to wrap him up in an embrace and never let go. With the wedding night one month away, and his pack needing a final member, it seemed Jaebum had found a worthy bride.     On the wedding night, the moon was full and bathing the world in silvery light. The humans had long since retired to their beds, their lack of tuned senses not altering them to the shadows which slinked and slipped between buildings. Occasionally, a group of shadows would dart through a window or pick a lock, and would emerge a few minutes later with a limp body in their grasp. Some struggled more than others, but shifter strength was far superior to humans, and they eventually would fall prey to the hunters. No alarm call was ever heard by the villagers. The guardsmen had no knowledge of any threats in the area and were more for show than any real protection. They were easy to dispose of. One tiny dwelling was lit up by an open window, the moonlight caressing the lanky form of the Omega within as he slumbered, occasionally letting out a small, contented sound. Four sets of shadows, unbeknownst to each other, slunk towards the dwelling from different directions, intent on spying the prize within. For unknowingly, Kim Namjoon was the perfect bride for a shifter.

Jack’s head rests on Sam’s shoulder, Sam’s arm curled around his back. The stone steps are smooth, a welcome coolness in the muggy night air.  The church sits on a narrow, dilapidated dirt road. Not much to see in either direction, just rolling fields and a few barns.  The moon is bright. It’s quiet, just the vaguest rustle of wind.  No buzz of crickets. And that’s another thing—the swath of death surrounding the church, withered vegetation flattened outward from ground zero. Sam can’t tell precisely how far out it goes. He squints out at the distant shapes of barns—maybe farmhouses as well—and his heart cringes away from the thought of checking.  Right now he can’t think about Dean and he can’t wonder how many people got caught in the lethal fallout that finally finished it. Right now it’s just him and Jack and the faint sticky breeze and the body in the church. Headlights cut through the night. Jack and Sam get to their feet as a big black SUV rattles up the road. It looks expensive, all sleek leather and gleaming chrome, but it’s caked in dust from the tiny backcountry lane.  The car rumbles to a stop. There’s no driveway, but there’s an area that could generously be called a parking lot—a wide flat patch of dirt, overgrown and choked with crumbling black weeds.  Charlie hops out, beams and waves. “Hear you smoked Satan! Guess that makes you a pretty big frickin’ deal, huh?”  This might not be his Charlie, but her irrepressible grin still loosens something in his chest.  “Uh, yeah,” says Sam, with a smile that feels alien. “Do you have a first aid kit?” Jack’s wound is half-healed, but it still needs stitches. Charlie nods, goes to rummage in the trunk.  Rowena unfolds from the passenger side and marches straight up to Sam. She’s wearing a dress several shades more practical than her usual attire and carrying a huge leather handbag. Probably designer. Her makeup is, as usual, extravagant and impeccable.  “Where is he?” she asks, unsmiling.  Sam gestures inside.  Jack looks between them. “What are you going to do?” he asks. Sam doesn’t know. “Jack, Charlie’s gonna stitch you up, okay?” Charlie tosses a thumbs up from where she’s still digging through the trunk.  For a second, Sam’s afraid he’s going to protest, but Jack just glances in the church one last time and swallows. “Okay,” he says, quiet and heavy with exhaustion. He’s barely spoken since it happened. Sam gives Jack a brief smile and squeezes his arm. Then he and Rowena go inside.      They close the doors behind them. It’s dim, but the moonlight through the shattered glass is enough. Rowena makes a low, guttural sound when she sees the body. “Oh, yes,” she hisses. “Oh, my, yes.” She leans over and taps the tip of one manicured nail to the vessel’s forehead.  “Dead as doornails,” she pronounces, cheerily. She sets down the handbag, which gives an ominous clank. “Now, let’s make sure it sticks with a wee curse, yes?"  “What about him?” Sam’s looking at the corpse.  Rowena raises one perfectly arched eyebrow.  “The vessel, I mean. Nick.” Sam doesn’t know his last name. Lucifer didn’t either.  “You’re concerned about some long-dead husk at a time like this?” Sam pinches his lips together, gives her a dry unamused look.    She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Fine. I promise, this spell is custom-tailored, Lucifer only. That poor sot won’t twitch in his grave. Does that meet with your delicate sensibilities?” Sam just nods. Rowena unclasps her bag. “Lovely. Now, stand back and do try not to break anything.”     The first thing she does is set out candles. There are dozens, some squat and misshapen, others elegantly carved into sinuous forms, and Rowena flicks her fingers to ignite each wick until the room is awash with flickering orange light.   She takes out handfuls of tiny dull-white crystals—Sam’s betting they’re something a little more exotic than quartz—and places them to trace the edges of the burnt-out wings. Crime scene outline, Sam thinks giddily.  Then, Rowena begins to draw. There are layers and layers of interlocking runes—Enochian, Aramaic, Norse, Sanskrit. More. Petroglyphs and Celtic knots and cuneiform, all rendered with the familiarity of centuries. Sam doesn’t recognize half.  It’s done in chalk and powder and carvings and paint, to start, but soon, Rowena’s using bare fingers to sketch lines of golden mist that hang suspended in three-dimensional arcs, densely braided. She arranges hovering prisms to bend beams of candlelight into complex geometries. She lays out tiny tuning forks that begin to vibrate of their own accord, humming in an eerie, mounting harmony. She wafts incense and burns fragrant herbs in dizzying looping coils, scent upon scent upon scent until the pattern is inescapable.  At some point, Rowena begins to sing, voice rising and falling in a hypnotic wailing chant that makes Sam’s pulse thunder in his ears. Some Gaelic dialect, at a guess. Her head throws back, eyes rolled back to whites, red hair tumbled and glowing like fire, arms out, swaying side to side, and she steps into a dance. Thump, thump, thump-thump, slow, feet moving in odd angular patterns, then faster, smoother, whirling, and she’s an otherworldly creature, fey and ancient and inescapable as death. She’s weaving the pieces of the spell together until Sam can feel it with a sixth sense on top of the other five: a dense, dark knot of ghastly power building and gnashing and building, rhythmically pushing to some nauseous crescendo.   No hedge-magic, this. Sam stands and watches and tastes the sharp, high note of the gathering maelstrom. Outside the broken windows, the moon rises higher.  Rowena stills, stops her song. The spell quivers, thrums, and settles. The knotted curse roiling above the body is so vivid and furious and ravenous that Sam imagines he can see it—a chained nightmare hound screaming for blood, the unnamable maw of a black hole waiting to be set loose.  Rowena sighs, long and breathy, and lowers her arms. There’s a thin tremor through her limbs, and her face shines with sweat. “There, now,” she murmurs, “there, there, sweet thing, not long now.” She dabs gently at her forehead, retreats to her bag to retrieve a paintbrush, a pair of scissors, and a small jar of something thick and red.  She strides back to the body, kneels over it, twists her hand in a strange direction Sam’s eyes can’t quite follow, and she’s suddenly holding a long burnt feather, huge and black and crumbling. She stuffs it into the jar. It crumbles apart like ash, and whatever’s inside flashes a sickly red.  Rowena carefully sets the jar on the floor, then cuts open the jacket and ruined white shirt. There’s a weird uncomfortable thrill that pulses through Sam as she rips the fabric away to bare the torso completely. A wrongness, a fearful break in protocol; a flip of anticipation and terror. The universe has tilted on its axis, and Sam feels an exposed, sick, coiling weight: half terrible vulnerability, half something else. Something shameful and hungry. He curls his toes and rubs his suddenly sweating palms on his jeans. Rowena dips her brush. Sam steps forward carefully. Bends low and lays a hand on her arm. Asks, quietly, “Do you want help?”  She looks up at him, nostrils flared and knuckles white on her brush, and for a moment Sam thinks she’s going to refuse. Then, her pressed-tight lips break into a sly smile. “I don’t let just anyone handle my paints, you know. But I suppose I could make an exception, for a tall man.” She gets Sam a second brush. Together, Sam mirroring her marks, they draw crimson symbols over the eyes, hands, mouth, heart. Rowena clicks her fingers and snaps in Latin: “Inure, cateno, vinculo, adnullo!” The substance flashes white hot, then sinks hissing into the skin as angry red brands seared black at the edges.  They withdraw. Sam screws the jar shut and puts it back near the handbag. Above the body, the waiting curse still shudders and howls and throbs its hunger. Rowena mutters for awhile over a large wooden bowl, adding ingredients one at a time. Sam sees needles, razors, tiny bones, sulfur, wormwood. More herbs he can’t identify. Something small and furred. Burdock, yew, belladonna. A wisp of something white that seems to be drawn from the air itself. Hellebore, aconite. A flower with livid blue petals. A hoof. A pinch of a substance that glows a violent orange. A shimmering silver thread, gossamer-fine. She sets down the bowl and pulls a necklace out from beneath the neckline of her dress—a simple chain with a smooth gray stone, flat and utterly unremarkable, fist-sized. Without a visible flicker of power, the chain vanishes. Eyes glowing a faint violet, Rowena tips back her head, holds the stone over her heart, and squeezes. Blood wells and drips between her clenched fingers, darkening to a viscous black ichor that dribbles down her forearms and into the bowl. As it touches the contents, they flare in bright purple light, then melt together into a slimy dark oil.   Finally, Rowena stands. She steps forward, clutching the bowl—then she pauses, turns back, and offers it to Sam. “If you would do the honors?”  Sam, surprised, takes it. “You mean I—don’t you want to?” “Oh, Samuel, I very much do. But magic runs on more than raw power." She smiles, vulpine, but it’s strained. This is costing her something. “I rather suspect this curse will be a wee bit stronger if you’re the one to yank the final lever.” "What do I have to do?" Sam asks. The substance in the bowl is writhing gently.  She flicks a lock of red hair back over her shoulder and looks Sam straight in the eye. "Just think of him, say his name, and toss the potion over the body.” Okay. He can do that. Sam says “Lucifer,” and looks into the bowl.  Nothing seems to change. Maybe the cool wood warms slightly.  He glances back at Rowena, who purses her lips impatiently. “Try a little harder than that, please, or I’ll be taking the bowl back.” He closes his eyes, this time, thinks a bit more.  The first time they met: the shape of Jess in Sam’s bed. Saying yes: grace and sublime agony, a reflection in a cracked mirror. In the Cage: his habits, his tells, his creativity; his likes and dislikes, his true face; the wretched petty scale of him, simultaneously mundane and vast. Sam’s gorge rises on a wave of terror and violation and loathing and helplessness. Lucifer, Sam thinks.  “Lucifer,” Sam says.  The bowl is instantly blisteringly hot. He tosses the oil.  As soon as the liquid touches the corpse, the trapped curse explodes forth in a towering column of boiling light and sound, a ravenous white-phosphorus creature with too many mouths. He and Rowena are blasted backward, skidding across the marble.  The curse screams and rips and burns, lashing and howling like a wild animal. Its flesh is made of heat and blinding hatred. Sam watches until he’s finally forced to screw his eyes shut and cover his face.  The light vanishes.  “What was that,” Charlie’s voice, “Are you okay,” Jack’s. The two of them stand stock-still in the open doorway, staring at the thick plume of purple-white smoke gently curling up through a wide, jagged hole in the church’s roof. There’s no rubble. The ceiling has apparently vaporized.  “We’re fine, Jack,” gasps Sam. He staggers back to his feet, rubbing at his eyes. The afterimage of that many-limbed thing is still seared in, as bright as Lucifer’s death throes. He blinks away tears. He should invest in some eclipse glasses if he wants to keeps staring directly at supernatural phenomena.  Rowena, quickly recovering from any trace of fluster, stands with a dancer’s grace and shakes soot from her gown. “That, my dear, is the kind of result you get when sheer talent is garnished with the proper catalyst.”  She coughs delicately, brushes back a bit of singed hair, and waves a hand. The remaining smoke instantly dissipates, and she points at the spot where the corpse had lain.  There’s a huge black scorch mark on the ground. No trace of the body at all, no trace of wings. The aftertaste of ozone and static Sam associates with grace is utterly gone from the air. "Trust me,” says Rowena, voice low and dark and vicious, “trust me, if anyone or anything tried to bring that one back, he’d zing right back into his grave. But not without feeling it first.”     Rowena’s still packing up and Jack’s back to sitting on the steps, so Sam goes to the car to help himself to the first aid kit. He’s pretty achy—might have some residual internal damage for Cas to check out—but it’s nothing life-threatening. The only wound still left open is the slash on his left hand, so he cleans and stitches it.  He hasn’t done the palm thing in awhile. The scar is still there, ropy and faded, now scored over with the fresh cut, but there hasn’t been much point. Since Lucifer stuck Cas’s hand in his chest, it’s been less a grounding tool (this is real), more an unfriendly reminder (you’re out and so is he).   Now it feels right, to run a nail along the hard ridge of tissue that never healed right, twisted and picked open over and over. It feels like a victory. It’s still here, and so is Sam.  A lot of things are feeling like victory.  “Gnarly scar, dude.” Charlie’s voice makes Sam jump and nearly drop the used alcohol swap.  “Broken glass,” Sam explains. He grabs a bandage.  There’s a pause, as Sam finishes and closes the first aid kit. Charlie shifts, foot to foot, tucks a sheaf of red hair behind her ear. “So, I figured you were probably worried about the AOE damage.”  “AOE?” “Sorry, area of effect. I mean, how far out the circle of death went.” Charlie’s still smiling, but it’s edged with weary grimness. Sam’s heart drops. He waits for the blow. “About a mile,” says Charlie seriously. “We saw a few homes.“ “Oh.” “Not very many,” says Charlie.  Sam nods mutely. “It’s incredible, actually,” says Charlie. “In our world, most of Kansas got turned into a smoking crater.” “It was Dean.” Sam sounds hoarse. He clears his throat. “It would have been worse, except that Dean—” He stops. “I’m so sorry, Sam.” Charlie’s eyes are soft and gentle and understanding. Sympathetic. And Sam remembers that she barely knows Dean.  “We’ll get him back,” says Sam. She pinches her lips together and nods. Sam doesn’t blame her for not believing him.     Sam drops back onto the steps, next to Jack. “How’s the stomach?” It looks like some of the shock has worn off. Jack’s using a stick to scrape at a crack in the stone. “Fine. Why didn’t you tell me?” Oh. That was quick. Sam was, well, hoping to put off this conversation, for a day or so. Or indefinitely. He considers saying tell you what?, but discards the idea as both insulting and unlikely to work. Jack deserves an answer. “You’re a kid,” explains Sam. “Lucifer isn’t—he shouldn’t have been your problem. You shouldn’t ever have met him." Jack keeps prodding with his twig, won’t look up. “But then I did meet him.” Sam lets out a careful breath. “Yeah.” “Why didn’t you tell me then? When he brought you back to camp?” Sam swallows. “It’s complicated,” he hears himself say. It’s not, really. Jack twists the stick against the step in a particularly vicious motion. It snaps.  “I’m so sorry,” Jack says suddenly, and then he’s hunching over and words are rushing out of him, like a dam has broken. “It’s my fault, I let him into the bunker, I’m sorry, I trusted him, it’s my fault he hurt you. He hurt you, I couldn’t stop him, I’m so sorry—” “No, no, Jack, it’s not your fault—” “And now I won’t be able to protect you,” says Jack thickly. “I can’t fight Michael like this. I can’t save Dean.” Sam pats his back. “Hey, no. It’s okay. I don’t want you fighting Michael.” Jack’s collapsed almost double, face buried in his hands. That has to be hurting his wound. “Jack, sit up, alright?” After a moment, Jack allows Sam to tug him upright and check the stitches. They’re fine. Jack’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and miserable and unfocused. “My grace was a part of him. Maybe it’s better that he cut it out of me.” Sam’s stomach flips. A dense, heavy weight settles in his chest. “No. No, Jack, it’s yours. Just yours, and we’ll get it back.” “Maybe I don’t want it back,” says Jack softly. He still hasn’t met Sam’s eyes. “You were so afraid of me. I know why, now.” Sam can’t say anything to that. Mouth dry, he rubs Jack’s shoulders in silence.     The SUV is huge and comfortable and blessedly climate-controlled, with three rows of plush leather seats. Jack’s curled up lengthways in the back, long asleep from the exhaustion and pain and adrenaline crash. Charlie’s driving, earbuds in. Rowena’s wearing a sleep mask in the front seat, but Sam’s positive she’s still awake. He leans forward. “How long did you have that spell ready?” he asks softly. “Months, dear,” Rowena murmurs. “And it took months of toil to design, before that. Not to mention collecting the ingredients. It wasn’t easy to get dragon’s blood, or the hearts of nine seas, or—well, you get the idea.” She shifts and smoothes down a fold of her dress. “He deserved something special,” she says finally.   “Yeah,” says Sam. He sits back. They’re both quiet for another few miles.  “Did he suffer?” asks Rowena.  Sam pictures, for the thousandth time, the blazing light, the scream as Lucifer burned alive from the inside out. “No.”  “Pity,” says Rowena. She adjusts her mask. Sam goes back to looking out the window. The wedding ring still sits cool and heavy in his pocket. When they get back to the Bunker, he and Cas will burn it. Nick deserves a proper funeral. And of course, while Sam’s been having his grand emotional catharsis or whatever, Dean’s been suffering. The worst part of all this is that even knowing exactly what kind of hell Dean’s going through, Sam feels good. God help him, even as he curdles with the guilt, he feels better than he has in years. He’d forgotten what hope tastes like. There’s Rowena, there’s Jack, there’s Cas. There’s Mom and Bobby and Charlie. Together, they’ll fix this. They’ll find Dean, and they’ll blast Michael away. Then maybe they can retire to the Bahamas, like Dean wanted. Get old and rundown and achy, let their bodies start to catch up to their souls. Die, at last, on a beach somewhere, drinking cheap beer in the sun. There’s more to do. There’s always more to do. But right now, outside the windows of a black car speeding north, dawn’s coming. For the first time in a long time, Sam imagines an ending. 

The moment the sound of slamming door resonated, the juniors hiding under the working table stumbled to get out, accompanied with their hot flushed disposition. There's no time to build composure. Fearing that the Sect Leaders might go out the chamber once again, Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui rapidly find their way out of the seemingly suffocating room. Or maybe the evidence and residue of both Sect Leader's earlier coupling affecting the two are the cause of their trance. The pungent smell of sex still wafting in the air makes it hard to breath without repeatedly being reminded of the naughty exercised that have been executed in the first mere innocent workroom; now the object of both juniors' shame. They felt like witnessing something they shouldn't have, well, they really shouldn't have. But now it's already happened, and they have no way of turning back time.    Jin Ling's mind is literally thrashing about inside his head. They've just unexpectedly caught between his jiujiu having sex with his husband, which is normally perfectly fine because they are married, and Jin Ling have no one to blame but himself. He just didn't expect that they are capable of this, this, what do you call that act anyway? His jiujiu being chief cultivator and ZewuJun, the esteemed ZewuJun becoming a courtesan? He internally cringed, but at the same time flustered with shame when the earlier dirty act played a vivid flashback inside his mind. Because no matter how absurd the act is, it was weirdly arousing. He can still feel Lan SiZhui's hard erection bumping and scraping his bottom, and it made his mind blank.    Jin Ling was very occupied with his thoughts, thus, he never noticed the discarded pile of robes lying on the wooden floor. In his hurry, he felt his right foot tripping on it. But just as he anticipated his inevitable loud fall that would eventually get them caught, Lan Sizhui's sturdy hands prevented his body from hitting the glazed hardwood floor. Jin Ling let out a sigh of relief but halted halfway after realizing how awkwardly close they were. He immediately recovered, his face warm as he pushed the other away, unlocking the arms around his waist, freeing himself from their position. When Jin Ling hurriedly crosses the threshold as he opens the door with as small noise as he can manage, he relishes in the first fresh air and cold wind after a chokingly steamy air earlier. His face scrunched up, he forgot to even thank Lan Sizhui from preventing him from screwing up, he was so embarrassed.    Lan Sizhui follows Jin Ling, closing the door carefully behind him and eventually caught up.   "A-Ling!"    "What?" Jin Ling continues walking rapidly.   "What should we do now?" He intends to inquire about the object Jin Ling wanted to find in his uncle's office. But the latter seems to have completely forgotten about it.   "I don't know. Don't ask me." Jin Ling still seems out of it, the direction of his walk uncertain and he can't seem to notice everything around him. Lan Sizhui noticed it and grew concerned.    Admittedly, Lan Sizhui was ashamed too, he should have controlled himself. Now Jin Ling must be disgusted with him. He must be very repulsed, it shows when he pushed him away earlier, like he wants nothing to do with him. It made Lan Sizhui's heart constrict painfully.    "I'm very sorry, A-Ling." Lan Sizhui apologized, his voice carrying remorse and shame.    Jin Ling suddenly stopped to face Lan SiZhui, his pretty eyes still showing distress, and then traveled to the place between the other person's thighs. His face immediately reddened like that of a rose hue. "If you mean what happened earlier, don't you think, don't you think that, that perhaps you should do something about, about, you know, to make it, make it— arrgh!"    "A-Ling! H-hey!" Lan Sizhui exclaimed when Jin Ling suddenly made a grab for his hair and pulled it out of frustration.    Lan Sizhui is still hard, that Jin Ling knows of, because it still fucking shows. So he made a very careless split second decision when he made a grab for Lan Sizhui's wrist and dragged him along the way to his chamber, the one he stays at when he visits Lotus Pier.    "Wait, A-Ling!" Lan Sizhui isn't very sure about what's to come, but perhaps at the back of his mind, he knows what Jin Ling wanted to do.    "Shut up for a second and just follow along." Jin Ling hissed, he could feel his face still warm, but it's not like there are other plausible ways to solve it besides what he was thinking.    After a punishing stride that could be taken as endless when it was just really a few minutes, they both have finally come to stop. Still, Jin Ling pulled Lan Sizhui on as they ventured inside his chamber. It was a relatively fine room, not too big and not too small. It wasn't adorned exorbitantly like his chamber at Koi Tower, but it wasn't lacking either. As an heir of one of the great sects that exist in the cultivation world, his presence at Koi Tower in Lanling was demanded more often than before, it's just that this time he has a spare time to visit Lotus Pier, partly because this is where he basically grew up, and because he has motives too; and he is finding a book that he knows his jiujiu have, or more specifically, the only uncle he could think of that would not ridicule and made fun of him, less trouble. At most, he would just whip him with Zidian, but after that he would understand.    The truth is that the book he is seeking is actually a dual cultivation manual, and no, he won't ask for a vivid pornography book, because that was less dignified and it doesn't befit him. If he asks for it from his shameless uncle—which is not really, if you look at it by blood—but what the point is, that uncle of his is truly insufferable. Wei Wuxian would tease him for sure, and suggest a pornography book instead, asking him not to be shy about it and no need to conceal it in the pretense of a dual cultivation manual. And he would haunt Jin Ling with it for the rest of his married life, as a sect leader, and Jin Ling's children would ask about it. Just a few weeks ago his mother and father told him about a matchmaking event to pick for his future wife, because it comes together with his responsibility as the future leader of their clan. That he had long accepted, so he has to make sure he knows the gist of his responsibility as man, because he is no longer that stuck-up young mistress Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen teased him about.    He was really determined to learn about marriage consummation so he won't be left in the dark. Him knowing about the details just right after he and his spouse took bows is a blow to his pride, and hearing about it from a clan elder is the most terrible thing that could happen.    It's just that on the way as he travels, he bumped into Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui wrapping up from their recent night hunting. For some reason unknown to him, he tagged Lan Sizhui along with him, asking him for help about finding a book from his jiujiu. But maybe the reason is because Lan Sizhui is the only friend he knows that won't judge him in case he lets out his worries. Because he is Lan Sizhui, and he always puts up with Jin Ling despite his attitude, moods, highs and lows, and everything that burdens him. So no matter how prideful and distant Jin Ling is to people, who would resist Lan Sizhui, anyway? He is by far, the kindest, considerate, and the most patient person Jin Ling met, besides his mother and ZewuJun.    And now, this happened. It is partly his fault, if he never made Lan Sizhui help him, or perhaps if they never rummage the office in the first place, maybe they would still be sane. But now that he feels it's his responsibility to fix what happened to Lan Sizhui, he has no other choice.    Lan Sizhui was nervous and irritated, which is rare, because he rarely gets exasperated and impatient until now. The reason for his misery is because his erection hasn't gone down until now. He wonders why this kind of thing happens to him, he knows he isn't a kid anymore, but surely there is a right time to learn that , and not in this unforeseen and bizarre way. Just weeks ago he accidentally come upon his baba's pornography book and he saw all the graphic images for all it's glory. And now he hears Sect Leader Jiang and ZewuJun doing the very thing he saw, all detailed and very very lucid. Alas, his innocence long gone with the awakening of his slumbering—   Jin Ling noticed Lan Sizhui spacing out, thus, he called out, "Sizhui." and that's when the latter came out of his trance.    "Yes?" Lan Sizhui asked, unsure.   Jin Ling, "I'll help you."    "A-Ling you don't need to. I can, I can take care of it myself…" Lan Sizhui awkwardly smiled, his hands rubbing the back of his head.     "Tsk, yeah right. I bet you Lans do know how to." Jin Ling mouthed with sarcasm and rolled his eyes. He was truly a split image of his uncle, although he has a rather delicate composition but really sharp inside.    "Do you know?" Lan Sizhui isn't beyond being petty, and he has an ability to banter. It's just that most of the time responsibility took his time.    "... No."    Jin Ling's mouth zipped for about a minute, until he finally said, "Not until now, anyway. You know what they did earlier."    Simultaneously, they felt both their cheeks and ears turn to a shade of crimson and look away from each other at the same time. Now it's just more awkward.    "I have the gist of it. Maybe I'll just work on it myself, perhaps it will work." Lan Sizhui suggested once more.   "I'll help you!" Jin Ling just got more flustered now and cursed himself inside for appearing rather desperate. "I mean, it would never fucking leave my consience alone if I didn't do something while I can. If only I didn't insist on looking for that damn dual cultivation manual—"   "What?"    Jin Ling really wanna bang his head to the nearest wall. He knows it is just a matter of time and it's unavoidable for Lan Sizhui to finally know what cultivation book they are looking for. But certainly not in this way! How can he be so stupid? It must be the effect of what has transpired, he thinks.    Jin Ling, "I'll, I'll explain later. For now let's just do what we can."    "Are you sure about this?" Lan Sizhui is really concerned, he can't have Jin Ling do something he didn't want, even if he himself wishes for that little intimacy from the deepest part of his heart.    "You always help me. No matter what. Even if it's overboard. This is the least I can do."    Lan Sizhui felt his heart melting like a gold ore in a fire cauldron, because Jin Ling rarely expresses himself like this, except for when he really trusts you. But he never really expects anything in return, he doesn't have the right to, not when what he truly craves was something he's not sure Jin Ling was ready to give. But he really cannot do anything if he is this persistent, so he finally relented and resigned with a sigh.    He nervously sat at the nearest armchair and waited, with Jin Ling following him to kneel at his front. The act is slightly baffling. Because Jin Ling is known for his pride, he would never resort to lowering himself. But maybe, just maybe, even though it might be just wishful thinking, Lan Sizhui thought that maybe he's the exception. Jin Ling might compromise if it's him. He later shrugged it off at the back of his mind and focused on what will come next.    "C-can I, can I… uhh…"    "Y-you can."    They are both just as lost, one unsure and the other determined but doesn't know what to do exactly. Jin Ling thought that maybe this is some kind of practice too, only that his future spouse should be a woman who has a womb to carry future generations of Jin Clan. Although it is a norm for same genders to marry, the blood of a clan still needs to continue, so members still marry the opposite gender if they can and reproduce. Jin Ling can marry a man (and while the thought of this sends tingles in his heart), he would still choose to marry a woman and produce an heir like his parents did.    With that in mind, he clumsily took out Lan Sizhui's erection out of the tangles of the other's robes. He was forced to swallow his gasp upon seeing the sight. He kind of knows it's quite large in size, because he felt it literally in his ass while fucking sitting on it. He doesn't know if his face can be more red than it is. Well, his own isn't that much inferior, but seeing another man's cock is still intimidating, especially if it's your friend and knows them since who knows when.    Lan Sizhui's heart may burst out any second now. Jin Ling's hand is enveloping his dick, and it's very hot. He thinks he might lose his sanity. He can't help his groan when Jin Ling experimentally rubs it up and down at a punishing pace. Lan Sizhui didn't know he was capable of lusting over something until now, until it's Jin Ling. He guiltily swallows his moans of pleasure when the palm thrusting around his cock gathers speed.    "How are you feeling? Am I doing it right?" Jin Ling asked, all this time his attention and sight was focused on jerking Lan Sizhui's cock. But right after he mouthed the last word, his head looked up to gaze at Lan Sizhui to check him. What he saw made him pause, he felt like even the beating of his heart and intake of breath halted momentarily.    What greeted Jin Ling's sight was Lan Sizhui, with his breath ragged, bits of sweat trickling around the side of his head. He was biting his lips very hard along with his extremely flushed face and his hands holding on the armrest for dear life. The scenario was exceedingly erotic it send shivers down Jin Ling's spine and for an unknown cause, something inside him procured an urge to see more of it and swallow every expression the other person conjure.    The feeling was unfamiliar, but it weirdly emboldened Jin Ling, driving him to lick the side of the thick shaft up until it's head. He tasted some liquid leaking at the top, and it tasted odd.    This made Lan Sizhui yelp. If this continues, he might really lose his mind. How could Jin Ling look so seductive while licking his dick like that? It wasn't fair. He must admit, that when he first saw the pornography book, his first thought was how Jin Ling would look being ravished like that. And it still haunts him every night, he was very guilty; first, because Jin Ling was his friend and he still had no right to fantasize about him, and second, it transgressed a number of Lan Clan's myriad of rules.   But his darkest fantasy still wouldn't amount to this. This was actual and very real.   Jin Ling continues to fuck Lan Sizhui's cock using his hands, but something inside him tells that this wouldn't be enough. He was beyond thinking straight as he was long drowned to the urge of pleasing Lan Sizhui like ZewuJun did to his jiujiu. Maybe he could even suck it with his mouth like they did, he knows because he heard how lewd it sounded. And how his jiujiu whimpers erotically, clearly in loss in delicious bliss. Perhaps he could make Lan Sizhui loss his mind like that too. So that's what he did, although he was inexperienced.   Jin Lin doesn't need to, because Lan Sizhui have already lost the ability to think straight long ago. He wasn't allowed to curse, but if he did, he most certainly would have. The way the corners of Jin Ling's mouth dragged deliciously around his cock made his mind clouded with so much lust. Jin Ling's performance was far from superb, but Lan Sizhui wouldn't have anything to compare it into. And just the thought of Jin Ling doing dirty things with him would make him come, anyway. Just the look of him sucking and licking his dick and the squelching sound it made would be enough to drive him over the edge.   Jin Ling gags when the tip of Lan Sizhui's cock reaches his throat and he forces himself not to cough. Instead, he looks up to Lan Sizhui's face scrunched up in pleasure and intends to ask, but he remembers he cannot. So the attempt to talk just send vibrations around the other's cock, the stimulation it gave is torturing that Lan Sizhui couldn't repress a long moan to come out of his drying throat.    "Oh! A-Ling…"   That actually made Jin Ling more aroused, something he still hasn't realized yet. His dick gave an acknowledging twitch, already hard and struggling at the tightness of his trousers. Jin Ling was very focused on Lan Sizhui, so he didn't notice his own erection already licking pre-orgasm.    Jin Ling continues to pump Lan Sizhui's cock with his now already swollen and aching mouth. Up and down and in and out it goes, accompanied with the obscene sounds of wet flesh sucking flesh.    Lan Sizhui almost grab Jin Ling's hair and just fuck into him abandonly, but he is has some respects and limitation, and he did not dare take advantage of Jin Ling's goodwill, even if it aches him to think that that's the only reason why this happens anyway. He cannot push his luck carelessly. He was pulled out of his miserable thoughts when the hot cavern hugging his dick gains speed and vigor. He felt the sensation that had been gathering inside him threatening to come out. It's like the urge to pee but much more extreme and uncontrollable. And he's close, very close, he didn't know how he knew.   "A-Ling— wait!"    Out of panic, he pushed Jin Ling's mouth out of his cock that soon spilled thick semen. He never expected it could be this ecstatic and mind blowing and overwhelming to the point where his mind turns to a kaleidoscope of wrenched entities. For seconds he forgot about everything except for how good it feels.    He was in daze for a full minute before he realized that there was Jin Ling still in front of him; dumbfounded, with his face full of Lan Sizhui's cum. The sticky and thick white semen was dripping along the orifices of Jin Ling's pretty face. And it shouldn't turn Lan Sizhui on, but it did. But he was screwed, he was very screwed, and was extremely guilty on top of that.   "Oh heavens– A-Ling, I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to do that…" he guiltily apologizes and makes an attempt to wipe Jin Ling with his sleeves.   "No, don't! It will sully your robes, you don't have spare clothes. I'll, I'll just wipe it with a towel. Just, just a second." Jin Ling seems to be in a daze too. He hastily got up from his crouching to head to the innermost room to wash up.   Jin Ling couldn't grasp the reason why he did what he did, and can't for the life of him know that he was capable of doing such lewd and filthy things, especially to a friend which he has known since childhood. What has gotten into him? What was that urge? And why doesn't it feel wrong or disgusting? Why did he like it so much that his cock aroused with want, painfully hard in the clutches of his inner pants dripping cum. When Lan Sizhui orgasm right at his face, he didn't feel offended or insulted, he even wanted to preen, like he did a good job and was very proud of himself. All of these overwhelming feelings scare him, it might devour him completely if he wasn't paying attention.    When Lan Sizhui saw Jin Ling walking towards him with his countenance severe and bleak, his heart fell. He apologized for the third time that day, but Jin Ling said it's okay and urged him to retire to the guest quarters where he is staying. And with a heavy heart, he followed. Just as he reached his room, the sun was already setting through the sky, it's bright hue being swallowed by the dark night sky, forming a magnificent and striking fusion of colors weaving into the clouds. It was truly a sight to behold, and anyone seeing it could only sigh in appreciation and contentment. But Lan Sizhui's heart is like that of a setting sun, crestfallen and aching.    At the same time that the other person isn't aware of, Jin Ling is buried under the covers of his comforters and blankets, sweating profusely under his night robes, with his hands fucking and pumping into his dick agressively. With his mouth wide in the shape of o, and his eyes rolling back at his head, he orgasm for the second time that night as he looks back on the way Lan Sizhui reached his peak and cock squirting semen into his face. He imagines himself licking it, imagining how it would taste, and how Lan Sizhui's face would lit up with desire as he seduced him. He spilled two times on the blanket. And he chased his breath after while staring at the ceiling and falling into slumber; even in his dream he relentlessly visited that reckless moment that would carve deeply inside his mind for eternity.   ---   Some years later, at Jinlintai…   Two silhouettes could be seen sitting on a long chair side by side, with the other leaning comfortably on the other person's shoulders. Across from where they were seated was overlooking the wide garden of blooming peonies. The daylight shining upon the flowerbed gave it an ethereal gleam, it's brilliance was otherworldly, like Spark Amidst Snow.    "Who's married to who now?"   "You—"   Not much later, the person sitting—the one lying on the other's shoulder earlier—suddenly stood up on the chair with an angry hump. The other one remained sitting, coaxing the peeved one back into sitting again.    "I'm just teasing you, A-Ling. Come back and sit beside me again…" Lan Sizhui reached for Jin Ling's hand and gently pulled him down.   Indeed, the two people sitting on the wooden elaborate chair were Jin Ling, now Sect Leader of LanlingJin, and Lan Sizhui, his now husband and adviser. With Jin Ling successfully inheriting the position from his now retired father and dauntlessly marrying the head disciple of Gusu Lan—literally snatching the said disciple from the secluded high mountain. Which was of course a mutually agreed event, because Lan Sizhui would elope with him at one breath.    Jin Ling finally yielded and sat not on the chair but on his husband's lap, which he had claimed just a year and five months ago. The latter immediately secured him in place, hugging his waist and chest protectively. But Jin Ling didn't return the affection, instead, he crossed his arm, remembering the argument.   "At least I'm not like others , crushing on someone since five but never had the courage to confess. I even need to marry another girl just to get you to say you love me." Jin Ling taunts with his usual airy loftiness, which usually backfires, because his husband would just kiss him breathless after, his arrogance turning into puff of smoke dissipating into the air.   With that, Lan Sizhui burst into a fit of mirthful laughter. "But you'd really marry her, right? I need to do something before it's too late, or I will regret it my entire life."   "Just say you're a wimp, Lan Yuan." Jin Ling just wouldn't give up, but nevermind, he'll soon give up; in their bed.    Lan Sizhui, "If I didn't pursue you, would you realize that you hold me to your heart, too?"    "Tch, enough of that what if questions! We're together now, aren't we?" Jin Ling was quick to divert the topic if he senses he's losing the upper hand, such a tactic. Of course, Lan Sizhui sees through, but he usually indulges him, his husband is just so adorable.     "Yes… but it's still delightful to reminisce about how it all started, don't you think?" Lan Sizhui smiled pleasantly, and Jin Ling baths in all it's beauty and luster. Such a nice spouse, he really has a good taste, indeed, indeed, he has.   "It's not at all pleasant." Jin Ling argued with a frown. "Remember how chaotic it is? And witnessing how gross my jiujiu and ZewuJun's love making is, is my forever nightmare!"    Lan Sizhui snorted at that, "You're right, you're right!" and snickered some more.    "You're really so happy, huh? Why? Because you get to piss me?" When Jin Ling is upset, his eyebrows meet in such a way that the vermillion mark on his forehead is almost scrunched up. Lan Sizhui would always have to double the effort to not laugh at how cute his husband is when his cheeks almost puff out in anger.    In the end, he would always appease and court his husband's happiness. He would never get tired of coaxing him and abating his temper. "No, you're wrong. It's because I finally got my well-earned precious time with you alone."    Lan Sizhui snuggled into the crook of Jin Ling's neck and sniffed. In turn, Jin Ling placed both his hands on Lan Sizhui's shoulders, with his head naturally tilting sideways to give the latter space, which is almost like a routine between them. Lan Sizhui always likes to cuddle there.   "Hey! It tickles! Stop— ah!" he shivered when Lan Sizhui kissed and sucked his nape. "And what nonsense are you talking about? We're always together!"   "Yeah, it's weird that I still miss you even though you're right beside me." Lan Sizhui muttered seriously, his chin resting on top of Jin Ling's shoulders.    Jin Ling doesn't know whether to laugh or lament. "Argh, you're so cheesy, cut the crap!" Instead he scolded, yet his heart still gave a jolt, and butterflies still took turns flapping their wings inside him.    He turned to face Lan Sizhui, his legs now straddling the latter's lap and his arms around his neck. Their position is rather inappropriate, given where they were currently, but there's no one here. And he made sure there'll never be other people besides them, so Jin Ling was bold enough to rub his groin unto his husband's. The friction made them both gasped, like a flint igniting fire between them, threatening to burn any given second.    Lan Sizhui's left hand reached for his husband, cupped the side of his face to give a soft kiss at the top of his nose down to his lips, which opened up for him instantly. He swallowed the little moans that came out of Jin Ling when he reached for his ass and kneaded it. They're still grinding into each other hungrily, their mouths making lewd wet noises as they suck each other's tongue. Jin Ling broke away panting heavily, but still continued grounding his hips.    "That day, I didn't dismiss you because I regret what I did nor did you offend me, I know you knew that by now. The point is, when I suck you I got so hard that I had to jerk off while thinking about you cumming onto my face. I came two times that night… ahhng!"   Lan Sizhui let's a breathy growl upon hearing it and bit Jin Ling's shoulder that made the other whimper. "Why did you say it to me just now? I mean, let's return to our chamber."   "The topic is only brought up now, and it's been so long… Yuan-ge, let's go back…" Jin Ling was still very embarrassed about it, he never really intends to admit it, he's planning to keep it to himself forever. But he cannot resist saying it in the heat of the moment, especially now that he's taking the initiative.   Their embellished robes of yellow and gold hue were shrugged off and thrown away without further ado right after the wide door closed to their excessively wide chamber. Bodies plastered against each other, kissing each other senseless and grinding into each other became the routine. Since their marriage, Lan Sizhui has been wearing the same robes as the member of Jin Sect, but his forehead ribbon adorned with clouds still remains, preserving his adoptive origin. Changes in their hair styles typically grew too, Jin Ling had his hair tied in a bun with a delicately garnished guan and Lan Sizhui's hair was half tied in a guan and half loose falling down his back smoothly (which Jin Ling loves to pull). All of these adornments were quickly left behind to add to the pile of clothes on the floor, too.    It's not long until they are both sprawled in the layers of their bedsheets, bodies still connected and limbs entangled. By now, with no layers covering both their persons, it didn't take long until Lan Sizhui reached for his husband's rim with his medicinal oil filled fingers and gently prod at the sensitive flesh, it made Jin Ling tremble. For easier access, he made Jin Ling lie on his front with his bottom elevated by a pillow between his stomach. While Lan Sizhui squats his limbs at either side of Jin Ling's body, he makes his forehead ribbon bind both of Jin Ling's wrist above his head. He relished at the sight of his husband's delicately curved back and plump ass; the scene before him was very erotic, almost like inviting his cock to punishingly enter the precipice between the two pliant cheeks.     Jin Ling was doused with shame at how obscene his current position is, with his lower body lifted up sensually to welcome his husband's eager cock. With an extremely flushed face, he could only bury his face on the pillow to muffle his uncontrollable moans when his husband finally fucked his fingers in and stretching his flesh deliciously.    "I want to hear your voice, A-Ling. Please don't suppress your moans." Lan Sizhui's hands reached for Jin Ling's face to lift his chin and tilt his face sideways, while leaning in for a wet kiss.    "Damn you, Lan Yuan." Jin Ling glared and complained like a kid after their mouths separated, one of the reasons is because the kiss wasn't longer, to be precise it isn't long enough in the duration he wanted so has the right to be upset. And the other is because of his position he has no way to move and maneuver his husband's lips back to him again.    "I'm sorry, A-Ling, but we must get back to business." Lan Sizhui just seconded what he said with a laugh. His husband just cannot stop being cute and adorable, even in the middle of amorous activities. It also made him giddy and a little bit naughty.   Lan Sizhui deliberately slowed down his digit's thrust, well, it can't be helped on his part, he has to make sure Jin Ling was thoroughly prepared lest he would scold at him for a day about how awfully painful his ass feels. He always did.    "What are fvcking doing? Who says you could t-tease me like this?! Lan Yuan!" Jin Ling was infuriated, he was already so aroused, dragging it like this won't help, it's actually making it worse. It takes all of his self control not to move his ass himself and chase for that friction he needed. A nice spouse? Erase that, Jin Ling grumbled inside his mind.   "I'm kind of upset, you know. A-Ling, how could you do that without me knowing?" Lan Sizhui sounded like he's being wronged, although his eyes shone and there's a smile on his face. How could he be so shameless day by day? Did the Lan rules really flee from him the longer he spent away on their secluded mountain? Or maybe the blood of his birth clan is really kicking in? Jin Ling shuddered at the thought, he thinks he regrets telling his husband what he did.    Jin Ling, "What? What did I do? I thought we're over it? What did you eat today?"    "Huh? You? Well, I will be eating you. " Lan Sizhui answered like he's picking a meal for the day.    "You—!" Jin Ling produced an agonized and frustrated scream, the red flush visible on his face and neck, and he badly wanted to strangle his husband right there in their bed. If only his hands weren't tied. "How could you be so– Enough of this, forget it. I should be the one leading this time around, you had your turn last night, don't think I forgot."   "No. I think you should be punished for keeping secrecy to your husband."   "What nonsense! I'm the Sect Leader— Ohh! That's— what?"    It took a minute for Jin Ling to process his husband's length entering him without so much as a pause to let him breathe. His hole opened up obediently to accommodate the thick and long flesh invading his insides and his senses. For a moment he forgot what he was arguing about, the feeling of his husband's cock sheated inside him is just petrifying. Somehow, it didn't make sense, it was there every night and sometimes every day , but he just can't get used to it.    He felt something soft sucking on his lower back, and a wet tongue tracing the line of his spine. That act pulled out a muffled groan from his mouth. Jin Ling realized that Lan Sizhui doesn't have any ounce of plan to actually move any given second now, the idiot is still kissing and sucking his back and biting his shoulders relentlessly. It really is like a punishment for Jin Ling, his whole body feels like it's burning and his mind intoxicated. If Lan Sizhui doesn't fuck him right now it would really drive him mad.    "Yuan-ge… j-just move, please!" Jin Ling can't resist whining now.   "I also… c-can't– anymore–" Like a thread snapping, Lan Sizhui began plowing Jin Ling's hole nonstop. It's naturally always like this for him, once his dick entered the depths of Jin Ling, he cannot spend even a minute not rubbing and grinding his girth against his walls. So in a way, it was also a punishment for him. And now he really can't hold on any longer, he gritted his teeth as he let out a growl and closed his eyes as he plunged in and out at a fast pace, earning a choked moan from Jin Ling.    "Ah, ah, ah! Yes, there!" Series of punched out gasp and whimper is the only sound able to come out of Jin Ling's drooling mouth when Lan Sizhu's dick aimed and stimulated at the right place.   "Lan Yuan, oh! That's- that's too much! It hurts, slow down!" Tears are spilling from Jin Ling's half lidded and glazed eyes, his head and body moving and shaking along with every punishing thrust from his husband. But there was no sign from Lan Sizhui that he appreciates the notion of slowing down.    "That day, I didn't sleep a wink worrying about how I sullied you... and you probably disgusted about what happened… it turned out that– ahh! You feel so good, A-Ling…"   Jin Ling understands only half of it, his dwindling consciousness cannot focus on his husband's ferocious cock and his words at the same time. He really wants to punch Lan Sizhui right now, he also wants to hug him and kiss him and feel him in his arms, but now he's not able to do any of that. He could only cry and roll his eyes back at the extreme pleasure of their joined and chafing flesh, not attempting to muffle his lewd cry on the pillow anymore.    "It turned out that while I sulked, you took yourself by hand and rubbed yourself while thinking of me, A-Ling, you're a pervert… you're so lewd… Look how it's hugging me, it feels so tight…" Lan Sizhui pauses in between, panting as he moves rigorously.    "You're the pervert one– anngh, Lan Yuan, I think I'm cumming! Yuan-ge, I want to hug you, ah, please!"    With smooth move, Lan Sizhui already untied his forehead ribbon from Jin Ling's bound wrist and free it, all the while twisting the latter's body to lie on his back to face him, but never fails to fuck rapidly and unrelentlessly stimulating his husband's prostate.   Jin Ling is already clasping Lan Sizhui's nape tightly as their lips smack and suck crudely, it's nowhere near the gentle and loving kiss they usually have, but that of a heated one filled with abandon. Lan Sizhui completely deserted the rational side of him that usually dominates, and just plunged briskly at the tight clenching wall of his husband taking in the shape of his length to chase both their orgasm.   Lan Sizhui, " Baobei , can you come untouched?"    Jin Ling, "You dumbass! I'm cumming!"   And surely Jin Ling does, with his hole pulsing and clamping on the cock invading him, his own length squirted semen all over their chest and abdomen. Whenever Jin Ling's dick shoot cum, his asshole would tighten around Lan Sizhui's, encouraging his husband to thrust harder. That drove Lan Sizhui over the edge to his own completion. With his orgasm filling Jin Ling's insides to the brim, Jin Ling actually came for the second time. Their heavy breath intertwined, even the heaving of their chest in sync.    Jin Ling couldn't believe he orgasm for the second time, untouched. He really was a pervert, both him and husband had long been drowned to carnal desires. He is filled with shame, thus he covered his face with both his hands to hide his flustered face. He is a man, too, yet he actually reached his peak with just a cock assaulting him, he moaned and whimpered like a woman under his husband. The worst thing is he also likes being like this, that's why he's embarrassed. He likes it very much, having been filled with his husband's come like he is being bred.    Lan SiZhui seems to read Jin Ling's dilemma, he moves to embrace the other and change their position; with him now laying sprawled on his back while Jin Ling lies on top of him. His cock was still seated comfortably inside the tightness of Jin Ling's hole. His hand reached for his husband's wrist to move the latter's hand, uncovering his scarlet and flushed pretty face. Lan SiZhui also made Jin Ling's sweat drenched fringes hang at the back of his ears and caressed the back of his head. Jin Ling didn't meet his eyes.   Lan Sizhui inclined his head upwards to kiss his husband's forehead, he whispered softly, "It's alright, it's normal. It's not your fault, A-Ling."    "Me? My fault? Of course it's your fault!" Jin Ling scolded petulantly, still flustered.    "Yes, yes it's my fault. Can you please look at me, A-Ling?" Lan Sizhui, once again, coaxes his husband to face his way.   Lan Sizhui, "At that time, do you… when you think of me while doing it, have you realized that you liked me then?"    A long pause followed, and then Jin Ling decided to answer the most honest response he could. "I don't, I don't know. Maybe? I just don't understand why I desire you so much, so perhaps I've been in love with you, I just didn't know it back then." When Jin Ling finally decided to gaze at Lan Sizhui, he saw how his pupils reflected the incandescent glow of the lamp beside them, it's gorgeous, for a moment he got lost in it.    Lan Sizhui blew a contented sigh, "Okay, I realized it's not that important right now. I'm sorry I lost control, A-Ling."   "Stop it, I didn't not like it. I'm the one who initiated it anyway." He hid his face in the crook of Lan Sizhui's neck, it smelled of his sweat and natural scent.    Lan Sizhui can do nothing but close his eyes at how lovely his husband is.    "We will be busy tomorrow…" Jin Ling muttered, shy but suggestive, his warm breath on Lan Sizhui's made the hair on his nape stand.    "Did I hear it right? Are you suggesting we go for another round?" Lan Sizhui sensed his cock sprang in attention and twitched inside his husband. He felt Jin Ling squirm above him.    "I'm tired. Let's sleep, Lan Yuan." Jin Ling deadpanned, making Lan SiZhui shake with laughter—which is a bad thing, Jin Ling realized, because that only made the part where their body connects to move and create friction. His already sensitive body shivered with renewed itch and want as he clutched his husband's bare body.    Lan Sizhui's hand grasped Jin Ling's waist and thighs to move him, with his fully erect cock fucking into his husband's hole once again. His cum that filled Jin Ling's belly earlier was pumped out with every plunge, adding to the wet and obscene noises of their sex.    Jin Ling could only moan wantonly as he was maneuvered. He is really tired, even  forming coherent words drains his energy, so he could only whimper helplessly. He felt himself close, he seriously can't believe he still has anything to cum at this point.    They did it until there's nothing coming out anymore. He regrets initiating anything, and he won't do it again, ever. He even passed out due to tiredness, he was very exhausted, his eyes closing and eyelids heavy, until the only sound he heard was the calming voice of his husband.   "Goodnight, A-Ling. I love you… so much."    The next morning, Jin Ling woke up like dead, and he scolded Lan Sizhui for the next 8 hours. But the next time they had their alone time, Jin Ling requested Lan Sizhui to roleplay as a Wen heir if his biological clan survived because he likes that energy of his and he would get it again.   Fin

Will Graham spends the majority of his life driving from his little farmhouse in Wolf Trap, VA to cemeteries around the country. The ones he's interested in are mostly southern, but people emigrate (and when you are from the South, it's emigration rather than moving even if you are just relocating to Ohio) and customs travel with them. He's been as far north as Duluth, MN, and as far west as Carlsbad, NM, because of his… well, he wouldn't call it a hobby, really. Collecting spoons was a hobby. Golfing was a hobby. This thing he does? Well. Technically it's collecting. Today he's staying relatively local. Cemeteries aren't always well documented, and family cemeteries are often not documented officially at all. Occasionally a journal, a diary, a newspaper will come to light, and a mention will be made of a burial out in an old graveyard in the woods behind a farmer's field, and so Will will get in his car, consult his aerial maps, sometimes go to the local library, and then when he's fairly certain of the general location, he will drive as far as he can, and then trudge further, often on private property, until he catches the shape of moss-eroded stones in groups. Winston guides him. Winston can sense things, sometimes, a perception of those like him, that tugs him in the right direction. If a dead dog can be considered to have any sort of perception at all, technicalities aside, it works for Will, and he doesn't question it too deeply. Now Winston is vanishing into the underbrush, not even a flicker of a leaf out of place, and Will has to remind himself that no matter how many times he has to tell Winston that he can't move through hedges and walls or cliff faces, Winston is still just a dog, and has to be forgiven for forging a path where his master can’t follow. Will pushes through the best he can, trying not to begrudge a ghost that can't get burrs or nettles, and follows the thin, excited barking over the crest of a hill. Down in the little cove beyond, there are a few standing stones, the rest broken shapes covered with the leaves of a hundred autumns. Will estimates perhaps thirty people are buried here, half of them children and babies, because that's just how things were. In the center of the rough oval is a large stone, worn down to a barely recognizable lump of granite. Running around it in ecstatic circles is Winston, and in front and then behind him, playfully snapping at his heels, is a small blobby shadow with four little legs and a whippy little tail. Grims that have been forgotten for this long lack definition. Winston himself had been a dark, indefinite shadow for several weeks, slowly gaining shape and deepening from nearly transparent to his fuzzy robust self as he soaked in Will's affection and steady attention. Will thought this new grim might be a terrier of some kind. He ducks low to the ground and takes out a stub of charcoal and a sheet of thin, folded paper, setting them on the ground next to the lump of stone. Sometimes the name, buried in the dirt, would survive. If it hadn't, he will give the grim a new name. New names always take longer to catch on, though. The original name is always better. He spends a few moments clawing away the detritus of a century of neglect, loamy dirt under his fingernails, as ghostly paws plunge over and around his hands. Winston's pitchy bark tickles his ears, and he thinks perhaps underneath it’s the shrill yapping of the new grim. It’s hard to tell; even Winston sounds like a faraway howl, like a coyote miles away across the fields. His fingers feel the roughness of ridges in the stone, and he digs around it, as deep as he can without any tools, so that he can flatten the rice paper against the base of the stone. Both grims halt their frenzied dash to watch him work, and the new grim snaps at his hands, nervous and over-excited. Winston noses at it, gently whining, a mosquito sound in Will's inner ear. With the charcoal pressed flat between his fingers, he rubs across the paper, pressing inward to catch the ridges of the old, worn inscription. Pulling the paper and holding it up to the green, filtered light, he can make out the clear shape of the top of a capital R or B or P. Then a U or two I's. The third letter is definitely an S, and the fourth is a T. That's it. It could be Rusty, or Buster, and that's his best guess. He turns to the new grim, who is watching him with alertness, the two shadowy points of his ears straight up. "Rusty?" The grim wags hesitantly, head cocking. It's not a ringing endorsement, but that doesn't mean anything. Sometimes their hearing is eroded. Sometimes they forget what voices are. He tries again. "Buster?" The little tail wags a bit more heartily, and the grim sticks its butt in the air. Winston barks excitedly, and they’e off again, zooming around the border of the cove. Will grins happily, slipping the folded paper back in his pocket, charcoal tucked between the folds. Getting a grim to leave the only place they had known for untold years was sometimes difficult, sometimes easy. Winston had taken a few days to coax out, and it wasn't like Will could bring treats. Treats didn't have ghosts. So it was with patience and time that he convinced them to leave their posts, entrusted to them by long dead owners. Grims were there to show spirits the way to the afterlife, after all, and it was not a job the dogs had any say in. Sometimes a death happened quickly, and a beloved pet had to be dispatched so that it could be buried first and keep the human spirit from being trapped for ages, standing guard and guiding souls. Will loathes the custom. He would much rather a human be condemned. Most humans souls eventually got bored, realizing they were no longer needed, and moved on. Dogs had no such agency. In the end, it’s Winston who convinces the little grim to come with them. The shaggy sheepdog coaxes Buster beyond the cemetery border, and then runs circles around it until the grim is dizzy. From there, Will walks slowly back to the car with two grims in tow, feeling pretty pleased with a few hours work. Buster would fit right in to his pack of grims, now well over twenty strong. They stayed with Will, on the farmhouse lands, and sometimes came with him on a hunt for new grims. And sometimes they just weren't there one day, having faded back into the ether, going wherever it is that dogs go when their job is finished. Will estimated that he had rescued well over a hundred now, and there would always be more graveyards to search. Still, it’s lonely work. Living dogs would not come near him; even when he was entirely alone he figured he must smell like brimstone and grave dirt. And he was rarely entirely alone. He slept in a pile of warm, twitching shadows, and dreamed of running over the dark sands of a midnight beach, throwing driftwood sticks into the consuming waves. *** The thing about living with ghosts…well, one of the things, is that Will doesn't have much cause to keep himself up. The grims don't care if he hadn't showered or changed clothes for days. They never beg for food, so he is the only one to remind himself that he needs to eat. Often he just feels… faded. Insubstantial. He drinks entirely more than any single person should, and only Winston ever looks over at him with concern when he doesn't move for hours, working through a bottle. He does enjoy fishing, though, and fish weren't spooked by happy grims threading through the water without leaving a wake. Birds were, though. Will can't remember the last time he had heard birdsong except from very far away, or on the TV. Will whiles away his days alone, drinking and fishing and researching possible gravesites old enough for the custom of christening with the life of a dog. He has no friends, no family. He slowly forgets the sound of his own voice. And one day, while he is deep in a bottle and half asleep in his favorite chair, there is a knock on his door. It takes Will a long time to realize what the sound means, but that’s mostly because every grim in the front room has sprung up from the floor and bristles in tandem. The room is filled with a cacophony of sharp, frantic whines as a dozen ghost dogs hold point facing at the door, and the air crackles with the sharp, eye-watering scent of ozone. Will sets his glass down on the floor and stands, his back aching and his stance none too steady. Buster runs between his feet and begins snarling and barking at the door while Will scratches his neck in bemusement. He moves toward the door, wondering what poor mail delivery person was going to have nightmares tonight. As he opens it, the afternoon light blinds him to everything but a large indistinct shape of a person. "Hello, Will." *** The grims can't have conversations, of course, because even dead dogs can’t follow complex threads of thought. But Will Graham has learned the limits of that, since the first grim he had rescued, entirely by accident. Will called her King, because he didn't know the trick about taking rubbings off the grave marker yet, and the grim was a mighty Great Dane, her head fully as high as Will's chest. She had followed him home, and Will had been nervous those first few days, not knowing what he had. She had just been a presence then, just a vaguely doggy-shaped fog that nosed around his home and chased off all the mice living in the walls. One morning he groaned aloud for coffee as he climbed out of bed. He had still been working then, before everything, at a distant boatyard, and Will had never been much of a sleeper. As he gripped the handle of his kettle, preparing to make his pour-over for the long drive, he heard a rough, questioning thought echo between his ears. Kawvi? He had managed not to scald himself, just barely. When he turned to look at the blobby dark spot that was King, she might have wagged her tail. Kawvi? He nodded shakily at her. "Good girl. Coffee. That's a good girl." King exploded into motion, careening around the house, and all of the sudden the shape of her was sleeker and better defined. She plowed around the front room crowing Gudgil!! Gudgil!! at the top of what Will would have called her lungs, has she been corporeal. He couldn't help but grin, and then laugh helplessly at her palpable joy. "Heard that one before, huh?" He didn't go in to work that day, after all. Will discovered that the grims actually, fascinatingly, passed on vocabulary to each other, although often it was like a hilarious game of telephone. He remembered vibrantly the day his pack learned the word 'squirrel.' Winston had been newly acquired, then, but already had a knack for bossing everyone else around, including Will. The sheepdog, like all the grims, couldn't track a live squirrel to save his… well. But dead ones? They had been walking in the cool of the morning, Will and about seven grims, when he caught a whiff of a small thing rotting nearby. The grims had sensed it, in their unerring compass for death, and they gathered around the little corpse. Noble, a rangy Greyhound, had asked, in typical abbreviated fashion, Wil wot? "Squirrel," he replied. It was echoed back to him as Eskal? because honestly, consonant clusters were a bit too much to ask of a dog. With a flurry of paws and ears, they all nosed at the tiny corpse, which to Will's utter shock, and in which moment he might have peed himself a little, a tiny black squirrel shadow spurted upwards, squealing bloody murder, and took off across the fields, headed for the trees, pursued by a black miasma of thrilled barking, Winston in the lead. In a moment, Will was utterly abandoned. He stood, bemused, for a long moment, blinking ozone out of his eyes, and then continued his walk. All but one came back eventually. And every new grim was brought gleefully to the site of the squirrel corpse, as long as it lasted, and taught the word, kal. Now, even while Will is blinded by too much light all at once, the growling and the snapping is peppered with the distinct words bon and fuk, a word he had not intended to teach them but that they used for all sorts of purposes, just like Will did. Buster, frantic, is just barking no! no! no! over and over again. Will tucks the little grim behind his feet, still blinking and disoriented. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asks the shape in the door. “Possibly,” the shape answers in a low, deep voice. “I’ve been told you are the man to see about a dog.” Will rubs his bleary eyes, and the shape comes more into focus. It’s a man, tall and broad, archly handsome, dressed in an expensive looking grey suit, threaded with red. Winston growls Bad bon! from behind Will’s calf. He takes a deep breath, trying to force his blood to oxygenate. “Dogs don’t like me very much. Try the shelter down the road.” He waves vaguely to the south and closes the door in the man’s face with a click. “You have several fine specimens here. I would hate to waste a trip.” Will spins around. The man is now behind him, standing in his living room. He reaches down to pat Noble, who snarls at him, and backs away. “They don’t seem to like me very much, either.” Will immediately realizes why he had so much trouble seeing the man on the porch. He is not quite solid, and Will can see his bed through the man’s torso. It’s not the strangest thing he’s seen even this week. “Who are you?” The man reaches out a hand. “Hannibal. And you are Will Graham. I’ve heard so much about you.” Will doesn’t want to shake the hand of the spectre that knows his name, but he does anyway, because he has manners. The hand in his is strong, dry, and skeletal, and also the first solid person he has touched in an unknowable amount of time. Hannibal smiles at him, something both pleased and hungry, and Will tugs his hand away. “Who are you?” he asks again. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Will Graham. Waiting for the opportunity to meet you. But unlike your pack, you have not been able to see me, until now.” Will realizes he is not going to get a straight answer. He follows the path of the conversation with reluctance. “And why’s that?” “I think you know.” Will frowns. He does know. He’s known for a while, maybe, but it didn’t seem to matter. “I’m not leaving them.” Hannibal raises his elegant eyebrows. “I guessed that would be the case. Fortunately, I was hoping to offer you a job, and they would be welcome.” Will hasn’t had a job in years. He’s not even certain he remembers quitting the last one. Now that he thinks of it, it’s a distinct possibility that he didn’t quit at all. “If I were even interested, what would this job entail?” Hannibal smiles at him, and there is no mistaking the hunger now in the flash of his teeth. “I’ve been desiring a companion. Someone to help me with my work. You are patient, gentle, and persistent.” “I’m an anti-social drunk,” Will counters, “who cleans up other people’s mistakes. I can’t hold a conversation, I’m unpleasant and rude, and I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be in my presence for more than a few minutes at a time.” “I promise you will never want for solitude, and companionship, if you should want that as well.” Hannibal ducks his head, catching Will’s eyes, and Will has no idea how he ever thought Hannibal could be human. Or alive. “I would show you the world, Will, and what lies beyond it, for as long as you would stay with me.” Will is suddenly overwhelmed. He can feel tears stinging his eyes, and he blinks to clear them. “Why?” is all he can manage to ask. Hannibal reaches out a hand. “Come and find out, Will Graham.” Will stands there for an age, and then wonders why he is hesitating. He reaches out and takes the skeletal hand offered to him, and then the room is empty. Empty but for the dessicated curly-haired corpse sitting in the armchair, bottle at its dried fingers, staring unseeing into the dark.

Dean jumped, nearly falling off the couch. "Fuck," he grumbled, pushing himself off the couch and rubbing his eyes. Cas got up and shuffled to the door, unlocking the bolt lock and opening it. "Hey," he said with a smile. "Hey," Rich said. He was wearing black high-top converse, blue jeans, and a Queers shirt layered underneath an open button-up Dickies workshirt. Noticing Dean walking away from the couch, hair a mess and looking out of it, he asked, "Did I interrupt something?" Cas turned to glance at Dean, who was oblivious to the conversation as he walked into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. "No," he laughed. "We passed out on the couch." He paused before adding, "We've only been here for a few days, so we're pretty exhausted from trying to get everything together." Rich nodded. "Um, you can come in for a minute," Cas said, stepping out of the doorway. Rich brushed past and Cas closed the door behind him. "Coffee?" he asked. "Sure, thanks." He moved over to the couch as Cas walked up behind Dean, who was blowing on his coffee to try and lower it to a reasonable drinking temperature. "You guys got this stuff put together already?" Rich paused as he dropped down onto the couch. "Takes most people forever." Cas laughed. "I'm pretty good with instructions, I guess. How do you take your coffee?" "A splash of whatever you've got, milk, cream, whatever, and a spoon of sugar." Cas made the coffee as requested and brought it over to Rich, stirring it and leaving the spoon in the mug. "Thank you," Rich said. He took a small sip. "You made it perfect." "So how far is this place?" Cas asked, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. "'Bout an hour," he replied, now taking large gulps of his coffee. Cas reached into his pocket, fishing out two twenties and holding them out to him. "Is this enough for gas? I also wanted to tip you for the delivery." Rich's eyes widened a little and he nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's plenty. Most people don't tip me at all." He took the money Cas was offering, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans and shooting Cas a smile. "Thanks." Cas hesitated before asking, "You smoke?" Rich furrowed his brows over his mug and nodded slightly as he sipped his coffee, shocked Cas even had to ask. This was California, after all. Nearly everybody smoked; it was usually just assumed. Cas turned towards the kitchen, standing up. "Dean, come smoke." Dean shuffled over to the couch as Cas disappeared into the hallway. He sat where Cas had been, and when Cas returned with the weed and the bowl, he sat between them. He broke up a nug on the box the coffee table was in, scooping it up and sprinkling it into the bowl. They smoked it quickly, and Cas packed two more, before they stood up to leave. Cas locked up the front door and turned around. Behind the Impala sat a beat up red pickup truck. As they got closer, Rich said, "There isn't much room in the front. It's technically a three-seater but it's a pretty tight squeeze, so... sorry about that. Lucky for you though, I showered before I came over," he chuckled, yanking on the door handle to the drivers side and climbing in. Cas opened the passengers side, climbing up and sliding over. Dean followed, and Cas had to slide over further to give him room to close the door, his thighs squished between his and Rich's. "Can we smoke in here?" Dean asked as Rich started the truck and pulled out of the driveway. "Yep, she's a beater. Not that it matters, I smoke too," he added, reaching into the chest pocket of his shirt and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit it and passed the lighter to Cas, who lit one of his own before passing it to Dean. "So," Rich said after a few minutes of them smoking in silence. "What are you going to school for?" "Dental hygienist," Cas replied flatly. "Not exactly my calling, but it's a two year degree and pays decent enough. Work can be found anywhere. I figure it's a good fall-back job until I figure out what I want to actually do with my life." "Yeah, delivering for a Swedish furniture company isn't exactly my calling, either," Rich chuckled. "But I had to quit school after a year because my dad got sick. So now I pay the bills." "I'm sorry," Cas said. He shrugged. "Shit happens, right?" "Right," Dean said from the other side of the cab. "What about you?" Rich asked, glancing at him quickly, unsure how to feel about Dean's comment. He couldn't read this kid. "What about me?" Dean repeated his question, turning from the window, caught off guard by his interest. "Yeah, why did you move here? Are you going to school here too?" Dean let out a small laugh, turning to look back out the window. "Nah. I'm just along for the ride. School isn't exactly my thing." He couldn't go to college even if he'd wanted to, seeing as he hadn't finished high school. Rich nodded, keeping his gaze on the road. He reached down and turned on the radio, and Tom Petty's "Yer So Bad" began to play, somewhere a little less than half-way through. They were quiet for a moment, Dean mumbling the song under his breath. "You like Tom Petty?" Rich asked, looking over at him. Dean nodded. "The best classic rock stations around here are 98.5 and 107.7," he said. "Although I prefer 98.5. That's what this is." "Cool, thanks," Dean said, nodding again. Rich and Cas talked for a little while about the area. What there was to see, do, eat, et cetera. Dean stared out the window as they drove over the San Francisco - Oakland Bay Bridge. He'd never seen so much water- it had been dark when they arrived in California a few days earlier. As they continued down the interstate, buildings and manicured lawns turned into dirt and fields. "How far are we?" Dean asked. "Where are we?" "We're in Dublin. About twenty-five minutes away." Another fifteen minutes passed by and they were in another town. "Pleasanton," Rich said in response to their confused gazes out the window. "Ten minutes." Finally Rich put on his blinker and turned left onto a dirt road. About a mile down they could see a red barn contrasted against the darkening sky. As they got closer, Cas breathed out, "You weren't kidding about him having a lot of stuff." Dean's eyes lit up at the collection of classic cars in the dirt lot. As soon as the truck rolled to a stop, he clambered out, hurrying over to a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am, it's paint peeling and tires sinking into the dirt. He ran a hand over the roof, peering in the window. "You shouldn't be wasting away here, beautiful," he whispered. Cas chuckled and shook his head. "He into cars, huh?" Rich asked, holding his cell phone up to his ear. Cas nodded. "Yep." "Hey," Rich said into the phone. "We're outside." He hung up. Within seconds a burly man, about 5'6", wearing overalls over a red plain shirt and work boots, appeared from around the back of the building. "Richard!" he bellowed as he closed in on them. "'Bout time you showed your face 'round here!" "I've got you some customers, Tom. You need to get rid of some of this stuff," Rich said, as Tom embraced him in a tight hug. Tom patted his back before pulling away. "Yeah, yeah, it'll go when it's good and ready." He turned to Dean and Cas. "What are you two boys looking for?" "Well, kind of a little bit of everything," Cas responded. "We just moved here and don't have much... We bought some furniture but we need a TV stand, and a washer and dryer." "You've come to the right place!" Tom said. "I'm Tom by the way," he said, extending his hand. Cas took it, startled by the strength of the man's grip. "Cas." Tom turned to Dean to shake his hand as well. Dean gripped it tight. "Dean." "Follow me," Tom said, turning and walking back towards where he had appeared from when they arrived. As they rounded the corner, Dean stopped in his tracks at the field of marijuana plants splayed before him. "Like those?" Rich asked with a smile. He looked over at Cas, who met his gaze. "Just one of the perks of California livin'." He winked. "Damn," Dean breathed, staring at the plants. "I guess we know where to get our weed," Cas said with a nervous laugh, caught off guard by Rich's wink. "That's right!" Tom said. "I grow the best shit around. Don't you doubt it for a second." He turned a corner into the barn, and as Dean and Cas followed, they were met with what looked like, at first glance, junk, as far as the eye could see- ride on lawnmowers, tractors, washing machines, and a few dirtbikes and motorcycles. "Told ya he's a hoarder," Rich muttered. "Shuddap," Tom snapped. "Alright boys, I've got a nice washer and dryer here some rich couple was gettin' rid of 'cause they upgraded. They throw away perfectly good shit, I swear. Such a waste." "Tom's a vigilante superhero for abandoned inanimate objects. He rescues them like a damsel in distress and fixes them up, promises someone's gonna treat 'em right," Rich snickered. "Whispers it to 'em as he fusses with their nuts and bolts." Tom huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes, ignoring his cousin. "How much do you want for them?" Cas asked. "They look brand new." Tom shrugged. "I'd usually ask $250 for the set but you boys said you're looking for more stuff, so why don't you finish looking around and we'll add it up after, hmm? This is all machines... Next room over," he jerked his thumb to the left, where a large opening led to another barn, "is furniture." Dean and Cas nodded and wandered off into the other room. Tom turned to Rich as Dean and Cas disappeared into the next room. "Where'd you find those two?" "Ordered a bunch of furniture from work, but not nearly enough. I don't think they've ever lived on their own. They look young as hell." "Where are they from?" "Kansas." "Oh, god. You better keep an eye on those boys," Tom chuckled. "Don't let SanFran eat them alive. They don't even look twenty." Rich scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. "They'll be fine. The short one is super nice, he tipped me for the delivery... and smoked me up." He felt his face growing warm. Tom noticed instantly and cracked a smile. "Ah ah ah," he scolded, waggling his finger at him. "You leave that boy alone. Don't be a homewrecker." Rich's eyes darted over to the door of the other barn, then back to his cousin. "I don't think they're together. They don't act like it." "Not everybody sucks face in public like you do, Dick," Tom said flatly. "Ugh." Rich rolled his eyes and shuddered. "Don't call me that." "Especially where they're from. I know you grew up here, but the rest of the country isn't as... progressive." He paused before changing the subject. "How's Uncle Craig?" Rich shrugged. "No better, no worse." Tom stared at him hard for a moment before asking, "When are you going to get him to come stay here so you can get back to your life, Rich?" Rich frowned, blinking slowly at his cousin. "You know he doesn't want to leave the city. He's convinced with how sick he is, he'll be isolated out here and 'wither away and die in some dusty old barn'..." He paused. "His words." Tom rolled his eyes. "I need to get out there and talk to him." They heard voices behind them and turned to see Dean and Cas returning. "Find anything you like?" Tom asked. "Yes," Cas said, smiling. He showed them what they were interested in. A large bookshelf, a decent size TV stand, and a set of four tall wooden chairs Dean had pointed out would be good for the island, which was going to be doubling as their kitchen table. Cas had also found a painting he liked. It was a dog, on a bed covered with a white comforter. He was napping in the afternoon sun that was pouring in through the window above the bed. Tom rubbed his chin for a moment. "How about... three for everything?" "Are you- really?" Cas said, squinting at Tom. Tom nodded. "Yep. You seem like nice kids. It's hard out here, and I don't want this stuff just sitting in here anymore. That's the whole reason I took it in the first place. I want someone to get some use out of it." Cas smiled and let out a small laugh. "Wow, thank you. I have to say, everyone out here has been really nice. It's quite refreshing after our interactions in Kansas." Tom smiled and reached forward, patting him on the shoulder. He turned to Rich. "Let's get all their purchases in the truck." He started to walk off. "Wait," Dean said. "Let me help." "Go for it," Tom said, gesturing towards the other half of the barn. "Help the boy, Rich." As they disappeared into the other room, he turned back to Cas. "Would you like to see the plants?" Cas' eyes lit up. "Yes, please." He followed Tom out of the barn and to the edge of the field. "Wow," Cas said as he leaned over to inspect them. He turned to Tom. "How can I do this?" "Grow?" Tom laughed. "I can teach you," he said. "But you have to be twenty-one to grow your own." Cas frowned, turning back to the plants and squinting at the buds. Tom smiled to himself. He knew these kids were young. Not even twenty-one. "I want to grow a strain for pain relief," Cas said slowly. "It's gotta be strong though... I have a prescription, but... I hate taking them." He paused. "I hate pills." Tom smiled warmly. "Smart boy." "Let me pay you," Cas said, straightening up and wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot out across his shoulder from his spine. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Actually... do you have any I could buy now by any chance?" "I do," Tom nodded. "How much for an ounce?" "One hundred." "You're kidding," Cas scoffed, squinting at him. "No, I'm not." He waved his hand towards the field of plants. "Do I look like I'm running out any time soon?" Cas hesitated. "O- okay... Here. I really appreciate you and Rich helping us out." He extended his hand out, holding three hundred dollar bills and two fifties. "Not a problem," he said, taking it. "Why don't you go check on Rich and your friend and I'll go get your bag." Cas nodded, starting to walk back over to the truck. Dean and Rich had already loaded in the bookcase and TV stand, and were lifting up the dryer. "Do you need help?" he asked. "You can grab those chairs from the barn," Dean said, jumping down off the tailgate. His flannel flapped up as he descended and little clouds of dust kicked up from his boots when he landed. Cas looked away, turning pink. Luckily it was now nightfall, so it likely went unnoticed by present company, but damn, even after nearly a year, Dean just existing still gave him butterflies. He scurried off into the barn to grab two of the chairs. When he returned, Rich and Dean were grunting and groaning as they lifted the washing machine into the bed of the truck. Cas set the chairs down and left to retrieve the remaining two. "Alright Tom," Rich breathed as Tom came around the corner, "I'll call you, okay?" Tom nodded and Cas re-appeared with the chairs, setting them down. Rich tossed them in the truck and began strapping everything down. Tom held out a ziploc bag to Cas, who took it and looked at it intently. "This is more than an ounce." "My mistake, give it back then." Cas looked up and Tom was grinning. "Kidding. You think I didn't weigh it? Come on now, kid." Cas smiled. "Thank you. It was very nice to meet you, Tom." He turned and climbed into the truck, and Dean propped one foot up before turning to Tom. He gave him a small wave. "Thanks again, man." He pulled himself up into the cab of the truck, closing the door behind him. Tom nodded and Rich stuck his arm out the window to wave before pressing his foot on the gas. The car lurched forward and they bounced down the dirt road. "Your cousin's a nice guy," Dean said gruffly, his arm hanging out the window with a cigarette in hand as he stared off at the dark fields. "Why are you all so nice out here?" Rich shrugged. "It just works for us, I guess." "Where we're from, you're nice and you get fucked." He took a drag off his cigarette. Cas frowned and nodded. "It's true." The car was quiet for a moment until Cas spoke up. "Do you guys want to smoke? I bought a bag from Tom." Rich laughed. "You might want to wait to smoke that, it'll probably knock you out." "You think so?" Cas asked. Rich nodded. "Yep." He reached down and turned on the radio. The Rolling Stones crackled through the speakers and he turned it up. The ride was mostly quiet, and they arrived back at the house sooner than expected. When they finished unloading the furniture into the living room, Rich even helping Dean hook up the washer and dryer, Cas asked if he would like to stay for dinner. Rich was standing in the living room, hands shoved in his pockets. Dean was pouring a box of pasta into a pot that was boiling on the stove. Rich's stomach growled, but he had to get back home to his father. Dinner needed to be cooked, meds needed to be given, chores needed to be done. "I would love to," he said slowly. He would like nothing more than to have dinner with Cas. "But I have to get home." He frowned. Cas nodded. "Um, maybe I could get your number," he said cautiously. "If you ever wanna hang out." "Yeah, sure," Cas said, pulling out his phone. "What's yours? I'll call you." Rich rattled off his digits and Cas dialed them into his phone. Rich's phone rang from his pocket and he nodded at Cas. "Alright. I'll hit you up on my next day off if that's cool." Cas hung up his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. "Sounds good. We'll be around, school doesn't start until next month." "Alright, cool," Rich said, moving towards the door. "Bye, Dean," he called over his shoulder. Cas walked him out, closing the door behind him as Dean stirred the pasta on the stove and waved with his free hand. "Thanks again," Cas said, smiling warmly. "You've been very helpful." Rich smiled nervously. "I try to be. It was nice to meet you." "You too," Cas said back, too tired and oblivious to notice Rich's nervous gestures. Biting his lip, fiddling with his fingers, looking down. He lifted his hand and forearm in a small, awkward wave, before lifting it the rest of the way and rubbing the back of his neck. "Have a good night." "You, too," Cas repeated as Rich walked back to his truck. He went back inside, where Dean was draining the pasta. "Do you want me to finish?" Cas asked, coming up behind him. Dean shook his head. "No, I got it. Why don't you throw our sheets and shit in the wash?" Cas' eyes widened. "Yes, good idea." He hurried off to gather their new sheets and pillowcases from the bags, and one of the comforters from the room. Dean smiled to himself as he heard the water kick on around the corner and the washer begin to fill. "It works!" Cas yelled excitedly. "Come eat!" Dean called, setting two bowls on the kitchen island. As Cas entered, Dean was carrying two of the new chairs over to the counter. They sat down and began to eat. "It's good, Dean, thank you," Cas complimented through a mouthful of pasta. "You don't have to thank me," Dean said quickly. He paused for a moment before asking, "Would you like me to rub your back before we go to bed? I've noticed you wincing all day," he added quietly. Cas stared at him. "Yes. That would be nice." They finished eating and Cas threw the sheets and pillowcases into the dryer. They would dry faster without the comforter. They showered together, too exhausted to fool around, and sat down on the couch, Cas in only boxers and Dean in boxers and a tee shirt. Cas rolled a joint, again using the box for the un-assembled coffee table as a table. As he lit it, Dean leaned back against the arm of the couch. Cas pushed himself between Dean's legs, laying down on his chest. They smoked and talked about the plants at Tom's farm. "He said he would teach me to grow." Dean straightened up a little. "That would be cool." Cas nodded. "Hell yeah it would be. I've always wanted to grow my own." He stood up and walked off into the hallway. Dean heard the dryer slam as Cas took out the sheets and put in the comforter. He saw him pass by, sheets in hand, and go into the bedroom. As Cas shook out the sheet to put it on the bed, Dean came up behind him. "Let me," he said. Cas handed him the sheet and stepped back. Dean tucked it in before sitting on the edge and putting the pillowcases on the new pillows. He laid back, yanked off his shirt and boxers, and sighed. "Oh my god. New bed, clean sheets, and freshly showered. I feel like I'm floating on a cloud." Cas dropped his boxers as well and joined him. He curled up on his side, face nestled into Dean's arm. Dean rolled onto his side to face Cas, wrapping an arm around him. They laid still for a while, until Dean opened his eyes and realized they had fallen asleep. He pushed himself away from Cas and off the bed, grabbing the blanket out of the dryer. He threw it over the bed, covering Cas, who shifted and sighed. Dean hit the light and climbed underneath, snuggling up to Cas again and drifting back into sleep.

A crush has long since brooded within you for that strange stranger whose been working at the restaurant for a few months that you frequented.   You live in a very populated ninja village, so it's not unusual to see bizarre characters waltzing around. It's not like you don't know who he is. He's is--was very much feared. Those who hadn't known of him did after the third Hokage's death which was his doing. That does bother you, yet here you are with these feelings.   The very first time he served you you of course noticed him right away. His gold predatory eyes complimented by the purple markings around them, long silky black hair, and that really pale skin. You remember trying not to stare and you remember not so fondly how a chill ran down your spine. You didn't drink that tea you ordered, paranoid that there might be poison in it, but you left him a tip anyway so that he wouldn't take offense, find and murder you.   The next time you see him is when you're walking down the street in the evening, it's not quite dark yet and the sun is setting so beautifully that everything seems to have that pink yellowish tint to it.   He startled you a second time with his fearful whining about a bug following behind him. He was running pretty fast too but not so fast that you couldn't catch up.    He's got this really panicked look on his face when he's somehow managed to be cornered by it. He first notices you when you swat the bug with a rolled up newspaper you swiped along the way. When the bug falls to the ground, it's life is cut short by your shoe. You move your foot and after further inspection you see that it is a wasp. Yikes.   "Oh my god! Thank you, dear! You saved my life!"   You sure did.   "No problem."   You give him a once over before polite eye contact is made. He's in a white robe, the black polo underneath is open at the neck and he's wearing black pants with the usual sandals ninja wear. His toenails are painted black; that's cool. His hair is in a high ponytail, and the fringe around his face is not covering his high cheek bones one bit.   Holy shit, is he pretty.   His smile is almost infectious. "Would you like to join me for some miso?" The invitation sounds so, so very sweet coming from him. You open your mouth, but you quickly close it when you spot that weird guy several feet behind him peeking from behind a pole in the corner of your eye.    You are sure he has his reasons for being this man's shadow. It only reminds you of the possible danger. And yet again, here you are, butterflies in your stomach and ready to join him for dinner.   "Is something wrong?" He asks, concern clear in his voice, and his face mimicking the same emotion. He's pouting; what a cute mouth he has. How would that mouth feel on yours?    You shake your head. "No, no!" You ignore the staring shinobi stalking nearby. His smile is brighter than the last and he extends his hand forward. "I'm Orochimaru. And you?"   Oh, I know. But for simplicity sake you say, "I'm Y/n, it's nice to meet you." You shake his hand, it feels nice. His skin is smooth and cool, you don't want to let it go, but you do for the sake of not coming off creepy.   "I remember you. You left me a really nice tip last time. I'm glad that I have the chance to thank you properly."   You shrug your shoulders, your timidness getting a hold of you. You can feel the blood rushing to your face and you do that little tell you have when you are nervous to take the attention off.   Orochimaru's chuckle is a lovely rumble in his throat. You could listen to that sound all day and you now promise to yourself that you will do whatever it takes to hear it again.   He leds you to the spot that serves miso. He pushes the curtains out the way so you can sit down. It almost feels like a date. He sits next to you and asks what kind you'd like and if you want a drink.    You decide to have water and he gets sake. You both pleasantly find out that the same flavor of miso he's having is the one you like. While you wait he asks you about yourself and while you're talking another bug floats by, scaring your new friend. "Ugh.." You bravely grab the monstrosity and squash it in your fist.   You can feel him staring at you as you damp a napkin and clean off your palm. The admiration in his voice has you smirking proudly. "You are amazing..."    "It's nothing. They are gross but easy to defeat."   Orochimaru nods, his mouth slightly frowning. He leans his face in his hand. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm cursed.." Oh boy, you have no clue of the sheer amount of irony. "They've been following me for the longest since my return."   "That's weird.." An idea pops into your head, a silly, lame one. You can't stop your dumb mouth from moving.   "Maybe it's your scent. You do look like you smell really nice." You say in a small voice.   Orochimaru grins; you didn't notice the fangs before, you really like them.  His body quietly shakes with laughter. "Thank you?" His tone is mirthful. The miso arrives and you both eat in a peaceful silence.             "Yamato-san, I can't keep doing this. My bugs don't deserve this kind of treatment. This attempt of psychological torture on Orochimaru won't solve anything. All it will do is cause more deaths." Shino reasons, a scowl on his face. Yamato sighs.   What could he say? Every single bug, no matter how big, small, pretty, freakish, or dangerous did not stop Orochimaru's quite frankly troublesome companion from brutally squishing them.   Shino continues, folding his arms, and his face growing more troubled. "Even the butterflies... how could someone be so cruel?"   Yamato raised an brow at this, forgetting who he was talking to. "Have you seen them up close? They're hideous.."   It only took moments before the anbu regretted his words. An intangible darkness radiated off the jounin. Shino's various insects crawling up from under his clothes and flying with angry buzzes towards a frantic Yamato.    "YOU'RE WRONG. TAKE THAT BACK!"  

The days after meeting Jason felt more like a dream than the actual encounter. No matter how many times you had attempted to convince your mind that your encounter was merely a vibrant, dream hallucination, you simply could not bring yourself to admit the blatant lie you were attempting in the back of your mind. It wasn’t a dream, your more vibrant half barked out with teeth bared, because you had seen the pairs of footprints when you had went outside to check the next day. You had looked for the missing lilac scarf you had offered the man in place of his cold nothingness and he had accepted. The sight of Crystal Lake, frozen perfectly in the moment you had met, etched itself into your mind like an acrylic painting. It would be less frustrating if you had some sort of closure. A signal to remind yourself that he was real. That this whole thing was true to your memory, which had already faltered you so many times in the past that you would not give it the satisfaction of doing so again. Yet, in the days that ticked by with each second feeling like hours in the forefront of your disinterested cranium, there was nothing but frustration. You began counting each hour of the day, muttering the numbers to yourself out loud as you washed dishes or cast a glance at the clock on the wall that you were, honestly, still not sure if it told the right time. Two days, fourteen hours, forty seven minutes, fifteen seconds….Two days, fourteen hours, forty seven minutes, twenty seconds…. Then you found the first gift. The term was used loosely, of course, because many people could consider it a threat over a gift. You had opened up the door to your home, intent on shoveling some snow out of the way of your continuously icy porch, but, were stopped by the sight before you. It was the skull of a small animal, unidentifiable without its fur but omnivorous according to the teeth that shone pearlescent in the light. Its hollowed eye sockets stared into you, startling you at its appearance. It was arranged in such a way on your front porch mat that you could not think it a mistake. For there was no other part of the animal. There was no other sign something had moved it there aside from footsteps in the fresh snow that looked all too big to be yours. You leaned downwards, picking up the fragile bone with the most delicate grip you could manage. Resting the skull in your palm, you rotated your hand so that you could observe the item from all angles. It looked...natural. A skull dug up from the resting place of something long passed away. It had decayed years ago, leaving only its bones in its wake. It looked small...but the teeth were fierce, pointed canines curved sharply with molars resting the back. Your lip twitched slightly. Did this remind him of you, you wondered? Or perhaps you were reading too much into it. Perhaps he did mean it as a threat...Perhaps he wanted you gone? No, you reasoned. He knew where you lived. If you had been a threat, you would have died days ago. Instead of wondering further, you simply took the skull inside. You located a spot on the windowsill that faced the front of your house, dusting off the perch lightly before placing the skull down on it, adjusting it in just the perfect position so that it was displayed proudly before the glass. You gave the bone snout a gentle stroke, another smile growing on your lips as you looked out the window, tilting your head as you tried to imagine him sliding into your porch, setting down the bone and leaving without even waking you up. It was...flattering is the word you chose to think, though most would not be too sure you should. You felt a need to rebuttal. Running up the stairs to your home, you entered your bedroom. A box lay next to your bookshelf, unattended to and not yet unpacked as you had been saving it until the last minute like any true house mover. There was always those final boxes that never seemed to make it out of the packed state, stuck forever in the way that they were. You fixed that with this one, freeing the contents as you pulled the tape along the edges off and flipped the closing sides open with a flourished heave. It didn’t have too much in it, the simple decorations you had wanted to organize against your bookshelf where you did not have enough books to quite fill in specific gaps. Fingers grazed at the items within it as you tilted your head, biting your lip as you made an effort to locate the perfect item in which to return your current suitor’s communication. That’s what this was, right? Suitor in the sense of the old fashioned way of wooing women. Of leaving them gifts and courting them in a series of content and proper rituals. That sort of thing. You weren’t really sure, but, this felt right, and you had been known by more than one person to go with what you simply felt, not what your mind completely dictated was reason to you. Your hand caught on a jewelry box, its sides chipped and paint faded. It had been your grandmother’s when she was a little girl and, to be honest, you weren’t quite sure why you had kept it in here. You were not close with your grandmother, with her living halfway across the country with no real interest in visiting you or your mother. You didn’t even wear jewelry, save for the occasional black choker to go with a stylish outfit when an outing demanded more than one simple accessory. You had worn earrings once or twice, but, found them annoying to take in and out, ending up with the same sapphire studs in your holes for longer than you probably should have before eventually allowing them to close up. Regardless of its origins, you dug through it, searching for something that might have been fitting or, at the very least, could be used for some sort of decoration. You fished out a pearl necklace from it, the natural forming calcium carbonate weighing heavy in your hands. You tilted your head to the side as you considered the option of it, lip finding its way into your mouth and between your teeth as you thought. He wouldn’t have much of a use for it, that’s certain...Then again, there were rumors of him still loving his mother as well, as she was the one who had killed for him in the first place. Would homage to her be too forward? Or would he feel as though you didn’t care about him if you did this? It was always good to talk with parents, of course. Maybe she would like you? You ignored the fact that she had died in your mind, momentarily forgetful of the fact in favor of choosing the pearl necklace and walking gingerly down your staircase instead. While passing in the living room, your fingers ghosted across the items you had within it, settling on your bookshelf as you peered through the options. Your hand happened upon an older copy of a childhood classic. A leather bound, shapely copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. You pulled it from its spot against your shelf, fondling it idly with a smile. These fairytales had always been your favorite, the grotesque endings so refreshing from whatever modern adaptations there seemed to be out there. The twisted way Cinderella’s stepsisters paid for their transgressions with the loss of their sight made you smug with a sense of justice. Yet, you also pitied the wolf in Red Riding Hood. A creature that was simply looking for its next meal, unsure of where it would be….When a human wanders into the forest, you thought, it is the forest who controls them now. What happens to them is of its own design, as the realm is not of their own. One had to respect where they were, because nature was always ready in one form or another to take what it deserves. You put the pearls on top of the book and carried them out to your front porch, gazing around at the wintered wasteland for a few moments before gently placing them at the very edge of the porch steps. Snow sunk into the leather but did not wet it. The droplets that fell from the sky merely accentuated the pearls beauty. You bit your lip, suddenly unsure if this was the right thing to do. Would he accept the gifts? Would he find them offensive, maybe? Perhaps he wouldn’t realize they were for him and you should leave a note. These thoughts bit at the back of your brain as you left the items where they were, closing your door and standing in the center of your living room, looking around almost aimlessly as you gathered yourself up. He would know, you determined with a final affirmation within yourself, and there would be no need to worry about it. The communication of gift giving was a carefully planned one, and no one would engage in it should they not know what they were getting themselves into. You hoped. You really hoped anyways. The day came and went and, as if you were a child on Christmas morning once again, you felt yourself giddily rushing down the stairs and out into the porch. Your feet were bitten by the icy snow underneath them as you forgot in your rush to put on proper footwear for the weather, but, you barely registered the bitter pain against the tips of your toes. For the book and necklace you had put down were gone. Like alchemy in their place was yet another skull. This time it was of a bird, an owl you assumed due to the wide nature of its eye sockets and the minatureness of its beak. It joined the first skull on your windowsill, displaying itself proudly as you ran back into your home to locate another gift, now fully invested in the pattern you were about to encourage between you and the mysterious killer of Crystal Lake. The pattern repeated itself for several more days until it became somewhat of a daily routine for the both of you. You would wake up to a new present each morning, usually a skull but sometimes it had evolved into winter flowers and rocks from the edge of the frozen lake, smoothed by years of erosion against the shore, and you would in turn leave the present of jewelry or a book or whatever else you had in your home you felt you could part with. Once you had dared to leave a note with your items, it was simply a piece of paper with a heart drawn on it. When it was taken with the gifts you had left, you felt pride swell in the pit of your stomach with the hope that he knew just what you were insinuating with the single shape. When you receive the present of what looked to be human teeth resting in a neat pile, a heart drawn next to it crudely in the snow, you knew that your affections were returned. This lead to, more often than not, the daydreams of Jason filling your already chilled mind. You imagined what he would be like in your home, his hulking form sitting on your couch as you leaned against him and read a book. You pictured him leaning down and allowing you to press a kiss into your cheek. Your mind then wandered to the thought of more than kisses, picturing the torso hidden under his tattered clothes and, without a doubt, the cock that would match the proportions of the massive man, and you had to bury your face in the pillow you were hugging to push it away properly. The knock on the door shortly after the imagery was startling. It sounded heavy set, the solid thuds of a fist that made the wood of your fragile home groan in protest. Your heart skipped a beat, daring to hope of just who it was. Standing up, you put the pillow you had been holding down against the couch and hurried out to the door. When your hands rested on the cool metal knob, you felt...somewhat hesitation. An inkling of unsureness creeping up your spine like a parasite until it wrapped your brainstem, your mind growing fuzzy as you thought of the consequences this could possibly lead. Consequences? Your mind scoffed at your thoughts, for if he wanted your death he would have dealt with it. If there were consequences, you thought snarkily to yourself, he wouldn’t give you such gifts. He wouldn’t pull a human’s teeth out for you. Give him a chance, you silly girl. Give it to him. With that you opened the door. Jason stood there, lilac scarf wrapped around his neck. The sight made your heart leap with appreciation, knowing he kept the fabric with him. His breath came out in puffs through the holes of his hockey mask. Bits of frost still clung to the yellowed mask, making him look almost like a statue in the light of the slowly setting winter sun. It was endearing, you realized with a blush warming your cheeks. It was handsome. He tilted his head at you and you grinned back. “Hello, Jason. It’s good to see you.” He didn’t respond and it was only then you chose to look down. He was holding things, you realized, and had extended his hands to you in order to get you to see them. One hand held the tomb of fairytales you had given him in your first tentative gift exchange, its leather cover now dusted with frost and wetness. The other hand held a severed human arm. There was a moment that your stomach lurched at the sight of it. It was your turn to tilt your head as you stared at the limb with borderline fascination in your eyes. It looked like it was fresh, but, just old enough so that it didn’t drip any crimson blood down in the snow and on your flooring, which you were thankful for. You didn’t think you had any books that stated how to get blood out of hardwood. “Is that another gift for me?” You dare to question. When you’re met with a nod of confirmation, the smile leaks onto your lips without you having to force it. Hands extended, you wait patiently for him to place the item in them. He understands after a moment of staring, reaching out and placing the arm between your fingers. It’s bare, the skin pale and slowly greying with the frost and rigor mortis setting in. It’s colder than you would have thought, and you could see the splintering of the bone inside of the severed area as parts of the ripped flesh dangled slightly, blowing in the wind that echoed through your door. The person had freckles, you noticed. You brought the object close to your eyes to observe if, the scent of rot vaguely registering itself in your nose as you ran your fingers over the palm and bent each of its digits testily. They gave friction against your actions and you found it...amusing in a way. You tried to imagine it as your high school bully’s arm and it gave you a twisted sense of solace. “Thank you,” You hummed with a grin, “I like it a lot. I don’t know where I’ll keep it, though...It might smell if it’s inside. Maybe I can have it in the back shed…” As you mulled, Jason proceeded to dare to reach out, tapping your shoulder in such a gentle way that you startled out of your thought process. He held up the book to you, staring at you with silent intent. Your eyes searched his, flowing from his face down to the book in hand and you tilted your head. A sense of understanding...and then guilt...flooded your system. “Oh,” You mumbled, “You don’t know how to read?” He shook his head no. You dared to take this as an opportunity. Lowering the limb to your side, you reached out your free hand and offered it to him. The air was tense now as you felt yourself say the words most would have been terrified to even consider, yet, they flowed like melted butter from between your lips. “Would you like to come inside? I could show you the stories in them, if you’d like.” You expected him to back away and disagree as he did the first time you met. You expected him to take offense in one way or another and decide it was time to murder you. You expected anything else but the sight of him hesitant at first, but, slowly reaching out his hand and placing it in yours. His fingertips were cold from the frost of the outside. One digit was easily two of yours, maybe three. His palm completely consumed your own and your skins finally touching sent a tingle of delight down your spine. You didn’t believe in soulmates or love at first touch, certainly, but...the feeling you had upon gaining his grip was nothing short of electrifying. With a shy smile, you lead him inside of your home. He followed.

Y/n looked down at Sara leading a bunch of skeleton monsters into her property’s front yard. From here, Y/n couldn’t hear what Sara was saying, but experience told her it was the normal retail spiel. ‘Not’ , thought Y/n, ‘that she's my retail agent.’ Y/n glared down at the whole group, hand toying with the egg placed precariously on the attic window’s ledge, looking and waiting for the perfect target and moment. She should have been surprised to see monsters looking at her house (Sara and her bosses weren’t the biggest fans of monsters) and even a little bit smug that she had driven the company to finally consider selling to them, but all she felt was the continued frustration at this whole situation. She took solace that all she needed to do was to get at least one of them to refuse to move in. ‘How hard can that be?’ She watched as Sara and the monsters approached the front door, Sara gesturing to the house and yard while the monsters passively followed. “And here we have the front door, original design from the 18th century and crafted from-“ “OH MY GOD! WE GET IT! IT’S AN OLD DOOR. WHO CARES? ARE YOU GOING TO SHOW US INSIDE OR ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP BLABBERING ABOUT HOW DECRYPTED THIS PLACE IS?” ‘Target acquired.’ While Sara was still stumbling through her response, Y/n walked behind the egg and began to push it towards and off the ledge. *……………………Crack!* “WHAT TH!-IS THIS A-! WHO THE HELL THREW AN EGG AT ME?!! NO! NO, I WILL NOT ‘CALM DOWN’! I WANT WHOEVER THREW THIS EGG’S HEAD ON A PIKE!!” Victory pump in the air, Y/n watched as the tall, edgy skeleton she had hit was restrained and shushed by the others, before she jumped off the ledge and headed towards the ventilation shaft, picking up her makeshift backpack filled with various bits and bobs on the way. She knew the ventilation system well enough to know which one leads to her front door, where she needed to be to scope out her next target. She watched from the front door ventilation’s shadow as Sara opened the door, apologising profusely to a tall, edgy looking skeleton, seething and dripping yolk. “I-I'm so sorry sir. T-there’s a bathroom, just down the hall where you can-“ The tall skeleton pushed past Sara, striding towards the general directing of the bathrooms. Sara, to her credit, remained calm and sweetly professional as she turned to face the rest of the skeletons. A short skeleton in a blue hood winked at Sara, “don’t worry about edge, you don’t need to be walking on eggshells around us, he’s just a bit egg -aggerated.” A tall, lanky skeleton in an orange hoodie snorted while the shorter, edgy-looking skeleton in a black, fur-lined hoodie stifled a laugh, which he turned into a cough. A tall skeleton wearing a red scarf wrapped around his neck grasped his head in dismay, groaning alongside a short skeleton wearing a blue bandana tied around his. “REALLY SANS? AN EGG PUN? WHY?” “but they’re egg -celent and i've got about a dozen of them.” “SANS!” Y/n chuckled; the pair of monsters reminding her of herself and her younger brother, whom she also liked to tormented. She thought she saw the blue hoodie skeleton ( 'Named Sans, apparently.' ) flick his eye lights at her vent, but thought nothing of it. Soon, they would all know about her and just how unwelcome they were in her house. “UM, WHAT’S THAT?” Sara turned from the short skeleton in the blue bandana to see a note twirling in the middle of the room, suspended from fishing line. Y/n remembered what a pain it had been to get it there, let alone writing it with stationery that was never meant for her size. “IT SAYS ‘GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, OR ELSE’.” The tall skeleton in the red scarf looked to Sara, confusion plain on his face ( 'Skull?' ). “DOES THIS HOUSE ALREADY BELONG TO SOMEONE, RETAIL LADY?” Sara ripped the note down, crushing it before dumping it into her handbag. She laughed nervously. “O-of course not. The neighbour kids have obviously broken in and placed this here as some sort of a joke.” “obviously.”, remarked the tall lanky skeleton in an orange hoodie. Y/n knew that Sara would do that ( 'as she always does.' ), but it was still worth the effort to at least try to warn the potential ‘buyers’ before she started to attack them. What was happening to her was, by far, unfair, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t understand the position Sara was in, or indeed any potential buyer. It was Sara's bosses and the larger government that had forced them all to be here today. What she wouldn’t give to know where to send herself to get some well-deserved payback. Sara invited the skeletons to wander around the rooms, encouraging them to ask any questions. Y/n watched as the tall lanky skeleton and the short edgy skeleton head off towards the living room, the skeleton with the red scarf and the short skeleton with the blue bandana head towards the kitchen while Sans remained with Sara. “so…the price also includes all this furniture?” Sara smile seemed strained as she nodded. “Yes, this house is fully furnished, with a fully supplied kitchen, a spacious basement and attic, living room, dining room and six furnished bedrooms.” She indicated towards the staircase, “Would you like a tour?” “nah, seems like a lot of effort.” Sara’s smile twitched. “O-okay then.” She cleared her throat, “Perhaps there’s something else I can show you?” “i’d like to see the basement”, Sans supplied. “Great, let me show you where it is.” Y/n watched the two head off, knowing that she shouldn’t follow. There were no air vents down there and it was too risky to travel in the open. Instead, she made her way through the vent system till she arrived in the living room. Y/n saw the lanky skeleton across the room, browsing her movie and game collection, while the short edgy skeleton had crashed on the couch, his head resting on the backrest while looking at the ceiling. “so…got something to confess ashtray?” The lanky skeleton shrugged, still facing the shelves. “whoever owns this place has a bigger game collection than me?” The edgy skeleton sat up, glaring at the lanky skeleton. “try again.” The lanky skeleton finally turned, his hands deep in his hoodie's pockets. “don’t know what to tell you red.” The edgy skeleton ( 'red…really?' ) scoffed, “sure, and i’m just to suppose to believe that you just happened to step out of the way as an egg just ‘magically’ appeared outta thin air.” Red shrugged, relaxing back into the sofa. “hate ter see something like that happn' to blue.” The lanky skeleton glared at Red’s smirking form, while Y/n’s hands tighten at the idle threat. She had no clue who or what ‘blue’ was, but she knew a threat when she heard them and she. Did. Not. Like. Threats. While Y/n pulled off her bag and dug around inside it, lanky skeleton spoke, “maybe that retail lady did it. you know, if you want to blame another random person?” Red laughed, “that chicken shit racist? nah, she wouldn’t have the guts to try.” “maybe it was whoever owns this house?” “pfft, yeah right. you’d like if there just happened to be someone else to-“ *Splat* “what the-?” Red raised a hand to the back of his skull, feeling the ward of crewed up paper sticking there. He stared at it for a few seconds, disbelief and confusing plain on his face, before the lanky skeleton snickered loudly. “you’re dead stretch.” Stretch ( 'what was with these names?' ) struggled (and failed) to keep a smile off his face, placing a hand on his chest, the picture of mock innocence. Y/n, meanwhile, tore off another piece of paper, aiming the empty pen tube again. “red, i would never-“ *Splat* Stretch and Red lost it. While Stretch clutched at his sides in a fit of laughter, one of Red’s eyes blazed red, an array of sharp, red bones aimed at the guffawing skeleton. Sensing his immediate danger, Stretch straightened his hands out in an attempt to placate Red’s anger. Then suddenly, “red! what’s that behind you?”, cried Stretch, with a wild point over Red’s shoulder. With poor timing, Y/n let loose the next spitball, which Red just barely managed to dodge as he turned to look behind him. Y/n pressed herself down to the ground, heart hammering. 'What crap timing!' She hoped that Red would just keep assuming it was Stretch. Still, it wasn’t worth the risk, and Red was plenty pissed off now, time to leave. While Y/n slowly packed away her supplies back into her bag, she could hear Red cursing under his breath “asshole” before silence. Wondering what Red or Stretch might be doing, but not risking the look, she carefully tied her bag up, but before she had the chance to shoulder on the bag and leave, she was suddenly bathed in a red light. With a wild shriek, Y/n turned and fell to the floor, backing herself against the vent’s bars. Before her was a fanged, dog-shaped-like skull with glowing red eyes, tracking her every movement. The dog skull moved closer, a soft growl emanating from it. Fully panicking, Y/n placed her hand on her pin’s head, preparing to plunge it in and make a break for it. But before she had the chance to act her desperate plan, the vent grates open and she fell backwards and into the waiting skeleton hand of Red. Red’s hand quickly closed around her, trapping her. He looked her over, his eyes roaming from her wild eyes to her ratty clothes. “well, looks like this place has an infestation after all. knew there had to be a catch.” Y/n strained to reach her pin, but her arms were pinned to her side. She wildly searched the room, looking for anything that might briefly distract him. Nothing she saw would help; even the other skeleton had somehow managed to leave without much notice ( 'More magic?!' ). Desperate, she resorted to biting hard of every bit of the bone hand holding her. Red took a shuddering breath, the hand holding her tighten. “o-oh sweetheart, you really shouldn’t do that.” Y/n looked at Red in disbelief, like telling her to stop was going to work! For some reason, Red had red sweat beading his skull and she wondered if this was why he was called Red? Maintaining eye contact, she deliberately bit down as hard as she could, grinding her teeth on his thumb. Red’s face only got sweatier and a weird glow began to emanate behind his sharp, shark-like teeth. His thumb started to press hard against her chest, causing Y/n to squeak in surprise and shock. “L-let me go creep!” Red’s smile only got bigger, a cockiness emanating from the creepy bastard. *SLAM* Startled, Red dropped Y/n, who immediately darted for the living room’s ground vent. Sliding between the bars, Y/n looked back to see Edge standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, glaring down at Red’s quivering form. “b-boss, w-what-“ “WHERE IS THE ASHTRAY?” “what?” Edge ('Red’s boss?') strolled into the room, looming over Red’s shrinking form. “WHERE IS THE SCUM THAT DARED TO EGG ME?" Edge hissed. “i-it wasn’t stretch.” Edge lashed forward, grabbing Red by the scruff of his furred coat, lifting him high off the ground, “TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW THIS INSTANT, OR THERE WILL BE DIRE CONSEQUENCES” Red was sweating again, squirming in Edge's grasp “i-it was a bitty.” “A WHAT?” “i-it’s a small human. she’s hiding in the vents. i had her, b-but then i dropped her when you came in.” Edge dropped Red, who remained where he fell. “YOU IDIOT, OF COURSE YOU’D DO THAT! NO MATTER, I WILL CATCH HER.” He levelled his glare at Red, who immediately started to sweat again, “THAT IS, IF YOU AREN’T LYING TO ME?” “o-of course not b-boss, wouldn't dream of it.” Edge straightened up, looking around the room, “WHERE IS SHE NOW?” 'Time to leave.' Y/n turned and climbed the ventilation system, grabbing her bag from the upper vents before leaving behind the two edgy skeletons. It seemed like she had only managed to piss off two monsters that were most likely to go hunting her for revenge… not exactly what she had been aiming for. Mentally shrugging, she moved through the vents till she could hear the echo of two voices, reconsidering her approach. Moving towards them, she popped out in the study area. After all, there were others she could convince that moving in was a bad idea and other ways to convince them of that. Y/n could see the tall skeleton in the red scarf perusing the shelves of books that lined the room, while the short skeleton in the blue bandana was pressed against the window, looking out into the backyard. "HEY PAPYRUS, CHECK IT OUT! THIS PLACE HAS A POOL, A FANCY GARDEN, AN APPLE TREE AND SOO MUCH SPACE FOR ACTIVITIES!" The short skeleton turned to the tall skeleton, with literal stars in his eyes. Papyrus ( '...like the font?' ) turned away from the bookshelves, a big smile on his face as he nodded at the shorter skeleton, "IT APPEARS THIS PLACE IS INDEED WORTHY OF OUR GREAT FAMILY!" He turned back to the bookcases, "IT'S JUST A SHAME THAT THE LITERACY QUALITY DOESN'T MATCH WITH THE REST OF THE DECORUM. I MEAN, THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE A SINGLE COPY OF FLUFFY BUNNY'S ADVENTURES!" he waved a dismissive hand at the books. "WHAT!?" The shorted skeleton rushed over to stand by Papyrus's side, looking over the books himself, "WHAT KIND OF BOOK COLLECTION LACKS SUCH A BASIC NECESSITY?!" *Screeeeeeeach* The high pitch sound of metal dragging across metal echoed around the room, silencing the two skeletons. "W-WHAT WAS THAT?" "~Get out of my house~" Y/n loved how the vent echoed and amplified her voice, or when she used her pin to create echoey screeching sounds, creating quite a creepy atmosphere when she needed to. It was especially fun if the buyers were superstitious or Halloween was close. Papyrus turned to the shorter skeleton, twisting his hand, "DID UM, DID THE RETAIL LADY SAY THIS PLACE WAS HAUNTED?" "M-MAYBE THEY'RE A NICE GHOST?" The shorter skeleton suddenly perked up, "MAYBE THEY'RE A COOL GHOST? LIKE NAPSTABLOOK?" "OR LIKE METTATON?" The shorter skeleton began moving around the room, his hands (unnecessary) cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice, "COME OUT MISSES GHOST LADY, WE WANT TO MEET YOU." Papyrus quickly joined in, "THAT'S RIGHT! WE JUST WANT TO MEET OUR NEW FUTURE ROOMMATE WHO...WAIT A MINUTE!" he turned to grasp the shorter skeleton's shoulders, "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS BLUE?! WE CAN HAVE GHOSTLY SLEEPOVERS EVERY NIGHT!" The stars quickly returned to Blue's ('wait, this was blue? It has to be a nickname...right?') eyes, bigger and brighter than they had been before, "THAT WOULD BE GREATEST THING EVER!!" "I KNOW, RIGHT!?" 'Well, this didn't work out.' Y/n mentally slapped herself. Of course, if there was such a thing as skeleton monsters, there would be ghost monsters! Normally, the supernatural approach worked, or at least didn't backfire like this had! 'Time to try another approach.' "*Sob*, Please don't buy my house." The two skeletons stilled. "IS THE GHOST CRYING?" "PLEASE COME OUT, WE WANT TO HELP YOU." "You want to steal my home from me, *sniff*." Y/n saw both skeletons pass a shock, almost guilty look between them. She didn't feel quite right playing on their sympathy, but it wasn't like she had many options left. "THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD NEVER STEAL!", his tone became noticeable softer (if not quieter) "CAN WE SEE YOU PLEASE? WE PROMISE NOT TO HURT YOU." Blue nodded his agreement, puffing out his chest, "THE MAGNIFICENT BLUEBERRY WILL PROTECT YOU FROM ANY AND ALL DANGERS!" Y/n slowly approached the vent's bars, exposing herself to the room's light. She knew she was taking a risk, but she was banking on these monsters not lunging for her. Hopefully, she could play on their sympathy if she looked the part. "My name is Y/n and this is my home.", she rubbed her eyes, "Oh please don't take my home, please!" Papyrus strode forward, his hands outstretched like he was going to pick her up, near tears in his eye lights. "Don't come near me!" Y/n snapped. After a quick moment of regret, she amended, "...please." Papyrus instantly withdrew his hand, like he had just been burnt, "BUT-BUT YOU'RE SO TINY!" he turned to stare at Blueberry ( 'so, I was right about the nickname...kind of' ), who looked equally shocked, "I DIDN'T KNOW HUMANS CAME SO SMALL." "I-I THINK THEY'RE CALLED 'BITTIES'?" Blueberry looked to Y/n, who nodded to confirm his statement. "Please, nice monsters, don't buy my house." "WHY WOULD THAT RETAIL LADY TRY TO SELL A PLACE THAT ALREADY HAS AN OWNER?" "She says that I'm not allowed to live here anymore, that pests like me don't deserve our homes and that we need to be taken away from them." Y/n looked down at her bare feet, "Everyone's forgotten me, my name, who I am. They've all forgotten that this is my house". She looked both skeletons directly, "But not me, I remember who I am and I remember that this is my home." Falling to her knees and burying her head in her hands, she sobbed loudly, "Please, don't take away my home!" The two skeletons were silent for a long time. Y/n wish she could see their faces, to see what effect she had on them and to ensure that she wasn't about to get grabbed, but she didn't want to be called out for acting. "WE NEED TO FIND OUR BROTHERS." "I THINK I SAW SANS WITH THE RETAIL LADY AND STRETCH IN THE LIVING ROOM. WE SHOULD SEE HIM FIRST." "OF COURSE!" Blueberry turned back to look at Y/n, who was looking back up by now, "DON'T WORRY MISS Y/N, OUR BROTHERS WILL LISTEN TO US". He pointed to himself, posing, "THE MAGNIFICENT BLUEBERRY WILL PROTECT YOU" Papyrus nodded in agreement, "WE WON'T LET OUR BROTHERS BUY YOUR HOME, LITTLE HUMAN! YOU CAN COUNT ON US." Y/n watched as the two brothers bolted for the door, loudly calling for Stretch. She smiled to herself; if she felt guilty about abusing their trust, it would be worth it if she had just convinced two of the family not to move in. 'Hopefully, they'll convince Stretch and whoever the other brother is, creating a majority against buying the house!' For the first time today, Y/n could feel the odds moving in her favour. Now, she only had to worry about Sara and her 'ace in the hole'. Speaking of which, Y/n recalled that it had been a while since she had seen Sara. Fearing the worst, she made her way out of the air vent, over to the window Blueberry had been pressed against when she had first arrived. From here, she confirmed her fears; Sara and Sans were in the backyard, looking at the various features, including her father’s workshop. With a start, Y/n scrambled away from the window, running towards the hall's vent, the main pipeline for the ventilation system. 'Damn it, I should have kept a better eye out!' Just as she reached the study's door, it slammed shut, dragging Y/n’s eyes to follow the long, gloved skeleton arm on the door to the sharp face of Edge. He smirked down at her, cold hated filling his gaze. “DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD DROP AN EGG ON ME AND LIVE?” Y/n turned and bolted for the nearest vent. “OH NO YOU DON’T!” Blood red bones sprang from nowhere, blocking the vent and her escape. With lighting reflects honed from dodging many angry humans, Y/n changed course and instead dove behind the bookshelf. Edge strode confidently towards her hiding place, his pace eerily slow. “COME OUT, LITTLE PEST, AND I’LL BE MERCIFULLY QUICK.”, he purred. Taking heaping gulps of air, Y/n could feel her body shake, her veins flooded with adrenaline. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.' “NOWHERE TO HIDE NOW, PEST.” Y/n pressed against the wall, her hand brushing her side to feel the sharp, coldness of her pin pressed against her leg. Grasping the pin’s head, she pulled it from its cover, considering. What she was planning would only make the murderous skeleton more murderous, but at this point……she just hoped that skeletons could feel pain. With a sudden rush of light and movement, Edge toppled the bookcase, exposing her to his glare and anger. “NO ONE ESCAP-“ Y/n lunged forward, jamming her pin into the middle of Edge’s red boot. “ARRGGHHHH!!!” With a wild cry, Edge sprang back. While he hoped on one foot, clutching the boot with a pin still embedded in it, Y/n ran back to the door, desperate. ‘Please! Someone had to have heard that. Please, let that someone open the door. Pl-‘ The door cracked open, the relaxed face of Stretch peering into the room. Y/n silently thanked the blessed calcium gods and dived through the gap, pelting towards the hall’s vent. “edge, what’s going o-“ “CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR YOU IDIOT!!” Breathing heavily in the vent’s shadows, Y/n watched as Stretch quickly shut the door, shrugged and left. The moment the door closed, more red bones sprang from the floor, blocking the door. From behind it, she could hear the muted sounds of Edge destroying furniture. “I KNOW YOU’RE STILL IN HERE!! I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL TEAR EACH OF YOUR LIMBS OFF, ONE BY ONE!!” Leaning against the wall, Y/n took a long time to collect her thoughts and to calm her racing heart. She has wasted vital time and needed to move much quicker if she hoped to make it to the workshop in time. Going out into the yard on foot would be too slow and going through the house would risk getting spotted again. 'Guess I have to fly then.' Y/n made her to the upper floors, coming out of the air vent that leads to Jake's old room. His stuff was still littered around the room, but she wasn't interested in that right now. Making her was to his balcony, she looked out to the backyard, seeing Sara and Sans were still making their way towards Dad's workshop. Y/n took off her bag, dragging out her makeshift glider. Getting this thing to work had been a fun experience (swan diving off the couch to land on the soft carpet multiple times, in the name of science of course), but going outside was always a risky business. While up in the air, she was always subjected to the wind, which had once blown her so far off course, it had taken her hours to walk back home ( 'Granted, everything took far longer than it use to...damn bitty-curse or whatever the hell this was.' ) but right now she was desperate and the wind looked and felt really calm. 'Ironically, jumping off the second story is much safer for me right now than walking through the house and yard.' She smiled at the thought. Y/n looked out at the yard hearing the echoes of Papyrus and Blueberry calling out for Stretch, who they had yet to find, apparently. 'How did they miss him as he made his way to the study room?' Casting that thought aside, Y/n prepared to jump, her eyes focusing on the workshop's window ledge as her target. Worst case scenario, she missed it and would have to climb up from the ground. 'Good thing then that I've had nothing but climbing experiences.' With a heart-stopping leap, Y/n ran towards and off the balcony railing. The wind immediately filled her glider, holding her high off the ground. Her arms strained from her dangling weight, but she barely noticed it as she took in the sights and feeling of gliding. She had to admit, if she managed to turn back to her regular size, this would be one of the things she would actually miss. As a bitty, she was stronger, more durable than she had once been. Her regular self couldn't throw herself off a building with a makeshift glider and hope to live. Now, she could fall from this height and would still be able to bounce back relatively quickly. 'The power of being small, I guess.' As she angled the glider towards her targeted landing zone, she felt the wind give a decisively pull in the wrong direction. Before she could cuss at her bad luck or attempt to fight the inevitable, the wind quickly corrected its course, becoming the smoothest glide she ever had. The wind was so perfect that, as she neared the window ledge, it levelled out, giving her ample time to walk along the ledge before she lowered the glide; the perfect landing. Quite chuffed with herself, she excitedly whooped, throwing her arms up into the air in celebration of her mad skills! A quiet chuckle halted her celebration, however, as she looked back up at the house. There, she saw the orange shape of Stretch leaning out on Jake's balcony, still wearing a lazy smile. When Stretch noticed her looking back at him, he gave a brief wave. Impulsively, she waved back, before quickly scolding herself, blushing hard. 'Did he just see any of that?!' "PAPPY! THERE YOU ARE! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" Blueberry stood outside in the yard, glaring up at Stretch ( 'Stretch is Blueberry's dad? But he called him his brother?'), who shrugged, "eh, just taking it breezie." "PAPPY!!" Papyrus crossed his arms, standing beside a Blueberry stomping in frustration, "YOUR BROTHER IS NO BETTER THAN MINE!" he looked up at Stretch, "STAY THERE, THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT!" "you know me, i could win atrophy for not moving." "PAPS!!" "STRETCH!!" Y/n chuckled to herself and she was pretty sure Stretch just winked at her. Seeing the approaching figures of Sara and Sans, she moved towards the window. Leaving behind the groaning skeletons and her mortification, she entered through a crack in the window's glass panel, a slow and careful process where she attempted to not cut herself. Upon entering, Y/n made her way to the garage door, hopping down shelf by shelf, listening to the two getting closer, their voices muffled by the door and walls. "-and here we have the workshop, fully equipped with various machinery and other useful tools one might need for vehicle work." "vehicle work?" "The previous owners of this estate had some sort of motorcycle building business." Y/n looked down at the door handle as it began to rattle, a key entering the key lock. "You'll see what I mean in a second." Placing herself on the door handle, Y/n pushed out the key from the lock as hard as she could. With a satisfying *Chink*, the key popped out on the other side, landing in the dirt. "i'm guessing you're not hitting the right key there." While Sara, she was sure, bent down to pick up the key and try again, Y/n pulled out and stuffed the lock with blue tack. With immense satisfaction, she watched the door handle continue to jingle and Sara's attempts getting more desperate and forceful. "I-I'm not sure why this isn't working. It was working just fine last week." "maybe we're missing a key clue here?" Sara forcefully laughed, although Y/n could only imagine her face looked as strained as her laugh. "i'm going to look around the shed, maybe find another way in?" "Oh, o-of course Mr Sans. I'm sure this won't take long to fix. Feel free to call out to me if you need me." There was the sound of confirmation from Sans, then footsteps walking off to the side. Suddenly, Sara's voice sounded much closer and lower, still muffled by the door "I know you're there Y/n. You need to stop whatever it is you've done to this lock right now." Y/n said nothing. "I mean it! I will smash this door open with a rock if I have too! These monsters are really interested in buying this house and I won't have you messing this up again!" Y/n continued to say nothing, although she took great delight in flipping Sara off (not that she could see it, but it was the spirit of the gesture that mattered). "That's it!" Sara huffed before the Y/n heard the sound of her retreating footsteps. "hun, she's a bit aggregated , isn't she?" With a shriek, Y/n fell off the door handle. The impact she was expecting didn't come however, as instead, she found herself hovering inches from the ground, bathed in a weird blue glow. Next thing she knew, she was being airlifted to the eye level of the grinning Sans. 'Why is one of his eyes glowing?! What happened to the other one!?' "so, you're the kid causing all this trouble." 'How did he manage to say any of that without opening his mouth?!' Y/n started, panic and fear making her angrily reply, "Y-yea! That's right! And I'll keep making trouble if you're dumb enough to buy this house!" With a flurry of kicking and swinging movements, the blue glow suddenly vanished and Y/n was falling again. Upon hitting the ground, she scurried under the nearby workbench, watching Sans through the workbenches' legs. Sans expression still had that wide, permeate smile of his, but now he looked confused and shocked. "how did you...?" "You have until the count of five before I start bashing in the lock! 1.2.3-" Sans turned to the door, effortless opening it to a Sara in mid-bashing motion with a large rock that looked like it had come from the pond area. "i guess i took my time for granite ." "M-Mr Sans? How did you get in?" Sans shrugged, "found a shortcut." Sara started as Sans for a good long while, obviously struggling to form a coherent thought, before she managed one, "Oh, well, good then...I guess." She lowered the rock to the side of the doorway, clearing her voice when she stood back up. "So, um, let me show you around the workshop." Sara entered the workshop, closing the door behind her. She quickly spotted the blue tack blocking the lock, removing it while she scanned the area, paying attention to the room's edges, nooks and crannies. 'No doubt trying to see me.' "can i quarry what you're searching for?" Sara's attention immediately snapped back to Sans, who had his pockets stuffed in his hoodie, a relaxed grin while he casually watched her."No, no it's nothing." Sara cleared her voice, gesturing wildly to all the various equipment, "Um, as you can see, this used to be some sort of motorcycling building operation. Apparently, a lot of this stuff is designed for customisation or something like that." She smirked at Sans, throwing in a casual wink, "I've been told this stuff is worth a lot of money...to the right people, of course." "is that so?" Y/n watched in bitter anger as Sara walked Sans through Dad's workshop, failing to explain the correct purpose of each equipment. The appeal of the house, with its fully furnished and spacious rooms was understandable. But this workshop was basically a gold mine, waiting to be scrapped for profit. No way would anyone appreciate the value of just simply leaving it alone. This was Sara's 'ace in the hole', the reason she gave people to buy this house. This place was the reason why Y/n worked so hard to ensure no one made it this far in the tour. 'Until today, apparently.' "SANS! SAANS!" The sound of Papyrus calling from the house ended the tour of the workshop's equipment, as both Sara and Sans made their way back to the garage door. Soon, Sara would be locking the door and walking back, leaving Y/n to slowly trudge back to the house. 'Unless I hitch a ride, that is.' , Y/n thought, looking over the two's clothing. On the one hand, Sans was wearing a hoodie, something she could see herself jumping safely into without him noticing, but she didn't know him well enough to assume he wouldn't feel her land. Sara, from previous experience, was less likely to notice her when she was in the company of potential buyers, making her the safest bet. She was wearing her noodle strapped handbag and impractical high heels. She could attempt to climb into the bag, but that risked getting trapped or caught. 'Guess I'm hitching a bumpy, awful ride today.' Making her way to the door, she waited for Sara to exit and lock the door behind Sans and herself. When she was locking the door, Y/n made her way to the back of the heel closest to her, grabbing a secure hold to the upper lip of the high heel. "um." Sara turned, Y/n's hold getting tested for the first time, as she looked at Sans, "Yes, Mr Sans?" Y/n could just barely see one of Sans's shoulders shrug, "it's nothing, i don't want to appear too clingy." Sara laughed, a brief professional laugh, before she moved towards the house. Y/n, meanwhile, questioned the nature of that pun, preparing to make a bolt for it if she needed to. She would rather walk the rest of the way than risk getting captured, particularly with Sara around. As Sara travelled, every other step was a jarring experience for Y/ n, as she experienced freefalling, only to come an abrupt crash in an endless cycle. "SANS! I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING!" "what is it bro?" Papyrus's boots came into view, walking alongside Sans's slippers ( 'really?' ) "OH, HELLO RETAIL LADY!" "Hello, um, Pap...er, Paprika?" "PAPYRUS, ACTUALLY." "Ah, yes of course, my apologies." "YOU ARE FORGIVEN RETAIL LADY. NOT EVERYONE CAN HAVE THE IMPECCABLE MEMORY OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS." "heh, it's true. you wanted something bro?" "AH, YES. SANS, I DON'T THINK WE SHOULD BUY THIS HOUSE." "What? Why?" "i believe he was talking to me, actually." Y/n couldn't see the face Sans was making, but if matched anything like the tone he just used, she was surprised Sara hadn't bolted. "M-my, ap-apologies. I-it won't happen again." Sara's pace definitely increased. "you were saying bro?" "APPARENTLY, THIS HOUSE ALREADY HAS AN OWNER! THIS RETAIL LADY IS TRYING TO SELL US SOMEONE ELSE'S HOME!" Sara stopped and turned, her foot on the patio landing. As much as Y/n would love to hang around and hear how this would play out, she knew she wouldn't get a better chance to sneak in while everyone was distracted. While Sara bumbled through her explanations, no doubt proving that the house was, technically, legal to sell, she slipped in the back doorway, rushing towards the nearest vent, which happened to be in the living room hall. Safely concealed in shadows, she saw that the rest of the skeletons were already sitting around the various furniture, obviously done with the tour. Red had managed to move back into the same position he had been in when she first saw him while Stretch was lounging on the remaining couch. Blueberry was looking over all the movies and Edge, well, besides looking even more pissed off than when she last saw him, was tapping the walls, his skull pressed against the wall. Apparently he thought she was a termite or something. Soon enough, Sara, Sans and Papyrus entered the living room from the backyard, still talking about her, apparently. "who's the bitty?" Sara shifted uncomfortable, avoiding Sans's questioning eyes. "If she's a problem, I can have her removed from the premises before you all move in." "why haven't you done that already?", Red asked, looking at her from his spot. Sara became visible more uncomfortable, "She's very adamant about this place being hers." She laughed, "Legally speaking, she isn't even meant to be here. And she certainly had no claim over this place." "because?", Stretch waved his hand, indicating Sara to continue. "Because," Sara emphasised, "there's no record of her, period. No birth certificate, no tax number and certainly no proof that she's the owner of this house." When she got no response from the collective skeletons, she rushed on, "But that's to be expected, right? No one remembers who any of the bitties were, not even themselves." "Y/N, HER NAME IS Y/N", Blueberry looked sharply at Sara, "AND THIS IS HER HOME." He looked over to Papyrus, who was nodding in agreement, "SHE REMEMBERS WHO SHE IS." Sara rolled her eyes, surprising Y/n because Sara was normally much better at hiding her emotions than this. Guess she was having a bigger impact on Sara's psyche today than she thought. "Sure, thousands of cases and not only is she one of the few rare adult bitties, but she also happens to be the only bitty in the entire world that just happens to remember her name and past? Don't you find that even a bit too convenient?" When the skeletons made no notion of agreeing with her (or acknowledging her as was in Edge's case, still tapping the wall), she sighed, raising her hands in submission. "Okay look, I happen to believe that this is her house, I mean, why make that up? If no one could remember your name, let alone what you previously owned, why claim a house? But that's not the only problem." "WHAT ELSE IS THERE?" Sara scoffed, "Beside her inability to look after this place? The courts decided that she still falls under Bitty Law." "the one that says bitties can't legally look after themselves?", supplied Sans. "Yes, that one, and she lost her appeal to that have an exemption." Sara threw her arms up, exasperated, "And I have no idea how she made it back here after that court meeting! As far as I know, she was supposed to be taken from there into a bitty care facility, awaiting adoption." Sara looked pointedly up at an air vent (wasn't the one she was in, but she knew Sara's glare was meant for her) "I've tried to help her, giving her food and basic supplies, to get her to understand that she can't look after this place by herself, and that if she really cared about this place, she'd let me find a good family who'd look after it for her! But she refuses to cooperate and she absolutely refuses to leave this place! And it's not like I can call in a pest exterminator!" Sara looked away, "As frustrating as she is, scaring off potential buyers and all, I don't want to kill her." There was a pregnant pause. Y/n knew all of this already, Sara never left the house without lecturing her how stupid she was being and how she insisted she was just trying to 'help'. None of it mattered though; this was her house and she would rather die defending it than being shipped off to some random placed filled with children bitties, waiting to be adopted. "i'd think my family and i would like to discuss our options in private", said Sans, with a pointed look at Sara. She sighed, inclining her head and arm towards the dining room, "Of course. There's plenty of space for you in the dining room. I'll, er, I'll just go check the yard then." She left, while the skeletons made their way towards the dining room, seating themselves around the table. From her new vantage point in the dining room vent, Y/n could see all of the skeletons' expressions, ranging from indifferent, uneasy and, in the case of Edge, pissed off. "I VOTE FOR MOVING IN." That was a surprise; guess her first guess about Edge holding grudges was unfortunately true. She wasn't the only one surprised though. "why?" The blatant question from Stretch did nothing to quell the anger come off Edge in waves. "BECAUSE THIS HOUSE IS SPACIOUS, FULLY FURNISHED AND HAS A GREAT YARD. WHAT DOES IT MATTER?" "WHAT ABOUT Y/N? THIS IS HER HOUSE!" Edge waved a dismissive hand at Blueberry's argument. "WHO CARES!? IT'S OURS NOW", Edge glared at the vent, no doubt imagining her sitting there watching him, "AND IF SHE'S SMART, SHE'LL LEAVE OUR HOUSE AS FAST AS SHE CAN." He grinned evilly, “OR DON’T. IT’S MORE FUN THAT WAY.” "no harming y/n, edge." Sans said, with a hard stare at Edge. Red shrugged into his fluffy coat, "if she isn't harmed by the boss, she'll be harmed by someone else sooner or later." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" Red stared at Blueberry, a grin slowly spreading, "think about it, she keeps pissing off people who want to buy her house. one day, one of those people isn't going to care about killing her". He shrugged again, "probably fumigate this place with bug spray." Blueberry looked horrified at the idea, but Papyrus seemed determined, "Y/N ASKED US TO NOT TO MOVE IN, I SAY WE RESPECT THAT AND LOOK ELSEWHERE." Blueberry slammed his hands down on the table, "BUT SHE'LL PROBABLY GET K-KILLED! WE CAN'T LET THAT HAPPEN! WE COULD HELP HER!" he turned to Sans, "I VOTE WE LIVE HERE!" Sans nodded, "so that's two for moving in and one for not." He turned to Red, who shrugged, "i vote with boss" Sans indicated his head towards Stretch, who looked at his brother's expected face and sighed. "gotta vote against my bro here." Blueberry gasped, and quite a few of the others looked shocked too. "BUT, BUT WHY?" Stretch shrugged, "i just don't like the idea of forcing someone into a situation that they really don't want to be in." He stared at Sans, "and i'm sure you feel that same way" Sans sighed heavily, looking around the table, at each individual waiting expectantly for his deciding vote. "it's a really good house with a lot of room for expansion, exactly what we've been after." Stretch shrugged, but didn't reply. With another heavy sigh, Sans looked at her vent. "y/n, how about we pay you rent?" Y/n stared back, unseen in the shadows. Sans continued, "we could buy the house from these guys and give it back to you if you ever get back to how you were before. we can look after the house, keep it from falling apart." He indicated to the others, "we'd store anything you don't want us using and-", he looked pointedly at Edge, "-you wouldn't be harmed." Edge scoffed and rolled his eye lights, but otherwise remained silent, looking anywhere but at Sans. "edge." Edge abruptly stood up, toppling the chair he had been sitting on, "FINE! I WON'T KILL THE PEST THAT THOROUGHLY DESERVES IT!", then he proceeded to storm out of the room. Meanwhile, Y/n thought about what was the best offer she had ever gotten. Hell, it was the only offer. Once people found out that she lived there and had no qualms doing whatever it took to get them to leave, they never stuck around to find out more. Not only was this the first time she had failed to get potential buyers to leave, it was also the first time she was being asked for her opinion. She was actually getting a vote. Still, money wasn’t something that was useful to her. She couldn't access it and had no legal means or rights to it. Hell, the money she had before becoming a bitty no longer acknowledge her existence and wouldn't be hers after she had been 'legally dead' for six years. Even if she had it, what could she do, go to the store, buy a car? She was so dependent on the kindness of strangers and the scraps she found around the house! The same applied to the upkeep of the house. As much as it pained her to admit it, she hadn't been able to do all the maintenance this placed desperately needed. Logically, accepting Sans offer was the best decision, but emotionally.... to depend on Sans' 'word', his honesty and integrity, to trust that he wouldn't change his mind and that the others would agree and be trustworthy to keep to that agreement. 'It would be so much easier if I was just left alone, but how long can that really last for?' "What does it matter? Like you'd actually listen to what I say", she voice echoing out of the ventilation system, small, frustrated and tired. Sara returned, knocking on the doorframe, "I saw someone outside and guessed you had an answer ready to go?" she walked in, clapping her hands in eager anticipation, "so, what have you decided?" Sans took one, finale hard look at her air vent, before letting out a final, long sigh. "guess we're moving in, hu?"   Next chapter is called: Burring down the house!

Mother refused to tell me anything about their lunch date, and it was beyond maddening. Thankfully, I had the distraction of Theo and my potions planning to keep me occupied. Pansy, Greg, and Blaise stopped by as well the following day. Granger hadn’t sent any of them owls. Somehow she had correctly assumed Theo to be my closest friend, and knew that a letter to him would be sufficient to alert the others. Still, the fact that she had done so was not missed. “Did you say that Hermione Granger sent you an owl?” Greg asked Theo as we all sat lazily around the parlor Thursday afternoon. Pansy came out from behind the Muggle fashion magazine she’d had her nose buried in and said, “Goody goody Granger? What’s she up to these days?” “Keeping Draco in line, mostly,” Theo said with a grin, and I had to hold back a growl. “Is that right?” asked Blaise, swirling his Firewhisky and looking dangerously curious. “She’s working in Muggle Liaison and overseeing my case, that’s all,” I said to the room at large. I knew I’d sounded a bit too defensive when Pansy raised an eyebrow at me. “Bit protective, are we?” In my periphery, I could see Theo grinning, more than ready to have this conversation. Again. I didn’t speak because I knew that I would only sputter and give them more to think on. Greg’s perplexed face caught my eye, which spurred him to speak. “Why would she owl Theo for you?” I answered without looking up from the thread I was playing with on my trouser seam. “Part of her job, I expect.” This seemed to satisfy the newcomers, but Theo was not going to let this go. I sent him a glare intended as a warning. My threat from the previous day was still in effect as far as I was concerned. Apparently, he had planned an entirely different tack this time. “Parkinson, you ran into her at the Ministry, didn’t you?” Pansy put down her magazine once again and sighed. “I did. Just after badgering Shacklebolt. We rode the same lift. She was actually really decent to me, considering…” “And what was it you said to me after? Something about how good she looked in Ministry robes?” I looked over at Pansy and saw her face grow red, throwing daggers at Theo. “Fuck’s sake, Theo, are you really outing me right now?” I looked over to Theo and he shrugged, the same shite-eating grin on his face. “He was gonna find out one way or another.” “Yes, well I would have preferred to choose to do it on my own terms, thanks a lot!” she said, throwing her magazine at Theo’s head. He ducked and it skidded across the polished wood floor. Blaise laughed. “On your own terms, like making out with Tracey Davis in front of all of us at the Leaky one random evening?” “Yes, Zabini! That was the exact definition of my own terms!” Pansy growled back. Greg sat watching the interaction about as dumbfounded as I was. “Wait… how did I miss this?” Everyone turned to look at Greg. “Greg, Parkinson and Davis have been an item for the past six months. You’ve been out with all of us, seen them snogging, how are you confused?” Blaise asked. Greg shrugged. “Just thought it was one of those things girls do when drunk?” Everyone made groans of exasperation, but my eyes sought Pansy and I raised a brow at her. “Davis, huh?” She blushed again and nodded. “I liked her for years, just didn’t know how to deal with it.” I threw her a small smirk and then furrowed my brow. “Is this why nothing ever went anywhere between us?” Another nod, this one faster and more nervous-looking. “She had a thing for Granger, too,” Theo blurted out, and Pansy turned slowly to gape at him in incredulous horror. “Theodore, I am about five seconds from hexing your bollocks off.” “What is it with you and Draco and my bollocks?!” At this, everyone turned to me with looks of amused confusion. I wasn’t going to be distracted, however. “You had a thing for Granger, Pans?” I said. She was beet red now. “You’re all going to have to take the Unbreakable Vow before leaving this room, or else let me Obliviate you, because this is never leaving this room. I can’t believe I trusted you, Theo!” Theo just shrugged again. “Being drunk and being trustworthy aren’t quite the same things.” “Wait, so you’re seeing Granger as well, Pansy?” Greg asked. Theo laughed and nearly fell off the arm of the chair he’d been perched on, and Blaise lowered his face into his palm. Once the laughter died down, Pansy spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t think I was the only one who had their head turned on the night of the Yule Ball. It was sort of the first time I… noticed… my preference.” “You always were a complete bitch to her. Makes sense it was mostly out of frustration,” Blaise said. How had this conversation turned to Granger? Oh, right. Theo. Theo and his master plan. I scowled at him, which was a mistake. He immediately perked up and pointed at me. “Draco has a thing for her now!” Everyone turned to gape at me. I stood, advancing on Theo menacingly. Once we were nose to nose I said, “Left or right? Which should I remove first?” “I think we all know how Draco feels about Granger.” It took me a moment to register who had said it. We all turned to look at Greg, who was now sitting with one leg crossed over the other knee, looking rather pompous. “What?” he asked. “I thought it was obvious he’s been in love with her since first year.” I was dimly aware of my other friends exchanging incredulous glances, but I glared at Greg. The surviving member of my own trio. The one who helped me taunt, hex, and harass Granger and her friends from day one. Were it not for his intolerable innocence I would have threatened his bollocks right then and there. As it was… “That actually makes sense,” said Blaise. “Totally and completely!” said Pansy. Theo’s grin was so bright it could have melted icebergs. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so grateful for the fact that I was allowed visitors. . . . . . . . I endured an hour or so more of my friend’s theories on my apparent long-time love for Granger, which was just absurd beyond all reason. As if bullying and hatred equaled love. It was patently ridiculous, and I told them so. The more I argued, however, the more convinced they became. Eventually I just sat quietly and listened, and they gave up after some time. We made a plan for each of them to somehow contribute to my potions company. They all agreed to visit on varying days to work with me either in the lab itself or on business planning. First on the schedule was Theo for Friday afternoon. We had something we’d started in the lab Wednesday that needed finishing, so while I was still annoyed with him for his little stunt, it only made sense for him to come by. “Did you see Catherine this morning?” I hadn’t meant to tell him I was engaging the therapist. It had slipped out. I kicked myself for the millionth time in the last 24 hours for opening my stupid mouth. “Yes,” I said in a clipped tone. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. I could feel him grinning over at me, even as I focused on cutting Shrivelfigs. “And? How did it go?” “As if I would give you specifics. You insist on blurting out my personal details to rooms of people at random, so why in the world would I share a thing with you?” “Ah, so you admit to having a thing for Granger then? That’s a personal detail of yours?” I closed my eyes. “Salazar give me strength.” I had, in fact, seen Catherine, and it had been… weird. Mainly, the part where I didn’t lie. It felt somehow different than being honest with Michelle. At least Michelle didn’t look at me with sympathy and concern. Hell, it was rare to even get a reaction from my coach, she was always so aggravatingly impossible to read. Catherine, however, wanted to know how I felt about things, and when I told her, she would say things like, “Yes, that’s hard,” and I would have to suppress the urge to yell, “No, it’s not!” I slipped a few times. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind. She seemed to feel it was a normal reaction.  Far more normal than simply making everything up, like I had before. All in all, the session had been fairly pointless. I talked and talked, she interjected with her sympathies occasionally, and that was it. I left feeling sort of different? I wasn’t sure how it was supposed to feel.  She suggested we meet twice weekly, and I agreed. That would put me at the Ministry three days a week. I noticed this brought me a small amount of satisfaction, but I wasn’t sure why. “Did you see Granger when you were there today?” I tossed aside my knife and gave up on the Shrivelfigs. “Are we going to talk about anything other than Granger and my Ministry assignments, Theo?” “Alright, alright! Let’s talk about your mum then. Think she’ll ever leave your dad and start dating?” I was going to be thrown in Azkaban for murder. . . . . . . . The next time I ran into Granger was after my coaching session on Monday. I hadn’t heard anything from her since the correspondence about meeting with my mother. I hadn’t expected to, of course. It wasn’t as though we were friends and she might share what happened. I had managed to keep my session with Michelle solely focused on my new projects, and specifically my potions business idea. She was surprised to hear about all the progress I’d made in the last week, and I was gratified to have finally found a way to keep the conversation away from the topic of Granger, or Potter, or anything else I didn’t need to be delving into with her.  If there wasn’t a goal around it, it wasn’t to be a topic of conversation. I felt back in control and had more of a sense of purpose than I could remember having since the Inquisitorial Squad. Of course, this purpose felt significantly more valid. Speaking of Potter, she was with him when I ran into her. Presumably they’d had lunch. I wondered if they’d gone down memory lane at that place of Lovegood’s. Was it Lovegood’s place? Or did she just work there? I filed it away in my mind to ask Granger some other time, not interested in striking up a conversation while she was with Saint Pothead. Our run-in was brief. Stilted. I had come out of the lifts just as they were returning. Potter nodded at me as he passed and entered the lift, while Granger had frozen in her tracks, her mouth agape. I stopped walking and stared at her, waiting for her to say something since she obviously wanted to. “Hi,” she said, still staring at me with her mouth open. “Hello,” I said stoically, not moving from where I stood. It was odd, I should have just walked away, but somehow my feet wouldn’t listen to my mind’s commands. She cleared her throat and looked over to the lifts where Potter was standing, holding the door for her. He did not look even a touch impatient or alarmed by her behavior, but seemed to almost expect that she might need a moment. Then, suddenly she said, “Would it be alright if I stopped by the Manor after work?” My entire body went rigid. My mind swam. Breathing was difficult, if not impossible. Without realizing it, my mouth moved and I said, “Sure.” She nodded and said, “Yes, well… very good. Around seven then,” and with that she walked off. I didn’t remember hearing the lift doors close. I’m not sure how long I stood there, actually. At some point I Floo’d home. The usual interrogation from my mother took place. I let her know Granger would be stopping by, and then walked up to my room with all the dexterity of an Inferius, and collapsed on my bed to stare at the ceiling for a long while. . . . . . . . Dinner happened. I ate food. My mother prattled on about a number of topics in the news. She’d also had a number of interludes with Pansy in the last few days which had aided her greatly on catching up with all the latest gossip, and was intent on relaying it all to me. I wondered idly if she was as nervous about Granger’s visit as I was. It was so strange to feel this nervous. If you had asked me yesterday whether a visit from Granger would have made me nervous, I would have said absolutely not. However, the actual reality of it seemed to have hit me far differently than any hypothetical pondering could have. I sat in the parlor at five to seven holding a glass of Firewhisky that I couldn’t seem to desire. I had not taken a sip. My theories on what this meeting could be about were limited, mainly encompassing things to do with work. When my mind drifted over to imagining that it had something to do with what she and my mother had spoken about, a wave of nausea flew in and threatened to overcome me, and I was forced to abandon said train of thought. I did not fancy feeling this way, especially after having just accomplished some sense of control only earlier that day! The sooner this was over and done with, the better. Mercifully, the Floo sounded, and she stepped out. Only, it was not her. “Pansy?” I said, an incredulous look on my face. Pansy froze where she stood, staring at me confusedly. “Monday night is my night, no? Do I have the schedule wrong?” Fuck. She was right. We had just decided on this last Thursday, how could I have forgotten? Oh, right, because I had seemingly lost my mind starting at around noon that day. “Shite. You’re right, I completely forgot.” She stepped towards me slowly. “Draco, are you alright? How do you forget a meeting we only just scheduled? It’s not as though you’re doing much else,” she said, motioning around the room. “You’re right,” I said shaking my head. “I’m so sorry, I made other plans. Can we skip this one and reconvene a different night?” She put her hands on her hips, clearly agitated. “What in the world is going on? What plans did you make?” “N-no one. Nothing! I just...made plans, is all, so if you don’t mind,” I said, motioning to the Floo. I was rusty at abject dismissal of the witch before me, and something told me that she was no longer the type of person who would put up with my rudeness. “Oh, Draco. I am no longer the girl who would put up with such rudeness.” See, I was right. “My apologies, then. Kindly fuck off?” I said it with a smile, but it only incensed her further, and she stalked towards me to poke a finger into my chest. “Draco. Lucius. Malfoy,” she said with a poke accenting each word. “You will tell me what you have planned or so help me—” Her words were cut off, however, by the whoosh of the Floo. Complete terror crossed my face as Hermione Granger, clad in her Ministry robes, emerged from my Floo. Pansy spun around and gasped. “Well, hello, Granger!” Granger stared at us with that same expression she’d had in front of the lifts. Pansy had leaned in and grasped my collar along with her last words and I could only imagine what Granger must be inferring. Not that it mattered because it did not. “Oh, erm... if it's a bad time I can—” she sputtered, backing up into the mantel. “No!” I almost shouted, shoving Pansy roughly away from me. I hadn't actually shoved her that hard, but unfortunately she tripped over the rug and bumped into the writing desk with a gasp of pain. Granger went wide eyed, gaping at Pansy. I was torn. Which witch to attend to first? Then again, I suppose I had already made that decision. “Fuck’s sake, Draco!” Pansy shouted, grasping at her waist where she'd hit the desk. Before I could react, Granger crossed the room and placed a supportive hand on Pansy’s back. “I didn't mean to startle. I thought my presence was expected.” Through gritted teeth, Pansy said, “By all but me, it seems.” Then they both turned to look at me and I swallowed hard. “Draco, you should have told me you were expecting... company,” Granger said, with a tone that …implied things. Again, before I could react, Pansy spoke up. “Oh, I'm not that kind of company, Granger. Don't suppose you've heard, but I prefer the... er, fairer sex these days.” It took a moment for Granger to process this, but she caught on in the end. She looked incredulously at Pansy, perhaps because of the news itself, or else because of the fact that it was being shared with her at all. “It's alright, you're in good company. Draco only found out last week.” Again, they both looked over at me. I wasn't sure what my face was doing, but I prayed for passive indifference and knew somewhere deep down that I was failing horribly. I was all too aware that Granger had 1. Found us in what looked like a compromising position and 2. Apparently deserved an explanation as to why I was with another woman.  A woman.  Not another one.  Not that Granger wasn't a woman. You see? There was no way my face wasn't betraying this train of thought. Not waiting for me to come to my senses, they began speaking to one another instead. “I've actually been seeing Tracey Davis for the past six months,” Pansy said. “That's wonderful, Pansy. Congratulations.” I wasn’t sure what was stranger, the fact that Granger was getting along with Pansy Parkinson, congratulating her on a new relationship and sexual identity, or the fact that they were doing so in my house. I cleared my throat to alert them to my presence and Pansy glanced up at me. “Something in your throat, Draco?” she asked sardonically. I rolled my eyes by way of reply. Was this interaction over with yet?  I mean, a part of me would have preferred to skip to the end of the entire evening, but my main focus was to end the current situation as quickly as possible. As if things couldn’t get any worse, my mother’s dulcet tones floated into the room, followed closely by the woman herself. “Is that your voice I hear, Pansy? Oh, and Miss Granger! How charming, I hadn't realized you two were well acquainted! “We’re not,” they both said in unison, but then turned to quirk eyebrows at one another. Pansy shot forward and took my mum’s hand. “As long as I'm here, Narcissa, let me show you my updated drawings for your gown!” I squinted at them. “Gown?” “Oh, Draco, you know your friend here has become quite the seamstress! I'd be remiss if I didn't have her design me a gown for when we are finally released from this silly house arrest.” “Have a lovely night, you two!” Pansy sang back at us as she ushered my mother out of the room. And then silence fell, and there was nothing left but to be alone with Granger. Alone with Granger in my house. The surreal nature of it hit me like a sack of crystal balls. I thought that I should make some comment about all that had just happened, but the words I might have said died on my lips before they could be fully formed. She seemed to be in the same predicament, opening and closing her mouth subconsciously as we stood in awkward silence. Finally, I managed something coherent. “Would you like a drink, Granger?” My voice sounded so weird. I couldn't place why, it just didn't seem to fit in its surroundings, even though it was my own bloody house. “Sure,” she squeaked. She had to be as nervous as I was for this odd and rare occurrence. I poured her a Firewhisky before remembering— “Oh, but you prefer—” “It's fine,” she said, taking the drink from me and downing it in one. Her face looked like she'd just drunk acid, but when she was done she croaked, “Lovely.” We stared at each other for an extended moment and I remembered the last drink we had. The memory shot. As if reading my mind, she said, “That's actually why I came here. I wanted to- to share... from the memory.” “Oh,” I managed to say. My mind was reeling. “Could- could we sit?” she asked, gripping her robes tightly with the hand not holding the glass. I shook myself and realized how rude I'd been by just standing there with her. I motioned her over to the couch and chairs. She selected one of the armchairs and I noticed momentary disappointment that she hadn't sat on the couch next to me. Stupid thing to feel. “Draco I- the memory I saw was incredibly personal. However, I think it would help me greatly if I shared it with you, because it involves you.” If I had been expecting anything, this wasn't it. “I thought you said you couldn't share it?” “Yes, well, I've... had some time to think about that. Some time to consider what might actually serve me best.” I furrowed my brow and squinted at her. “Why do you sound like Michelle?” Her eyes widened and she blinked at me. “I don’t.” “Yes, you do,” I said, wagging a finger at her thoughtfully. “You’re using coach-speak, like ‘consider’ and ‘how does it serve you’ and the like.” She sputtered some more and I crossed my arms, a smirk crawling across my face. This was too good. Granger had gone for help with this issue. Her request to see me had been decided on with a coach. “Are you seeing a coach as well? Is it also Michelle? I’d think that would be a bit weird for you since you work with her at the Ministry.” “I’m not seeing anyone!” she said. It wasn’t quite a shout but it wasn’t normal volume either. I raised my eyebrows and stilled, waiting to hear more. “I just… had lunch with Michelle and her husband today and the topic sort of came up.” “Her husband knows about this too? I thought the spouses of Muggles working with us were memory-modified.” “They are.” “So, what makes—” “He works for MACUSA.” My mouth dropped to the floor. How had she not told me this? All this time I was under the impression she just knew a lot about the Wizarding World because she was coaching a number of us. “He what?” Granger nodded. “He’s an Auror. A senior Auror, actually. That’s how we found her in the first place. He’s also a trained life coach, but he doesn’t practice.” I laughed to myself. This was getting odder by the minute. “Life coach training, huh? How do you even train someone to be a bloody pain in the arse?” At this, she laughed. Hard. It was unexpected, I didn’t think what I said was all that funny, but apparently she did. I registered the fact that it was nice to hear her laughing rather than shouting angrily in my presence. Or else defending uncomfortably. “Sorry, it’s just… so true.” She continued to laugh and I felt myself smile watching her. “Is he as bad as her, then?” “Worse!” she said with a grin. “There I was just trying to have a casual conversation and it turned into a full-blown coaching session. Well, not entirely, but not far off.” “I thought they aren’t supposed to coach friends.” “Yes, well, I wasn’t supposed to put Memory Charms on my parents to keep them safe in the war, but I did that anyway.” The air between us shifted. I hadn’t known about this, and she realized her mistake in saying the thought out loud the moment it had left her mouth. “You put Memory Charms on your parents?” I asked gently. “Yes,” she almost whispered. I had no idea what to say to this. The idea was horrible. Had she been able to reverse them? I realized in that moment how very little I even knew about her. “Can we not talk about it? I only intended on one difficult conversation for this evening, I don’t think I can manage two.” I nodded. “Sure.” And we were back to the beginning. To the reason she had come. I didn’t really know what to do with myself, so I finally took a sip of the Firewhisky that had been attached to my hand since before she’d arrived. “So, the… memory I relived last week. It involved you.” I knew this, and yet it felt unsettling to have it confirmed. Still, I quirked an eyebrow. The point of the shot she’d taken had been to invoke pleasure, and I could not think of a single memory she might have of me that might include… Unless… it wasn’t a memory, but more of a… No. There was no way Granger had some twisted dream or fantasy involving me. I mean, I’d had one of her in fourth and fifth years, but that’s just something stupid 14- and 15-year-olds conjure up. What she ended up saying made me feel endlessly foolish for thinking any of that for even a moment. “It was a memory from the night I was tortured here.” She said it matter-of-factly. I could tell she was trying to force it out quickly. Rip the bandage off. I said nothing, waiting for an explanation of how anything from that night could be called forth from a pleasure-based memory potion. “I truly am not sure if you know, but when I was… in the middle of it all… I looked up at you. You were not that far away and our eyes met.” She wasn’t looking at me as she said this, and I was glad of it. I remembered the moment she was referring to. I remembered wanting to make it stop. Not just the torture, but the pain itself. I wanted her to know it was going to be okay. She could survive. Because she had to. That it would just kill me if she didn’t. “I… I didn’t mean to perform Legillimency, but they say witches and wizards can perform extraordinary magic when in life-threatening situations.” A wave of panic shot through me. She had read my thoughts. Under all that duress, she’d known what I’d been thinking. She met my eyes now. And it hit me that I hadn’t properly looked into her eyes since that night. It only added to the surreality of the situation that we were in the Manor itself. I swallowed, even though my mouth had gone impossibly dry. “I wanted to beg for your help, I was begging for your help, but what happened instead was that I heard everything going through your mind and it,” she paused, taking a steadying breath. She closed her eyes and kept them closed as she said the next bit. “It was such a shock, such a relief to realize you didn’t want me dead. Or damaged. That you wanted me to be alright. That you… would be so affected if I wasn’t. And I… I think it’s what had me stay sane.” She was done sharing, but I had no idea what to say in reply. Instead I just stared at her, mouth agape, for far too long. She stared back, her lips closed, but chest rising and falling at a more rapid pace than normal. I couldn’t even process it. I had just stood there, I hadn’t done anything to help. The idea that just my thinking, just wanting her to be okay, had actually played some part… it was too much to consume. I noticed the urge to just get up and leave, or to order her to. The urge to be angry with her for reading my thoughts, as if she had any control over it. Those were all options. I thought about how I wanted the rest of this conversation to go. I wanted to know why she was telling me this. The urge to say it like some sort of accusation rose within me, and I pushed it down. “So, telling me this… serves you best, why?” She took a deep breath before speaking. “Because not telling you is tantamount to a lie.” A long silence stretched between us. I kept thinking of sarcastic or hurtful retorts, but they all disintegrated on the tip of my tongue. “I suppose,” she said after a few minutes, “I also wanted to say thank you.” I met her eyes again, and found that I didn’t immediately want to pull away. It was absurd, really, to be thanked for thinking. I’d just stood there. I’d done nothing. I had been holding it against myself for so long that to accept anything other than that as the reality felt repellant. At the same time, I had been tortured by the same hand, and I could imagine the difference it would have made to have someone, anyone, in the room wishing for my release. Unwittingly, I found myself saying, “You’re welcome.” My chest felt immediately hollow as the words left my mouth. It felt so odd to take credit for something as passive as thinking. Absurd, really. Then again, accepting her thanks was more for her than it was for me. She wanted to thank me. Well, alright then. It didn’t mean I had to admit to right doing. “Well, I should probably get home,” she said abruptly, standing from her chair. I stood quickly, as if I intended to lurch forward and stop her. I didn’t. Instead I followed her silently over to the Floo. She took a handful of glittering powder, but turned back to face me before throwing it in. “Thank you for listening, Draco.” I nodded in response, no appropriate words occurring to me. She was gone a few seconds later, and I couldn’t believe how much I hadn’t wanted her to go.

Author's note: Everyone who has sex in this story is 18+. ******* Present day: It's a week and a half before Taylor's birthday, and Gary is waiting up for his wayward daughter in her bedroom for the 5th night in a row. At 11pm Taylor is an hour past curfew, and attempts to sneak in the house. Earlier in the Day Gary had been cleaning out the attic and found an old book with the name Dickson on it and discovered that it was the memoirs of Gary's ancestor. "What in the world is this..." Gary wonders out loud. Sitting down he begins to read it intrigued at first as it's mostly daily living for that time period and then he comes across an entry that causes him to sit up and pay attention. "Son of a-" Gary whispers. 200 years ago: It was a sunny day and Mr. Dickson was outside with his two young sons, Riley age 15 and Graham age 14, playing catch while his 16 year old daughter Rose, was on their porch mending clothes. After being outside for a couple hours a young man by the name of Gordon O'Donnell walks up to the family while smiling at the young Miss Dickson. "Mr. Dickson, I'd like permission to marry your daughter..." Gordon says matter of factly, "I find that I'm totally in love with her..." "I don't think that is a good idea son." Mr. Dickson replied. "Respectfully sir, may I ask why?" He inquires. "Compared to you she's mortal and she's my only daughter." Mr. Dickson said. "BUT I LOVE HER!!!!" Gordon all but screams. "As do i more than you could ever know..." Dickson rebutted, "Now leave and never speak to my daughter ever again." An hour later Rose is still sitting on the porch having completed the menting, and now brings out some yarn to make knitted hats, scarves, and mittens to sell at the trading post. Feeling tired, Mr. Dickson tells his sons to play catch with each other. "Father," Rose begins, "Why won't you allow me to marry? I'm not saying that I want to marry the O'Donnell boy... But other men have come to ask for my hand and you say no every time..." "Rose," Mr. Dickson replies, "When your mother died I lost the love of my life... And I do want you to know that kind of love but first I want and need your help raising your brothers." Nodding her head while knitting, Rose agrees to wait until they're older to get married. Later that night Mr. O'Donnell came to see Mr. Dickson asked for the real reason for not allowing the marriage. "Like I told your son sir," Mr. Dickson begins, "She's my only daughter, compared to you and your family she's mortal. Besides all that she's only 16 years old and for me that's too you to be married." "Compared to everyone else she's considered an old maid at the moment because you won't let her go!" Mr. O'Donnell exclaims. "Who are you to deny our families union by marriage?!" "I'm just a father looking after my only daughter since her mother died." Mr. Dickson replies calmly, "And I need her help to finish raising my sons." "That's just foolishness!!" Mr. O'Donnell screams. "They're practically men as it is!" "That may be, however she has agreed to wait until my youngest is raised." Mr. Dickson replies. 197 years later: "Cindy honey please don't go..." Gary begs, "I love you more than anything please... Please stay with me... Stay for Taylor..." "I can't..." Cindy replies. "I've tried but there's too many memories here..." "So we'll move!" Gary suggests, "I don't care where we go as long as we stay together." "You can't..." Cindy tells him. "This house has been in Your family for 197 years... Maybe even longer... Every time you've gone to work it's like the house becomes depressed when you leave. Yes I know the house isn't really a living thing, however it doesn't matter because just watch when Taylor leaves for school while you stay home to work." "Baby please..." Gary tries one more time, "Stay... Please..." "No." Cindy firmly replies as she walks out the door. As Gary stands in the doorway he notices that the house feels lighter somehow even though he's sad that Cindy is leaving. When Taylor comes home from school, she asks where her mom is and Gary tells her what happened. "Good fucking riddance..." Taylor says but doesn't mean. Present day: Taylor sneaks into her room thinking she escaped punishment because daddy was usually in the living room with the light on waiting for her. "About damn time you got home." Taylor hears from behind her as she's closing her door. In shock she slowly turns around and sees Gary sitting in her computer chair, with her laptop unplugged and in his lap. "Daddy..." Taylor starts, "I know I'm late again but I-" Gary holds up his hand and shakes his head, "I don't want to hear it. I really don't want to hear it, for the rest of the month you're grounded, I'm taking your laptop and phone." Hanging her head Taylor starts to hand over her phone then asks permission to mass-text her friends that she's grounded and can't use her phone and laptop for a month. Gary agrees on the condition that she type it out in long hand and not short cuts so he knows what she's writing. Once completed everyone says okay and they will either see her at school or talk to her when she's no longer grounded. After leaving Taylor in her room, Gary goes into his home office and sits in his easy chair near the fireplace and picks up the book of memoirs to read some more. Back in her room Taylor wonders what has her dad acting so weird and decides to just wait it out for now. 200 years ago: A few days after the marriage proposal Gordon O'Donnell comes back to try and talk to Rose. "You shouldn't be here." Riley tells him. "Father told you not to come back or talk to my sister." "I know but I want to hear from her the reason she won't marry..." Gordon implores, "My father isn't happy and he's not someone to mess with." After thinking about it Riley says to wait there for a moment and goes inside, "Rose, Gordon O'Donnell is here and he wants to talk to you. I think if you tell him how you feel he might be able to placate his father who isn't happy. Graham and I will be outside just in case but we won't be right next to you." "Alright." Rose agrees, and upon going outside Gordon is surrounded by other men including Mr. O'Donnell. "Mr. O'Donnell, what's the meaning of this?" Rose questions. "I was under the impression that your son wanted to talk to me alone..." "And he will... On your honeymoon." Mr. O'Donnell says with a smirk. Hearing this Gordon turns in shock to his father. "Now wait a minute you said you were here to give moral support... Not to try and kidnap her..." "Doesn't matter what you think son." Mr. O'Donnell replies with an evil smile. "Mr. Dickson embarrassed our family when he refused his daughter to marry you. Frankly, all his reasons were superfluous." "Helping to raise my brothers is superfluous?!" Rose demands, "My mother died and I'm the only one left to help raise these boys into good men... And right now you're showing them exactly how NOT to act towards women." Riley and Graham had hung back from everything to see what would happen. Deciding they needed help with Mr. O'Donnell, Riley sends Graham to find their father and tell him what's going on at the house. As Graham is running towards town he sees his father, after catching his breath Graham relays what's going on at home. Meanwhile back at the homestead, Gordon agrees with the Dickson family that the boys need their sister to help teach them how to treat women and that his father is going about this all wrong. "Father..." Gordon starts, "The youngest boy is only 14... What's another 4 years in the rest of our lives..." "That's long enough." Mr. O'Donnell says. "You could have pups in that time... Y'all could become the alpha pair..." "Alpha pair?" Riley asks then hangs his head. "Riley, I'll explain later..." Rose replies. "For now sit and be quiet." "Yes ma'am." Riley obeys. "Now see..." Rose says to Mr. O'Donnell, "That's how boys and men should act towards women. Respectful even if they don't always agree." Mr. O'Donnell laughs at her, "He's a coward... Hiding behind your skirt..." During the discussion Mr. Dickson arrives in time to hear the last comment. "He's not a coward and I would know because that's how my mother raised me. Respectful to every woman even if you don't agree." "Then you're all fools, every one of your family!" Mr. O'Donnell accuses, and as he walks away he thinks of who he can go to so he can curse the Dickson family. Back inside the homestead, Riley asks again what the alpha pair is. "Where did you hear that?" Mr. Dickson asks. "Mr. O'Donnell was saying that he wants Gordon and Rose to be the alpha pair." Riley answers, "Rose told me she would explain later and to sit and be quiet that's why Mr. O'Donnell was calling me a coward." "Son," Mr. Dickson starts, "The O'Donnell's are werewolves..." Both Riley and Graham are shocked at hearing this and surprised Rose isn't shocked. Even though she's not that much older than them, Rose tells everyone that one of the times when she and Gordon were walking on the road he told her what he was. "At any rate..." Mr. Dickson resumes explaining what the alpha pair is as well as what is expected. Both his sons listen carefully and when something doesn't make sense they ask questions about it. Two hours later, the house was asleep until a pounding on the door woke everyone. When Mr. Dickson answers the door and he's confronted with the sight of Gordon breathing heavily. "Gordon? What's the matter?" Mr. Dickson asks. "Father... Is... Using..." Gordon tries to talk and catch his breath from running so fast. "Father is using a druid for information to cast a curse on your family." Mr. Dickson sighs and tells Gordon to give him a minute to get some pants on. After Gordon shifts into a wolf, Mr. Dickson climbs onto his back and hangs on for the ride. "O'DONNELL!" Mr. Dickson bellows as he climbs off of Gordon having arrived at the clearing where the curse was being cast. "What's this I hear about you casting a curse on my family?" "Just what my son told you..." Mr. O'Donnell answers while glaring at his son, "I'm going to give you one more chance to give my son permission to marry your daughter." "No." Mr. Dickson replies then turns to Gordon, "I didn't want to say this in front of you, however your dad has forced my hand. My daughter doesn't want to marry your son because she doesn't love him." "I didn't think she did." Gordon agrees, "I had wanted to talk to her personally about that, but like you said my father forced our hands." "You both are ridiculous." Mr. O'Donnell responds. "Gordon, someday you will marry this family and this will make sure of it. Dickson, I curse you and your line for all the members of your family to have incestuous relations within your families starting from the age of 18, until someone from your line marries someone from my line. Whether it's my son or one of his descendants our families will join through marriage!" "Father no!" Gordon yells but is too late as the last ingredient falls into the potion. "I didn't want it like this! I'll wait for my true mate whether it's this family or not!" "Fine be that way!" Mr. O'Donnell exclaims. "I'll be damned if their family doesn't marry into ours!" 197 years later: Couple days after Cindy leaves, Gary is served with divorce papers and doesn't fight anything in them, giving her everything she wants. The one thing that surprises both Gary and Taylor is that Cindy doesn't want visitation of any kind. "Well..." Taylor says. "Least I don't have to worry about where I'll go to school and who I'll stay with for the weekends." Gary watches his young daughter storm off to her room and hears her slam the door before screaming her head off in frustration, after 15 minutes of peace and quiet the doorbell goes off. When he answers the door, Gary's surprised to find two police officers at the door. "Can I help you officers?" Gary asks. "Sir, 911 dispatch received a call that someone was screaming bloody murder at this address." The lead officer answers. "That was my daughter," Gary responds then yells for Taylor to come to the door. "I received divorce papers about 30 minutes ago." "Why would she be screaming about you and your wife getting divorced?" The junior officer asks. "Because my mother doesn't want to see me or fight for any kind of visitation." Taylor answers, hearing the question. "I'm 15 years old, and she doesn't want me." Both officers could see that she has been crying and can tell by her voice that she screamed until she was hoarse. The lead officer says, "We're sorry to hear that miss. As we told your dad, 911 got a call that someone was screaming bloody murder at this address. No, don't answers. I can hear how raw your voice is, and I've heard my daughter do the same thing. I recommend warm tea with honey, and no talking until tomorrow. Sorry to disturb your evening, we'll inform the concerned party the circumstances behind the scream. I am but I'm not surprised they heard you as far as this house is from your neighbors. Good night y'all." As the officers leave Gary makes the tea for Taylor and smiling he hands her a pad of paper with a pen. "You heard the officer, no talking until tomorrow." Sticking her tongue out Taylor takes both the tea and pen with paper, then sends her daddy a smile as she snuggles up to him.

***** Two weeks had passed since esme had been in alistair's company. He stared fiercely at the letter he had received that morning, that was now ripped up and burning in the fire. He had been so persevering. So patient. She couldn't unlock any feelings buried within her if she refused to fucking accept the truth, or even see him so he could show her. Prove to her. He violently threw his whiskey glass, shattering it against the fireplace into a thousand pieces. Molly hurriedly rushed in and began carefully cleaning up the broken shards. "Molly. I did not call you in so please refrain from entering my study unless i ask for you!!" Alistair's voice bellowed. Molly looked up at him wide eyed. His normally jade green eyes were now raven black and full of loathing. They seemed to bore right through her and she froze in fear unable to move. She had seen him this way before but it was quite rare. She was of course aware that he and his brother were not human, but she had been treated quite well over the years that she was able to ignore this fact. "Get. Out." He hissed in a dark voice. Molly scrambled up from her knees and ran from the room. She darted down the long corridor before slowing down as she approached william. She tried to catch her breath and remain composed. "Master William i'm afraid your brother has become undone. I apologise if i speak out of turn, but i fear it's regarding all this difficulty with the girl." William narrowed his eyes at her. He was never very fond of molly. Or any other maids alistair had hired over the years. He found them to be irritating and self important. "Well yes molly you are speaking out of turn, but it doesn't surprise me that you indeed assume you know the situation that my brother finds himself in." He approached her cornering her until he was standing inches away from her face. His eyes forcefully engaged with hers and she instantly felt a tightening sensation around her throat. "You will do well, to keep to what your payed for, and mind your own business. What happens in this house unless it's a mess, does not concern you. Your pathetic existence is acutely easy to replace, and won't be missed. Do i make myself clear?" Molly let out a small squeak and nodded. He smiled coldly and walked away leaving her to splutter and hold her neck. Alistair's head snapped up as william entered the room, his eyes were like two large black holes. They appeared empty and completely void of any emotion. William took out two new whiskey glasses from the drinks cabinet and sat close to his brother. He poured them both a drink and remained quiet, waiting for alistair to speak. "Esme has taken out a restraining order against me. The fucking letter came this morning stating if i go near her or try to contact her i could face prison. She told the police i've been harassing her." Alistair's eyes flashed with anger. William sighed. "Why are you allowing some pitiful human rules that clearly don't apply to us divert you from your goal. If she wants to play hard to get, i'm sure you can play the same game harder." Alistair slammed his fist down in frustration. "No! She is not a fucking goal william! She is not one of your bitches that i've been playing the long game with." He paused taking a deep breath. "How could i have been so obtuse to think she would just fall into my arms!" William thought about alistair's words. No matter how hard alistair tried to sugar coat the situation, they both knew deep down that alistair would have to do things the hard way. "Your showing." William stated flatly. Alistair turned away to look out the window, he watched as the wind softly caressed the flowers that coloured the garden.He tried to pacify his raging emotions. He had learnt many lifetimes of lessons and self control had been one of them, he didn't lose his cool head easily. William however was definitely the more turbulent between the two. He suddenly focused on his reflection, that no longer fully resembled a human being. His skin was a deathly white, which made his large black eyes stand out even more. His lips were black and inside his mouth, were a full set of dagger sharp teeth that resembled large shards of glass, that would shred through anything with complete ease. He looked down at his hands which now resembled long bony fingers and dark black claws. He confounded himself for losing his front, he closed his eyes and began to take deep breaths to dissolve the storm in his mind. William stood up to pour himself another drink. "Well, she quite clearly isn't going to accept what you've told her, the way i look at it, there's only one way you're going to make her see the truth. And that's by force." A small sadistic smile formed on william's lips. As much as alistair didn't care to admit it to his brother, he knew that he was right. There was no other way now. "I know. I know what i have to do. Inform molly to prepare one of the bedrooms for her, i want satin sheets putting on the bed and a warm bath ran, as much as i would like to spend the night next to her i doubt she will want me anywhere near her tonight." Alistair's gaze grew anxious as he prepared to leave. This wasn't what he wanted to do but esme wasn't going to listen any other way. William's eyes grew dark as he watched alistair approach his car. "Well big brother looks like my plans to go out this evening have been cancelled. I wouldn't miss this for the world." He laughed evilly as alistair left. Esme stepped out the shower wrapping a fluffy white towel round herself. Her wet hair hung down her back as she gently pulled a brush through it, thoughts of alistair receiving the letter this morning entered her head. She felt much safer for doing it. She could fully move on now knowing he could never contact her again. She began drying herself off, before pulling on a pair of deep blue silk pajamas, a strap top and matching shorts. She stood in front of her mirror and reached for her moisturiser before something caught her eye at her window. She paused before walking over and shutting her curtains, as she did a strong feeling of being watched came over her. She became afraid to look behind her. Her breathing became faster and she slowly turned round to find nothing but her own reflection in the mirror opposite her looking back. She shuck her head and laughed at herself for being silly. She quickly applied the moisturiser to her face before brushing her teeth and climbing into bed. She flicked the lamp on next to her and opened her laptop, she began browsing the internet for fabrics to make clara's wedding dress. It had to be perfect, clara deserved the best wedding dress that was ever made, esme just hoped she was good enough for the job. Esme remembered back to when they were young, of how they would sit together for hours dreaming of each others wedding day and the type of man they would both marry. But now it was a constant wonder if she would ever get married at all. Riley was exactly the type of man clara always envisioned marrying as a child. Esme smiled, she was deeply happy for her best friend. A loud noise outside her window suddenly made esme jump and this time she got up to look outside. She pulled her curtains back and looked out onto her front lawn. What esme saw made her scream. A strange dark figure hovered in her garden, staring back up at her with a twisted grin and large coal black eyes. She fell back in fear and remained still. A strange noise filled her ears and to her terror the being flew up to her window, it tilted its head to the side and bared its teeth in an sadistic grin. Esme's mouth hung open and her heart felt like it had stopped. She didn't dare move, her eyes remained fixed with the creatures. Its large extensive onyx wings spread breathtakingly either side of the creature. She heard a soft familiar voice call her name in her mind. She found the courage to turn and crawl towards her bathroom, slamming the door and locking it she sat against the door her heart pounding. She held her breath listening. To her horror, she heard the floorboards creak outside her bedroom door. She quickly crawled away from the door and sat with her knees under her chin facing it, her eyes wide with terror. She was petrified, she was certain whatever or whoever was on the other side of her bedroom door was going to kill her. She suddenly thought of her phone and calling for help, when it dawned on her that she had left it on charge downstairs. She hit the floor in frustration as tears pricked her eyes. Without warning her bedroom door gradually opened and she again held her breath praying for her mother and father to protect her. "Esme, i know you're in here darling, you can either come out willingly or i will come for you. Your choice." Esme heart felt like it had stopped beating. Her throat grew incredibly dry and her lungs ached from holding her breath. She recognised his voice instantly. It wasn't a voice she would have forgotten easily. Although this time there was a chilling edge to it. The being outside her window and now in her room was alistair, everything he had said to her came flooding back almost drowning her. She had thought he was crazy when he told her he was a demon. But the figure she had just seen was most definitely not human. That much she knew. The figure hadn't even been stood on the ground, it had wings, and the eyes. Those eyes were no way human. They were soul-less and malevolent, they were the most evil eyes she had ever seen. A knock on the door caused her to shriek. "Leave me alone!!" Tears ran down her face and she felt physically sick with fear. "Esme i'm not leaving this house without you. Let me in, or i will break the door down and take you anyway." Esme squeezed herself into a corner wrapping her arms around herself. She buried her head into her chest and sobbed. Alistair couldn't listen to her cries anymore and he caused the door to fly off its hinges. Esme's head snapped up and she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her high pitched scream pierced alistair's ears as he walked towards her. "NO! NO! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!" Her cries fell on deaf ears as alistar reached for her. He had taken on his human form before entering the bathroom to try to make it less traumatic for her. He had shown her a glimpse of his true form outside though on purpose, she had to know he wasn't bluffing about being a demon. He took hold of her as she lost consciousness in his arms. He looked down at her. Her eyes and cheeks were soaked with tears, and her body was freezing. He stood still in her bathroom for a few minutes admiring her beauty. She was the most exquisitely beautiful creature he had ever seen in all his years alive. He had seen well over a million women in his time, there was no number large enough for the amount he had been with, but esme was the most breathtaking of them all. She was stunning, and she was his. He had waited so long for her. He gently wiped her tears from her cheeks and kissed her forehead. She smelt absolutely amazing, he nuzzled her hair breathing in her scent. He got an incredible high that left him feeling glorious. He admired her angelic form one more time before finally leaving. He arrived back at his home with her, she was still unconscious so he tenderly laid her down on a sofa in the first living room and called molly in. She hurried in closely followed by william. "Yes master alistair, i have completed the tasks you asked of me is there anything else i can do for you." "Yes please molly, can you prepare esme a hot chocolate please and bring me a blanket." Molly nodded and left. William remained in the doorway. "I take it by the strong smell of fear she didn't come quietly." Alistair sighed watching her with concern. "No. No she didnt. She's lost consciousness poor girl. I'd rather be here when she comes round rather than putting her a strange room alone." William nodded and walked round to stand next to alistair. His eyes fell on esme. The feeling that came over william was enough for him to freak out and leave the room. Alistair caught sight of his brothers face as he went to leave. "William?" "I'm fine, i've gotta go." William vanished from the room before alistair could ask anymore. He disappeared to his room and ran both hands through his hair. He couldn't explain what had just happened. As soon as his eyes fell on her it was like fireworks went off in his chest. He felt an uncontrollable desire to be near her and protect her. He suddenly ran to the toilet to throw up. The new feelings seemed to wrap round his chest and stomach making him sick. He finally stopped and flushed the chain. He leant over the sink and shook his head. This can't be happening. This isn't possible. This isn't my destiny. What the fuck is happening to me! He became angry with his thoughts and mentally flung a chair across the room, this didn't satisfy his anger and he began to destroy the room. Eventually he stopped and leant against the wall, his breathing heavy. The urge to be near esme was growing stronger and he couldnt deny what was happening, what had already happened from the moment he saw her. He was the younger one. This shouldn't have happened to him. It was only supposed to happen to the firstborns of the royal family. But william knew of this happening in the past. It was rare, but it could happen. And it had. William and alistair had both mated with the same girl, and eventually at some point she would have to choose one of them, and the other would live a life loving and physically needing a women he could never ever have, with no chance of ever falling for anyone else. William felt the urge to be sick again but held it as he heard molly approaching. He gritted his teeth. She opened the door and gasped. Everything around william was not only broken but destroyed beyond any repair. His eyes were a foggy white and the atmosphere in the room was a dark one, full of anger and confusion. "What the fuck do you want." William spat viciously. Molly paused looking nervous. "Your brother asked me to check on you master William." She kept her head down, not daring to meet his eyes. "I'm a big boy i dont fucking need checking up on. I'm in no mood molly so i suggest you leave. Now." She didn't hesitate or argue and left. William couldn't fight it anymore, he had to check on esme. He teleported from one room to the next catching up with molly, appearing in front of her. "My room needs sorting molly go see it to it please. Dispose of all the broken furniture in the garden and i'll see to it from there." William took a deep breath and walked into the first living room to see alistair sat next to esme stroking her hair. Her beauty struck him harshly as it had alistair it was overwhelming. His throat felt tight and the anger again bubbled inside him. He felt as though any control was slipping out his hands, his future was now unstable and no doubt going to painful in one way or another. He would either not have her or risk losing his brother. A war waged on in his mind and all he could do was stand and watch her, as the new feelings ran through his body. He endured them silently and convincingly. She started to stir and william for the first time in his entire life felt nervous. Alistair sat back slightly and looked anxious. She slowly opened her eyes and rubbed them looking sleepy, she began to sit up slowly and tried to focus. As her eyes focused, her eyes landed on alistair and then the realisation hit her, she was no longer at home. She stared at him saying nothing. The memories gradually reminded her of what happened and she began panicking and went to run. Her body was still weak and she fell into alistair, he tried to hold her but she pushed him away and began sobbing again. William had seen and had been the cause of countless women and even men crying over the years. It had never awoke any emotion in him. He severely lacked sympathy and empathy. After all they were human emotions. But as he watched esme cry so vulnerably, he felt a deep sadness that would only go away when she herself was happy. He clenched his fists and turned away as the urge to hold her became almost unbearable. He wanted to to make her happy so badly it was almost tearing him apart. He leant over the table and closed his eyes. Alistair began shushing her with an equally pained look on his face. "Shhhhhhh darling don't cry. It's alright everythings going to be ok, you're safe no one is going to hurt you. I'm so sorry i had to bring you here by force. I-" "Was it you?" She interrupted suddenly meeting his eyes. He held her glare. "Was it you in my garden?" Alistair watched her for a few seconds judging her state of mind before answering. "Yes esme it was. I had to show you that everything i told you two weeks ago was the truth. I couldn't see any other way than my actions tonight to show you that i was truthful." Esme nodded slowly and hung her head as fresh tears fell down her cheeks. William turned to sit down catching her attention. She looked up at him. She gasped as she again felt the same feelings she had when she first saw alistair. William prayed she wouldn't comment on the feelings. He had to get his head round them himself before alistair found out. She continued to stare wide eyed and william realised he had to say something. "Hello esme, im william alistair's younger brother." He gave her a pleading look and hoped she would understand. She gulped after a few seconds and dragged her eyes back to alistar. He smiled warmly. "You must be so tired esme. Would you like me to show you to your room?" Esme said nothing and stared at the floor. She had so many questions but she didn't know where to begin. How could alistair act so normal when he had just kidnapped her. And the brother she never even knew he had, provoked the same feelings she felt and still strongly feels for alistair. Her heart now felt even heavier, as a new set of emotions came crashing down on her. She wasn't sure if its because they were both demons or something more. She knew fighting it no longer did her any good. They weren't even human. How did she ever stand a chance of getting away. She glanced back up at william. He looked similar to alistair but he had a more lady's man look about him. He too was extremely handsome. His eyes were also a lighter green. She could drown looking into them for too long. His hair was dark brown almost black and his skin and features were as perfect as alistairs. She could tell he was the younger one. He had more of a baby face, although both of them looked very young, she wondered their real ages and how long they had been around. She jumped as alistair suddenly stood at an inhuman speed. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She looked up at him, her eyes round like saucers. He leant over her and looked deep into her mind. She tried to look away feeling uncomfortable as he held her in place with his eyes but she couldn't move. She couldn't even speak. He could feel her trying to resist but she could never fight against him. He was too powerful for any human being to fight against. He smiled as her eyes gradually became heavy and she fell asleep. "I'm going to put her to bed william. She needs rest." He looked at his brother before picking her up. "William. Is everything alright. You don't seem yourself." Concern dripped from alistair's tone. William forced his usual cheeky smile and nodded. Alistair scooped esme up with ease, and held her closely against him as he carried her to bed, william watched him with bitter jealousy, he could only hope that his time with her would come sooner rather than later.

Again sorry about time lapse, I wish I could work faster too! Just a quick warning that I've taken creative liberties with history, it is not meant to offend, and to those with religious sensibilities you probably shouldn't be on this site anyway! I am aware that the language might be challenging to some but I would rather assume knowledge than ignorance, and frankly there are far too many good words not to use. As always, feedback is sincerely appreciated. Many thanks. Astor and Matthias were cruising at 12,000 feet en route to Florence, Italy. They had left the compound just after eight in the evening. Astor had eaten and spent some time with Fran, who hadn't objected to her swift departure, she would've gone too if it hadn't been for Nina's deteriorating health. Beauty had also been left in her care; the first plane journey had been exhausting enough and another change in environment simply wouldn't be fair to the dog. They hadn't really spoken since they departed. Astor had spent the whole drive to the airport on the phone talking to Marcia, her part-time personal assistant and full-time friend. They had been at school together; Marcia had been boarded with Astor when she entered as a new girl. She was a scholarship student, extremely bright but as she came from a working class background some of the girls picked on her, "learn to talk properly," they would taunt; she said bu-er instead of butter and pronounced the letter 'h', haitch, instead of aitch. When Marcia left the school five years later her RP accent (Received Pronunciation, the Queens English) had been perfected and the other girls could no longer demarcate her. Conversely, whenever she returned home during the holidays her old friends would mock her for this affectation of speech, and even she was horrified to find herself wincing at their improper inflections. It was one of things she loved about Astor, she didn't judge people on how they spoke but what they had to say, and Astor, somewhat symbiotically, loved Marcia because she didn't live in a rich bubble. The plane finished its climb and they were now sitting comfortably; the interior was plush cream and wood panelled, and it was equipped with all the modern conveniences one could possibly want, without ever needing. Astor stood up put on a collection of Schubert's piano trios and then poured them each a good draught of scotch. She had many questions to ask though she wasn't angry about his deceit; she learnt long ago that anger was a useless counterproductive emotion that stood in the way of rational thought. All she wanted was the truth, even if it was ugly. Matthias was quite at ease waiting for Astor to collect herself and begin the inquisition. He occupied himself with his iphone, sending emails across the globe inquiring if anyone had caught wind of Vincent's activities. He marvelled at present day technology even with his whims of nostalgia over the horse as an all but obsolete means of travel; adventuring really wasn't what it used to be. She began her interrogation with a simple direct question, "Did you drink my blood this morning?" It wasn't an accusation she merely sought confirmation. "Yes, but in my defence you didn't seem to mind." "No I suppose not." She blushed. "What's it like?" "Surely my reaction told you everything?" She blushed again. "You're not planning on turning me into your sex slave until you drain me dry are you?" She said with a wry smile. "Not unless you would like me to!" He blushed back as his mind was filled with images of Astor in various indecent positions; he hoped they wouldn't just be fantasies. "Sex isn't a necessary condition of feeding but the endorphins do make the blood taste sweeter. Yours is remarkably sweet." His tongue swept across his lips. "I can easily go a month without eating, after that I get a little lethargic. I once experimented and went four months without blood, and I can assure you an anorexic vampire is not someone you would care to meet!" "But you obviously have control over your impulses?" "It's not even an impulse; I need to drink blood to live! The thing is Astor the generally accepted mythology about vampires is that we are evil soulless creatures, when we are nothing of the sort. We were all human once, we never died, we never lost our humanity. Unfortunately being maligned throughout history as 'evil', a small number of vampires have laboured under the misapprehension that they're the spawn of Satan and behave as such. The greatest misconception about vampires is that we can't walk in the sun, that it will somehow burn our skin. Poppycock! But if you believe yourself to be a creature of the night and prefer to inhabit the shadows of the dark, overtime of course your body reacts aversely to the light. It's stupidity of course, but by the same token most of these idiots fall foul of natural selection." "Is that why Vincent is the way he is because he believes himself to be evil?" She almost felt sorry for him. "No, Vincent was a sadistic sociopath even in life. Have you heard of Gilles de Rais?" "He's Gilles de Rais?" She spluttered in shock at the name of the notorious fifteenth century occultist child serial killer. "No, but Gilles de Rais became the man he was because of him. Vincent was born Francesco Prelati. From a young age he had been obsessed with the occult and he became a brilliant alchemist. In 1432 he was expelled from his home town of Florence for the brutal murders of several prostitutes, he went to France, met Rais, and the rest as they say is history." "Why did he change his name?" "The same reasons I change mine. It's useful to have various aliases and an obscured origin makes one difficult to track. Vincent is a fairly new moniker but you should also know that one of his more famous historical incarnations was Jack the Ripper." "Oh my god! No wonder they never caught him." She started wondering if other monsters of history were actual real monsters. "Have many serial killers been vampires?" "The bloody ones often are I'm afraid." "That Hungarian countess, what's her name?" "Elizabeth Báthory, yes, and Vincent had a hand in her corruption too." He said with remorse. "We're not going to see her are we?" Astor asked with nervous hesitance. "No, she is definitely dead. We're going to see Vincent's sister Valeria." Astor looked horrfied. "Don't worry she is the antithesis of her brother. Valeria was a nun, and it wasn't just that it was one of the few vocations open to women, she truly had faith, and Vincent, in his vileness, loves nothing better than to corrupt what is pure and good, he brutally raped and then turned her." "How awful! So she isn't loyal to him then?" "Not loyal, but understandably she is terrified of him and might not be exactly forthcoming. As much as I care for her, she is slightly unhinged and can be a little difficult. However she has a good heart and if it comes down to it she owes me." "What for?" "I helped her adjust to the lifestyle. In some ways Astor it has been easy for you to accept the existence of other beings because you have been exposed to the supernatural through the popular media," he grunted disdainfully and continued, "it's not an unknown world just a misconceived one, but Valeria truly believed in god and the devil and so the trauma of being turned into this supposed blood drinking monster nearly destroyed her." "How did he become a vampire, what madman made him one?" "It's something I've never discovered and it's troubling in itself." He shook his head, "We are quite an elitist group, there aren't that many of us, five thousand at the most worldwide. At the time maybe two thousand in Europe and Russia and despite us all being quite solitary in our own existence, we're a close nit community. I was in Germany when I heard of the abominations committed by Rais, and as such depravity is rarely the work of humans I headed to Machecoul. I learned of Francesco's involvement, he was still human then but as I understand he had acquired certain powers through ancient invocations and ritualistic sacrifices. To be honest I've never really been au fait as to what magic is, as I understand it's not good or bad but more Ying and Yang. Anyway he was long gone from the town, I traced him to Florence, I met Valeria who was also still human and had no idea as to the whereabouts of her brother. I stayed in Florence for a few weeks hoping he would return. If I can say one thing about Vincent, he knows how to keep a low profile." He swilled his drink meditatively and then knocked it back before continuing. "I left Florence, followed a few tenuous leads, nothing. Six months later I returned, I visited Valeria and discovered she had disappeared from the convent two weeks prior to my arrival. I went to their family home and I was greeted by the rotting corpses of their parents and servants. Valeria was chained to a wall and had been made a vampire. That was the first time I met Vincent." His expression was pensive and he made a small tut with his tongue against clenched teeth. "What happened?" "The short of it; we fought, I won, I was about to kill him, Valeria screamed at me not to," he breathed in deeply, "I let my guard down for an instant, he stunned me and got away." He stared in to his empty glass and then turned back to Astor, "I'm not someone who really dwells on the past, but not killing Vincent then was my greatest mistake. Our strength grows over time but after a few hundred years plateaus, I think because our bodies have become attuned to the change." He paused momentarily to collect his thoughts. "For six hundred years, we've been playing a game of cat and mouse and I'm not sure which one I am anymore. The truth is Astor I don't know if I am able to kill him, when we last fought at the end of the Second World War, I nearly had him, and then he vanished before my very eyes disappearing into the ether." "What does that mean?" "Good question, I'll have to get back to you on that one." He sighed. Matthias could see she was turning everything over. Several times she looked as though she was going to speak but changed her mind. Eventually she asked anxiously, "Matthias, do god and the devil exist?" "Do you believe in them?" "I don't, I mean I didn't, but if you tell me they're real well I don't think I could dispute their existence." "Then no they don't exist for you. Faith is a very powerful conviction, what you hold to be true has a very real impact on your reality." "What do you believe?" "Thankfully I avoided the whole Abrahamic religious indoctrination of good and evil. I was a Pythagorean as well as an initiate of the Orphic mysteries." "Weren't Pythagoreans vegetarians? How does that tally with drinking blood?" "You're very well informed." He said in wonder. "You've seen my library the books aren't just for decoration! How did you become a vampire then?" "When Orpheus lost Eurydice the second time he was beyond consolation. He actively sought to anger the gods and started this anarchic cult. That was bad enough, but he also spurned the advances of Hera, who as I'm sure you know had an enthusiastic taste for vengeance. For his hubris her creative punishment was to turn him into a vampire, though she didn't foresee the self-perpetuating effect of his blood." He chuckled. "Why do you think one of her emblems is a pomegranate? It's a symbol of fertile blood, death and immortality." "Orpheus was the first vampire?" She couldn't quite believe it. "Indeed he is." "He is? What do you mean he is? He's alive!?" "The last I heard he was deejaying in Ibiza." "Fuck me!" "Would love to," He said hungrily. "Down boy I'm not finished with you yet. You've still not told me how you became one?" "Orpheus was lonely, as I said when he lost Eurydice for good, no other woman could ever compare and he became homosexual." She looked at him curiously. "I'm not gay Astor, but us ancient Greeks had a much more open attitude to sex, most people were bisexual and there was no conception that same sex relationships were wrong, indeed it was considered to be a pedagogical experience. I was completely surprised when Orpheus came to me, he offered me immortality and I accepted." "It was that simple?" "Yes. How would you feel if I offered it to you?" "We've only just met." "That doesn't answer my question." "Are you asking me for real or hypothetically?" "Just answer the question Astor." "I don't know Matthias, would you recommend it?" "For someone like you? Yes, absolutely. Think how many books you would get to read, you can travel and see the whole world, and you'll never tire of it, you will always be young, you will always be beautiful, you would be truly free." "Well when you put it like that." He was on her in a flash, covering her mouth with his, they shared a long, desperate and passionate kiss. "It can be a very lonely life," he breathed against her. "I've been alone for most of my life anyway, but I'm not saying turn me, I do need to think about it." "What's there to think about?" He tried to capture her lips again but she kept moving her head to avoid him. "Will you stop that!" "Matthias what do you want from me?" He pulled away and looked at her, "just you," he said as he swept a wayward lock from her face. "I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. How does one become a vampire?" "A simple blood transfer, I drink some of your blood and you drink some of mine, the risk is minimal you'll feel a bit faint from the blood loss, but once you start drinking you'll feel strong and very healthy." "You said the sun thing was a myth, but what about garlic, Churches and other religious paraphernalia? And also what about bodily waste and pregnancy and ..." "... Slow down! Garlic is fine to eat; it has an unpleasant odour and nothing more. Since you don't believe in religion, religious paraphernalia has no bearing on you. As for excrement, we don't need to eat or drink but you can still find pleasure in taste. The olfactory sense is indeed heightened. However, if you do eat, your body will need to expunge the waste, though if you stick to a blood diet your body metabolises all of it. Blood is pure energy to us. As far as I'm aware no vampiress has ever given birth. However, there are a few scientists among us who have been studying why we are the way we are, it turns out to be a complex genetic mutation, apparently even gods have to work within the laws of nature, and with the advancements in scientific technology there might one day be some development." "I never saw myself having children anyway but I like having the option. What aren't you telling me?" "There really are only a few negatives; like all beings we can die, a wooden stake won't do it but if someone manages to remove your whole heart ... and exploding bullets are quite effectual ... and of course decapitation just about kills everything, except for cockroaches," he mused. "It doesn't seem like much of a punishment." "For Orpheus it is, he will never see his true love again. Even if he chooses to leave the terrestrial world, as a demi-god he will join the gods, not Eurydice." "So are the Greek gods still around then?" "They weren't even around when I was human. It irks me nowadays that people anthropomorphise the gods, as if they possessed some compassion for humanity, when they had nothing of the sort, they were capricious and callous and utterly self-absorbed. They had their fun with humankind, and I dare say they're satisfied with how entrenched they're in civilisation, but as soon as the demands and needs of worshipers outweighed the benefits of worship, they abandoned us. Actually this pretty much applies to all the mythologies, be it Nordic, Mesoamerican or Egyptian." "But they exist, right?" "Yes." "I'm sorry but I don't understand, you said god and the devil don't exist and yet the Greek gods do? That makes no sense." "I said they didn't exist for you not that they weren't real." "So I'm not going to hell?" Astor asked with trepidation, she was definitely a sinner! "No, Mephistopheles has a strong code of honour which might seem a misnomer to his mantle as the Lord of Darkness but he really only messes with God's flock." "What about the apocalypse?" "Ah, the end of the world." He said with amusement. "What?" "Since the dawn of time people have thought the world will end, and maybe one day it will, but frankly apocalyptic revelations are just hysteria." "Does nothing scare you?" His forehead furrowed in thought, "I've never been a fan of spiders actually." "That's not what I meant." "I'm scared of losing you beautiful." His sincerity was overwhelming, after everything that had happened Astor was an emotional wreck, and perhaps justifiably didn't trust her own blossoming feelings. They frightened her, for an open heart can be hurt. She unclasped herself from his arms and stood up to fetch another drink, it was easier to ignore him. Matthias was not to be ignored and also stood up. "I'm sorry if that you, but I refuse to be coy about how I feel. What is it with people today and the stupid games they play, if people were more honest with each other..." he was annoyed, nobody likes rejection, "... you've been married, did he profess love and then cheat on you?" He regretted it the instance he said it but he had said it nonetheless. "How dare you! You don't know what you're talking about." She seethed. "Tell me then." He fixed her with his eyes and gently took her by the hand as they sat back down. She inhaled deeply. "It's not that simple. Karl's family and mine go way back; our great grandparents managed to emigrate just before the revolution, our grandparents were in business together and our mothers were best friends and god-parents to Karl and me. You know my parents were murdered when I was twelve?" "I'm sorry Astor, I assumed they were dead, what happened to them?" "My father was a diplomat in Russia and the embassy was bombed by the Chechens after arms sold by the British were used to repress them." She spoke without vituperation. "That must have been hard." "That's somewhat of an understatement. For a long time I was very angry, for dying, for leaving me alone, for ending my childhood." She bit her bottom lip and looked him in directly in the eye, "My uncle was my legal guardian and he abused me." "Oh Astor." Matthias was besieged by anguish. "No it's fine. I refuse to be a victim. I've learnt to accept the things that are beyond my control. Maybe that's why I can deal with this current chaos." She rolled her eyes. "What happened to your uncle?" "What happened?" She smiled wickedly, "With Marcia's help I filmed him one night, handed the tape to the police and he's currently a guest at one of her majesty's finest establishments. I was sixteen and suddenly I was free, and completely irresponsible." She shook her head at the memory of herself, "I had more money than most people can even conceive. Money might not make you happy but if you don't have to worry about it, you can pretty much do what you want without repercussion. Marcia calls it 'fuck you money'." "She sounds smart." "Smartest person I know. She never took any of my shit but she didn't judge me for my behaviour either, without her support I would probably be someone entirely different, she made me stay in school, apply to university, she kept me grounded. She never liked Karl, she always thought he was spoilt and petty, she practically begged me not to marry him, and we fell out, but when things ended she was immediately there for me, she, Fran and," she paused and barely whispered "Jack." Matthias watched as the tears started staining her face, he gave her the comfort of his body and tenderly kissed her brow. "I'm sorry for being a jerk." "You weren't that far off the mark, we didn't have a passionate love for each other, but there was love, and a lot of understanding. At the time it made sense, and a part of me thought how happy and proud my parents would have been. Anyway, he did cheat on me but I also cheated on him, except he took it a little more personally, he got very drunk, beat me and forced me." "He raped you?" he voiced in anger and squeezed her a little too tightly. "I suppose you could call it that, but he's not a rapist, he didn't even remember what happened, and when he saw what he did to me, and this might sound odd, but I actually pitied him he was so pathetic." "You didn't go to the police?" "No it would have destroyed his parents, and he is suffering, he's made serious attemps to kill himself." "I could help with that." "Are you serious?" "Deadly." "Death is too easy, living is suffering." "You don't seem to mind that it happened." "It was beyond my control. I had the luxury of being able to disappear and meditate over it. If we had met even six months ago you wouldn't have found me so accepting. All experience can be good thing if you let it be, though life is fucking hard sometimes. Hey, do curses exist?" she suddenly thought. "They do, but in my experience, and I've had a bit, life isn't just unfair it is mercilessly cruel. It's why most people believe in higher powers, it gives meaning to the inhumanity of nature. I doubt you're cursed but as you have Russian ancestry it's a possibility. You'd be better off talking to Nina, curses are definitely gypsy terrain." "You know Beauty has been the greatest help." She smiled as she thought of her canine companion. "Dogs are such wonderful beings, they just live in the moment, the past and the future are irrelevant. I like that." Matthias chuckled, "Diogenes would have liked you and he didn't really like anyone." "As in Diogenes the Cynic?" Astor once again found herself agog. "I was lucky enough to know him in later life when he had mellowed somewhat. He was very very funny and utterly uninhibited, you always knew where you were with him, he bit a man he once didn't like the look of and he used to growl at babies, more though to annoy their mothers." Astor laughed, "You're unbelievable! I suppose you knew Aristotle too?" He nodded his head modestly, "I've met many of the great and good..." "... and are they seldom the same man?" she interrupted. "Churchill was full of wonderful maxims and he was one who was good and great. People who seek greatness often seek power and usually at the expense of others. Hitler for example, great, but definitely not good." "Did you know Churchill?" "We met." "Did he know you were a vampire?" "He knew." "Do you care to expand?" She said with a little irritation at his vagueness. "Sometimes it has been necessary to reveal our existence. Hitler's true involvement with the occult has thankfully been covered up by the winning side. Do you know what a grimoire is?" "Enlighten me." "Essentially it's a book containing spells, many purport to allow the magician to summon demons, spirits and even angels. Fortunately the ones in common circulation are the works of imagination and fantasy, and merely serve as a appeasing distraction to the curious. Yet, there are a few Grimoires in existence that are dangerously real. Hitler managed to obtain one, found in the Vatican library, and had been using it to conjure Raum, one of the great Earls of Hell, bringer of riches and destroyer of cities. You are aware that 'Lebensraum' was one of the key ideologies of Nazism, they needed the 'living space' to be the great race Hitler envisioned." Astor nodded with alacrity eager for Matthias to continue. "Are you also aware that Hitler's so called suicide took place on Walpurgis Night?" "That's the German Halloween right?" "That's a good basic interpretation. It is one of the few nights of the year when all other beings are free to roam, mostly they just come to enjoy human pleasures, drinking and sex and all that jazz. We used to call it Dionysia." He added whimsically. "But they also serve another purpose, a sort of secret loop hole. Though demons can be summoned on these nights they cannot be controlled. That desperate night in 1945, as the Allies were closing in, Hitler conjured Raum, believing that the mystical night would only increase his power over the demon. How wrong he was." His eyes twinkled with glee. "What happened?" "Raum had taken no pride in doing Hitler's bidding; it's a fallacy that demons are wicked a lot have very good natures actually. Raum staged the suicides of Hitler and Eva Braun, for the demon is also a romantic at heart, which is why they are together suffering unspeakable pain." Astor was dumbfounded. "That's unbelievable! How do you know this?" "I was told by Albert Goering, a man I am honoured to have called a friend." "He was the good Goering right?" "One of the most courageous men I've ever met, he saved thousands at great personal risk. Of course Hermann's warmongering overshadows Albert's good deeds, and the surname caused him awful grief in later life but he refused to change it. Excluding Hermann he was mostly proud of his family, their mother even married a Jew." "What did you do in the war?" "Vat a thing to ask a German!" he said with a thick Bavarian accent and a huge smile. "I thought you were Greek!" She quickly retorted. "Technically I'm Athenian," he tittered smugly before explaining, "Germany, well the area now known as Germany, has been my main residence for over a millennium and I identify with the land as my home. I think they call this psychogeography, so many terms these days for things that are intrinsically human." "Why Germany?" "Before the invention of cars and planes it was a very convenient location for travelling about Europe, and politically and culturally the land was more liberal than most places. Having a hereditary title has been a good cover over the years, and when the Nazi's came to power my inscrutable Germanic heritage proved very useful. I was in New York when it became clear another war was on its way, I came back via Spain, which was in the throes of the civil war and where I encountered Alfonso. And when the Second World War officially started, to answer your earlier question, I essentially became a spy, passing cryptograms and other secret documents on to the Allies." Astor sat in stunned silence just staring at Matthias in awe. "You look a little overwhelmed," he said. "I am overwhelmed! I think my head is going to explode from everything you've told me and I don't even feel I've scratched the surface of who you really are. I don't even know if Matthias is your real name." She spoke in an excited manner. "It is a derivative of my original Greek name Matthaios, and we didn't exactly have surnames then. We've only known each other for a day, there will be plenty of time for us to get to know each other later." "What if there isn't a later?" She said morosely. "I'm an optimist, though we could increase your chances." He said suggestively. "The thing is I'm not really sure how I feel about drinking blood, it's a bit gross when you think about it." "I understand but trust me you'll get over it. Every vampire remembers their first drink, it's ...it's" he closed his eyes and flicked back to his first time, "mind blowing," he opened his eyes and looked at Astor with pure lust. Astor had a vicarious response to Matthias arousal and seamlessly their lips found each other. His hunger for her was clear as their bodies pressed together, mouths locked in passion, obliterating the pain and suffering of the past day. Simultaneously, their hands fell to their trousers as they hastened to remove the barriers that prevented them from melding to one. Matthias lightly ran a finger up through her lower lips and flicked her clitoris eliciting a rapturous cry from Astor. Without any further hesitation he thrust deep inside her that made them both gasp in exquisite pleasure. He held himself there briefly, pausing to look into her hazel eyes that burned with desire. He stroked in out of her a few times, slow and hard. In response she bit her bottom lip in ecstatic anguish and murmured in need. He began to fuck her fervently, she arched towards him suckling and kissing at his neck, causing him only to increase his pace. Their grunts and moans filled the cabin as the tension between them swiftly built. Astor's orgasm came fast, her whole body contracted, Matthias could only manage a few more thrusts before he joined her in bliss,and even when he had finished cumming Astor still had little aftershocks of pleasure pulsating through her. Matthias slipped a hand between them and played with her clit, quickly stimulating another powerful orgasm. Astor's physical release also brought forth an emotional one. Matthias softly kissed along the rivulets that flowed down her face and whispered to her, "I'm never going to let anything bad happen to you again." She pecked his lips, smiled, and replied, "You can't promise me that." "No I can't." They shared a long, sensuous and loving kiss. But reality soon made itself known. The captain's voice floated over the intercom; the plane had started its descent.

Nikko’s shop was on fucking fire and it was partly Tumbo’s fault. Tumbo sprinted into the open flames, wondering and hoping if there was a way he could put it out, but Keye was quick to grab his hand, “COME ON!! You’re not getting burned to a crisp again!”  “Okay, well at least let me grab–!” Tumbo located and reached for the metal cufflink, then sprinted out the door with his brother and Nami as they rushed past the opening Tipf and Chum had created. As they passed Bazz, he did not look happy.  But as it stood, Tipf was a wide open target that had the attention of…everyone who wanted to kill them, and Tipf made good use of their one track minds by leading them directly out of the Domain through the main entrance, “YOU WANT ME?! COME AND GET ME!” “WE ARE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN!” Nami roared back, charging after them, and Tumbo even felt his heart stall in his chest as events seemed to repeat themselves on that fateful night.  However, Carl’s one-track mind made it hard for Tumbo to even concentrate: “You could at least pretend to like my tunes you know.” “I already told you that I don’t like punk rock that much, now will you please shut your mouth?!” Tumbo grit his teeth.  “WHY?!” Carl shrieked, hopping off Tumbo’s shoulder right when he ducked out of the way of an attack from another surprise Beta Zora. And as he fell on his face, out of practice, he noticed the way the other Beta Zora shrieked and fell off balance trying to get away from Carl.  …huh.  “What’s his problem?” Carl asked, landing on the fountain as Tumbo sat up on his knees. Tumbo watched as the four Beta Zora who weren’t following Tipf all decidedly surrounded him, and as he glanced down at the cufflink, Tumbo got a stupid idea. “Hey, Carl,” Tumbo curiously slid the cufflink over his stump, then flinched when he watched it light up and clamp down just under his elbow. “Think you can summon the others?” “Only if you listen to my tunes,” Carl spat with a lisp. “I’ll even let you sing it live,” Tumbo felt a grin spread along his lips as the cufflink emitted a sudden, bursting green light.  Carl hummed with intrigue, “Like right now?” “Right now,” Tumbo flinched again as the light took a more distinct shape, metal rods coming out of the cufflink to stabilize it until Tumbo was staring at a glowing, clawed, energy beam of a hand. “Ohohohoho, Nikko, baby, you never disappoint!” “Sheesh, this is like a super serious moment,” Carl kept sputtering at Tumbo, “Like you’re surrounded and everything and you want to turn your life into a song fic?!” “I am never giving you access to the internet again,” Tumbo grumbled to himself, then turned to the first of his four opponents. “So? Wanna make your musical debut or not?” “Hmmmmmm,” Carl squinted his beady frog eyes, watching as Tumbo struggled to get the hang of his glowing hand as he blocked an attack. He couldn’t exactly grab things without…burning through them, but he figured the hand itself was his new weapon.  Carl threw his head back, first letting out echoing croaks to get the attention of all the nearby frogs and toads alike, and then he cleared his throat. Tumbo knew the frog choir had a thing for dramatics, but even he was a little surprised when he heard the thumping rhythm of a…drum?  Whatever, he just rolled with it as the other four Zora slid to a halt, looking around when the response of rabbits and croaks started to match the rhythm like a strumming guitar, “What’s that?” “They’re gonna clean up your looks,” Carl sang with a…surprising intensity, “With all the lies in the books to make a citizen out of you.” “Oh fuck, it’s singing,” The second Zora came to a screeching halt, giving Tumbo the opening he needed to impale the bastard.    “Because they sleep with a gun And keep an eye on you, son So they can watch all the things you do”   “What’s a gun?” Tumbo grimaced, but shrugged as he took out the rest and made a beeline for where Tipf had run. It was only around then when he saw how mortified Chum looked. “Oh, hey.” “What the fuck?” Chum glanced back at Carl who lifted his tiny frog arms into the air, the glistening moonlight shining down on him as if it were a spotlight.    “BECAUSE THE DRUGS NEVER WORK THEY’RE GONNA GIVE YOU A SMIRK ‘CAUSE THEY GOT METHODS OF KEEPING YOU CLEAN! THEY GONNA RIP UP YOUR HEADS YOUR ASPIRATIONS TO SHREDS ANOTHER COG IN THE MURDER MACHINE!”   “Huh,” Tumbo thought out loud to himself as they ran out of the Domain, and he was acutely aware of how the chorus of thousands of frogs were following them. “He really has opinions about his kids.” “Okay, but why can the frogs talk?!” Chum begged. “Frogs have always been able to talk,” Tumbo shrugged, “The hot-footed ones, anyways.” “Yeah, apparently!” Chum shrieked. “Why do you know about this?!” “Because,” Tumbo used the element of surprise to sneak up on one particular bastard that was giving Tipf the biggest run for his money. He struck him with his glowy hand, then grinned, “I’m a member of the Gay Man’s Frog Choir of Upland Zorana!”      Tipf wasn’t expecting Tumbo and the others to catch up as quickly as they had, he just sort of expected to get captured again once Lok and Meryll took off after him after Chum had granted the opening. So the fact that Tumbo had a second, glowing hand and was ripping a hole in Meryll left his mouth falling agape: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  “I’m a member of the Gay Man’s Frog Choir of Upland Zorana!” was all Tumbo said and Tipf didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.  “I already knew that!” Tipf snapped back, glancing to Nami for answers, but she found herself straining against Brannen as he fought to push her backwards. It was only because he had a split second to breathe that he could hear an echoing of frogs in the trees just…singing.  Singing?  Were they singing?    "Teenager scare  The livin’ shit out of me They could care less as long as  Someone’ll bleed So darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose Maybe they’ll leave you alone,  But not ME!"   “What–?” was all Tipf could grunt before the frogs literally fucking descended on them, landing on the other Beta Zora with splattering toes and deafening ribbits that left his former comrades dropping all their weapons and shrieking in a panick. Tipf found himself just staring at them with agape jaws, his head moving on a swivel over to Tumbo and Keye who stared at him with mirrored alarm.  “Are all Beta Zora this afraid of frogs?” Tumbo asked.  Tipf wanted to know why that was the most appropriate question of the moment, but Chum blurted the answer for him: “Yes.” Now Nami looked perplexed, “Why?” “They carry diseases,” Tipf cringed at his girlfriend. “We’ve got enough working against us, we don't need more diseases.” “Ohhhhhhh,” Nami, Tumbo, and Keye all moved their heads on odd swivels, and Tipf looked over to find Bazz also nodding in the same revelation.  “Is this seriously how this is gonna go?” Tipf pointed to the now shrieking Beta Zora rolling in the water that was most definitely infested with tadpoles. “Like is this really how this is gonna go?!” “What?” Tumbo asked, “You rather get captured again?” Tipf felt his eye twitching, glanced down at where Lok was cowering and covering his face. Reaching down, he plucked the boy by what felt like the scruff, and lifted him up as he screamed, “HEY! Knock it off!” “M-m-m-master Tipf!” Lok changed his tune rather quickly as his hands waved in front of his face, “Please–! I don’t mean no trouble, I didn’t know–!” “Didn’t know what?” Tipf leaned into Lok’s face and watched as he shrieked again. And fuck, he looked so sick; his scales were ashen and his eyes sunken in almost as badly as Tipf’s were when he was in the hospital. Tipf examined the other Beta Zora, noticing the same condition in all of them and he felt an odd pang in his chest before demanding, “You are going to tell me exactly who all is here and where they are, you understand?” “Don’t!” Meryll bitched tearfully, but one of the frogs hopped onto his lips and he gagged. “LOK!!”  “I–” Lok choked, staring up at Tipf in horror.  “Well?” Tipf glanced down at the others, “You gonna tell me or am I gonna feed you to the frogs?” “We can even keep singing!” one of the littler frogs chimed in and Lok burst out into tears.  “Why are they talking?” he whimpered, staring up to Tipf as if Tipf had the answers.  “I don’t know,” Tipf shook his head, “But I bet you’re gonna think twice before getting on my bad side now, right?” Lok stared up at Tipf with huge eyes and if any less had happened between Tipf and every Beta Zora he once called his friends, then he might’ve felt bad for hanging the kid out to dry. But he was angry, he was seething, and he felt so betrayed in knowing that Lok was just a fucking kid who was doing what his superiors told him to. They all were.  “Th-” Lok whimpered, choking on his own spit, “There’s twenty more of us back in the Domain but…” “But?” Tipf leaned forward, watching as one frog curiously hopped towards Lok’s foot. Lok shrieked, squinting his eyes shut as he shook his head.  “Tipf, I’m sorry–!” “Sorry isn’t gonna cut it,” Tipf hissed. “Now where are the rest of them?” “They–they’re at the Tower!” Lok sobbed, “Talon sent a squad of about forty of us to the Tower to disable it and…” He trailed off again, but Tipf didn’t have to do much more than jostle the kid to get answers out of him.  “And he’s looking for Princess Mipha!” Lok whimpered, “Sir!” “Which Princess Mipha?” “The younger one, Sir!”  “Oh fuck,” Nami stumbled backwards a bit.  “Keye,” Tipf released Lok, but Lok shrieked as the frogs surrounded him and Tipf grunted, “Okay, that’s enough!”  The frogs disbanded almost immediately, which surprised Tipf that they…listened to him. But now the Beta Zora who were once cowering were sitting up with shock in their eyes as they regarded Tipf.  “Keye, get these idiots to the medical bay,” Tipf grumbled under his breath. “Chum, take their weapons first.” “Sure,” Chum did as he was told, and Nami was quick to stoop forward and help him, “But Tipf, you should probably go back and–” “I’m not going anywhere near them,” Tipf took several steps back. “Okay, well, I don’t exactly feel comfortable escorting attempted assassins by myself,” Keye glowered up at Tipf, though for a split second Tipf was too focused on his pounding heart to register the fault in his judgment.  “Fine,” Chum huffed, rising to his feet, “Then these four can help us or we can tie them to a tree until we get back. What’ll it be?” “I–” Meryll slid backwards in surprise, “I would never help you traitors!” Tipf held in a sigh, but glanced up at Chum who nodded at him when they both agreed, “Tree.”  So…they tied the kids up to a tree. And then part of the frog army encircled the tree to scare them out of freeing themselves. By the time Tipf took a step back to regard how unbelievably preposterous the situation was when Bazz spat, “In all seriousness, you have got to go back, Kid.” “The Little Princess is in danger and the Tower is down,” Tipf growled at Bazz, “And I’m supposed to go back?” “Yes!” Bazz spat back. “Yes, you absolutely should!”  Tipf glared at Bazz, regarded the four cowering children near his feet, then shook his head and stormed forward. Ignoring Bazz completely. “Hey!” Bazz snapped, chasing after Tipf, “Come on, Kid!”  “Tipf,” Nami even pleaded, but Tipf didn’t want to hear it. “Tipf, seriously–” “If anything happens to you or your sister,” Tipf spun around to point at her, “I won’t ever forgive myself.” “Yeah, and if anything happens to you or our son, I’ll lose my fucking shit,” Nami bared her teeth back at him. Tipf stared up at her, and the two of them realized they were in a stalemate. So…he just pushed forward while riding on little more than adrenaline and instincts.  And he pushed forward, only acutely aware of the way Chum paused at the boys and stated, “And just so we’re clear, I think you know how this would’ve ended if Tipf were his father right now.”      Faro located the catapults stationed on the Plateau, but there was not much he could do to stop Ru from flying right into them. Mostly because she saw them too. “RU!” “Hang on, we got it!” Ru tried, but the catapults started hurling right towards them, flashbombs lit up the sky, causing Folgers to shriek and shrivel as Ru started to fall and Faro was certain there would be a repeat of that morning. Luckily, Foglers was quick to recover and reemerged, but Ru had to guide him steadily back to the ground. “FUCK!” “Are you alright?!” Faro flew after her, landing as he took in how grave the scene was before them. Oh dear, they could do for some reinforcements right about now.  “Yeah, but Folgers isn’t gonna be in any shape to fly till tomorrow,” Ru scratched at her head, looking around as she wondered, “How are we gonna get up there?” Faro didn’t have much of an answer for her, and as Nikko and Junior came flying in their direction, he hoped they might. But as Nikko halted their sand sailer, they were the one with the questions: “How does it look up there?” “Catapults,” Ru grunted.  “Yeah, we saw,” Junior pointed to a fiery landscape behind them. Oh… dear. “So how do we get up there?” “We don’t fucking know!” Ru threw her arms up in near defeat, “We’re split up, we got no way up there, and I don’t even have a dragon to show for it!”  Though the battle still raged on around them, there was an audible and low rumbling noise that caught Faro’s attention. Hyrule’s army flung several more fireballs out of the Plateau with their catapults, and everyone took cover at the nearest makeshift shelter they could find, and yet Faro still felt his eyes on the sky.  Something was up there. There was something about the way the thunder clapped above the clouds that made him…curious.  And then, as if his very thoughts and prayers could be answered, there was another deep rumbling howl as the massive dragon of fire, Dinraal, descended out of the cloud cover with a grumbling roar. Faro felt his mouth fall agape, watching in a mixture of shock and awe as the dragon made a nosedive until he reached the tip of the Plateau, then proceeded to ignite the catapults into columns of fire until they disintegrated and likely took out part of Hyrule’s army with it.  “HOLY FUCK!” Ru shrieked, and Faro couldn’t stop himself from cheering alongside the kids as Nikko grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “DINRAAAAAAAL!”     “WAAAAAAAAAAAIT!” Cado shrieked as he sprinted across the fields. He could see Dinraal doing his Dinraal thing but he wasn’t there to make it to the top of the Plateau. Like at all. “WE’RE NOT READY YEEEEET!”  “Oh, dammit!” Papa spat, the glow of the Master Sword served as the only source of light they had aside from the fiery dragon that was moving WAY TOO SOON–! Cado tried not to limp too much after eating shit, but when the Yiga took out their sand sailers with literal bomb arrows, he felt kind of swollen in his knees and face. Klydus at least managed to tuck and roll and he was somehow running at a quicker pace than Cado, but it was all they could do to keep pressing forward, because the Yiga were quite literally swarming them and he didn’t know how they still had numbers after the literally everything happening.  “Mow,” Goop meowed from his backpack, his little head poking out. “Not now, Goop!” Cado panted, ducking and dodging out of the way of arrows zipping in his direction. “It’s too dangerous!” “Mow.” “I know you have to pee, but just hold on!” Cado whined, but more and more Yiga appeared to try and halt them and he didn’t know what to do. “Papaaaaa?!” “HANG ON!” Papa called back, his voice surprisingly distant. Cado slid to a stop, turning around only to realize that Papa had been halted several feet behind them, and he struggled to blockade their attackers to try and give him and Klyde an opening.  “POPS!” Cado cried back, but Klydus grabbed him by the arm and yanked him backwards. Before Cado could protest, several bomb arrows fell to the ground, striking the Yiga with unmatched precision until Revali followed.  “KEEP RUNNING!” Revali called out as he landed on his feet, “Klydus, your father is here, but you boys need to stick together!” “What!?” Klydus gasped, a low growl emerging from his chest.  “Just ignore him and keep going!” Revali spat, “No matter what happens, you boys have to reach the Plateau! NOW GO!” “But how do we–” Cado started, but Klydus was already pulling him backwards.  “JUST GO!”  Cado hated everything that was happening, but he followed Klydus and they ran first to the nearest Tower, if only because that was the only place Cado felt they could get a good enough vantage point to see the Plateau.  And Goop kept fucking meowing at him. “What does he waaant?!” Cado whined, but Klydus simply shrugged. He didn’t even know where the hell the Twili were in all this either!  Unfortunately, luck just wasn’t on their side at all that evening, and as the moon began to pulse a dark red color, a pair of Beta Zora halted them in their tracks. And then Tengu approached as well, “It has been too long, My Boy.” “Ew,” Klydus drew his trident, “Don’t call me that.” Tengu’s smile fell, and he shook his head, “Bearing the weapon of our enemy, I see. Well, no matter.” Cado and Klydus exchanged confused glances, but as Tengu pulled out a weird Gear Thing, he bounced it lightly in his hand, and under the glow of the Blood Moon, several little sparks of electricity fell off of Klydus’s shoulders until he pitched forward. “Klyde?!” “You never did learn your place,” Tengu spun the gear in his hand as thick red smoke emerged from inside. It splayed out in various directions, and Cado watched in horror as the different clouds took the shape of Urbosa, Daruk, Aunt Mipha, Revali, and… Papa.  Oh no.  Cado felt his knees shake as he took a step towards Klydus, but Klydus sparked again, and he let out a sudden scream as he fell to his knees. “KLYDE!” “The Blood Moon restores balance,” Tengu bounced the gear lazily in his hand, “And if the Thunderblight won’t take you on her own, then I will make her.” Klydus grunted, falling to his hands and knees and Cado was just frozen in place. Useless. He was completely useless and helpless and he didn’t know how to help his friend. The red smokey things around them all slowly began to approach, and Cado was acutely aware of the weapons they had raised.  “Now RISE, HOLLOWS!” Tengu roared, lifting his hands in the air as the…the Hollows stood at attention before raising their blades. Those were Hollows? But if those were Hollows…why did they look like his family? “TAKE THESE SOULS AND BRING OUT THE THUNDERBLIGHT!”  The Hollows all charged, and with a flick of his hand, the two Beta Zora with Tengu also followed suit. Cado kept his sword drawn, vaguely aware of the scream Papa let out from somewhere behind. But all he could really do was squint his eyes shut and brace for impact. So…he did. Like a fucking coward and the only other thing he thought to do was pull Goop out of his backpack to at least give the cat a running chance.  Klydus heaved, making haggard noises as he struggled to breathe. His gills wheezed as he pitched forward. But then…the air around them grew unbelievably still.  And then, Cado felt his hair standing on end until Klydus sprung back to his feet and discharged a massive bolt of electricity right at the two Beta Zora. Then another bolt that dispersed the Hollows of Urbosa and Daruk. Cado screamed, and dove over Goop’s unbothered little body, but no harm came to either of them, and when Cado glanced up to find the dust settling, he noticed Tengu staring at them both with wide eyes while Klydus stared back with the calmest look he had ever worn.  Unless…that wasn’t Klydus? “Um,” Cado swallowed a lump in his throat, “Are you Klydus or Bahltreese right now?” Klydus flinched, staring down at Cado with a perplexed expression and for some reason his eyes were now glowing, “Klydus with Bahltreese telling me what to do?” “So…both?” Cado was confused.  Klydus (with Bahltreese telling him what to do) looked also confused, “Both is good, right?” “Yeaaaaah,” Cado scrambled onto his knees, “Yeah, I’d say so.” “How?” Tengu spat, his face twisting into disgust, “How is this possible?!”  “Uh,” Klydus pouted a little, then picked his trident back up as if he were ready to get serious (because Cado sure as shit wasn’t). “Because she’s not a dick.”     As luck would have it, the Tower felt near impossible for Sidon to reach. At least it felt impossible to reach while also keeping the swarming Beta from taking his daughter. Sidon could hardly reach land without them taking her, and Sidon was only able to fend them off with one arm for he used the other to hug Mipha tightly against his backside. She held tightly onto him, digging her heels in as she was frozen in fear, rightfully so, but until Sidon saw the little silhouettes of familiar Zora sneaking behind the Beta Zora to reach the tower, he was about to lose hope.  But Sidon let himself get distracted, and Talon managed to strike him from behind. Sidon howled, taking a knee to recover, but his own motion caused Mipha to bobble, and she shrieked as Talon made a grab for her.  “HEY, FUCKER!” another familiar voice called out, and Sidon was a mix of relieved and mortified when he saw his other daughter swing her trident across Talon’s head like a baseball bat. “Get the fuck away from my sister!” “WHAT ABOUT DAD?!” Mipha screamed back. “I AM SIGNIFICANTLY LESS WORRIED ABOUT DAD RIGHT NOW!” Nami screamed in response. “Girls,” Sidon grit his teeth, though he was grateful to finally have some back-up. But did that back-up always have to come in the form of his children or spouses? Standing back on his feet, Sidon grabbed his sword and turned to face the other soldiers encroaching on them. He also saw several shadows climbing up the tower, and he hoped they were who he thought they were.  Well…maybe not Tipf or Tumbo. Those boys could stand to sit out a battle or two.  “It’s always you,” Talon heaved, almost immediately losing his composure at the very sigh of Nami. “What?! Is your little lover here too?!”  “I will neither confirm nor deny that,” Nami spun her trident in her hand before lowering her stance, “Keep you on your toes with that one.” “Hmph,” Talon scowled, his eyes flitting back behind Sidon briefly. “Well, I’ll just have to see for myself, then.” “Yeah, and how are you gonna do that when I’m literally right in front of you?” Nami growled back. Talon’s scowl lifted into a smile, and suddenly his gaze fell to Mipha as the moon grew bloodier above them. The red light of the night sparkled atop the waters of the Wetlands, and Sidon couldn’t explain how he did it, but the moment Talon pointed to Mipha, the little girl let out a scream and doubled over. She fell to her knees, causing Sidon to jump back for a moment before gasping, “Meef!” “Good luck fighting your sister,” Talon waved Nami off as her attention too shifted. But there was no time to react. In one moment, Mipha was crying out for help. In the next, the water under Sidon’s feet began to freeze. Just as ice crystals began to appear on Mipha’s little cheeks and the tips of her ears, she let out another scream. But that scream shifted to a roar and when she looked up next, Sidon found himself staring back into the blood red eyes of the Waterblight.      “Ouch!” Tumbo waved his glowing hand behind Tipf. “I keep burning myself!” “Then take your arm off!” Tipf spat back, holding up a flashlight as Chum ripped off the control panel. “Keye, how does it look?” “Mmmmm,” Keye cringed, eyes falling to about twenty chords that were just hanging uselessly. “Well, good news is that I know what the problem is.” “And the bad news?” Bazz grunted, keeping watch on the edge of the Tower.  “I can’t see where they were originally plugged in,” Keye muttered, “Tumbo, we might have to take this apart and put it back together.” “That’ll take too long,” Tumbo spat back, finally figuring out how to take his cufflink off.  “What other option do we have?!” Keye snapped.  “I don’t know!” Tumbo shoved Keye out of the way to inspect the panel, “Let me take a look!”  Behind them, Bazz let out a tired sigh and spoke into the comms he kept in his ear, “Nela, tell the deploying team to standby.” “Is the Domain secure?” Tipf asked, and Bazz glanced tiredly at him.  “Not yet,” Bazz huffed, “But we’ll defer to back-up once we get the main team out into the field. I’ll stay behind to aid back-up.” Tipf nodded, returning his attention to whatever the hell Tumbo was fiddling with while Keye griped back at him. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the literal slurry of chords in front of him, and his first thought was that this should’ve been organized better.  His second thought was that the green chord on the left likely crossed into the green hole at the top and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and plugging it in.  “Hey!” Tumbo barked, but the Tower made a whirring noise that caused everyone to pause and stare at it. “Oh–that did something.” “Was it a good or bad thing?” Chum asked nervously. “I dunno, but we’ll find out,” Keye leaned forward and grabbed three more green chords to fit into three green holes. The tower started flashing and that just had to be a good thing…right?  Tipf watched as the twin brothers carefully arranged the remaining chords, sorting them by color to find their respective slots. He held his breath, glancing occasionally back to Chum for some mutual reassurance until he thought for sure they would get the tower back online.  But then Tipf heard a shrieking noise from down below.  And then he heard Bazz gasp, “Fuck–!” Talon sucked in battle, but he was an expert at surprise attacks, and when Bazz was knocked off his feet and disarmed, Tipf was spinning around in a blind panic. He and Chum reflexively slid in front of the brothers to guard them, though Talon’s smile quickly fell.  “I still can’t believe you’d side with an Imposter,” Talon growled directly at Chum.  Chum, however, was less amused, “Yeah, well, I can’t believe you would betray your own friends.” “I betrayed you?!” Talon scoffed, taking a step back. “Look at which side you’re on! Both of you!” “You didn’t give us a choice!” Chum retorted, “All Tipf and I ever wanted was to help our people survive. All you ever cared about was yourself.” Talon glared at Chum, for some reason he was more shaken by Chum’s betrayal than he had been by Tipf's. It was as if Talon anticipated Tipf to stand against him one day. Like Tipf had never really been a friend in Talon’s eyes. But Chum was different. Chum knocked Talon purely and completely off guard. Oddly enough, as Tipf glanced to his friend, he sickly wondered if he could use that to his advantage.  “Hey Tumbo,” Tipf grunted behind him, “Think you can get Carl and his friends out here?” Tumbo grunted with little to no actual response, and as he drew his blade ready to fight, he heard another shrieking noise that caused the entire tower to shake, knocking Bazz back off balance when he tried to stand.  “General–” Tipf froze, watching as Bazz gripped onto one of the poles for stability. He swore under his breath, and to Tipf’s horror, both of their outbursts drew in Talon’s attention.  A third shriek, this one distinctly belonging to the Waterblight, and Tipf watched frozen in horror as Bazz was defenseless to swatting away Talon. Talon grabbed him by the neck, and Bazz’s feet slipped off the ledge, the general choking as he reached to grab Talon’s forearm.  “You care about this old man,” Talon observed, and Chum let out a roar as he lurched forward. “Well, maybe he should die–” “LET HIM GO!” Chum barrelled into Talon, knocking him to the side and tossing Bazz forward so Tipf could grab his hand and cough up whatever spit and air he could suck in as he gasped. Chum wrestled Talon to the ground, pounding on his skull as the two of them grappled and rolled and Tipf found his head whipping in wildly different directions as he helped Bazz sit up.  “You okay?!” Tipf asked, shaking the dazed General as he rubbed at his neck. “Yeah–fuck, was that Meef?” he asked, though a fourth shriek and freezing temperatures answered their question. Tipf glanced below, and the water of the wetlands had already frozen solid.  Tipf looked around, surveying his surroundings, and amidst his pounding heart and the pounding sight before him, he honestly didn’t know what to do. He truly didn’t know what to do.  And for some reason, as he knelt there, clueless, a piece of advice Lady Mipha had given only hours before rang in his ears.    Telepathy or other similar abilities is normally rooted in Spirit Magic, which is more commonplace among the Gerudo. However…it also requires one to be extremely sound in both mind and body.”   A sound mind and body.  Tipf glanced down at his blackened fingertips, touching the claws of his thumb and index finger together as he…he wondered.  He’d felt it before…this odd surging out of a place of desperation. But as he glanced up to find Chum getting pushed onto his back, Talon besting him with only the advantage he had in how refreshed he was at the start of this battle. Tipf’s first reflex was to lurch forward and try to save his friend. But he held his post, looked back to his fingertips, and he continued to wonder.    “Healing the mind requires a lot of conscious effort…and it can generate a huge release of emotion…”   “Emotional releases can lead to Magical releases,” Tipf repeated after Lady Mipha, glancing up at Talon. He fought to steady the pounding of his racing heart, and as he managed to calm himself and focus on Talon’s movements, he held his hand outwards, mimicking something he only ever saw his mother do once before in his early childhood. “Talon… halt.” The air around them grew heavy, and Tipf felt this odd burst of energy free itself from his arm as the skin between his scales, dare he say it, began to glow a burnt orange color. The glowing light flashed, and Tipf felt as if this odd mental puzzle piece just clicked into place as Talon froze with his arm in the middle of the air.  Talon let out a gasp, his entire body frozen like a statue, his mouth even hanging agape as his voice came to a squeaking silence. The only thing Talon could move was his eye, and he stared up at Tipf in horror as Tipf rose to his feet.  “Now stand up,” Tipt ordered, and it took the entirety of his concentration to make Talon rise stiffly to his feet, Talon’s entire body shaking as if he were fighting Tipf’s Magic. “And leave.” Talon broke free for all of a second, his head whipping around in his fury, “You can’t make me just–!” “LEAVE!!” Tipf roared, and with all his might, he forced Talon into a sprint as he slid off the edge of the Tower. He didn’t fall, necessarily, but caught himself as he made his way to the bottom, and as Tipf had him in a sprint halfway down the frozen pond, his concentration finally broke and he felt as though his body were completely zapped of its energy.  Tipf gasped, falling to his knees and bracing himself as he caught his breath, and he felt two sets of hands on him. The first was Chum, rolling him onto his back, “Holy shit! You’re just like Everlin!” “Y-yeah,” Tipf felt dizzy, “What the fuck did I just do?” “Magic,” Bazz was the second set of hands, one of which fell to his forehead as if to check for a fever, “Extremely powerful Magic. Now are you alright?” “I’m,” Tipf strained to sit up, and Bazz kept a steady hand on his back as he looked out towards the tower, “I’m tired but, I…I think…” Tipf knew it was a stupid idea, but he could see both Nami and King Sidon struggling down below. He knew Talon was freed of whatever spell Tipf managed to cast. And he also knew that Talon would be out for cold-blooded vengeance. So…he rolled with the stupid idea. “I know how to get Mipha out of her frenzy.”     Cado and Klydus kept pushing forward to the best of their ability, and it sure was nice of Izra to show up when they did!  Bahltreese had taken over just long enough to knock Tengu off his feet, but refused to let them engage long enough to wind up shit out of luck. Except now that Klydus was back in control, he was panicking and there were three Hollows on their asses by the time Izra poked their head out of the ground and joined in their sprint. “So bad news, the Plateau is surrounded,” Izra huffed, “But good news: the others are on the north side just past the Dueling Peaks.” “Any better news?” Cado dared to ask. Izra eyed him with an uncertain glance, “No…they have the Plateau blockaded at the top as well. Lionel is looking for a way to break through.” “Balls!” Cado screamed, and they were cornered once again as the Hollows caught up to them. “Dammit!”  “Okay, so we’re cornered and…we’re cornered,” Klydus scanned the area. “And the only saving grace of the situation is that my father continues to be completely useless on land with his limp and is deferring to smoke monsters.” “I would be more concerned about the smoke monsters, actually,” Izra grimaced. “If any of them touch you, you will Hollow as well.” “So–so that’s,” Cado pointed to the Hollow of Papa marching towards them. “That’s what a Hollow is?!” “It’s one type of Hollow,” Izra muttered. “Yeah, that’s what happens when the body finally breaks down and all that’s left is Malice,” Klydus nodded his head, though Cado wondered if it was Bahltreese talking. Could’ve been either of them at this point. “Usually only happens when the Hollowing is too quick for the body to compensate.” “Or if the body was resurrected without purification,” Izra agreed. Cado felt his jaw dropping to the floor, “I’m sorry, what?” “Yeah,” Klydus glanced down at Cado, “I thought you knew this already.” “I didn’t–” Cado’s gaze was shifting as he looked back to the Hollow of Pops getting reeeeeally close and now he was dodging him. “I DIDN’T HEAR ABOUT THAT PART!?” “Ohhhhh,” Klydus cringed with a flat face that told him it was definitely Bahltreese speaking. Given the way Izra readily protected him from the Hollow’s counter…it was Bahltreese. “Shit, I thought you knew.” “UGGGGH! I KNOW TOO MANY THINGS!” Cado spat, glaring up at the top of the Plateau. He felt the earth tremble under him as the air cooled, and he was certain Naydra was about to come out. Which was great. Except he had no way up there. Which was less great. “How the fuck am I gonna get up there…?” “Mrow,” Goop rubbed up against Cado’s leg. Cado stared down at him, then plucked him off the ground to put in his backpack, but Goop got all wiggly and hopped on his shoulder instead.  Grimacing, Cado wasn’t sure what to do from here, “Goop, I don’t have time for this, I just want to keep you safe!” “Mrow.” “Goop!” Cado covered Goops little scrungly body as he rolled out of Hollow Auntie’s way. Her trident felt a lot longer and more aggressive than his actual aunt’s trident. “Not now!”  “Prince Cado,” Naydra’s voice echoed in his head, “Be ready.” “How can I be ready when this is a complete and utter failure!” Cado glared up at the sky as thunder began clapping.  “Mroooow,” Goop kept patting at Cado’s head, and because he was out of ideas, he just started running around the Plateau in hopes there was a way to climb up or fucking something. There had to be. After all, how else did Hyrule’s military haul catapults up there?  Goop suddenly hopped off Cado’s shoulder, sprinting forward ahead of him and charging right towards a small platoon of Hylian soldiers. Cado shrieked, now chasing after his fucking cat as it ran straight for death. “GOOP, STOP!” He unintentionally caught the attention of the Hylian soldiers. They all spun around, their attention on him instead of his cat and…that figured.  Letting out a frustrated scream, Cado just stopped thinking and drew his sword. Slicing the first two out of the way, Cado dodged around the other three to grab his cat. He slid out of the way of an attack from the fifth guy, and was fully braced to defend himself.  And then, suddenly, there was a weird red forcefield around him as the soldier’s attack pretty much redirected to hit him in the face. Cado stood up, confused for a moment as the forcefield fell until he saw a hurdling ball of rocky fire crash to the ground and frighten the other soldiers out of the way. Cado was even more confused as a Goron emerged out of the rubble and stretched his arms to reveal the white hair and jolly laughter of…Daruk? “Gyaaaaaah!” Daruk yawned, lifting his arms into the air as Goop hopped out of Cado’s. “Man, I did not mean to nap for that long! Say, you’re the Little Guy’s Little Guy, right?” “If by ‘Little Guy’ you mean my papa, then,” Cado shrugged, “Yeah.” “Oh goodie,” Daruk scratched at his head, “Sorry again, about that, I meant to keep an eye on Lionel but winter hit and I just fell into a hibernation of sorts! It happens to us Gorons sometimes. Urbosa made a point to keep me awake when we were out venturing with the other Champions, but I don’t think she told the kids about the sorta precautions I have to take when I’m in cold weather.” “Kids,” Cado could not believe what was happening. “Yeap!” Daruk cackled, placing his hands on his hips, “I suppose she was worried about offending me, but it’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about! Those poor kids–anyway, you look like you could use some help, Littlest Guy, whatcha need?” Cado didn’t know what else to say or do but point upwards, “Up…I need up.” “Up?” Daruk glanced up to the top of the Plateau, then back down at Goop, “Oh well I dunno if I can get you up that high, but your tressym could probably do the job.” “My…my what?” Cado asked, and he was surprised that Daruk was pointing at his cat. Goop, in turn, merely stretched and yawned to reveal extremely sharp snaggleteeth.  “Your tressym!” Daruk grinned at Goop. “Extremely powerful creatures, they are. They’re related to dragons and are very very very rare. Urbosa seemed to think that they were remnants of the Twilight Realm since they could only be found in the dessert. Surprised this one ventured so far out east!” “But he’s not a treasure or whatever, he’s a cat–” Cado started to say, but Goop left his mouth agape as he stretched again until his body started glittering in the shadows. Then, like a black silky ribbon, Goop stretched up and up and up until Cado was suddenly staring at a big ffffuuuucking panther-looking thing. Except it wasn’t a panther at all, it was like a furry dragon with floppier ears than folgers, a narrower snout than Folgers, and feathery wings that stretched outwards black as night. “UM…OKAY!?” “There are some texts that even suggest these creatures are the creators of our nightmares,” Daruk stared up at the dragon-fied Goop in awe. “But they can certainly shapeshift! I’ve only seen one before this–Urbosa’s youngest found one as a kit once…say…” Goop’s head moved on a swivel as Daruk’s smile fell into a contemplative frown. Goop then lowered his head, staring into Cado’s eyes as they bumped noses. Cado found himself frozen in some odd mix of awe and terror as Goop closed his eyes.  And then Cado saw a flash.  And then…Cado saw an image of the desert.    “Avaaa!” a little Gerudo girl called out, running up to him. She wore thick, puffy pigtails in her hair, and she crouched down with the warmest green eyes ever. For a moment, Cado was lost in those eyes the only thought crossing his mind was that she was his hero. Though he didn’t know why. “Ava, it’s a kitty and it’s hurt!”  A kitty… Cado stared up at the girl, feeling for a moment like he were looking in the mirror until his vision flashed again, and that girl was a woman with a determined grin on her face. And Cado felt as though he were perched on her arm.  “Lodo,” the woman said, and Cado just knew in her heart of hearts that her name was Rhea. And she was the youngest daughter of Chief Urbosa. His Great-great grandmother. “Be a good kitty and keep watch over my boys, okay?” Cado could hear Goop meowing in response, and it seemed more like he was the one meowing unless…this was Goop’s memory.    Cado gasped, coming too as he stared up at the glowing golden eyes of the cat…dragon…thing now staring up at him. Frowning, Cado asked, “Your name is Lodo?” Goop shook his head, bumping his nose back to Cado again and he saw a flashing vision of Urbosa’s disgruntled face.    “Vehvi, why is his name Lodo?” “Because, Mama, he’s got a bunch of goop in his eyes that I gotta clean out and I was gonna call him Goop but Ava made fun of me for it!” “Oh my dear sweet children.”   Cado opened his eyes, and he felt a little…bad that Goop’s name was just Goop in multiple different languages. “I’m…so sorry.” Goop made a trilling, purring noise, then rubbed his big face against Cado’s. Cado froze for a moment, and heard Rhea’s voice echoing in his head.  “Keep watch over my boys, okay?” “Oh–” Cado ran his fingers along Goop’s fur, “No, you don’t have to–” Goop stooped his head forward, crouching down low enough for Cado to swing his legs over Goop’s back with ease. At first, he was hesitant, but as Klydus and Izra caught up with them, Izra skid to a halt with huge eyes, “He showed is true form?!” “Yeah, he’s uh…apparently called a tress-treasure–?” “Tressym!” Daruk grunted proudly. Izra hissed and back-pedaled several steps. “Don’t say that creature’s name!” Izra jumped behind Klydus, “You don’t know what bad luck it’ll invoke!” “Yeah, well, it looks like this one has chosen the Littlest Guy,” Daruk scratched the back of his head, “So I think it’ll be okay.” “Uhhhhh,” Cado sat apprehensively on Goop’s back, and then Goop immediately trilled at Klydus. “Klyde, I think he wants you to come with us.” “Prince Cado,” Naydra’s voice was urgent as the clouds began to open up and the temperature dropped. Cado squeaked nervously, then waved at his friend to come forward. “Ohhhhhh, I hate heights,” Klydus cringed, but slowly stomped up to them and slung his legs over Goop’s back as well, sitting behind Cado. He didn’t realize it before, but Goop was so fucking big that both of them could sit comfortably on his back as he stretched his wings out wide.  Goop took off, bounding forward at a frightening pace as both Cado and Klydus screamed, clinging tightly onto Goop’s fur as he ran. And he ran. And Cado felt like Bella Fucking Swan as he clung to Goop for dear life.  They ran up the field, passing several of his friends until Goop roared so furiously the earth trembled once more. Wings spread out, Goop took to the sky, and Cado was quite honestly breathless as Naydra dropped downwards with a roar of her own. Below him, he saw several shadows beginning to move at Goop’s beck and call, and as he stared down at the Plateau, Cado felt a glimmer of hope beginning to bubble in his chest.  “Alright!” Cado pointed forward as Goop used Naydra’s ice attacks as cover, “Let’s fucking GOOOOOOOO!”

Waking up is comfortable. Warm fuzzy surface below her chin, gentle and loving strokes on top her head with the occasional lick that has ‘momma’ written all over it. It’s wonderful; a constant circle of feeling safe and sound. Opening her eyes, though? Now, that’s anticlimactic. A plain blue wall welcomes her into the world she lives in. The fun part here is that she doesn’t even know that she isn’t supposed to recognize the color itself. Or any color. But Blue does. Just like she recognizes the big red ball her brother keeps pushing towards her too, yipping and bouncing with it not even minutes after opening his own eyes. Red looks excited, small paws never still and he better get tired soon because Blue doesn’t want him to nibble on her ear. Her other brother, lying lazily next to her, yawns big and loud while snuggling closer to the yellow blanket below him. Yellow looks comfortable enough and Blue doesn’t want to bother him. She decides to look for her last sibling. Blue finds her sister on the far corner of their space, her dark eyes staring in awe at something thin and green. Blue tilts her head to the side in curiosity when Green starts nibbling at the thing but she just shrugs in the end, thinking that if momma hasn’t stepped in yet then it means it’s okay. Talking about momma. Blue perks up when she feels the familiar nuzzle from her momma’s hug. Momma’s fur is beautiful; black and soft. Blue’s favorite place to nap is next to her, even when Red would sometimes kick her in his sleep. Blue blinks when Momma pokes her head firmly and she realizes that Momma has been trying to tell her something. She tells her about change, about being strong and have faith in the future. Momma tells her that they might separate soon but that it’s nothing she should worry about yet. Blue believes her, despite the uneasy hollow feeling in her tummy. She holds on to Momma’s words that night and the ones that follow.     Blue stares at the white fluffy thing in front of her and pats it playfully. It wiggles and it just encourages her to play with it more. Shiro laughs below her but Blue doesn’t pay him that much attention. She continues to play as he slowly brings her back down and holds her against his chest. Shiro’s talking with someone and they sound different than Allura. Curiosity gets the best of her and it makes Blue stop biting on Shiro’s finger to turn and meet his friend. It’s a boy like Shiro but darker and softer. He has big blue eyes and Blue’s excited to see the color again after Shiro and Allura moved them from their room to another one with more space and white walls. His name’s Lance. He says so himself as he leans down and waves at her happily. Blue likes Lance. She shows him so by biting his hand.     Lance calls it home. Her new home. She’s unsure of this because home is with Momma and her siblings. Home is with big fluffy blankets and half-eaten toys spread over the floor. Blue is quiet during the ride. She resigns to snuggle close to the soft lilac blanket Lance brought with him to pick her up earlier. Lance sneaks a few concern glances every few minutes, both hands on the wheel except for that one time during a red light when he reached out and stroked her head gently, scratching behind her ear long enough to make her relax. Home turns out to be small and yet cozy. Lance gives her a tour, carrying her the first few minutes in his arms until she becomes confident enough to just follow him around, skipping a few of his steps with her excited jumps. Her new bed is big, full of warm colorful blankets and toys. She rolls on it happily, nibbling on her toys and shaking the thin blanket off her when it blocks her sight. Lance laughs quietly near her and it just makes Blue happier. Maybe she will like this, as long as Lance’s here.     Lance names her Lady. But it never sticks, not really. From the past few weeks she’s been living with Lance, he has called her different names: baby, beautiful, gorgeous, princess, sweetheart, star. ‘Mi amor ’ and ‘preciosa’ also comes up regularly. Those are her favorites.     Blue cries. She whines and cries out in both desperation and panic. Her paw is tangled, and the more she pulls the more it traps her with the stray cushions strings and she can’t get away. Blue grows louder; more desperate and she calls for her momma. She calls for her siblings. She calls for Lance. Strong but gentle hands pick her up carefully almost immediately, taking the entire destroyed cushion at the same time and Blue cries pitifully as she nuzzles her face against Lance's chest, his steady heartbeat making her calm down. "Hey, hey now, it’s alright, what happened?" Lance mumbles quietly, using his free hand that it’s not supporting her to stroke her fur gently. "Did your paw get stuck? Hey, don’t be afraid, mi amor, I’m here! Lancey Lance will make it better, just stay still for me, ‘kay?” Lance works quickly but carefully, humming softly to calm her down whenever the strings pull at her paw painfully but it’s soothing enough to catch her attention and focus on his voice. In no time, Lance gets her paw out and puts the cushion away. He doesn’t even look mad like Blue expected, after all, this is the third cushion she has bitten and destroyed in the week but Lance looks relieved when he picks her up and kisses her head. “There we go, beautiful! All done, now come on, I was in the middle of knitting and you’re a good model, having in mind it’s your future sweater I’m knitting.” She falls asleep on Lance’s lap before he can finish. Lance doesn’t mind.     Someone’s biting her ear and it’s annoying enough for Blue to whine in frustration. She blinks her eyes open, slightly grumpy that she has been woken up from her afternoon nap before its due. It quickly disappears when the face of her brother enters her vision and then she’s all over the place. Bleu jumps on Red, heads knocking together playfully before they enroll themselves in a playful wrestle match on the floor. It’s a nice surprise to see one of her siblings again. She can hear Lance talking on the background but she hardly notices. Red seems to be as excited as she is, because soon enough he’s telling her all over her new owner, how they have nightly competitions with each other on who gets the bed’s blanket and who is the first one to find the missing sock. Red tells her that his owner’s name is Keith and that he came with him to Blue and Lance’s home. Which is weird on its own right, especially when Lance continues to address the only other boy in their home as ‘Mullet’.     After that, she gets to see the last two siblings she has been missing. Green and Yellow come together, both held in their owner’s arms before they are placed on the floor carefully and they waste no time to tackle Blue on the ground. Yellow doesn’t stop rambling about Hunk and his food while Green tells her all about Pidge’s backyard and how it’s a jungle on its own, millions of flowers and plants always around her. Green says that it used to drive Pidge crazy the first few times when Green would explore it but then she started joining her. Neither Red or Keith come, but Blue does hear Keith’s name every few times from Lance’s mouth. Blue finds it weird because Lance usually calls Keith by Mullet when said boy is near but when he’s not around, it’s like Lance finally remembers his name. Lance’s weird. Green says that Pidge calls him ‘ loser ’, whatever that means. Blue sticks with ‘weird’ .     Lance told her that he had a surprise for her. The last time he said that Blue was stuck with a diaper for a week until she managed to finally destroy every single last of Lance’s ‘puppy diapers’. This surprise though, Blue approves. Blue barks and bounces happily near her Momma’s face. She tells her all about Lance and their home, about their daily walks in the morning and the different shampoos Lance has tried on her that always makes her smell good. Momma says she’s happy for her and proud. Blue tells her that she misses her and her siblings but that she’s not as sad as she used to be about it. Momma tells her that it’s okay to be sad sometimes and to miss what’s in the past as long as it doesn’t blind her of her blessing of the present. Her words make her turns back to see Lance, laughing freely at something Allura had said and Blue can’t help but feel relieved that she’s the one who ended up with Lance. That night she sleeps with Lance on his bed. Lance doesn’t even question it.     Keith and Red’s visit start being regular. Too regular to the point that Blue’s not amused anymore when Red stumbles into her bed and takes her chew toy for himself. She wonders if she has to have a talk with Lance. Blue turns, determination filling her small body as she walks towards where she had last seen Lance and Keith but stops short when she finds them wrestling on the couch. Blue opens her mouth to bark, to catch their attention but then she decides against it when Lance squeals and giggles. Blue waits before she turns and leaves them alone. If Keith makes her Lance happy, then she guesses she can share her toys with Red. For Lance’s sake, of course.     It’s funny, sharing a name. It started out small. Lance usually calls her ‘mi amor’ when it’s time for lunch or when she does something particularly cute, which, come on, it’s all the time. But then, one time he called her out and Blue had jumped off the couch to run towards Lance but as she had turned the corner, Keith was there. “Yeah, babe?” Now, that was weird. First off, who is 'babe', Keith? And second of all, why did you answer, Keith? It’s hard the first few times because Blue’s not sure when is Lance’s calling her and when is he calling for Keith, who apparently shares the same nickname as her now. She’s grumpy about it. She’s sad and grumpy so she lets them know. Her opportunity comes the next time Keith visits them, without Red for a reason, and when Lance calls out ‘mi amor’, Blue’s determined to be the first one to get to her owner. Her enthusiasm and competitivity must have been obvious because both boys stare at her surprised and curious before realization dawns over their features. “Aw, my beautiful princess is jealous?” Lance coos, rubbing his cheek against her face. “Now that explains a few things.” Keith chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before he sits next to the pair. “It’s okay, I can give up my nickname if she wants to. It was hers first, after all.” “Aw, Keith, sweetheart -” Blue tunes them out and focuses her attention on Keith, feeling uneasy at the resigned sad tone in his voice. This isn’t what she wanted. Not really. Keith should be allowed to feel as loved as Lance makes her feel with just a nickname, Blue doesn’t want to take that from him. So, she wiggles herself out of Lance’s grip and walks over Keith’s side on the couch, climbing on him quickly until she’s on his face and Keith’s hands immediately support her. She licks his cheek, her silent blessing and both boys coo. “Seems like it won’t be a problem,” Lance says softly, leaning down to drop a kiss on top of their heads. “Hm, mis amores.” Blue’s okay sharing a nickname, as long as it’s with Keith.

Leah Rilke had known Toni Shalifoe since they were twelve. That was how old they were when they signed up for basketball practice with the All Cubs. During the first meet, Leah had kept to herself. She’d stand there with her hands crossed against her stomach, her head down and her eyes wide and alert. She did really enjoy basketball, and she’d been really excited to become part of a team; but what she didn’t enjoy was meeting new people. Toni, however, was the complete opposite. From the first meet, she had kept her head high and her shoulders back. She was one of the first people to actually speak and answer questions with utter confidence. She would speak loud and clear and never once stumbled over her words. Leah found her inspiring. She wanted to be friends with her immediately. By the second meet, their coach was choosing captains and ordering them to pick their team. Unsurprisingly (and rightly so), Toni was chosen as one of the captains. As soon as she came to stand at the front, her eyes settled on Leah - who quickly looked down at the ground as soon as they made eye contact. “Toni, pick your first team member.” Coach Baxter picked up his clipboard as he instructed the brunette. Leah got comfortable. She had a feeling that since she hadn’t uttered a word to anyone yet, she would be the last to get chosen. It made sense, so she wasn’t too hurt by it. “Leah,” Her head shot up. Toni was looking right back at her, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She motioned with her head for Leah to come forward, and after a few seconds of hesitance she did so. “I’m Toni,” She introduced herself personally as soon as Leah came to stand beside her. She even offered out her hand. “Leah,” She offered shyly, cursing inwardly at herself for being such a bag of nerves around somebody who oozed such self-confidence and assurance. Coach Baxter had issued a roll-call at the first meet and gave everyone the chance to mingle, as well as play some basketball (of course). A lot of people had managed to make at least one friend, Toni included, but Leah just stayed to the sidelines. So she’d more than appreciated Toni introducing herself one-on-one. So, that was how they met. It was also how they had become best friends as time went on. Toni had even managed to bring Leah out of her shell, and soon enough they were both pally with everyone on their team. - Leah was thirteen when she joined church camp. It was her parents idea, but she didn’t hate it. They’d always been a somewhat religious family, and Leah saw this idea coming from a mile off. They agreed that she would attend every other weekend; and she did up until the age of sixteen. Her first experience at the camp was...weird, to say the least. For some reason she wasn’t expecting it to be mostly full of what she called ‘bible bashers’. Sure, she believed in God and she served him in any way that she could. She was happy to do that. But the attendees that she met there were another level of believers. Most of them spoke of devoting their entire lives to serving God, and vowing to never drink alcohol, never have sex before marriage and never do drugs - things that little thirteen year old Leah dreamed of doing in high school and college. She was shaken up, to say the least. “What about you, Leah?” Shelby Goodkind asked. She was about Leah’s age, but way more outspoken than she was - and definitely more into God. She was the first one to mention that she wished to devote her life to God by promoting his word and abiding by it fully - so to be honest, Leah was a little scared of her. “Oh yeah, for sure.” She stammered out; she’d sort of stopped listening as soon as she realised how extreme they were and honestly...she wanted to go home. “I agree with everything you just said.” She chuckled apprehensively, hoping what she said related back to whatever they had said. Shelby had not stopped smiling this entire time. She was smiling then as she waited for Leah to answer, and continued to smile afterwards. “It’s so nice that we’re all on the same page, all here for the same reason.” Shelby addressed the group, who all seemed completely smitten by her. She had the harshest southern accent that Leah had ever heard. It suited her, though. When the attendees were told that it was ‘lights out’ and time to retreat to their tents, Leah remember that she was sharing it with Shelby. It worried her momentarily, but as soon as she saw Shelby’s beaming smile (once again), she realised that she was probably harmless. In fact, they stayed up most of the night finding common ground and talking about family, school, hobbies. Leah was surprised by how much they actually clicked. It was that night that brought them closer together - and it stayed that way. - The first time that Leah introduced Shelby and Toni was at her sixteenth birthday party. Leah was trusted enough by her parents to have the house to herself, so she'd decided to invite a couple of friends around. She hadn't introduced them any sooner than that because she knew they were from complete opposite sides of her life, and it wasn't hard to suss out. It started off as a small gathering; a few bottles of alcohol placed in the kitchen, some of those traditional red cups wrapped up in plastic and waiting to be opened. But then friends of hers invited plus ones, and then their plus ones told other people and soon enough it was a pretty big gathering. Shelby and Toni had merely introduced themselves before Toni wandered off to see their friend from All Cubs, Martha. Leah had invited a few friends from church camp, but the wound up coming as soon as things got a little more heated and practically dived out the door as soon as they saw people shouting: “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” whilst downing a bottle of vodka. It freaked Leah out a little too, but as long as people were being respectful of her house, her belongings and her friends, she didn’t really mind what went down. Shelby was quite content with the whole thing too. Leah remembered her saying once: "As long as it's not me sinning, I don't mind." Leah liked that mindset. “It looks like Toni is getting a little ahead of herself,” Shelby commented, nodding towards the kitchen where Toni had just lost at beer pong and was downing her third cup of the bitter beverage. It was dribbling down her chin and onto her top - not a very good first impression. This was one of the first times Leah had seen Shelby not smiling. Her eyes were more squinted than usual as she brought her cup (filled with a soft drink) to her lips and judged Toni from afar. She hadn’t really predicted this. She had just hoped that, somehow, the two of them would find common ground and get on quite swell - like what had happened with herself and Shelby. Martha was good at handling Toni. Leah didn’t mind at all how telling it was that Toni and Martha had become closer friends than she and Toni. That was life, and their friendship had never negatively impacted hers and Toni's. Martha grabbed her a paper towel from the island cabinet and pointed at her chin. “Is she always like this?” Shelby asked, her eyes never straying from the kitchen. “Not really.” Leah shrugged. Toni did tend to drink a lot at parties, especially for someone who was only sixteen, but she never got herself into a horrendous state. Leah had seen Toni’s hotheadedness come out a little more often when she was intoxicated, though. The temper was great for when they were at a game, but it was a burden whenever they weren’t. Again, though, she and Martha were quite good at calming her down and it was never too often that they had to do it. It was a combination of Toni’s bad temper and Shelby’s sudden, unforeseen disapproval that resulted in their falling out. Someone who was a little more intoxicated than Toni accidentally spilled their drink all over her shirt. Leah knew that it was one that she had only bought earlier that week because it was purchased on a shopping spree they went on together. It had cost Toni $40, which was a lot, and it was white. The guy just started laughing, laughing too hard to even apologise. So Toni waited for him to do so - but when he didn’t, she gave him a pretty hard shove. He instinctively put his hands out to stop himself and knocked a few drinks off the island in doing so; that’s when Leah started to make her way over. “You think this is funny?” Toni bellowed at him, gesturing to her red stained shirt. In her defence, the shirt was practically ruined now. “Toni, come on.” Martha took a hold of her arm whilst Leah bent down to pick up the knocked over cups. “Here let me help,” Shelby set her drink aside and joined Leah. Toni struggled to turn away from the situation. “This is bullshit,” She muttered to herself as the guy got helped up by some friends. Shelby lifted her head to see what was happening. Toni was just about to walk away with Martha. “So childish,” Shelby huffed, turning her attention back to the spillage on the ground. Leah’s eyes widened almost instantly. Toni stopped in her tracks, her eyes just about spotting Shelby ducked below the island. “What did you just say to me?” Shelby didn’t seem fazed at all by the confrontation, in fact she rose to it. She dusted off any liquid she’d gotten on her hands and placed the now empty cups on top of the island. “I said you’re childish.” She looked her in the eyes easily and stood tall. “This is your friend's sixteenth birthday party and you’re kicking up a fuss because you got a little bit of drink on your shirt.” Toni arched an eyebrow, took a step closer and pulled on the shirt that was starting to stick to her skin. “You think this is a ‘little bit of drink’?” She mocked and exaggerated Shelby’s accent, which made Leah scrunch her nose and squeeze her eyes shut (though she had to hold in a laugh. It was a typical Toni thing to do). “I’m sure there’s another white t-shirt somewhere,” Shelby scoffed at the pettiness. Leah decided to finally stand up after collecting the remaining cups from the ground. “Come on guys, I don’t want you fighting at my party.” “You know, it’s getting late anyway.” Shelby adopted a softer tone when she addressed Leah. “I think I’m going to head off,” “Yeah, I think you’ve had one too many capri suns.” Toni remarked, shaking her head to emphasize her disliking for the blonde before she finally left the room with Martha. Shelby just scoffed, an unexplainable smile shadowing her lips for only a second before it disappeared. “I’ll see you in a few days,” She pulled Leah in for a hug before grabbing her things and heading for the door. So, it’s easy to say that Leah made sure not to have the two together again. Until she made plans for her eighteenth. Toni slammed her locker shut. “Not a chance in Hell,” “Oh come on, Toni.” Leah had to walk a little faster to catch up with her. “It’s been two years.” “And I carry grudges for a very long time.” “But it’s for my eighteenth birthday,” She emphasised the age she was turning in hopes it would somehow sway Toni’s stance. Toni just laughed. “Look, I just have a gut feeling that if us interacting at your sixteenth was bad, then your eighteenth will be worse.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “Yes it does,” Toni pushed open the door to the girls bathroom. “We’re older, and I can’t speak for Shelly but I now know way more curse words.” She swung her bag onto the row of sinks and pulled out a bottle of floral body spray. It was her new signature smell, she had decided. “And I’m way better at getting under people’s skin.” “It’s Shelby,” Leah sighed, resting her back on the wall whilst she waited. “I know,” Toni grinned smugly. That was exactly what she meant about getting under people’s skin; it’s the little things, really. “Well, I’d really love it if you both could be there.” Leah knew that Toni would be the hardest to convince. “You won’t even have to get me a gift if you just come along.” Toni side-eyed her, cleared her throat and retrieved her bag. “We’re going to be late for class.” - Leah and Toni had a basketball game later that night. Toni had a routine for game night. She’d come into the changing room with her headphones on, get changed into the kit with her headphones on and warm up...with her headphones on. Everyone on the team knew by now not to talk to her, or even attempt it. They all each had their own little things that got them ready for a game, and they all respected each other’s choice. Tonight’s game was an important one, too. A win would result in them getting through to the semi-final of a cup game. There was a knock on the dressing room door just as Leah was finishing tying her shoe laces. “Leah,” Shelby walked straight in without a second thought and pulled her into a hug. “Gosh, I am just so excited for you to play tonight!” She had invited Shelby to come and watch, since she’d gone to a few games in the past, but she definitely didn’t expect her to make her way into the changing rooms. “Thank you,” Leah laughed a little awkwardly since everyone was looking her way with barbaric stares. Even Toni had noticed now, and was burning holes into the back of Shelby’s head with her jaw clenched and her stare fixed. “I’m really glad you came.” “Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Shelby was beaming. “I’ll leave you to do whatever it is you need to do, I just wanted to wish you luck.” Leah was quickly pulled into another tight, comforting hug before Shelby gave a wave and disappeared out the door. Toni slammed her locker shut, which captured everyone’s attention, before heading out into the hall where the game was taking place. When everyone else started to make their way out, Leah included, the first person she spotted sitting on one of the crowded benches was Shelby. Smiling brightly, waving aggressively and cheering loudly. She loved it, though. It never really embarrassed her; it made her feel supported. The game didn’t start off in their favour. Up until half time, they were eight points down. It seemed as though the opposing team was wiping the floor with them, and Toni had missed two clear shots. Coach Baxter wasn’t too pleased about it when they all rounded together for a pep talk. “It’s not my fault,” Toni immediately deflected when one of their teammates pinned the blame on her. “Shelby Goodkind is up there screaming her big head off, it’s distracting.” “It’s motivating, if anything.” Coach Baxter shot her down. “She’s one of the only people here, besides me, who still has hope in this game.” Toni just bowed her head and huffed. “Come on guys, we can do this. We deserve this win.” Leah tried her best to get the spirits back up. It seemed to work too, because seconds into the second half Toni had managed to fight her way to outside of the three-point line. Leah tossed her the ball as soon as she spotted her, and Toni easily hurled it into the hoop making it 52-60. Everyone in the crowd jumped up to applaud the effort, Shelby included - though she wasn’t cheering, just clapping and her face was blank. Even Regan, Toni’s ex-girlfriend who was good friends with a team member of theirs, was up on her feet cheering and applauding. Toni frowned at the response, glancing over at Leah with a “what-the-fuck” expression. Leah just shrugged. To cut a long story short, the All Cubs finished with a 68-64 win. Shelby immediately ran down from the stands to throw her arms around Leah. “I am SO proud of you!” She squealed into her ear. The floor was completely crowded when most of the spectators came down to congratulate loved ones, or console them. It wasn’t crowded enough for Leah not to notice Regan approaching Toni, though. “Oh my…” Leah trailed off from over Shelby’s shoulder. The blonde quickly pulled away. “What?” Shelby spun around to see what was happening. “What are we looking at?” “Toni’s ex-girlfriend is walking over to her,” Leah stared off, completely hooked on what the hell was about to happen next. This relationship wasn’t one that ended civilly - in fact, Leah was more than sure they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since their breakup a year ago. “Girlfriend?” Seemed to be the only thing that Shelby picked up on. Now she was looking at Leah with doe-eyes. “I didn’t know that Toni was…” “As bent as a roundabout?” Leah couldn’t help but laugh at Shelby’s ignorant bliss. “Come on, Shelby. It’s obvious.” Shelby said nothing. “They seem to be getting along...fine,” Shelby watched from across the room as the former couple made small talk. “Yup, I’m just as surprised as you.” Leah watched for another few seconds before taking hold of Shelby’s arm. “Come on, I’m going to change.” - A few teammates were going back to one of their houses to celebrate the win, but Leah chose Shelby and a trip to the nearby diner over that. She’d assumed that Toni would be going to the party, but was instead told that she was still standing in the hall chatting to Regan. It was a bigger plot twist than them turning the game around. They got a window booth at the diner, and it was over a glass of milkshake that Leah decided to ask Shelby about what she wanted to do for her approaching birthday. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” Leah poked at the bubbles in her drink with a straw. “Would you be okay with Toni being there for my birthday?” Shelby almost laughed, having to bring her napkin to her mouth to wipe at the vanilla cream threatening to spill out. “Are you kidding? It’s your birthday, you don’t need my approval.” Leah shrugged. “I thought it would be polite to run it by you.” Shelby bit at her straw, narrowed her eyes. “Toni said no, didn’t she?” Leah found this moment very cringe-worthy. “She holds grudges.” “Of course she does,” Shelby couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that. “Well, I’ll be there no matter what.” Leah smiled before being distracted by the bell above the door dinging, welcoming someone. Toni peered her head around one side of the diner, then the other side, before she finally noticed Leah. She waved her hand to acknowledge her as she started to walk over. Leah felt compelled to inform Shelby, who was too focused on her milkshake to observe the interaction. “Toni is coming over,” “Hm?” Shelby looked over her shoulder just as Toni came to rest her hands on their table. Of course, Toni’s eyes barely grazed over Shelby and instead settled on Leah. “I didn’t know you were coming here,” She motioned with her hands for Leah to scoot over, which she did. “You were too busy chatting to Regan,” Leah wiggled her eyebrows teasingly, causing Toni to roll her eyes. “Besides it was Shelby’s idea.” Shelby snapped out of daydreaming into her milkshake. “Yeah, I love it here.” She smiled, not really knowing who to look at but being civil enough to make sure she glanced over at Toni a few times. Toni clearly didn’t have the same mindset. It was obvious in the way her nose crinkled and she squinted every time Shelby spoke, like her voice was unbearably grating. “What did Regan say to you?” Leah swiftly changed the subject, eager to know what she had missed. “She congratulated us on the game, then asked how I was doing and if I wanted to grab a coffee over the weekend.” Toni recapped very nonchalantly, which was enough for Leah to know that she wasn’t really interested in going back there. She kept fiddling with the straw holder as she spoke, her leg bouncing repeatedly as she pushed the holder in small circles around the table. Leah was quite a fidgety person if she was in an unnerving environment; but Toni got the jitters even worse than Leah did sometimes - which was strange considering she was also the most confident person Leah had ever met. Whenever Leah was jittery, it was for one of the following reasons: she was in an uncomfortable situation, her anxiety was setting in or she was around someone she had a crush on. She’d eventually come to notice that sometimes, Toni shadowed this pattern. Whether it was the day before a big game, the day before an exam or a job interview, the day she had a class with Regan, Toni would become a fidgeting mess. “Leah was telling me about how you don’t want to go to her birthday gathering because you know I’m going to be there,” Shelby suddenly reverted back to their earlier topic, once it had been quiet for too long. Toni’s head just snapped in Leah’s direction, just so she could give her an angry stare, before facing Shelby. “Yup,” She tapped the table with her knuckles a few times, her leg continuing to bounce. “Sounds about right.” Shelby poked her tongue against her cheek. “Well, I don’t think that’s very fair on Leah.” “What wouldn’t be fair, is me going and ending up in a fist fight with you.” “I wouldn’t stoop that low.” Shelby brought her straw back to her lips. Toni ran her tongue across her teeth, tapped her knuckles on the table a few more times. “Okay, you know what,” Leah slapped her hands together. “This sucks. You’re my only two best friends and I want you guys to be able to, at least, tolerate each other so I can have the luxury of being around the both of you - especially on my birthday.” Toni bowed her head, glanced up towards Shelby for just a second before looking back down. “You had the most minor altercation like two years ago, and it’s resulted in this level of pettiness?” Leah continued to scold the both of them, though it was aimed a little more at Toni than it was Shelby. “This is an intervention. You’re going to spend time together, with or without me, at least once every other day leading up to my birthday.” She counted on her fingers. “That’s two weeks. Just fourteen days; whether it’s just grabbing a coffee, taking a walk together, I don’t really care - but you’re doing it.” Toni huffed. Shelby seemed a little hesitant. She wouldn’t sit still; she ran her hands over her jeans a few times, looked from Leah to Toni and then back again. “Okay?” Leah waited for some type of verbal agreement. Both girls mumbled out an ‘okay’, and Leah was content with it. “Starting tomorrow. Exchange numbers,” She told them. This brought even more hesitance, but both of them loved her enough to do it. This was important to her. Leah gave a wide, bright smile. “Awesome!” She grabbed her bag from beside her, motioned for Toni to move over and climbed out of the booth. “You can either stay and have another milkshake together, or go home. Toni practically flew out of the booth, stumbling to stand beside Leah. “I’m fine starting tomorrow,” “Me too.” Shelby retrieved her bag and joined them. Leah rolled her eyes. They had a long way to go, but she was sure her plan would work. It was the next day. Shelby kept checking her phone, waiting for a notification. She’d prayed in the morning, then showered, ate breakfast, got dressed and now it was 12:30pm. She wasn’t sure about Toni, but she liked earlier starts. It enabled her to embrace the day, every second of it. So when noon had come and Shelby still hadn’t heard from Toni, she decided to send her a message. Shelby - 12:32: Hi, it’s Shelby. Are we doing something today or what? She bit the inside of her lip, reread the message twice, then sent it. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait too long before her phone pinged. Toni - 12:35: I’m training. Shelby - 12:35: Leah told us to spend time together. Shelby got up from her bed, paced her room and then checked her outfit in the mirror. It was a warm day, so she thought a yellow tank top and a pair of denim shorts would make do. Her phone pinged again. Toni - 12:37: I know. I was there.  Toni - 12:37: If you want to come over and watch me train from the other side of the fence, you can.  Shelby really found Toni intolerable. She had to remind herself to unclench her jaw. Shelby - 12:38: Don’t be absurd. I want us to do this for Leah, I’m just as unhappy as you seem to be about it. Toni - 12:42: Here’s a smart idea, we’ll go and see a movie. That way we don’t even have to talk to each other :) Shelby - 12:45: I’ll meet you at the movie theater in an hour.  The hour came quickly. She had to ask her Dad to drop her off, and he grilled her on who on Earth this ‘Toni’ character was.  “And you promise to me that this Toni isn’t a boy?” Her Dad was driving way too slow for her liking.  “I swear it,” Shelby smiled through her aggravation of his chosen speed. Her Dad side-eyed her, but quickly averted his gaze back to the road. Shelby had to hold back a sigh of relief when they finally turned onto the street that the movie theatre was on. Toni was already standing outside, her hands shoved into the pockets of her beige coat as she stood slouched. Her head was tipped back, like she was already regretting saying yes to this plan (she was). She stood a little straighter once she spotted Shelby getting out of her Dad’s car, but made sure to shift her weight onto her other leg so that it was clear she was still moody about the entire ordeal. “I’m surprised you showed up,” was the first thing that Shelby said to her. “Well, it’s for Leah, not for you.” Toni told her, turning on her heel and heading towards the entrance. They hadn’t even looked at the movie listings online before getting there, so they had no idea what they were going to see. Shelby was only halfway through the title before Toni went to buy the tickets, and the popcorn. She had to follow her down the hallway, because Toni didn’t even bother looking over her shoulder to make sure she was still there. The most she did was hand Shelby’s ticket over. “You owe me $5,” Neither of the girls said another word to each other. They found their seats, sat down and stared at the screen. Shelby had no idea what film they’d gone into see, and it was too difficult to see the small writing on her ticket once the lights went out. She enjoyed most of the movie. In fact, she enjoyed up until the last...five minutes. She didn’t see it coming, but maybe that was because she raised not to. So when the two girl best friends suddenly leaned in for a kiss (a very intimate, passionate kiss) Shelby had no idea how to feel. Her jaw clenched, her palms turned sweaty, she felt like she had to get up and leave. This was so wrong. And Toni knew that. How dare she do this? This was 100% with intent.  As soon as the lights turned on, Shelby tried to be the first one out of that screening room.  Soon enough, she was out into the fresh air trying to regulate her breathing. “Shelby,” Toni called after her, finally catching up and putting her hand on her shoulder to balance herself after her jog.  “How dare you do that to me,” Shelby stepped out of her reach immediately.  “Excuse me?” Toni seemed offended, but not really. “Elaborate on that; I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong.” She crossed her arms defensively, but she still didn’t seem as insulted as she was trying to put across. It seemed...rehearsed.  “Yes you do,” Shelby took a step forward. “You know my beliefs,”   She could have sworn that she saw a flash of a smile on Toni’s lips.   ”I know that you’re a Christian,” Toni’s voice was laced with innocence. “Oh, is this you trying to tell me that you’re a homophobe too?”   Shelby spotted someone look in her direction when Toni said that. They frowned, and shook their head.    “There’s no hate in my heart,” Shelby attempted to redeem. “But...I do believe that way of life is a sin.”   “This is bullshit,”    Toni stormed forward, heading towards the bus stop.    “Can’t I have my own beliefs?” Shelby called after her.   Toni turned around, stretched out her arms and shrugged. “Not those ones.”   So, Shelby had fucked it.    She tried to think of a way to fix this, but chasing Toni down seemed like too much and soon enough the girl was out of sight anyway.   There was nothing left to do but call her Dad to come and get her.   -   Leah - 15:21: Hey! How did it go with Shelby today?   Toni read the message, then tossed her phone onto the bed whilst she changed into something more comfortable.   Then her phone started ringing   Leah.   “Hey, I was just about to text you back.” She crawled onto bed, laying down.   “So, how was it?”   There was a part of Toni’s plan that she hadn’t really thought out. How would Leah take it? Her very last intention was to hurt her, but she wanted to get Shelby stuck in that trap sooo badly.   “Umm…” Toni trailed off reluctantly.   “Oh God. What did you do?”   Toni hummed whilst she thought. “Nothing too sinister.”   “Toni,” Leah’s tone harshened.    “Well, we went to the movies.”    “To see…?”   “A coming of age story about two best friends falling in love.”   Leah was silent for a few seconds. “Oh, that doesn’t seem bad.”   “They were two girls.”   She heard Leah sigh, loud. “Why would you do that? I told you months ago that her Dad is like, super homophobic.”   “Not only her Dad, apparently.” “So what you’re telling me is that you guys fought, again?”   Toni leant across her bed to pick up her basketball, which she threw in the air and caught a few times. “It’s her own fault for being a bigot.”   “She’s not a bigot, Toni. Her Dad doesn’t necessarily give them much freewill.”    “Hm, sounds like a Shelby problem.”    Toni could feel her rage for Shelby coming back even stronger than it had outside the movie theatre. It disguised itself as a rush of heat, creeping its way up to her neck and across her arms before finally making its home in her hands.   “Don’t be like that,” Leah sighed. “I’m more than sure that she’s harmless.”   For some reason, that was the final straw for Toni. “Well Leah, you’re not the gay one!”    She hurled the ball towards her door, slamming it shut in the process which sent a ricochet of rumbling across her walls.   The anger must have, at some point, crawled its way into the ball because once it was out of Toni’s hands, it diminished and was replaced with embarrassment and guilt.   “I’m sorry,” She facepalmed.   Leah didn’t speak, for long enough that Toni lost sight of how long it had been quiet for. “I just want you to give her a chance, Toni. Her Dad is an asshole, like completely overtly religious and he’s tried so hard to embed his beliefs into her - but I really, really don’t think they’re beliefs that she truly stands by”   Toni didn’t say anything, only listened.   “Do you honestly think I’d be such good friends with her if I thought she was some horrific homophobe?”   No was the answer, of course. Toni knew that.    “No,” She mumbled out, sounding like a scolded child.   Leah laughed at the innocence of it. “I’ve seen how she shifts uncomfortably when he comes into a room and she has friends over, like she’s just waiting for him to speak controversially with his chest.”    Toni could envision Shelby’s hesitant glances at her friends, similar to the look that was plastered on her face the other night at the diner.    “She feels compelled to agree with him too,” Leah said. “I’ve been there when he’s voiced his opinion on homosexuality, and even though she looks so uncomfortable, she nods along and occasionally gives a ‘amen!’”    Leah gave a pretty good go at a Southern accent on that last word, which helped to loosen Toni up a little.   “So, just try and cut her some slack...for me.”    Toni picked some fluff off her jeans. “I will.”   That night, when Toni got into bed, she tried to convince herself the right thing to do the following morning was make amends with Shelby.   She argued with herself about it a little, that fire inside of her telling her that she had nothing to feel guilty for, that Shelby was nothing but a bigoted homophobe who thought of herself as superior.   But the kinder, more open minded side to her kept reciting everything that Leah told her. She hoped that in the morning, she’d continue to listen to that side. Toni tossed and turned when her alarm went off the next morning. Eventually, she picked up her phone and opened up her texts. Her thumbs twiddled, typed a few letters, then deleted them again. Toni wasn’t used to apologising. She very rarely ever admitted to when she had done something wrong.  Toni - 09:12: I’m sorry about yesterday. She clicked onto another app seconds after sending the text. Regan had posted a photo with some of the girls from All Cubs. It looked as though it was taken minutes after their win the other day; they were all stood on the court. Toni double tapped to like the picture. Shelby - 09:15: We don’t have to like each other, Toni. We just have to get used to being around each other enough that it becomes tolerable. Toni - 09:16: Let’s go for a drive. I know a place. She didn’t bother waiting for Shelby to say yes. She got up from her bed, had a shower and then got changed. By the time she checked her phone again, Shelby had texted an: ‘okay’. Which was all Toni needed to head out the door and into her car. Shelby lived in a very well off area. It was quite telling when Toni had to drive far out from her own neighbourhood, and soon enough came into view of long driveways with fancy cars and houses that she literally had to tilt her head back to see fully. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” She whispered to herself, coming to a halt outside of the house number that Shelby had texted her. She’d never felt so out of place. Normally, she was quite proud of her little clunker of a car. But now, it made her feel sort of inferior.  After what felt like forever (it wasn’t actually that long at all) Shelby finally pulled open her front door; not alone of course. Her Dad stood in the doorway, watching her every move up until she pulled the passenger door shut. She sort of kept her head bowed, hesitated to look back up at the door, but once she did and realised he was gone she seemed to instantly soften. Her shoulders relaxed, she flipped her hair back over her shoulder and sunk comfortably into the seat. “This is a handy little car,” She commented, leaning forward and checking out the interior a little more. “It’s basically a can,” Toni dismissed as she pulled away from the house. “It was my foster mom’s old car.” Shelby just nodded along, and the conversation quickly died. Toni hated uncomfortable silence. Once they were at a stoplight, she plugged her aux cord into her phone and shuffled her playlist. Girl in Red was the first artist who came on (of course it was). Toni had to stop herself from bursting out laughing. The song was ‘I wanna be your girlfriend’. She tried to look past the way that Shelby shifted after the line: “I don’t want to be your friend, I want to kiss your lips.” Toni had to remember that Shelby had been raised to shift uncomfortably at content like this. She decided there and then that during their time together, she was going to try her best to change the way Shelby reacted to this stuff. ‘The look in your eyes, my hands between your thighs’ was when Toni decided to change the song over. Poor Shelby had only seen two girls kiss for the first time yesterday, the last thing she needed to hear was that. She’d probably combust. “Was that an artist you listen to often?” Shelby ran her hand across her jeans a few times. Toni pegged it as a nervous habit. “Yeah, she’s called Girl in Red.”  Shelby just nodded. God, this was awkward. “I’ve never heard of her.” “Well, that’s probably because she’s gay and she sings about gay stuff,” Toni couldn’t stop herself. “I can’t imagine that’s the kind of music they play at church.” She didn’t mean it maliciously, this was her attempt at being funny.  To make sure that message wasn’t lost in translation, she glanced over at Shelby and smiled. Shelby gave an unreadable one back. Eventually, they pulled up outside of Everwood Park. Toni had been going there since she was twelve. It was about a twenty minute walk from the trailer park where she lived. When she was first fostered by her current parents, she wasn’t very happy about it. But to be fair, she was like that with any family that fostered her before them. Just for those first few months, she liked to cause mayhem.  So whenever she’d get into trouble and inevitably be scolded for her, she’d run away for about two hours. This was where she would come. Toni parked up the car and the two of them stepped out of it, heading towards the pathway.  It was a beautiful park, covered in Evergreen trees and acres of grass. Toni really loved it here. It made her feel quite tranquil, which was why it had always been her perfect escape. She hoped that bringing Shelby here would help keep things calm. Toni couldn’t ever remember a time when she was walking through the park and her rage had returned. It was like the breeze that would pass through the trees would also pass through her, and blow away any remaining aggression. The two girls didn’t say anything to each other for a while. They walked slowly, embracing the stillness of it. Maybe this was something they both needed. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Shelby was facing away, towards the scenery. Toni almost agreed until… “The things that God can create.” Toni honestly wanted to turn back towards the car - but she closed her eyes, took a deep breath in and then blew it away. “It’s a beautiful view.”  “Do you come here a lot?” Shelby asked, turning to face Toni now. “Yeah, I always have done.” Toni kicked a few stones from below her feet. “Regan and I would drive down here most nights, but we’d just sit in the car and listen to music.” She looked out towards the view. “Walking through it is normally just...my thing,” Shelby didn’t really know what to say. Should she thank her for letting her come along? That would be...weird.  “My ex, Andrew, and I used to go for walks along the beach at sunset.” She smiled to herself, looking towards the ground. “It was one of the only romantic gestures he ever really did.” Toni tried to care enough to maybe ask a probing question, she really did try. But for some reason, she was just picturing them skipping down the beach singing hymns and praising the Lord for his ‘wonderful creations’ and it really threw her off. They walked halfway around the park in silence - which Toni would have found unbearably awkward if it hadn't been quite comfortable. Neither of them were really paying much attention to the other, they were just taking in the scenery and smiling at the few dogs they saw on their way around. “Have you had your 18th yet?” Shelby asked as they started slowly walking back towards the parking lot, her mind drifting to what Leah’s birthday might be like at this rate.  Toni really felt like this was scraping the barrel of ‘conversation starters’, but she amused her anyway. “Yeah, I turned 18 in February.” “Ah,” Shelby smiled. “It was October just gone for me.” Toni pursed her lips, biting back a remark that ended up falling out of her mouth anyway. “I bet you went wild.” Although she wasn’t actually looking at Shelby when she said it, she felt as though she could literally hear Shelby’s features drop. “Well, what did you do?” Toni pulled her keys out her pocket. “I had a house party.” “Sounds mature,”  Shelby’s tone dropped. Toni turned to face her, looked her up and down and contemplated whether or not to bite.  She didn’t. - Pulling up outside of Shelby’s house, Toni didn’t really know how she should say goodbye. “Um,” She whispered to herself as Shelby unbuckled her seatbelt. “Thanks for coming to see me today, after yesterday and stuff.” Shelby struggled to hide back a smile, so she let it show. She was appreciative of Toni trying to correct her error. “Thank you for apologising.”  Toni spoke up again just as Shelby reached to open her door. “But, you should know that I’m not apologising for like...being who I am.” Shelby wasn’t facing Toni. Her shoulders slouched, and she slowly rested back into the chair. Toni carried on. “I’m just apologising for like...going about it in the wrong way.”  “Going about what?” “Trying to show you that the LGBT community isn’t this gigantic, taboo, satanic thing.”  Shelby’s eyes fell shut. Toni didn’t really know what to make of that reaction. It was too late to say anything further, anyway. “I think your Dad is standing at the door.” Shelby quickly sat forward, peering out the window as subtly as possible. He stood with his arms crossed, his head high and his shoulders back. Toni thought that he looked a little too Alpha male to be a pastor. “I have to go,” Shelby hurried out, already climbing out of the car before Toni could say anything further.  Then the door was slammed shut and Shelby was joining her Dad at the top of the stairs. He tilted his head down a little, getting a better look in the car and inevitably locking eyes with Toni. She didn’t look away, not at first. But after about three slow seconds, she broke the staring contest and started up the engine. Lead had a really tough week at school. Three assignments due, intense basketball practices given that their next game was a semi final and... she got her period. Leah - 10:04: How has it been going with Shelby? Toni - 10:05: I haven’t seen her, or spoken to her, since we went to the park two days ago. Leah rolled her eyes and sighed. Leah - 10:10: Sounds promising. She got ready for the day after sending the text, already knowing how she wanted to spend it. Toni - 10:23: Idk what to tell you. We’ve become somewhat civil, but we just don’t seem to click. Is civility not enough for you? Leah - 10:25: Civility will do. Wanna meet me and her at the diner? 12pm? She could tell by the lack of urgency in the response that Toni didn’t really want to come. So whilst she waited, she finished off the last of her due assignments. Toni - 11:31: Ok - 1pm came and Toni still hadn’t shown up at the diner.  Leah and Shelby took it as her being a 'no show', so ordered their food by 12:30. “Do you remember that one girl who snuck a flask of vodka into the camps?” Leah recalled, as they reminisced on their church camp days. “Oh my Lord,” Shelby instantly erupted into laughter. “So many girls woke up hungover the next day; you included.” Leah bowed her head in playful shame. “Nora had to hold my hair back for most of the night.”  “Well, that’s why I do my best to steer clear of liquor.” The bell above the door dinged, catching their attention. It was Toni. Shelby took one look, then started to poke at her fries with her fork. She shifted a little bit, cleared her throat and avoided eye contact. Leah dramatised looking at her watch. “Hm, my watch must be an hour late. Oh wait, that’s you.” Toni just rolled her eyes, shimmied into the booth besides Leah. “I got distracted.” “By something important, I hope.” Toni rested her elbows on the table and ran her hands across her face. “Regan called me.” Shelby looked up from her food. Leah stared at Toni, eyebrows raised. Removing her hands from her face, she locked eyes with Shelby, then with Leah. “She was telling me that she misses me, and really wants us to catch up.” “I take it that means you didn’t get coffee with her over the weekend.” Toni nodded. “I just feel like I can’t go back there. I feel like...I’m a completely different person to who I was when she and I started dating.” “Maybe that’s because you are a different person now.” Leah shrugged. “It’s been like, what...a year? A lot can change in a year.” “I guess it can.” Toni shifted, began to fidget with a straw wrapper that was on the table. “It was a year ago today that three of us stayed in my trailer when the foster fam went away for the night.” She glanced at Leah, who widened her eyes at a memory and started to chuckle. “Maybe that’s why she called me.” Shelby watched with a frown on her face, feeling a little left out but eager to know what the hell they were talking about. “Ah of course,” Leah started sarcastically. “She must have gotten heated at the memory of me banging the hell out of your bedroom door and telling the both of you to keep your noise down.”  The pair of them were laughing now, whilst Shelby felt a strange knot being twisted in her stomach. “You know that was at 3AM?” Leah said through the laughter. Shelby dropped her fork down onto her place (with full intention). It was loud enough for the both of them to stop laughing and look at her. “Sorry,” Shelby forced a chuckle. “It slipped from my hand.”  Toni looked at her through narrowed eyes. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, chewed on it for a moment.  “I think I’m going to grab something to eat at home,” Toni told Leah suddenly. “I’m going to a party soon, so I need to go back and shower anyway.” “Oh, okay.” Leah watched as Toni stood up. “Well, make sure you have something to eat before you start drinking.” Toni just nodded, barely gave Shelby a second glance before walking at the door. Leah looked on as Toni left, then turned her attention back to Shelby. “Why did I just sense tension?” “What do you mean?” Shelby failed at playing dumb as she continued to poke her fork around her food. “Like...you guys barely breathed in each other’s direction, let alone looked at each other.” Leah tried to analyse the expression on Shelby’s face. “I thought you guys were getting along better.” “We are,” Shelby shrugged. “It doesn’t mean we like each other, though.” Leah rolled her eyes and nestled her back into the booth. “I want you two to like each other.” “It’s clear to see that we’re total opposites.” Shelby pouted when she noticed how saddened Leah looked. She reached her hand across the table to hold Leah’s. “Just give it time, okay? I promise you, your birthday will be perfect.” - Shelby woke up that night at 2AM to a phone call. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming - but then saw the space at the side of her bed glowing from the light of her phone. She lazily reached over to grab it, squinting to read the name on the screen: Toni . “Hello?” She rubbed at her eyes. “Hello?”  It was a voice she recognised, but it wasn’t Toni’s. It was higher in pitch, and a little too innocent sounding. Then a name popped into her head. “Nora?” Shelby sat up now; this was too confusing. “Oh, hey Shelby.” Nora said. There was background noise; other voices that Shelby couldn’t quite decipher. “Um...Toni is a little too drunk.” Shelby frowned. I mean...it wasn’t necessarily a shock. “Okay…?”  “We tried calling Leah, but she didn’t answer and you were the next person on her call log.”  Shelby was just about to answer when another voice spoke. “Just give me the phone, Nora.” They said, their voice getting closer to the mic with each word. “Hello? This is Fatin. Your friend is way over the limit and you have to come and pick her up.” “I don’t drive.” Was the only thing that came out of Shelby’s mouth. “That’s a little suspicious but ok, can you get an Uber?” “I mean…” “Great! We’re texting you the address. See you in ten.” Then the call got cut.  So there were two things on Shelby’s mind: A. What the fuck? B. How the hell was she going to sneak out the house at 3AM? Shelby climbed out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a denim jacket (which, thankfully, her keys were in). She opened up her bedroom door and tip-toed out into the hallway. She could hear her parents sporadic snoring from a mile off; lucky, they weren’t lightsleepers.  Shelby had never snuck out of the house before. She’d thought about it, which is why she wasn’t totally freaking out right now, but she had never done it. She had never had a reason to. To be totally honest, she wasn’t even a hundred percent sure why she was doing it now. The thought stopped her just as she was making her way down the stairs. Why was she doing this? She could get into some real trouble with her parents if they found out about it, and being grounded at eighteen was just embarrassing. But Toni needed help. She didn’t like Toni, though. And Toni didn’t like her. There was no way in hell that if the roles were reversed, Toni would be doing this for her. But just because Toni was a bit of a shitty person in that respect, it didn’t mean Shelby was. Shelby was a good person. A child of God.  So, she continued to creep her way down the stairs.  She’d ordered an Uber, and stood by the front door whilst she waited for it to arrive. It felt like it took forever. She kept glancing cautiously up at the stairs any time she heard a little creak of the wooden floor. Until finally, she heard the quiet rumbling of a car engine.  The address that she had to go to was ten minutes away. Her eyes were drifting to the meter, not that she cared about how much the journey was going to cost but because it was right in front of her line of view. They eventually pulled into a quiet street. Almost all the lights in the houses were off, but then she spotted one that was lit up like a damn Christmas tree. There was music playing too, not overly loud but loud enough that Shelby was sure if she lived in a few doors down, she wouldn’t be getting much sleep. A group of girls were on the lawn: three of them sat down, another two stood up. It was only upon closer inspection that Shelby was able to recognise the brunette sprawled out on the ground, her head resting in the lap of another girl whilst a second brunette sat beside them. “Here,” She said to the driver, climbing out of the car as soon as he halted it. “Finally,” One of the standing girls said, flicking her cigarette ash to the ground. Shelby recognised her voice from the phone call: Fatin. Fatin came to approach Shelby - Nora followed behind. “Shelby,” Nora offered her arms out to the blonde who took her into her embrace. Shelby hadn’t seen her since camp almost eighteen months ago. This was the last place she was expecting to reunite with her. “She got...really drunk,” Nora pulled Shelby along, coming to a stop at Toni’s feet. The girl who was kind enough to let Toni use her lap as a pillow looked up at Shelby. An air of realisation passed over the two girls upon eye contact. “Shelby Goodkind?” Dot Campbell said. “Oh, Dot!” Shelby finally realised. They went to the same school. This was getting too eerie. How had three of these people, from very different parts of her life, managed to cross paths in one night? “Your friend is like...out of it,” Dot nodded towards Toni, who literally was the definition of “out of it”.  Her eyes were closed, her jaw was slack, her entire limbs were slack. “Are you guys able to help me get her into the cab?”  Dot nodded, and whoever was sitting beside her did too.  “I’ll get her legs,” The other girl said, standing up. “Be careful, Rachel.” Nora inputted timidly from beside Shelby.  It was then that Shelby remembered Nora mentioning a ‘Rachel’ at camp. Her sister, of course. “I’m not an imbecile, Nora.” Rachel bit back, taking hold of Toni’s ankles and assisting Dot in lifting her from the ground. Nora pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bowed her head. She reminded Shelby of a scolded puppy. “Okay well, I’m going back inside.” Fatin said as she tossed her cigarette bud to the ground, heading back towards the house. Shelby had never seen a house look so alive. Every single light was on, the door was wide open, and she could practically feel the vibrations coming from the music which she assumed was in the back room. She could feel the thumping from the song, but couldn’t actually hear it very clearly at all. It just sounded like a continuous beat; like ‘rave’ music. Dot and Rachel were able to get Toni in the backseat, but not without some type of groan of disapproval coming from her mouth. “You’re gonna have to slide in next to her,” Rachel turned to address Shelby. “She won’t sit up. She needs your lap as a headrest.” A headrest? For a drunken Toni Shalifoe? No fucking way.  “Um,” Shelby’s nose must have visibly scrunched. Dot chuckled, pulling up her jeans which had started to slip during the struggle to get her in the cab. “You came to rescue a girl who you clearly don’t even like?” Shelby just shrugged. “Look as a Christian, I do my best to be nice.” “I think it’s really kind of you,” Nora fidgeted with her hands, smiling at Shelby. “She’ll really appreciate it in the morning.” That reminded Shelby of something. “Do any of you know her address?” All three of them mumbled out of some type of ‘no’. This night just kept getting better. “Well then,” Shelby thanked the girls before getting back into the car, where Toni rested her head on her lap. The whole way home, Shelby worried about how the fuck she was meant to sneak back into her house with someone this wasted.  It took two people to get her in the cab. Which meant she’d have to ask the cab driver for help getting her out.  Even then, how was she supposed to get her up the stairs? She wasn’t asking the driver to help her to that extent.  She had to try and wake her up. “Toni,” She whispered, tapping the girls face a few times. Toni just squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, licked her lips, then went back to looking dead. “Toni.” Shelby called a little louder and tapped a little harder. Toni grumbled something, then slowly opened her eyes a little. The whites of her eyes were practically pink. Her eyelids were heavy to the point of making her look like she’d just woken up from a year's worth of sleep. “Hey, hey.” Shelby called softly, her hand still resting against her cheek. “Stay awake for me, okay?” Toni grumbled something, again.  “You’re okay.” Shelby didn’t want Toni panicking. She was in the back of some random cab with a girl she didn’t even really talk to (or like). If she was sober enough to realise that, she’d probably freak the fuck out. “You’re with me. You’re going to have to stay at my house tonight because I have no idea where you live, and it’s 4AM.”  “Fuck that,” was what Shelby could make out from Toni’s slurred speech.  “Yeah, I’m not a massive fan of it either.” She whispered, mostly to herself. After what felt like an hour (it was ten minutes), the driver pulled up outside of her house. He gave her the help she needed, right up until they got to the front door. Then, Shelby was on her own. Toni was being a deadweight. She was completely leaning into Shelby and barely even standing. “Fuck,” Shelby cursed as she got the door open and almost fell through it. “I really need you to be more conscious.”  Toni hummed in response.  She placed her keys down as quietly as she could and pushed the door shut. It was then that she rested Toni against the door and took a hold of her shoulders. “Toni,” She got as close to her face as possible. “Toni, look at me.” Shelby used one of her hands to lightly smack her face...again. It worked though, as Toni finally peeled her eyes open. She almost freaked out at how close Shelby was to her though, and tried to push her away.  “Wake. the. Fuck. up.” Shelby tapped her face again. “I’m awake.” Toni whispered, a gush of breath engulfing Shelby’s senses. She almost coughed. She’d never smelt this much alcohol on a person before. It was like Toni had swallowed an entire fucking bar. “If you wake my parents up, you’re going to be sleeping on the damn street and I will be grounded for the rest of the year.” Toni scoffed lazily, almost dropping to the floor due to the sudden movement of her chest. Shelby had to grab her tighter. “Your parents still ground you?” Shelby had to take a deep breath. “Just...help me get you up the stairs.” “I’m gonna have to be more than wasted for you to get me into bed.”  Shelby almost went slack at that. That feeling came back again...that knotting in her stomach, the lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow, the tension in her jaw. She could feel disgusted disguised as heat creeping up her neck, spreading across her shoulders. “I mean it, Toni.” Her tone lowered, adopting one more assertive. “Work with me.” Toni just sighed. “Get the fucking cross out of your ass, Shelby.”  With that, she leaned a little further forward from the door and took a (very heavy and unstable) step forward. Shelby took Toni’s arms, wrapped them around her neck and snaked her own arm across Toni’s waist. This was fucking weird. Shelby had merely ever even grazed hands with Toni, and now their bodies were pressed together? Weird. Fucking. Night. Toni became a little more responsive when they were on the stairs, actually making the effort to put one foot in front of another (though she almost completely missed a few steps). “Your stairs are moving.” She slurred as they got to the final few steps. “Nope, that’s you.” It felt like the longest walk ever getting Toni down the hallway. Shelby’s whole body tensed when it came to getting Toni past her parents room. She exhaled out all the agitation once she closed her bedroom door. Now, the next step was getting Toni onto the bed - though she seemed to have no issue at all finding it herself. As soon as Shelby had closed her door and turned back around, Toni was sprawled out on the mattress.  Shelby brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. “At least take your damn shoes off,”  One of her biggest pet peeves was shoes on her bed. Why on earth would anybody put their filthy shoes on someone’s bed? Shelby was just unfastening Toni’s laces when the brunette took a deep breath. “Regan, I can do that myself.” Her movements came to a sudden halt. She glanced up at Toni, who lay completely oblivious with her eyes closed, before letting go of the shoe and causing Toni’s leg to drop off the mattress a little.  She decided not to correct her. It didn’t matter anyway, she thought Toni was too out of it to even notice her error. Toni was probably imagining that she was in Regan’s house - not Shelby’s. She probably wished that Regan was the one who had come to her rescue, that she was the one taking off her shoes and putting her to bed. These were the thoughts going through Shelby’s mind as she stood by her drawers and put on a pyjama shirt.  She slammed the drawer shut, causing it to rattle and her cactus to almost fall off.  Toni just about raised her head at the sudden sound, staring at Shelby through squinted eyes for some type of explanation. Shelby didn’t have one. The reasoning for the heavy-handedness was lost on her. “Sorry,” She said through a hesitant smile. Toni came too enough to kick off her shoes, leaving them at the foot of the bed. She even managed to shimmy out of her skinny jeans just as Shelby started to approach the bed.  She retrieved the fleecy blanket that had been neatly folded at the bottom, then pulled out the drawer beneath her bed to get a more padded bed throw.  “What’re you doing?” Toni asked, lazily slipping beneath the covers. Her hair was a mess and her t-shirt creased as she flopped her head down against the pillow. “I’m sleeping on the floor,” Shelby said matter-of-factly.  “You don’t have to do that. It’s your bed.” Shelby didn’t say anything, just looked from the empty space beside Toni to the floor, where she had been thinking about setting up camp. “Don’t worry,” Toni spoke up again, her voice rough but tone gentle due to her somnolent state. “I’m not going to try and feel you up; prissy church girls aren’t my type.” Shelby decided against retaliating. After all, the bed was comfier than the floor and she’d much rather be sleeping on the cosy mattress. She was so careful about getting into bed. She did it slowly, like even her leg accidentally brushing against Toni’s was going to be enough to make her get on the floor instead. It was something Toni easily picked up on. “Jesus Christ, Shelby.” Toni couldn’t help but feel attacked by her actions. “It’s not fucking contagious.” She sat up now, the offence she had taken seemingly absorbing any alcohol that was left in her system and turning it into anger. Shelby just turned onto her back and sighed. “If you’re that fucking skeeved out about sharing a bed with me, I’ll get on the floor.” Toni threw back the covers to get out, but a hand on her wrist stopped her. “No,” Shelby barely even moved. She was still on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I’m not skeeved out,” “Yeah well, actions speak louder.” Toni stayed sitting up, not yet ready to lie back down beside someone as irritating and rude as Shelby Goodkind. Just like she could hear her thoughts, Shelby took her hand away. “I am trying, you know.” “To what? Not see me as some disgusting sinner?” Shelby cringed at the last word that came from Toni. She’d heard it plenty of times when she’d eavesdropped in on her father’s conversation therapy sessions.  “Can we not have this conversation?” Shelby felt herself becoming tense.  “No,” Toni flipped her position so that she was now facing Shelby, her legs crossed in front of her. “If we’re ever going to be at least civil, this is a conversation we need to have.” When Shelby didn’t say anything else, Toni spoke again. “You do see me being gay as a sin, don’t you?” “I’ve been raised to think this way, Toni.” Shelby attempted to justify, pulling herself upwards as to not feel inferior with Toni towering above her. “You can’t keep getting mad at me when this is all I know,” “And all I know is feeling this way and getting singled out for it. Do you know how many times I’ve had people tell me that I’m going to burn in Hell?” Toni leaned forward, placing her hand on the mattress to keep her balanced. “That I’m a disgusting abomination? That I’m unnatural?”  Shelby began to squirm a little. She’d heard many people around her use phrases similar to the ones Toni was using now. As a child hearing these things, she always felt like it was really harsh.  But then she was taught that homosexuality was a choice delivered by the Devil, and those that accepted it had fallen victim to his temptation.  In her teenhood, Shelby had never (consciously) met anyone who was lgbt+. There were a few people in her school that she’d heard were part of that community, but she had never engaged with them; not out of spite or bitterness, but simply because she’d never had to. Now she’d met Toni. Literally the only lgbt+ person that she had knowingly interacted with. It was a lot for her to take in and honestly, she had no idea how to act.  “I’m sorry that you’ve been through that,” Shelby finally said. “Nobody deserves to be told those things.”  “Yet you spend your Sundays with the people who say those things to me.”  “What do you want me to say, Toni?” Shelby felt herself getting quite defensive now. Surely Toni couldn’t blame her for the things that other Christians (and those alike) had said to her. “I want you to think for yourself.” Toni raised her tone a little, causing Shelby to instinctively lean forward and put her finger on the brunette's lip. Everything felt so still for a minute. Toni’s eyes dropped to Shelby’s finger. Then for just a second, Shelby could have sworn she saw Toni glance towards her lips. That was when she took her finger away. “I didn’t want you to wake my parents up.” She explained.  Toni merely looked towards the door. “You’re 18, right?”  Shelby nodded. “So I’m guessing you don’t believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy anymore.” Toni didn’t bother waiting for an answer, it was rhetorical anyway really - Shelby could already see where this was going. “Why do you still believe what you’ve been taught about gay people?” Shelby didn’t have an answer, other than the fact that she valued everything her parents said. She loved them and wanted to never doubt their views on life. She also wanted them to be proud of her - going against their views would surely prevent that. “Because it’s what I’m always surrounded with,” She began to explain. “Believe it or not, you’re the first gay person that I’ve fallen into a disagreement with.”  “Probably because I’m the only one who has challenged you. Not to mention, I'm probably the only gay person you've knowingly talked to.” Toni was right.  Shelby huffed, and massaged her temple with her fingers. “Could we just...go to bed?” “Fine.” Toni shrugged, finally coming to lie back down. “It’s good to know that we’re still at square one.”  With that, Toni turned to her side so that her back was facing Shelby - who had this strange pool of guilt in her stomach. Minutes passed by with Shelby listening to nothing but the sound of Toni’s steady breathing beside her. With every breath she took, the warmth of the covers were lifted from Shelby and replaced with a cold draft. It was all that she could feel.  Ever since Leah confirmed to her that Toni was gay, it seemed to be a dominating thought in her mind.  She thought about Regan, the things that Toni saw in her: she was beautiful, had a bright smile and a soft voice.  She thought of their relationship together and what that might have entailed. Every now and then, when it was late at night, she found herself thinking about Toni’s hands making their way across Regan’s skin.  How Toni’s voice might have sounded when she was whispering things into her girlfriend’s ear, how rough or gentle her touches might have been. Sometimes the thoughts got her to sleep, and other times they were what kept her awake. They were intrusive little things. “Your breathing is fucking deafening,”  Shelby jumped at the sudden sound, then sighed upon realising that it was just Toni. “Sorry, but that’s just how I breathe.” “It sounds like you’re about to have a panic attack.” Toni shifted around until she was lying comfortably on her back. “Or you’re like...having a wet dream,” She laughed at that, like the idea of it was so unbelievable. “You say that like I don’t...have those kinds of dreams,” Shelby felt a little insulted by Toni’s laughter. Just because she was a Christian, didn’t mean she wasn’t also a normal teenage girl. “I can’t even imagine how fucking vanilla they must be,” Toni continued to tease. She couldn’t help it. She liked tormenting Shelby more than she’d ever admit; it was like her own personal retaliation against the embedded homophobia. “If you’ve stricken up another conversation with me just to poke fun, I’d rather we just went to sleep.”  Toni turned to face Shelby, her hand pressed against her face to keep her upright.  “Are they about Andrew?” Toni ignored what Shelby had said. “Or...like, Channing Tatum or something?” “I’m not having this conversation with you.” Shelby squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the way Toni’s hot breath kept hitting her neck. There was still a hint of alcohol in it, and for some reason that made it even harder for Shelby to ignore. “Help me out here, I’m trying to think of cliche men that straight girls tend to take a liking to.” Toni hummed in thought. “Oh, Ryan Gosling. I bet that’s it. I’m sure I read somewhere that his parents are mormons.” Shelby didn’t say anything, just kept her eyes shut and tried to ignore the way she could feel the warmth of Toni’s presence. She was just inches away. One leg jolt, and they’d be skin to skin.  “I won’t tell anyone, you know.” Toni lowered her tone to a whisper. Shelby shuddered. “Whatever happens tonight can just...stay in the room.” She was just trying to get a rise out of her, but the next thing she felt was Shelby’s hand across the back of her neck and their lips crashing together. It was sudden, and rough. Toni fell onto her back and Shelby refused to let go. She had to press gently against the blonde’s shoulders to get her to loosen up.  Toni parted her lips just slightly, inviting Shelby in. But when no further move was made, it was Toni who swiped her tongue against her lips. Shelby made an unmistakable sound at that, instantly greeting Toni’s tongue with her own. Her parents' door clicked open. There were padded footsteps, then the bathroom light switch clicked. It was just what Shelby needed to bring her out of her whatever damned daze she had just fallen into. She threw herself to the other side of the bed so abruptly, you’d think she had just been electrocuted. She laid on her back, breathless. Toni did the same. Shelby didn’t move another muscle until the bathroom light was turned off and the parent made their way back to the bedroom.  Then she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and brought her hand to her mouth, like she couldn’t believe where it had just been. “Shelby,” Toni addressed her cautiously. “Don’t,” Shelby kept her hand over her mouth. “Please, don’t.” She turned to her side, where she stayed for the rest of the night dozing in and out of sleep. When she was awake, she prayed. When she was asleep, she had night terrors filled with isolation, whispers, stares...and loneliness - that was the worst one. She had to make this right. That’s what she would start to do when the morning came. - There was a bird singing, loud enough to have Shelby believe it was perched right on her window ledge.  The sun shined right through her netted curtain and directly into her eyes.  She tucked her head under her blanket to shield her eyes, but was already awake enough for her mind to replay the events of the night before to her.  Shelby scurried out of the covers, sitting upright and looking to where Toni had been laying just hours earlier. She was gone.  Shelby found herself scanning the room; like Toni would just appear somewhere there but t here was no trace of Toni to be found. Her side of the bed had been made, her clothes and shoes missing from the foot of the bed. It was like she had never even been there.  Shelby checked the time.  Leah - 07:31: Hey! I’ve just woken up to like five missed calls from Toni’s phone and then a text telling me that she was spending the night with you instead..?? what's going on? She runs a clammy hand across her face before typing back. Shelby - 09:34: She got wasted. Her friends called me when you didn’t answer and I took care of her at my place :)  There was distant, lively chatter coming from her family in the kitchen. It beckoned her downstairs, reminding her that today was a fresh start. But then came the bitter reminder: she had a lot of praying and begging to do.  Leah and Toni had decided to go for a run later that afternoon. “How are you even up for a run after how wasted you allegedly were last night?” Leah spoke through the phone, sorting through her wardrobe in search of leggings.  “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a bad bitch,” Toni was doing the same thing (though a little more aggressively and hurriedly). “I don’t think I was...that bad.” Leah scoffed. “Shelby said you were wasted. I can only imagine how drunk you had to be to agree to spending the night at her house.”  Toni froze up for a moment. “To be honest, once I laid down I started to sober up a little. I can remember like, everything after getting to Shelby’s room.”  “I’m assuming there isn’t much to remember.”  “Nothing at all; bickering and then snoring.”  Toni wasn’t sure why she decided against telling Leah about what happened; especially since she usually told Leah everything. She then came to remember the blatant terror in Shelby’s voice. The way her voice wavered and her hand stayed fixed over her mouth, like it would somehow reverse what had happened if the last thing it had touched was her own fingers rather than Toni’s lips. “ Please, don’t.” “So, I’ll meet you at Red Fern park in like...an hour?” Leah’s voice pulled Toni from her memory.  She agreed blindly, still somewhat dazed. “Yeah, sure.”  Putting the phone aside, Toni reached into her drawer to grab a sports bra. Upon doing so she noticed her hand looked a little bare - like it wasn’t even her hand. She was sure that usually, there was a silver band around her middle finger.  “Oh, shit.” It was definitely there last night, because she remembered fiddling with it when she was laying in bed trying to get to sleep. And it was there when she was putting her jeans on because she recalled readjusting it.  She must have dropped it on the stairs, or near the door - it didn’t really matter because either way, she was fucked. It was in Shelby Goodkind’s house; which meant having to go back there. - At the Goodkind household, it was blueberry pancakes for brunch.  Only her mom, sister and brother were in the kitchen. But she was used to that. On a Saturday morning, Dave Goodkind usually tended to a conversion therapy session. It was what Shelby had heard when she was coming down the stairs. He was in the front room, which was basically his office. Two grey sofa chairs, a small cream leather sofa and a brown coffee table, which was always covered in an array of religious textbooks (never really any room for coffee, ironically) made up the space.  A few pretty framed paintings on the fern green walls and big bow windows brought a false comfort to the room. It made it feel warm and welcoming. “And God, in your wisdom, give us faith to be what You intended.”  Kyle was a recurring client of her Dad’s. A man with homosexual tendencies that he was terrified of.  “Father, we ask for Your guide and Your grace in the face of temptation, and we hope that You are here in this room with us today to show Kyle the way.” Shelby walked by slowly, always intrigued by the conversation that took place behind the glass door (which, for some reason, was always open just a crack).  “Good morning,” Shelby beamed once she stepped into the kitchen.  “Good morning, Darlin’.” Her mother approached her with a pan full of pancakes, placing two of them onto the plate in front of Shelby. “You look a little tired this morning, are you feeling okay?” Shelby gave a half smile. “Yeah, I just didn’t get much sleep.” “I told you, you’re on your phone too much.” Her mom set the pan back on the stove. “That blue lights that come off of it are no good for your brain - or your skin.” Shelby just nodded along, picking up her cutlery and cutting into her pancake. “Oh good,” Her dad came through the doorway, smacking his hands together enthusiastically. “Everyone is up.” He pressed a kiss to the side of his wife’s head almost reflexively, then began to hum a song that Shelby knew all too well (he sang ‘Saturday in the park’ by Chicago every Saturday morning). “How’s it going in there?” Shelby’s mother asked, her voice low like she didn’t want the little ones to hear.  Dave sighed. “We’re making progress.”  Her mother acknowledged with a nod, taking a seat at the table. “Shelby,” He turned to address her after chugging a glass of water. “Did you happen to take a midnight trip downstairs last night?” She almost brought her pancake back up. “Hm?”  Her dad narrowed his eyes. “I found a ring on the doormat by the front door this morning.” He brought his glass to his mouth again. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen you wearing a ring but, I can’t imagine who else it belonged to.”  Oh, fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Shelby remembered feeling a ring on Toni’s hand when she was helping her up the stairs.  “Oh!” She cleared her throat in hopes of helping her pancake go back down. “Yeah, it’s mine. I went to get a glass of water, it must have slipped off my hand.” Dave seemed to buy it. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the ring and handed it to her.  Just as Shelby went to grab it, he pulled back and clasped his hand. “You need to be more careful next time.”  Shelby just looked at him, and he looked right back at her. His eyes were squinted, like he was trying to see through her (or already did). He gave a pursed smile, then placed it into her hand.  - Toni and Leah were on their second lap around the lake at Red Fern.  “And then I noticed I’d tried to call Regan twice,” Toni told her, panting a little as she jogged along. “They were both cancelled calls, though. I think it was quite obvious to her that it was a drunk call. It was literally 1AM.”  “God, you’re embarrassing.” Leah couldn’t hold back an eye roll. “Did you and Shelby even talk when she got there?” “I mean...I was out of it up until we got upstairs.”  Luckily, Leah left it at that. The rest of their run was mostly spent in silence.  All that Toni could think about was having to go back to Shelby’s house. Maybe she could get Shelby to drop it at her trailer  - but that was inconvenient. She couldn’t even fucking drive.  Toni glanced at her watch. “Shall we start heading back? I have a few errands to run.” She had to get this ‘errand’ over with. ASAP. Leah just agreed. The pair of them started towards the exit.  It wasn’t long before they parted ways and Toni was stepping into the shower...and having typical ‘shower thoughts’. What if Shelby’s dad answered the door? Even if she texted Shelby to let her know, her dad seemed invasive enough to just stand guard between them. Should she say something about the kiss? Surely not. That would be a bad idea. Shelby might even punch her. So, what was she supposed to do? Just ask for the ring and then leave again? That would be awkward, and probably impolite. She’d never been in a position like this before. Then again, she’d never had an overtly Christian girl come onto her.  Once she was sitting on the edge of her bed wrapped up in a towel, she picked up her phone and opened her messages. Toni - 13:44: Hey. I think I dropped my ring when leaving your house this morning. Am I able to swing by and get it? ‘Swing by’? Was she a middle aged man? Jesus Christ. It was too late, anyway - the message had been sent. Now all she could do is hope that Shelby would say yes. So, whilst she waited (and hoped) she started rooting out an outfit. Shelby - 13:50: My dad found it, so I had to tell him it was mine. I might have to meet you somewhere so that he doesn’t see me handing it back to you.  Toni - 13:51: Do you want to get a coffee somewhere? Shelby - 13:53: Could we just meet on the corner of my street or something?  Toni was a little taken aback by that reply. Normally she was the one trying to get out of plans and Shelby was the one trying to force them, for Leah’s benefit. Toni - 13:53: I can be there within an hour. I’ll text you to let you know. There was nothing more to be said, so Toni threw on her trainers and grabbed her car keys. - Luckily, she still had Shelby’s address stored in her phone and pulled up on the corner of the street within about fifteen minutes. She texted Shelby, letting her know where she’d parked. Shelby read it within seconds, but it was a few more minutes until she spotted her making her way up the streets. Her steps were hurried, and every few seconds she was looking over her shoulder like she was waiting for someone to follow her out. Once she was steps away from the car, she practically jogged over. “Here,” Shelby said, almost shoving the ring into Toni’s palm. “I have to go.” Toni reached over to grab hold of Shelby’s hand, preventing her from straying any further from the car than she already had. “Wait a sec,”  “I need to go back,” Shelby’s eyes were wide as she attempted to gently tug her hand back from Toni, but Toni was a little stronger. “I don’t want him wondering where I am.”  “You need to calm down,” Toni tried, scared to let go of the blonde’s hand in case she just bolted down the street.  “You don’t know him like I do,” Shelby almost laughed. She glanced over her shoulder; no one was there. “Look, you have your ring. That’s all you came for, right?” Toni just looked at her. It was probably the longest that they’d stared at each other. Shelby was almost panting, probably for a bundle of reasons. There was a look in her eyes that Toni couldn’t quite decipher.  In Shelby’s mind, she was just waiting for Toni to try and address the night before. Internally she was begging her not to, begging her to follow through with what she said about “ whatever happens tonight can stay in the room. ” God, Shelby felt sick. Toni took a deep breath, then broke eye contact and released her hand.  “Yeah, that was all.” Toni said, putting both hands back on the steering wheel.  All she heard after that was Shelby’s hurried steps making their way back down the street. Toni watched as she wrapped her hands around her arms and started to power walk. She looked back over her shoulder, only for a second, then disappeared into the pathway.  Toni looked at the ring in her hand, slipped it back onto her finger and huffed. She would probably never get Shelby to talk about what had happened. In fact, she was more than sure that Shelby would take it to the grave. Toni didn’t like that plan. It didn’t sit well with her; she didn’t think something like that should be something you had to keep to yourself.  Still, there was nothing more she could do in that particular moment. So she started up her car and drove away, deciding to let Shelby try her best to eschew the situation.  A week before Leah’s birthday, was her grandmother’s 75th.  Leah, years ago, had started up a tradition of giving her at least one handmade present. This year, she’d gone with cupcakes. She wanted to do it completely from scratch. So, early that morning, she went to her nearest supermarket and got all of the supplies she would need. Once she got back home, she threw her hair up into a bun, laid out all her ingredients on the island in her kitchen, and then stared at it. She had no idea where to start.  Her first attempt at the sponge got tossed in the trash, because she’d added way too much flour and it was literally solid. The second attempt was too wet. Now she was getting frustrated. Who was she kidding, anyway? Attempting to do this alone. This should have been fun. There should be friends about.  She pulled her phone from her pocket and created a group chat with Toni and Shelby. Leah - 09:37: I know it’s early, but I’m currently trying to make a batch of cupcakes (from scratch) for my Grandmother’s birthday tomorrow. It is not going very well. Please come help? ASAP!? She kept the app open, hoping to get a response right away. Shelby - 09:38: Well, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!!! I’ll be there as soon as my dad has finished the appointment he has this morning Whilst waiting for a reply from Toni, Leah decided to read over the method she had found on the internet and wait patiently for help. - Toni was pulling her jeans from the dryer, trying not to get frustrated by the yelling coming from her foster brothers in the next room. The trailer could be so fucking loud sometimes. Just as she managed to retrieve her jeans, her phone lit up beside her and she caught up with the two messages she had missed. Toni - 09:43: Leah, you’re such a nerd. I’ll be there soon. Toni used to hate the idea of being around Shelby simply because she didn’t like her, and found her extroverted ways really fucking annoying (and fake). But now, she had the added angst of Shelby being painfully off with her. She preferred it when they gave each other evil eyes and snarky comments. She wanted to get back to that...or something more civil. Toni - 09:50: Hey. I just saw your message about having to wait for your dad to drop you off. I’m leaving in like ten minutes, if you want me to come and pick you up. She knew that Shelby’s answer would probably be a firm ‘no’, but she thought it was worth mentioning it anyway...and maybe, she’d try her best to sway her. Shelby - 09:54: Apparently this session is scheduled for an additional hour, and I don’t want to be late for Leah so...could you pick me up on the corner? Toni did not like being deducted to the corner of the street. It was only the other week that Shelby was happier for her to not only park out front, but have her dad watch her get into the car. Toni - 09:55: Ok. Leaving soon. - Shelby brushed through her hair before placing a pretty, baby blue headband on top of her head.  She’d been feeling somewhat confident and sure of herself over the past few days; so the idea of having to now be in close proximity with Toni was something that she worried would throw her off, but she was able to bury that doubt. Internally, Shelby had blocked out everything that had happened that night. She hoped that Toni wouldn’t try to bring it up again.  There was a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in,” Shelby called, placing her hairbrush into her bedside drawer.  Her mother eyed her up and down.  “Are you heading out?” “Oh, Leah asked if I could go over and help her with some baking.” Shelby told her with a smile. Her mother didn’t ask any further questions. She knew and trusted Leah, so never fretted when Shelby went off with her. Shelby’s phone pinged as soon as her mother left the room. Toni was here already. She looked around, grabbed her jacket and called to her mother that she was leaving. She waved her off placidly. The hum of Toni’s exhausted car just a few doors down from her house was a sudden cause of concern for Shelby. Why had she parked so close? Shelby was sure that she’d instructed her to park on the corner again. “What the hell are you doing?” She asked, pulling open the passenger door and slipping inside quickly. Toni frowned. “What?” “I told you to park on the corner.” “It was easier to get you here.” “That’s not what I asked you to do.” “I’m doing you a favour; don’t push your luck.” Toni shook her head in annoyance before indicating out her parking space as speeding off, causing the back of Shelby’s head to bump the headrest behind her.  ‘Well, that’s a good start’ Toni thought to herself.  “You know, I preferred it when we just threw petty insults at each other.” Toni could feel the irritation starting to burn at her skin. “Resorting to this all because of a stupid fucking kiss, is ridiculous.” Shelby squirmed. “We’re meant to be getting along, for Leah’s sake. So good fucking luck explaining to her the reason why we’re now worse than we ever were before.” “You said whatever happened would stay in the room,” Shelby’s voice trembled as she argued back, her pitch high and laced with faux confidence. “So why do I feel like both of the times I’ve seen you since then, you’ve just been itching to mention it?” Toni halted at a stop light and turned to look at Shelby, her expression blank. “I was talking about your dreams. It was supposed to be a joke.” Shelby felt her chest cave in, like a whole had just opened right up and was about to swallow all her major organs. She just looked away.  Leah didn’t live too far away, and soon enough they were pulling up outside. The car had barely even stopped when Shelby was scrambling to get out of it. As soon as the door opened, she seemed to take on a complete facade. Her smile was bright, her voice comforting and warm. Toni was dumbfounded by it. The three of them dive right into the cake making. The only time Toni and Shelby interact is if the other needs something that’s near them, and they politely ask (without even looking at each other): “Hey, could you hand me that?” Toni sighed in relief as soon as the cakes went into the oven to bake. She was just about to go and make herself comfortable on the couch when she noticed Leah searching for something on top of the kitchen island. “Oh god,” Leah huffed to herself, fighting her way through all the different types of packaging they’d just gone through. “What’s wrong?” Shelby placed her hand on top of Leah’s shoulder. Leah groaned, then stopped searching. “I forgot the fucking icing. I’ll have to go back to the store,” She checked her pocket for her car keys which jingled in response.  Toni looked at Shelby, then at Leah. Fuck that. “I can go for you,” She volunteered a little too frantically. But there was no way in hell she was sitting alone with Shelby. “No, it’s okay. I need a specific type of icing and...I’d have no idea how to explain it to you. I don’t even know the name of it, I just know the packaging.” Well, she had no way of arguing with that; despite the way her mouth opened like she was about to. Then seconds later, it was just the two of them standing on either side of the island.  Shelby rested her hands on the counter and harrumphed. Toni’s phone pinged, and she checked it before making her way to the front door. Surely she wasn’t just going to walk out? Shelby thought to herself. She sort of wished she would, though. “Hey, sorry.” Shelby heard Toni say. “I didn’t realise that I wouldn’t be home.” “Oh, it’s fine.” Another girl laughed softly. Shelby peered her head around the doorway. “I just wanted to bring you these.” It was Regan, and she was revealing a box of chocolates from behind her back. “You didn’t have to…” Toni was acting quite meek. Shelby couldn’t ever recall a time she’d witnessed her being this way. Was this the sort of hold Regan had over her? She was sure that she’d heard Toni say there was nothing between her and Regan anymore. “Honestly, it was the least I could do.” Regan tucked a loose strand of perfectly fallen hair behind her ear. “You’ve been really great to me these past few days.” “You’d have done the same for me.” Regan shrugged coyly. “Well, still.” Neither of them said anything afterwards. Shelby continued to peer in.  “I better get back, anyways.” Regan gestured towards her car and took a step back. “I’ll text you later.” “Okay,” Toni fiddled with the door handle. “Yeah.”  Shelby quickly made her way back to the island just as Toni came back into the kitchen, setting the chocolates to one side. Toni looked as if she was about to say something, but seemingly decided against it when she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Are you texting her already? She only just left.” Shelby heard herself saying. “No, actually. I was just trying to kill time so that I don’t have to talk to you.” Shelby just scoffed. “I thought you were done with Regan.” “Not that it’s any of your business,” Toni slipped her phone away. “But her grandfather passed away a couple of days ago. I’ve been trying to help her out.”  “How so?” “Checking in on her,” Toni shrugged. “Seeing if she needed anything, going for a drive if that’s what she needs, or just watching a movie together.” Shelby gritted her teeth and looked towards the ground. “You would have probably known about it if you hadn’t gone awol after kissing me.”  “Shh!”  Toni broke into a soft laugh. “Shelby, there’s literally nobody here.” She gestured to the vast emptiness around them.  Shelby shook her head. “This is exactly why I’m struggling to be around you. I mean, I obviously can’t trust you.” “I haven’t uttered a word to anyone, Shelby. Other than trying to at least address it with you, which is apparently impossible.” Shelby looked up, finally locking eyes with the other girl. She was just about to open her mouth when the front door clicked open. “I got the icing!” "I got icing!" Shelby practically jumped backwards, a smile spreading across her face so quickly that Toni was sure she’d somehow just turned it on by the press of a button. “Well, they should be about ready.” Shelby checked her watch, then leaned down to look through the glass of the oven door. - The trio stayed together later than initially planned. Leah’s parents were working late, then going over to their friends house for dinner afterwards. So, Leah had asked if Toni and Shelby wanted to stay and watch a movie.  They both said yes, of course.  So the three of them made themselves comfortable on the largest couch in the front room, Leah squeezed comfortably between her two friends as she searched the tv menu for something worth watching.  “Ooh! Have you guys seen The Haunting of Bly Manor?” The screen lit up with the cover photo for the show. Toni clenched her jaw, looked Leah right in her oblivious eyes and sighed. Leah just looked at her with a dumb smile on her face...until the penny dropped. “No, I don’t think I have.” Shelby seemed just as unsuspecting as Leah. “Yeah well, it’s got gays in it so you wouldn’t like it.” Toni pulled the remote from Leah and started searching for something else. Shelby bit her tongue. Leah tucked her hands into her legs and bowed her head shamefully for a moment. They settled on watching a cheesy rom-com that Toni had never seen before. It was late by the time it finished, nearing midnight. The three of them ensured the front room and kitchen were tidy before Leah escorted the two girls to the front door. “Oh, Shelby, how are you getting home?” Leah asked, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m taking her,” Toni told her. Shelby looked at her blankly. “Unless...your dad is getting you?” “Oh, no.” She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket. “He has another early session tomorrow morning, so…” Leah pursed her lips.  “Well, I guess we better leave now then.”  They bid their goodbyes before heading to the car, where a very quiet drive home took place. It wasn’t until they pulled up on the corner of Shelby’s street that something was said. “Thanks,” Shelby mumbled as she unbuckled her belt. “For picking me up and...stuff.” “Sure.” Toni’s tone was cold and reserved. She just wanted to get back home, but Shelby stayed there for a couple more seconds. “Listen, I’m sorry that I can’t give you a straightforward answer about what happened the other week.”  Toni barely moved her head. “You say that like what happened was some sort of unexplainable phenomenon." “It sort of was.” Shelby almost laughed. Almost. “I have no idea why it happened.” “It happened because you pulled me in to kiss you.”  Toni could hear just how dry Shelby’s mouth was by the way she gulped.  “I’m not saying that it was forced or...that I didn’t want to,” Toni started to bounce her knee, causing her keys to rattle in the ignition which created an irritating sound. She stopped herself, and instead ran her hand through her hair. “I didn’t have a problem with you kissing me, Shelby. What I have a problem with is how you’ve reacted since then.”  “It shouldn’t have happened, Toni.” Shelby chewed her lip and shook her head. “God,” She whispered to herself. “I just want us to forget about it. Can we please forget about it?” She looked at Toni for the first time since being in the car. Her eyes were glistening and her bottom lip was rosy from being tormented by her teeth.  Toni found herself feeling...sorry. She hadn't meant for Shelby to be this riled up. She nodded in response.  Shelby let out a sigh of, what Toni assumed to be, relief.  They looked at each other for a minute. Neither of them could really read the other's countenance. Upon realising that, Shelby tucked open her door and left. Toni stayed put until she saw Shelby walk up her path and heard the front door close faintly. - “So wait, she kissed you ?” Martha’s eyes were wide with disbelief, which sort of offended Toni. “Jesus, you say that like it’s ridiculously hard to believe.” “No, no. It’s not that, I just mean...you’re the gay one. And Shelby seems very…” “Anti-gay yeah, I know.” Toni had made a detour on her way back home. She’d come to Martha’s for the night instead, realising that she’d told her best friend nothing about what had happened the past week. “I literally cannot wrap my head around this.” Martha laughed, readjusting the pillow she had propped herself up on. “I mean I remember you telling me that Leah had asked you guys to spend time together before her birthday but...I didn’t expect it to take this kind of turn.” “She basically forced us to do it, but I can understand why. If it wasn’t for the kiss we would probably be on the road to civility.”  Martha pursed her lips. “And now she just won’t speak about it? At all?” “She told me these exact words tonight: ‘can we please just forget about it?’” “You don’t think you can?” “Fuck no. Marty,” Toni leaned forward, lying on her stomach now. “I need to have a conversation with her about why she kissed me. We hate each other.” She emphasised by dragging the word out. “She’s a homophobic bible basher who talked shit about me at the last party we were at together. So why the fuck did she kiss me?” “Well, she can’t be that homophobic if she kissed you.” Martha chuckled to herself. Toni sighed and rolled onto her back with her hands covering her face. “This is stressing me the fuck out.”  Martha let her bask in the silence for a moment. “So…what are you going to do?” “I have no idea. I don’t think we can move forward unless we talk about it.”  “Then do that.” “I’ve tried.” “Christ, Toni.” Martha couldn’t help but laugh. “I really don’t know what to tell you. If you want my opinion, she’s clearly trying to suppress whatever she felt that made her want to kiss you. Therefore, it’s not going to be easy at all to try and have this conversation with her.” Toni lifted her head. “And so you’re suggesting…not having the conversation?” “Look,” Martha sighed. “I agree with you that it’s important to talk this out, but I think you need to go on easy on her.” She carried on before Toni could interrupt, which it looked like she was about to do. “She’s clearly struggling. You’ll get nowhere trying to force this.”  She was right. Toni knew that she was right.  “Okay,” Toni sat up. “So, I’ll carry on being civil with her and abide by her wishes.” “And soon enough, she’ll probably address it with you herself.” Martha gave a reassuring smile. “When she’s ready to do so.” Toni would be lost without Martha’s advice. She was always the person that Toni would turn to. A crisis at home, she would go to Martha. A crisis in her relationship, she would go to Martha...and so on.  Martha would go to Toni to find out what not to do. Whatever Toni suggested, Martha would just do the opposite. It worked well for them. - Leah was getting her morning coffee from the nearby Starbucks with Fatin the following morning.  “I just got...tension,” Leah took a sip from the cup that was too large for her hands. “Like, they barely looked at each other.” Fatin nodded her head, listening intently. “Maybe they got into an argument or something.”  “Yeah, but over what?” “Well from my understanding, Shelby is a raging Christian and Toni is a raging gay. You tell me what could go wrong.” Leah rolled her eyes. “Shelby isn’t homophobic, though. That’s not the reason they don’t get along.” “Yeah I know,” Fatin shrugged as she moved closer to the table to get her coffee. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re going to see eye to eye. They couldn’t be more opposite.”  Leah thought about it for a moment, just how opposite her two friends were. She thought of a house painted completely black, maybe with one of those spikes on the roof; then she thought of one painted a bright pink hue, perched right alongside the other house. That was Shelby and Toni in inanimate form.  “Do you not get a little bit of a gay vibe?” Fatin said, her elbow resting on the table. She gestured towards her hand, which she flopped downwards animatedly.  “From who, Shelby?”  Fatin nodded. “God no, are you kidding me?”  “Hey, you never know.” She said, and then rested back into her chair.  Leah just shook her head repeatedly. There was no fucking way. Nope.  But maybe it would be something she’d bear in mind the next time she was with the two of them. - Shelby was sitting upon her bed, a Spotify list by the name of “chilled christian songs” playing softly in the background.  She was close to finishing the gift she’d been putting together for Leah. It was something she’d been working on for at least two months now, and was in the midst of perfecting the last few details. It was a scrapbook of their friendship, starting from the first time they met. Shelby was a little bit of a hoarder when it came to memories. She’d kept hold of movie ticket stubs, silly photographs they’d taken together, funny memories from camp and days out, etc. Shelby was honestly quite proud of herself. She wanted to show it to another friend of Leah’s to see what they thought, and maybe see if they could think of anything else she could add as a finishing touch. The only problem was, Leah and her only shared one mutual friend.  She found herself rolling her eyes at the mere thought of reaching out to Toni. But, she was feeling mature enough to swallow her pride and send a message. Shelby - 15:03: This is what I’m giving to Leah for her birthday. Can you think of anything else I could add? She attached a six second video of her flicking through the pages (quite quickly), and then waited - staring at the book in admiration whilst doing so. Toni - 15:06: Not gonna lie Shelby, I can barely see a thing on that. Shelby gritted her teeth. Shelby - 15:06: Well I’m not about to sit here and send a detailed video of every single page. If you’re intrigued enough, come by and get a look yourself. It wasn’t until she sent the message that she realised she’d basically just sent Toni an invite to her home. Toni - 15:10: I’m with Regan until four. I’ll come by then. You’re sure spending a lot of time with Regan considering she’s your ex. Shelby thought to herself, but ignored the message. She began to tidy up her room considering she was having company.  Leah - 15:21: Hey Shelb!! I feel like I haven’t spoken to you one on one in awhile :( missing you a lot. Let’s catch up before my birthday party pleeaase. - Toni arrived at 4:30. Shelby tried to ignore the glare her parents gave Toni as the two of them made their way upstairs. Was it obvious that Toni was gay? Shelby hoped not. She stood right beside Toni on the stairway, wanting to do her best to hide the hand that Toni wore her ring on. “It’s just on the bed,” Shelby told her, closing the door behind them as Toni made her way into the room. Toni kicked off her shoes and got comfortable, laying flat across the bed as she picked up the scrapbook. Shelby held back a huff as she perched herself on her desk chair on the other side of the room (as far away from Toni as possible). Toni rested one hand on her face and used her other to flip through the book. She took in every page, hoped to find a flaw but didn’t, until she was at the last page. “That’s really great, Shelby.” She told her honestly, closing it over and pushing it away. “All I can think to add is a few other decorations to the front cover.” Shelby reached across to grab it. “Thanks.” She mumbled. “How was it at Regan’s?” “It was alright,” Toni shrugged. “She’s starting to sort of adapt. I think the toughest part of the grief has passed for now.” Shelby nodded along. She’d only glanced at Toni a handful of times. Her eyes kept settling on other things like her netted curtain, the objects on the dresser in front of her or the collection of photographs above her bed.  Toni rolled onto her side and looked over at them too. A bunch of them were photos of Shelby with people who Toni didn’t recognise. She wondered how many of them were from Bible camp. There were photos of Shelby with a guy, who was kissing her cheek quite amorously whilst she smiled at the camera.  It looked as though it was taken at some type of Fun Fair. There seemed to be some wooden shacks in the background selling cotton candy and fudge.  Shelby had a baby pink headband in her hair, but Toni couldn’t see the rest of her outfit due to the way her arms were draped around the guy’s neck and therefore cast a shadow against her top. The photo cut off just above waist length, too. “I’m going to assume this is Andrew,” Toni said as she pointed towards the image. “Yeah, that was two summers ago.”  “Why do you still have it? If you guys are broken up, I mean.” Shelby shrugged. “He was my first boyfriend. I think it’s nice to have memories.” Toni understood that. She still had photographs of her and Regan, too. “You look nice here,” She gestured towards another image. This time it was a photo of Shelby and her best friend, Becca. It was a motion shot. They’d been trying to pose together, but kept erupting into laughter. Toni liked that the person took the photo anyway. It was natural.  Shelby didn’t say anything, so Toni looked over at her. Her head was cast downward and she was fidgeting with her hands. She looked up at Toni, then looked away again. “Are you okay?” Toni asked cautiously. Shelby took a deep breath and nodded.  “Was it something I said or…” Toni continued.  “Becca was my best friend,” Shelby told her hurriedly. “She’s gone now though.” Toni felt her heart drop straight into her stomach. “Oh…” Neither of them spoke for a minute. Shelby’s stare remained on the floor. “I’m so sorry, Shelby.” Toni switched her position to sit at the edge of the bed, a lot closer to the blonde than she was sitting before. She even reached out her hand and cupped Shelby’s fidgeting ones. Shelby looked up, locking eyes with Toni. She actually managed to look at her for at least half a minute before bowing her head again. “She died almost a year ago now.” Shelby decided to share a little more than she usually would with Toni. Maybe it would strengthen the civility they’re meant to have by now. “It still feels so fresh, though.” It took her a minute to realise that Toni’s hand was still on hers; but as soon as she noticed, her hand began to heat up.  “That’s completely understandable.” Toni’s tone was softer than usual. Shelby wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Toni sound this comforting. “You never expect to lose someone so close to you that young.” Shelby didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t get to speak about Becca often. Her parents had barely ever even addressed it with her, and she didn’t like to bring it up with her friends. “I miss her a lot.” She said, looking towards the picture. There were a few on the wall of the two of them together. Shelby liked having them there. All of a sudden, Toni pulled her into a hug.  It was tight. Toni’s arms were draped around Shelby’s neck, and Shelby had wrapped her arms around Toni.  It was one of the warmest hugs Shelby had ever received. With just the right amount of tightness and the occasional thumb rub from Toni, Shelby felt cared for. She noticed a few teardrops starting to run down her face, and quickly buried her head into the crook of Toni’s neck where she allowed a few more tears to fall. Shelby had no idea how long the hug lasted for, but neither of them seemed to care. It was something they clearly both needed, and so Shelby simply decided to bask in it.  Leah had a pre-birthday meal arranged. She was going for one with her family on her actual birthday, so decided to plan one with her friends two days before her scheduled sleepover. It was booked for 7:00pm, but she’d told Shelby to come and get ready at her place so that they could have some quality time together.  Shelby thought it was a little unusual, whilst Leah thought she was doing a cracking job with her plan to try and have a deep conversation with Shelby. “So, how have you been?” Leah held up a dress to herself in the mirror, tilted her head side to side a few times as she toyed with the ends of it. “I didn’t really get any one on one time with you the other day,”  “I’m doin' okay,” Shelby sat in front of the mirror and searched through her makeup bag, picking out her desired object. “How about you? Are you lookin' forward to your birthday?” Leah glanced over at her through the mirror. “Yeah, it’s all very exciting. How are you and Toni getting on? Are you civil enough to share a sleeping bag at the party?” Shelby quickly turned to look at Leah, almost smudging her mascara completely in the process. “What? A sleeping bag?” Leah just laughed. “I’m kidding. You obviously won’t be sharing one...as long as you both have one.” “I have four, so I can bring a spare if Toni needs one.” Shelby still hadn’t returned to the mirror. She was staring at Leah with wide-eyes, too startled to sense the sarcasm in Leah’s tone. “Shelby,” Leah said through a chuckle, looking over her shoulder. “I’m just messing around with you.”  Shelby took a visible deep breath. “Oh,” She turned to face the mirror again. Leah didn’t do a very good job. By the time they left the house, the only thing she’d gotten out of Shelby was her sheer panic at the thought of having to share a bed with Toni. It was something, though. At the restaurant were the rest of Leah’s friends: Toni, Dot, Fatin, Rachel and Nora. They were already sitting there waiting when Leah and Shelby walked through the door. They’d decorated the table with balloons and confetti with ‘Happy Birthday’ written on it.  Shelby and Toni locked eyes first, giving each other a small smile before Shelby went on to greet the others after Leah. Leah had arranged the seats, and for a reason unbeknownst to Shelby, had placed her opposite Toni. Shelby found that she didn’t really feel angry about it.  “No Martha?” Was the first thing Shelby said after sitting down. “Nah,” Toni crossed her arms on the table. “She’s more my friend than Leah’s. She probably would have felt a little awkward coming here anyway, she doesn’t really deal well with social gatherings.” Shelby nodded. The night went just as Leah had hoped: with everyone actively engaging with each other and sharing laughter. She was proud of herself and her friends. She knew they were very different groups of people, but she also knew that they were all equally great people and should’ve been able to get along well when prompted. “Another drink on the house for the birthday girl,” The waiter stood behind Leah and Shelby as he placed the drink down. “It is a mocktail of course, considering.” He gestured towards the ‘18’ balloon at the end of the table. “And one for you, just because.” He winked as he placed another mocktail in front of Shelby, then walked off. All the girls let out a playful “Oooo”, except for Toni. She just narrowed her eyes, her forehead creasing as she watched him leave. “Talk about favouritism,” Toni joked, rested her elbows on the table and let her hands rest at her mouth as she looked up at Shelby. Shelby found a roguish smile threatening to spill across her lips. She swooped for her drink in an effort to prevent it, but could have sworn she saw an arch in Toni’s eyebrow before their eye contact was broken.  - By 9:30, the girls were gathering their things to leave. The flirty waiter returned to begin clearing their table. “Did you girls have a good night?” He asked with a fixed smile.  “Yes,” They said in near unison, minus Toni who simply nodded.  He glanced up from placing the empty glasses on his tray. “Can’t interest you in another drink?” He blatantly directed his question towards Shelby, who took a minute to realise she was being spoken to. “Oh, no.” Shelby chuckled coyly. “I’m good.” “Are you sure? It doesn’t have to be here. My shift ends in fifteen minutes.” Shelby looked to her friends, who were staring back at her with wide eyes and nodding heads. She instead looked over at Toni who was looking right back at her. No nodding head though, and no wide eyes. Toni was simply looking at her. “I can’t,” Shelby looked back towards the waiter, who pouted dramatically in response. “I’m sorry. But thank you for the offer.” The waiter went back to collecting glasses, and a few of his colleagues came to help. “That’s okay. Maybe next time,” Definitely not. Shelby thought, but said “Yeah, maybe.” And then they left the restaurant with Leah and Fatin pestering Shelby for an answer as to why she said no. “I just didn’t feel the attraction.” Shelby defended herself, readjusted the strap on her bag which she draped across her shoulder. What Shelby didn’t see was Leah and Fatin side-eyeing each other at that response. “But...he was hot, and attentive.” Rachel said from behind her. “I can agree that he was attractive but waiters sort of have to be attentive. It's their job role.” Nora inputted.  “I gotta agree with Nora on that one.” Dot said, raising her hand. “Me too.” said Toni. Shelby looked at her, then looked away. Luckily the girls dropped it and found more interest in another topic of conversation. Shelby found herself slowing her steps as soon as she heard them just talking about guys at school they used to have crushes on, and soon enough she found herself strolling alongside Toni. “Not interested in him, huh?” Toni said, just loud enough for only the two of them to hear.  Shelby shrugged. “Not really.” “He was like a better looking version of Andrew.” Toni grinned. “I kind of find it hard to believe.”  “Maybe I’m just not interested in guys like that anymore,” Shelby told her.  Toni didn’t say anything. She stole a glance at her, then carried on forward without a word. “Guys, come on!” Dot beckoned them from across the road. The night of the sleepover was approaching rapidly. Shelby and Leah were at a nearby Walmart sharing a shopping cart, pulling packets of candy and chocolate from the shelves and dropping them in. “I think Dot is going to try and get the alcohol,” Leah said as they strolled past the aisle.  “Alcohol?”  “Yeah,” Leah glanced at Shelby and could see that she was apprehensive. “But you don’t have to have any. No one is going to pressure you,” “I’ll see how I feel on the night.” Shelby shrugged. When they got to the juice section, Shelby picked at a selection of fruit cartons whilst Leah went for the “mixers” of Pepsi, Cola and lemonade.  “I really hope Toni doesn’t try to vape in my room.” Leah sighed to herself, gently placing the fizzy drinks into the cart. “My mom has the nose of a dog. She'll literally smell it on the curtain."  Shelby just laughed. She could imagine Toni to be the vaping kind. The day afterwards was the night of the sleepover. Shelby had volunteered to get there early in the day so that she could help set up. She laid out the drinks and red cups on the island, helped to ensure the front room was neat and tidy before going upstairs and helping Leah to decide on sleeping arrangements.  “So, we’ll put two people in the spare room down the hall and then in my room we’ll have three people.” Leah unfolded a few of the sleeping bags and started to lay them out on the floor. “Which will be me, Rachel and Nora.”  Shelby nodded along, began to unfold the other sleeping bags.  “And down stairs we’ll put Dot and Fatin, considering they’ll probably be the most drunk and it’s way less hassle just letting them crash down there.” Leah preempted with a laugh. Shelby calculated it all up in her head, which was when she made the horrifying discovery. “Wait...wouldn’t that mean that Toni and I would be in the spare bedroom together?” Leah looked up at her, realising her error which she tried her best to hide. “Um, yeah. Is that an issue?” Shelby got flustered. “Well, I just think,” She spluttered. “We should maybe just lay out the sleeping bags and see where everyone ends up.” Leah agreed to do that, which basically put the air back into Shelby’s lungs which enabled them to carry on getting the rest of the stuff ready. Dot and Fatin were the first to arrive, then Nora and Rachel.  They made themselves comfortable by pouring a drink and getting cosy on the sofa, falling easily into conversation. Shelby sat in the chair and found herself watching the door. She wasn’t expecting Toni to be late. It her one of her best friend's birthday gathering. Shelby didn't really care though. She slipped away into the kitchen and decided to pour herself a vodka and coke before sitting amongst the rest of the girls. An hour had passed when Toni came hurrying in, a little breathless as she slipped off her jacket.  “Oh, look who decided to show up!” Fatin raised her cup in Toni's direction. “The only excuse we’ll accept is that you were getting laid.” Toni rolled her eyes and wasted no time in getting herself a drink, joining them on the sofa seconds afterwards. She didn’t look at Shelby. Instead she’d managed to join into whatever conversation was happening whilst Shelby stayed put in the chair, isolating herself for no reason in particular. Upon realising her cup was empty, Shelby stood up to make her way back into the kitchen. She almost fell right back down after getting, what she thought, was a headrush. The headrush did not go away.  Everything was just ever so slightly out of focus, and it was then that Shelby realised she was a little tipsy. She cursed herself for being such a lightweight. She was in the midst of pouring some vodka into her cup when she heard someone else coming towards her. “Hey,” Toni glanced towards her as she reached across to grab a bottle of beer. “Hi,” Shelby tried to steady herself by leaning her stomach against the counter. The last thing she wanted was Toni realising she was feeling the alcohol already. “You’re not talking very much out there,” Toni noticed, leaning her back against the island as she took a swig from the bottle. “Everything okay with you?” It was only when Shelby was finished making her drink that she properly looked at Toni.  Toni, who was wearing a denim playsuit that zipped from the crotch to her chest.  Toni, who Shelby had only seen with her hair out on two other occasions but was just now noticing how pretty it looked when pulled forward to rest against her chest. It took Shelby a minute to lift her eyes back up to Toni’s face.  “Yeah,” She rushed out, ignored the crack in her voice as she took a big gulp from her drink. “I’m gonna head back in there.” And so she did.  - By 11:30, all the girls were giddy messes - except Toni. Dot, Leah and Fatin were still laughing to the point of tears over something that happened an hour before.  Nora and Rachel were having a teary-eyed heart to heart about their private lives. Toni was sitting on the sofa, right leg on the floor and her left leg balanced across it as she took occasional sips from her third beer. Shelby was sitting on the floor with her back resting against the chair. Everything was a little hazy. She’d continued drinking, but with each top us she was reducing the amount of vodka she was pouring in. She kept stealing glances at Toni, who had caught her doing it the past three times she’d tried to be subtle.  Shelby pushed herself upwards onto her feet, setting her drink on the table (and nearly knocking it over) as she came to sit beside Toni on the couch; she made sure there was space between them. She interlaced her fingers in her lap, shifted a little bit. “So, you were quite late gettin’ here.”  Toni instantly picked up on the slight slurring and had to hide a grin. She noticed that Shelby sounded a little more Texan now. “Yeah. I had to be somewhere,”  Shelby pursed her lips. “Where?” Toni looked towards her, looked away again. “With Regan.”  Shelby laughed shortly. “The two of you reverted back to your old ways now that you’re spending more time together?” “No.” Toni huffed. “She’s doing a lot better now actually, and we’ve agreed to distance ourselves from one another. She’s seeing somebody.” Shelby nodded along and mumbled. “Bummer for you.” “It’s actually not.” Toni bit. “You know, I don’t even know why you’re on my back about this so much. Why do you even care?” Fatin looked over her shoulder at Toni who’d raised her voice. She quickly turned away again. “I don’t.” Shelby scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.” Then the two fell silent.  “Hey,” Fatin rose to her feet, silencing any other conversations that were happening. “Let’s play spin the bottle!”  Everyone cheered, minus Toni and Shelby.  They all began to form a circle on the floor around the coffee table. Shelby and Toni had just slipped down from the sofa, to the floor and were therefore now sat beside each other. Their knees almost brushed, and Shelby quickly shimmied a little further to the left to prevent it happening again. The first few dares were quite childish. They had Nora prank call Martha with the classic “ is your refrigerator running? ” gag, but Martha was half asleep and hung up just before Nora could finish. Toni took out her vape, placed in between her lips whilst Shelby side-eyed her and huffed. She even went as far as feigning a cough and then wafting her hand in front of her nose as though the smell was vulgar, just to show her disapproval. But it was actually berry scented and much to Shelby’s liking. Shelby was next to spin. The bottle pointed towards Toni. Fatin didn't even try to hide her grin, and didn't miss a beat when she said: “Shelby, I dare you to do blowbacks with Toni.” The rest of the girls reacted excitedly at this. There was a mixture of erupting into laughter and/or shouting playful taunts about Shelby’s conservativeness.  Shelby clenched her jaw as soon as she met eyes with Toni, who arched an eyebrow at the fact that Shelby was now turned towards her and was actually going to engage in this. “You know this is a vape and not a joint, right?” Toni told Fatin, a last minute attempt at the dare being retracted. Fatin just shrugged. “You can still blow smoke into someone’s mouth with a vape.” She told her. Leah quickly agreed. So, Toni didn't hesitate when it came to putting the vape between her lips and taking a big inhale whilst locking eyes with Shelby. Shelby felt her lips instinctively part and began to learn towards Toni, who was now about to meet her halfway. A quiet gasp escaped her lips when Toni rested on one knee, put her hands on either side of Shelby’s face and began to blow. Shelby almost forgot to inhale it. Her mind had zoned in on the warmth radiating from Toni’s hands, and she could barely even test the berries over the flavour of the beer Toni had been drinking which was an instant reminder that the smoke was in Toni’s mouth before hers. When Toni pulled away, dropping her hands, Shelby closed her lips and let a shaky breath out through her nose. The girls cheered, quickly got over the altercation and got ready to spin the bottle once more. Toni and Shelby were yet to break eye contact. “Your turn, Toni.” Leah told her, having to nudge the girl to get her attention. - Shelby spent the rest of the game wondering why her stomach felt tingly and why she still hadn’t managed to regulate her breathing yet. The group seemed to lose interest in the game not long afterwards. Dot and Fatin laid themselves down on the sleeping bags and started to drift off.  Nora kept yawning, so did Leah. Rachel seemed perfectly fine.  Shelby was staring off into the abyss and Toni was on the same level as Rachel, who she managed to make eye contact with. The room had fallen silent once Dot and Fatin had drifted off. It was like the rest of them were just fighting to stay awake. “Do you want to help get the rest of them upstairs?” Toni asked Rachel from across the table.  Rachel helped Nora up from off the floor, wrapped her arm around her neck and started to guide her towards the stairs whilst Nora continued to yawn dramatically every now and then.  “Leah,” Toni had to gently nudge the girl who was half asleep, resting her head on her hand. “Let’s get you upstairs.” She rose from her spec on the floor. Leah was very cooperative when she woke up. She protested against any further help, held onto the bannister as she made her way up the stairs idly.  Toni turned her attention to Shelby, who avoided eye contact. “You good?” “I’m fine.” Shelby claimed, using the coffee table to help her onto her feet.  Toni didn’t even try to offer a hand out. They both kept their distance as they made their way towards the stairs, Toni allowing Shelby to go a few steps ahead before she followed.  “Oh,” Shelby sighed as she stood in Leah’s doorway, bringing a hand to her forehead. Toni caught up and quickly realised the issue.  Leah was asleep on her bed, Nora was in one sleeping bag and Rachel in the other - completely zonked out. “Did she set up any other beds?” Toni asked Shelby obliviously.  Shelby looked at her, then towards the open spare room where two empty sleeping bags lay.  - Toni dragged her sleeping bag further towards the window, but the bedroom was basically a shoebox. The effort was pointless and didn’t provide much more personal space. She huffed upon that realisation, then narrowed her eyes at Shelby who was standing idly with her arms across her chest. “I’m good by the way,” Toni gestured towards the sleeping bag. “Moving things around and shit. I don’t need the help.” Shelby rolled her eyes, her arms flopping at her sides. “It’s a lump of air, Toni. I’d be worried if you needed the help.” Toni decided against trying to manoeuvre the bags around more, it was useless. She was just about to unzip her playsuit when she remembered who was standing with her. “I need to change. Do you wanna turn around?”  Shelby looked her up and down, then turned to face the wall. Once both girls were laying in their designated beds Toni turned out the light. The blinds weren’t fully closed, allowing the streetlight across from their room to shine in and cast shadows upon the walls. “This is giving me deja vu,” Toni grinned to herself after only a few minutes of silence. She heard Shelby breathe out heavily through her nose, then heard her shifting. Witty comments were Toni’s default way of getting herself through uncomfortable situations, but she knew wittiness was going to get her nowhere when it came to Shelby. It was then that she remembered her conversation with Martha who, thinking back, told her to do the complete opposite. Toni swallowed her pride. “Hey, I’m sorry.” She fidgeted with the covers. “Snarky comments are sort of my way of dealing with feeling uncomfortable.”  “Uncomfortable?” “Well, yeah.” Shelby paused. “I make you feel uncomfortable?” “We don’t really have a good track record, Shelby.” Toni chuckled. “It’s painfully obvious the way you shift whenever I’m near you. I thought it was a given that we’re both uneasy around each other.” She glanced over, the streetlight shining directly onto Shelby which took Toni by surprise. Shelby was on her side and staring right back at her with an unreadable expression. “I just...don’t like that you’re so uncomfortable around me. So it makes me uncomfortable in return.” Toni finished off, casting her gaze away when she spoke. “I’m not uncomfortable around you, Toni.” Shelby’s voice was soft as she spoke. It was like velvet. Toni had never heard her sound so gentle. “I’m shy.”  “Shy?” Toni failed to hide the bewilderment in her voice.  “You make me feel shy.” Shelby reiterated. “Because I actually like you. I like how I feel around you.” She continued to tell Toni, who sunk deeper and deeper into her sleeping bag with each passing word. “I haven’t felt that way since…” She trailed off. Toni heard her take a deep breath. “Anyway, I haven’t felt that way in a long time.” Toni didn’t speak. She was too scared to speak; she didn’t know what to say. “The last time I felt this way and acted on it, things took a turn for the worst.” Shelby took her silence as an indication to carry on. “There is just so much bad that comes with this feeling, and I think the bad outweighs the good.” She sighed quietly, then whispered: “And I think it always will.”  Toni absorbed every word. She was now almost up to her eyes in the duvet she’d steadily slipped herself under - and she was speechless.  “So if you think I’m uncomfortable around you, I’m not. I just have no idea what to do with this feeling, so I settled for staying as far away as I could and when that wasn’t possible, I settled for being cold.” Shelby’s voice was almost a whisper. “Because I hate this feeling.” She mumbled.  Toni waited a few seconds. “I’ve felt uncomfortable around you because I was sure that you despise me.” She almost laughed at that assumption now. “I liked the progress that we made on the day I came to look at your gift for Leah. I felt like I could actually see you, and not the fakeness I was sure made up like ninety five percent of your personality.” There was a breath of a chuckle from Shelby. “And then that fucking waiter came and started flirting with you only days later, and I hadn’t felt that jealous in months.” Shelby had to take a deep breath, closing her eyes. She tried to fight the butterflies in her stomach and then tried to fight the fire that came seconds later, scalding the butterflies to death and scalding her for inviting them in.  “You made every last feeling of romantic attraction I felt towards Regan just fall away, just by being open with me that one fucking time.” Toni laughed at how pathetic that was. “I got annoyed with myself for being jealous at the meal, because you’re just so unattainable and I was foolish enough to fall for you anyway.” Shelby had to bite back her smile, she ran her hands across her face. “I don’t know what me telling you all of this means.” Shelby told her as her smile quickly faltered. “I’m not able to get into a relationship, or anything like that, with you.”  Toni deflated despite knowing this was coming. “I know.” “But I can promise not to wake up in the morning and retract all of this,” Shelby vowed. “And I can promise that every now and then, we’ll talk about it.”  “Okay,” Toni was barely audible when she spoke. She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to be scared, you know - of your parents, or of what people will think of you. I’ve been unapologetically out of the closet since I was like fourteen.”  “You’ve been surrounded by very different people,” Shelby laughed sadly. “I’ve been raised wrong, and by the wrong people too. But I still don’t want them to think less of me; I still don’t want to lose them.” Toni felt her heartbreak. “I understand that.”  Silence consumed the room. Toni feared that she would soon hear Shelby sniffle, but she didn’t. Instead she heard Shelby unzip her sleeping bag. “Do you want to get in here with me?” Toni did want that, very much, and joined her in a matter of seconds.  She easily settled into the warmth radiating from Shelby, and even sighed audibly at the comfortableness of it. Shelby did too.  The two girls were startled awake by a heavy knock on the door, seconds before it opened with a creak. Toni instinctively unsnaked her arms from Shelby and pulled herself upwards to learn on her arm. It was Leah. She looked, to no surprise, quite stunned. Her eyes were wide as she stared downwards at the two girls. She cleared her throat. “Um, we were going to go to the cafe to get some breakfast. Are you guys in?” Shelby didn’t fully awaken until Leah left the room. Toni decided to leave her to get ready whilst she did the same in the bathroom. Soon enough the house was buzzing with chatter; the girls were dotted around the rooms, changing and then wandering off into another room to talk to someone else. Every now and then Toni could hear Shelby chatting or laughing. Her laugh was very distinctive, or at least Toni thought so. Toni thought the breakfast at the cafe was rather bland. She did however enjoy the pint of fresh, cold orange juice that accompanied it. She also enjoyed that Shelby had chosen to sit opposite her. Throughout their time at the cafe, Toni and Shelby stole glances at each other. The glances consisted of courageous grins and the bowing of their heads in a battle to stop the grin from spreading. “Before I forget,” Shelby placed her cutlery down onto her empty plate. “I’ve been meanin' to give you this.” She reached behind her chair to retrieve her backpack, in which she pulled out a scrapbook Toni had seen previously. It looked even better than when Toni first saw it. “Oh my God,” Leah leaned forward to take it whilst the rest of the girls “aww”ed in unison. “Shelby...this is amazing.” Leah told her. Shelby blushed, ducked her head to hide it. It made Toni smile. Leah passed around the scrapbook for everyone else to see as soon as she was done. Toni was the last to look through it. “You did an amazing job, Shelby.” Toni was sure to let her know. Shelby smiled. - Leah’s birthday celebrations came and went. Shelby and Toni texted every other day. There was nothing much to their messages, and they'd never spoken again of what they’d shared that night at the sleepover. They saw each other every other week. It was never just the two of them, because it was never either of them inviting the other out. It tended to be Leah asking the two of them to come with her on a road trip to the nearest big city, but most of the time it was just to get coffee or an ice cream. Toni liked it when Shelby was around. Shelby felt the same way; though neither of them voiced it. Shelby was sitting in the front seat and Toni was in the back when Leah got out to put gas in the car. There weren’t many times when the two of them were left alone together for longer than two minutes, but when those times came Toni felt as though there was this gigantic elephant in the room. “You and I should do more things like this.” Shelby said, hands folded in her lap as she faced the windshield. Toni’s head lifted slowly. “What?” “Like, go to get ice cream or something.” Toni watched as Shelby began to twirl her ring around her finger. “Are you asking me on a date?” Toni asked playfully, biting back a grin. “Well I don’t know about that.” Shelby toyed as she stole a glance at Toni through the rearview mirror. A ding from a bell echoed from outside of the car to signal Leah’s return. Shelby straightened her back and turned her eyes away from the mirror. - Things weren’t as they usually were at home. Spencer had gotten into a fight at school. It was related to the fact that Shelby’s father had dealt with protesters outside of his church two Sundays in a row. “Well they were sayin’ that what you’re doin’ is wrong.” Spencer explained, somewhat frustrated. “And they were pickin’ on me for it.” Dave sighed from across the dinner table whilst JoBeth tried to swoop in. “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. It doesn’t mean you can get into fights, Spencer.” She stood up, ready to collect the empty places. “Although, every person at this table agrees with what your father does at that church.” Spencer frowned, pushed his broccoli around his dinner plate. “What is conversation therapy anyway?” Shelby had managed to stay mute for the entirety of their dinner. She’d even managed to tune out at times, but this was what made her stomach flip - this was what made her finally look up from her plate. Dave pursed his lips, “It’s conversion therapy, son.” He stabbed two pieces of broccoli with his fork. “I show people the way when they’re goin’ off the path God wants them to be on.” Shelby rubbed at the back of her neck, tried to not make a sound. “How do you know when you’re not on the right path?” Melody asked, spinning around the ice that was in her glass of water. “Well, you realise that you’re goin’ against God’s word; his word is in the Bible. That’s why it’s important to go to church, to remind yourself of what’s right and what’s wrong.” Shelby took a deep breath. “Ain’t that right, Shelbs?” Shelby smiled, then nodded. Her father smiled right back. Her phone vibrated against the table. Toni - 17:43: Ice cream tomorrow? Just us two…? "Toni - 17:43: Ice cream tomorrow? Just us two…? Shelby turned her phone face down." - Shelby didn’t answer the text until she was in bed that night. After breakfast, she had went to her father’s church.  It was a Monday and even though the protesters had been coming of a Sunday, Dave wanted to make sure they weren’t doing any damage to the property. Shelby knew before they even arrived that they wouldn’t be. She knew in her gut that these protesters were peaceful. The past few times she had saw them, all they were doing was standing there with signs which had various ‘ gay rights ’ quotes. Just yesterday she had spotted a man standing there with one that read: “ I am proud of my lesbian daughter .” Shelby smiled when she saw it. Once they’d checked on the church (which was fine), they went back home to pick up her mother and siblings before heading to the lake. Her father was showing Spencer how to fish whilst Shelby, her mother and Melody sat on the picnic blanket and prepared the sandwiches. So, Shelby couldn’t really find the time in the day to answer Toni’s text. She knew that answering would mean thinking about it, and she didn’t want to do that.  Shelby - 23:11: Sorry. I haven’t been on my phone much today. Tomorrow is good. Are you able to pick me up? Toni - 23:15: That’s okay. I’ll come and get you at 12:30. The following morning brought with it a gorgeous summer day. By 11:00, it was already 82 fahrenheit.  Shelby picked out a ditsy, white floral dress which cut off just above the knee. From the centre of her lower chest to just above her breasts were cotton buttons, and there were spaghetti straps that rested comfortably across her shoulders. She took her tote bag from the coat rack and walked as quietly as possible to the front door. She wondered how far away Toni had parked. “Where are you sneaking off to?” Her father asked, closing his office door and taking a bite of an apple. “I’m going to get ice cream with a friend.” Shelby glanced downwards at her outfit, made sure there was nothing he could criticise.  When she looked at him, his eyes flicked back upwards .  “What friend?” Shelby shifted. “Toni. You guys haven't really met her yet.” She thought being nonchalant and blunt would help the situation. Her father just frowned slightly, though the shadow of a smile that always seemed to be there showed. He looked away for a moment and gathered his thoughts, took another bite from his apple and pushed it to one side of his mouth when he decided to talk again. He looked down at Shelby’s hands.  “Does this girl happen to own a ring? You never seem to wear the one you dropped.”  There was a raise in his eyebrow, like he’d suddenly remembered a scandal he couldn’t believe he had forgotten. Shelby continued to smile despite the cold shiver that shot up her spine. She feigned obliviousness. “Oh, I’m not really sure.”  Her father pursed his lips, leaned forward slightly to look through the tinted glass on the door. “Have a nice time. Don’t forget your curfew.” He said, then walked away. Shelby had to give herself a second. When she was ready, she opened the door and looked for Toni’s car. She spotted it perched at the top of her street. For some reason she found herself smiling at the fact that Toni had been considerate enough to park away from her house, but also hated that it was something to feel relieved about. - Shelby was quiet for a lot of the drive. Not in a rude way, though. Every time Toni would ask her something Shelby would respond, albeit bluntly but with a smile. “Is everything okay with you?” Toni asked finally, unable to deal with the tension. Shelby looked at her, possibly for the first time since getting in the passenger seat. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled again. “You don’t really seem it,” Toni’s tone was soft as she spoke. She didn't want to come across as confrontational; that was a bad habit she had adopted. Shelby sighed. “It’s just my dad,” She said. “He’s a little stressed.” Toni felt her jaw tense. “Why’s that?” She didn’t care at all about Dave Goodkind, but she cared about Shelby and if his stress was impacting Shelby...well, then that made Toni care. Shelby had looked away again by now, but side-eyed Toni quickly before answering. “A few people from outside of the church found out that my father does conversion therapy.” She cracked the window open. “Spencer got into a fight at school because a kid called him out on it.” Toni held back every judgemental comment that ran through her head about Dave Goodkind and his fucking church. She hated the way he abused his religion. She hated that he used something so powerful and so sacred to promote something as inhuman as conversion therapy and casual homophobia.  “Oh,” was the only thing Toni said at first. “I’m sorry, that seems like a lot.” Shelby chewed her lip. “It is.” They put a pin in the conversation until they arrived at the ice cream parlour, where they each bought a small tub of ice cream. Shelby got strawberry and chocolate; Toni got chocolate and peanut butter. There was a nature reserve just down the street, which is where they decided to walk to.  “How are things with you?” Shelby decided to ask when they came to sit at a bench. She didn’t want Toni to think that she was just going to talk about herself the whole time they were together. “They’re okay,” Toni used her tiny wooden spoon to try and scoop up her ice cream. She pretended that she wasn’t finding it a little difficult. “I have a pretty important basketball game coming up soon - well, it’s not that important.” She finally got a scoop onto her spoon. “But our coach is trying to get us to concentrate on it because the team is a big rival of ours and we have nothing else to prepare for, considering we didn’t qualify for the tournament.”  Shelby squinted as the sun peered through the trees above them and shone right in her eye. She used her hand as a shield. “I’m sorry that you didn’t qualify, that must be frustratin’.”  “It is.” Toni sighed. “But as long as I have some kind of game to focus on then, I don’t really mind.”  “Could I come?” Shelby asked. Toni looked at her. “To the game, I mean. When is it?” “A week Saturday.” Toni abandoned the last few scoops of her ice cream when she noticed that Shelby had too. “You can if you want.” She shrugged. “So, um. What’re you going to do about your Dad?” Toni didn’t like being the centre of attention for too long. Especially not after Shelby had just asked if she could come and see Toni play.  She felt bad when she saw the shift in Shelby right away.  “There’s nothing I can do.” She almost chuckled but smiled sadly instead. “He questioned me on who I was coming out with today, asked if you wore a ring because he’s never seen me wearin' the one he found. Your ring.” Toni winced. “I’m sorry for dropping it.” Shelby gave her a forgiving smile.  “Why is your Dad so caught up on you anyway? He has no reason to believe that you’re not, you know, straight.” Toni spoke hesitantly.  Shelby screwed her eyes shut for a moment, shook her head. “He does.”  Her teeth were gritted. The words almost hurt as they squeezed through the tiny gaps. “Becca.” That was all Shelby could say at first.  Toni realised right away, immediately wanted to wrap Shelby up in her embrace. She didn’t move though. She watched as Shelby tried to hold herself together.  “It was unreciprocated, anyway.” Shelby finally said, wiped her clammy hands on her dress and cleared her throat. “But I kissed her. She told her parents because her Dad had called them, and she thought I'd told him." Shelby hadn’t looked Toni in the eye once since she started telling the story. “I hadn’t told anyone .” Shelby sniffled. “But now my parents knew, and I swore that it was Becca. I told them that she’d tried to kiss me, that I had stood my ground.”  Shelby could still remember the whole thing so vividly. She hated that. She hated that it felt like it was just yesterday. “And when Becca came to talk to me about it, I was so fucking angry with her. She told me that she would always be there for me no matter what, and I told her that I was only ever friends with her because I felt pity for her.” Shelby looked down at the ground, shook her head again. “Even blamed her past trauma on her, said it was all her fault and that I was disgusted when she told me about it.” Toni just listened, kept fighting the urge to reach out and hold Shelby’s hand as she spoke. “The last thing I ever told her was to stay the fuck away from me.” Shelby put her head in her hands. She started to cry - no, to sob. Toni swooped in right away, like she’d been standing right on the sidelines waiting to rush in when this moment came. “Now she’s gone.” Shelby bawled into Toni’s shoulder. Toni wrapped one arm around the back of Shelby’s neck whilst stroking the back of her hair with the other. She shushed into Shelby’s ear and swayed slowly back and forth. Toni let her head rest against Shelby’s and waited out the tears with her.  It was a while before Shelby calmed down. Toni just continued to sway, getting lighter and lighter with each passing minute. At one point she wondered whether or not Shelby had fallen asleep, but she heard a quiet sniffle and then felt Shelby lifting herself up. She quickly wiped at any tear residue, gave a smile which Toni registered as one of embarrassment. “Sorry,” Shelby whispered. “God, I’m so sorry.” “Hey, don’t be.” Toni placed her hand on top of Shelby’s. “Come on, let me drive you home.” - Toni pulled up on the edge of Shelby’s street. She turned off the engine, turned to face Shelby and gave a hesitant smile. “So…” Shelby ran her hands across her dress and stretched her arms. “That was an interesting first date.”  Toni bit back a laugh. “I liked it. I think we had an important conversation.”  Shelby gave her a look of uncertainty. “You think so?” “Yeah,” Toni shrugged. “I’m glad that you felt as though you were able to open up to me.”  Shelby smiled, nodded her head. “Alright then,” She opened the passenger door.  “You can, you know.” Toni told her. “Open up to me, I mean. Any time you want to.” Shelby pursed her lips to tame a smile. “Okay.”  Toni let her go then. She waited in the shadows for Shelby to unlock her door, then drove off as quietly as she could down the street.  There was a mixture of emotions pooling in her stomach. She felt glad that Shelby had opened up to her about two major issues in her life, then she also felt horrendous that those were things Shelby had experienced.  She was thrilled that they had gotten to go on a date, and was frustrated that it ended with her having to park at the end of the street and not even chancing kissing her goodbye.  The following afternoon Toni spent at the local diner with Leah and Martha.  They had gone through two milkshakes each and were halfway through a basket of fries when Toni’s phone started to ring. It was her foster mom. “What’s up?” Toni answered with a mouth full of fries, already reaching towards the basket for more. “You need to go to Mason’s school. They need a guardian there and I’m at lunch with a friend.” Toni had to shush Leah and Martha, who were giggling over something on Leah’s phone.  “Why can’t George go?”  “He’s working until 5. They need you there in thirty minutes.” And then before Toni could say anything in protest, her foster mom put down the phone.  Toni chucked her phone onto the table and groaned. “What’s going on?” Martha asked as she too reached for more fries.  “I have to go to Mason’s school to talk with the principal.”  “Sounds like a job for your foster parents.” Leah slurped up the remains of her milkshake. “Well, she’s at lunch.”  Leah and Martha scrunched their noses.  Toni checked her watch. “I have to leave.” It wasn’t too long of a drive to the school. Toni arrived with five minutes to spare, but quickly made her way to the reception office. They approached her right away, guided her into the principal's office where a man sat with glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.  He looked at Toni and rose to his feet with a perplexed expression on his face.  “Oh,” He hesitated as he extended his hand to her.  “Toni. My foster parents couldn’t make it.”  They shook his hands and he nodded his head, accepting the fact.  “Well, we called your foster parents here because Mason had gotten into a fight. It’s his second one in the past week.”  Toni hummed as she took one of the two seats. She wasn’t good at feigning emotions. It wasn’t like she didn’t care about Mason, because she did. But Toni wasn’t necessarily the right person to lecture him on anger and fights.  “Spencer’s parents should be here in a minute.” Hm. Spencer. She was sure that Shelby’s younger brother was called Spencer. Weird. Toni looked at her hands, fiddled with a nail that was getting a little too pointy.  There was a quick knock on the door before it clicked open. “Ah, Mr Goodkind.” Toni’s eyes widened. For a minute, she couldn’t even bring herself to look up. But she did.  He looked right back at her with that lingering smile pinned to his face like it always was. His eyebrows furrowed, like he recognised her from somewhere that he couldn’t place. The principal was talking, though neither of them seemed to be listening. Toni heard “Dave Goodkind” followed by “Toni Shalifoe” and realised that she was only missing their introduction. Dave offered out his hand which Toni shook. It was a very rapid handshake, like they were worried about being scalded by the other’s touch. “So we’re here today because Mason and Spencer had their second altercation of the week this morning.” The principal began. Toni turned to face him once Dave had sat down on the chair beside her. She looked at the name tag on the principal's desk: Principal Duffy. “Spencer told us about this the other morning,” Dave interrupted. “He seems pretty shaken up by it.” Principal Duffy pursed his lips, folded his arms across the desk. “Well, Toni, I’m not sure of how much you know. Would you like me to recap?” Toni nodded. She took a deep breath, knowing what Shelby had already told her.  He recapped almost the exact thing Shelby had told her: Spencer had been homophobic, Mason had defended it. This morning resulted in a fist fight. “Spencer called Mason a homophobic slur, one that I won’t repeat.” Principal Duffy cleared his throat. “Mason defended himself by telling Spencer that he wasn’t gay, but that either way Spencer should not be saying those things.” Toni bit back a smile. She was proud of Mason. “Spencer came back with a few more homphobic sentences-” “Like what?” Dave interrupted a second time. “Well, he insisted that Mason was a...the F word.” Principal Duffy shifted, his discomfort easy to recognise. “Then proceeded to say that gay people are unnatural and will not be welcomed into Heaven, as well as mentioning conversion therapy as a method for Mason.” Toni sighed. She glanced at Dave from the corner of her eye. “My family and I have never used the term faggot.” Dave sat up straight, his arms placed upon the armrest whilst he clasped his hands. “We don’t believe in using those words.” Toni almost fucking shuddered at how easily the word fell from his lips. “He may have picked it up from a friend, but I do worry about where he heard that gay people aren’t welcome in Heaven.” The principal looked at Dave accusingly.  “At my church, we talk about how sins are delivered to us by the Devil. We say that falling victim to sin is falling victim to the Devil and his temptations.”  “Do you preach that homosexuality is a sin at your church?” Toni heard herself say.  “Being gay is a sin in general.” Dave told her simply, his eyes fixed ahead of him. “There’s no hate in mine or my family’s heart. We believe that if you can fix something, you should. That includes homosexuality.” The principal seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable. By how much he was shifting now, you’d think he had ants in his pants.  “We can’t control what you teach your children at home. But our roles as teachers include shutting down any discrimination.” Principal Duffy pushed his glasses further up his nose.  “I don’t think Spencer was displaying any kind of discrimination.” Dave chuckled. “He’s just an expressive kid, that’s all. He’s proud of his beliefs. I’d never let him spread hate.” The principal opened his mouth, closed it again. He looked at Toni. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”  Now all four eyes were on her. This was a challenging situation. She didn’t want to piss Shelby off by getting into a fist fight with her Dad. “I think that what Spencer displayed was discrimination, and I’m proud of my brother for standing his ground. I hope he continues to do so, with school bullies and with any bullies he passes by in his life.”  It was silent for a minute. Dave sighed. Principal Duffy cleared his throat, again. “Mr Goodkind, I must remind you that any behaviour seen as discrimination will be dealt with at the school. We cannot tolerate any kind of negative behaviour.” Dave Goodkind just nodded hurriedly, got up out of his chair. “I’ll remember that. I’ll also remember your treatment towards my son when we’re helping this school out with fundraisers.”  He walked towards the door. “It was good seeing you, Principal.” Dave said with a nod, then his eyes set on Toni who only got an eyebrow raise of an acknowledgement.  He left then, the door clicking shut announcing his exit. Both Toni and Principal Duffy visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry if you felt uncomfortable during any of that.” The Principal relaxed into his chair. “He’s a very intense parent.” “I’ve noticed.” Toni mumbled to herself. “Anyway, was that all?” He nodded. Toni stood up, gave him a smile and left. She needed to get her head around whatever the fuck just happened. - She spent ten minutes just sitting in her car with the engine off, gathering her thoughts and steadying her anger.  Shelby - 14:02: I was flicking through Netflix and the Haunting of Bly Manor came up on my suggested. It made me think of you. Is it worth watching? Toni grinned. She contemplated calling her, telling her everything that had just happened. But then she thought about how much that would get to Shelby’s head. It was enough to make her decide against it. Toni - 14:20: Well, it does have a lesbian relationship in it so if there’s anyway that your parents can get ahold of your account, I’d maybe suggest watching it on some dodgy website. Toni called Martha. She needed to talk to someone about what she had just endured. Martha answered on the second ring, and Toni was at her house ten minutes later.  “Can you believe his fucking audacity?” Toni said, pacing Martha’s bedroom floor whilst her friend sat on the bed. “He said that they don’t use homophobic slurs at home, but then so openly said the slur that his son had used to Mason.” Martha shrugged. “It’s no secret that Dave Goodkind is probably the most homophobic person in this town.” “Yeah, but it’s a completely different time of experience having to actually be in his proximity.”  Toni flopped down onto the bed, put her hands over face and groaned. Martha readjusted herself to rest her head on Toni’s chest.  “How are things going with you and Shelby anyway? We haven’t really spoken much about it.”  Toni tensed. She would usually tell Martha everything there was to know, but she didn’t know how much Shelby was comfortable with and the last thing she wanted to do was break her trust.  “Nothing much has really changed.” “Well, did she ever talk to you about it?” Toni scrunched her nose. “Not really. Do you want to go to the diner?” Martha dropped the conversation without a second thought, which relieved Toni greatly.  Shelby knew her father was home when she heard the door shut accompanied by a loud huff. The car keys being tossed into the dish was just further confirmation. She was sitting at the kitchen table, awaiting her mother’s cooking which had been turned to a low heat as soon as her dad had to rush out.  JoBeth approached Dave as soon as he passed through the kitchen threshold.  “How did it go?” She asked, taking his jacket from him as soon as he had slipped out of it. “As well as it could have.” Dave readjusted the collar on his shirt before coming to take a seat besides Shelby. Her mother turned the heat back to high. “He’d called the kid a faggot, the kid defended himself and Spencer said that homosexuals go to Hell and mentioned something about conversion therapy.”  Shelby felt herself starting to pick at her nails. “I told the Principal that we don’t use slurs in this house, and that what he had said about homosexuals was just a childlike simplification of what we teach at the church; which is that sins are delivered to us by the Devil and falling for his temptation is falling victim to him.” JoBeth hummed in agreement, but had her back turned as she tried to multitask with three different pans of food. “Hi, sweetheart.” Dave finally said, leaning towards Shelby to plant a kiss on her forehead.  She smiled at him. “Quit picking at your nails.” He scolded as he passed her a folded napkin and cutlery.  Shelby barely spoke during the meal. She nitpicked at her food, shuffled it around a bit before telling her parents that she was full and wished to be excused.  She went to her room, pulled her phone from her back pocket. Shelby - 16:48: I feel like I’m finding it harder and harder to stay in this house. Are you busy? Toni - 16:49: I’m never too busy for you. Give me ten minutes. Almost exactly ten minutes later, Toni texted Shelby letting her know that she was parked at the usual spot.  Shelby could hear the TV playing from the living room when she stood at the top of the stairs. She sneaked down each step as quietly as she could, peering her head around the corner when she got to the bottom. Her parents were watching a movie, and her brother and sister were entertaining themselves with homework at the kitchen table. She wouldn’t be long. She just needed fresh air. As soon as she slipped into Toni’s car, she let out a loud sigh and threw her head back against the headrest.  Toni bit back a smile. Not at Shelby’s evident distress, but she liked seeing her sat in her passenger seat. She turned off the engine. “Do you want to talk about it?” Shelby brought her hands to her face. “I’m not even sure what to say.” She mumbled out. Toni just nodded. “Okay, well just tell me when you’re ready.” They must have sat in silence for at least five minutes before Shelby took a deep breath. “My brother got into another fight at school.” She finally said. “It was the same kid who he had gotten into a fight with earlier in the week, and it was about the same thing.” Toni took a deep breath of her own. “I know.” Shelby looked at her, furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” “Apparently our brothers go to the same school. My foster parents got a call, but neither of them could make it. I had to go in.”  Shelby’s face took on a ghostly shade of white. “You and my dad were in the principal’s office together?” Toni just nodded. “Oh my Lord.” Shelby breathed, then bowed her head to rest in her hands again. “I can’t believe this.” Toni had no idea what to say. She wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Shelby was annoyed with her, if she was being honest. She found herself just sitting there waiting for Shelby to say something else. “I’m so embarrassed.” Shelby almost laughed at the barbarbicness of it all. She lifted her head to look at Toni. “I’m sorry if he said anything that offended you, in fact I know he would have.” Toni pursed her lips. “He’s pretty comfortable using homophobic slurs, huh?” Shelby bit her lip, scrunched her face.  Toni found herself laughing now, and soon enough Shelby was laughing too. “This whole thing is just one big mess, huh?” “Actually, I was going to say that I think you’re handling all this really well.” She told her sincerely. “I can’t imagine what it must be like living with such a bigot.”  Shelby readjusted herself so that she was facing Toni fully. “These past few weeks have been some of the hardest.” “That’s definitely not out of the ordinary given what you’ve gone through with me these past few weeks.” Toni wanted to reach for Shelby’s hand. It was right there, being tormented by the other as she fidgeted with her nails. Toni had never seen Shelby’s nails look so short. “And then to have to come home to your obnoxiously conservative family…you deserve better, Shelby.” Shelby met her eyes. Toni noticed that they were glistening, a thin wall of shimmer holding back a flood.  She noticed the way Shelby glanced at her lips, so fleetingly that if she were to blink she would never have known.  Toni looked at hers too, somewhat more shamelessly. She wanted Shelby to notice; she needed her to know that she still wanted her despite the obscenity of her family.  She wanted Shelby to know that she would steal her away from that house whenever she needed her to.  Toni found herself leaning forward. She almost jerked right back when she saw the fear in the way Shelby’s eyes widened. She didn’t let herself pull back. This was a chance she was willing to take. When their lips connected, Toni instantly relaxed. Shelby pressed into her and ran her hands through the hair at the back of Toni’s head.  Toni noticed a recurring theme between their first kiss and this one. As soon as Shelby relaxed, she was brazen.  She’d deepen the kiss whilst running her fingers through her hair, and she never thought twice about coming up for air.  Toni found herself wishing that the kiss was ever so slightly gentler. She wanted them to take their time, but had to remind herself that Shelby just wanted to take what she could get before the terror and shame crept back into her skin.  Shelby pulled back, her breathing erratic as she rested into the seat.  Toni did the same. She waited a few minutes to see if Shelby would speak first, but once her breathing had steadied and she remained silent - it was Toni who spoke first.  “What do you need me to do?” She asked in the softest voice she could manage.  Shelby’s eyes were closed, her hands folded in her lap.  “Just…stay with me.”  Toni’s heart swooped. Shelby’s voice was just about a whisper, one of desperation.  They must have been sat together for about an hour and a half before Shelby realised she had to get back inside.  The walk back down to the house was cold on Shelby’s skin. She slipped through the door, then raced up the stairs to her room where she remained for the rest of the night.  It was Sunday in two days. Shelby wondered if the protestors would be outside the church again, then fantasised about being with them.  Soon enough she drifted to sleep, without any intrusive or self-scolding thoughts about her second kiss with Toni. She hoped it was progress.  The protesters were there again, much like Shelby had expected.  They were only a small group, but she couldn’t help but stare at them. She always did; in complete awe.  Some of them locked eyes with her, raised their posters a little more for her to read.  Dave placed his arm on her back. “Come on,” The service lasted for its usual allotted time of 60 minutes. When they were leaving, the protesters were still there.  She didn’t like that whenever she looked toward them they’d shove their posters further forward.  “ There is no cure to homosexuality, because it isn’t an illness” was written on a poster that Shelby had spotted. She imagined herself grabbing that poster and standing right in front of her father with it. It was a stupid fantasy. “Mr Goodkind, think about what you’re teaching your kids.” She heard a protester say. The woman didn’t approach the family, just stayed where she was and kept her tone calm. “Would they be able to come to you in confidence should they find themselves feeling these things?” Shelby looked at her father who gave them a dismissive smile. “In the car, kids.” He said, pulling open the door of the SUV.  When her siblings slipped in obediently, Shelby hesitated. She looked at the protester, then looked at her father. She wanted an answer. He nodded towards the car. “In, Shelby.” She swallowed, hard, and then abided.  As they drove away, Shelby watched in the rear view mirror as the protesters shrugged, gave each other hugs and packed up their posters.  She rested her head against the window and slept through the rest of the drive home. - Shelby didn’t talk much to her friends that day. Toni only heard from her twice. But, the following day was Toni’s basketball game. She arrived with Leah. They got there 45 minutes before the game started, mostly because they were hoping to go and see Toni beforehand. When they realised that they were too late for that they went to buy a bunch of candy from the kiosk instead, which was where they bumped into Martha.  Everyone stood to applaud the home team when they came out from the changing rooms. Shelby’s eyes instinctively searched for Toni, who was scanning the stands.  Seconds after their eyes locked, Toni turned away. She noticed a tinge of pink spread across both of the brunette’s cheeks, which made her feel a little smug.  She liked seeing Toni with her hair tied up. It accentuated her cheek bones. Shelby liked that she could see where Toni’s baby hair started to react to the sweat by curling slightly. Shelby spent the entirety of the game with her eyes set on Toni. She had little to no idea about what was going on, she just knew to get up and cheer whenever someone with the same shirt as Toni would get the ball in the hoop. There were a few fouls throughout the game. One involved Toni, believe or not she was the victim, and she was quite pissed about it. Although Shelby couldn’t hear what she was saying to the referee, she could tell by the way Toni’s arms were extended outwards and the way her jaw clenched every time the ref talked back. Toni hooped three balls that game. Shelby stood and cheered, just like the rest of the stands. Toni didn’t make a fuss about celebrating, just high-fived or fist bumped her teammates. Two out of three of those times, she looked at Shelby in the crowd and smiled.  When the game ended and the other two girls raced down to meet Toni, Shelby held back. She didn’t want to bombard her right away, so she thought she would wait. The two girls smothered Toni. Shelby liked seeing her laugh. After a few minutes, Toni locked eyes with her and then dismissed herself into the changing rooms. She reappeared about ten minutes later with damp hair and a fresh tracksuit. Leah and Martha looked over their shoulders at Shelby before dipping away to join the crowd of people queuing for a slushy. Toni made her way up the stairs two steps at a time. A whiff of coconut and mango accompanied Toni, who straddled the bench so that she was facing Shelby.  “So, what did you think?” Toni tossed her backpack into the small space separating them, then rested her arms on it.  She seemed eager to know. Her face was tense and her eyes narrow as they bored into Shelby’s.  “I thought you were amazing.” Shelby let her know. She didn’t look away, wanted Toni to feel her sincerity. Shelby wondered just how self critical Toni was when it came to performance.  Toni’s eyes squinted, like she was trying to see through a facade which wasn’t there. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “You did?” “Yes.” Shelby laughed now. “Toni, you’re really good." Toni took a deep breath and sighed, finally broke eye contact. “Thanks. Do you want to go and get some food?” Shelby agreed. They invited Leah and Martha, but the girls declined and never really gave a reason why. - Once they were in the car, Shelby and Toni pondered where to go. A good fifteen minutes were spent just driving around.  Shelby checked her watch. “My brother and sister are at youth club and my parents are working until 5…I could maybe make us some pasta or something?” Toni nearly crashed the damn car. Instead, she merely glanced over at her with an evidently perplexed expression. “What?” “Well, it’s only 3:30. Mom and Dad pick my siblings up on their way home, so no one would be there until around 5:30.” Shelby reiterated. “Though, I’d probably feel more comfortable if you left at 5:00.” Toni held back a laugh at the way Shelby dipped her head and fiddled with nails. “Okay. Take me to the mansion.” Shelby rolled her eyes, but started to direct Toni to her house from where they were now.  It wasn’t far, and soon enough they were pulling up outside. Shelby double checked her for parents car before unlocking the door. Toni was in awe of the house. She couldn’t remember how it looked the first time; mostly because she was drunk in the evening and hungover when she snuck out in the morning. She’d only really seen the stairs and the front door. “This is gorgeous, Shelby.”  Shelby shrugged. “It’s four walls.” They ate the pasta at the dining table, because it was second nature to Shelby and she wouldn’t dare think about taking food anywhere else in the house.  Toni enjoyed it, praised Shelby for her cooking skills and felt a little embarrassed when Shelby told her that pasta is the easiest thing one could cook.  Once they’d cleared and washed their plates, Shelby took her to sit in the living room. Considering the house was also occupied by children,  Toni was baffled by how the living room looked like a show home: no toys, no dust, just immaculate cleanliness. It made her feel uneasy.  The Netflix logo appeared on the screen. Shelby plonked herself onto the couch right beside Toni, her legs pulled up and her knees resting casually against Toni’s.  Shelby asked what she wanted to watch, so Toni asked if she had ever seen Modern Family (she hadn’t) and they settled for that.  As the title sequence for the second episode started, Shelby slowly came to rest her head upon Toni’s shoulder. Toni felt herself become tense, and then the uneven breathing followed. She hated this part of having a crush.  She was sure she heard Shelby chuckle. “Do I make you nervous?” Shelby asked, her tone quiet and breathy.  Now Toni’s throat was dry too. So, she didn’t say anything.  Shelby’s hand stopped resting in her lap and instead made its way up to Toni’s chest where it then settled on her heart (which was beating quite erratically).  She lifted her head, turned to look at Toni. They were a nose brush away when they locked eyes.  “I do.” Shelby said in a breath, one that coated Toni’s lips in warmth.  Instinctively, Toni licked her lips. Shelby’s eyes dropped at the motion.  Shelby’s hair had formed a curtain around her face and framed it perfectly. She was staring at Toni’s lips, then she finally ran her tongue across her own.  Toni leaned in, captured Shelby’s bottom lip between her own and cupped her hand around the back of Shelby’s neck for better access. Shelby didn't shy away. In fact, she followed Toni’s lead and tried to mimic her hand placement.  Toni learned further into the kiss, causing Shelby to slide down the couch until she was lying on her back with Toni on top of her.  She felt her way along Toni’s back, found herself feeling irritated by the restriction of the tracksuit jacket but grabbed ahold of Toni’s shoulders to pull her further down.  Toni broke the kiss as her hand came to cup the side of Shelby’s face. She used her thumb to turn Shelby’s head in the other direction so that she could kiss at her jawline. Shelby let out a whimper. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to stop it happening again when Toni moved to her neck.  She wasn’t sure she’d ever had her neck kissed so gently before. It felt ethereal, and then Shelby couldn’t help the next sound that fell from her lips.  A moan.  Despite Shelby’s internal downward spiral at the sound she’d just released, Toni kept kissing. She was making her way down from the space below Shelby’s earlobe to her exposed collarbones.  By the time she got there, Shelby was a panting mess. Toni showed no mercy. This time she wasn’t just kissing, she was licking and biting and-  Shelby heard a car pulling up outside.  She pushed Toni away and sat up as quickly as she could. Luckily, Toni caught on quickly and readjusted herself.  Shelby pulled her hair forward, across her shoulders. She tried to look as presentable as possible but the key was in the door so suddenly and then before she knew it her mother and father were in the living room. “Oh,” Shelby beamed as she crossed her legs. “I didn’t hear you guys come in.” Dave’s eyes were on Toni, and JoBeth was dividing her gaze between both girls with an unreadable tight-lipped smile.  “I can tell.” Dave said, his eyes scanning over Shelby for just a second.  Shelby didn’t know what to make of that; she looked away and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored picture frame on the mantelpiece.  She was the epitome of a hot mess: her lips swollen and pink and her hair slightly ruffled. The most significant part though, the thing that made her stomach turn, was the line of red blotches from her upper neck to her collarbone. Shelby could see in the mirror that Toni was just staring right back at Shelby’s father, her mouth a straight line.  “Are you girls hungry?” JoBeth asked all of a sudden, causing Shelby to almost jump out of her skin.  “I actually think that Shelby’s friend should get going.” Dave looked at his watch. “It’s almost dinner time. Surely your mom must have something cooking for you?” It was rhetorical, that much was obvious.  Shelby and Toni locked eyes fleetingly, but Shelby was still able to notice the redness of Toni’s lips too. She clenched her jaw.  “I was on my way out, actually.” Toni said as she stood up, tugged on the bottom of her jacket. “See you around.” And then she left.  “How do you know that girl?” Dave’s feet had stayed planted in the exact same place this whole time.  “She’s a friend of Leah’s. We’ve been hanging out a little.” Shelby gave an innocent smile, hoped it came across as casual rather than desperate (which was how it actually felt, like a fucking desperate attempt of salvation).  “You know she’s the sister of the boy that’s been picking on Spencer.”  “Oh,” Shelby stuttered. “I didn’t know that.” “It’s probably best that you don’t see her anymore, huh?”  Shelby didn’t respond for a moment, then nodded. “I guess so.” “Or at the very least, I don’t want to see her in this house again.” Shelby looked at her mother, who was staring at the ground with pursed lips. “Of course, daddy.” Dave smiled. “Alright, then. Shall we go eat?” Dinner felt tense. Shelby took her usual place at the edge of the table, her siblings at her side and her mom and dad beside them. She was quiet the whole time, only spoke when spoken to and as soon as she was finished taking small bites out of her food she washed her plate and went to her room. At 06:30, Shelby was woken by her alarm. She crawled out of bed, met her mother in the kitchen to collect her granola bowl (they always had a granola bowl on a school day) and then made her way back up the stairs to get ready for school. However, she bumped into her father halfway up the steps. “Shelb,” He placed her hands on either side of her arms, keeping her there. “I have another meeting with Kyle next Saturday, you remember Kyle?“ Of course she remembered Kyle. He’d been attending her fathers conversion therapy sessions for the past two years. Shelby nodded.  “I thought it might be…” He paused for a moment. “Insightful, for you to come and sit in on the session.”  Shelby’s eyes almost bulged right out of their sockets.  “It’ll teach you some valuable stuff. I’ll come and wake you up on the day, alright?” He said, but didn’t give her the chance to answer.  She didn’t move for a good five minutes. By the time she got to her room, her granola bowl was all soggy. Shelby daydreamed her way through first period. In fact, she daydreamed through most of the classes she had.  Arriving in the canteen at lunch, she spotted Leah and Martha waving their arms from across the room. She noticed Toni sitting beside Leah, taking a bite out of a sandwich before covering her mouth to say something to Martha. She hadn’t noticed Shelby yet. Shelby merely mumbled a ‘hello’ before picking up her fork and poking around the food on her lunch tray. Her father wanting her to sit in on one of his conversion therapy sessions was not a good sign. Even Shelby saw the state she was in when they came into the living room. He knew. He definitely knew. He was going to let her sit in on one of his sessions, and then if that didn’t work he was going to send her away. She had gotten lucky with Becca. They had played it off like they had taken her word for that altercation being at Becca’s hands, but she could tell by looking into her father’s eyes that that wasn’t true. He had never looked at her the same since Becca, always had an indecipherable expression on his face whenever they made eye contact. There was something missing in his gaze, something fatherly.  And now, this would be her final warning. This would be her final shot at redemption. “Shelby,” She heard Leah call, her hand coming to gently grip Shelby’s wrist. “Hm?” Shelby hummed. Leah let go and gave a quiet, uncomfortable chuckle. Shelby looked around the table to see all sets of eyes on her. Toni’s included, though Toni looked back down at her sandwich as soon as they locked eyes. “You were miles away.” Fatin inputted from the other end of the table. “Oh, sorry.” Shelby shook her head, placed her fork down. “What were you saying?” Fatin cleared her throat. “My parent’s cabin, this weekend?” She reiterated, but Shelby just blinked at her. Fatin took a deep breath. “I have a free cabin this weekend. I thought maybe we could go there on Saturday for the night. There’s a lake and we have kayaks and stuff,” “I can’t do Saturday.” Shelby interrupted. “I have church early on Sunday.” Fatin had to fight the grimace she felt tingling its way onto her face. “Okay, we could do Friday after school then.” She looked to the other girls for approval; they all nodded along. So, she turned back to Shelby for a response. “Okay. Thanks, Fatin.”  Shelby didn’t speak again during lunch. She didn’t really talk much again that day, actually.  Toni - 14:56: Do you need a ride home? Shelby placed her phone face down after reading the message, chewed the bottom of her pen.  It was quite a humid day, Shelby thought. Sitting on the school bus wouldn’t be much fun. Maybe she could walk home. But that would take, at the very least, an hour - and then she'd be all sweaty once she got home. Shelby - 14:58: I’ll meet you outside. Her teacher, after the bell sounded, decided to give out homework. By the time Shelby got outside, Toni was waiting for her.  “Hey,” Toni said after noticing Shelby in the small crowd of students still making their way out.  Shelby just about looked at her. She didn’t even stop walking, forcing Toni into a steady pace alongside her.  Toni knew better than to pester Shelby. Her mood wasn’t hard to analyse; Shelby’s homophobic parents had caught her near enough redhanded in a hot frenzy with another girl beside her.  There were many theories floating around Toni’s head: had they hit her? Called her horrific names? Told her they were sending her away?  If she was being honest, Toni was on pins. She couldn’t stop glancing over at Shelby, just waiting for her to crack. She had to know everything was okay. “So...how was your day?” Toni asked halfway through the drive. Shelby shrugged. “It’s school. It was as pleasant as a school day can be.” Toni rolled her eyes at the bluntness of the reply.  “Come on, Shelby.” Toni spoke just above a whisper. “Talk to me. I need to know you’re okay.”  She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but noticed Shelby shift beside her. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “What did your parents say to you when I left?” Shelby let her eyes full shut, swallowed the lump in her throat.  “My dad wants me to sit in on his next conversion therapy session.” Toni said nothing. It stayed like that for a good few minutes, long enough for Shelby to glance over and make sure Toni had actually heard her. She could tell just by her facial expression that she had. Her lips were parted, with occasional uneven breaths falling out of them. Her eyes were vacant, like she was on auto-pilot.  “Toni?” Shelby placed her hand onto the girl's arm as gently as she could, not wanting to startle her.  Toni blinked a few times, took a deep breath which she let out through her nose. She readjusted her grip on the wheel. “A conversion session? What do you think that means?” Her tone was calm when spoke, put forward the question so simplistically that it was as though she was merely asking what Shelby was having for dinner. Shelby could have laughed. “I think it means he saw right fucking through us. This is…” She had to pause for a minute. “A threat. This is the last chance he’s giving me to prove myself, I just know it.”  And then Shelby put her head in her hands and let out the loudest sigh Toni had ever heard. “I don’t think you should go home tonight.”  “I can’t stay out.” Shelby shook her head. “It’ll just make things more suspicious.”  Toni sighed now. “Well, at least let me take you to Leah’s for a few hours.” “I don’t think I’m ready to tell her.” Shelby’s voice quavered a little. It took a whole lot of willpower for Toni not to pull the car over and wrap her arms around her.  “You don’t have to tell her.” Toni reached over, rested her hand on Shelby’s thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to. Just tell her there’s a bit of drama going on at home right now, and you’re not ready to go back there just yet.” Shelby took a breath, let her hand fall on top of Toni’s. They stayed that way until they arrived at Leah’s house. When they got there Toni gave her a call. Much like she assumed, Leah was more than happy to let them both in. “So...there’s just got a lot going on with your parents?” Leah handed one of the mugs of tea in her hands to Shelby, before joining Toni on the end of the bed. That was all they had told her when Leah opened the door, that Shelby’s parents were just a little overwhelming to be around right now and she wasn’t ready to go home. If Leah was being honest, she wasn’t totally buying it. She could tell something was amiss. Shelby’s eyes were heavy and a little reddened. Toni wouldn’t take her eyes off Shelby, a look of concern plastered onto her face. It was a foreign thing for Leah to see: Shelby distressed and Toni showing solicitude for her. She knew that they had learnt to be civil around one another, but this seemed like more than civility. It was no secret to Leah (or any other friends) that Toni was an empathetic person. She was always around when a friend was in need, and Leah had been shown immense comfort from Toni when she herself had been going through a hard time - and she had seen it especially with Martha. Now she was seeing it with Shelby, albeit a little more refrained. “Yeah,” Shelby wiped at a stray tear on her cheek as she took a sip of her tea. “They’re trying to deal with the drama Spencer has been having at school as well as figuring out a way to stop the protests outside the Church.” It wasn’t a total lie. Those things were true, they just weren’t what was actually on her mind. “You could spend the night here if it’s all too much.” Leah offered. “I can set the air bed up, or you can share mine.” Shelby shook her head before Leah even finished. “No,” Shelby smiled at her kindness. “I’m not ready to leave yet, but I should get back tonight.” Toni pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, chewed on it for a second. “I should probably be heading home myself.”  Shelby didn’t want her to leave. She couldn’t find the words to say that though, not in front of Leah...and probably not even if it had just been the two of them. The whole drive home, all Toni could think about Shelby. Even when she got home, and no one acknowledged her, and even when she spent the rest of the evening laying on her bed with headphones on and her door locked. Leah cleared her throat when she came back into the bedroom, hoped it would clear the tension in the air too. Shelby’s hands were fidgeting in her lap. Her knees were pressed together and she was staring downwards. “Do you want me to make you some food?” Leah asked, taking back her place on the edge of the bed. “I noticed that you didn’t eat your lunch.” Shelby just shook her head. She found such comfort in Leah’s attentiveness, could feel the concern in the softness of her tone when she spoke. “You gotta eat.” Leah said through a half chuckle. “Can’t have you passing out on me.” Shelby just closed her eyes.  She couldn’t go home. That was all she could think about, the eerie sickness that would come through stepping through that fucking threshold knowing what it held for her. “Hey,” She heard Leah say, her voice laced with worry. Shelby felt Leah’s arms wrap around her as she crouched on the ground. “It’s okay.” Leah whispered, and it was only then that Shelby realised she was crying. Upon the realisation, Shelby began to sob. She sobbed the hardest she ever had and squeezed Leah so tight she almost worried that she would break her in half. Through her sobs and whimpers and gasps for air, she swore she heard Leah sniffle too. Leah clung to Shelby just as tightly. Shelby felt the words creeping up her throat. Her throat was too raw to hold them back, and soon enough they were on the tip of her tongue and just as she opened her mouth to let out another sob, the words leaped. “I’m gay.”  For a minute, Shelby’s world stopped. Everything spun around her and she felt, for a minute, like she was floating somewhere - lost in space and she couldn’t breathe. Then, she felt Leah squeeze her so hard. Leah pulled away from the hug, placed her hands on either side of Shelby’s face (she had been crying, her face was tearstained and her eyes were glassy) and smiled so much her eyes almost disappeared. She planted a kiss right between Shelby’s eyebrows, then planted two more on either side of Shelby’s cheeks just before she pulled her in for another hug. Shelby cried even more, even harder than before. But Leah did too, and that helped Shelby to relax further into it. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, with their arms snaked around one another and giving an occasional light squeeze whilst swaying gently side to side.  Eventually, one of them pulled away. They couldn’t help but laugh as soon as they laid eyes on each other: their faces were all flushed pink and their eyes so puffy it felt as though they were looking through squinted eyes. Shelby felt exhausted now. Leah seemed to feel the same. Realising that, Shelby decided that she should probably make her way back home now. As she stood up Leah placed her hands on her shoulders, looked her in the eye and took a deep breath. “I love you so much, Shelby.” Leah’s voice was hoarse and scratched from all the crying. “You’re my best friend, and you’re absolutely perfect.” Shelby had to stop herself from crying all over again. “No matter what happens going forward, you will always have a home here.” Her stomach flipped. She wasn’t sure she even knew what “home” felt like. All she knew was four walls and two adults who at least acted the way parents should: food on the table, roof over your head, nice clothes, central heating.  Her mom would often hug her, tell her that she loved her, push loose strands of her hair behind her ear. She liked that it felt sincere.  Her dad would give her side hugs, would say “ you know I love you, right?” and sometimes he would tell her to put a jacket on before leaving the house, would tell her “ you don’t want to catch a chill.” but he would say it in the summer too, so Shelby didn’t think it was really about the cold. Leah drove Shelby home, came inside with her to say hello to her parents and, most importantly, to reinforce that she had been with her since the school day ended. When leaving Leah gave Shelby another hug, kissed her on the cheek which she didn’t normally do. It made Shelby feel safe. - Shelby didn’t see Toni outside of school again until the weekend came. She’d told her about coming to Leah, and that she wanted to spend some more time with her. Toni said it would be really good for her and that she was proud. Everyday after school, Shelby went over to Leah’s house for a few hours. She told her that Toni also knew her secret, and denied profusely when Leah asked (very cautiously) if there was anything going on between them. She wasn’t sure Leah believed her, because Shelby felt her cheek glow red as soon as Leah mentioned it. Leah came inside every time she dropped Shelby off that week. She also made sure to be there when Shelby mentioned to them going to Fatin’s cabin on Friday night, tried not to swing at Dave Goodkind when he looked at Shelby analytically and said: “And it’s only the three of you going?” Shelby never failed to mouth a “thank you” whenever Leah was leaving. She could tell by the pursed lipped smile her friend would give that she hated leaving her there, so Shelby always tried to give her a big smile to make her feel better. She could tell it never worked, though. After school that Friday, Fatin borrowed her moms SUV to pick some of the girls up. In the car with Fatin was Dot (passenger seat, of course), Toni, Shelby and Leah (perched right in the middle of the other two girls). Nora said she would drive behind them with Rachel and Martha. She never really liked to drive with other people, but said she felt most comfortable with those two. It wasn’t too far of a drive, which was lucky because Fatin was a terrible driver. She paid no mind to road signs, tried her best to get through the light before it turned red and would give people the finger if they cut her off.  Shelby thought it was hilarious, but only because Toni and Leah did too. The cabin was beautiful. A typical ‘cabin in the woods’, with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, two sitting rooms and a massive kitchen. Most of the girls ran to start claiming bedrooms. It made Shelby nervous, gave her flashbacks of Leah’s sleepover. If she was being honest, she was only nervous because she really wanted to share with Toni but had no idea how to voice it. Leah looked over at her as she placed her bags on the floor. It wasn’t hard to notice her uneasiness.  “Guys, we’ve only just got here.” She told the group. “Sleeping arrangements should be the last thing on our mind. Why don’t we just put all our bags in the other sitting room and decide where we’re sleeping later on?” She looked over at Fatin to ensure it was okay with her. Fatin just shrugged. “I don’t really care who I spoon.”  Shelby looked at Leah, smiled shyly. Leah smiled right back at her. One of the main things that Fatin wanted to do was go swimming in the lake nearby. As soon as she mentioned it, the girls made grunts of disapproval. Fatin reassured them that the lake was perfectly swimmable. They all agreed in the end, mainly because Fatin seemed so excited to do it and they felt guilty letting her down when she was literally letting them stay at her cabin for free. Shelby still hadn’t spoken to Toni. They never got the chance during the drive with Leah being between them, and they were in the cabin for less than five minutes before leaving again. She sat on a log beside the lake, her knees pulled up and her arms wrapped around them. Everyone else was in the water: Toni and Martha entertained themselves by seeing who could splash the other with the most water, Leah, Fatin and Dot were giving each other poses to do as they jumped into the water and Rachel and Nora were seeing who could hold their breath for the longest. Shelby liked seeing how preoccupied everyone was. It was a nice noise, the water being manipulated by fast movements and their scattered laughter. Some of the girls were also having to shout over it all but still, Shelby felt peaceful.  After the initial excitement died down, Toni turned away from Martha for a breather and her eyes settled on Shelby. Shelby was already looking at her, her chin resting between the small gap in her pulled up knees. She smiled upon making eye contact. Toni mumbled something to Martha before making her way out of the lake.  Shelby looked away as Toni pulled herself out of the water. It felt strange to watch her considering she had stripped down to a sports bra and underwear. Toni didn’t seem fazed at all as she picked up a towel, wrapped it around herself and came to sit beside Shelby. “It feels like I haven’t spoken to you in weeks.” She said, laughing a little. “It does. It’s been strange, talking to someone other than you about what’s been going on.” Shelby’s eyes instinctively landed on Leah, who was laughing so much about something that tears were streaming from her eyes. Shelby smiled. “A good strange?”  “Yeah,” Shelby nodded to show her confidence in the answer. “A really good type of strange.” She paused for a minute, looked downward towards the gravel and ran her fingers along it. “But it’s still terrifying.”  Her voice was a whisper, like it was something she hadn’t wanted to say but couldn’t hold it in.  “I know.” Toni said, waited a few seconds before scooting a little closer. “At least now you have two people who you can come to. You’ll have a hell of a lot more when you’re ready to have them, too.” Before Shelby could respond, Fatin told everyone that they should start walking back and get some food.  Everyone wrapped themselves in a towel to walk back (Toni and Martha shared). Leah came to walk alongside Shelby, put her arm around her waist to pull her into a side-hug. She had been doing that a lot, showing Shelby affection anyway that she could. Shelby really liked it. By the time they got back to the cabin it had started to rain. Fatin claimed to have a sixth sense before she walked into the kitchen to make everyone a cup of tea. They all ended up sharing two large pizzas: one margarita and the other pepperoni. Dot tried to get everyone to watch Cabin the Woods, which they all eagerly protested against.  Shelby had been the last to get changed into her pyjamas. When she came back into the living room, she picked up two slices of pizza and sandwiched herself between Toni and Leah. Martha noticed it from her peripheral vision, quirked an eyebrow at Toni and hid a smirk behind her hand which she brought to her mouth. Shelby saw it happen and found that she didn’t feel angry; in fact it made her smile. She wondered what Toni had told her of their relationship, or if she had even said anything at all. Maybe Martha was just grinning at the fact that Shelby had chosen to be near her, which meant their trial of civility had worked out well. Perhaps Toni had swore to Martha that it wouldn’t, and now Martha was feeling smug. Throughout the movie, Shelby felt herself getting closer and closer to Toni. By the end of it, she was near enough cuddling her.  Everyone was yawning once the movie had ended, and Shelby felt herself getting apprehensive again about the sleeping arrangements. “You know, I might go and chill with Toni for a little while before I go to sleep.” Leah said, pushing herself up from the couch. “Shelby, do you wanna come?” Shelby felt a little taken aback by how quickly Leah had come up with a plan. She must have been thinking about it during the movie. “Sure.” And it worked perfectly. They all sat on the bed and waited until they heard everyone's door click shut. It felt a little tense in their bedroom, like there was this giant elephant in the room that nobody felt comfortable addressing. “You guys can never say that I do nothing for you.” Leah broke the silence, and both girls laughed a little. “Sleep well,” She said, just before dipping into the dark and closing the door softly behind her. Now Shelby and Toni were alone in a bedroom for the first time since Leah’s sleepover, and Shelby had no fucking clue what to do about it. It was dead silent. Neither of them had moved an inch since Leah left. The silence between them was deafening. There was so much to say. They’d barely spoken a word to each other since the kiss. Both of them wondered why they were struggling so much to find words. “So, are you also getting deja vu?” Of course it would be Toni that built up the courage to break the quiet, Shelby thought. “Yeah,” Shelby just about chuckled. “I guess so.” Shelby felt Toni readjust her position. “We don’t have to talk about anything serious, you know? We can just chill together, enjoy each other's company.” A big part of Toni did want to talk seriously. She wanted to talk to her about Dave, because she hadn’t been able to stop herself from worrying about that situation. It had taken a lot of mental strain for Shelby to get to where she currently was. Toni couldn’t even comprehend the level of damage that was waiting for her if Dave was serious about his idea. Toni didn’t know when the session was happening. Shelby never mentioned it, and Toni never asked. She’d just spent every day since on pins - much like Shelby had. Shelby stood up, walked toward her bag near the door and rooted through it. As soon as Toni saw her pulling out pyjamas, she followed suit. Soon enough the both of them were lying beside each other with the duvet pulled to their necks and the lights out. “You know, for the past few weeks, there have been protesters outside the Church.” Shelby recalled, a smile toying at her lips. “And every single time I see them, I’m just in awe.” Toni closed her eyes, breathed through the pull she felt in her stomach. “I would love to have the courage to do what they do.” She continued, unbeknownst to her words tugging on Toni’s heart strings. “I feel almost...embarrassed,” She swallowed. “When they look at me and they raise their signs a little higher, or push them further forward. They have no idea what's going on behind closed doors.” Toni was speechless. Emotional conversation was not her strong suit, and she panicked when she decided to say: “Hey, if you can’t beat them...join them.” Luckily for her, Shelby burst into laughter. “At this point, I’m genuinely considering it. Maybe one of them is old enough to adopt me or something.” Toni’s icebreaker enabled them to get a little less serious, and for a while they just spoke about absolutely nothing. It was nice. Shelby felt calm. As the two of them grew tired Shelby turned onto her side, facing Toni who was already facing her. There was enough light shining through the window for them to make out the others' facial features, but that was just about all they could see. “I don’t know how much will change after the session.” Shelby whispered, so quietly. “When is it?” Toni decided she had to know. “Next Saturday. A week tomorrow.” Toni hated this. She hated Dave Goodkind. She hated conservative families and their outdated views on life. She hated seeing the fear that had remained in Shelby’s eyes since they got caught. She could see it now, even in the darkness. Word’s failed Toni, who instead shuffled forward to place a kiss on Shelby’s forehead. As she went to pull away, Shelby’s mouth chased her to plant a gentle kiss against her lips. Toni mimicked her and snaked her arms around Shelby’s waist, needing to feel her there. They wouldn’t know how long they lay there for, pecking away at every inch of the other’s skin. It was soothing as well as titillating, comforting as well as tense. Soon enough they had kissed each other to sleep. Both of them awoke to the sound of distant laughter. Toni was just about to turn back over when she heard muffled voices, and then more laughter. She tried her best to see through her squinted eyes.  Shelby was awake, laying on her back and trying to adjust her eyes to the light. “Morning,” Toni mumbled out. Shelby turned to look at her, laughed softly at her grogginess. “Hey." They lay for a few more minutes before dragging themselves up. Shelby redid her hair, but Toni didn’t bother. Fatin had made everyone pancakes for breakfast. On the counter was an array of syrups, chocolate spreads and fresh fruit. "Jesus, Fatin. You're like the mother I never had." Toni said, stacking three pancakes onto her plate. Everyone laughed at Toni's self deprecation, but Shelby shot her a look of sadness. Fatin’s pancakes were delicious; even though Shelby couldn’t bring herself to eat more than three bites. Toni noticed. Leah did too. Neither of them said anything, though. On the way home, Shelby rode with the same people again. She ached to give Toni a hug and a kiss when they pulled up a few doors down from her house, but she fought the urge and the both of them settled for a dull wave.  “You know, I think I might come and sit in your house for a bit.” Leah decided, climbing out of the car and hoisting her bags before Shelby could even think to argue with her. She interlaced their arms hurriedly and walked her down the street. As soon as they got to the house, Shelby set her bags neatly by the door and bid hello to her parents. She was just about to tell her mother about the trip when Leah began to tug her up the stairs. “Sorry Mrs Goodkind, we have homework due.” Shelby’s mother just shrugged and walked away. “Okay, what is your problem?” Shelby pushed the bedroom door shut as Leah kicked off her shoes and hopped onto the bed. “You told me there was nothing going on between you and Toni, then I catch the two of you exchanging longing glances and damn near cuddling at the end of the movie we watched last night.” There was no malice in Leah’s tone, just pure excitement. “I even helped you share a room. So, the least you can do is tell me how it went.” Shelby was speechless. This was a friendly confrontation she’d never had before. “I don’t know what to say.” She said quietly, still standing in front of the door and now fidgeting with the ends of her hair. “Did you kiss?” Leah gave a head start. “Or...have the two of you been kissing already?” Shelby looked at her, had to bite back a smile. She turned her face away. “Oh my God.” Leah almost squealed but Shelby rushed forward and swiftly shushed her. Leah grabbed hold of a cushion from behind her to hit Shelby with. This caused Shelby to erupt into laughter, and she had to wrestle the cushion from Leah’s hands. “The two of you have been making out and neither of you told me about it?” Leah kept her voice quiet whilst Shelby got comfortable beside her. “You didn’t even know about my situation until like three days ago.” Shelby wouldn’t dare say the word gay inside her house. Not even a whisper. She just couldn’t. Leah scoffed, found herself at a loss. “Well, I still feel left out.” Shelby did her best to fill Leah in on whatever it was she and Toni had going on. She told her that it wasn’t just kissing, that she felt some type of way about her and that last night was the first time they had really gone past kissing. “So, where are you hoping to see it go?” Leah beamed after being filled in. Shelby sighed. “Where can it go? This time next week I’d have sat in on my dad’s conversion session and I might be a whole other person. I mightn’t even be able to look Toni in the eye.” She looked down, scratched a mark off her duvet whilst Leah tried her best to find something to say. “We won’t let you slip away, Shelby.” Leah scooted closer, placed her hand on Shelby’s back. “We’ll be here for you, no matter what happens.” Shelby knew that was true, but the idea of slipping back to who she used to be after she had come this far scared her the most and when Leah left that night it was all she could think about. - “For a minute, I thought the two of you were just going to start making out on the couch.” Martha teased Toni whilst helping her unpack. This had been going on for the past ten minutes. “Jesus, Marty. Will you let it go?” She told her, but was still chuckling away every time Martha poked at her. Toni was a messy person, and Martha hated it. So when they were dropped off at Toni’s house and Toni just tossed her backpack full of clothes to the side of an already messy bedroom, Martha got pissed. She rolled up her sleeves and insisted that she and Toni tidy up the room, and then get her clothes from last night into the laundry basket. “So, was last night the night?” Martha did some sort of strange dance with her hips. Toni just shrugged as she placed a folded t-shirt into her chest of drawers. “Kind of.” Martha was thrown. “It was!?” “Well, in a way. We were being touchy and adventurous but...the end goal wasn’t really sex. We were just getting to know each other.” Martha paused. “Is that all you want it to be?” Toni looked at her. “No, of course not. Do you think I’d be in this deep with a conservative Christian girl if all I wanted out of it was sex?” “I guess not.” Martha finished folding the last of Toni’s jeans. “I’m fucking worried about her, Marty.” Toni blurted out. It was only then that Martha noticed she was now sitting on the edge of her bed, a crumpled up t-shirt in the middle of her fidgeting hands. “Hey,” She swooped it, wrapping her arms around Toni’s neck. “What’s going on?” Toni bowed her head. “Her Dad is suspicious. The other week, he walked in on us after we’d been kissing and it was like he just knew.” She recalled, gritted her teeth at the memory. “He’s making her sit in on a conversation therapy he’s doing next Saturday.” Martha loosened her grip to look at Toni. “Are you kidding?” Toni shook her head. Taking a deep breath, Martha waited a few seconds before speaking again. “Listen, she has so many people waiting on the other side of this for her. I know she’s not ready to tell anyone but when she is, she’s going to be blown away by how many stand there with open arms.” “But it took her so long to get to where she is now. What if this just erases all of that?” Toni said. “I don’t want her to lose herself again.” She added in the faintest of whispers. Martha had nothing to say. She couldn’t tell her not to think like that, that it would all be fine and Shelby would come skipping out of her Dad’s office. So instead she sat with her, her arm draped across Toni's neck whilst she rested her head on her shoulder. All they could do was wait. Everything felt off that following week.  At lunch, Shelby was the one doing the talking. Her friends would engage, humour the conversation but struggle to start it. Shelby wouldn’t let it be quiet for longer than five seconds. No one spoke about what they were doing that weekend. They seemed to have come to a silent agreement to just not mention it; even during Friday’s lunch.  Speaking of Friday, Shelby felt eerily calm during last period. She’d surprised herself because she thought this would be when she would feel her worst. Even when the bell rang, Shelby just hopped out of the class like every other student who was eager to get out of there for a few days. Normally she’d wait for her friends at the door because they’d always offer her a ride home, but she didn’t that day. The whole week she had been having to pretend that their facades were good when they weren’t, and as much as she had appreciated their efforts she just didn't have the energy to pretend anymore. Every time they’d look at her, their eyes would be wide with worry and their eyebrows would be etched into a worrisome frown. All week it had been: worry, worry, worry.  The walk home was rather long, and halfway through it her phone started pinging away in her hand. Toni - 15:24: Hey, where are you? I was gonna offer you a ride home Fatin - 15:27: Shelby, wtf?? I’d have given you a ride home. Did you walk? Leah - 15:30: Hey. We waited for you for a while but we think you left already?? I’d have taken you, you know? I love you. Have a nice evening. Shelby put the device on silent and slipped it into her bag. - Shelby’s mom had made mushroom pasta for dinner. They ate it like they usually would: in the kitchen, in their designated spots, all together like a family. “Hey, Shelb.” Shelby’s father gave her a nudge. “You haven’t forgotten about tomorrow mornin’, have you?” Shelby swallowed her bite, thought for a second that her throat had shrunk. “Of course not, daddy. Kyle’s conversion therapy.” “10:00 sharp. I’ll come and make sure you’re awake.” “It’s fine. I already set my alarm clock for 08:00.” Shelby told him, didn’t look up once. “Kyle’s session?” Her mom inputted from the opposite end of the table. “Why are you getting her to sit in with you?” She wondered, a hint of concern in her eyes. Dave shrugged. “What’s the harm in it? She’ll probably become the pastor of that church when my day is done.” He stabbed his fork into the salad on his plate. Shelby’s mom caught her gaze, gave a tight lipped smile. As soon as dinner was done with, Shelby and her siblings went back to their rooms. She could hear them playing through the wall, their muffled conversation and laughter. She spent the night that way, laying on her bed and listening to their innocence.  - Somewhere during the evening Shelby had fallen asleep. She jumped awake when her alarm sounded right beside her head.  She could already hear her Dad running the shower, so she took a deep breath and pulled herself out of bed. Shelby didn’t bother checking her phone. There was nothing on there that could improve her morning. The morning started like any other. Whilst she waited for the bathroom to free up, she poured herself a glass of orange juice and buttered a slice of toast. And by the time 09:45 came, Shelby was showered and dressed and sitting in her dad’s office waiting for Kyle to arrive. “I hope you don’t mind having my daughter Shelby Goodkind in here with us this morning,” Dave told Kyle as he arrived. “I thought she’d find it...informative.” Kyle just smiled. “The last time you were here, we spoke about your relationship with your mother.” Dave Goodkind started, clicking the top of his pen as he rested a clipboard on his lap. “And how she was never around a lot growing up.” The old ‘absent parent’ method to homosexuality, Shelby thought. Her relationship with her mother was fine; better than her relationship with her father. She daydreamed through this part of the session, was sure that her father knew that method wouldn’t register with her. “You’ve told me before that what you’re most afraid of regarding your illness is being alone.” Dave said, jolting Shelby back into the room. “Because you know that living your life this way is not only the wrong path to take, but that will result in you being unlovable.” Shelby took a deep breath, noticed the shake in it as she breathed out.  “We know that being alone in life due to homosexual activities, means being alone in the afterlife because you won’t be in Heaven; where all your loved ones will be. You won’t be reunited with them, or anyone that you knew in life.” Shelby started fidgeting, which caused her Dad to glare over his shoulder at her for a second.  Kyle said something that Shelby missed. “Have you been praying to God? For him to show you the way?” Shelby realised she hadn’t prayed in awhile, then struggled to remember when she last did. She felt herself become breathless whilst she racked her brain, noticed her hands becoming clammy as her heart started to pound against her ribcage.  “You have people here with you through this healing process, Kyle. You wouldn’t have anyone with you if you’d have carried on with the tendencies that Evil has tried to plague you with.” Oh, God. Shelby was full of evil and she hadn’t even been praying it away anymore. No, no. She couldn’t let herself slip into this again. She’d come far; farther than this. She had to remind herself of that. The session was getting to her already. “We’ll continue with these sessions for as long as you need to, but you have to be doing everything in your power too. You can’t think that these sessions are going to fix everything; I’m just a guiding light.” Shelby started to dissociate, letting her mind wander. She wondered what Toni was doing, and knew that she was probably worrying about her. It made her smile a little. The dissociating worked because the next thing she knew, Kyle and Dave were holding hands and Dave was offering his hand to Shelby. They were about to pray. Her father said what he usually did, asked God to “ show Kyle the way ” and blah, blah. Kyle left after that. “Wasn’t too bad, was it?” Dave said, nudging Shelby who shook her head. “I’ll do anything I can to fix young people like him. That’s no life, being a homo.” All of a sudden, Shelby felt herself welling up. “People thinkin’ you’re an abomination, your family and friends disowning you. It’s a self deprecating illness.” He spoke so nonchalantly, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. Shelby got up and fled the room. She burst into tears as soon as soon as she was in the hallway. Her mother came running in from the kitchen, took hold of her. “Hey, hey. What’s goin’ on?” She tried to pry Shelby’s hands from her face. “I don’t know.” Dave mumbled, standing in front of them now. “Yes you do, Dave.” JoBeth’s voice quivered slightly as she raised it. “I told you about those God forsaken sessions.” “Those sessions are the complete opposite of God forsaken." Dave pointed his finger, a frown etched onto his face. "And I think you’ll find that the only way those sessions would negatively impact Shelby is if she was a homo.”  Shelby’s world stopped. Her breath hitched, and she felt every inch of her being fighting to deny his claims.  But she was too tired. “Does she look okay to you?” JoBeth said, her voice just above a whisper. Dave sighed. “This ain’t right. We're doing something about this." Shelby heard him say, followed by his descending footsteps. JoBeth’s grip on Shelby got even tighter. “You’re okay, baby.” She coaxed. “Everything is going to be okay.” The house was lively that night. Her mother and father were yelling in the kitchen and slamming doors shut whilst their children lay in bed. Shelby’s younger siblings slept through it somehow, but Shelby was yet to get even a wink of sleep. She’d been texting with her friends. Ever since she told them how the session ended, her phone hadn’t stopped pinging away. Toni - 01:03: If you need me to come and get you I will. Shelby - 01:03: I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, but I’ll keep it in mind. Shelby swiped out of their conversation and onto another. Leah - 01:03: Do you need me to call you? Sometimes that can help. Shelby - 01:04: I’m good. I kind of want to hear what they’re saying, though it sounds like fucking simlish with all those damn doors closed. Then another conversation. Dot - 01:04: You know I can end him if you need me to. Shelby - 01:05: I love your confidence. He’s 6ft2 and goes to the gym every single day. Dot - 01:05: And I watch a lot of survival TV. Your guy know how to hunt for food in the wild? Shelby grinned, decided to put her phone down for a moment. She heard voices grow louder before hearing a door swing open, hitting the wall.  “I can’t stay here.” JoBeth’s voice shook as she spoke. Her footsteps were heavy as she made her way upstairs. Shelby heard her go into her siblings room, saying something to them in a hushed tone which feigned calmness - but even through the muffle that the walls provided Shelby could hear her voice tremble. She pulled the duvet up to rest at her chin as the footsteps started towards her room. JoBeth was quiet as ever as she turned the doorknob, tiptoeing towards Shelby. “Baby,” She heard her mother say as she tugged gently at the duvet. “Come on. We’re not staying here.” Shelby hesitated for just a moment. JoBeth stayed there, waited for Shelby to get up before she left to help the younger ones get ready. Within at least ten minutes, the four of them were waiting at the door in their pyjamas. Shelby had shoved as much as she could into her gym bag. She didn’t really know what her mother meant.  Would they only be gone for the night, or was that her mother’s way of saying they weren’t coming back? Shelby saw it as the latter, just in case, and therefore had the zip of her gym bag almost bursting at the seams. “What’s goin’ on, Shelb?” Spencer husked out, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. Her heart broke a little at that. “I’m not sure. But everything’s okay, I promise.” She took a step closer to him, ruffled his hair. She glanced over to Melody, who was almost swaying side to side in her sleepy state as she stared blankly at the wall beside them. JoBeth started to make her way down the stairs. There was a suitcase in her hand. Shelby swallowed hard. She set the suitcase beside the door. “I’ll be just one second,” She addressed only Spencer and Melody. “Would you get them into the car?” She held the keys out in front of Shelby, who nodded quickly and abided. She helped Spencer and Melody into the car first, took care of the bags second. She was just about to hop into the passenger side when she looked back towards the open door of the house.  Looking in at her siblings, who were already buckled in and half asleep, she tiptoed towards the door. The door to the kitchen was open. She could hear the yelling this time. “So, what are you plannin’ to do? Just hope she grows out of it?” Dave bellowed. “I don’t care if she grows out of it or she doesn’t. She is my daughter, our daughter and you’re more than happy to ship her off to some kind of camp that would do way more harm than good.” JoBeth was crying, Shelby realised. It was silent for a moment. “If you don’t agree to do somethin’ about this, then I don’t want anything to do with her.”  “You know what Dave, maybe that’s for the best.” It was the sternest Shelby had ever heard her mother sound when addressing her dad. “I’ve stood by your side, tight-lipped, and allowed you to force your obscene views upon our children. All I've wanted was to be your average, everyday Christian family. I wanted us to be happy and healthy - and we are. But you aren’t.” And then Shelby heard the kitchen door slam, so ran to jump into the car.  “Where are we going?” She asked as soon as her mother started the ignition.  “To stay with a friend of mine.” - Toni - 01:54: Are you okay? Did you finally fall asleep? Shelby - 02:03: This has been the craziest night of my life. I think my mom has just left my dad. The four of us are in the car right now heading to a friend of hers house. My mom brought a suitcase. Toni - 02:03: Holy fucking shit. Are you safe?  Shelby - 02:05: Yeah, we’re almost there I think. After about ten minutes, they pulled into a driveway. There was a woman waiting at the door for them. Shelby started to get the bags out of the trunk whilst her mom woke the kids.  By the time that they were approaching the door, a second woman was stood at the door - a smaller one. The patio light made it almost impossible to see their faces. They were merely silhouettes. The taller one made her way down to help with the children's bags and addressed her mom. “Russell is asleep in bed, but don’t worry at all. I’ve spoken with him before about the possibility of this happening and he was completely fine with it.” Shelby thought she recognised her voice.  “Martha, come help with the bags.” The woman said before walking along, guiding the other three in. Shelby frowned. She picked her own bag up, threw it across her shoulder. The smaller woman approached hurriedly, lifting the handle of the suitcase and locking eyes with Shelby as she did so. “Shelby?”  “Martha?” Shelby’s jaw almost hit the floor at the realisation. She just threw her arms around her, and noticed herself erupting into tears as she buried her face in the crook of her friends neck. - After setting their bags beside the door, Bernice (Martha’s mother) showed Spencer and Melody to their room so that they could sleep the night off, before she headed into the kitchen to make some tea. Once the tea was made and the rest of them sat in the living room, her mother started to explain the situation. “I know Bernice from the church I used to attend before meeting your father. I’d told her before about his ways when it comes to certain elements of our religion, and how uneasy it makes me feel at times.” She then went onto explain that Bernice had offered them accommodation as soon as she realised how toxic Dave was. “I was hoping that I’d never have to accept her offer, but after today…” She trailed off, looking at Shelby with a trembling lip and glossy eyes. She placed her hand onto Shelby’s cheek. “I couldn’t keep you there any longer.” Shelby was squeezing Martha’s hand the entire time. She leaned into her mother’s touch. “Now, although I offered up the accommodation, it may be somewhat of a tight squeeze.” Bernice explained, setting her tea down. “We do have a conservatory that has a sofa bed in it, and we have a blow up mattress that can be made up in the spare room where Melody and Spencer are right now. We could do the same in Martha’s room too most nights but her friend Toni is in there at the minute. She stays over a lot.” Shelby lifted her head. Looked over at Bernice, then at Martha. “Toni is here?” Martha bit back a grin, then nodded. “I mean, she’s asleep right now but…she’s here.” Shelby near enough jumped out of her spot on the sofa, then almost fell over her own two feet as she raced up the stairs. It was only when she got to the top that she realised she had no idea which room belonged to Martha.  She examined the doors quickly, then noticed one had a floral ornament of the letter J glued onto it. She stormed towards it, nudged it open with her arm.  Martha had left her fairy lights on, and there Toni lay on the blow up mattress Bernice had mentioned.  The duvet was just about covering her lower back. She was wearing a grey vest top, laying on her stomach and facing the opposite way. Her head was resting against her arm whilst her hair spilled over the pillow.  For a moment, Shelby just watched her breathing. She only stopped when her vision became blurry and she had to wipe at tears she hadn’t even felt form. She crawled onto the mattress, placed her arm over Toni’s waist and rested her head on the girls arm. When Toni didn’t react, Shelby used her fingers to trace patterns onto Toni’s forehead. She started to stir awake, and it was only then that Shelby stopped. “Move over, Marty.” She mumbled. Shelby felt her trying to move, so she sat herself up.  Toni lay on her back, finally opened up her eyes.  It took her a minute to register who she was looking at. But as soon as her eyes adjusted, Toni threw her arms around Shelby’s neck and pulled her down with her. Shelby began to laugh whilst Toni just squeezed and swayed her from side to side. “What the fuck are you doing here?” She husked into Shelby’s neck. “That’s a very long story,” Shelby relaxed into the comfort of Toni’s embrace. “And right now, I just want to lay here with you.” - There was a lot to digest the following morning.  Martha was the first to wake up, then Toni. She was stirred awake by the pins and needles she felt shooting down her arm, only to find that they were from a good cause. Shelby was fast asleep, her head resting rather contently on Toni’s left arm.  Toni had to twist her neck awkwardly to get a glance at the clock perched on Martha’s night stand. 08:47 “You good, Marty?” Toni husked out, throwing her (free) arm across her eyes. “I’m good. Are you good?” Martha lifted herself up and leaned on her arm to see the couple. “You sure seem like it.” She couldn’t help herself in saying that. “If it wasn’t for the dead arm I have right now, I’d be on cloud 9.” She took her arm away to look up at Martha. “Hey, I couldn’t get it out of her last night, the reason that she’s here. Do you know?”  Martha scoffed. “It’s not just her, Toni. It’s the whole Goodkind family - minus Shelby’s dad.”  Toni’s eyebrows almost flew off her face. “What?” “Turns out the woman that my mom knows, who she tells me is trapped in a toxic relationship, is Shelby’s mom.” Martha started to explain. “She’s told me about her for almost two years, but she never mentioned any names. I thought maybe she was trying to protect her so I never asked. Last night, she sent me a text telling me that the woman was coming here.” She paused for a moment to check that Shelby hadn't woken up in the midst of the conversation. “She asked that I come down to help them with some bags if I was still awake, and that was when I realised it was Shelby.” Toni shook her head, looked towards the ceiling. “It’s too fucking early for this; like what are the fucking odds that the woman your mom was telling you about was Mrs Goodkind?” Martha just shrugged. “Shelby could be living with me for the foreseeable future.” The both of them glanced down at the girl in question, who remained none the wiser in her unconscious state. “Jesus fucking Christ, does this mean you’re basically going to be living here for the foreseeable future too?” Toni forced a tight smile and flipped Martha off before changing the subject. Soon enough the talking was enough to rouse Shelby from her slumber.  “Hey, sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you.” Toni adopted a softer tone as soon as she realised Shelby was awake. Shelby shimmied away from Toni’s arm to stretch. “Don’t worry, I hate to sleep in anyway.”  Martha looked at the clock and grimaced at Shelby’s idea of “sleeping in”. - Breakfast was very eventful that morning. Shelby couldn’t believe the kindness the Blackburn family was showing not only to her own family, but to Toni too. They had basically prepared a feast for them.  Shelby had never seen anything like it; Spencer and Melody were beside themselves with joy, spreading ridiculous amounts of nutella onto their toast.  But Shelby couldn’t help but notice the solemness on her mother’s face. Her eyes were practically sunken in and reddened. She’d barely taken a bite out of the slice of toast on her plate. “You want some orange juice?” Toni nudged her, gesturing towards the two glasses she had in her hand. “Sure,” Shelby said before her eyes drifted over to her mother again. “She’s going to be okay, you know.” Toni told her. “It will probably take awhile but she’s in really good hands.” She paused for a moment, poured the orange juice. “I think this was the best decision she could have made. The Blackburn’s are like…insanely kind.” Shelby grinned at the way Toni worded that. “I already can’t believe their generosity, taking the four of us in like that.”  “This is going to be the start of something really good, Shelby.” Toni took hold of her hand, causing Shelby to look up and meet her gaze. “I just know it is.” Something in Toni’s eyes ensured Shelby that she wasn’t just talking about her family. Shelby didn’t have to hope that she was right, because she knew it too. Once breakfast was over, people began to leave the kitchen and do their own thing: Toni and Martha went into the living room and started up the PS4, Russell (after introducing himself properly) went to go and get ready for work whilst Bernice tried her best to make the children feel more at home, and Shelby decided to go and check in with her mother. Jobeth was sitting on the sofa in the conservatory, staring down at the cup of tea in her hands. Shelby tapped gently on the open glass door with her knuckle. “Hey, momma.” Jobeth lifted her head, turned it away to flick away a tear before putting on a smile. “Hi, darlin’.” She tapped the empty space beside her. “Come sit down.” Shelby did so. She didn’t know what to do after that, hadn’t thought of what to say.  “You don’t have to say anythin’ to me.” Jobeth placed her hand onto Shelby’s knee, caressed it with her thumb. “I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy.” She told her as tears welled in her eyes. Shelby put her arms around her. She was grateful that her mother seemed to already understand without her having to speak. They stayed that way for a while. Shelby cried a little too, whispered in her mother’s ear that she loved her.  Jobeth eventually gave Shelby a dismissive pat on the back. She wiped at her face which reddened her patchy cheeks, smiled at her. “Run along now, don’t you worry about me - or anythin’ for that matter; everythin’ is goin’ to work out just fine.” She struggled to look Shelby in the eye when saying that, instead looked out the window whilst she wiped her dampened fingertips onto her pants. Shelby just nodded, closed the door behind her when she left.  Toni was in the kitchen as Shelby came to walk through it. She was pulling a bottle of cola from the fridge when she turned around at the sound of footsteps. “Hey,” She said - instantly stopped what was she was doing. “Is everything okay?”  Shelby nodded, slid into one of the seats perched at the island. “I think so. I really don’t know, though.” She mumbled.  Toni hated this. She hated that she sucked so bad at comfort when all she wanted to do in that moment was make Shelby feel better.  “What are you worried about?” She asked, slipping into the seat beside Shelby. “A lot of things.” Shelby almost laughed. “Right now, I’m just worried about my mom. She has a lot goin’ on and I feel like I’m the cause for it all. Like, my problem has caused a multitude of problems for her.” “Shelby, you are not the problem.” Toni stressed. “Your mom has probably been waiting for a valid enough reason to leave your dad.” She paused at how blunt that seemed, analysed Shelby’s features for a second. Shelby just stared down at the table with a soft little pout. “I know that I haven’t known you for very long, but based on the few run-ins I’ve had with your dad, he isn’t a good guy.” Toni said. “I’ve literally met him, what, twice? And both times he was the biggest asshole I’ve ever come across.” Toni hoped for some kind of laugh, but she didn’t get one. She found herself getting frustrated at the realisation that she couldn’t provide the level of comfort she wanted to. “Life sucks. Bad things happen to good people all the time, and recovering from something like this is going to take some time - for both you and your family.” Toni opted for a more blunt approach. “But Bernice is going to make things so much easier for you and your mom. She’s there for your mom to confide in, so that you don’t have to worry about her bottling her feelings up. And I’m here for you to confide in - so is Leah, Fatin, Dot, Rachel, Nora,” Shelby began to laugh at the growing list, and then Toni laughed too. Shelby placed her hand upon Toni’s, silently telling her that she got her point. “For what it’s worth, I’m doing better than I thought I would be.” Shelby said. Toni smiled at that. She glanced over her shoulder, which caused Shelby to do the same, and leaned in. It was a brief kiss but it was soft and warm with tenderness. It was just what Shelby needed. - Days went by without Shelby or her mother hearing from Dave. After a week, Spencer and Melody started to ask questions. They wondered when they were going home, wondered when they would get to see their father. Shelby would always look at her mother when they asked her. Her mother would look at Bernice when she was asked.  The first few times Bernice was able to handle the children’s curiosity perfectly, but she was only human and after a week she began to struggle too.  During their tenth morning at the Blackburn household, Jobeth got a phone call just after breakfast. Shelby knew by the way her mother’s face quickly drained of colour that it was her father calling. Jobeth hurried to leave the room as she answered the call. Shelby rushed up from her chair and followed, despite Bernice’s beckon for her.  Jobeth only went as far as the kitchen, where she paced with the phone to her ear. Shelby stood hidden just behind the doorway. “We’ve been staying at a friend’s house.” Jobeth told him, her voice as monotone as Shelby had ever heard. “You can see the children as frequently as you wish to, Dave. I’m not keeping them from you.” Shelby felt herself edge closer to the doorframe. “I don’t feel comfortable giving you the address of where we’re staying. I can drop the children off at the house.” Jobeth said on her third lap of the kitchen floor. “12 is fine.”  There was silence. Shelby noticed her mom putting the phone back into her pocket, so she came out from her hiding spot. “Is everything okay?”  Jobeth jumped, sighed when she realised it was Shelby. “Yes. Your father wants to see Spencer and Melody today, that’s all.” Shelby waited for her mother to add something else, but she didn’t. “That was all he had to say?” Jobeth pursed her lips, then nodded. “He hasn’t seen us in ten days, and that’s all he had said to you?” Jobeth just shrugged. She couldn’t defend him, nor did she want to. But that also meant seeing Shelby become upset, which sent a shooting pain right through her chest. “My God, he is pathetic.” Shelby turned away, ran her fingers through her hair. “Don’t curse, Shelb.” Was all Jobeth could say.  “I’m going with you to drop them off.” Shelby faced her mother again. She wasn’t sure if she would regret saying that, but she wouldn’t allow herself to go back on it. Jobeth opened her mouth to protest. She quickly realised that she had to find the right words first. “Shelby…I’m not sure if that’s the best thing for you right now.” “I don’t care. He’s gonna have to face me again someday.” Shelby argued, found herself shifting her weight from leg to leg as she stood.  “Yes, someday. But not today.” Jobeth placed her hand onto Shelby’s arm. Shelby just looked at her, her jaw clenching and unclenching. Jobeth pulled her into a hug. They finished off their breakfast in the front room with everyone else, helped to clean up afterwards which had turned into a little routine for them.  Toni came over after breakfast and Shelby dragged her into the quietness of the conservatory to catch her up on what had happened. “I think your mom is right, Shelby.” Toni confessed carefully, sensing Shelby’s frustration from the get go. Shelby groaned loudly and was about to protest when Toni took a hold of her hands and started to speak again. “Do you truly think that you’re ready to face your dad again? It’s only been ten days, babe.”  Shelby felt her tension begin to dissolve.  Babe. babe. babe. Toni had carried on talking without Shelby realising.  “And he’s going to be in a bad mood anyway. Martha was telling me that a lot of people left the church once word got around." “What do you mean by ‘word’?” Toni licked her lips as she hesitated. “Well, when people realised the rest of the family weren’t attending church with your Dad they started to ask questions. Word kind of got around…and so did the fact that he believes in conversion therapy. Kinda surprised me how many christians are not okay with that.” Shelby shot Toni a knowing look. “I told you, we’re not all bad guys. Bernice should have made you realise that.” Toni just shrugged. She was relieved that Shelby seemed to be okay about people at church knowing what was going on with her. It reminded her of something else. “Martha also told me that the protesters found out.”  Shelby looked at her.  “They offered to help you guys with whatever you need. They have numbers for accommodation and therapists, for you, your mom and even Spencer and Melody.” Shelby felt her mouth fall open and quickly closed it again. She turned away and tried to digest her feelings.  She’d been in awe of them ever since she saw them, longed to be on their side of the street and now that she was they were welcoming not only her but her family too. “We could go and see them…whenever you’re ready to.” Toni added after she’d accepted Shelby’s silence. Shelby nodded quickly. “Yeah, that would be really nice.” Toni’s smile grew as she wrapped her arm and Shelby and pulled her close. There was a gentle knock on the conservatory door. It was Martha, along with another five familiar faces. “Sorry for the intrusion,” Martha apologised quietly. “They wanted to come and see you.” She said, looking at Shelby. Leah flung herself past Martha and right into Shelby’s lap. “Oh my God, I’ve missed you.” She panted into Shelby’s ear before pulling away and grabbing Shelby’s cheeks like she was a toddler. “I’ve been so worried about you.” When Martha explained to the rest of the girls what had happened with Shelby and her family, they’d all agreed to give her some space.  The conversion therapy session was on the Saturday, which was also the day that they relocated to Martha’s house. Shelby had missed the commencing school week without it even being mentioned and at the end of that week, school finished for two weeks. “It’s been too fucking long.” Leah moped again before finally getting off of Shelby’s lap. “Leah, it’s literally been in eleven days.” Fatin brought her down a peg whilst also leaning down to give Shelby a brief hug. Shelby stood up to make it easier for the remaining girls, who afterwards found it very easy to make themselves comfortable in the conservatory - which is where the group stayed for the next two hours catching up with one another. “So, we also have some news.” Toni placed her hand onto Shelby’s knee for the rest of the girls to see. Leah put her hand over her mouth and bowed her head. Toni expected some kind of theatrical reaction, so when they all just sort of looked at each other and burst out laughing Toni got defensive. She removed her hand from Shelby and frowned. “What the fuck is happening right now?” Toni looked at Leah, then at Martha. As far as she was aware, they were the only two people who already knew. “Yeah, uh, Shelby being here for ten days and Toni being here like every other day even when Martha was with us…that was kind of a give away.” Dot was the first to pipe up. “No, the fucking party was the give away.” Fatin jumped in, tilting her head back to look at Dot. “As soon as you guys did that fake blow back shit, I knew we’d lost Shelby.” Shelby burst into laughter. There were then multiple voices piping up at once to offer their own perspective of when they knew.  Amongst the laughter and the shouting, Shelby found comfort. She almost, for a fleeting second, couldn’t remember why she had been so terrified to share her relationship with her friends.  But her reality quickly caught up with her, and she remembered instantly. Her father; the man who was more than ready to kick her to the curb as soon as he realised she was gay; the man who took it took a matter of seconds to estrange himself from his eldest daughter. The man who she would be face to face with again in less than an hour.

Perhaps I should kill him, Azula thought, cold and meticulous and ultimately merciful. There was something cruel about keeping a human alive, when their eyes were so empty. Across the battlefield, Zuko stood, his eyes blank and any spirit he had ever had burned away with the skin around the left side of his face. He stood like he used to when they were children, his stance relaxed and just confident enough to make people hesitate. Despite Azula’s prodigal skills, Zuko had always been better. Easier, as well, to mold. Azula remembered now, as she saw the scar, why she had left that night. The night Father held down her brother and taught him resilience, and Zuko had sat there and taken it. He hadn’t even screamed. Azula used to think she was a monster, until she saw Zuko that night. “Azula?” Katara asked, “What now?” She glanced at the other girl and then suddenly remembered the firmness of her friend’s voices reminding her you’re not a monster. She wouldn’t kill Zuko today. To be fair, seeing the flickers of white curling against the blue in his flames, Azula wondered if she even could. She herself had only managed to turn her flames purple. “Where’s Toph and Sokka?” Azula asked as she returned her mind to the fight before her, blasting away a Dai Li agent with ease. She glanced at her brother. She just stood there, unflinching. “No idea,” Mai said, managing to drawl even now, “But Ty Lee was with Aang. They’re headed this way.” As much as Azula loved her current friends, she’d certainly missed the flat disinterest of her old friend that made this situation a little bit more amusing. “Why is he just standing there?” Katara hissed as she ducked below a flying boulder. Azula moved sideways to dodge the same boulder before sending a flame after the agent that has sent it. She huffed, glancing over to her brother, who still hadn’t moved, even as his flames started spreading enough to become an obstacle for them. “He’s waiting,” Azula said quietly. (She remembered, now, suddenly, how he had waited patiently, as she complained about the palenquines that were arriving late, and then, still impassive, told her she could ride his shoulders all the way back home. How he had been stoic, even then, blank and unmoving, but his eyes had been so bright.) “Azula!” Katara yelled, her water smashing against earth that would have broken her skull. Azula gave her a grateful smile, ignoring the look Mai sent her way. There was a loud crashing somewhere to Azula’s right, behind the wall of white flames now blocking her view. “Help has arrived!” they heard, and Azula had never been quite so happy hear Sokka. A blast of wind blew past them, taking the Dai Li down. Aang was here too. Shit. Ty Lee cartwheeled over to them, avoiding flying stones with ease. Toph grinned her little gremlin grin and sent bigger rocks flying back. Aang flew over to them. “Hey!” he said, “Let’s go - Appa’s just out - “ A burst of flame, singing Aang’s clothes. Wildly, Azula looked to where Zuko was standing - only to see he had moved. He was fast - of course he was, what wasn’t he good at - and Azula found herself flying off to the side before she could even react. She would never roll her eyes at Sokka when he complained about how much being blasted bu fire sucked. “Aang,” she tried to yell, “Get - “ A stone wall slammed into her, pinning her down to the ground. Disoriented, she looked up, to see the Dai Li moving aside as Zuko glided across the room, eyes set on Aang as he and the Dai Li batted past Katara’s water with ease. “Oi!” Toph said, punching her rock-encased fists together, “I don’t care if you’re Azula’s bro, I’m beating the shit out of you.” Zuko stared at her flatly. Azula struggled against her bounds. Toph fought through the Dai Li with ease, but Zuko only stood by and watched. Calculating. “Need help?” Sokka grinned. Azula glared, “Just do it.” “Ah, the great Fire Bender is at my mercy,” he smiled, even as he broke her restraints with his boomerang. Any witty comeback Azula would have come up with was lost when she hurt Toph scream. Her feet were burning. Her feet were burning. Katara moved out of her shock and put out the fire, kneeling beside Toph to try and heal it, but the damage was done. Azula looked at Zuko - remembering the boy who used to feed turtleducks, even as Azula tried to burn them - and saw no remorse. He was gone. Her brother was gone. Even now, as she watched Zuko take down her friends one by one, she could see Ozai’s hands gripping him. Whispering into his ears and cradling his hand, so gentle and soft in a way that he knew would never fool Azula but would always make Zuko weak. Death is a mercy, Zuko once said, and Azula had been so young then, too young to understand. The thought came back to her, the nagging thought of ending it here, but Azula knew that this wasn’t the time. The situation seemed all too desolate. Even with them all, they didn’t stand a chance against the Dai Li in their home ground. Katara was trying to protect and heal Toph at the same time. Ty Lee and Mai were back to back, cornered. And Sokka was nowhere to be found. Across the battlefield, her eyes made contact with Aang, and she knew he was thinking the same. “I’m sorry, Katara,” he said. The Avatar State. So his training had been fruitful, at least, But then she saw Zuko, saw his fingers pressed together and his stance became firmer. Azula didn’t know why she moved. Why she reacted the way she did. Why she even cared about this stupid monk kid and his (Azula’s) little friends. She didn’t know what she was doing, really, until she was in front of Aang, ready to take lightning for him. Somewhere, she thought she heard Ty Lee scream. But when she opened her eyes, there was nothing. For a moment, the world was quiet. For a moment, Azula looked into her Zuko's dead eyes and saw … fire. “Azula,” he whispered. The single word sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she thought she saw - But the moment broke as the ground shook. She craned her neck up to see Sokka had arrived. Zuko took up his stance again but the momentary distraction had been enough. Toph was back - not on her feet, but that wasn’t going to stop her - and sent a wave of earth crashing straight into Zuko’s side. “You bitch!” she spat, and Azula could very well understand that sentiment. “Get on!” Sokka yelled, as Appa rumbled loudly, his experience with the Dai Li making the sky bison angrier than Azula had ever seen him. She got on, shoving Aang along who was still dazed from his near death. “I didn’t know you could stop lightning,” he said. “I can’t.” Azula looked back, to where Zuko was already getting back on his feet. Their eyes connected again. For a moment, she thought she saw her brother. Still in there. Still alive. But his eyes had gone cold again, and he signaled for the Dai Li to surround them. They got out in the nick of time, just as the ground rose to meet them, trying to bind them to place. “You’re brother is creepy as hell, Azula,” Sokka managed to say as they all struggled to catch their breaths and slow their hearts. Azula remembered a boy who held her hand as she realised that neither of her parents loved her. She remembered a child who held her and said, I’ll love you for the both of them. She remembered Zuko burning, and she knew that her brother had died that day. “Next time,” she said, careful to let her voice be steady, “We should kill him before he kills us.” There are no complaints there. Not vocally, anyway. But the part of her mind - the part of her that had given in to her friend’s persistent kindness, and the part of her that remembered Zuko’s warm hands on cold nights - was screaming.

Katsuki stared at Eraserhead’s limp form. Fuck. But he’d been… sensei had been… He’d been fucking dominating all of them! So what the hell had happened?! That… that damn monster had… His eyes caught movement from a pillar near the beast, “Shit.” What was Brain Fucker doing here? The extra was soaking wet, which meant he must have been sent to either the flood zone or the dome painted with a storm. Damn it. Now Deku was standing next to him, the two dumbasses facing the three villains. “Fuck this.” Katsuki’s hands exploded and he shot forward, targeting Warp Fucker as the villain began to stretch toward Deku and Brain Fucker. “DIE!!!” Katsuki pushed himself harder, faster, blasting straight toward the brace— there! He tackled the thing to the ground, keeping his palms tight on the metal and letting out some warning explosions when the mist swirled. “Stay still, you Fucker, or I’ll blast this brace and whatever is under it straight to hell.” “Kacchan!” Katsuki barely registered Shitty Hair’s arrival behind him as he watched Warp Fucker while cautiously turning toward his soulmate. His limping soulmate. “What the fuck?! Why are you limping, you shitty nerd?!” If any of the damn assholes had so much as touched Deku, he’d fucking blast over there and kill the fuckers! “Seriously, you ok there, Midoriya?” Deku froze, halfway between Katsuki and Brain Fucker. “Umm… well… I, I promise I didn’t try to do the thing that um, you made me promise not to do!” Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Could the nerd have said that in any more complicated way? “I, well, I accidentally overdid it. That’s all.” Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. So the shitty nerd had once again hurt himself, even if he’d avoided using 100%. “You’re explaining that later.” And explaining why he was holding his left arm weird, too. Warp Fucker shifted slightly, and Katsuki let out a warning explosion. “Stay fucking still, damn it.” Deku twisted his fingers a bit, his smile nervous as he nodded and responded to Katsuki’s demand. “Right. Ok.” Deku’s head whipped around as Brain Fucker suddenly winced, groaning and clutching his head, and Deku ran back over to him. “Shinsou-kun! Are you ok?!” Kun? Fuck. Deku had picked up another shitty friend. Katsuki eyed the hand-covered villain warily, only vaguely listening to his soulmate and their purple haired classmate. Brain Fucker obviously had him under control for now, and the monster thing wasn’t moving… Brain Fucker had gotten it to release their sensei, so either he had both of them under control, or Handshit controlled the monster. But Brain Fucker was saying he was at his limit after earlier (Katsuki supposed he’d controlled villains before to let them escape), and was likely to fall unconscious soon. That shit really wasn’t good. The second Brain Fucker lost control, they’d have two damn strong villains after their blood, along with an unconscious classmate and sensei to protect. And Katsuki was stuck in place, making sure they didn’t have three fucking villains to deal with instead of just the two. Fuck. Brain Fucker took a deep breath, then looked straight at the hand villain. “Tell Nomu not to attack any students or heroes.” His command was repeated in a bland voice, but Katsuki knew the order would only buy them a few seconds of warning as the villain reversed the command. Shitty Hair was kneeling next to their sensei, now, skin hardened and eyes glued on the monster as he slowly picked up Aizawa-sensei and began to carry him away from danger. Then, several things happened at once. Brain Fucker grunted, and Deku hastily caught him as he slumped over, unconscious. “Damn it!” Handshit didn’t even bother with commanding the monster, turning instead to run straight toward Katsuki. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Katsuki was at his best when he could move freely! But right now, he was basically pinned down, one hand useless. Katsuki had no clue what Handshit’s quirk was, but the way he held his own hands outstretched meant it was likely one that needed close combat. “Back off, fucker!” Katsuki twisted his body to the right to dodge the guy’s hand, at the same time lighting up an explosion that definitely hit the villain. All it earned him, though, was a manic laugh as the villain’s hand shot through the explosion toward Katsuki’s stationary arm. Katsuki twisted, using an explosion to spin himself quickly and knee the villain in his stomach. The villain jumped back, idly rubbing his stomach with three fingers. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, did the guy need five fingers to activate his quirk, then? Handshit charged again, ducking under Katsuki’s explosion while bringing his right hand up, this time going straight for Katsuki’s chest. Shit! There was no way he could dodge and keep pinning the warp villain! He pulled his gauntlet back, barely managing to block the enemy’s hand with his weapon, but Katsuki’s eyes widened as the gauntlet began to disintegrate. Fuck! Just a few more inches and— Katsuki was tackled, green lightning filling his vision. Deku. BOOOM!!!! Katsuki hit the ground hard, Deku hissing and clutching his shoulder—damn it, Deku’s arm! Katsuki rolled to the side. Shit. Deku’s left shoulder was definitely dislocated. Katsuki helped his soulmate back onto his feet, only pausing at Deku’s whispered, “All Might.” Katsuki’s head jerked around to look where Deku was staring. The number one hero stood there, wearing his hideous teaching suit and glaring at the villains. “Kacchan…” Deku’s voice was strained with worry, “he… he did a lot of hero work this morning. Like, umm… a lot.” “Fuck.” If Deku was mentioning it, that meant the hero was likely close to his time limit. Katsuki hurriedly took in their surroundings—Frog Girl had somehow appeared and had Brain Fucker off to the side, Shitty Hair next to her with Aizawa Sensei behind him. The black monster still hadn’t moved, and Handshit and Warp Fucker were both staring toward the entrance, Handshit laughing hysterically. The next thing Katsuki knew, there was a rush of wind, and the only thing keeping him from being blown backwards was Deku’s flashing arm clenching around Katsuki’s waist. When the dust cleared, Katsuki’s eyes widened in shock. The black beast was standing in front of Handshit with All Might’s fist positioned square against the middle of its stomach. The hero had obviously just hit it, but… but the monster was just… just standing there, completely unfazed. “Shit.” How the fucking hell could the monster be unaffected by that hit?! No wonder it had been able to take Aizawa-sensei down! “Nomu, Kurogiri. Kill him. I’ll deal with the children.” Handshit grinned, “Let’s clear this level and go home.” Oh, hell no! Like Katsuki would let him touch Deku! The villain ran first toward Frog Girl and Shitty Hair, but explosions burst from Katsuki’s hands as he darted to intercept him. Shitty Hair’s defenses wouldn’t work against this, nor would Frog Girl’s weird mutation quirk. Deku needed close combat, so Katsuki had the first quirk to use against this fucker. “DIE, YOU BASTARD!” Anothergust of wind threw him of course, forcing Katsuki to redirect his blasts to land between Handshit and his classmates. “Everyone, go to the entrance!” All Might shouted above the gale, “I’ll handle these villains!” “Fuck!” Katsuki glanced at Handshit, who was now focused on remaining still in the gale from All Might’s hits, and was laughing as he watched the fight. Well, at least the bastard wasn’t likely to attack in the next few seconds. Katsuki kept his eyes on Handshit, though, watching as the villain taunted All Might, “That won’t accomplish anything! Nomu’s quirk is shock absorption! He was built to withstand 100% of your power.” “Really?” All Might landed blow after blow, not even stopping as he yelled back to Handshit, “Thanks for telling me!” He stepped in close, wrapping his arms around the monster and then bending backwards, debris and dirt making a huge cloud around him as he slammed the villain backwards in a suplex. When the dust cleared, Katsuki’s eyes widened in shock. All Might was still bent over backward, but the warp villain had made a gate, and now All Might was being held in place by the monster as the gate slowly closed around them both. The monster’s hands were digging into All Might’s wound, blood already beginning to stain his shirt. Fuck! Katsuki stepped forward, ready to go help his hero, but a tan glove closed around his wrist. “All Might told us to get Shinsou-kun and Aizawa-sensei to the entrance.” “But Tsu-san!” Deku pulled at Frog Girl’s other hand, which was latched around Deku’s wrist. “He needs help!” Shitty Hair groaned, still holding Aizawa-sensei protectively in hardened arms. “I know it looks bad, man, but its All Might! He’ll get out of this any second now! We’ve got to do what he asked us to.” Small explosions popped in Katsuki’s palms as he glared at Shitty Hair. “It only takes two to get those two to get to the entrance. You two go. Deku and I will provide All Might with back-up if he needs it.” Shitty Hair groaned, “Come on, man!” Frog Girl pointed toward the other side of the plaza where villains were beginning to stir, “Two of us can carry them, ribbit, but we also need someone to fight off attackers.” Fuck. The two were right. But…. Ice sprang out from behind them, carving a path that separated them from All Might as it sped toward the black monster, quickly climbing him and encasing all of his limbs, while leaving All Might untouched. Half-and-Half. Katsuki turned to glare at the bastard, but the guy just shook his head, exhaling with a frosty breath. “Go. Midoriya’s quirk won’t do anything against this monster, plus he looks injured. And my quirk is better suited to keeping a distance than yours is.” “You saying you’re better than me, bastard!?” Katsuki clenched his hands, anger welling up inside him. How dare— “YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” Katsuki hissed, hands clamping down over his ears. What the fuck?! There, at the entrance, stood Cockatoo, who looked furious. Every villain between him and the plaza was on the ground, unconscious. Slowly, other UA instructors began to file into the room beside him, each scanning the area for threats. All Might jumped backwards, “Thank you, Young Todoroki, for the assist.” The number one hero coughed, and Katsuki’s eyes narrowed at the blood on his fist when he moved his hand away. “Please back up, now, and help get Aizawa-kun and Young Shinsou to safety.” Todoroki nodded, walking toward Brain Fucker and offering Frog Girl help. Katsuki ignored the extras’ movements, focusing on the heroes as they descended. Cockatoo was the first to move, jumping down and heading straight toward them, and afterwards each teacher broke off from the group, heading toward different disaster areas. With the monster on the ground behind him, All Might now was stomping toward the two villains left, but he halted when the beast began to crawl after him, muscles pouring out from its arms and forming into new limbs. “I thought it’s quirk was shock absorption?!” All Might jumped back as the monster charged, then turning to slam a blow into its back. Handshit laughed, scratching at his neck, “I never said that was his only quirk! Nomu was built to defeat you! It will win!” All Might grunted, arms flexing as he began to match the Nomu monster blow for blow, pounding at it with incredible speed that Katsuki couldn’t even follow. “Shigaraki Tomura!” Warp Fucker’s voice was raised, now, to be heard over the wind from All Might’s attacks. “Nomu may be able to win its battle, but we will not be able to do anything about that if we are immediately captured! We must retreat!” “This has to be some kind of cheat!” Handshit ignored Warp Fucker, scratching at his neck frantically as All Might stretched his arms, breaking the monster’s frozen limbs. “How did all of this help arrive at once, right when we had him?! How?!” The scratching suddenly froze. The villain's eyes narrowed. “A soulmate.” Fuck. Handshit turned toward the Warp Fucker, hissing, “You said our intel stated that UA doesn’t have any soulmate hero duos currently on staff! But how else could help have gotten here so fast?! There’s no way that kid that escaped could have gotten them here this quickly, even if he had a speed quirk!” “I do not know, Shigaraki-san, but we must retreat. We will not be able to overcome this many heroes!” A warp gate suddenly formed by the monster’s feet. Katsuki’s hands began to spark as he prepared to launch himself at the Warp Fucker again—like hell he’d let these assholes escape! “I know that!” Handshit snarled, “Why do—” “YEAAAAHHHHHH!!” Warp Fucker’s eyes widened as Cockatoo’s shout blew away the warp mist underneath the damn monster. “Or how about you three just stay put, yeah?” Cockatoo strutted into the plaza, his grin sharp. “If you kids see a safe path out of here, take it. Otherwise, stay back!” Handshit snarled, running toward Cockatoo, but another shout forced him to retreat, slamming the palms of his hands against his ears. Cockatoo reached up, twisting a knob or some shit on his neck before he let out another shout, this one aimed at the earth, apparently, as suddenly the ground underneath them was reverberating and Katsuki struggled to stay standing. When he looked back up, Cockatoo was midair, aiming a kick straight at Handshit’s head. A warp gate appeared in the air between them, but Cockatoo let out another shout, dispelling the mist in front of him and landing his kick—but on the villain’s arm, not his head. The split second distraction had let the fucker move slightly backwards and out of the hero’s direct path. Cockatoo vaulted backwards as Handshit stumbled a few feet, glaring at the hero. “How did you get here so fast?! Who has the soulmate? Is it one of the those two heroes, or one of the students?!” Cockatoo just released a booming laugh, forcing the villain to retreat further, blood beginning to drip out of his ears. “WHOOO SAAAYYSSS THEERREEE’SS AAAA SSOOUUULLMMMAAAAATTEEE???!!!!” Handshit was on his knees, now, but suddenly there was a loud bang as All Might shouted, “PLUS ULTRA!” And then the black monster was flying across the USJ, crashing into the ceiling and then hurtling out, flying to who knows where. Katsuki gaped in shock, but that quickly turned into a wince when Cockatoo started screaming again. While they’d been distracted by the flying monster, Warp Fucker had encircled Handshit, who was now almost entirely through the gate. Cockatoo’s scream was biting away at the mist, but there was no way it would be fast enough! Damn it! The warp gate disappeared. Cockatoo let out a disgruntled noise, glancing around quickly to make sure there were no nearby villains. Then he reached up to turn a knob again on his speaker and when he shouted Eraserhead's name, his voice was back to its normal loudness. Cockatoo ran toward them, skidding to a stop beside Shitty Hair, who was still holding their sensei awkwardly. The hero held out his arms, and Shitty Hair quickly shifted to deliver their sensei to the hero. "Shit, Eraser... you really overdid it, huh?" Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. With the amount of concern in this guy's voice… but if sensei shared pain with his soulmate, then surely his soulmate wouldn’t be here, but would be unconscious somewhere at UA, right? Cockatoo’s green eyes glanced up over the rim of his glasses, flicking over each student before settling on Shinsou’s unconscious form, supported by the bastard and Frog Girl. “Come on, come on," he turned on his heel, motioning toward the entrance, "Recovery Girl is outside with a medical van. We need to get all you students checked out. What happened to Shinsou-kun?” “He overused his quirk, ribbit.” Cockatoo sighed, but began to walk toward the doors, “That’s not good, but I guess it could have been a lot worse.” The hero’s steps paused as he realized that none of them had moved. “Come on, little listeners! The sooner these two see medical attention, the better!” “I, um....” Deku looked back and forth between Cockatoo and where All Might was still standing, completely still. “I need to ask All Might something! Can Kacchan and I come to the entrance with him?” Cockatoo groaned in frustration, glancing between Deku and Aizawa-sensei in his arms. “Fine, sure. You should be fine as long as you’re with him.” He turned around and set a quick pace toward the entrance, the others hurrying after him as best they could. Deku ran to All Might. “What the fuck, Deku?” His soulmate needed to get to Recovery Girl, damn it! Katsuki turned, then groaned in annoyance at the smoke plumes rising from the hero’s form. Shit. Of course the hero was at his damn limit. “All Might!” Deku stopped in front of the hero, his eyes frantically scanning his form, “Are you ok? Your limit! You passed it a while ago, and—” All Might started to cough, his form slowly slipping. Shit. Katsuki reached for Deku’s belt, grabbing the smoke bomb and pulling the pin. Immediately smoke burst up around the three of them, hiding the hero’s form. “Kacchan!” He pulled up his bandana, rolling his eyes at the nerd’s annoyance. “What? He needed to hide.” “Those were soaked earlier! I didn’t know if they’d still work or if they would malfunction in some way, so I hadn’t been using them! What if—” “Well now we know the shit’s waterproof.” “Kacchan!” A chuckle came from beside them in the thick smoke. “This smoke would certainly be effective at allowing you to move unseen. Thank you, Young Bakugou.” “Whatever. Just get out of here, you shitty twig.” “Twig?” There was a cough and Katsuki frowned, untying his bandana and thrusting it at where he knew the old man was standing. It thumped against the man’s chest, and then was gently tugged from his hands. “Thank you, again. I’ll get this back to you later, but for now, I must go before others see me in this form. Stay safe and don’t seek out any of the minor villains! Just go straight to the entrance and let the teachers handle the rest!” “Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki reached out and grabbed Deku’s hair, pulling him toward where the smoke was thinnest. “We know all that shit.” “Kacchan! I’m coming!” A hand pushed against his; “Stop pulling my hair!” Katsuki grabbed his soulmate’s wrist, “Well I couldn’t grab your fucking arm since you went and fucked one of them up. How was I to know I was grabbing the good one?” Deku groaned behind him. When they finally reached a point where the smoke was thin enough to see figures, Katsuki caught sight of R-rated standing there, one hand on her hip. “What happened with the smoke, you two? Where’s All Might? Deku’s form stiffened beside him, and Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Deku’s smoke bomb malfunctioned, some water probably got into it from earlier. All Might went the other way, he said he had something he had to take care of.” R-rated sighed. “That’s fine, then. You two ok to head to the entrance on your own?” She looked over Deku’s form, “You need medical attention, kid.” “”Um, of, of course! We’ll go straight there!” She patted Deku on the head. “There’s a good kid. Bakugou, make sure he goes to see Recovery Girl, alright?” “Oh, believe me, he’s getting that shit taken care of.” R-rated laughed, “Good. Don’t dawdle, boys!” She walked off, hips swaying like always. Katsuki didn’t move, relishing in the fact that his hand still held Deku’s wrist. That his soulmate was at his side once more. Katsuki closed his eyes, taking s slow, deep breath. “Kacchan?” He felt Deku’s wrist shift, and when he opened his eyes the nerd was standing in front of him, looking at him with concern. “You didn’t get hurt, right, Kacchan? You don’t look hurt, but I never asked, and that villain got so close to you and I was so scared and—” “I’m fine, Deku.” He let Deku’s wrist slip free, raising his arms. “Not a scratch.” He shrugged, “Well, a little dehydrated after the shitty fever and that damn big blast, but I left some extra water bottles on the bus, so as long as that’s still outside I’ll be good.” “That’s… that’s good. Though,” Deku gave him a shy smile, “I’d say your gauntlet getting destroyed counts as more than a scratch.” Katsuki growled, gently shoving his hand through his soulmate’s hair. “Shut up, you shitty nerd. You don’t get to talk.” Katsuki’s eyes traced over Deku’s shoulder and arm, over his leg. “Fuck, when I realized you were limping, I—” “I’m ok, Kacchan. It’s nothing Recovery Girl can’t fix.” “Right.” His hands clenched at his sides. “Deku, I—” Shit, when he’d thought Deku had been hurt badly, when he thought those fuckers might have done something to him— They couldn’t stay like this. Aizawa-sensei was right. They were weak with this shitty bond unsealed, and then there were all the damn complications that Recovery Girl had mentioned…. Katsuki growled in frustration. The thin smoke swirled around them, obscuring them well enough from anyone that might look over in their direction. Katsuki took a step closer to Deku. “Kacchan? I’m ok, Kacchan. We found each other before anything bad really happened. And the shoulder was fine until I rescued you, so—” “Deku.” The nerd stopped babbling, looking at him with bright, questioning eyes. “I can’t do this again, Deku. I can’t be separated from you and not know if you’re still alive. Not know if you’re hurt. Shit, I could barely even fight to make my way back to you! I can’t—” Katsuki clenched his eyes in frustration, his hands balled tight into fists. Deku’s hand settled on his shoulder, warm and comforting like always. But only one hand. Shit. Fuck sensei’s how-to speech, Katsuki couldn’t take this anymore! He reached up, tugging Deku’s bandanna down and ignoring the nerd’s inquiring look. All he had to do was shift forward, and—and then his eyes were closed and his lips were against Deku’s, slightly slanted as Katsuki grasped Deku’s shoulder, about to pull the nerd closer— Katsuki froze. Deku wasn’t moving. His soulmate’s lips remained motionless against Katsuki’s. Slowly, Katsuki opened his eyes. His hand fell from Deku’s shirt and he stumbled a few steps back. Nothing. No reaction, no spark, no weird feelings or new abilities. Just… nothing. What… what had he done wrong? There should have been something! They were soulmates! Everything… everything said the bond was sealed with a kiss! Even sensei had said that! That the act was a kiss, and… And they had to like each other romantically and both want the bond. Which meant… Which meant Deku really didn’t like him back. Deku didn’t feel anything for him. Katsuki had…Shit. He had suspected that it was like this. That Deku was too focused on heroes to even notice Katsuki, notice his fucking soulmate that way… And then there was what Aizawa-sensei had said the first day--that he believed Deku, that Deku hadn’t seemed to have any feelings toward his soulmate... but to have proof of that staring right back at Katsuki… His chest hurt. It really fucking hurt. It wasn’t the same as the pain from the warp gate, but… this, this damn turmoil almost hurt worse. “Kacchan…” Deku was still standing there, biting his lower lip, eyes wide in surprise and his voice weak. “Fuck this shit.” Katsuki’s own voice sounded weird, tired. “Let’s just get you to the medical center.” He approached Deku from the nerd’s right side, grabbing him and tossing him over his shoulder. “Kacchan! I can walk! And we, um… we really should, uh, talk about that? Please?!” “No way in hell, Deku!” He trudged up the path, ignoring his squirming soulmate and said soulmate’s insistence on talking about… About… Fuck. He couldn't fucking deal with this shit. Deku eventually quieted down as they passed by a few of the teachers rounding up some of the villains in the plaza, and thankfully remained blissfully silent as Katsuki hauled his ass up the stairs. His soulmate didn’t like him. Katsuki wanted to laugh. So much for fate and all that damn shit! The fucking bond made their lives fucking miserable, and then wouldn’t even form when he damn well wanted it to! All because Deku didn’t…. Fuck! Katsuki dropped Deku on the medical trolley near Recovery Girl. “Get your shit taken care of. I’ll be on the bus—it looks like that’s where all the extras are.” “Kacchan!” Deku’s hand closed around his wrist, green lightning flashing. Katsuki growled in frustration, “Let. Me. Go.” He glared at his soulmate. “It’s not like we can fucking talk here anyway, Deku.” The hand fell away. “But Kacchan, I…” “Just leave it alone.” Katsuki turned away, ignoring Deku’s imploring eyes, and ignoring the Granny’s shout for him to get back there. It’s not like he’d gotten hurt. Some water and he would be fine. He didn’t want to deal with her shitty lectures. With her disappointment when she realized he didn’t want to be around his soulmate at the moment. She didn’t get to be disappointed. Not when… His brain went blank. Why the fuck did he have to feel this way?! Why was he the first one? Damn it! Katsuki hated this! Wait. Auntie’s words from so long ago, words that had comforted him at the time, now circled around his head. Was he the first one, or would he be the only one? Would Deku… would Deku ever like him? Or was… was their bond something else, something new? Were they just some damn anomaly and only meant to be friends forever? Fuck! That shitty nerd was just so, so— fuck! Katsuki loved him. Damn him to hell, but there was no way Katsuki could ever live without this nerd, could ever let himself be a weakness for the nerd, could ever endanger him… Fuck! “Jeez, man… um, you ok?” Katsuki’s eyes cracked open. At some point he’d apparently gotten on the bus, and now Shitty Hair was looking at him, fucking concerned or some damn shit like that. It took Katsuki a second to realize that his classmate’s arms were hard, and that Katsuki’s own hands were setting off small explosions. Katsuki clenched his hands tight, then relaxed the muscles slowly before reaching under his seat to grab one of his water bottles. “Fuck off,” Katsuki growled at his classmate. The last thing he wanted to deal with was some sympathy shit. Katsuki tilted his head back, closing his eyes as he drank the liquid. It was warm from being outside, but at this point Katsuki didn’t care. “Umm… right. I mean, I can do that, but, uhh…” Shitty Hair scratched his cheek nervously, “Is Midoriya ok, man? It’s just… you kinda seem worse now than you were when we left you two, so…” His chest tightened in pain, but Katsuki tried to ignore it, chugging the rest of the water before he hissed, “I said fuck off, Shitty Hair!” The red head looked off to the side, his expression puzzled. “You’re not getting all protective of Midoriya or anything, so I guess he’s ok, at least…” Katsuki growled, the water bottle exploding in his palm and the cap flying off to fuck knows where. “Got it!” Shitty Hair raised his arms defensively. “Message received. I’ll drop it.” “Fucking finally.” “Uh… just taking a wild guess here, but I’m assuming you don’t want Midoriya to sit here? Because he’s almost to the bus, now.” Fuck. The nerd probably would want to sit with him, all damn concerned about… Shit. “Hell no.” The last thing Katsuki fucking wanted was to sit next to the shitty nerd the whole damn ride back to school, unable to talk and feeling shitty about… Damn it. Katsuki glared out the window. He didn’t fucking care what Deku wanted. “Kacchan!” He clenched his hands, refusing to turn toward Deku’s voice. “Woah, there!” Shitty Hair stood up, standing between him and Deku. “Look, Midoriya, I know you probably mean well, but he really doesn’t want to talk to you right now. Like, he’s about to burst with explosions, that’s how much he doesn’t want to. So, uh… maybe give him some space before you try to talk to him?” “But—” “Back the fuck off, Deku,” Katsuki snarled. Or he tried to snarl. His voice sounded fucking weak. “Right.” No movement. “I just… I’m sorry.” Katsuki’s head snapped around to glare at the nerd. “You’re fucking sorry?!” He stood up, hands sparking. “There’s nothing you can do about this shit, Deku! I don’t want a damn apology!” Shitty Hair’s hand was against Katsuki’s chest, now, pushing him back with his arm hardened. Katsuki ignored the red head, glaring at his dumbass nerd, “You either do or don’t, you can’t fucking control that, so you don’t get to be fucking sorry about it!” “But Kacchan, I want to! I don’t want to hurt—” Katsuki snarled, trying to lunge forward, but Shitty Hair’s hardened arms wrapped around him. “Space! Midoriya, I really don’t know what this is about, but please stop provoking him and just give him space!” “Provoking…?” Deku took a step back, his eyes lost. “I don’t…” Round Face was there now, tugging on Deku’s shoulder. “Right. Space.” He swallowed nervously, his chin beginning to wobble. “Thanks, Kirishima-kun.” Deku fled, sitting down somewhere at the back of the bus. Katsuki knew the shitty nerd was probably crying, but he couldn’t bring himself to go comfort his soulmate, even if part of him was yelling at himself for being a shitty soulmate because he cared more about his own feelings than comforting him, but… but he couldn’t deal with Deku’s shit right now! Not when… Damn it. Not when Katsuki felt like a fucking shitstorm had erupted inside his damn chest. “So… um… “ Katsuki growled at Shitty Hair’s voice, but the dumbass just kept going, “Space! I get it! But if you wanna talk, man, I just wanted to say I’m here for you. We’re friends, right? After going through something like that together…” He sighed in frustration, “Look, I’m not good at this stuff, but I’m here for you if you need to talk! Whatever this is about, you can trust me, and I won’t tell anyone anything because that’s not manly at all, ok?” “We’re not fucking friends. I don’t have any.” Katsuki turned to look at the window, ignoring Shitty Hair and the rest of his dumbass classmates who were no doubt eavesdropping. “None?” Shitty Hair’s voice sounded surprised. “You don’t even count Midoriya?” “Deku’s…” shit. He wasn’t just some lameass friend. Deku was special. Always had been. The pain roared in his chest. Apparently Katsuki just wasn’t as special to Deku. Yet! Damn it. Maybe. Katsuki groaned, leaning his head against the seat in front of him. “Fuck off.” Thankfully, Shitty Hair finally got a damn clue and sat there, silent, even as the bus started up and began to head back toward campus. Toward UA, where their parents would be waiting to pick them up. Fuck.

(i) Lovegood’s abandonment – or so it seemed to him bafflingly enough – made Draco turn mean. He was kind of a jerk at home and downright sullen at work. The house-elves, most of whom did not like him very much in the first place, spent their time trying their best not to cross paths with him. His dogs, who really had been devoted to him, were happy enough to see him when he went to them but managed to piss him off by looking around him as though expecting someone else to come. The fact that some of his patients had come to associate him as the husband of the nation’s sweetheart, a fact that had appealed to him excessively the last few weeks, now exasperated him to no end. People’s attempt to ask him about his wife made him want to throw around some hexes. What exasperated him the most, though, was that he was so affected. And by what? Lovegood! It was a most alarming situation, and he struggled to get a handle on things. Unfortunately, Draco didn’t reach the epiphany on his own. “What’s got you so riled up?” Astoria asked as Draco plopped down in his seat in the healer’s office after having treated a dragon handler for dragon fire burns. He picked up the report from an apprentice that he was in the process of correcting and began marking it. It was one of the first non-work-related question that she’d asked him since his wedding. “Huh?” Draco said distractedly. “Nothing.” Astoria leaned against her desk, facing him. “Well, you could’ve fooled me. The apprentice you just yelled at ran to the bathroom crying.” Draco really was not in the mood for a lecture, especially since he’d done nothing wrong. “She administered an extravagant amount of sleeping draught to a child. Everybody knows that children shouldn’t be given even a little of that stuff. Their developing bodies can’t work through them as easily as adults do. What should I have told the child’s mother if the little girl hadn’t woken up?” Astoria nodded thoughtfully. “You were right about the sleeping draught, but you didn’t have to be such an ass about it,” she reproached.     He sighed, quill stopping mid-air. He leaned back in his chair, throwing the clipboard with the report parchment clipped to it on his desk. “Not in the mood for a lecture, Astoria. If I needed one, I could’ve gone to the head healer.” Astoria let out an indignant huff and then crossed her arms across her chest. “You know, Draco, I don’t think marriage has agreed with you.” Draco’s eyes snapped up to her face. He could feel her shudder at the coldness in his eyes. “You don’t know anything about my marriage.” In return, her face became harsh and angry as well. “You’re right. And who’s fault is that?” Draco continued to regard her with a coolness he’d never displayed before her. “I’ve never made you any promises, Astoria,” he said simply. Astoria’s lower lip trembled and a mortified blush crept her cheeks. It also looked like she would cry. But she didn’t. Her body stiffened instead. “Don’t look at me like that, Draco,” she said in a wobbly voice. “You’ve never discouraged me either and you know that.” Draco opened his mouth to reply, though he didn’t really know what to say. Astoria’s accusation was not wholly unfounded. Before he could speak, though, she’d interjected. “Do you love her? Luna Lovegood?” His jaw hung. That was not a question he’d been expecting. He could only look at the girl he’d been sort of mooning over for the last year. Horrifyingly, the tears that had been hovering on the rim of her eyes flooded down her cheeks now. “You do, don’t you?” What an absurd thing to say! Just because Draco hadn’t answered an insanely stupid question, why would she just assume an answer and such an impossible one as that. He was about to put it right – just about to – when Astoria ran out of the room, leaving Draco to stare helplessly after her. Healer Banner, one of the most senior healers in the hospital, came into the room just as Astoria ran out of it. She tutted at Draco. “That’s the second one who’ve sent running today. Might wanna work on your people’s skill a bit, Healer Malfoy.” (ii) The fight (argument? disagreement? Draco still wasn’t sure what it had been) with Astoria served as somewhat of an eye-opener to the Malfoy heir. He had been so set on making the world believe that Lovegood had chosen him (vice versa) that he’d managed to trick himself into believing that horde of crap as well. There was no reason that Lovegood carting herself off to the opposite end of the world should affect him so. What he needed to do while she was still away was to collect himself and be back in a pre-Lovegood state of mind. Draco was not sure what had happened in the weeks (because it really had only been mere weeks) since Lovegood had been unleashed onto his life. There was definitely something about her. Draco had neither expected nor braced himself for the effect that she seemed on have on people simply because he’d never really talked two straight sentences to her before he’d decided to marry her. Now that he had – now that he lived in the same fucking house as her – it was a matter of urgency. There was no way he was going to allow Lovegood to run rampant over his life, not when he’d went through so much pain (and money) to ensure his freedom. Draco would be his own person. The first step, obviously, was to dissociate. He’d already done a pretty good job of it by situating Lovegood at the other end of the house and Lovegood had assisted further by situating herself to the other side of the world for at least half a year. If things went well, he wouldn’t really have to be all that worried at all. Lovegood would probably stay abroad a lot and while she was in the country, he could put his contract to good use by carting her around to a few charity events to rehabilitate his image. His efforts at minimizing the damage Lovegood had wrought upon him started immediately. Over the next few days, Draco was tooth-rottingly sweet to his house-elves. To the point that wide, orb-like eyes followed him across every corner of the house. He even went through the trouble of bribing his dogs with treats until they stopped looking around him in search of Lovegood. At work, Draco was the model of patience. He treated his patients with friendliness, answering even the dumbest questions with a smile on his face. He went out of the way to mentor the young apprentices, keeping a couple with him during emergencies so that they could see how to handle such cases. His relationship with Astoria, too, was on the mend. After their little hiccup, Astoria retreated, and Draco was too scared to press for more. Their interactions were perfectly professional. During their times together in the healer’s office, Astoria remained inside her cubicle and Draco in his. The status quo would have to be maintained until he could figure out what to do of the situation. Draco wanted Astoria. It was as simple as that. Where Lovegood was the last person on Earth Draco could have imagined himself with, Astoria fit into his world like a glove. Lovegood was a pureblood too, but not in the way Astoria was. Draco had known the Greengrass family practically since he’d been born. Astoria’s older sister Daphne had been his childhood playmate and class fellow at Hogwarts. The Greengrass sisters moved in the same circles as him, were used to the same luxuries and lifestyle as him. They knew what elite British wizarding society demanded of them and they delivered it. Lovegood, with her candour and straightforward eyes, would never be able to conform to his world. And what was more, he didn’t need her to conform. He needed her to bring him the respectability he had lost and then they’d be on their separate, merry ways. Once he’d taken leave of Lovegood, Draco could turn his full attention to Astoria like the way she deserved. He’d tell her the entire truth and he was sure she’d accept him. Astoria, with her beautiful statuesque figure and ashy blonde hair and sweet-tempered, doting nature would make him a perfect wife. It was thus that Draco took care of the inconvenient and turbulent feelings Lovegood aroused in him. By not thinking about her. The excess of energy Draco had had in his body after they’d been bonded that seemed to overtake his senses when he was off work was taken care of through long hours in the house gym. (iii) Everything was under control – until Christmas. Lovegood had been gone for almost two entire months without a peep from her. Of course, Draco had not expected to hear from her for Christmas either. But he was proven wrong when he woke up on Christmas morning to a persistent tut-tut-tut from his balcony window. Draco groaned when he awoke having come home from the hospital just a couple of hours ago. He was just about to turn over in his bed and go back to sleep when the noise became more annoying, increasing in frequency. With an impatient huff, Draco threw away the duvet and sat up in bed. Fumbling for his wand on the bedside table, Draco cursed under his breath until he finally managed to snag it. He murmured a spell to see what was causing the noise. An owl. A bloody owl was attacking his window with a vengeance in the early hours of the morning. Draco growled out his impatience. What an ill-mannered owl this was! Every single owl they received at the manor knew to fly towards the owlery where their messages were taken down and they were offered food and rest before they were sent back on their way. The messages received were then brought on a platter by Roy either after breakfast or whenever the family members were free to receive them. Owls definitely did not fly to their windows and created a chaos until the master of the house was forced to wake up. With a sigh of defeat, Draco charmed open his window a fraction so that the obnoxious owl could slip in. It was a big one, with huge grey eyes and brown and white feathers. Of course, she was also a snob. As soon as she was inside, she flew straight for where Draco was sat on top of his bed and perched on his bare shoulder, extended a spindly claw out regally to him. “Kind of bossy, aren’t you?” Draco muttered darkly but still untied the note and the bag that hung from her leg. As soon as the owl was free, she flew to his bedside table, kicked away the lid on top of the glass kept there and went on to glug down his water. Draco sighed. Of all the owls he could have gotten, of course, he got the bossiest, rudest one. He lit up the end of his wand because the light filtering in through the windows was not enough to read the note by. Dear Draco, Merry Christmas! I hope you’re doing well and not overworking yourself at the hospital. The weather is great in Australia, but since we don’t have any snow here, it doesn’t really feel like Christmas. I hope that you’re having a good one back home. I’ve enclosed presents for all the house elves. (You’ll have to un-shrink them, though, because the bag was getting too heavy for Mina). I was thinking about what would be appropriate from them (since Rolf says I can’t give them clothes because I might set them free from the family given that we’re technically married). I tried my best to find suitable presents and I hope you won’t object to them and relay them to the elves with warm Christmas wishes from me. I’ve also sent some treats for Apollo, Zeus and Ares. I knitted them some capes as well (just because I had time and I thought they’d look super cute in them). Love, Luna P.S: I don’t know what your policy on exchanging Christmas gifts is because you didn’t make any stipulations in the contract. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sending you some. It’s not much. Just some socks that I knitted because I noticed that you only wear the boring kinds. There was a festival here last week with aboriginal Australian stalls. One of them was selling traditional hunting weapons. I saw a boomerang and I thought you might like it, so I bought it for you. I was hoping you could use it to play with the dogs. I know they want to spend more time with you. The letter was so baffling that Draco had to read it four times. It was classic Lovegood. No word for two months and then a bag full of Christmas gifts for elves and dogs (and him) and a note that made no sense. Mina perked her head up from the glass of water when Draco pushed the bag and the note she’d brought away from the bed. She tutted in disapproval when he launched himself back into bed on his stomach and pulled the duvet up. “Shut your trap, birdie,” Draco told her. “Or I might just decide to throw you out as well.” (iv) His footsteps echoed ominously across the tiled floor of the manor as Draco moved. Despite it being day, the inside of the house was cast in darkness, as though under the influence of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It made Draco’s throat run dry. The halls of his home that he’d known since he’d been a child now seemed completely unfamiliar. He could hear her screaming somewhere in the house and stopped in his tracks. It was her. He knew it was her because the sound of her voice seemed to have been written inside his DNA, distorted even as it was in pain. Her screams subsided and Draco’s feet started moving once more. He didn’t want them to. It was like he was under the Imperius curse. His limbs seemed to be moving without his will even as he worked to resist. The dungeon landing was darker than any other part of the house, lit only by a single torch bracket flaming with a green fire. Instead of bringing heat, the fire seemed to be sucking in all the warmth from his surroundings, creating a cold vacuum there. Draco shuddered, from the cold and from the horror of the situation. She screamed again and again his feet stopped. Her agony, carried to him through her screams, seemed to be enveloping his entire body, making him senseless from the pain. With every step that he took towards the dungeon, the pain seemed to increase until he could hardly see anything through the tears that had welled in his eyes. She was there. Like he knew she would be. Like she always was. Battered and bloodied. Draco couldn’t make out the details of her figure, but he knew what she looked it. A pale ghost-like face that haunted him surrounded by golden curls that were weighed down with blood and dirt. He would be able to paint her blindfolded with the number of times he’d seen her like that. “Draco!” she screeched. Her voice sounded all wrong because was no dreaminess in it. His name sounded like a curse when she screamed it like that. “Help me, Draco. Please help me.” Filled as his throat was with thorns, Draco couldn’t reply. Instead, he fell to his knees before her. The uneven stone floor of the dungeons dug into his flesh and bone. In the face of every other spark of pain that was radiating from every inch of his body, it felt like nothing. “It hurts, Draco. Please, please, please. You have to help me.” With a Herculean effort, Draco managed to open his mouth. “I can’t. I can’t.” “Please. Please, it hurts!” “I can’t, Lovegood. It hurts me too.” “It’s so cold, Draco!” “I know! I feel it too.” “You have to help me. Please.” “I want to.” “Then why won’t you?” “Because I can’t.” He was panting. The tears that had blinded him now ran down his cheeks in scalding streams. “It hurts me too. I don’t want you to hurt but it’s too much. I can’t do anything. You have to understand. You have to forgive me. I can’t help you. Please, Lovegood. Forgive me.” She screamed again, the agony in her voice rising until he felt like it would tear through his eardrums and leave him battered and bloodied on the ground as well. “Please!” she cried. “Please, Draco!” The sheets were sticking to his bare chest with his sweat when Draco woke up. He was panting as though he’d run a few miles even though he’d been on his bed the entire time. Draco concentrated on just breathing. In and out. By the time his heart rate stabilized (which took longer than he would care to admit), the sweat he’d been drowning in had dried. Draco closed his eyes and turned the other way in bed. The moonlight filtering in through the slightly open curtains seemed to conjure up an image. A pair of spectacular blue eyes. Draco willed the image to go away, especially given how fresh the horror of his nightmare was in his mind. But she refused to go away.      (v) It was a far warmer day for March than it should have been by all rights. Draco was tired of the hospital, the endless queues of patients awaiting his attention and the fact that his life had turned into endless cycle of drudgery. At this point, his house-elves had more going on than him. The thought was so depressing that Draco actually sighed in resignation as he made his way inside the house. It was well past midnight. These days Draco was usually assigned shifts that started in the middle of the day and ended in the middle of the night. Not that he had anything to complain about. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting for him back home who could prompt him to be more selective about his shifts. This dragged another sigh out of the young Malfoy. His wife, always a favourite of the newspapers in the country, seemed to have grown larger than life with her marriage to him and the expedition to Australia. Draco didn’t know if it was typical for magizoologists to keep a photographer on board to keep the world updated about their exploits. If not, Lovegood seemed to be too good a fodder for the press consuming public for the newspapers to resist reporting about. Her time in Australia seemed to be documented all over the newspapers in Britain. One morning she was on the front-page bathing with selkies and yet another time she was nursing a litter of wolves that had been abandoned in a ditch. The headline on one of these articles said that she was too good to be true. Draco had bunched that newspaper up in his hand and tossed it into the cosy fire that had been warming his father’s study. Because of the newspaper images, because the head healers knew that his wife was half a world away, they had no scruples about assigning him any shift that the other healers (ones with actual lives) were reluctant to accept. The worst part of it was that he couldn’t even object. There was the sound of crickets chirping in the distance. No one, not any of the house-elves, not even one of his dogs who usually roamed the grounds at night, was awake. Draco usually was snappish when he came home in the middle of the night. To not make the servants hate him too much, Draco had allowed them to have retired by the time he came back. There was usually a plate of dinner waiting for him on the kitchen table, protected by warming and shielding spells, that he had if he was feeling up to it. More usually, he just retired to bed immediately. Immediately after he entered the foyer, though, Draco knew tonight would be different. Instead of the dreadful silence that greeted him every day when he came home from work, today he was greeted by the impossible sound of music. Music! And that too the upbeat type. His father had had a penchant for operatic pieces and very rarely chose to blast them across the house. Other than that, the house had always been filled with a dignified silence. Even as a child, Draco had not been allowed to make much noise inside. One time that he’d slid down the banister of the stairwell with shouts of excitement, he’d been confined to his room for three days because his father had been in a meeting with his man of business. Of course, that had put Draco off doing anything fun in the house. It was not like he’d had a dreadful childhood. Far from it. he’d been quite spoiled by his parents. He’d had everything he craved… except companionship. Toys got old really fast if you didn’t have anyone to brag about them to. He turned the corner of the foyer and walked toiwards the kitchen, following the sound of the music. It was strangely dream-like. He was used to following sounds in his nightmares, but never ones this pleasant. His feet seemed to be carrying him forward even without his will. The déjà vu of it made Draco’s heart run a riot against his chest. But he was reassured by the fact that the halls were well-lit. The kitchens looming forward, though, did not lessen any of his anxiety. He entered the kitchens, and she was there. Standing in front of him with her back to him. Like most of his nightmares, he’d been led to her. Except this wasn’t a nightmare. Because she looked fine. Her hips were swaying in time to the beat of the music, completely unaware of the audience she had enraptured. Something was sizzling on the pan she’d put on the stove. Her brilliant gold hair was piled on top of her head in a bun that she’d secured with her wand. The bright red kimono robe that she was wearing had slipped off one shoulder, revealing creamy skin. Draco had still not reconciled himself with the apparition that he was seeing in front of her – because Lovegood was still in Australia, right? – when she turned, pan in hand. Lovegood’s wide blue eyes stilled on him, and Draco felt all the air whoosh out of his lungs. **** He looked strangely pale, Luna thought. His eyes looked drawn and tired and maybe just a little out of focus. It had been almost six months since she’d seen him. He hadn’t even replied to the letter she’d wrote on Christmas. Luna didn’t know how she’d expected to find him, but it wasn’t like this. Maybe it had been a bad day at work.  “Hey,” she said with a smile. Because she really was happy to see him. “Hi,” he breathed back, still looking like he was in a daze. “How have you been?” She put aside the pan she’d been holding and wiped her hands on a paper towel nearby. Draco nodded, even though the question she’d asked wasn’t a yes or no question. Luna decided not to press him when he looked so preoccupied. “I didn’t know you were coming today,” he said finally. She smiled. “I got free ahead of time. I know I should’ve written but I didn’t think….” that you cared. Luna let herself trail off instead of completing her sentence. “I hope that’s not a problem.” “Oh, no, of course not.” He shook his head with a vehemence. “You live here now.” Luna hoped her grin conveyed her gratitude. She turned towards the omelette that she’d just prepared, folding it and sliding it onto a plate. “How was your day at work? Aren’t you hungry?” she asked presenting the omelette to him. Draco looked between her and the omelette. “You’re having an omelette… for dinner?” “Yep.” He shook his head at her in a way that clearly conveyed his exasperation even though she’d done nothing to aggravate him. It was amusing that he could be offended on behalf of dinner. “Where’s Binky? You could’ve asked her to make you something appropriate for dinner.” “Oh, she offered.” Luna waved a hand dismissively in air in front of her. “I told her not to bother. I’m a bit jetlagged, you see. I couldn’t sleep so decided to fix myself some nice breakfast for dinner.” The look on his face told her that he clearly did not agree with her, and it was so funny that Luna couldn’t hold back her laughter. As soon as a chuckle escaped her, Draco turned his disapproving gaze from her omelette to her face. Luna tried to sober up. “I can make you something else if you want,” she offered. “A sandwich perhaps?” He shook his head. “No. No, I’m good.” **** It was entirely too difficult for Draco to keep his eyes off her bare shoulder, and the problem only multiplied when she turned. He saw that she was wearing a very cute set of off-white pyjamas with an impossibly large plant print running through the entire thing. The strappy top seemed too big for her and kept sliding off her shoulder and the matching shorts left too much skin for his eyes to feast on. The kimono robe did nothing to deter his eyes’ progress over her body. After Draco had tried – and failed – to look away for the hundredth time, he abandoned the attempt and let himself peruse her thoroughly. Lovegood didn’t seem to notice because the smile she’d had on her face stayed there. “Really,” she insisted, and Draco forced his eyes up to her face again. “It’s no problem. I’m quick.” Draco found himself nodding, even though he’d long since forgotten what they’d been talking about. Of course, his distraction wasn’t caused by Lovegood herself – she was pretty, but she wasn’t that pretty. And besides, she really wasn’t his type. Draco liked tall, statuesque women. Not short, delicate things who looked like they’d break in his hands if he so much as touched them too carelessly. And Lovegood was the poster-child for what Draco did not want in a woman. He wanted women who could take care of themselves, who liked men who got a little rough in bed. Lovegood would probably bawl her eyes if Draco made an overtly sexual suggestion to her. Of course, that didn’t make Lovegood entirely undesirable. She was a woman after all and a pretty one at that. The golden hair and the always incandescent blue eyes ensured that for her. He knew guys from school who’d go crazy about her… if they didn’t know that she was crazier than they could ever be. So, everything boiled down to her insanity. It didn’t matter how pretty a woman was. If she kept talking about imaginary creatures, guys wouldn’t really give her the time of the day. Not that Lovegood seemed to care about the lack of male attention directed towards her. If she did, would she have agreed to enter a fake marriage with him just to get money enough to build a sanctuary for her precious magical creatures? No, she wouldn’t. Besides, she had her little fan club of adorers who made sure she was in the news. But Lovegood seemed to care precious little about that as well. Now that he thought about it, Lovegood didn’t seem to care about much at all. His musings on all things Lovegood came to a screeching halt when she placed a couple of sandwiches on a plate on the kitchen counter between them. Draco’s eyes lifted to her face immediately. “Is it alright with you if we eat here, or should I shift everything to the breakfast room?” The light hanging above them made her hair and skin glow. Draco cleared his throat and averted his eyes. It really had been too long since he’d gotten laid, and this was surely his mind’s way of telling him that. Get laid or fantasize about your fake-wife. Your choice, loser. He would really have to do something about it and soon if he wanted his sanity intact. “Whatever,” he said harshly. “I don’t care.” (vi) Pathetically, everyone inside the Malfoy manor was at Lovegood’s feet as soon as she returned. The house-elves orbited around her like she was the sun and they mere planets. His dogs had abandoned him once again in favour of the little bride he’d brought them. Honestly, the towering beasts became lovesick puppies around her, and Draco was not sure how long he’d be able to keep quiet about it. Lovegood, for her part, handled everything good-naturedly enough. After that first night that she’d been back, she hadn’t tried seeking him out and because Draco himself took care never to be anywhere she might happen by, they rarely crossed paths even though they lived in the same house. Additionally, Lovegood had returned with a mountain of paperwork that she needed to complete and submit to the ministry before going to work on actually documenting her findings from the expedition. Which would obviously make sure that she remained well enough occupied and away from him.    It was like everything had gone back to the way it was before she’d left for her expedition. Overall, it was even better. Draco had a firm leash on the beast inside him that seemed to roar to life in Lovegood’s presence. That made Draco do very un-Draco-like things. Like sulking because his insane fake-wife had left for a trip. Lovegood hadn’t been home an entire week when something happened that was more upsetting than anything that had happened to him since the war. A wizarding tabloid magazine reported that the marriage between the two was “on the ROCKS”. The article, a waste of parchment if Draco was to be asked, listed all the reasons that the author believed the marriage between the two was dissolving and fast. “Miss Lovegood seems to be too good for the ex-felon Malfoy,” Draco read out from the magazine he’d folded in his hands. Defarge sat opposite in a plush chair with an amused grin on his face. “Sources close to the couple reveal that while Miss Lovegood was quite taken with Mr Malfoy’s bad boy charm, she has since come to regret her hasty decision. It had also previously been reported and speculated that Miss Lovegood agreed to marry Malfoy because the man had left her pregnant after a drunken encounter. The reports, however, have since been negated. Miss Lovegood spent six months in Australia, with news outlets constantly reporting about her and has only recently returned to England… minus a baby bump.” Defarge let out a cackle so loud that Binky, who was serving tea, almost jumped out of her skin. Draco rolled his eyes at the lawyer’s antics, but a vein was throbbing in his temple. Was it not enough to be bashed in private drawing rooms for making off with Lovegood? He now had to endure being made fun of in the national press. The author had even included a picture from their wedding that had been edited into a broken mirror, with Draco on one side of the crack and Lovegood on the other. The young Malfoy had married the school lunatic for a nice, family man image. Instead, he was getting slaughtered in the press as a no-good playboy who’d apparently been with a dozen different women since he’d been married. What got to Draco the most was that it wasn’t even true. He hadn’t so much as touched a woman since he’d gotten married, despite there being space in their contract for sexual partners. And it was exactly what was driving him crazy. He was so sex-starved that he was finding even Lovegood desirable. Before Draco could give Defarge a piece of his mind and curse the writer of the article to the pits of hell, there was a small knock on the door and Lovegood poked her head inside. “I hope I’m not disturbing you both,” she said. “May I join you?”       Defarge was up on his feet in an instant. “Of course, love. Come in. You are the hostess anyway.” With a laugh, Lovegood flew over to where Defarge stood and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s been a long time.” “Yes,” Defarge agreed, gesturing for her to take the chair next to his. “I was here to meet you, but your husband had something interesting that he wanted me to see first.” Her eyes twinkled more brightly than anything in the world had the right to. “Oh, is that right?” Draco only just stopped himself from sticking his tongue out at her. He was twenty-one, not twelve after all. It’s all your fault that the world thinks I’m bad. I’m not bad! You’re just too good. There’s a difference. Instead, he settled for a nod. “The newspapers think we’re getting divorced,” he declared, passing the magazine he had been reading to her. “What?” The outrage in her normally sedate voice managed to calm Draco a bit. She read over the article quickly. “But none of this is true. And who are these sources they’re talking about? None of my friends would talk to the media.” Draco let out a dry, humourless chuckle. “Let’s not forget that your little Weaselette sold our wedding pictures for quite a lot of money just the night of the wedding.” Lovegood blushed a pretty pink but was valiant in her defence of her friend. “Well, I talked to Tom about it before she sold them, and he agreed that it was the best thing to do. If we got married to be seen together in public, why would it be a bad idea to give the wedding photo to the press? And Ginny really did get a very nice price for them. She bought the latest broomstick with the money she made. No harm done.” Draco wanted to disagree, if only because he felt that everything Lovegood’s friends did was wrong. But he didn’t because he’d only end up looking petty. “And besides,” Lovegood continued when he didn’t offer his two cents. “I’m sure none of my friends are saying this.” The disgust in her tone was refreshing. Draco had never seen Lovegood be disgusted by anything and the fact that she would display such emotion on his behalf made his heart tingle a little bit. Draco coughed to hide the blush that was now making its way across his face. “We can’t just let them talk nonsense like this,” he said, leaning forward in his seat and pointing towards the magazine in Lovegood’s delicate hands. “It’ll defeat the entire purpose of our marriage if people actually believe this crap.” Defarge let out a sigh. “For one, I agree with Draco.” “Can’t we send them a notice?” Lovegood asked. “Nothing extreme. Just a polite request that they refrain from using our personal life to sell their magazines with information that isn’t even true.” Draco snorted. It was such a Lovegood thing to say. He leaned towards her seat and said with a smirk, “Yeah, and while we’re at it, let’s send them a basket of bread and cookies to show them that we appreciate that they are such hard workers.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, do you think that’ll work?” Draco could only look at her in disbelief. Defarge, though, let out a cackle of laughter. The light receded from Lovegood’s eyes, and her delicious mouth settled into an adorable pout. “You’re just making fun of me, aren’t you?” she asked him, brilliant blue eyes glaring daggers at him. Who knew Lovegood could look almost alluring? Draco shook his head to clear the thought away. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we?” he said succinctly. She didn’t argue and turned to look at Defarge. Draco felt the loss of her gaze acutely. “Can we do that?” she asked. “Serve them a notice?” Defarge fidgeted with his moustache. “Yes, you can, but it won’t do much good.” “Why not?” Draco asked. “Look.” Defarge slid forward in his seat. “We can continue to serve notices to all the newspapers in the country, but it would not guarantee that the press will give you an accurate portrayal – or at least as accurate as you want them to. What this calls for is for the two of you to be more active in creating the image you want to project to the world.” “What does that mean?” Defarge harrumphed impatiently. “You’re newlyweds for goodness sakes. You should be head over heels in love with each other and parading all around town, being photographed kissing in every corner of Diagon Alley.” A shiver ran down Draco’s back at the thought of pressing Lovegood against the wall of a deserted alley and kissing the life out of her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lovegood giggling at the notion, and was forced to sober up instantly. Get a hold of yourself, Malfoy! “Do what normally couples do,” Defarge continued. “Instead, Luna whizzed off to Australia and Draco has been working six days a week. Since she’s been back, Draco, you’ve continued with work and kept your bride cooped up inside the house.” Draco wanted to argue that it wasn’t his doing. He didn’t ask Lovegood to stay inside. How was it his fault that she didn’t seem to want to go out? “Of course, the press is suspicious of you both. What have you done that is normal for newlyweds besides sharing a dance and a kiss on your wedding? The world hasn’t seen you together since. There’s bound to be speculations.” Draco huffed indignantly. “And what are we supposed to do? Parade down the street holding hands?” Defarge directed a critical look his way. “Is that what couples do?” he asked, sarcasm lacing his tone. Before Draco could counter, Defarge had turned towards Lovegood. “Luna, you tell me. What do newlyweds do?” Lovegood twisted the magazine in her hands, conveying her discomfort. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Go on a honeymoon, I guess.” Defarge slapped his large hand down on the table. “Exactly. A honeymoon. That’s what you guys need to do.” Draco felt his jaw slacken as he directed a disbelieving look towards his lawyer. “You have got to be kidding me! A honeymoon? And where should we go? Lovegood’s Rook house? Or the Burrow?” He huffed. “You know perfectly well I can’t even travel to the next city without the ministry kicking up a fuss about it.” Defarge, though, wasn’t listening. He seemed to be on a roll. With his excitement at the prospect, he jumped up to his feet. “Don’t you worry about that, Malfoy,” he said. “You leave the arrangements to me. Just make sure you can get time off work. The same for you, Luna. Buy some pretty dresses. You’re going on your honeymoon… even if it is six months too late.” Behind Defarge’s turned back, Draco and Lovegood could only look helplessly at each other. (vii) Sylvester Markham, editor of the Wicked Witches (Bi-)Weekly, woke up well past noon. He’d been up most of the night, revising a new gossip article in light of comments from a new source. It was just before dawn that he’d set the presses working and by the time the magazines were out, it was time to relay them to the market. Sylvester had come home well past daylight and had fallen into bed like one dead. He came out of his bedroom and made his way down the stairs to his kitchen to get a cup of dark coffee. Except – there was someone already waiting for him in the kitchen. A regal, large eagle owl awaited him on his kitchen table. Sylvester felt a trickle of excitement run down his spine. The owl undoubtedly belonged to someone as filthy rich as rich could be. Perhaps, Sylvester would be getting a new patron. An eccentric millionaire taken with one of the witches who regularly modelled for him. it wouldn’t be the first time. The haughty owl looked at Sylvester as though he was vermin as the wizard came close. Tied to one leg, was an envelope of the finest parchment, sealed closed with a wax “M” and an old family coat-of-arms that looked somewhat familiar. His fingers trembling with excitement, Sylvester opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. The first was a sheet of heavy, expensive paper with only two sentences written on it in an elegant script. Hey, asshole! It’s Malfoy. Sylvester could only stare at the bewildering epistle, as though looking at it without blinking would force the words to make sense. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Still confused, the editor set aside the letter (if only four words could constitute a letter) to find a cutting of an article of his own magazine. It seemed to be quite changed. Lovegood Malfoy and Malfoy Marriage on the “ROCKS”? Miss Lovegood Mrs Malfoy seems to be too good for the ex-felon Malfoy. Sources close to the couple reveal that while Miss Lovegood Mrs Malfoy was quite taken with Mr Malfoy’s bad boy charm, she has since come to regret her hasty decision. It had also previously been reported and speculated that Miss Lovegood Mrs Malfoy agreed to marry Malfoy because the man had left her pregnant after a drunken encounter. The reports, however, have since been negated. Miss Lovegood Mrs Malfoy spent six months in Australia, with news outlets constantly reporting about her and has only recently returned to England… minus a baby bump. We here at Wicked Witches (Bi-)Weekly, hope that Miss Lovegood Mrs Malfoy can come to her senses quicker and dump her husband’s ass, who we all agree, is not the right man for her. With her unique charm and captivating beauty, Miss Lovegood Mrs Malfoy can do so much better. Over the course of his decade long career in gossip, Sylvester had never received such a letter.             

If you enjoyed my short story, Wives from Among Women, I believe you'll like this one too! We're heading back to Ancient Greece, where Cy must choose tradition, or lose any potential inheritance from his devout father. This story explores the themes of tradition, divinity and the true meaning of home. Cy stumbled through the dense throng of celebrants, who filled his family's streets with cheers and shouts and abrasive smells that the freedmen were often shrouded in. He ducked into the temple and clutched his tunic tighter against the crowd, a thick wall of wine vapors washing over him. The celebrants had found their way, even here, and were pouring libations among themselves while huddled around the pooled torch lights. A cup was offered by a generous hand but he refused, slipping into the open courtyard of the Acropolis, where the celebrations had not yet penetrated. Cy could breathe better here, under the rich spring foliage. He looked up at the stars, wondering. Even his father was adamant the gods existed. How could he not be? Proud Apollo stood watch at their gates, his cold marble eyes threatening to pierce the passerby with deadly arrows. When the celebrations commenced come morning, the city would be calm again. But not for Cy. He had to , and soon. He pivoted on his sandals in a slow rotation, studying each face of the pantheon in turn. Twelve stared down at him, and if he squinted just so, he could trick himself into thinking the marble flesh might move. Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Dionysus, and the rest stood vigil over him. Beautiful Aphrodite held his attention the longest. He wondered what it would be like to commit to her, and laughed aloud. She was beautiful, yes. And extraordinarily petty. The quandary left him ill. He tore his gaze from the statues to pace through the abandoned hall of Hephaistos. Beyond the pillars was the forest in which he intended to make his escape. He'd have to decide but not tonight. Cy shook his head. The dark woods welcomed him, the canopy not thick enough to block out moon's light. Here, he could almost imagine the gods existed, so far removed from the cool marble enclosures. There were no demanding priests pressuring him to accept a patron god. Many chose to commit themselves to none but not the sons of the Athens. It was expected, in the quiet tradition, and if he couldn't choose, he would be cast out by his twentieth birthday, stripped of all claim to his inheritance and any titles that it implied. Cy would become little more than a freedman. A fresh wind swept through his tunic from the north, chilling him to the bone. Surely, it was a simple thing, to choose the ease of his life over the struggles of the lower class. It's not as if the gods existed. So, he didn't understand why he hesitated. The leaves rustled around him. A breeze tugged on his cloak. Frisson passed over him, sending his hair on end with the excitement. The air seemed charged for a storm, and it made Cy feel truly alive. And then the lights came, pale blue specs dancing aimlessly around him. He didn't have time to marvel when he saw , dashing through the trees which yielded in silent devotion. She was massively tall, nearly twice his height, and entirely nude. Her skin made the soft lights flare when they came near her and he could feel the weight of her sobs in his own chest. She paid him no mind at all, passing within a handspan. Cy could not keep his eyes off her as she flitted into the darkness, hands concealing her face as she wept. Her long dark tresses cut through the night behind her. His nose burned like he'd come too close to flames, and he wavered on his feet. Very soon, she was out of sight, a trail of confused illumination drifting in her wake, and where she had stepped, grape leaves sprouted. He realized he'd forgotten to breathe. There were no words to contain his awe. Was she a spirit? A nymph? He'd never heard of a nymph so large. A titan, perhaps? But most of their lot was ensnared, if the literature held any truth. Cy followed the impressive path she'd left behind. Even as the lights dimmed, he found it effortless to follow the new growth. He wasn't sure what he'd find, at the end of it but his curiosity left all else behind. Over hillocks and under fallen trees did he navigate, his decorated sandals not up for the task. He considered tearing them off when he found her, quite asleep, and quite normally sized, in a bed of freshly sprouted grape leaves. She could have passed as mortal but he was not deceived. He recognized the soft curves of her hips and the gentle slope of her shoulders. It was the very same woman who had taken his breath away. He had never met a goddess before but had the sense that if the gods did exist, she must be one of them. But her countenance, when he approached to study it, was not familiar. She had donned a precious pout before curling into the growth, a slender arm thrown over her eyes as if the world offended her. Her breasts, he tried not to stare too long at but he had caught the supple shape of her, and knew this was a goddess he could pledge himself to. How to go about it, though? Cy reeled with the possibilities, falling upon the most rational. He tore free his cloak and approached as one would a wild animal, fully alert. It helped that the lights had abated, and she appeared, for all intents and purposes, mortal. At any moment, she could rise and smite him. He was certain of it. But her breathing was slow and even, and if she did feel the coarse fabric of his cloak against her flesh, she did not show it. Her grief must have been great for her to slumber so deeply. And Cy watched her lids flutter as stone could not. was real. Not the sacrifices by knife and fire, not the chaste words of the priests, not the quiet statues in the Acropolis, staring with unseeing eyes. This. Though the night was growing colder, so far from the lively city streets, he folded his legs underneath himself and waited for her to rouse. He'd be an incredible fool to leave her alone. What if stray partygoers ambled through the woods and found her? Could she defend herself in such a state? It didn't seem so. Cy considered that he might be presuming too much, and she knew all the things that transpired around her. When she began to rouse, he could sense it before she ever moved. The very air could sense it too, because the little dancing lights returned to hover around her, formless blue wisps that gravitated to her great presence. This time, when her lids fluttered, they opened to wide and apprehensive golden eyes. Her lips quivered as if she were a mute on the verge of speech. Cy shied from her scrutiny, hands open to show he meant to harm. "You are safe." Tears sprang to her eyes and she sat up, the cloak falling around her waist. She had no sense of modesty at all, it seemed, but she clenched the hem with restless fingers. "You are a mortal." He issued a little smile. "I suppose I am. My name is Cy. What is yours?" "Teletê," she said without hesitation, pressing the tears away with the heel of her palm. "Are these your woods?" His smile grew. "No. Not mine. "Not anyone's but the gods." When he said the word 'gods', she flinched. Cy was afraid that he might have offended her, and he picked his next words with care. "I- found you naked in the woods and couldn't leave you so. I thought you might want to be warm." She glanced down at the wine dark cloak, still fussing with the hem. "Thank you for this." "Do you need help?" Cy asked, wanting to draw closer to her radiance. He stopped short. "You were running from something, weren't you?" When her eyes turned up to him again, they were heavy with misery. She bit her trembling lip before throwing herself against him, linking her slender arms around his neck. Stunned, Cy merely held her in return, marveling at the velvet flesh of her back. She buried her face in his shoulder like a child, afraid. "I can't go back- I can't-" "You don't have to," he said with a laugh, the closeness bringing him nearer to bliss than any embrace before. "You can stay with me, if you want." What was he saying? "I can protect you." Something in her form stiffened, and she pulled back to look at him. Her expression was open, that sorrow only accentuating her charming features. "You will?" He nodded without thinking. "My father will surely help-" "No," she said straightaway. "It is terrible enough that you have seen me. I cannot allow another mortal to lay witness, nor can the accursed sun lay its rays on me, or my cousin will surely-" She stopped herself, going all but blank. "No mortals, I beg you." Cy did not know what it meant to give a goddess his word but he did not hesitate. "I will keep you safe, Teletê. From man and the sun and the stars, if you require it." He dared capture her cheek with a cautious hand. "I will keep you safe." For the first time, a smile graced her features, and he felt his whole world shift. She stroked his bottom lip, alighting something magnificent inside of him. "Thank you, Cy." * Cy did well to sober his expression. He had little trouble carrying her through the woods, her form solid and airy all at once, impossibly weightless yet still tangible and real. They were headed towards one of his father's properties that had been recently vacated. It would be the perfect place to keep her hidden. Her voice was a gentle thing when she whispered, "You are not pledged." Cy did all he could not to stumble. "I am not." "Perhaps," she said slowly, guiltily, "that is why you are so willing to aid me. If you only knew..." He observed her with new eyes. She was still as radiant as the moment he first laid eyes on her. "I cannot imagine you would do anything so terrible that I would not wish to aid you." Her smile held no enthusiasm. "Are you cold," he asked, shifting so the cloak covered her bare shoulder. "Do you feel the chill?" "I do but I am not wanting," she said in turn, sighing against him. Her fingers traced the strong ridges of his knuckles. "It has been a long day." Cy kept a distant focus on his feet but it felt as if the whole world was in his arms, and little was left for the journey. He did not want to urge her to speak if she were not willing, so he remained silent in the cacophony of night creatures. Where they touched, she filled him with warmth that manifested into desire. He pushed it deep down so it would not leak into his actions. Cy wouldn't dare to become one of the unfortunate mortals of the stories. No good came from falling in love with the divine. That much, he knew. "Am I keeping you from your family, Cy?" His name on her lips was a pleasure. "They will not miss me, tonight." "Tomorrow, though, they will." She said it as a matter of fact, her handsome brow furrowing. "And the day after and the day after that and, oh, you must not squander your time with me!" Teletê's gaze scoured his face. "You are so young." "And you are not?" His lips turned up. "We will see what the future holds but tonight, I will make good on my promise. Do not take that from me, beautiful Teletê." She observed him with more wisdom than her face or form let on. "It never ends well." With that, his joy evaporated. "No, it doesn't seem to." She gave a little 'hmph' and settled against him. After a time, she spoke again. "You are so kind, fair Cy. It is only fair that you receive an explanation." Cy remained silent. She continued as if she already had his permission. "I was made to usher followers to my father's worship, and nothing else. I didn't even choose to be born the way some gods are." It surprised him. "You can to be born?" "Not me," she said, pouting. "My mother didn't choose me, either. She was asleep when my father came to her, and when she woke, she was pregnant. But she was only a nymph, and no one can deny a god when they desire someone. That is the trouble of it all. "We can not truly know love without devotion." Cy thought on it. "It must be an incredibly lonely affair." She only shrugged. The trees broke to reveal a modest dwelling of wood and stone on an untilled field. The lamps inside were dark, the home appearing hollow. When they entered, a fine layer of dust had already accumulated on vases and decorations the previous tenant had not taken with them. He let her down on the tile, fighting his instincts to keep her close. "We should not expect visitors for some time." He searched the space for flint and tinder, finding what he needed to start a fire in the hearth. "Do you hunger?" Teletê drifted through the old building, her midnight hair sweeping the floor behind her, though it caught no dust. She fell languorously into a low divan, watching his movements in a muted fashion. "You've not studied under the priests, have you?" "I'm afraid I haven't," he said, striking the white stone against an iron poker. The sudden ignition bloomed into a searing warmth before settling to something tame. "That is why you have not chosen a deity?" "No." He lingered on the thought, sifting the firestuffs until they burned on their own. Cy still couldn't look at her, afraid of her sensuous draw. "Believe me, I would have been done with it years ago. It is in my best interest to choose one, and promptly." He paused, battling that unwelcome fear, regrettably frozen with his gaze cast to the floor. "None of the gods ever called to me the way the priests described. "They said I would know it when I cast my gaze upon their visage." Cy's cheeks burned, realizing it had happened in those quiet woods, not an hour past. But this Teletê was entirely unknown to him. "Look upon me, then, and tell me you feel nothing," she said, rising from the divan. Cy took a breath, then set his gaze on the cloak fallen around her feet. His mouth went dry as he panned up, over her perfect calves, and then stopped at her dimpled knees. "I am frightened." She drifted towards him, barely touching the floor. A hand rested upon his head, sending warmth like melted wax down his spine. "You were not afraid in those woods. Do not be now, for I need a friend, this night." Her words made him nearly prostrate himself at her feet. And, as he feared, when he looked up into her golden eyes, he lost a little more resolve. "Beautiful Teletê," he couldn't help but say. "Whatever you wish, it's yours." There was a sadness in her expression, and her internal light dimmed slightly. "There is the devotion I spoke of. Who are you, Cy, when divinity's grip is gone?" She knelt and captured his face as if he were a delicate thing, blinding him with dreadful pleasure. Her lips closed in, hesitating in that brief space before contact. "You have so much love to give, and yet you horde it all to yourself. I can feel it aching to be released." Cy was too frightened to close the distance but every fiber of his being demanded it. He didn't know when but he'd caught her slender shoulders, an unforgivable offense to her delicate form. When a sliver of resolve returned, he took himself back. "The gods, they would-" Lights bloomed in his sight when she captured his mouth with hers, her willowy strength overcoming him until his back was to the floor. His breath mingled with a goddess', and he tasted the divine. Teletê's light soaked into his flesh as she hovered over him, weightless. She caught his jaw, her touch as gentle as her visage. "Do not fear their wrath, Cy of Athens, and be mine this night." Cy, summoned as he was, kissed her palm in reverence. Her delicate fingers pushed his tunic open and chased fire to his core. Their eyes were locked together, redwood and gold. Their lips met again, and he inhaled her next breath, tasting life, itself. Somehow, he was naked beneath her, with her silk form sliding up his leg. He was already hard, like the creature he was. But she didn't seem to mind. In fact, when she surged against him, she crooned at his length and beamed up at him. Her form was an untamed thing, the weight of her drifting in their shared fervor, her hair suspended as if in water. Her perfect heels linked around his knees as she thrust against him, the tip of him pressing against the heat of her core. That, alone, could break a man. He clenched as if to urge himself inside her and her soft laugh flitted against his ear. "Patience, my love." . How it set him to tremble. If she were not a goddess, he might have lost himself already in the throes of passion. As it were, he was at her mercy. The thought spurred his heart to race, and his hot lips found her cool ones once more. Her kisses trailed to the stone at his neck, then down, to the hollow of his throat. He arched, realizing he no longer felt the floor beneath him. He did not sense the fire's heat, either, only her ethereal warmth. Teletê traced the lines of his chest, over his tight stomach and the crest of his hips, marveling at him with her golden gaze. How could she adore him this way when she was, in contrast, flawless? That's when the pressure of her became greater. Her heat melted over him, tightening around his girth so that his whole body became rigid in expectation. She must have seen the fright in his gaze, allaying it with a gentle laugh. She caught his rough hands and fitted them over her breasts, the pristine nipples already hard like a human's. Like his. "Do you not want this?" His lips were parched again, without the softness of her lips, and he nodded feverishly. "I do." She teased, sliding further onto him before withdrawing slightly, the absence of pressure nearly making him weep. "Show me." Purpose flared and he barreled in with her permission. She arched with a jubilant cry, closing the distance between their hips. Anchored to her, Cy picked up pace to an even rhythm. He swirled her pearled nipple around his tongue as he thrust. Teletê kissed the top of his head in reverence, waking him to the miracle of her existence. He glanced up and pressed his lips to her soft neck, reaching her end before withdrawing. She was so tight, it made his toes curl and his breath ragged. She laughed again, a bright, tinkling sound that was cut off by a sweet gasp. This Teletê might be a goddess but Cy found himself reveling in the knowledge that he could still mold her to him. And how malleable she was, locked against him, urging him deeper, harder, until even she was breathless. They spun in a slow rotation. Sometimes she was beneath, other times, she rode him with the greatest fervor, neither losing pace in the open air. He dipped his head to her shoulder and let his lips linger in the hollow. Her wandering hands tightened around his thighs as if she was ready for him. And his body responded in kind, as devoted as he. Ecstasy tightened his core, causing him to shiver before releasing himself inside her. Cy went blind, again, tasting her soft skin. Her mewl was sweet in his ear as she clenched around him, taking all of him in before he softened. They drifted for a long while after they'd finished, still fastened at the hips. His skin cooled and she rested her head against his chest, a smile playing about her soft mouth. When his eyes cleared, he realized they were floating several hand-spans off the floor. Vertigo gripped him, and if it weren't for her, he'd have fallen to the tiles. This Teletê was a marvel in and of herself, and he had barely begun to discover her. Cy threw his head back in delight, clutching the sleeping goddess closer to his open heart. * Teletê skirted the cast rays of sun on tip-toes when she set to wander the house. Cy lay spent on the divan well into the afternoon, wishing he'd brought food, though he only craved the mouthfeel. In her presence, he wanted for nothing, not even water. When she was near, he could not take his gaze off her. When she was gone, he wondered if she were only a dream, and he'd wake in his residence, still undecided. "Will it harm you?" he asked her of the sun. She danced well clear of the sun-soaked tiles. "Of course not. At least, not directly," she said, her midnight hair twirling around her form as she spun back to Cy, leaning breathlessly into him. "My cousin sees all things in its light, and he will tell my father where to find me. I'm certain of it." Cy ran his fingers through her roots, awestruck again at her beauty. "Then we will wait for night." Her lips turned up. "Selene will not betray us." * Cy didn't count the days they spent in the abandoned house, making love when the sun rose and exploring further every evening. Afterward, they would lay in the grass together before dawn, speaking of inconsequential things. Rarely, did the beautiful Teletê divulge of her life in Olympus, dismissing inquiries with a laugh or distraction. There was no reason for Cy to trouble himself over it. The gods were an overinflated lot anyhow, she assured him. "And besides-" Her fingers traced the strong line of his neck as she nestled against his naked form. "-it's not as if I intend to return." Cy marveled over her alabaster flesh, though trouble didn't sit far below the surface. "At least we've had no visits from- your family." "Not that we are aware of." Her brow crumpled as she glanced out across the field. "You never know with them, or how they'll come to you. Sometimes, it's through the hand of a stranger. Others- might become bothersome little gnats to spy! I saw a doe in the field yesterday morning, watching the house with marked interest. How can we be sure it was not Artemis, at the behest of my father?" "Who is your father?" Cy might have guessed but he wanted to hear it from her. "You've never said." Her lips pursed, and then her eyes went dark, like they did when she was thinking up a distraction for him. She settled on a sigh and her gaze scoured his face. "What does it matter?" Cy laughed before he could master himself. "I only wish to know how I'll die. Will it be from lightning? Or drowning? A deadly arrow, perhaps?" She watched his mouth move. "So, this is what mortals busy their minds with." "I don't know about the others," he said, brushing his lips against hers. "But when I find myself enchanted by a runaway goddess, I do have to wonder. And as you said, it never ends well." Teletê hoisted herself atop him. "Fair enough." Her warm breath passed over the cleft of his chest before she kissed it. Sweet distractions. "Enough about them. Make love to me again. We still have time before Helios begins his journey across the sky." Cy received the sensuous Teletê, obeying her every whim. * The wisps danced around Teletê as she flitted through the trees. Cy was hard-pressed to keep up with her inexhaustible endurance but he followed. He would not lose her, this goddess absconded from Olympus, who made love to mortal men. That thought sat poorly in his gut. Were there others? Did he have the authority to ask? He, himself, had known other women. But they were not goddesses. He feared the stunning Teletê would grow bored of his mortal being as the gods were known to do. Perhaps, she was searching for another to take his place. To better protect her. But when her eyes met his, and undiluted joy broke over her features, he knew peace. She caught his hand and dragged him along, even as he was out of breath. "Come, we don't have all night! I want to visit the grotto before sunrise." "The grotto?" "Yes, it is supposed to be a wondrous place." Teletê's strength flooded into him, and the trek became tolerable. "I have heard the nymphs whisper of its beauty." His voice grew cautionary, like his father's when Cy dared speak over him. "What will you do, Teletê, when you find this grotto?" "Why, make love to you, of course." Golden eyes flitted back to appraise him. "Eat the grapes that grow from the vines. Summon the satyrs to play their melodies. Dance until the moon sets and make love again, for good measure." Cy managed to smother a grin. "Surely, that's not all there is to life as a goddess." "If there is any more, I want none of it," she said matter-of-factly, that shapely mouth turning down as she tugged him along. "Work is for mortals, I say." A grin stretched his cheeks. "I will be sure to remember that." The woods grew thicker around them. Truly, no mortal had ever set foot here besides himself. If Cy were to find his way back, he couldn't use the stars, concealed behind the heavy canopy. Only Teletê's light guided him through the shadows. Her hand slipped from his as they progressed, and she led ahead, her perfect sight clear on the path. Without her strength, Cy faltered. Teletê didn't seem to notice, pressing ahead, and soon, she had vanished from sight. The silence was heavy around him, thick with that midnight magic, where all things were possible. He didn't want to speak too loudly but had no other recourse. "Teletê. "You have left me behind. Where are you?" Foreboding washed over him, but soon he caught the glimmer of her light again, and pursued. "Thank the gods," he began, pushing vines aside. "I nearly-" They opened to a sunny clearing, not night at all. There were creatures so bizarre, small and large, flying and hooved, he couldn't begin to classify them. Some laid wide-pupiled eyes on him, others flitted by, ignoring his presence. But they all gravitated around an unavoidable figure in the center, waited on by adoring creatures and dressed in the finest blood-red robes. Soft golden eyes fell upon him. A thick hand summoned, while another stroked the tips of an impressive pale beard. "Cy," said the man, his voice deep and resonating. "I have been waiting for you to visit me." Cy stared in awe, his vision filled with the breadth of the god's form. He knelt immediately on the moss. "Away with the formalities," the god said on a laugh. "Such grimness has no place in my grove." He dared look up, his skin growing chill. "Lyaios." "Dionysus will do." There was an effort to his rise, and several fawn assisted him with strained calves and flicking ears. But when he was upright, he seemed steady. "You met my daughter, Teletê." Cy's face flushed, recalling more than just their introduction. "I did not know-" "You knew she was a goddess." The great god had no trouble in the lines of his wide face, only mirth. "A minor one, with at least a single divine parent. She is mine, and truly, the most wayward of the lot. How do you fancy her?" He reddened further. "She is- incredible. Beautiful beyond words." Dionysus gave a stiff nod, then stroked his beard again. "As are all my children." Cy believed him earnest until a jovial grin came over him. Then, he opened his arms wide. "Ah, leave the caution behind. You are welcome here, Cy of Athens. "I have a task that needs doing, and only you can mete it out." * Hours seemed to pass in this warm, bright place as they spoke. "Do you remember the freedman in the temple who offered you wine?" asked Dionysus, the sound of his voice leaving no room for Cy's answer. He filled a horn with deep red liquid. "That was me, and I find it quite rude for a mortal to refuse my offer. "Though, this time, I don't think you will." The god offered Cy the horn, which he accepted. "I meant no disrespect." "No, certainly not." A pretty fawn draped against Dionysus' wide form, and he accepted her closeness with a friendly squeeze. "Drink, my boy, and be merry." Cy took an eager drought, a familiar warmth spreading over his tongue. "I cannot, when I worry that Teletê is alone in those woods. I promised I would protect her." "And you will," he said in turn, twin trails of red leaking down his pristine beard when he drank. A satyr rectified the spill with haste. Dionysus had not a care in the world, his magnetism so great, even Cy became entranced. "Teletê is young. She does not know that by attempting to evade her duty, she has, in fact, fulfilled it. "Or else, why are you here?" Cy blinked in surprise. The god's rosy lips turned up. "You cannot witness a god if you are not a believer, and when this tale is through, your family will rejoice at the return of their son, who has chosen his patron deity." "Forgive my candor," Cy said with caution. "But I do not wish to return home. I know..." He slowed and considered his words, though his tongue raced on. "I am only a mortal with no business in your affairs. Or hers. But I feel as if she is not through with me. Oh," he said, throwing his head in a hand. "What would the priests say to all this?" There was a false sternness in Dionysus' brow that dissipated before it solidified. "The priests, he says! What do they do but riddle and gripe? By whose authority are they holding their stations? I will give you some advice." He leaned in intimately, his inebriate breath washing over Cy and making him drunker. "Avoid the quibbling priests. They only muddy our messages, take your money, and keep the best wines for themselves." Cy laughed at this. His own father's hair would go white at the audacity. But he sobered too soon. Perhaps, his thoughts were outside this timeless grove, where the very air threatened to drug him into an apathetic stupor. "I must go back to her. Once more, at least. If you do not want me to mingle with her, I understand but I see Teletê one last time." Confusion broke over Dionysus' generous countenance. "I did not summon you here to drive you from her. Quite the opposite." A dryad, her leafy flesh transparent against the grove, took Cy's horn with whispering cold fingers. He did not fight it. "I don't understand." "She trusts you, dear boy." He laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. His grip was powerful, flaming a strange resolve in his chest. "She listens to you, where she battles me at every opportunity. You are her first success, and there will be many more like you, drawn into our service." He seemed to notice Cy's deep dismay. "She has a great purpose, mortal, and you are but a branch on a tree. You cannot know what the heartwood murmurs." Shame coursed through him, the wine in his blood doing little to dull the rejection. "I am no one." Dionysus scoffed. "A tree cannot survive without its leaves. "You will bring the sun into her and nourish her. She will grow stronger because of your devotion, and become all that she is meant to be. Without you, she could fade into nothing at all." Dionysus stroked the cheek of his beloved fawn. "Less than nothing." "I do not want that for her," Cy said, desperation leaking into his next words. "What can I do, Dionysus? I would keep her alive with my own breath if you asked." "How romantic." The god settled against his mossy throne with a crooked smile. "Things are not so dire as all that. But she cannot run from her destiny. If she does, she will fade, and I worry for her as any parent would." "What would you have me do?" Cy asked again. "Love her." Dionysus' expression was uncharacteristically grim. "Show her what devotion--true devotion--feels like. When her heart opens to yours, she will finally understand the importance of her work." A tremulous breath escaped him. "She will leave." "Distance is a mortal phenomenon." Cy screwed his lips shut in consternation. "She will not forget you so easily, boy. That, I can guarantee." Dionysus sighed, rising again with the help of his creatures, ushering Cy to do the same. "It is time you got to the task. I cannot hold Chronos' will back for much longer, or we may get a visit from below." A thick arm was thrown over his shoulders and he was led from the grove. The god's next words weighed like stones on his soul. "You have my blessing, mortal." When he was released into the darkness of the forest, Cy pivoted on his heel. "But how do I-" The grove was gone, and with it, the god and all his devoted followers. A wind swept through the clattering branches above. But the exhaustion that gripped him in their trek had evaporated, and his eyesight was heightened to the wisps so dim, they would have evaded him before. The deeper he went, the closer he got to . He could sense it. "Cy," Teletê's bright, sweet voice called out. "Where are you, my love?" He'd nearly forgotten Dionysus' instruction in that moment, stumbling after her glow. When he cleared the thickest of it, she ducked out from around a tree, her golden eyes full of relief. "I thought I'd lost you!" Cy smiled, taking her outstretched hand. "You could never lose me," he said, troubling himself over her inevitable departure. She folded her arms around him without a care, nuzzling against him. "Only a little further now, and we'll have the whole evening to ourselves." "We must not forget the satyrs." "Of course," she said on a simper, closing in for a kiss. "Music is an imperative." Cy softened to her advance, inhaling the gentle scent of her skin. But as their lips closed in, she froze, going rigid before withdrawing. A shadow came over her. "You have met with my father." He licked his lips to explain. "No- Teletê... I mean, I did but-" Teletê tore from his arms as if he'd stung her, shaking her head. "I should have known," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "You are a traitor like all the rest!" Cy's chest ached to watch her scramble from his presence, dashing off into the darkness. "Teletê!" he cried as he pursued, . He could taste her on the air, the lights fading in her wake. If she grew to her full size, he'd never keep up. His heart broke upon hearing her distant sobs. "Dionysus, give me strength," he said under his breath, calling with all his being to find Teletê and assure her he only meant to keep her safe. To love her. The trees shuddered around him and parted, folding open to reveal a narrow path, and a light beyond. Teletê's light. Could she be so near? Cy pushed hard in pursuit, throwing himself into a charming midnight grotto. The moonlight flooded the soft grass under a waterfall, where a goddess lay curled up, weeping. She'd grabbed fistfuls of her tangled dark hair with her face to the ground, trembling. He was frightened to see her this vulnerable again. Cy fell to his knees and crawled to her. "Teletê. Teletê. I've never felt a love so powerful. You must believe me, Teletê." Her body jolted with a sob, and she shook her head as if to bury it in the ground. "You do not know what the word means, you horrible little mortal!" "How can you say such a thing?" He drew closer, near enough to touch, his heart splitting wide open. "Since the first moment I saw you, I could think of nothing and no one else." "That is devotion! You cannot help it." "It is more than that," he said, mourning her tangled tresses and her shivering form. "You are the most magnificent creature I have ever laid eyes on. Ask me to tear out my wretched heart and I'd do it. For if you are without, I have no need of it." Her sobbing stilled but she did not look at him. "Open your heart to mine, Teletê, and you'll know it's true." Cy dared sweep a hand down her back, closing over her, clutching her tightly. His lips were to her ear. "Do not close yourself off to me. Yes, I spoke with your father. How could I defy him? But I was only thinking of you." She shifted beneath him slightly. "What did he tell you?" "He said- that without my love for you, you could fade into nothing." There was a great sigh in her form, then she shot him an accusing glance, her cheeks wet with tears. "He said also that you will be loved by many more like me." Cy swallowed down the pain as he stroked her. "That I am just the first branch of a great tree that will nourish you. "If that is all I am, I accept it." Teletê scrubbed her eyes before rising. He yielded to her, still stroking her low back. Another sigh escaped her as she stared at her hands. "I do not want to be a scion of my father. I have already driven you to his worship. I could taste his wine on your lips." "I do not love him like I love you," he said in turn. "You called his name, rather than mine." "Because when I called your name, beautiful Teletê, you fled." His laugh was soft and airy. "You can call it devotion but I've never known a love so great as what I feel for you." She finally looked up at him without the veil of distrust, despair seeping in to her precious features. Cy fell over himself to gather her up, pressing her tightly against his chest. Could she feel it, that well overflowing inside him? Teletê caught his shoulders, pressing her miserable face into his chest. Then, something changed. He felt it bloom in every facet of his being, soak into his fingers and toes and the root of each hair. His body sang in time with her vibration. Her skin was glowing, and so was his. The little motes danced merrily around them as they clasped each other, heart-to-heart. The grotto came to life around them with mythical creatures. He kissed her tears away, cherishing her sweet face. When her eyes opened, they were brighter than the sun, though they did not blind him. A small smile broke over her features. "You do love me." "I have said as much." Cy's face was wet with his own tears. "How could I not?" Her lips trembled and opened as if the words evaded her. Cy didn't hesitate to claim her mouth, showing her just how deeply she'd changed him. Some distant melody began, softly, at first, then rising with the celebration. Many eyes were watching. Let them witness how he loved his Goddess. Teletê surged in his arms until she was seated atop him and captured his face. Her malleable form pressed against his as he gathered her closer. Their passion overflowed, blinding him again. But he her, without having to see, their fingers intertwined. There could be no better fit. Cy kissed the soft underside of her jaw, tasting her moan. Sweet lips found his ear. "Thank you, Cy." He thumbed her throat, losing himself in that velvet flesh. "Thank , Teletê, for falling into my life." He kissed it, then the crook of her shoulder. "I was lost before you." Her dark hair veiled them both but her eyes were full of adoration. They inhaled each other and exhaled each other. Their flesh collided in this perfect union, and he found himself already inside her. , he thought, letting her shape his very essence. He didn't know if he was Cy, any longer, in the grip of the Goddess Teletê. They floated somewhere between the earth and the sky, tethered by her will, alone. Her nails raked over his glowing flesh, leaving lines of glorious fire as he pushed to her end. She missed a breath, those perfect teeth nipping his flesh. They yielded before doing any harm, kissing the spot as a jubilant laugh grew in her chest. He couldn't help but join her, losing track of his body until they could have been two spots of light, conjoined. In the luminance, he became. What he became, he didn't quite know. But he was no longer just a mortal. His soul had come out from the dark recesses of his being and had grown to an enormous size. Their every touch created, their every caress brought life. Cy felt himself fan out to receive her divine light. He could be this for all time. Teletê sensed him, he knew, and basked in his offering. When she touched him again, electricity bloomed. When they collided again, sparks burst. She grew brighter in his arms, so distant from his focus, and he knew she was near her end. Sadness crept in. Not for her but for himself. This union had to end, and when it did, Teletê's work was complete, at least with Cy. She would move on. He found his mouth in the blinding light. "Tell me your love is not fleeting." "Never, Cy of Athens," she whispered in turn. Her words ignited the flames inside him, flames he realized he had always possessed. A spark of the divine mended his broken heart and offered it all to her. He could feel when she accepted it. She shuddered with joy and closed over him, finishing them both. Their cries intermingled with the cheers. Cy's cheeks burned at the attention, but it was her he focused on as the lights faded, and his flesh became the sun-soaked tawny once more. She was over him, still breathing hard with her eyes closed. Light broke through the slits like burning coals, but soon even they faded. Soft golden eyes fell on him. She smiled, blushing as she stroked his lips, ignoring the rising celebrations around them. "What is left to say?" Cy caught her hand and pressed his cheek into it, reveling in her touch. "Say I'll see you again, beautiful Teletê." "You'll see me again," she said easily. "That is all I want." His heart burned to open again. "Can you say when?" A high flute trilled in time with wooden clappers as hooved beat the earth. She rubbed his nose against his, casting her gaze down to his lips. "When Selene drives her chariot over the horizon, and her load weighs heavy, I will be here, waiting for you." "Then, I will be here too," he swore, and meant it. "Will you go home?" A smile found her. "I think it's time I did." She slid off him and they lay in the grass together, his head pressed to the swell of her breasts as he clutched her waist. "I will miss you." "We won't be so very far apart." Her breath tickled the hair on his head. "Not at all, in fact." He looked up at her, memorizing her fair features, though he knew they would come effortlessly to his recall. "Olympus is a long way from here." Teletê grinned. "Not so long as it lives here," she said, putting a finger to his chest. "The place your priests describe is only rock and snow. Olympus is in the hearts of mortals that believe, whether or not they've witnessed us." He kissed the tip of that finger, then the next one, and the next. "Then, I will carry Olympus with me wherever I go, so that you will never be without a home." She dipped her head to kiss him. "I am honored, Cy of Olympus." * Cy's family welcomed him with the most profound relief, and he accepted their embraces. They saw the change in him, how he slowed to consider mundane miracles, and noted it aloud. "You have chosen," came his father's warming voice. There was no question. Cy only nodded. Maple eyes set in a weathered face looked him over, though nothing outward had changed in Cy's appearance. "My son has chosen a patron god," he said again, catching his shoulders and shaking him. "What a miracle it must have been, to make you a believer!" "What a miracle," Cy said in turn, his gaze drifting to the waning moon. "You must tell us about your adventure." His father ignored his dreamlike state and led him into the dining hall, where the servants had already prepared a feast. "Leave out not a detail." A smile found him. "I will, father. But first- "Bring out the best wine in our stocks. I'm afraid you won't believe me without it." * On nights like this, Cy set to wander. His feet knew where to take him without him ever having to look up. The full moon's rays led the way through the densest shadows with ease, and soon, he found himself in the grotto. It was the singing that drew him to the waterfall, and a splash beyond. When he reached the water's edge, the singing stopped. The air had gone quite still, though he thought there was a trail of dark hair beneath the rippling surface. He sat and waited, though he ached to know if it was his goddess. A dark shape cut through the waterfall, and for a brief moment, he thought it could be one of the sea monsters the priests prattled on about. But when wet hair parted, and Teletê's beautiful face emerged, tranquil and welcoming, he breathed easy. "Cy," she said, opening her arms to him. "My beloved Cy. "Welcome home."

The story contains sexual activities and situations that are to be read only by readers above the legal age of consent. All characters are above the age of 18. The story is not to be read in locations where such stories are illegal. If you are not of legal age, or live in the wrong place, please exit this site immediately. * Judith had walked past that shop a thousand times without stopping on her way home from work. But today something caught her eye. There were a pair of ruby slippers in the window. She looked at them for a long time thinking back to when she had first seen them in a movie. While they didn't go with anything she owned she just had to see how much they were. Entering the old odds and ends shop Judith saw the thick layer of dust covering most everything. She sneezed and heard a soft "Bless you," coming from somewhere in the maze of junk. By the time she made it to the counter in the back, her black pinstripe pant suit was covered with dust and grime. There, she found an old man smoking a pipe and reading a book. Like everything else in the shop he seemed to be covered in dust. She was about to ask about the ruby slippers when a series of bottles on the shelves behind him. The bottles shimmered with their own light and created a rainbow effect behind him. She stood mesmerized looking at the shifting colors. The next thing she knew she was standing in her bedroom and holding a bottle of the shifting and beautiful light. Judith blinked and looked around. She vaguely remembered buying one of the bottles and walking all the way home. "Open me..." The bottle told her. It took time but Judith was able to work the wax sealed cork out of the bottle. There was a soft popping sound and before her stood a golden woman. The woman looked as if she were a golden statue with long flowing hair and proud breasts. The woman stretched, "It feels good to be out again." "Who are you?" "I am your djinn, Helena," Helena replied with a smile as she looked around. "To answer your next question, I grant wishes. However, you only get two and then I get one." She shrugged and then added, "Don't ask why, it's just the rules." "So you are saying that I can wish to be rich and famous?" Judith asked. "Of course," Helena replied. "But..." Before the djinn could continue Judith said, "I wish I was rich and famous!" There was a poof sound and she found herself falling out of the sky over her was a parachute that was all twisted and in her arms was a bag. "Take me back Take me back." As the trees got closer she heard, "Is that a wish?" Just as she was about to impale herself on the trees she yelled, "YES!" Again there was a poof sound and she was back in her bedroom looking at the woman. "What was that?" she asked shaken. "You became D. B. Cooper. He hijacked a Boeing 727 and parachuted out of it with $200,000 in 1971. He was never found and considered rich and famous because of his escape." Helena paused, "I was trying to tell you the rules of the game when you made your wish." "Rules? You almost killed me." Judith said still shaken. "No, you almost killed yourself." Helena replied simply. "Now it is my turn." She looked the woman over for a moment and said, "I wish you would undress." Judith looked at herself. Her pant suit was filthy and needed to go to the cleaners. Without speaking she went into the bathroom and stripped out of her clothing. Even her panties and bra were dust covered. Slipping on a robe she went back and smiled at the golden woman. "If feels good to get out of those filthy clothes." She smiled as she added, "You didn't need to wish that, all you needed to do was point out how dirty I was." "Perhaps, but this is more fun. Are you ready for the next round?" "May I ask some questions?" Are you wishing for me to tell all?" Helena replied. "No just a question." Helena shook her head no so Judith said, "I wish the djinn standing before me would answer the next 5 questions without reservation." "You did not require me to tell you the truth," Helena smiled. "However, I will give you the truth and nothing but the truth for your five questions." Judith held up one finger. "Why play the game as you call it?" "Because I enjoy it. I find it fun to watch you humans trying to get a free lunch." Helena smiled and held one finger up also. "Why do you live in a bottle?" A second finger went up on Judith's hand. "What you refer to as a bottle is in reality much larger on the inside than out." Helena replied putting up two fingers. "I didn't ask how big it was, I asked why a bottle." Judith replied. Helena smiled, "I like you human, you are sharp." She took a breath and let it out, "I live in the bottle because it is my home." She held up her hand, "It is also my prison." "What did you do to be thrown in prison?" Judith said raising her third finger. "Like you I embezzled from my work place," Helena replied raising her third finger. "You know about that?" Judith asked in shock. "Yes," Helena replied holding up four fingers. "Sneaky," Judith said wagging a finger at the djinn. "Yes that was number four. Last question, does anyone ever win the game?" "Yes," Helena replied with a smile. "That was five. Next wish?" "That was a thin answer Helena." Judith paused while she worked up the courage to make her next wish. She dropped her robe and suddenly said, "I wish I was as beautiful as you are." "Well done," Helena replied. There was a soft poof and she looked at a human version of herself. Instead of true gold, the human looked tanned. "My turn, I wish you were attracted to me." Nothing happened and she frowned. "I am already attracted to you Helena," Judith said. "That's twice you blew your wishes." She stepped forward and said, "I wish you were my lover." Helena felt a rush fill her. She whispered "I love you." Stepping forwards, she kissed Judith tenderly and stroked the woman's heavenly body. They moved to the bed and over the next few hours made love to each other. When they wound down Judith said softly, "I wish you would feel about me the way you did before I wished for your love." As the djinn blinked she added, "Thank you dear. I needed to know someone could love me even if it was only a wish." Not moving from Judith's arms, Helena tried to sort out her emotions. She had just planned on playing with the human's greed, seduce her, and then return to her bottle. Now she found she had been the one seduced. She looked down into Judith's eyes and said, "I wish you were madly in love with me." "Three wasted wishes dear," Judith replied. "I already love you with all my heart." She kissed Helena and said, "I have two wished together. First I want to spend the rest of my life as your lover and secondly I wish I were a djinn like you." She felt her body change and the shock in the djinn's eyes. "I win love; shall we return to our bottle?" "Yes..." Helena replied. She took her lover's hand and together they returned to the bottle. An old man found the bottle back on his shelf. The golden light coming from inside was caused by two bright lights circling around each other. He smiled up at it and said, "I see you found your match Helena." "No Warden. I found my soul mate," a tiny voice came from it. "Me too..." another small voice added. "Very well, your prison sentence has been commuted. Stay out of trouble and have a productive life together." He watched as the lights faded from the bottle. Smiling he returned to his book.

Qingu cocked his head watching the delectable mortal as she went through the process of denial that all mortals seemed to do when meeting a god. Her outrage was delicious. It smelled of equal parts desperation and desire. Even though he had been imprisoned for the last hundred thousand years, brought low by Marduk, the son of a hyena and treacherous mate of the Queen of Heaven, he had been able to keep abreast of mortals. He knew of the empires they built that turned to ash and sand over time. He knew of the new god they had crowned, Elihu, the desert dwelling god of unwashed sheep herders and celibate Romans. He knew of the Age of Reason, the revolutions to overthrow men who would claim to be the dead god's right hand, and the toys they built to make themselves faster than a swift river. He read their words, enjoyed their music, laughed at their obeisance to the ridiculous notion of sexual purity. How could a man judge if a wife were fertile unless she had many lovers and at least one child with one of them? He also knew that the gods he had sought to rule so long ago were dead, his sweet Tiamat, the treacherous Marduk, the beauteous Damkina, the fierce Ishtar, and the rest of his brothers and sisters, all dead for lack of worship. Their altars were buried in the sands of the Euphrates, their immortal bones scattered in the heavens. He alone, through Marduk's treachery, was left. And now, he had one of these mortals before him, putting her delicious body on lewd display. It had been too long since he had dallied amongst the temple priestesses that were in charge of earthy pleasure. Surely she was a long denied gift of his Queen. Yet... the woman was not in proper awe of his superiority. He craved worship more than he needed to bury his divine cock in her. He needed her on her knees before he ploughed her. "Come, my fire-crested beauty, I will tell you my story whilst we dine." He held out his hand and almost laughed at the pout displayed on her face at his change of plans. "When we have sated ourselves with food, then, I will let you worship my body." The mortal gave an undignified snort before clambering from the bed. He thought he heard her mumble something about dreams and wishes before she joined him at the couch that he caused to appear before the table. He lay down and she followed, after a small amount of hesitation. He tucked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, aligning his hips against hers. She smelled of acrid sweat, wool, and a softer female scent. It was not an unpleasant odour, and did cause his cock to lurch back to life. He ground against her, and was gratified to feel her return the pressure. "You said you'd tell me your story," she said after a breathless moment. He smiled into her hair, buried his nose against her neck and sniffed before licking the salty sweat from her nape. "Yes. My troubles began in the month of Tiamat, the Goddess Queen, and my life was falling apart rather spectacularly..." And so he told her of Marduk's treachery, how the little civil functionary had tricked him, Qingu, Dragon Lord, into relinquishing the tablets of Creation and Uncreation that his Queen, and future wife, had sewn to his chest. How Marduk had betrayed all the gods by taking those tablets and creating lesser beings, mortals that would aspire to godhood in the end. He told how the cretin had sacrificed one of Qingu's most trusted servants, and scattered his remains, relaying to Tiamat that Qingu was dead, while in fact, Marduk had imprisoned him for a thousand millennia. It was only after the mud people of the earth had rebelled, and rejected the pantheon that Tiamat had sought out her one time affianced, only to find that Marduk's treachery had no limit, and Qingu was effectively lost to her and them. He let the mortal see his years of lonely solitude and desire to pass on as his family had before him. He couldn't help himself, he had been alone to long to be able to control his emotions properly. Marduk reigned, made stronger by the worship of the mortals he created, and Tiamat's power shrank, but before she lost all of it, she gave Qingu one way to escape his prison. He had three wishes to grant, and those wishes would set him free, if the mortal creature who found him would ask for it. The mortal woman, this Madeleine, remained silent as he spoke, looking at him with some amusement, before she finally spoke, "So, in this outlandish dream, I'm the one who gets the wishes?" "Yes, my lotus-blossom." He dipped his head, hiding his amusement at her disbelief. "And I believe that I have already granted one wish to you. I have given you my name." "No, that wasn't one of my ...," she began, but stopped as he slid his hand down her thigh and then up again, rucking the robes up to her hip. His hand dipped down, touching the curls at the crest of her mons, and his questing finger sought the wet heat between her legs. She stiffened and then let her legs fall open slightly. "Oh... yes..." Her responsiveness to his touch was a balm to him, better than mere worship. He slid down her body, shrugging off the robes he wore as he did. He reached her breast and sucked the pointed crest of its nipple in his mouth, abrading it under the slick silk with his tongue. She arched into him as he suckled, and then groaned as he quit. He raised his hand, the blue flame of his power concentrating in it, and then banished her clothing. He slipped further down her body, enjoying the whiteness of her flesh, laving the rounded softness of her belly with his tongue and dipping lower. Once again, he stopped, his questing fingers stilled. "Open your legs further for me." "I've never... I don't know...," she gasped but complied with a pretty flush across her cheeks. "Are you sure?" His only answer was to continue his quest. He had said he wanted to kiss those lips, and it had been so long since he had let the juices of a woman, mortal or divine, cross his tongue. He all but buried his face in her quim, stroking her to a frenzy, her juices flowing across his very talented muscle. She jerked against him, her legs opening wider until her inarticulate, hoarse cries reached their peak. He slid three of his fingers into her, loving the pulse of her muscles around them as she came. He continued stroking her as he rose. He positioned his now aching cock against her entrance and with what little control he had left, he plunged into her. She screamed his name, called out to god, and broke apart in his arms. He joined her, suddenly hoping that his seed would find root in her womb. He found that he wanted to live and to bind this little mortal to him forever. He knew a little demigod in her belly would do that very well. They lay panting into the cool silence of the chamber for a while. She broke the silence with her next wish. "I wish that I could be respected in my field and not have to struggle forever against the stigma of my gender." Qingu laughed against her skin, too tired yet to pick up his head. "Your wish will be granted, if you promise to worship me with that very profane mouth of yours." He flopped over on his back. "Now." She looked doubtful. "But, I've never... only... bad women do that kind of thing." "I will teach you that pleasure is not a sin, my flower," he said as he summoned a pot of honey tipping it haphazardly over his cock. "The god of your land is a liar if he says it is. Now, worship me so that I might pleasure you again." She slid down his body, following the same path he had on hers, peppering his oiled skin with biting kisses. Once she reached his cock, she hesitated, opening her mouth as she worked his foreskin back. She regarded the still slick head with some trepidation, but opened her mouth and let her questing tongue wipe the honey off the mushroomed head. She opened her mouth slightly, before asking, "Am I doing this right?" "Oh, yes, my gazelle." She dipped her head, sucking more of him into her mouth, licking the path of the honey off his skin. It took all of Qingu's self-control not to buck into that cavity and take his pleasure as he would. He was a god, no matter how lonely he had been, he could show her patience. She soon became confident as he voiced his pleasure, but too soon, his control began to fray and he pulled her away from him. "Enough worship, my flower. I would give you pleasure now." He eased into her this time, drawing the sighs and moans from her with his gentleness. He would have his freedom and her too, if he gave her enough pleasure. He said, "It is time for your third wish, the one that might just give us what we both want, my treasure." He ghosted her skin with a brush of his lips, his hair falling in a cascade around them. Her sheath convulsed around his iron-hard rod causing the Dragon Lord to plead with her, something he had never done in his long life, "Please, my precious gem, please..." "I wish that this... we... could go on forever, that this isn't just some fevered dream, and that you were... my lover, my friend... I wish..." He thrust into her harder with each phrase, frenzied now that his goal was in sight. She panted, "I wish... Oh God! I wish you and I were together and out of here.... I'm going to..." Once again she reached her pinnacle with him and he froze, spilling his seed into her. His senses expanded into the realm beyond the physical world for the first time in his aeons of captivity, and he felt his Queen, weakened but alive, give her benediction to him and this mortal. Tiamat let a soul loose from her own womb and pushed it into his mortal's body. When Qingu kissed his thoroughly modern mortal, he tasted himself and the tiny flame of awareness in Madeleine's belly. Her wish, along with his, had been granted. They fell asleep in the aftermath of the divine storm of magic. Madeleine awoke from her nap. She stretched, feeling the creak of the camp bed, hearing the shouts of workmen as they went about the excavation. Her body ached at the remembered pleasures of her dream, almost as if she had been stretched and opened. A soft burn of pleasure filled her womb at the thought of such a thing actually happening, especially as she remembered her wanton behaviour. She chided herself, even as she blushed, remembering the succubus' actions. She rose from the bed, drawing on her clothes that felt a little rougher, a little more pedestrian than they had before her nap. It was if her flesh remembered the whisper soft feel of silk, and the burnished warmth of bronzed skin against hers. Voices drew nearer as Madeleine readied herself for a foray outside the tent. She could make out Dr Nassir's but the other was softer, strangely accented, as if he spoke only rarely. She exited the shelter and stopped, her mouth working in shock. Qingu, the god from her dreams, with his unfashionably long hair, bronze skin, and tawny eyes, stood before her, speaking to Dr Nassir in an earnest manner. His attention flickered from Nassir's face for a moment, his expression guarded. Nassir followed his gaze, "Ah, Dr Whetstone! Your husband--Dr Ophiuchus, isn't it?--he has finally arrived to help us with those petroglyphs. It is such an honour to meet you, sir." Nassir rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation before he added, "Your wife has been such a bold leader on this dig. I must say, I can't get over my pride at having backed her on this expedition." "M-my husband?" She felt rooted to the spot. "I-I... yes, of course...I must have dreamed... heavily." She stepped down the path, taking her dream lover's outstretched hand. Dr Nassir moved quickly and excitedly ahead of them. Her putative husband lowered his mouth to her ear murmuring, "Dreams are fabulous things, are they not, my lotus blossom? They grant all sorts of wishes, even ones we didn't know we had until we wished them." He lowered his free hand to her abdomen, and she gasped as an answering flutter moved under his hand. "Tiamat has granted us great joy, my fire-haired wife. Let's not waste any more time on defining what is and isn't reality."

* Jack Winters tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music coming through his car speakers. It was a little after eleven, and he still had about five more hours of driving to go before he could slide between the sheets of his king sized bed. Just the thought of his bed, huge, soft, luxurious and cool, had him tapping the gas pedal for a moment before the thought of another speeding ticket had him slowing back down to a sedate seventy. With nothing but the highway in front of him and desert to either side, he let his mind wander over the list of things he'd need to do when he got home. Laundry, reports, a tune up on the car, break up with Monique.... He winced a little at the last thought. He'd been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of Monique's temper once before, and that one time was enough to let him know that it was going to be a messy breakup. Not Jerry Springer messy, but it wasn't going to be Ricki Lake neat either. A flash of white up ahead on the right had him shifting his gaze and attention back to the business of driving. Squinting into the darkness, he eased back on the gas and started slowing down. As he got closer, the wispy whiteness coalesced into a more solid form--a person. Jack didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out in a long sigh. He'd heard stories about strange things out on this highway, and while he didn't believe in such things personally, he also didn't want to have something happen to change his mind. The closer he got, the better he was able to make out the whiteness in the dark. It was a woman--he couldn't tell how old or young--in a long white dress, hand stuck out in the universal hello of the hitchhiker. Her hair was so pale a blonde it was almost white, gliding down the back of her dress like a cloak. Jack slowed down even more, mulling the situation over in his mind. The nearest establishments of any kind were a good thirty miles away, some area called the Four Points. Well, if I don't make it home, at least I'll be a cautionary tale for every other traveler on this stretch of highway. Jack slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road, stopping a few feet past the woman. He saw her hurrying up to the door in the side view mirror, and hit the button unlocking the doors. In a flurry of long hair and billowy material, she opened the door and slid in, settling herself in the passenger seat before shutting the door and turning to him with a breathy thanks. Jack took the moment that she used to fasten her seatbelt to examine her better. She was young--if she was over eighteen it wasn't by much, and everything about her was pale--pale gray eyes, pale blonde hair, pale skin. It wasn't hard to understand why he'd thought she was a ghost at first. "Thank you so much. I've been walking for hours, and you're the first person to stop." Even her voice was pale and wispy, Jack thought, slightly amused. "A little understandable. It is Halloween after all, and this area has a reputation for unusual happenings." The next mile passed in easy silence before Jack cleared his throat and tried to start a conversation again. "So where are you headed? Home for a break from school?" "Headed nowhere, really. After high school I decided to just travel around the United States, and here I am." She slide a look in his direction, studying his average features--brown hair, brown eyes, what appeared to be medium build--average all around. "What about you, where are you headed at this time of night." "Home. Finally. Been on the road for two weeks now, on business. The first thing I plan to do is take the longest, hottest shower imaginable, than fall into bed and sleep for a good twelve hours." Jack laughed and flicked a look in her direction. "Two weeks of weak showers and hard beds is two weeks too many." The woman laughed along with him, and ran a hand with long, slender fingers through her hair. "I can understand that. I really can't thank you enough. I'm sorry I don't have any money to help with gas or anything." "It's alright. I'm going your direction anyway, so it's not like it's out of my way." "Maybe I can repay you in some other way." Jack took his eyes off the road long enough to cast a curious look in her direction. "What?" The woman reached over and slid her hand up his thigh. "I said, maybe I can repay you in some other way." Her hand slid up higher, and Jack took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it on hers, halting her progress. "No, you really don't need to repay me, in any way at all." The woman leaned over, and Jack caught a wisp of sweet perfume, and something darker that made his spine tingle. Her breath tickled his ear slightly as she whispered, "Don't you find me attractive? Don't lie, you know you do." Jack laughed weakly, his hand still locked over hers. "True, but that's neither here nor there. For one, I just wouldn't feel right about taking what you're offering. Call me middle class, but it's a little too close to prostitution for my tastes. Second, I'm still technically seeing someone back home, and I'd prefer to break up with her before getting it on with someone else." The woman leaned closer and flicked her tongue in his ear. Jack shivered, but didn't let up his grip on her hand. "She wouldn't ever know. Nobody would ever know." Jack lifted her hand off his thigh and placed it firmly back in her own lap. "I would know, and that's enough." The woman sat frozen for a moment, her faint breaths wafting over Jack's ear and neck, sending slightly unpleasant shivers down his spine. "You're serious, aren't you?" "Yes, I am. We'll be at the Four Points here in about fifteen minutes, and I'll get you a room for the night and leave you some money. Maybe they have a bus coming through." The woman flopped back in her seat and huffed out an irritated breath. When she spoke, all breathiness was gone, replaced by a tart New England accent. "Well, hell. It would be my luck to be picked up by a man with morals." Jack flicked an uneasy look in her direction and thought about pulling over and booting her out. Morals or not, she was starting to creep him out. "Okay, you're not making any sense at all." The woman huffed out another breath and scowled at him, clearly irritated. "Tonight of all nights, I needed some dirty old coot to offer me a ride. The boost is always so much better on Halloween, and the dirtier they are, the bigger the boost." "Boost?" Jack was starting to feel like he'd shifted into some crazy version of the Twilight Zone. The woman crossed her arms over her chest and scowled more fiercely. "You really don't have a clue how close an escape you've had, do you?" "Ah, no, no, I don't. Perhaps you'd like to explain it to me." "Fine. Do you have anything to drink, some water or something? I'm beyond parched." The woman took the bottled water Jack passed her and drank deep before sighing again, this time in satisfaction. "Now, where to begin." "Part of what I said is true. When I graduated from high school, I did decide to travel the U.S. What I didn't say was that I graduated in 1965. Two years later, I was hitching my way to California, along this same road. I was picked up by a trucker." Jack waited for her to continue, but she remained silent. After a moment, he prompted, "And?" She sent him a withering look. "After he raped me, he murdered me and left my body in a ditch. The last minute before death took me, a voice spoke in my head. It told me that it didn't have to end this way. If I agreed, my soul would be spared in exchange for services." "Services?" The more she spoke, the more confused Jack felt. I don't believe in ghosts. "What easier way to lure men into hell than to fuck them to death?" Jack took it to be a rhetorical question, and didn't bother to answer. "Management gets the souls they want, and I get a nice little energy boost, and a little revenge." "Okay. I can understand the need for a little revenge. Do I want to know what management is?" She sent an amused look in his direction, and he coughed low in his throat. "Okay, I don't want to know what management is, although I can imagine what you mean." "Well, now you've gone and messed everything up. I'll not be able to get in a good energy boost tonight, and management won't get their delivery." The woman tapped a finger on her chin in a thoughtful gesture that would have made Jack want to laugh if he wasn't more than a little nervous. "Oh, well, I did have an exceptionally good week last week. And it is only one night. I don't think they'll be too annoyed." "But what about your energy boost? You're not going to, like, cross over, or anything are you?" The woman sent an indulgent look in his direction. "No, I'm not going to cross over. I'll just be a little weak until tomorrow night." Jack sat silent for a moment, mulling things over in his mind. "Okay. I have a proposition for you. Well, kind of." "I'm listening." "Is it just the sex that gives you the energy boost, or is it the whole fucking them to death part?" The woman thought for a moment, giving the question consideration. "Just the sex. The dying is what management requires." "Okay. If you were interested, we could pull over, and you could get your energy boost, as long as you didn't try and use me as your quota, or whatever for the night." "We abolished the quota system about a decade or so ago," the woman remarked absently, tapping her finger on her chin again. She slid a suspicious gaze in his direction. "What about the woman you're seeing?" In answer, Jack pulled out his phone and dialed Monique's number. When the voice mail picked up, he said, "Monique, it's Jack. I know this is probably not the best way to do this, but you scare me a little, so it's probably the safest way. I think that we've run our course, and we should see other people. I'll call you about exchanging stuff." Jack hung up and sent a look in the woman's direction. "I really was going to break up with her." "I know. A quick little scan of your thoughts." The woman sent him a curious look, a small smile flitting around the corners of her mouth. "You're serious? You'd have sex with me just so I wouldn't be weak for one night?" Jack blushed a little, ducking his head slightly. "Well, you did sort of end up with the short end of the stick in life. And you are attractive. As long as you don't kill me, I don't have a problem with it." The woman cast her eyes up towards the roof of the car, as if in silent conversation. After a moment, she said, "Done. Management agrees to leave you and your soul firmly intact. I think they're amused, truth be told. It's not often that something comes along to truly amuse them, so that earns you some points." Leaning over, she pressed a wet kiss to his ear before whispering, "Pull the car over." Jack slowed down, easing the car off the road before stopping completely. Killing the engine, he unfastened his seatbelt and turned to meet her lips with his. Her mouth was frantic, almost wild, and a moan escaped from his mouth that she eagerly swallowed. Her hands were everywhere, pulling at his shirt, and he heard seams rip. Pulling back, he panted, "Do you have any sort of preference that I should know about?" The woman laughed low in her throat, and all the muscles in Jack's body tightened up. "Oh, you're almost too good to be true. This car is too small for what I really enjoy. Get out." Jack opened the door in a burst of motion, rounding it and meeting her in the front. She pushed him back onto the hood with an inhuman strength that made Jack's head spin. Her busy hands undid his belt and unfastened his pants, and before he could draw a deep breath she had swallowed him to the hilt. Jack moaned, hands reaching helplessly to clench in her long hair. The low laugh in her throat sent intense vibrations over his cock, and he arched his hips up to thrust deeper into her mouth. Her head bobbed up and down steadily, and her nails scratched lightly at the sensitive area of skin between his balls and his ass. He'd had one woman pay attention to that area before, and she hadn't been nearly as skilled as the one working him now. "Stop. Stop, or I'm gonna cum." In one fluid motion, she lifted her mouth off his cock, flicking her tongue over the head before leaning higher and nibbling at the smooth skin of his stomach. Nudging her off him, Jack spun her around until she sprawled on the hood of the car. At the surprised look on her face, he grinned. "Turn about is fair play." Pushing up the filmy layers of her dress, he spread her smooth, pale thighs and knelt between them. She was already wet, and Jack licked his lips in anticipation. Leaning forward, he blew a gentle breath over her core, pleased when she gave a little gasp and wiggle. He licked the crease between her right thigh and her outer lips lightly, breathing in the heady aroma mere inches away. He repeated the action on her left thigh, chuckling when she squirmed again. Satisfied that he had her attention, he flattened his tongue and licked up her slit, stopping just short of her clit. He licked back down to her opening, dipping his tongue inside briefly, making her moan. Up again, this time wrapping his tongue around her clit and sucking hard. At the same time, he slid two fingers into her open wetness, massaging her inner walls delicately. When she moaned louder, the sound tapering off to a whimper, he began to piston his fingers in and out in a steady motion that he knew from experience would have her screaming in no time. He sucked harder on her clit, and when she began to thrust harder against his hand, he added a third finger and started to move faster. "Yes, yes, yes. Hmmm, just like that. Oh, oh, yes, that feels so amazing." Jack turned his fingers inside her slightly, searching for that spot that was sure to set her off. It was a good thing there was nobody around--she was already making a lot of noise, and she hadn't even cum yet. Delicately, he pressed down on that spot inside her at the same time that he bit gently on her clit. Her moans turned to screams, and she thrashed around so wildly that Jack had to lean back and place one hand on her torso to make sure she didn't slide off the hood. He kept moving his fingers inside her gently until her spasms and shudders had smoothed out to little jerks. "Wow." Jack laughed, easing his fingers out of her body with a small slurp. He watched as she pushed up on her elbows, licking her lips delicately and staring at his wet fingers hungrily. Understanding what she wanted, he moved his hand towards her mouth, watching as she stuck her tongue out and delicately licked her juices off. The sight and feel of her tongue on his fingers had his cock throbbing hard enough to make him moan. When she was done, she licked her lips again and let out a little sigh of contentment. With a half smile, she rolled over sinuously and turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "I think you know what to do." Stepping up behind her, he flipped her skirt up, running his palm over the smooth surface of her upturned ass. "Any preferences?" Her low laugh rippled over his skin, and he grasped his cock firmly in one hand, nudging her wetness with the head. "Hard. Make me scream again. It's been so long since it felt this good." Taking her at her word, he thrust into her, sinking all the way to the hilt on the first stroke. Their moans echoed in the vast emptiness of the desert, and Jack moved his hand to grip her hip. His other hand slid up to fist in her hair, and her whimper of encouragement had him using the thick mass as a handle. He moved his hips back, the despairing whimper she made as he withdrew making him growl low in his throat, a conqueror's sound. He thrust back into her, her hips thrusting back to meet his, letting him go that fraction of an inch deeper. Slightly unsteady, she pushed herself up to her elbows, using the small shift in angle to give her--and him-- better leverage. Jack's hand gripped her hip tighter, and she moaned at the pressure, thrusting her hips faster in an attempt to make him speed up. The sharp slap on her ass had her yelping before whimpering, "Again. Do it again." Jack obliged her, slapping the right side of her ass, then the left, alternating until both cheeks had a rosy pink glow and she was babbling incoherently. Letting go of her hair, he gripped her hips with both hands, and spread her thighs wider. The blood was pounding in his veins, and he more than ready to blow his load. The sounds she was making and the way her pussy muscles were beginning to contract and release let him know she was as close as he was. "Almost there, almost there, almost there." Her muttered words were a mantra, pounding in his head, making his hips move faster and faster. Curving one hand around her hip, he slipped his fingers between her thighs, slick now with her wetness. He pulled delicately on her clit once, twice. "Yes, right there, do it again, just--." The rest of her sentence was a long, throaty scream as Jack pinched her clit firmly and held. One more thrust of his hips and he held still, his hips pressed firmly to her ass, head thrown back, as his cock spurted and emptied itself into her shaking body. Jack curved his body over hers, chest heaving from exertion. Beneath him, her body still shook and shivered, and her breath came in quick, hard pants. After a moment, Jack pushed himself up and out of her body, leaning weakly against the car. It was at least five more minutes before the woman managed to slide off the hood and brace herself against it, arms shaking slightly and head hanging down. "Wow." Jack turned his head in her direction, and started to laugh. "That's the best you can do?" "Give me a few minutes, I may think of something." The woman smoothed her dress down and brushed the hair out of her face. She sent a wicked grin in her direction, and if he hadn't been so well satisfied, it might have put equally wicked thoughts in his head. "Good thing you're such a nice guy. It would have been a shame to send a good a fuck as you down for processing when you need a talent like that up here." "Thanks, I think." Jack did his pants back up, and gestured towards the car. "Well, we better get back on the road." The woman shook her head, looking somewhat regretful. "No can do. My territory ends at the welcome sign. Management might have allowed me some leniency tonight, but they're not going to be that lenient." Jack scratched his head. "Well, I guess this is where we part ways then. I would tell you to be careful, but I think that would be a little ironic. I think. Ironic might not be the word I'm looking for." "I get what you mean." The woman stepped forward and laid a kiss on his cheek, a warm gesture that seemed more intimate to Jack than anything they'd just done together. "Thank you. You be careful, and don't pick up any more hitchhikers. They're not all as flexible as I am." Jack got in the car and started the engine, pulling back out onto the road. When he looked in his rearview mirror, there was nothing behind him but the empty highway. In twenty minutes, he passed into Four Points, and noticing that his gas gauge was low, pulled into the Do-Right Service Station. The attendant gave him a funny look as he got out, and Jack realized that he hadn't put his shirt back on. As he rummaged around in the trunk for another one, the attendant asked, "You run into trouble out there?" "No, everything's fine." The attendant continued to look at him strangely. "They say funny things go on out that way late at night. Things you wouldn't believe." Jack scrubbed a hand over his face, and caught the lingering smell of the woman on his fingers. He grinned. "Yeah, they're pretty unbelievable."

  If there was one thing Tony Stark had learnt in all his years of being an Avenger, it was that every single one of them was terrible at open communication.  Hell, he couldn't recall a single Avengers meeting that had not ended in—or in this case, interrupted by—a bitter argument ever since their little team's inception. The Avengers had started with Steve calling him worthless without the suit and Tony calling him a laboratory experiment in turn—fast forward six years and you had Steve implying he was a conceited asshole and Tony implying that Steve was an uncaring coward. The only thing that had seemed to change was the creativity level of their insults, it seemed, although to be fair it wasn't even him and Steve who started most fights these days—the last two out of three were squarely on Thor. The point was: exactly none of the Avengers were good at communication, especially when it came to their little "Avengers meetings" which by now had developed a practically 100% success rate if you defined success as their ability to go to shit via nasty arguments and/or bitter breakups. Meaning that despite promising to move forward together as a team from here onward, despite knowing that they were all pretty much doomed if the Avengers refused to work together, good Lord was even simple intra-team communication a nightmare in this superhero polycule of theirs. Which was why he found himself extremely surprised by how well the rest of their impromptu meeting—which was soon joined by the rest of the ex-Avengers currently in the Compound, as well as Fury and T’Challa via call—went, once Thor and Loki returned from their little chat on basic fucking decency. Hell, the meeting had practically been adjourned after Thor’s latest fiasco at being a half-decent brother, but Loki, for some unfathomable reason, had insisted on continuing Thor’s explanation of the Nine Realms and the rest of space after he and Thor had returned from their chat —which, Tony was sure, was less of a chat and more of a screaming contest, but at least Thor was neither sporting any stab wounds nor had been turned into a frog and Loki didn’t look like he’d been hit by a bolt of lightning, which, although a depressingly low bar, was honestly better than he’d expected. He had no idea how in all of heaven and hell Loki could go on detailing the specifics of what Vanir and Alfr support for Midgard and Asgard entailed with such an admirably professional air after an emotional confrontation like that, but here he was, apparently. It was a skill that came with fifteen-hundred years of living with emotionally constipated assholes who just so happened to be both your adoptive parents and the rulers of a vast interstellar empire, he supposed. (Although, to be fair, it was probably best if Loki cleared things up before Thor attempted to sprout any more Asgardian propaganda despite knowing his own brother belonged to one of the species he was so casually dehumanizing, wasn’t it?) Tony was at least 63% sure that Loki was wearing a glamour to hide how exhausted he really looked, but glamour or no glamour, anyone with two functioning eyeballs could tell how utterly and completely wrung out he was emotionally. And yet, at the same time, it looked as if… as if a weight had been lifted off of him. Tony didn’t know what had happened between both of them, but maybe—at least, he hoped so—Thor had had one of those sudden, surprisingly tactful moments of his and actually apologized—God knew it was well past high time that the demigod had needed to, and likely for much, much more than just calling the species Loki belonged to a bunch of savages. Tony made a mental note to drag Loki away for a six-hour-long movie marathon later. The demigod had gone through more than his fair share of bullshit in the past few hours—past few years, really—he deserved a few hours of doing nothing but scoffing at cheesy Hallmark romances or verbally tearing the magic system in Harry Potter or Lord of The Rings to shreds. Especially because if Loki was anything like him, he wouldn't allow himself a break unless he was absolutely forced to. And in matters of forcing stubborn, overworked assholes to take a break, Tony had learnt directly from the best. Anyway, now that both Tony and Steve had settled on a mutual truce and Thor and Loki had (hopefully) cleared off some steam, it seemed that the Avengers—ex- Avengers, he wasn’t getting that back anytime soon—actually seemed to be getting shit done, and together too: the ex-Avengers had promised to act as a united front, that meant not leaving anybody out of decisions or information that they had a right to know of, and everyone at least outwardly seemed determined to follow through that promise.  This was how it should have been from the very beginning, honestly, but better late than never, he supposed—and the fact remained that intra-team cooperation between them had never been more essential, especially now that they were facing huge obstacles on four separate fronts, and were operating entirely on borrowed time. They’d decided fairly quickly that if there was an issue to be benched for now, it was that of getting in contact with the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth—because that was a thing now, of course. And it didn’t help that Loki made a face every time whoever this guy was was mentioned. Tony had no idea what beef both of them had, but he was guessing this so-called Sorcerer Supreme was was either too incompetent to deserve such a pretentious title even by human standards or somehow actually better than a fifteen-hundred-year-old Demigod of Chaos. And considering the fact that he apparently guarded the Time Stone, Tony really, really hoped it was the latter. Which meant that they could move on to their next problem, the one they’d begun this meeting with: allying the Nine Realms against Thanos. This was, most squarely, Loki’s department—besides being the most competent diplomat of them all (aside from Pepper, of course), he was also the one who’d already been working to establish inter-realm alliances for the past four years while posing as Odin. He’d already laid out the basics of how he could bring in each of the realms to ally with Asgard—something that should be a massive feat, because if Tony had understood anything from the discussion it was that Asgard had never so much made allies as kept other planets under their boot, something they couldn’t do anymore—but he’d also made clear that while all the realms could be convinced to ally with whatever remained of Asgard and its leadership, extending that alliance to Earthgard in any meaningful way would mean a drastic change in its political environment. And soon. Which brought us to their next problem: getting to the heart of the plans of whoever the fuck had decided to attack the UN Assembly in Wakanda, which was a really Big Fucking Problem because FRIDAY had comprehensively looked into the databases of virtually any military and intelligence agency she could get her hands on—and come up empty-handed. Meaning, annoyingly, that the files had never been digitized. Meaning all their investigation had to proceed the old-fashioned way. This was the job of T’Challa and Fury, who had themselves been in discussions while the Avengers had been fighting aliens on Alfheim, who had decided to deploy a joint task force of PRIDE Agents stationed in the USA, the UK, Russia, and France. Capsicle and his gang—Steve, Wilson, Barnes, Romanoff, and Barton—would work with them: being undercover and on the run already, they were all uniquely suited for this part. They’d coordinate their investigation missions and intelligence exchange and analysis with Fury and T’Challa’s agents at all times, and then relay their findings to the rest of the Avengers, who would together plan how to proceed further.  Bruce would stay, for now, in Wakanda—he had no reason, strategic or personal, to reveal his existence on Earth anytime soon, and seeing how the Hulk wasn’t exactly needed for any of their field missions, Bruce’s abilities would be best utilized here: in scientific analysis of all their findings, right beside Shuri and her teams. Vision and Maximoff would remain in Wakanda too—not only was it currently the safest place to house the mind stone on earth, but it also allowed them to attempt to safely study it too—and they were going to need as much knowledge as they could manage to get their hands on. Speaking of Wakanda: Bruce, Vision and Maximoff weren’t the only non-Wakandans there—the Asgardians were still living there, and their stay was getting too prolonged to be considered temporary anymore. Besides—the Asgardians would like an actual permanent home, thank you very much.  Now, he could say that it was only taking so long for Norway and the UN to extend them their own land with semi-autonomous region status because human bureaucracies weren’t exactly known for their speed, but bureaucratic inefficiency wasn't really the reason it was going nowhere. Because you see, even if they'd all agreed on letting the Asgardians stay on earth, there was still the tiny problem of revealing to seven billion people that there were some two thousand superpowered aliens currently on Earth who were gonna be living among them for the foreseeable future, one of whom had tried to take over the planet six years ago before they could actually proceed to grant them their own land in Norway, wasn’t it?  And did he have a solution for getting out of this particular deadlock?  Boy, did he ever.     “Stark, we can’t—” Tony rolled his eyes for what was probably the fiftieth time since this had started. “Come on, Ross. Despite what Area 51 conspiracy theorists say, we all know you guys aren’t competent enough to hide two thousand aliens from the public forever, especially when every radio astronomer looking in that sector of the sky that night caught their ship’s appearance.” “We’ve done pretty well until now, I think!” Yeah, right. “Okay, so you silenced NASA and Co. from making the evidence public. You bribed a bunch of astronomers into keeping mum. You do know that hasn’t stopped the internet from learning about it at all, right?” “Quit bullshitting me, Stark: one Wikileaks page and a bunch of 4Chan conspiracy theories are hardly a matter of concern,” Ross pointed out, his already thin patience probably only measurable in terms of microns now. Too bad Tony had only just begun.  “The geopolitical situation right now is precarious as it is; we don’t need a bunch of aliens to make it worse—and need I remind you that regardless of whatever bullshit explanations they gave us their prince attacked New York only six years ago?”  Of course he needed reminding, it wasn’t as if Tony had literally been there throwing unauthorized nuclear missiles intended for Manhattan into alien portals ripping through the sky right atop his own fucking tower, was he?  Ross sighed, aggravated. “The longer the public has no idea, Stark, the better. And we’re fully capable of maintaining it that way for as long as it is necessary.” Right. It wasn’t as if the whole matter would only grow more suspicious—and harder to keep under wraps at the same time—as the days passed, was it?  And that was when his phone buzzed.  Speak of perfect timing. He picked up and unlocked his StarkPhone, and there it was: one news notification upon another announcing in dramatic headlines exactly what he wanted them to, right next to a single “:)” emoticon from Pepper in the messages.  “You sure about that?” Tony questioned, not quite able to keep off a grin from his face. “Because you might wanna check the news.” Ross’s eyes narrowed. “Go on, google it,” he told him, flashing his phone towards the screen. “Here’s some keywords: alien spaceship, unmistakable evidence, Nobel laureate Dr Jane Foster.” “You wouldn’t—" Tony smirked. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. But the best damn astrophysicist on the planet—the most driven and passionate researcher I know—who also just happens to be Thor’s ex? Trust me, she would.” Nobel Laureate Dr Foster Claims 'Unmistakable Evidence’ for Alleged Alien Spacecraft Sighting, one headline read. “What We Saw Was Undoubtedly an Extraterrestrial Spacecraft” Asserts Nobel Prize-Winning Physicist, said another. Twitter was undoubtedly raging already; she was all over the internet. Another half hour, and she’d be on every news channel worth its name too. Of course, it wasn’t just unmistakable evidence for Thor's ship landing on Earth, it was also how she’d casually added the 100% true fact that world governments—most particularly their own—were desperately trying to keep this little tidbit from the public that made the whole ordeal no less pleasant for them.  Dr Foster, on the other hand, was probably having the time of her life. Good for her. “You can’t just—" “First of all, I didn’t do a thing.” He actually didn’t—the credit went entirely to Pepper, and, of course, Jane. “Second of all, you do realize Norway can’t just hand them over a piece of land until their people know the Asgardians are here on Earth, right? You can’t just block the Accords Council from making their existence public knowledge forever.” Of course he realized that. It was just the fact that the public presence of a bunch of aliens—not just the usual one or two—now with rights and political importance meant too big of a geopolitical upheaval for a stuck-up xenophobic arsehole like Ross to be entirely comfortable with. “Stark,” Ross began, tone growing angrier every passing moment. “As the Secretary of State, trust me when I say there are a lot more factors than just—” His phone buzzed yet again, and if the look Ross was giving it now was capable of producing physical heat, suffice to say every other phone except his would have been vaporized on the spot. Tony was openly grinning now. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, rifling through the new notifications. “You might wanna check the news again.” “What have you done this time, Stark?” Ross demanded, and the utterly glorious expression of rage on Ross’s face only made him love Pepper all the more for having made it possible for him to witness it. He hoped FRIDAY was recording the video call—Bruce would love seeing this. Now, don’t get him wrong, Tony admitted that the Capsicle had been right in that he couldn’t just bend the law—especially those he helped instate, in case of the Sokovia accords—whenever it suited him, but here was the thing: he was perfectly in the clear this time.  The Avengers Oversight Committee established under the Accords, you see, only controlled their missions—for next to everything else, the Avengers were free to function as a mostly independent body. Avengers’ press and PR, for example, was something the Oversight Committee had little to no involvement in. Pepper Potts-Stark, CEO of Stark Industries and fianceé of Iron Man, however, very much did. Meaning even if the Government, and consequently the UN, kept blocking an official statement about their existence, there was still very little stopping Pepper from allowing the Asgardians to show up in front of a bunch of reporters and smile for the cameras, then letting the media do what it did best. “Oh, you know, Ms Potts-Stark just announced another Avengers Press Conference scheduled for next week. Nothing too out of the ordinary, I’m sure: just the usual media engagement. Gotta do the PR, am I right?” Ross looked like he was two seconds away from either taking the absolute biggest shit of his life, or experiencing fatal cardiac arrest, or both. Tony only smiled innocently.  

“Peter, can I ask you a question?” Morgan suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had enveloped the pair ever since Peter had picked her up from school. Peter paused to look over at the girl and took in the apprehensive look on her face. Every Friday, Peter got out of school early so he could pick Morgan up from school. They’d spend the entire day hanging out and usually getting ice cream before returning to the tower where Peter would spend the night. Friday was always Morgan’s favorite day of the week. From the moment Peter would pick her up, she’d recount every moment of her entire week as they’d walk around the city. Morgan was always practically bursting in anticipation by the time Peter picked her up, and that’s why it was especially strange when she’d barely said a word to the boy at all. “Yeah, M, of course. What’s up?” Peter asked as he picked her up and swung her in the air before placing her on his hip so he could maneuver better through the large crowd of people who always seemed to be crowding the sidewalks. “Well, we’re doing a family tree project in school. We’re going to hang them up so everyone can see them on Monday since it’s family day. You're coming to that, right?” Morgan hesitated as she stared up at Peter. He gave her a reassuring smile in return before answering. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I think May is going to come too. It’ll be a lot of fun.” Peter said as he smiled down at her. “Your project sounds fun too. Do you need help with it? I can help you start when we get to the ice cream parlor, but mommy or daddy would know more than I do.” “No, I already started it in school.” “Okay, so you don’t need help? Then what’s up, M?” “Well, I was doing the project by myself, but my teacher told me that it was all wrong. She said that I couldn’t add you, Aunt May, Uncle Rhodey or Uncle Happy. She said I couldn’t even add Nana or Papa either because they’re Uncle Rhodey’s parents and not actually my grandparents. Petey, are all those people really not my family?” Peter frowned as he glanced down at the girl in his arms who looked on the verge of tears. “Morgan, hey, look at me. Of course, they are. Yes, 100%, they’re your family, okay? Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” “Then why would my teacher say that, Peter?” Peter paused as he thought about how to best approach the conversation. He quickly wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall down her cheeks as he gave her his best reassuring smile. “Well, Miss Morgoona, I think this is a conversation best had over the biggest ice cream sundae on the menu. We’ll split it. You can pick the toppings.” Peter carried the girl inside of the ice cream parlor and ordered the extra-large chocolate sundae. As promised, he let Morgan pick out the toppings and she went overboard by choosing almost everything on the menu. The sundae quickly turned into a sickly sweet disaster, but Peter carried it over to their favorite table without complaint. “Okay, where do I start? First off, there are two kinds of families. Ones that share DNA and ones that do not. In fact, I personally think ones that share no DNA are pretty cool myself.” “What’s DNA?” “It’s what decides who you are. Okay, let me show you.” Peter said as he grabbed two gummy bears off the sundae and held them up. “See their DNA is gummy bear. That means that if they got married, they’d have gummy bear kids because that’s the kind of DNA they have.” “Now these gumballs have gumball DNA. That means they’d have baby gumballs. Are you following?” “Yeah, I guess so.” “Okay great. Mommy and daddy are the gummy bears and this baby gummy bear is you. But I am this gumball. I had two gumball parents so technically I don’t fit in your gummy bear family but daddy chose to include me. So while I don’t have the gummy bear DNA, I’m still part of the gummy bear family, right?” “Yeah, because you’re my brother.” “Precisely. Now, Uncle Rhodey, Nana and Papa would all be like sprinkles and Happy is the cherry. None of them are gummy bears, but they’re still part of your gummy bear family too, right?” “Yes.” “Well, Morgan, sometimes families aren’t always just all gummy bears or all gumballs. Sometimes more people are added in like how I was added to your family. Family trees don’t go by that though. They go just by the DNA. Everyone either is part gummy bear, married into the gummy bears or was adopted and has a paper saying they became a gummy bear. That’s all the family trees count.” “So a gumball couldn’t marry a gummy bear?” Morgan asked as she grabbed a blue gumball off the sundae and popped it in her mouth. “Well, yes, it could. That was a bad analogy. My bad. Scratch that. Basically, DNA is what makes you different from everyone else. You’re one half of your dad’s DNA and one half of your mom’s. Then mom and dad are made up of their parents. Then their parents are the same and so on. Are you following?” “Yeah, I think so, Petey. So DNA comes from your parents?” “Bingo. So you, for example, are one-half Stark and one-half Potts. For someone to be considered in your family tree, they have to share some part of DNA from one of those halves. Uncle Rhodey, Uncle Happy and I all do not share that DNA.” “So you’re not technically my family?” “Well not by DNA, no, but we’re family in everything that matters. There’s always a stocking for me on the mantle on Christmas, right? There’s always a plate set at the table, too? I was chosen to be part of your family. I’m your brother in every way that counts. It doesn’t matter if we share DNA or not.” Morgan paused as she considered what he was saying before she slowly nodded. “But there’s still no way I can put you in my family tree? I don’t care about DNA.” “Not in any official way unless your parents adopt me, no.” “Well let’s do that, Peter! Call daddy right now! We need to tell him to!” Morgan practically shouted as she tried reaching across the table to grab Peter’s phone. “Woah, Morgan, hold on. We can’t just ask him to adopt me. That’s a very long process and lots of paperwork. It’s not something you just do on a whim.” Peter protested as he yanked his phone back out of Morgan’s grasp. “No, it’s fine! He will agree! And mommy does a lot of paperwork every day anyway. She won’t mind some more. We have to call them now so they can get started! Besides, when we adopted Gerald from the farm, mommy and daddy filled out the paperwork for him. They’ll do it for you too, Peter. I know they will.” “M, it’s a very different process to adopt an alpaca. I’m an actual person who is almost 18 years old. I’m almost an adult.” Peter indignantly argued. “That’s why we need to do this today, Peter!” Morgan insisted. “I’m not calling him, Morgan.” “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” She shrugged as she dug into her backpack and pulled out the panic alarm Tony had specifically designed for her. She pushed in the hidden button on the side and the device instantly let out a high pitched siren noise. “Woah, Morgan! Turn that off!” Peter yelled as he grabbed for the device and tried to shut it off. “It only shuts off when I say the secret code, Peter. You know that. And I’m not saying it. Dad gets an alert whenever I press it and he’ll be here soon.” “Morgan!” Peter exasperatedly yelled. “Turn it off right now!” Peter gave an awkward smile towards the other people in the ice cream shop and offered an apology in response to their angry yelling. “Tony! Don’t worry! We are fine! In absolutely no danger. Well, no danger other than the people in this ice cream shop are about to murder me.” Peter had to yell over the noise as he answered his phone on the first ring. He quickly grabbed the ice cream sundae in one hand and scooped Morgan up with his other. He paused a second to grab both of their backpacks and quickly bolted out of the ice cream shop and down an abandoned alleyway. “Peter, what’s going on? Why did Morgan use the alarm? Put her on the phone so I stop worrying you two have been kidnapped and you’re trying to hide it from me.” “Hi, daddy!” Morgan enthusiastically answered as she took the phone from Peter’s outstretched hand. “Morgoona, thank god.” Tony let out a breath of relief at the sound of his daughter’s voice. “Are you okay? What’s the matter, sweetheart?” “I need your help,” Morgan answered. She removed the phone from her ear at the sound of her dad’s sudden barrage of questions and instead watched as Peter used one of his taser webs to shoot her alarm and make it shut off. “Morgan, give the phone to Peter right now, please.” Tony insisted and Morgan smirked as she handed it to the boy. “Tony, hey.” Peter was just able to get out before Tony suddenly cut him off. “Kid, please be honest with me. Are you two really in trouble? Why did the alarm system suddenly go offline? God, please tell me you’re okay. You know I’m an old man with heart issues. I can’t take this stress.” “I promise we’re both fine. I had to taser the alarm because Morgan wouldn’t shut it off. We’re both really okay.” Peter assured him as he stared at the rest of the dissipating crowd who had gathered at the noise. As soon as the last person cleared out, he quickly used his web-shooters and shot him and Morgan on top of the closest building so they could be ready for when Tony would eventually show up. Peter was sure he was already almost there. “Pete, I’ll be there in under two minutes. You promise I’m not going to show up to you both held captive?” Tony frantically asked. Peter could hear the anxiety seeping into his voice even though he was trying to hide it from him and he sounded moments away from an anxiety attack so Peter quickly thought up an idea to reassure the man. “I absolutely promise. Hold on, let me switch this to a video chat.” Peter promised as he quickly pressed the right button and watched as Tony’s face showed up on the screen. As suspected, his eyes filled with relief when he saw both Peter and Morgan smiling at him. He let out a reassuring sigh before once again speaking. “God, I’ve never been so glad to see you both. I’ll be there in a minute.” As promised, Tony landed on the rooftop shortly after. He immediately disengaged his suit and rushed forward to pull both Peter and Morgan into his arms. Neither kid commented on how long the man hugged them for or how forcefully he planted a kiss on top of both of their heads. When Tony finally pulled away, Peter pretended not to notice the tears that had fallen down his face or the slight shaking that was still present in his hands. He instead just gave him another reassuring smile to try and quell some of the fear that was still lingering in his eyes. “Hey, listen, Tony. I’m really sorry for worrying you. Morgan was just being a drama queen. There was absolutely no danger, I promise. I’m also sorry about tasering her alarm. I can help you build a new one tonight. I was just sure that someone was going to stab me over it and it was attracting way too much attention to us. I know it’s good in kidnapping situations but it’s awful when you’re in a small crowded ice cream shop.” “Kid, forget the alarm. I don’t care about that. I’m just glad you’re both okay.” Tony paused as he studied both kids and let out another sigh of relief before reaching out and gathering Morgan into his arms. “But maybe, little miss, you’d like to tell me what made you decide to trigger the alarm. Remember, we had that talk on how you should only ever use it if something's wrong and you’re in danger?” “Yeah, I remember, but daddy.” Morgan practically pouted as she gave her dad her best puppy dog eyes. “I needed you and Peter wouldn’t call you on his phone.” “What?” Tony asked as he stared at the boy in question and tried to figure out what was going on. “Wait, it wasn’t like that, I swear! See Morgan and I were talking and she had this idea and insisted that I call you, but the thing is that I didn’t need to. It wasn’t something to bother you with and it wasn’t even important anyway. I didn’t think it was necessary to call you so she just set off the alarm, instead. I really would’ve just called if I knew she was going to do that! And I definitely would’ve called if it was something major!” Peter frantically began to explain before Tony raised his hand up to stop him. “Woah, hey kid, slow down. I’m not mad at you. Come on, let’s go over here and let Morgoona explain her dire issue.” Tony said as he gently wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and helped him sit down before sitting down next to him and keeping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Okay, little miss, one second, I have to call your mom first and let her know you’re both okay.”   Tony smiled as Peter’s eyes widened in panic and he stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He watched as the ice cream dripped off the spoon and landed on the roof with a splat. He quickly stole both the spoon and the sundae from him and paused to eat some of the ice cream before explaining. “She gets the alerts for the alarm too. But don’t worry, Pete, she isn’t going to be mad at you. I know you’re internally panicking about it. Relax, okay. She had a big meeting today, but she called me in a panic as soon as the alarm went off. It took a lot of convincing for her to not drop everything to be here and I promised to call her when I found you both. She’ll be relieved to see you’re both okay.” Tony explained as he pulled up the video chat and smiled when Pepper picked up on the first ring. “Hey, momma, look who we have here,” Tony said as he pointed the camera towards Peter and Morgan. Morgan enthusiastically began to wave and Peter gave an awkward smile towards the camera. “Oh, thank god! Are you both alright? No injuries?” Pepper asked as she frantically tried to check them over through the small screen. “We’re good, mommy! We’re not hurt!” Morgan immediately answered as she grabbed the phone from Tony’s hand and pulled it closer to her until her face was the only thing filling up the screen. “I’m so so glad, Morgan.” Pepper answered and both Tony and Peter watched as some of the anxiety left her face. “We’ll let you get back to your meeting, Pep, but don’t worry. I have the kids and I’ll stay with them for the rest of the day. We can even swing by and pick up takeout from your favorite Italian place and have it waiting for you when you get home. We love you, honey.” Pepper returned the sentiment and gave them one last glance before finally hanging up so she could return to her meeting. “See, Pete, it was fine,” Tony reassured him as he gently took his phone back from Morgan and pocketed it before fixing a hardened stare at both kids. “But, now I’d like for you both to answer some of my questions. My first question is what kind of gross sundae concoction is this? Are you guys trying to kill yourselves with a sugar overload?” Tony once again ate another spoonful of the sundae and made a face when he got a bite with both gummy bears and sour skittles. “Morgan was in charge of the sundae today. She was having a bad day.” Peter explained as he tried to get the conversation back on the right track and off of the fact that he willingly bought the sundae that was way over Morgan’s daily sweets limit. “Oh yeah? And what was the matter with you, missy?” Tony asked as he poked the girl’s stomach to make her laugh. “Daddy, I want Peter to be my brother,” Morgan explained as she jumped up to stand in front of him. “What?” Tony asked as he stared quizzically between the two kids. “Morgoona, he already is your brother. He’s the closest thing you have besides the bots.” “But, daddy, he isn’t my brother in the way that counts. I want him to be my real brother.” “Morgan, what are you talking about?” Tony questioned before handing the sundae off to Peter and pulling his daughter into his lap. “Peter definitely is your brother in every way that counts. He always helps you with your homework, he dresses up to have tea parties with you, he always lets you play with the best toys, and he even let you pick out all these toppings for this sundae even though you both know you’re not supposed to have this much candy. Morgan, those are the ways that count. That’s what being a big brother means.” “But, daddy, Peter and I don’t share the same DNA.” “And you should be thankful for that. You don’t want his weird spider DNA.” Tony joked. He smiled at Peter’s amused protests before continuing. “But, in all seriousness, little miss, sharing DNA has nothing to do with it.” “Can’t you just adopt Peter?” Morgan asked. “Well, sure, technically I could. Adopting someone is a big deal though, Morgoona. It’s a lot of paperwork and a long process. It’s mostly just for legal reasons anyway. That still doesn’t change the fact that Peter is already your brother now.” “But you adopted Gerald. Why can’t you adopt Peter too? Mommy is good at paperwork. It’ll be easy.” “Morgan, hey, what’s this all about, huh? Why are you so insistent on me adopting Peter? What’s going on?” Tony asked as he gently lifted Morgan’s chin so he could look at her face. “Well,” Peter interjected, causing both Tony and Morgan to turn towards him. “this is kinda my fault. She’s doing a family tree project for family day at school and her teacher told her she couldn’t put me, Rhodey, or Happy on it since we’re not technically family. I tried explaining to her the concept of DNA and how people get added into family trees and all she took away from it was that you could adopt me and add me in.” “It’s not your fault, kiddo,” Tony said, reaching over to ruffle Peter’s hair and then pull him into an awkward side hug. “Morgan’s teacher is in the wrong here. You are all absolutely part of the family. Let’s go home and we can help Morgan make her family tree the way she wants it. We’re all about weird blended families here. None of that DNA nonsense.” “But my teacher said I couldn’t do it that way.” Morgan protested. “Yeah, well, she can take it up with me on Monday.” Tony decided as he stood up and then reached a hand out to Peter. “Come on, let’s go home. We have work to do.” Tony quickly led them down to where Happy was patiently waiting for them in a car. They made a quick stop at Pepper’s favorite Italian place to grab takeout before returning to the compound. As soon as they got there, Morgan gathered her best crayons and they set to work on creating the project. Morgan drew a tree that Peter helped color in while Tony printed off small pictures of everyone that they wanted to add. He carefully glued them all on in their proper spots before allowing Morgan to label them with everyone’s names and how they fit in the family. By the time they were done, the paper was a mess of superheroes, bots, and one ancient god. Mostly everyone on the paper was affectionately referred to as “aunt” or “uncle” and it was definitely clear that the people on that paper were a chosen family rather than a biological one. Yet, that’s what gave it it’s charm. Morgan’s family wasn’t just those who were biologically related to her. Instead, it was made up of all the people who had chosen to become family over the years. At the bottom of the tree trunk, Tony carefully wrote: “Family isn’t always those that share your DNA, sometimes it’s a mixture of superheroes and robots that you choose to love”. When Tony, Pepper, Peter, Rhodey, Happy and May all met at Morgan’s school the following Monday for family day, they were happy to see Morgan’s family tree hung on the wall alongside everyone else’s. Though hers was a bit more unique, it still perfectly captured the people who actually were her family. Before they left, the group made sure to get a picture in front of the drawing. That picture, along with the drawing itself, was proudly framed in the entryway of the compound for years to come.

“I’m so sorry Sam. We really love having you here and the vets love you too. But the new policy is clear, your position now requires a bachelor's degree at the minimum. I really don’t have a say in the matter.”    “C’mon man. I’ve got less than a year until I’ll get my diploma.” Sam muttered, bringing his hand to his face and pinching the bridge between his eyes.     “I know. And when you get that diploma, you’ll practically be a shoe in. Sam, you’re one of my favorite employees. And I know you’ve been through a lot while you were serving. But it’s the government and I just can’t make an exception this time. I’m sorry.” Sam brought his eyes to meet the other man’s.    “I know John. I understand.”    “If you need employment help, you know you can meet with someone in the workforce center.” Sam narrowed his eyes, thinking of having to go to his coworkers for help.    “No I’m good. I’m gonna go clean out my desk. See you around John.”    ***   Sam stared at the document in front of him with frustration. A year of undergrad before joining the force. Six years in the air force before an 18 month gap without work experience and finally, two years at a job he no longer qualified for. Current college student who was at least a decade older than his peers. Finding a decent paying job was going to be a difficult task.    He shut his laptop and stood up from his couch, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. He checked his notifications while walking to his kitchen. He smiled at a series of texts from his work best friend, Natasha.    This is bullshit    They just told us about having to let you go, if you were wondering.    BECAUSE YOU DON”T HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE   Fuck    I’m gonna miss you asshole   Sam smiled into his mug of coffee before sending a series of crying emojis and a promise to hang out more now that they couldn’t see each other at work. He sighed, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing his eyes. He didn’t have many friends anymore and Natasha was one of the best. He didn’t want this one to fizzle out too. He pulled up the text thread and typed out a quick message asking her to grab a drink with him later that day. Once he got a reply and they set a time, he walked back over to his couch and grabbed his laptop. He pulled up his resume again, trying not to let the stress get to him.    ***   “Can’t you like, sue them or something? Workplace discrimination?” Natasha asked, swirling the drink in front of her with a straw. Sam rolled his eyes.    “I don’t think that’s a thing. Besides, it’s what? Nine, no eight months until graduation. I just need to find something to hold me over until I get my diploma and can reapply for the job.” Sam took a sip of his own drink and adjusted himself on his barstool. “I’ll be fine, Nat.” Natasha pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear.    “I know that Sam. But we’re all going to miss you, even if it’s temporary. God, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that many people upset at someone leaving. Even Anna had tears in her eyes.” Sam felt his lips curling into a smirk.    “That’s a lie.”    “Okay, fine.” Nat waved her hand. “She also has allergies but still! I’m allowed to be dramatic, I’m mourning the loss of my work husband.” Sam let out a laugh.    “I was fired, not murdered. Besides, we can hang out whenever you want. Just don’t let the office go to shit until I get back.” Sam watched as she knocked her head back and finished off her drink.    “Nice of you to think it was ever functional to begin with.” She flagged their bartender down and ordered a refill.    “How’s your night been Angela?” Sam asked their bartender after she handed Nat her drink.    “Kinda slow but otherwise good. I overheard about your job, I’m sorry to hear about that.” Sam flashed her a smile.    “It’s all good, maybe finding something low stress will be good for my last two semesters.” Angela nodded in agreement as she wiped down the counter before stilling.    “You know, I have a family friend who’s looking to hire someone kinda short term. The pay isn’t great but there would be a lot of downtime. I can give you his number if you want.” Sam perked up immediately.    “That would be great. What kind of work does he need?”   “You hear that story a few months back of the FBI raiding a house and finding a bunch of kidnapping survivors? One of the guys was his brother. He was missing for like a decade and he needs someone to keep an eye on him while he’s at work. They really messed him up apparently. You’re first aid certified right?” Sam nodded his head. “Good.” She pulled out her phone and wrote down a number on a slip of paper. She handed it to Sam before she was called to the other end of the bar. Sam slipped the piece of paper into his front pocket.    “Look at that.” Nat beamed. “You haven’t even officially begun your job hunt and you’ve already got a lead.”   “Yeah.” Sam smiled. “Would you look at that?”    ***   Sam took a deep breath and exhaled shakily before pressing the call button. The phone rang three times before a flat voice answered. “Steve Rogers speaking.”    “Hi, my name is Sam Wilson. I’m calling about your job opening. Uh…” He could feel his palms sweating. “Angie gave me your number last night.”    “Oh.” Steve’s voice became more animated. “Thanks for giving me a call. Would you be willing to answer a few questions right now?”    “Of course.” Sam replied.    “Great. So what did you do before this?”    “I was a counselor at the VA. Mostly just helping veterans get on their feet after service but I also led some support groups as well.” A few moments passed before Steve responded, Sam could hear the rustling of paper in the background.    “Why did you leave that position?”    “I was let go. They used to substitute tours served for having a degree but new legislation passed requiring everyone in that position to have a bachelor's degree and I’m still in my senior year.”    “What did you do for the military? If you don’t mind me asking.”    “Pararescue for the air force.”    “So you know first aid?” Steve’s tone had perked up even more.    “First aid, CPR, pretty much anything an EMT would know.”    “Perfect. So this is the point where I usually ask applicants if they're comfortable being around someone with trauma and a missing limb but I have a feeling I don’t need to.” Sam let out a light chuckle.    “That’s just another day at the office for me, yeah.”    “Okay, I think that’s all my questions for right now. Could you send me an email with your resume and two references? Is it cool if I text it to this number?”    “Yeah, that would be great. I look forward to hearing from you.”    “Thanks Sam. Talk to you later.”    “Bye.” He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, smiling to himself. Possibility of employment less than a week after losing his job? Definitely not bad. His phone dinged a few moments later with a text from Steve. Sam immediately sat down at his kitchen table and turned on his laptop before sending Steve an email with his resume and his references.    Steve called and asked to meet him at a coffee shop for an official interview only a few days later. Sam agreed and hung up the phone, a smile dancing on his lips. Guess who got the interview??! He texted Natasha. I knew you would , she responded with a series of confetti emojis.    ***   Sam walked into the coffee shop and scanned the room quickly. A group of college students were sprawled out on most of the couches and one of the tables. A middle aged woman sat at the bar with her laptop open to a blank word document. Finally, Sam’s eyes landed on a blond man who appeared to be in his early 30s. He has dressed like a professional in slacks and a button down. He took a deep breath and walked up to him. “Steve?” He asked. The other man stood up and shook his hand.    “Sam. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. Please have a seat.” Once they were seated he spoke again. “Okay Sam, so I wanted to tell you a little more about the position before we get started so that I don’t waste your time if you aren’t interested. It would be 40 hours per week, 7:30 to 4:30, Monday through Friday. I work from 8 to 4 and I’m needing someone to keep an eye on my brother while I’m at work. He’s usually fine most days he’s just…” Steve paused and took a shaky breath, waving his hand in the air. “He’s been through a lot and I really don’t think he should be left alone.” Sam could see tears swelling in his eyes.  “Sorry.”    “It’s all good man.”    “He doesn’t eat unless he’s reminded and he can’t drive. Mostly I just need someone there in case he… He tried committing suicide a few weeks after we got him back. He was in a mental hospital for two weeks. They gave me some information about long term care but I…” Steve shook his head. “I can’t do that to him. I want him to have his free will back. Anyway.” He shook his head. “The pay is $15 an hour which I know isn’t great but you’ll have lots of time to work on homework or anything else. He needs to be driven to his therapy and doctors appointments and I don’t have a spare car but I’ll give you a credit card to fill up your tank every week. And you would get two free meals a day. Are you still interested?” Sam nodded his head.    “I am.”    “Great.” Steve grinned, opening the notebook sitting in front of him. “I’m just gonna ask you some standard interview questions now.” Once Steve asked him the questions and got more information about Sam’s work experience and skills, he closed the notebook, bringing his eyes to meet Sam’s. “I’m going to be honest with you, you’re my last of five interviews and you’re the only person I’ve met who I would feel 100% confidence in. If you want the job, it’s yours.”    “Absolutely, thank you.” Sam smiled. Steve looked relieved.    “Could you start on Monday?”    “Definitely.”    “Great, okay. Do you have an extra 30 minutes to spare right now? I live right around the corner and it might be good for y'all to meet before Monday morning. And I can show you around, tell you how I have things organized, stuff like that.”    “Sounds good.” Steve smiled and pulled out his phone.    “I’ll text my neighbor that we’re on the way there. She offered to stay with him while I did these interviews.”   They got to Steve’s second floor apartment 5 minutes later. “Hi Maria. Thanks for keeping an eye on him.” The young woman beamed, grabbing a set of keys off the kitchen counter.     “Pleasure is all mine Steve. He’s great company.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s in great spirits today.” Sam noticed the door closest to them open as Maria said her goodbyes. Steve took a few steps and spoke to the other man quietly before he fully stepped out of the room. He wore green cargo pants and flip flops as well as a black tshirt for a band Sam had never heard of. One of the sleeves had been cut off, showing the scarred skin where his arm had been removed. His long hair was pulled brushed behind his ears and his cheeks flushed slightly pink.    “Hi.” He took a few steps towards Sam, surprising him with his friendliness. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” He reached out and shook Sam’s hand. “But you can call me Bucky.” “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” He reached out and shook Sam’s hand. “But you can call me Bucky.”    “Sam.” He replied. “Sam Wilson.”    “When my brother told me he was getting me a babysitter, I kinda expected an old lady or like… a broke college student.” Sam felt his lips curl up into a half smile.    “Who says I’m not a broke college student?”  Bucky smirked.    “You did good with this one Steve. At least he appears to have a personality.” He called back to his brother before meeting Sam’s eyes. “I’ll leave you two to talk about how fucked up I am.” He said before retreating back to his room.    “I’m sorry about that.” Steve huffed, rejoining Sam in the kitchen.    “It’s okay. I’ve met lots of people like him who have a similar sense of humor mixed with anger. It’s not gonna bother me.”    “Good. Okay. So…” He moved to a cabinet and opened it, pulling out a pill organizer. “He takes the three pills in the top row at 9 am and the one in the bottom row at 3 pm. I also have a traveling case in here if you're ever out and about.” He put the organizer back and shut the door, taking a step and opening the fridge. “I meal prep every few days based on some guidelines from his nutritionist. I’ll have it marked with the date and his and your names. Uhh.. lets see. If he can’t get food down, he has these protein shakes in the back there, try to get him to drink one so he gets some nutritional value.”    Steve closed the door and opened the freezer. “I buy these pre-made smoothies in bulk for him, you just have to add milk which is pretty cool. He’ll usually have one in the morning if he can’t stomach what I make for breakfast. He- They didn’t… Have you heard of Soylent?”    “The meal replacement?”    “Yeah, that’s all they fed him for the last few years he was there. It’s made eating hard for him. His nutritionist isn’t sure if it’s a physical issue with his stomach or mental but he might get sick after eating.” He moved to grab a planner off the table next to the front door. “This is the planner I use to keep track of everything. He’s got therapy every Monday and Thursday at 11 and we meet with his nutritionist every other Wednesday. I’ll be meeting you at her office since I’m the one who cooks his meals.” He paused. “Sorry, this is probably a lot to take in.”    “No, it’s good. Better than explaining it when you’re stressed about leaving for work.” Sam replied. Steve nodded.    “You’re right. I’ll get you a debit card this weekend for gas and food if he ever wants anything while you’re out. I’ve been trying to get him to see a movie with me but maybe you’ll have better luck.” Steve gave a sad smile. “I’ll get you a notebook too, just record his eating habits and any significant changes in his mood.”    “Will do. Thank you Steve, for the opportunity. Let me know if you need anything this weekend.”    ***    “Cheers to Sam!” Natasha exclaimed, putting her drink in the air.    “Jesus, it’s only me and you. And we’re in a coffee shop, not a bar.” Sam muttered but eventually brought his cup to hers after she stared him down for a few moments.    “I’m just excited that I don’t have to worry about you showing up at my door and asking to sleep on my couch.” Sam rolled his eyes.    “Like I would ever be desperate enough to room with you.” Natasha laughed, taking a sip of her iced coffee.    “I’m happy for you Sam. I just like giving you a hard time. How was meeting him and everything?” Sam shrugged his shoulders.    “He was… different than I expected. The way Steve talked about him, I thought he was going to be this shell of a person who wouldn’t talk. But he was just like all the other guys I’ve met with PTSD. Dark sense of humor but he was still friendly.”    “Family always thinks it’s worse than it actually is. How many meetings have we had with parents or siblings who think their family member is doing terribly but you meet them and they’re more well adjusted than we are.” She chuckled slightly.    “That’s true.” Sam mused. “I can’t imagine someone being gone for nearly a decade and then getting them back. Steve must  have thought he was dead, you know.” Natasha’s body went rigid.    “Sam.” She looked at him with sad eyes. “Don’t.”    “Not like that, Natasha. You know I don’t think… He’s not. I’ve accepted his death, even without the body.”    “But you’ve thought about it?” Sam scoffed.    “Of course I have. Every time I see some news story about kidnapped soldiers from years ago being found alive, I think about him. Do you?”    “Of course I do. But it’s been four years Sam.”    “Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean to bring it up, I’m sorry.” Natasha waved her hand before whipping a tear from her eye.    “I told that asshole to join the Marines with me but no, he had to join the Air Force and get himself shot out of the sky.”    “Well he never listened did he?”    “No, definitely not.”      ***   Sam yawned, double checking that his assignment was actually submitted before standing up and stretching. He glanced at his clock. 10 pm. He knew he should probably get to bed so he could get up early for his first day of work in the morning. His hand stilled at the top of his laptop as he went to close it. He bit his lip, curiosity getting the best of him. He’d forced himself to avoid looking up Bucky’s case all weekend, unable to decide if knowing his backstory would help or not. He decided to do the search after a few minutes of staring at the screen, pulling up google.    Bucky Barnes missing person    Sam clicked on a YouTube video of an old news cast and sat back in his chair as it started playing. “Some exciting breaking news today, a local D.C. man was found alive after being missing for nine years.” The young woman announced.    “Yes Diane, a happy day indeed! If you’ve been living in D.C. for the past decade, this name might ring a bell. James Barnes, known by his friends and family as Bucky, was found in a makeshift underground cell with 11 other young men ages ranging from 16 to 34 who had all been kidnapped from different cities across the east coast. Barnes was reported missing 9 years ago after video surfaced of him being shoved into a van only 3 weeks after he graduated high school.” The older man replied.    “That’s right Joe. James and the other survivors were found in rural Connecticut on a large farm that had been the home of a doomsday cult led by a man named Alexander Pierce. All members are currently in custody and the case is still being investigated.”    “Now Barnes is still in the hospital but we wish him a safe recovery. In other news-” Sam closed the laptop and headed to bed.    ***   “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it sooner Ma.” Sam sighed, the fall morning air causing him to shove his free hand into his pocket. “But I already have a new job and I promise I’ll tell you about it later this week.” He took a few more steps until he was face to face with the door to Steve’s apartment. “I have to go to work but I love you and I’ll talk to you soon.”    “I love you too baby.” Sam hung up the phone and placed it into his front jean pocket. He knocked on the door and jumped slightly in surprise when Steve opened the door looking as white as a sheet, the dark circles under his eyes standing out more than the last time Sam saw him.       “Jesus man, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Sam told him. Steve shook his head.    “I’m fine. I just haven’t been in the office in nearly two months and I’m… nervous. Come in Sam, please.”    “He’s actually freaking out.” Bucky grinned from where he was sitting at the kitchen table. Sam noticed Steve glare slightly at his brother. “Hey Sam.”    “Hey.”    “I made a run to the coffee shop. Here.” Steve handed him a disposable cup of coffee. “Creamer is on the counter and I got you a breakfast sandwich. It’s in that bag on the table. Oh and I got a copy of the front door key made. Here.” He pulled out a key and handed it to Sam. “And here’s the debit card I told you about. The pin is 1917. But you don’t need to memorize that or anything, I made a cheat sheet with everything we talked about on Friday and some other things I forgot.” Steve rambled on as Sam put the key and card on the counter.     “Steve.” Sam put his hand on Steve's arm. “Take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay.”    “You’re right. I’m sorry Sam.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m going to change then I need to head out.” He glanced at Bucky. “Please eat something Bucky.” Bucky rolled his eyes.    “You worry too much.” Steve shook his head and went into his room. Sam took his backpack off and put it on the ground next to one of the chairs at the kitchen table before adding creamer to his coffee. Once he took a seat he grabbed the bag and pulled out two breakfast sandwiches.   “Sausage or bacon?” Bucky made a disgusted face.    “Bacon please.” Sam handed him the wrapped package before taking a sip of his coffee. Steve came out dressed in business casual clothes then, grabbing his keys and wallet from the table next to the front door.    “Sam, if you need anything at all or you get overwhelmed or anything. Please don’t hesitate to call me. The number to my cell is on the cheat sheet on the counter. So is my work number and another emergency contact if you can't reach me. Maria in 2C who you met on Friday works from home so you can go to her as well. Don’t forget his meds and therapy at 11.”    “Got it. Thanks Steve.” Steve took a few steps until he was standing next to Bucky.    “Be good and call me if you need anything.” He leaned down and gave him a hug from behind.    “You’re so embarrassing.” Bucky muttered but Sam could see him sink into the touch. Damn , he thought to himself, I need to call my sister soon.     Once Steve left and they finished breakfast, Sam walked to the counter where the materials were laid out. He added the key to his keyring and put the debit card in his wallet. He grabbed the laminated sheet, smiling slightly at the fact Steve had bothered to not only type everything out but laminate the sheet as well. He added Steve’s numbers as well as the emergency contact, David Rogers, who he assumed was related to them. Sam grabbed the empty journal and put it on the side table next to the planner as a reminder to take notes throughout the day. Lastly he added alarms to his phone for when Bucky needed to take his meds.    “Read anything interesting about me?” Bucky asked.    “You can read it if you want.” Sam replied. “It’s not as bad as you think it is.”  He looked up to meet his eyes and Bucky gave him a sad smile.    “I know. But Steve worries too much.”    “That means he loves you.”    “I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m gonna watch tv now if you want to join me and do homework or whatever.”    Half an hour later, Bucky started breathing heavily. Sam glanced up from his laptop. “Are you okay?”    “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” He took a deep breath. “It’s pretty common. I’m fine.”    “You want some water?” Bucky nodded his head. Sam got up and got him a glass of water, sitting next to him instead of on the other couch as he was before. “Drink it slowly, it should help.” Bucky nodded, taking a sip. He brought the cup to his forehead after a few moments.    “You have a fever?” Sam asked.    “No, my temperature regulation is just all fucked up. Because of… Well. Being kept in a basement with 11 other men…” He shook his head. “God. I’m so sick of feeling nauseous.”    “If you distract your mind, that should help.”    “Any ideas Doc?” Sam quirked his lips into a smile.    “We could ask each other things. Get to know each other.” Bucky took another drink before shooting him a murderous look.    “That’s super lame but fine. I’m desperate enough for sleepover games apparently. You ask first but no questions about...” He gestured vaguely. “You know…”    “Okay… why do you and Steve have different last names?”    “He has his Dad’s last name, I have our mom’s. Steve is technically my half brother. They got divorced when he was four, she got pregnant with me because of a one night stand a few months later. She was never able to find the guy again so I never knew him.”    “Damn.”    “Yeah, I didn’t really mind though. Sarah was an amazing mom, I didn’t feel like I missed out on much. My turn.” His breathing had gone back to normal. “Tell me about college.” Sam smiled, leaning back into the couch cushion.    “That’s technically not a question but I’ll let it slide. I graduate in May and I’m majoring in sociology, specifically social work. I actually did a year of college before I joined the force so I was able to transfer in some credits which has sped up the process.”    “What did you do in the military?”    “Pararescue.” A laugh escaped Bucky’s lips.    “Jesus you’re overqualified for this job.” Sam smiled despite himself.    “I know.” They sat in silence for a few minutes before Bucky responded.    “I’m feeling better, thank you. I think I’m going to go lay down though.”    “Alright, I’ll be in at 9 to give you your meds.” Bucky stood up and gave Sam a small smile.    “Thank you Sam.” “Uhhh Sam.” Bucky said after walking into the living room. It was Sam’s third day on the job and Steve had left for work about 30 minutes prior.    “Everything okay?” Sam asked, putting his phone down.    “Yeah… I need to um. I need to ask you something.” Bucky’s face reddened as he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. “This is so embarrassing. Fuck. Um… I can’t. I can’t shower without someone being in the room with me or I’ll start thinking someone’s going to break down the door.”    “Okay, let me just grab my book and I’ll be there in a second.” Bucky nodded twice before retreating to his room. Sam found him a few minutes later laying an outfit out on his bed.    “I’m sorry.” He muttered, as they went into the bathroom together.    “Hey, don’t be sorry. It’s my job, remember? Whatever you need, you can always ask.”    “What if I asked you to drive across the city and get me sushi?” Bucky asked as Sam lowered the toilet cover and took a seat.    “Trick question, I’m not supposed to leave you alone so you’d have to come with me.” Sam replied, opening his textbook to the chapter they were covering this week. Bucky sighed as he took off his shirt.    “Insufferable.” Sam grinned to himself.    “Do you want to go get sushi today?” He asked as Bucky continued to strip.    “God no. I’m pretty sure I would puke on the spot.” Bucky replied as he turned on the water.    “Do you sing in the shower? Because I wouldn’t mind a free concert with the prices they’re charging these days."    “I hate you.” Bucky muttered, just loud enough for Sam to hear before stepping in the tub. Sam smirked before going back to his reading.    ***   “Morning Steve.” Sam greeted after he unlocked the door and walked into the foyer of Steve’s apartment.    “Hey Sam. Good morning.” Steve responded from the kitchen as Sam went to throw his bag onto his unofficial spot on the loveseat before joining Bucky at the kitchen table like he had every morning for the past two weeks.    “Hey Bucky. How are you?” He asked softly. Bucky just glared at him in response. “So not great, got it.” He replied sarcastically.    “Gonna write about it in your notebook?” Bucky huffed.    “Maybe.” Sam responded, causing Bucky to roll his eyes and stare into his cup of orange juice.    “I made eggs. Here.” Steve placed two plates in front of the men and joined with his own plate a minute later. Sam noticed Bucky had only taken two bites of bacon and had been pushing his eggs around for the past five minutes.    “Bucky-” Steve started before the other man cut him off.    “I swear if you say any version of ‘please eat’, I’m going to go postal. I’m sorry I’m such a fucking disappointment all the time.” He slid his chair back and stormed off to his room, slamming his door in the process. Steve put his head in his hands.    “Sam…”    “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t be late for work. I’ll talk to him okay?” Steve nodded and went to grab his coat.    “Thank you Sam.” He said before walking out the door. Sam went to Bucky’s room immediately, knocking on the door softly.    “Bucky, I’m coming in okay?” No response. He opened the door to find Bucky curled in a ball in his bed. Sam sat next to him. “You want to talk about it?” He asked eventually.    “Leave me alone Sam.” Bucky muttered, not bothering to move. “You don’t have to pretend to care.”    “Just because this is my job, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”    “You aren’t making me feel any better.” Bucky muttered. “And aren’t you in here to make me feel like shit about being an asshole to Steve?” Sam shook his head.    “He can do that on his own if he wants. I'm here because I want to make sure you’re okay.” Sam put his hand on Bucky’s arm causing him to adjust his position and look at Sam. “You can talk to me about it. I understand what you’re going through more than you know.”   “The service give you ptsd?”    “Yeah.”   “Is that why you have an 18 month gap on your resume?”    “You looked at my resume?” Sam asked in surprise. He could see Bucky’s lips curl into a very slight smile.    “I found it on Steve’s computer last week when I was looking for something. I got curious. And you didn’t answer my question.”    “Six of those months I was also recovering from knee surgery but yes.”    “You ever have to stay with family?” Sam nodded.    “My Mom. So I understand. It’s hard to be a grown man relying on your family. I get it. But you can’t recover until you accept his help.” Bucky closed his eyes.    “Sometimes I don’t want to recover. I don’t deserve it.”    “Of course you deserve it Bucky.” Sam whispered, moving his hand down the other man’s arm. Bucky shook his head slightly.    “I should have died on that operating table.”   ***    “C’mon Bucky, at least humor me and try to eat lunch.” Sam walked to Bucky's bed where he had spent most of his day, excluding their trip to his therapist. “Steve made plain chicken and rice. You love plain chicken and rice.”    “Are you making fun of me for being one of those white people who doesn’t like spice?” Bucky asked. “Making fun of the mentally ill is problematic Sam.” He said with absolutely no bite.    “Do you want a smoothie instead?” Bucky shook his head.    “I’ll make myself drink a protein shake. But I guess I can sit with you while you eat.”    “You’re sweet.” Sam replied.    “Shut the fuck up before I change my mind.” Bucky muttered, allowing Sam to grab his hand and pull him out of bed.    ***    “It’s 3. Here.” Sam handed Bucky a pill and a glass of water. Bucky sighed from his spot on the couch but took them, not looking up from the news show he was watching. A few minutes later, Sam was standing at the kitchen counter making notes when he heard something on the T.V. that made him pause.    “An update from an ongoing case involving cult leader Alexander Pierce. The FBI believes to have identified ten additional people who were involved with the kidnapping of 12 men and the brainwashing of over 50 cult members. All 11 criminals are being held without bond and trials should be starting soon.” Sam walked over to the T.V. and shut it off as the woman continued to talk about dates and timelines of the trials.    “Bucky?” He asked, looking at the man who had gone rigid. “You good?” Instead of responding, Bucky sprinted into his room. “Shit.” He muttered to himself before following him immediately. Bucky had gone into the bathroom. When Sam tried the door, it was locked. He knocked on the door. “Bucky.” Nothing. “Bucky!” He exclaimed. “If you don’t let me know you’re okay, I will break down this door.” He said, panic rising in his chest. Still nothing. He took a deep breath and took a step back before kicking the door. It didn’t budge. He repositioned himself  and did the motion again, this time successfully. When he opened the door, the panic fully constricted in his chest.    Bucky was sitting shirtless in the bathtub, his arm shaking. Blood dripped from his stomach and tears flowed from his eyes. “Bucky… give me the razor.” Sam leaned down next to the man and held out his hand. “Bucky.” He stated again when he didn’t get a reaction, causing the other man to look up at him with the saddest eyes Sam had ever seen.    “I’m sorry Sam.”    “I know Bucky. Just give it to me okay?” Bucky nodded slowly before dropping the razor into Sam’s hand. Sam placed it on the counter and grabbed a towel, wetting it in the sink. Once inspecting the wounds and seeing they were only superficial and didn’t require a hospital visit, he brought the towel to Bucky’s stomach. “This might be a little cold.” Bucky nodded but didn’t make a noise. Sam tried not to stare at all the other scars across his body. The shoulder of his missing arm had severe scarring and Sam noticed what looked like cigarette burns on his chest. Even healed lines on his stomach told him that he had done this before.    “Sam.”    “Hmm?”    “Any possibility you don’t tell Steve about this?” Sam met his eyes.    “Not a chance.” Once the bleeding seemed to stop, Sam tossed the towel into the sink. “Let's get you up, c’mon.” He grabbed Bucky’s arm and lifted him to his feet, carefully maneuvering him to his bed.    “I’m sorry Sam.” Bucky said again after laying down. “I needed to punish myself.” Sam sat down next to him and brushed a strand of Bucky’s long brown hair behind his ear.    “Why would you need to punish yourself?”    “I don’t know. I just feel like everything is my fault.”    “It’s not Bucky, don’t ever forget that.” Bucky nodded and closed his eyes. Sam took a deep breath and grabbed his phone, calling Steve as he walked into the bathroom.    “Sam.” He answered immediately. “Is everything okay?”    “Bucky locked himself in his bathroom and hurt himself. He’s okay now and you don't need to come home early but I wanted to let you know. Also, I sort of um. Well I broke the door down.”    “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Sam hung up the phone and grabbed the razor off the counter, wrapping it in the towel and throwing both in the trash before double checking that no blood had spilled anywhere in the bathroom. He went back to sitting on the edge of Bucky’s bed when he was done.    “Watching me sleep Wilson?” he asked softly, not opening his eyes.    “You’d have to be asleep for that to be true.” Sam responded.    “You called Steve?”    “I told him he didn’t have to leave early.”    “Let me guess, he didn’t listen.”    “You know him well.” Sam swore he could see Bucky roll his eyes, even though they were closed. Sam stayed where he was until he heard the front door unlock. He got up and met Steve in the doorway.    “How is he?”    “Emotionally exhausted. I think he’s about to fall asleep.” Steve nodded his head.    “Can we talk in the living room?” They closed the door and sat on the couch. “I’m so sorry Sam. He hasn’t done that since he first came back so I didn’t think I needed to warn you about it.”    “It’s okay Steve, really. I’m sorry I had to break your door.” Steve let out a wet laugh, wiping some tears from his eyes.    “I’ve never been less upset about something, trust me.” He took a deep breath. “Did something set him off?”    “He was watching the news and they started talking about the case. He said… he said he feels like everything is his fault.” Steve nodded his head before putting it in his hands and taking a deep breath. “I’m going to go check on him.” Sam said before heading back to Bucky’s room. He was sitting up now, looking at his phone.    “Is he upset?” Bucky asked, looking up.    “Just worried.” Bucky stood up and grabbed his shirt from the floor before joining Steve on the couch. Sam watched from the doorway as he whispered something into Steve's ear and let his brother pull him into a hug.   ***   “Are you sure that’s not illegal?” Sam rolled his eyes.    “Why would it be illegal Sarah?” Sam replied to his sister, adjusting the grip on his phone.    “I don’t know. Aren’t you technically providing in-home health care without a license?”    “Technically I don’t provide any health care besides making sure he takes his meds. I mostly just drive him places and make sure he remembers to eat. He’s still in that phase where he just wants to sleep or lay down most of the day anyway, it’s a really chill job. I promise.”    “Okay.” Sam waited for an additional response but spoke again when nothing came.    “Spit it out.”    “Just don’t get too attached Sam. I know how you are and how you were at the VA. You can’t save everyone.”   “I know.” He replied. “But I can save this one.” How is he doing? Sam glanced at the text from Steve. He smiled to himself before typing a reply back. He’s changed his outfit 6 times already. I told him we’re leaving at 1 even if he’s shirtless. His thoughts were interrupted by Bucky coming into the room again.    “Okay, what about this?” Bucky walked out in black slacks and a short sleeve white button down shirt. He fiddled with the sleeve on his left side.    “This one’s my favorite, it fits you well.” Sam responded.    “The sleeve looks stupid. I should have listened to Steve when he told me to get my clothes tailored.”    “You look fine Bucky, it’s just an interview.”    “A recorded interview that’s going to be shown in court.” Bucky muttered. He went back into his room and grabbed a tie. “Can you?” He asked when he walked back out. Sam stood up and grabbed the tie from his hands, wrapping it around his neck. “Does my hair look okay?” He asked as Sam finished the knot.    “You look good Bucky, honest. And we need to leave soon so we aren’t late to the attorney’s office.”    “Okay. God I need to get my jackets tailored too, I look like an idiot.” Sam smiled.    “You’ve never complained about it before. And you don’t look like an idiot. Let’s go.”    ***   “Thank you for coming James, we really appreciate it.” The young woman shook Bucky’s hand. “I’m Alex.”  She moved to shake Sam’s hand. “I’m Shelby’s assistant. If you want to follow me I’ll take you to the interview room.”    “Is it okay if Sam sits in the room with me during… He’s kind of my caretaker. He knows how to calm me down if my mental health gets bad.” A sad look crossed her face briefly before she masked it and responded.    “Um… y-yes of course. Follow me.” They followed her to the interview room which already had a camera set up. Bucky took a seat at the table and Sam took a seat at one of the chairs in the corner. “She’ll be in for the interview in a few minutes. I’ll be right outside if either of you need anything.” Bucky took off his jacket and ran a hand through his hair after she closed the door.    “You okay?” Sam asked. Bucky nodded.   “Sam. You’re going to hear some stuff that happened. That they did to me and I did to others. I-”    “I’m never going to judge you Bucky, you know that.”    “Thank you Sam.” He responded after taking a deep breath. “Thank you for being here in case it gets bad.”    “Of course.” The door opened then and a middle aged woman walked in. She shook Bucky’s hand.    “Thanks for agreeing to do this James.”    “Bucky, if you don’t mind.” She walked to where Sam was sitting and shook his hand as well.    “You must be-”    “Sam. I work for him, sorta.” Bucky gave him a small smile at that. The woman turned around and took a seat after turning the camera on.    “Okay Bucky. I’m just going to ask you some questions. Full disclosure, this interview is being recorded and will be played in multiple court hearings. Please state your legal name for the tape.”    “James Buchanan Barnes.”    “Okay, please tell me everything you remember from the day you were abducted.” Bucky nodded.    “It was three weeks after I graduated high school. I was walking back to my Mom’s house after my shift at my job, I worked at a convenience store only a few blocks from her place. My shift ended at 11… at night. I was walking when I heard a van’s side door open. Next thing I knew someone grabbed me and shoved a cloth in my face that smelled like chemicals. I woke up… there. In a basement… In a cell.”    “Thank you. Can you tell me about your time there when you first arrived? Take your time.” Bucky nodded.    “I woke up in a cell about half the size of this room. Similar to a jail cell I guess. There was a cot with a blanket on it and a toilet and a sink. I wasn’t wearing what I was when I was taken. I was in a white t-shirt and loose black pants. I wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. Um… Lets see. I started freaking out right away, yelling and trying to break down the door but no one came. Once I calmed down, the other men told me that I had been kidnapped. That I shouldn’t waste my strength. I passed out again on the ground shortly after that.”    “And how many men were there when you first woke up?”    “Four besides me.”      “But there were 12 of you total, can you talk to me about the timeline of the other men arriving?”    “Sure. Three men arrived before the end of that year. The last four were brought in before the summer of the next year. Then Dean was um. He was killed about a year ago and they brought in a replacement a few weeks later.”    “How was Dean killed?”    “He tried to escape. But he was caught. So they shot him in front of us and didn’t feed us for a week.” Bucky took a shaky breath and shut his eyes for a second.    “Do you need a break Bucky?” Shelby asked. He shook his head.    “No, I’m good.”    “Okay. Can you tell me what your day to day life was there?”    “They would come get us from our cells in the morning and take us to where we were working that day. Some days we would tend to the crops or take care of the animals. Some days we would construct yurts for the members or build and fix houses for leadership. Any manual labor they needed really. There would usually be one guard for every 2 or 3 of us. Once we were done, we would go back to the basement and they would give us our meal for the day.”    “And how did the guards treat you?”    “Most of them didn’t talk to us, just stared us down and adjusted their guns if they thought we weren’t working fast enough. There was one who was terrible though. He would make you lift your shirt so he could extinguish his cigarettes on your skin. He would accuse you of eating the food we picked, even if we didn’t, just so he could beat us up.”    “Do you know his name?” Bucky shook his head.   “We were only allowed to call them ‘guard’ so I never knew any of their names.” Bucky glanced at Sam as he took another deep breath. You okay? Sam mouthed. Bucky nodded.    “Now.” Shelby stated. “Other people we’ve interviewed about this case have talked about something called the ritual. Can you tell me about your experience with that?”   “Once a week they would bring me to a pitch black room and handcuff my arms and legs to a chair. A woman who called herself Madam would do some chanting, would flash lights in my eyes and play recordings of Pierce speaking. I never really understood it but I think all the members had to do it too, not just us.”   “Okay, thank you. Now you don’t have to go into any detail on this one but we do need to know if losing your arm was an accident or if they did it to you on purpose.”    “It was an accident while working on a house. About eight months before I was rescued. Two of the members did the surgery to remove it.”    “Okay, thank you. Just one last question. Can you tell us what initiation is and what role you played?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing becoming abnormal. His hand started to shake before he opened his eyes again.    “Sam.” He whispered. “I can’t. I can’t breathe.” Sam was at his side in a second.    “He’s having a panic attack. Can you get me a bottle of water?” Shelby nodded and left the room. “Okay Bucky, take a few deep breaths for me. Follow my breathing okay?” He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and took some deep breaths, smiling when Bucky did the same. “Good. Keep breathing okay?” Bucky nodded, grabbing Sam’s arm to steady himself. “Do you want to do the 5 things exercise?” Sam asked. Bucky shook his head.    “You know I hate that exercise.” He mumbled.    “Therapists love it.” Sam responded, causing Bucky to smile ever so slightly. “C’mon, humor me?” Bucky took a few more breaths before nodding.    “Five things you can see?”    “The video camera, the table, the mirror, Shelby’s chair, and your dumb face.” Sam smiled.    “Four things you can feel?”    “The chair I’m sitting on, how uncomfortable these clothes are, the ground beneath me, and your arm.    “Good. Three things you can hear?”    “You, being annoying, the construction outside, and the camera.”    “Two things you can smell?”    “Disinfectant and…” Bucky blushed slightly. “Your cologne.”    “Last but not least.” Sam started, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. “One thing you can taste.”    “Leftover mint from the gum I had earlier.”    “Good, how are you feeling?” Bucky dropped his hand from Sam’s shoulder and nodded.    “Better. Thank you Sam.”   “Of course.” Shelby walked back in the room then, handing Sam a bottle of water. He opened it before handing it to Bucky. “Drink. It’ll make you feel better.” Bucky took a few sips before placing the bottle on the counter.    “I can continue now.” He said as Sam moved back to his chair in the corner of the room.    “Are you sure?” Shelby asked. “You can take a longer break if you need it.”    “No, I just want to get this over with.”    “Okay, tell me about initiation.” Bucky took a breath and pushed a strand of his hair behind his ear.    “Hydra was very much a free love type of cult. People would have sex outside, wouldn’t bother to keep quiet, that kind of thing. When someone had lived there for six months and proved their loyalty, they would become a member. Initiation was a ceremony. One of the few events we attended. Married couples would have sex on stage in front of the whole cult.”    “And what about unmarried members?” She asked softly.    “Pierce would choose a woman for the unmarried men to sleep with. Unmarried women… They would choose one of the 12 of us. Or if they were under 18…” He bit his lip. “Their parents would make the choice for them.” Sam could feel his blood boiling as Bucky talked about his experience. He knew he wasn’t a violent person but he wanted to do things to the people that had kept Bucky a captive all those years.    “How many times were you selected?”    “Four times. They would strap us to a table so we couldn’t fight back.”    “Okay, you’re doing really well. I just need you to tell me about the women and we’ll be done, okay?”    “I never knew any of their names but there was a woman in her 40’s when I was 19, an 18 year old when I was 21, a woman my age when I was 25 and…” He dug his fingernails into his palm and stared at the table. “A 15 year old when I was 23.” Shelby shut off the video camera.    “That’s all our questions. Alex will be right outside the door to walk you to the exit when you’re ready. Thank you Bucky. The people who did this to you will pay for what they did, I promise.” He nodded but didn’t look up as she left the room. Sam went to kneel at Bucky’s side again, grabbing his hand.    “Hey. You’re okay, you don’t need to hurt yourself.” Bucky met his eyes, tears starting to fall down his cheeks.    “Yes I do Sam. I’m- That girl is going to have issues the rest of her life and it’s partially my fault.”    “They strapped you to a table Bucky, there’s nothing you could have done.” Bucky wiped the tears away with his wrist.    “I should have fought back. I should have tried to escape. I should have paid more attention when I was walking home. I should have-” A sob escaped his lips. Sam pulled him into a hug and ran his hand down Bucky’s hair.    “None of this is your fault. None of it, okay?” Bucky put his head on Sam’s shoulder.    “You don’t think I’m disgusting?” Bucky whispered.    “What-why would I think that?”    “I had sex in front of dozens of people Sam. With a minor. I’d understand if you didn’t want to work with me anymore.” Sam tightened the grip of his hug.    “You were raped Bucky, I’m not gonna hold that against you.”    “Thank you.” Bucky whispered in his ear before Sam let go and they both stood up. “I’m fine now Sam, honest.” Sam knew he was lying but let it go as he held the door open for the other man.   Once they made it to Sam’s car, Bucky got an amused look on his face. “What is it?” Sam asked.    “I think I have a craving for food for the first time in… years.” Sam gave him a questioning look but Bucky didn’t elaborate.    “Well, spit it out.”  .   “Do you know where to get a good milkshake around here?”    “Definitely. Come on, Steve’s buying.” He responded, causing Bucky to give him a tiny smile.    Sam opened his eyes when he felt a warm hand caress his cheek. “Good morning baby.” The familiar smooth voice told him as he came into view. Sam raised his arm and ran a hand through the man’s short brown hair.    “Riley.” He murmured. He glanced at the bed-sheets, which were different than the ones on his bed, and around the unfamiliar room. “Where are we?” Riley chuckled.    “Our house, dumb ass. I promised you that I’d let you make an honest man out of me, don’t you remember?” A sinking feeling entered Sam’s chest. He remembered that night, only two months before Riley died. This was a dream. He was having the dream again. He closed his eyes and opened them again but the room stayed the same. “What’s wrong, aren’t you happy here?” Riley asked him, his voice cracking. Sam grabbed both sides of the other man’s face.    “Of course I am. I love you Riley.” The other man smiled before leaning in placing a gentle kiss on Sam’s lips.    “I love you too baby.” He kissed him again, more passionately this time. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take in every detail, tried to memorize the way it felt to kiss him again.    When he opened his eyes again, he was in a supply tent. He looked at the sand beneath his feet and took a deep breath. Afghanistan. He looked up when he heard someone else enter the tent. Riley again. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be-” His question was cut off by Riley pushing him against a crate and kissing him.    “That’s for saving my ass out there today, thank you Sam.”   “Considering I’m your copilot, I could have just been saving my own ass.”    “So you don’t want a thank you blowjob?” Sam felt heat rise to his cheeks.    “You can’t… this is a public area Riley. And you don’t have to-” But Riley had already moved them behind a stack of boxes.    “I know I don’t have to, Sam. I want to. Please?” Sam nodded, the desire already pooling in his stomach as Riley sank to his knees.    The scene changed again, this time Sam opened his eyes to a hotel room. He felt arms wrap around him from behind. “I’m so glad we get to have this night together before we both head home. It’s nice not to have to hide it don’t you think?” Sam turned around and stared into Riley’s eyes.    “Yeah. This beats secret blowjobs and kissing in the cockpit any day.” Riley smiled and ran his hands down Sam’s arms.    “I have to talk to you about something.” Sam gulped.    “Okay.”    “I’m leaving the force once our tour ends in four months. And I’m not asking you to leave too but with us no longer being in the same unit… Will you make an honest man out of me Sam? Will you marry me? I haven’t had a chance to get a ring yet but I will once we can be official.” Sam wrapped his arms around the back of Riley’s neck and kissed him slowly.    “Yes. Yes of course I’ll marry you.” He closed his eyes and leaned their foreheads together.    When he opened them again, he was laying on a cot in Afghanistan. “How’s he doing?” He heard a voice ask.    “Fever is still 102, it would be against protocol to allow him to fly today.”    “I can hear you.” He muttered, looking at the two men.    “Get some rest Wilson. Riley and Ken can do the flight just fine.” He closed his eyes and opened them a second later when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Sam.” His Sergeant looked him in the eyes as he sat up. “I’m really sorry to have to be the one to tell you this…” Sam squeezed his eyes shut.    “No.” He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t remember how.    “There’s a possibility they were captured after the plane went down, we’re still looking.”    He opened his eyes and the scene had changed again. He felt the crutches at his side and took a deep breath before hobbling to the casket. “I’m gonna miss you Riley.” He whispered, touching the top of the metal box, unable to decide if knowing the casket was empty made it worse or not. He turned, trying not to cry as he felt a hand on his shoulder.    “You must be Sam.” An older woman spoke to him. “I’m Haley, Riley’s mom. Thank you for coming, he spoke highly of you.”    “It’s an honor ma’am.” She looked at him for a moment before speaking again. “I knew you were going to get married when he left the force Sam, you don’t have to pretend he was just your coworker.” Sam shut his eyes and nodded slowly.    “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t know he told you about me.” He opened his eyes again before Haley pulled him into a hug. “If you need anything now that you’re stateside, you let me know okay?” It took everything he had in him not to start sobbing. “Let me introduce you to Riley’s best friend from High School, she left the Marines about 6 months ago…” His vision got blurry then as he struggled to breath. His vision went black before he awoke with a start.    He took a deep breath and looked around the room. He was home. He felt sweat clinging to his shirt as he pulled back the covers. He heard his phone hit the ground but he didn’t bother to grab it as he made his way to the bathroom. His eyes were puffy and his throat was sore but he hadn’t clawed himself in his sleep this time. He prayed he didn’t scream and wake the neighbors, the last thing he needed was another noise complaint from the Smith’s next door. He stretched and walked into the kitchen, glancing at the clock. 4 am. He sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get any more sleep that night. He filled his tea kettle and put it on the stove then jumped in surprise a few moments later when there was a knock on his door. Shit , he thought to himself. I woke them again.     He opened his door, ready to apologize, but raised his eyes in surprise when he saw who was at the door. “Steve. Hi… Wh-what are you doing here?”   “You managed to call me in your sleep. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”    “Shit, sorry. I um... I don’t know how I managed to do that.” Steve smiled.    “It’s okay, can I come in?” Sam nodded his head.    “Are you sure you’re okay being away from Bucky? I really am fine.”    “He was asleep when I left. And I left him a note in case he wakes up. He’s fine.” Sam led them to his kitchen and Steve took a seat at his counter.    “Would you like some tea?” Sam asked before Steve nodded his head. He grabbed two mugs from his cabinet before speaking again. “I’m sorry I woke you on a work night.”    “I was already awake Sam. It’s no big deal, I’m just glad your address was on your resume since you didn’t respond to my texts or calls.”    “Sorry.” Sam murmured as the kettle startled whistling. “I didn’t know you suffered from insomnia.” He remarked as he slid the mug of green tea to Steve’s hands.    “I have since I was 23, since Bucky was taken. I was hoping it would go away when he got back but it hasn’t.” Sam took a seat next to Steve and wrapped his hands around the warm mug.    “You still have a lot of reasons to be stressed, even though he’s back.” Steve took a drink and smiled.    “Less now that I have you. I don’t think I’ve told you enough Sam, but you’re doing an amazing job. I appreciate you so much.”    “Thanks Steve.”    “Do you want to tell me about your dream?” Sam stared at the liquid in front of him.    “I don’t want you to think I’m incapable of doing my job.” He replied eventually. Steve shook his head.    “Just because you have your own trauma, doesn’t mean you can’t do your job. I’ve only known you for a month and a half Sam, but I care about you.” He paused for a moment. “Who’s Riley?” Sam felt tears form at the back of his eyes as he tried to decide how to respond.    “My copilot while I was in the force. His plane got shot down when I was too sick to fly.”    “Hmm…” Steve took another drink. “But you were in love with him right?” Sam felt his face heating up.    “What- I… Please tell me you didn’t hear anything embarrassing.” Steve chuckled.   “No, you just repeated the phrase ‘Riley, I’m so sorry baby’ a few times. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.” Sam nodded, unable to look Steve in the eyes. “Look Sam, I’m not going to judge you for being gay or bisexual or whatever. But if you talk about the dream, you’ll probably feel better.” Sam took a deep breath.    “I have the same dream a lot, it’s been less frequent recently but it always starts with me and him. Happy. Living together, married. Then the scene will shift to some happy memories before I have to relive being told he got shot down and his funeral.” Steve nodded.   “After Bucky disappeared, I used to have the same dream nearly every night. He would walk through the front door like no time had passed at all. I was so happy until I woke up and I realized it wasn’t true.”    “Did you ever doubt that he was alive out there?”    “No, I always believed he would come home to us. I was pretty much the only one though. Even my mom lost faith eventually. She um… died of cancer two years ago.”    “I’m sorry.” Steve shook his head.    “It’s okay, why do you ask?” Sam bit his lip.    “Riley’s body was never found. They had him declared legally dead 3 months after his plane went down but I’ve never been able to move on. I always wonder if they’ll find him someday.”    “I’m sorry.”    “It’s okay. Thank you for listening. It’s… nice to be able to tell someone about him. I actually met my best friend at his funeral so I don’t like talking about him with her. It gets too sad for both of us. ”    “Anytime Sam. And I mean that.” He took a final sip of his tea. “I should head home, see you at 7:30?”  Sam walked him to his front door.    “See you at 7:30.”  “Hi I’m Tony Stark. This is our doctor, Pepper Potts.” Pepper reached out and shook Bucky’s hand.    “Bucky.” Tony turned and looked at Sam.    “What are you, his bodyguard?” Tony asked Sam, causing him to give him a half smile.    “Something like that.”    “I’m so sorry about him.” Pepper said, glaring at Tony. “He has no bedside manner.”    “That’s why I’m the robot guy and you’re the person guy. Girl. Whatever.” Pepper shook her head before focusing her attention on Bucky again.    “Can you go ahead and take your shirt off for me?” Pepper asked. Bucky nodded and removed his t-shirt. Tony’s eyes went wide after he pulled it over his head.    “Who did your amputation, a fifth grader?” He asked.    “Tony.” Pepper hissed but Bucky just smiled.    “A butcher and a vet tech who were part of a cult, actually.” Tony was taking notes on a clipboard but his hand stilled at the words.    “Are you Steve Roger's brother?” Bucky nodded causing Tony to smile. “He was an intern here during his master's program. One of the best finance interns we’re ever had. Let him know Tony says hey okay?”    “Okay.”    “Bucky.” Pepper started. “Could you let me know if you have any pain at your amputation site?”    “Yes, um… I take pain meds twice a day. Sam brought a list of my medications.”    “Okay, and do you have any loss of feeling?”    “In the middle, yeah.”    “Okay Bucky.” Pepper put on a pair of rubber gloves and took a step towards him. “I’m just going to check the injury and Tony will take some pictures and measurements. We’ll call you in a few days to let you know if you qualify for the surgery.”    “Thank you.” Bucky smiled.    ***    “So we only have an hour until we have to be at your nutritionists office. It would be inefficient to drive back to your place so do you want to go do anything?” Bucky rolled his eyes before opening the door to Sam’s car.    “Like what Sam?”    “We could get coffee… go to a bookstore. I don’t know man, I’ve known you for a month and a half and you’ve never left your apartment for something that wasn’t medical related.” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose.    “It’s not something you could possibly understand Sam.”    “Try me.”    “Because every time I go out in public, people stare at me. And I don’t know if they recognize me from the news or they just think I’m a freak with no arm. But they look at me with pity, like I’m this wounded animal. I just don’t see the point.”    “Okay. I disagree with you but I understand, we can just wait in the parking lot.”    You- you’re not going to force me to go?” Sam sighed and started the car.    “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’m not your brother. I’m not going to make you do something unless it’s medical related or something you absolutely have to do. I want you to make these decisions for yourself. But for the record, anyone who looks at you with pity is an idiot. Because you’re one of the strongest men I know.”    “Thank you Sam. I’m just kind of… waiting to hear if I qualify for the metal arm. I’m so sick of only having one I- the Stark tech could make me normal again. I tried a regular prosthetic when I first got back but… it had to be strapped across my other shoulder and I hated it.”    “I understand Bucky, I’m sorry.”    “God Sam. Why are you so damn easy to talk to?”    “Because I’m awesome.” Sam grinned, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. “Buckle up, can’t be late to our hour long wait in the parking lot.”    “Sam?”    “Yeah?”    “Maybe we can go to that coffee shop after all.” Sam smiled before adjusting his seat belt and putting his car in reverse.    “You got it Bucky.”    ***   “Hey Steve.” Sam greeted. “Bucky said this was your favorite kind of fancy coffee.” He said, handing the man a drink. Steve opened his mouth in surprise.    “You convinced him to go to a coffee shop?”    “I can hear you.” Bucky muttered from his seat. Sam smiled.    “It was that or being stuck in my car with me for an hour. It’s a pretty obvious choice. Here’s the notebook, I’ve highlighted all his meals so it’s easier for her to flip through this time.”    “You’re a rockstar Sam.” A few moments later, Steve and Bucky we’re called into the office. Bucky looked back at Sam before walking through the door, giving him a smile.    ***    Bucky chewed on his lip nervously. “Do you think they’re going to call me today?”   “Well.” Sam replied. “They said a few days, three days ago. So they’ll probably call you today or Monday.” Bucky groaned.    “But next week is Thanksgiving so they might be closed on Monday. And I’ll be spending the week with my extended family. The last thing I want is finding out if I qualify for the surgery while my cousins do everything they can to get on my nerves.” Sam chuckled.    “When was the last time you saw them?”    “Ten years ago. But they’ve been calling, texting.” He adjusted his seat on the couch. “Everyone wants to know about the guy who came back from the dead.”     “Well, if you need a distraction, you can text me any time. I’ll be in Louisiana, dealing with my sister’s judgmental boyfriend and my overprotective mom.”    “Really?” Bucky asked.    “Really. Here, give me your phone. I’ll add my number.” Bucky blushed and moved a few inches away from Sam.    “I kinda already have it. I stole it off Steve’s phone when he left it out. Um- I.” Bucky stammered, looking down at his lap.    “It’s cool Bucky. I should have given it to you ages ago in case we got separated or something. Then again you’re reluctant to go anywhere but still.” Bucky nodded.    “Yeah. Okay…” He looked at Sam’s laptop. “What are you working on?”    A few hours later, Bucky’s eyes went wide as his phone rang in his pocket. He took a deep breath before answering. “Hi… yes this is Bucky.” Sam closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table as Bucky stood up and started pacing. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, I understand. Th-thank you for your time.”       “Hey…” Bucky squeezed the phone before taking a breath.   “Don’t Sam. Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay.”   “Okay. Okay.” Sam stood up and took a step towards the other man. “What did they say?”   “There’s too much damage from the botched surgery. They said their technology won’t be advanced enough to consider me as a candidate for at least five years. Probably more.” He ran his hand through his hair and yanked on it angrily.    “Hey. No hurting yourself okay?” Bucky narrowed his eyes.    “God Sam. Just let me be destructive for one FUCKING MINUTE. Can’t you understand what I’m going through? I’m so angry all the time. I-” He curled his hand into a fist. “IT’S NOT FAIR.” Sam stared at him for a minute before grabbing a pillow off the couch and holding it in front of his stomach.    “Here. Hit me.”    “What?”    “You have pent up energy from being angry at your situation and never leaving this apartment. Hit it.”    “I don’t want to hurt you.”    “It’s thick. You won't.” Bucky took a deep breath and curled his hand into a fist again, punching the pillow. One. Two. Three times.    “Better?” Sam asked. Bucky nodded his head, his face back to it’s neutral expression. He ran his hand over the stubble on his left cheek.    “I’m sorry Sam. I was being a dick.”   “I forgive you. And you were only a little bit of a dick.” The corners of Bucky’s lips curled upwards. “Do you want a hug?” Sam asked. Bucky nodded, letting Sam wrap his arms around his shoulders. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s going to be okay.”    Later that afternoon Sam was grabbing his jacket, ready to head out the door after his daily meeting with Steve. Before he could reach for the door handle, Bucky walked over and planted himself in front of the other man. “Everything okay?” Sam asked. Bucky bit his lip and stuck his hand in his front pocket, looking down at his own feet.    “I just want to say I appreciate you and that I’ll miss you and that I hope you have a good Thanksgiving.” He said quickly before meeting Sam’s eyes. “Is it okay if we hug when I’m not having an episode?” Sam gave him a huge grin.    “Of course. And no watching that last Star Wars movie without me, you hear?” He said as he pulled Bucky in for a hug. “I’ll work on updating our list of must watch movies while I’m gone okay?”   “Okay” Bucky muttered when they let go.    “And text me any time, I mean it.” Bucky nodded. “I’ll be back before you know it.”    ***   “You should tell us more about your job.” Sarah said, her hands intertwined with her boyfriend’s. Sam adjusted his seat on her patio furniture.    “What do you want to know? There really isn’t much to it, like I’ve said before.”    “Are you sure it’s safe baby?” Darlene asked. “What if that cult comes after him while you’re working with him?”    “I’m fine Mom. Everyone involved in the kidnapping is being held without bond. The rest of the cult members are harmless, most of them didn’t even realize that the guys being held were there against their will.”    “Tell us about him.” Sarah said before glancing at her kids, who were jumping on a trampoline.    “He’s got a lot of issues but he’s a nice guy. Loves sci-fi, thinks his brother is overprotective. I don’t think- He’s still trying to learn to be a person I guess. He spends most of his time in bed or watching TV. I’m trying to get him to go out more but he’s really insecure about being an amputee.”    “How long has it been since he was rescued?” His mom asked.    “About three and a half months.” Shane scoffed and Sam did everything in his power not to roll his eyes. “What?”    “Nothing,” Shane stated. “I just think it’s weird that a grown man needs a babysitter.” Sam narrowed his eyes.    “He was held captive for almost a decade. He has severe PTSD and a physical disability. This job is also the best thing that could have happened to me after I got fired. I don’t really appreciate your judgement.”    “Sorry, I forgot you’re one of those people that leached off their family when they were too lazy to work for a year.” Sam narrowed his eyes again and stood up, his hands automatically making fists.    “I’m going to go for a walk.” He muttered, not listening to the protests of his mom and sister. He found himself at the docks a few minutes later. He took a deep breath and took a seat, running his hand over his facial hair. He pulled out his phone and pulled up Bucky’s text message thread.    How’s the family? He typed. His phone vibrated in response a few minutes later.    Suffocating. Can I call you? Texting isn’t my favorite. Sam smiled and hit the call button, Bucky picked up on the second ring.    “Hey Sam.”    “Hey Bucky, is Richmond growing on you yet?” Sam could feel the eye roll.    “It’s the same as I remember from before we moved when I was a kid. My family is also getting on my last nerves. You know how overprotective Steve is? My aunts are way worse.”    “It’s already Wednesday, at least you only have a few more days.”    “What about your family?” Sam sighed.    “My sister’s boyfriend was being a dick so I went on a walk to clear my head.”   “What did he do?”    “Said I leached off my family the year I was unable to work after I had to leave the force.”   “Jesus. He sounds awful.”    “This is only my second time meeting him. They’ve only been together for six months and I can’t say I’m impressed.” He heard background voices then before Bucky sighed.    “I’ve got to go Sam, my aunts are calling for me. They don’t seem to understand the fact that I want to be left alone. Good luck with the boyfriend.” Sam smiled.    “Bye Bucky, see you Monday.” He hung up and put his head in his hands. He didn’t want to face his family, not yet. He turned and looked behind him when he heard the boards behind him creek. “Sarah. What are you doing here?” She took a seat at the edge of the dock, next to him.    “I figured you would come over here.” He smiled.    “Reminds me of my childhood. Of Dad.” Sarah gave him a sad look.    “I miss him too. And I’m really sorry about Shane. I told him to leave. He’s gonna spend tomorrow with his family instead.” She sighed. “I told him if he- If he was going to treat a war hero like that then I didn’t want him in my life.” Sam shook his head.    “I’m not a war hero Sarah. I was just doing my job.”    “You saved lives. That’s a hero to me.” She pulled him into a hug. “I love you so much Sam.”    “I love you too.”   “Today is the first day of trial for the now well known cult leader Alexander Pierce. Four months ago, twelve previous missing men were found on a compound also housing an additional 50 members of the cult, Hydra. The FBI is bringing him into the courthouse now.” The woman on the TV screen spoke into a mic. Sam walked into the living room and placed a cup of water on the coffee table.    “Your doctors say you aren’t getting enough water. Drink.” Bucky grabbed the glass and took a few sips before replacing it. Sam glanced at the TV screen and gave Bucky a concerned look, thinking of the worry in Steve’s voice when he told him Bucky insisted on watching the trial coverage. His thoughts were brought back to the present when Alexander Pierce showed up on the screen, being walked toward the courthouse in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. Bucky’s breath hitched.    “Do you have anything to say to the nation before your trial?” One of the reporters asked. Pierce turned his head slightly before gazing into the camera.    “Hail Hydra.”   “Ready to comply.” Bucky immediately responded, as if on autopilot. His body stiffened as Sam reached for the remote. Before he could turn off the TV, Pierce spoke again.    “Kill yourselves.” Bucky immediately stood up and ran out the front door.    “Bucky!” Sam called after him, immediately following him as he ran up the apartment complex’s stairs. After running up eight flights of stairs, they made it to the roof. “Bucky.” Sam stated, trying to catch his breath as Bucky stood on the edge of the building. “Don’t do this. Don’t let them win.” He slowly moved to Bucky’s side. Sam felt panic cursing through his veins as Bucky took a few deep breaths and looked down. Before he could take the final two steps and jump, Sam forced himself between Bucky and the edge. Bucky gave him a confused look, as if trying to remember who he was.    “It’s Sam.” He put his hands on Bucky’s face. “I know you remember me. Deep down. You don’t want to do this.” Bucky’s face twisted in confusion before he shook his head and tried to step to the side. Sam grabbed the collar of his t-shirt. “Bucky. Look me in the eyes. You’re safe. Please.” He pleaded.    “I must comply.” He stated, before trying to detach himself from the other man. His heart hammering in his chest, Sam pulled Bucky into a hug. He tried not to think of the distance below him as he whispered into Bucky’s ear.    “If you jump I jump okay? You wouldn’t hurt me right? You aren’t a killer Bucky.” He brought a hand to Bucky’s hair. “I trust you.” He pulled back and looked Bucky in the eyes. “Please…” The robotic look in Bucky’s face started to disappear.    “S-Sam? Where ah where am I?” He looked down and took a deep breath, taking a few steps back. “I didn’t oh god I didn’t-” He started hyperventilating before he started speaking again. “I don’t want to die Sam. I don’t want to die. Oh my god.” Sam tightened the grip of the hug.    “It’s okay Bucky, it’s okay.”    “I don’t understand… they’re in my head. Oh god. They’re going to kill me Sam.” He started shaking. Sam walked him back a few steps and let himself fall to the ground as Bucky put all his weight on him. For the first time he noticed how cold he was, the December air giving him goosebumps. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.” Bucky continued to mutter to himself, tears pouring from his eyes. He laid his head on Sam’s chest as Sam reached for the phone in his back pocket. Once he found the contact and hit call, he ran a hand down Bucky’s back, trying not to focus on the way Bucky’s chest heaved with sobs.    “Sam.” Steve breathed. “I’m on my way, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”    “How-how did you know?”    “I was watching the trial while working. When I heard- I left as soon as possible.” He let out a shaky breath. “It should only be a few minutes. I called an ambulance, they should get there around the same time. I’ll meet you up there okay?”    “Okay, yeah.” Sam replied before leaning his head back, doing everything in his power not to cry. “You scared the shit out of me Bucky.” He muttered. Bucky took a few deep breaths and pulled himself off of Sam’s body, taking a seat next to him.    “You know I didn’t mean to, right? You know I would never- I would never put you in danger like that.” He wiped the tears on his cheeks with his hand.    “I know Barnes. I knew you would never hurt me.”    “You-you broke through the trance. Why-why would you risk your life for me?”    “I just told you why Bucky. I trust you.”    “Steve’s going to get me committed Sam. You have to tell them it wasn’t me. That Hydra put things in my head.” He paused before a look of fear passed through his eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” He started to shake again. “I need my phone. I need to check on them, they could have been watching the news too.” He stood up, causing Sam to follow him. He grabbed Bucky’s wrist before he made it to the stairs.    “Hey. Let’s take it easy Bucky. Okay? We’ll check on them soon, alright? We need to make sure you’re okay first.” At that moment, Sam heard footsteps on the stairs and dropped Bucky’s wrist as Steve appeared before them.    “Baby brother.” He choked out, pulling Bucky into a hug, tears streaming from his eyes.    “I didn’t mean to Steve. I swear. It was Hydra, they’re in my head.”    “I know Bucky, I was watching the trial.” He let his brother go before startling Sam by pulling him into a hug as well. “One of my neighbors called me while I was driving. They saw everything. Sam. I can never repay you for what you did. Thank you.” He let go and looked at the both of them. “You both must be freezing. Come on, let's go to the apartment and get your jackets before the ambulance gets here.”       “I don’t need an ambulance Steve.” Bucky muttered.    “Yes you do. Come on.”    ***    “I’ve been here for 2 hours, is the wrist restraint still necessary?” The CNA finished taking his blood pressure and took a few notes.    “You’ve been very cooperative. I’ll talk to my supervisor okay?”    “Thank you.” Sam told her from where he was seated. She flashed him a smile before heading out the door, nearly running into Steve on the way out.    “I brought you pudding.” He told Bucky, causing the other man to roll his eyes.    “If you think I’m going to let you or Sam spoon feed me pudding, feel free to just have someone kidnap me again.” Steve sighed.    “You shouldn’t say things like that. Besides, I’m sure they’ll remove the restraints soon.” He took a seat next to Sam. “You know you can leave if you want to.”    “Do you want me to?” Steve rubbed his eyes with his hands.    “No I don’t. I really don’t.” The nurse came in then and walked to Bucky’s side, removing the wrist restraint.    “I’ve heard you’ve been on your best behavior, thank you. One of the tech’s should be in here in a few minutes to take you for that head CT and then you’ll meet with one of our psychiatrists and our neurologist. I’m really sorry about the wait.” Bucky gave her a weak smile as she headed out the room.    “Any updates from your support group Steve?”    “We’re still trying to get a hold of a few family members, but 7 of them weren’t watching the news when it happened.”    “Support group?” Sam questioned.    “It’s a virtual Facebook group with family members of the 12 guys. We check in on each other, stuff like that.” Sam glanced at Bucky who had shut his eyes.    “Trey, the kid?”    “He’s fine. He was in school so he didn’t have access to the news. The FBI called, they’re pulling the footage from every news station so they can’t show it again. They’re probably going to come interview you soon.” Steve responded. He turned to Sam. “They’ll probably want to interview you too. Since you witnessed everything. You should also know that someone took a video of the incident and it’s being shared on the news.”   “My mother is going to kill me.” Sam muttered, refusing to look Steve in the eyes.    “Everyone is saying you’re a hero Sam. They’re right.” His phone rang again and he walked out the room before answering.    “You doing alright?” Sam asked softly. Bucky opened his eyes and nodded his head.    “I hate hospitals. But I’m okay. Thank you for staying.” Sam smiled.    “Of course.” Steve walked back in, a sad look in his eyes.    “What is it Steve? Who was that?” Steve sat down and grabbed his brother’s hand.    “It can wait until we’re done with the hospital okay?” Bucky’s eyes started watering.    “Just tell me Steve. How many?”    “Twelve cult members attempted. Eight succeeded. Including you, four of the imprisoned attempted. Two succeeded. I’m sorry Bucky.”    “Who?”   “Michael and William.” Bucky nodded his head and closed his eyes, his breath quickening.    “Bucky?” Sam asked, moving to a standing position.    “I’m fi-fine.” Bucky choked out. “I’m not having a panic attack.” A knock on the door drew Sam’s attention away from the hospital bed. A young man in brown scrubs entered and introduced himself, saying he was the one who would be taking Bucky for his head CT.    “Can I go with him?” Steve asked immediately.    “Sorry.” He gave a warm smile. “But you can stay here, we’ll be back before you know it.”    “I’m okay Stevie.” Bucky said before he was wheeled away. Sam noticed tears in Steve’s eyes.    “Are you okay Steve?” Sam asked, sitting down again. The other man shook his head.    “He only calls me Stevie when he knows I’m really stressed or upset.”   “You are really stressed Steve but it’ll be okay. No more live TV and we’ll be really careful when he goes out into public.”    “Do you think they’ll try to do it again Sam?”    “I don’t know Steve. I don’t know.” Another knock on the door caused both men to look up. A young blond woman in a pantsuit was at the door.    “Hi, I’m looking for James Barnes. I’m with the FBI.”    “Sharon right?” Steve asked. “I’m his brother, we met once right after he was rescued.He’s getting a brain scan right now”    “Oh perfect, I need to speak to you as well.” She glanced at Sam. “Are you the one from the video?” Sam nodded. “Perfect, can I ask you some questions?” Steve and Sam nodded their heads. She pulled out a recorder. “Okay Sam, could you just explain to me what happened.”    “We were sitting on the couch watching the trial coverage. Alexander Pierce came on screen and he said ‘hail hydra’. Bucky responded ‘ready to comply’ but it’s like it wasn’t him.” Sam waved his hand in the air. “It’s like he was a robot, like he was on autopilot. Then he said the words-”    “What words?” Sharon interrupted.    “You know what words.”    “I’m sorry Sam I need you to say them for the tape.” Sam took a deep breath.    “He said ‘kill yourselves’ and Bucky sprinted out the door. I chased him to the roof of the apartment. He was standing on the edge looking down. I approached him and uh- tried to talk to him. I wasn’t getting through to him so I moved between him and the edge. He kept trying to sidestep me so I pulled him into a hug and I said some things and then the robotic look started to leave and he came back. Freaking out about how he didn’t want to die. “    “What did you say to him?”   “Does it matter?” Sam muttered before Sharon shot him an exasperated look. “I said ‘if you jump I jump’ and that I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.” Sharon smiled at him.   “I’m sorry, what’s your relationship with James?”   “I’m his caregiver. I work for him, well, Steve technically. I watch him during the day. I make sure he takes his meds and drive him to doctors appointments. Stuff like that.”    “Okay. Steve was he showing any signs of suicidal ideation the past few months?”   “What? No. Clearly this was Hydra. You heard what Sam said. He’s getting better- He’s been doing really well the past month.”    “I’m sorry Steve, it’s just a routine question. That’s all I have. I’ll wait outside until James gets here.” Steve put his head in his hands.    “You alright man?” Sam asked.    “I think it’s really hitting me. They tried to kill him. They brainwashed him and tried to kill him after holding him captive for 9 years. Like he hadn’t suffered enough.”    “I know Steve. I’m-”    “Thank you Sam.” Steve raised his head and looked Sam in the eyes. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”   “I was just doing my job.”    “That’s not true and you know it.” Sam gave him a small smile.    “I couldn’t lose someone on my watch Steve. I couldn’t-” He took a shaky breath. “I care about him. I couldn’t lose him.” “Can you please tell me everything you remember from the incident Mr. Barnes?” Sharon asked. Bucky nodded his head.    “I was watching the trial. Sam brought me a cup of water and then I saw Pierce being brought to the courthouse. Then he said the words and I-”    “What words James?”    “It’s Bucky, please. He said ‘Hail Hydra’ and all of a sudden it’s like I was in a trance. Like I was really, really drunk. And then… and then everything was fuzzy until I heard Sam’s voice. At first it was really distant and then…” He looked down. “I felt this warm feeling on my chest and arm, like someone was hugging me to keep me warm. Eventually Sam’s face came into view and I realized where I was so I took a few steps back. Started freaking out. I don’t want to die, you have to believe me. I-” A tear fell from his eye.    “We believe you Bucky, it’s okay.” Sharon pocketed her recorder before speaking again. “I’m really sorry this happened to you. We’ll be in touch. Steve can I speak with you outside?” Steve nodded and followed her outside the room.    “How are you doing?” Sam asked him. “Be honest with me.”    “Not good Sam. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m-I’m scared. I don’t want to die anymore.”    “Hey. Hey.” Sam scooted his chair closer to Bucky’s bed. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you alright?”    “I can’t stop thinking about Michael and William. Everything hurts. I haven’t felt this way since… since they killed Dean. My heart just…”    “I’m so sorry Bucky. What can I do to help?”    “Can I ask you more random questions?” Sam gave him a smile. “You know it’s my favorite coping method.”    “Yeah of course.”    “Is Natasha your girlfriend?” Sam stilled in surprise but shook his head.    “No. She’s my best friend who I adore. But I’ve never had feelings for her or anything.”    “Hmm… why did you decide to join the military?”    “My parent’s business started struggling. They couldn’t really afford to help me and my sister with tuition and she was supposed to start school in a year. I didn’t want to be a burden on them and the thought of taking out loans or paying myself terrified me. I met a recruiter at the mall and they convinced me it would change my life.” He tried not to frown. “I guess it did.” Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.    “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”    “It’s okay Bucky. Did you plan on going to college?” Bucky smiled.    “I was gonna be an art major. I had nearly a full ride and everything, based on my portfolio.” Bucky gave him a tiny smile.     “I didn’t know you did art.” Sam replied in surprise. “You should show me some of your work sometime.”    “I haven’t made anything since I got back. I’m scared I won’t be any good... It’s been so long.”    “Something from high school then.” Bucky nodded.    “Fine. Why do you always end up asking me questions when I want to ask you questions?” Bucky asked him.    “Sorry. But I like knowing things about you.” Sam responded with a smile.    “I feel the same way Sam.”    ***    “I’m really sorry about how long the wait was. My name is Dr. Simmons, this is Dr. Fitz. I’m a psychiatrist and he’s a neurologist.” The young woman shook Steve’s hand.    “I took a look at your scans Bucky, your brain seems perfectly fine. No tumors or anything. This case is a bit out of my usual area of expertise but I believe you were subjected to an extreme case of hypnosis. If you start experiencing any headaches or nausea, please let me know. I have to run and clip an aneurysm. Bye.” He squeezed Simmons hand before running out the room.    “Okay Bucky.” Simmons started. “I spoke with the nurses who told me everything. No suicidal thoughts once you were no longer in the trance?”    “None.” Bucky answered. “I swear.”    “Okay, I trust you to go home on your own but if you have any suicidal thoughts I want you to check into a mental hospital right away. I’m also going to give you a referral to a specialist who will hopefully be able to help reverse the hypnosis. You can leave whenever you’re ready. Here’s her contact information.”    “Thank you.” Bucky and Steve said, nearly in unison, causing Sam to smile.    ***   “Go back to work Steve. I’m fine.” Bucky muttered from where he was laying on the couch. Steve ran a hand through his hair.    “You almost died. My boss is very understanding of my situation. You know that.”    “I don’t want your career to suffer because of me. And Sam is here. I’ll tell him to call you if I need you.”    “Okay. Okay.” He stood up and pulled Bucky into a standing position, giving him a hug. “I love you. Call me anytime.” He walked towards the front door and stopped in the kitchen where Sam was standing. “Keep me posted, okay?” He asked before pulling Sam into a hug as well before grabbing his coat and heading out the door. Sam moved to the living room.    “Feeling okay?”    “Yeah. Yeah.” He sighed. “I want to watch the trial Sam.”    “I’m sorry Bucky. They’ve delayed the trial because of what happened. They have to decide if they can charge him with the deaths today.” A sad look crossed Bucky’s face before he could respond.    “Ri-Right. That makes sense I guess.” He leaned his head back into the couch, his eyes watering again. Sam took a seat next to him. “I hate him Sam. I hate him so much.” Sam put his hand on Bucky’s knee.    “I know Bucky, I know.”    ***   “Samuel Wilson. I should not find out major news about my son from the national news.” Sam tightened the grip on his phone.    “National news?”    “Yes Sam. I saw a video of you on the edge of a building . And you didn’t even call me.” Sam unlocked the door of his apartment, tossing his backpack on the floor.   “I’m sorry Ma. I- I’ve had a very long day.”    “Okay. Is your boy alright? I heard about all the deaths, it’s so awful.”    “He’s fine. Two of the guys he was held captive with died so he’s really upset. He- He’s scared too. He’s scared they’re going to try to use the brainwashing on him again.”   “I’m sorry Sam. But you can’t risk your life for someone you barely know. You could have died sweetheart.”    “I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t lose someone I was supposed to protect.”    “Oh baby, this is about Riley isn’t it?” Sam took a seat on his couch and rubbed at his eyes.    “Of course it’s not about him. He’s- There’s nothing I could have done. I was sick and I couldn’t fly. End of story.”    “Love makes us think irrationally. You’ve never said it Sam but you lived with me for over a year. I know a widow when I see one.” Sam took a deep breath.    “Mom I- I’m not…”    “I’m never going to judge you for who you love, baby. Because I love you. And you deserve to be happy.”   Thanks I- I’m sorry I never told you.”    “It’s okay. But that doesn’t mean you can go jumping off buildings or anything.” Sam smiled before he heard a knock on his door.    “I’ve got to go Mom. Someone’s at the door. I love you.”    “I love you too.” Sam moved to the door and looked out the peephole, opening it immediately when he saw who it was.    “Sam. You fucking asshole.” Natasha whispered with tears in her eyes. Sam pulled her into a hug.    “The news?”    “Yeah. I came as soon as I saw.”    “My mom already chewed me out if that makes you feel better.” Natasha laughed, pulling back from his arms.    “You want some dinner loser? I’ll pay. Or maybe we’ll get a free meal since everyone is calling you a hero.” Sam shook his head.    “God. Please tell me they aren’t saying anything else.”    “They… They’re assuming you’re his boyfriend or lover or something.”    “Wh-What?” Sam took a step back. “Why would they think that?”    “Because most people wouldn’t risk their life for someone they didn’t love.” Sam smiled.    “Yeah well... I don’t like losing people on my watch.”       “Hi, welcome to Dr. Leslie’s office. My name is Emily. You must be Bucky right?” The young blond woman spoke from behind the desk. “Oh my god.” She stared at Sam. “You two are from the news. I saw the way you stopped him from jumping. It was so romantic.” She sighed. “You two are such a cute couple.” Bucky blushed.    “I’m just his friend.” Sam told her. She smiled.    “You can take a seat and the doctor will be out shortly. And Bucky…” She scribbled something on a post it note. “You’re really cute, if you want to grab a drink sometime, here’s my number. I totally dig amputees.” She winked at him causing Sam to clench his fists, feeling protective.    “I- Uh...um. Thank- Thanks. Thank you.” Bucky stammered. “I’m uh- I’m going to go take a seat now.” He turned towards Sam and walked with him to the wall lined with chairs. “That’s totally unprofessional right?” Bucky asked after they sat down.    “What is?”   “Her asking me out while at work.”    “A lot has changed in 10 years Bucky.”    “Yeah okay.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I’d ever want to go out with someone who has a ‘thing’ for amputees. Super weird right?”   “Yeah. Just… Be careful if you decide to date again.” Bucky scoffed.    “I can’t even remember to eat if I’m left alone. I don’t think I’d make a very good boyfriend.” He glanced at her again. “Besides she’s uhhh. She’s not my type.” He flushed again and ran his hand through his hair. An older woman opened the door, holding a clipboard.   “Mr. Barnes?” Bucky stood up.    “Is it okay if Sam comes in with me? I’m um- I have issues with strangers.” The woman smiled.    “Of course, follow me. I always welcome family members and…” She glanced back at Sam. “Loved ones to be involved.” She led them to a private room. “Go ahead and take a seat. So…” She glanced down at her clipboard. “I had Dr. Simmons send me your medical history. And you had these hypnosis sessions the entire 9 years you were held captive?” Bucky nodded his head.    “Except for the first few months, yes.”    “Okay. So I specialize in working with people who have been brainwashed, although a case as intense as yours is a first for me. I use electrical waves on the brain and a mild form of hypnosis to undo what they did.”    “When you say electrical waves, do you mean electroshock therapy?” Sam asked her. She shook her head.    “No, no. These are very mild and can barely be felt. In some cases, I will have to do one final shock that is a lot more intense but like I said, it will only be once at the end of our time together. Now the fastest way to remove the brainwashing is by you coming for sessions every day for a few weeks. Most of my clients take about two weeks but I want to plan for 3-4 weeks with you. Do you have any questions?” Bucky shook his head. “Okay, I have some paperwork for you and then we can find a time that works with your schedule.”    “Thank you.” Bucky smiled. “Thank you so much.”    ***    “Hey Sam?” Bucky asked after he took a seat in Sam’s car.    “Yeah?”   “I’m sorry people keep assuming you’re my boyfriend.” Sam shook his head.    “It’s fine Bucky. I’m a very touchy-feely type person so I can see why they assumed that based on my actions. I’m not upset by it or anything.” He started the car and waited a few moments before speaking again. “How are you feeling about the treatment?”    “Okay I guess. I’m glad it’ll probably take less than a month but I’m not looking forward to having to go in every day. I don’t know.” He sighed and looked out the window. “I’m just so sick of being scared of them you know?”    “Yeah, I know.” He buckled his seatbelt.  “But they’re never going to touch you again. Never going to hurt you again. Not on my watch.” Bucky looked up and smiled at him.    “You’re a good man Sam. I’m lucky to have you. I don’t think I would be doing so well if it wasn’t for you.”    “Sap.” Sam grinned at him, causing Bucky to roll his eyes. “You know we’re about 30 minutes from your apartment, do you want to grab lunch before we head back?”    “You’re being sneaky Sam.”    “C’mon. We worked our way up to coffee shops, next is restaurants. It’ll be fun.” Bucky thought it over for a few minutes before responding.    “Fine but I get to pick the place.” Sam put the car in reverse.    “You got it.”    ***   “He ate at a restaurant. A sit down restaurant?” Steve asked him in surprise. “That's amazing Sam, wow. I thought it would be months until we got to this point.” Sam smiled.    “He’s really trying Steve. He’s not happy about needing to go to Dr. Leslie’s every day but I think he’s happy it’s only going to take a month.”   “Yeah.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll sleep a lot easier at night once all this stuff is out of his head.”   “It’ll be okay Steve.”    “I know. I know.” He sighed. “Thank you Sam, I think that’s it for today.”   “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He went to grab his backpack before popping his head into Bucky’s room. “Bye Bucky.”    ***   “Okay, just lay back Bucky.” Dr. Leslie said, putting a pair of rubber gloves on. “I’m going to attach these electrode wires to your forehead okay?” She moved to attach the wires with electrode pads. “I’m going to turn them on in a moment and you’ll feel a tingling sensation. I’ll also put these headphones on you.” Bucky’s eyes widened.    “Wha- What’s going to be playing?”    “Just some white noise and my voice. It will help undo the previous hypnosis. Okay?” Bucky took a few deep breaths.    “Okay.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sam?” He asked.    “You alright?”    “Yeah. Just… Will you hold my hand? Please.”   “Of course.” Sam moved his chair closer to where Bucky was laying down and grabbed his hand. “You’re alright. You’re gonna be alright.” Bucky nodded his head and Dr. Leslie placed a pair of large over the ear headphones on him.    “Okay, I’ll turn on the electrodes and then the headphones. Like I said, it should just be a tingling sensation. There shouldn’t be any pain so let me know if you feel uncomfortable.” She moved to the machine next to the bed and flipped a switch. “This therapy works best if you relax so do the best you can to focus on my voice.” She flipped another switch and Bucky tightened the grip of Sam’s hand. Dr. Leslie went to dim the lights and took a seat next to Sam.   Bucky had unclenched his eyes but they still remained closed. Sam could see him working to unclench his jaw as Sam ran his thumb across his wrist in soothing circles. Sam tilted his head in confusion as he noticed something for the very first time.    Bucky was beautiful .    As much time as they spent together, Sam never really looked at the other man. But the dim light highlighted his features in such a way that Sam could see why Bucky was such a ladies man in high school, according to Steve. Sam tried to shake the thoughts from his head, knowing they were inappropriate. He decided to stare at the ground, avoiding how peaceful Bucky looked in that moment.   ***   “I don’t know what to do Nat.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing and taking a shot.    “You don’t need to do anything Sam. You recognized that someone was attractive, big deal.” She replied from next to him at the bar.     “He’s- It’s my job to take care of him.” Sam hissed causing Natasha to roll her eyes.    “Do you have feelings for him? Romantic ‘I want to kiss you and take you on dates’ feelings?” Sam thought about it.    “No, definitely not.”    “Then it’s not inappropriate Sam. And even if you did have those feelings, it would probably just be reverse transference or something. It’s okay.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. “You’re okay.” He nodded.    “Thank you. I don’t know why I got so freaked out.” Natasha smiled at him.    “Because you care. And you haven’t been on a real date since I met you.”    “Probably because you met me at my dead fiance’s funeral.” Nat rolled her eyes at him.    “Funny.” He grinned at her.    “Thanks.” Natasha played with the straw in her drink.   “He would want you to be happy you know, move on and meet someone else. Get married, white picket fence and all that shit he always talked about.” Sam looked down at his hands.    “I know Natasha. I just can’t help but think about the tiny chance of them finding him alive. And him coming home expecting me to be here for him and I’m with someone else? I would be a terrible person.” Nat waited for him to meet his eyes.    “They said the chances of that happening are less than 1% Sam. You need to start looking.” Sam smiled at her.    “Not in the next two weeks, then I’d have to get them a Christmas present.” She rolled her eyes.    “You’re such a dork.”    ***    “And how long do you think it will last?” Bucky winced as the person on the phone responded to him. He took a seat next to Sam before muttering his thanks and hanging up.    “That the Doctor?’ Sam asked in a whisper. Bucky shook his head slightly.    “Emily. She said that it’s not uncommon to get severe headaches and they can last anywhere from 15 minutes to three hours.” He gritted his teeth. “I feel like a little warning would have been nice and considering this was my 4th session, they had plenty of time to remember to tell me.”   “You could take your afternoon pain meds early, I don’t think that would be the end of the world.”  Bucky leaned his head back against the couch cushion.    “They’re slow release, it usually takes at least an hour for them to kick in anyway. I took some ibuprofen so I’m hoping that helps.” He turned his head towards Sam so he could look at him. “It’s just a headache, I’ll be fine.” Sam smiled and moved his hands towards Bucky’s face.    “Can I?” Bucky nodded, sitting up straight again. Sam put two fingers on each of his temples and rubbed small circles for a few moments. “This okay? He asked.   “Amazing.” Bucky breathed, leaning into the touch. “God you’re amazing.” Sam felt heat rising to his cheeks at the compliment and noticed Bucky’s cheeks reddening. “Um… I should. I’m gonna…” Sam removed his hands from Bucky’s face. “I’m gonna go lay down.” Bucky whispered before jumping up and heading to his room. Sam put his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths before he grabbed his textbook and forced himself to focus.    An hour later, he got up when the afternoon medication alarm went off and knocked on Bucky’s door. “Hey Bucky? You need to take your meds.”    “You can come in.” Bucky was sitting at his bed, looking at his phone. He took the pill and swallowed the water. “Thank you Sam.”    “Of course.” He turned to walk out the door before turning and looking at Bucky again. “We’re good right?” Bucky looked up and smiled at him.    “Why wouldn’t we be?” “Have you made your plans for Christmas yet?” Bucky asked fiddling with his seatbelt.    “Flying back to Louisiana to spend it with my family. My sisters got these two little boys and seeing how excited they are on Christmas morning makes me really happy. I always get them something really awesome so they think I’m like… the super cool uncle.” Bucky laughed.    “What are you gonna get them this year?”   “A lego set or a drone, my sister might kill me if I get them a drone but I think it’s way cooler.”    “You should do it then.”    “You think?” Sam asked as he switched lanes.    “You only get to be a kid once.” He looked out the window. “I wish I would have appreciated my childhood more.” Sam glanced at him and gave him a small smile before turning back to the road.    “What about you and Steve?”   “Christmas Eve dinner with Steve’s dad and then we’re gonna spend Christmas watching all the holiday movies I missed while I was gone. I’m excited, I mean- I prefer spending time with just Steve to large family gatherings.” Sam smiled.    “Steve’s a good man.”    “Yeah he’s… the only one who really believes in me you know? He never gave up looking for me. He- He’s the only one who believes I’ll fully recover. My family loves me but I can tell they don’t think I’ll ever be normal again.”   “I’m sorry.”    “It’s okay. Like I said, they still love me.”   “Hey Bucky.” Sam parked and looked him in the eyes. “I believe in you too.”    ***    Hey Sam!” Bucky smiled at him as he sat down at the kitchen table. “Steve made pancakes.”    “I thought you hated pancakes?” Sam asked as Bucky slid him a plate.     “I was craving them all weekend. It’s weird.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders.    “That’s great Bucky. That’s really great.”    “Yeah?”    “Yeah. I think that’s a really good sign. You’ve been getting sick less and less too.” Bucky smiled at him before taking a bite.    “We put up the tree over the weekend. It looks nice right?”    “It looks great.” Sam finished buttering his pancakes and moved to the syrup.   “Christmas was my favorite holiday as a kid.” Bucky mentioned. Steve’s door opened and he walked over to where Bucky was sitting.    “Have a good day guys. Sorry I can’t eat breakfast with you, I have to meet with one of my interns before work starts.” He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Bucky from behind. “I love you.”    “I love you too.” Steve moved to the front door and shrugged on his jacket before heading out. “Can we go somewhere today?” Bucky asked once he left. “Somewhere besides the doctors office.”    “Of course.” Sam replied in between bites. “Where do you want to go?”    “There’s a bookstore two blocks from here, I want to go get Steve a gift.” Sam smiled.    “Any idea what you want to get him?” Bucky sighed.    “He’s always been hard to shop for, even when I was a teenager. He loves music though so I might get him something related to that.” He sighed. “Not that I know anything about what music has been popular for the past nine years.”   “That’s why you’ve got me.” Sam grinned at him.    ***    “He still uses CD’s? Seriously?” Sam asked as he walked down one of the music isles.    “In the car yeah. He insists and I don’t know why.” He paused. “He’s always been an old man on the inside though.”     “Does he play any instruments?”    “The drums. He has a set in his bedroom but he doesn’t play very much. He um- he played in the marching band in high school too.”    “We can go to that music store across town if you don’t find anything.” Bucky glanced up from the stack of CD’s he was looking at.    “Thanks Sam.” He grabbed a book about the history of rock and roll and flipped through it.    “James?” An unknown voice came from behind Sam. “Oh my god.” Bucky stilled before he walked up to the man.    “Oliver. Hi. Um- how… how are you?”    “I’m good. Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out. I- I didn’t think Steve would be happy to hear from me so I’ve been waiting for you to come back on social media.” Bucky looked down.    “Yeah I haven’t gotten the courage to be back online yet. I’m um- I’m sorry about everything that happened with the police blaming you.”    “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” He looked over Bucky’s shoulder at Sam. “I’m sorry, I’m Oliver.” He moved to shake his hand.    “Sam. Nice to meet you.”    “How do you know Bucky? I don’t recognize you from high school.”    “Sam’s my um-“ Bucky started.    “I’m his bodyguard.” Sam interrupted, flashing a smile.    “Oh damn, I didn’t realize it was that bad.”    “We just want to be on the safe side until the trial is over.” Sam replied. Oliver turned back to Bucky.    “I should go, I’m supposed to meet my wife for lunch in a few minutes.”     “I never imagined you being the marrying type Ollie.”    “I’ve got 3 kids too. White picket fence and all that shit I used to hate. I named one of them James.”    “Wh-What?”    “I thought you were dead. And I thought it would be a nice way to honor you.” Bucky smiled slightly.    “That’s very sweet.” Oliver grinned.    “Can I have your number? My wife and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime.”    “Sure.” Bucky replied before grabbing the phone and typing into it. “I wouldn’t want to make things uncomfortable for your family though. I feel terrible for everything that happened to you.”    “Water under the bridge. I gotta go but you look good James. I love the long hair.” He pulled Bucky into a hug before leaving.    “Friend from high school?” Sam asked. Bucky looked at the ground and Sam noticed tears in his eyes.    “Ex-boyfriend. We were together when I was abducted… Thanks for saying you were my bodyguard.” Sam put his hand on Bucky’s arm.    “Of course. Are you okay?” Bucky nodded.    “I think I want to go home.”   ***    “We can talk about it if you want.” Sam said. Bucky wiped a tear from his cheek.    “Does it bother you?”    “Does what bother me?”    “Me being gay.” Bucky leaned his head back against the couch cushions.   “No, no of course not. I’m just worried about you.” Sam looked over at the other man. “How long were you together?”    “A year and a half. But it’s complicated... Was complicated.”    “How so?”    “Neither of us were out of the closet. So no one knew we were dating. Until I disappeared and all my secrets weren’t secrets anymore. And the police were convinced Ollie killed me for awhile. A few of my family and friends too. When I found that out… I should have contacted him I guess.”    “You’re still adjusting to being back in society. I’m sure he understands that.”    “Thanks.” He moved to look at Sam. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so emotional about this.”    “Because running into your ex is always emotional.” Bucky gave him a tiny smile. “I’m sorry you got outed.” Bucky shrugged.    “I was presumed dead so I guess it’s not the end of the world.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments. “I just wish I would have told them before everything happened, my mom and Steve. It seems so stupid now, you know? I was so scared they would hate me.”    “You were 18, it’s understandable.” Bucky’s eyes started watering again.    “She died thinking I didn’t trust her enough to tell her. Steve and I were so close and I never had the courage to tell him. It just sucks.”    “I’m sorry. You deserved to do it on your own time.” Bucky bit his lip.    “Thanks Sam.”    ***   “I think I’m going to get him these.” Bucky said before Sam ran a finger over the drumsticks engraved with music notes.    “They’re really cool.” Bucky smiled at him.    “Really?”    “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll love them.” Sam walked with him to the front counter.    “Have you decided what to get your nephews for Christmas yet?” Bucky asked as he handed over the cash to the older gentleman behind the counter.    “I’m going with the drone. The one I got has a camera built into it and everything. I’m just praying they don’t crash it into the ocean.” Bucky laughed before thanking the employee and grabbing his change.    “That wouldn’t be good.” They walked out to Sam’s car. “Hey Sam?”    “Yeah?”    “Thank you for bringing me here.”    “Of course.”   “I know it’s your job but I really like spending time with you.”   ***   Sam knocked on the door after realizing he forgot his key. Steve opened and smiled when he saw Sam. “Sorry, I forgot my key.”    “It’s okay, sorry I didn’t have your check ready for you on Friday. Your flight leaves this afternoon?” Sam nodded. “Come on in, I’ll grab it for you.” Sam followed him inside.    “Here Steve.” He handed him a wrapped package. “Merry Christmas.”    “Thanks Sam, that’s so thoughtful of you.” He smiled. “Can I open in it now?” Sam laughed.    “If you want.” Steve unwrapped the paper quickly. “It’s Trouble Man by Marvin Gaye. Bucky told me you still insist on listening to CD’s in the car so I thought you could use some variety.” Steve hugged him.    “Thanks man.” He grabbed something off the counter. “Here’s your December check. Thanks for everything this year. I’m so thankful for you.” Sam pulled out his wallet and went to put the check in the main fold.    “Hey Steve, I think your math is off since I’m not working again until January.”    “It’s not.” Steve smiled. “Merry Christmas Sam.”   “Wow. Thanks- thank you. Is Bucky in his room? I wanted to say goodbye.”    “Yeah. Have a good flight, I’ll be in my room.”    “See you Steve.” Sam moved to Bucky’s door and knocked slightly. Bucky opened the door in sweatpants and no shirt.    “Shit sorry, I thought you were Steve.” He moved to grab a shirt off his bed and put it on. “I thought you were coming later.” He blushed.    “I’ve seen you shirtless before Bucky, it’s okay.” Sam smiled at him. “I just wanted to give you this. Merry Christmas.” Bucky and Sam moved to sit on his bed. Bucky ripped the paper and ran his hand over the calendar when he was done.    “I know you said Van Gogh was one of your favorite artists.”    “Each month is a different one of his paintings. Wow Sam… I love it. Thank you so much.” He gave Sam a genuine smile. “I um- I got you something but the wrapping looks really bad. It’s kind of difficult to do with one hand.” He stood up and went to his desk, placing a small wrapped item in Sam’s hand.    “It doesn’t look that bad.” Bucky rolled his eyes and sat down again. Sam tore the paper carefully and pulled the keychain out, staring at the wooden falcon.    “I know you said how much you miss flying and how your plane was nicknamed The Falcon. I thought… I thought it might remind you of the good times in the sky.” Sam reached out and pulled Bucky into a hug.    “This is one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever given me. Thank you.” Bucky tightened his grip around Sam’s back.    “I’ll miss you Sam.  “Okay Bucky. I know you’re nervous but I need you to take a deep breath and relax.” Dr. Leslie said as she put a pair of rubber gloves on. “I’m just going to inject you with this serum and play the audio tape. Then we’ll do the session just like normal.”    “Do you… Do you have to play the tape?.” He looked down at his lap and took a few deep breaths. “Are you sure I can’t get better on my own?”    “I know you’re frustrated but this should be that final piece we’re missing. I’ve been speaking to a Doctor in New York who’s working with some of the former cult members and he said the results were incredible. We won’t let anything happen to you okay?” Bucky bit his lip and looked up, giving Sam a terrified look.    “Could we have the room for a few minutes?” Sam asked. She nodded her head and left the room.    “I’m scared Sam.”    “I know.”   “What if I try to hurt myself after hearing his voice? What if I never snap out of the trance?” His eyes started to water.   “Hey.” He reached out and grabbed Bucky’s hand. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. I broke you out of the trance before and worst case scenario I can do it again.” Bucky gave him a half hearted smile.   “Okay.”    “And we only have to do this 3 or 4 times before it’ll all be out of your head.” Bucky nodded.    “I’m ready.” Sam opened the door and found Dr. Leslie. She walked back in the room and put a new pair of gloves on. Bucky reached for Sam’s hand as she grabbed a syringe.    “You should just feel a slight poke and you’ll be done.” She pushed the serum into his arm and grabbed the recorder. Bucky laid down then squeezed Sam’s hand as she hit play.    “Hail Hydra.” Alexander Pierce’s voice came through the speakers.    “Ready to comply.” Bucky stated, his robotic expression taking over the fear on his face. He let go of Sam’s hand.    “I’m going to place the wires on your forehead now okay?” She moved to brush his hair back behind his ears. He gave her a confused look.    “Hail Hydra.” He stated. “Ready to comply.”    “Okay. I-I’m going to place these headphones on you now and dim the lights. Just try to focus on my voice, like before.” She placed the headphones on him and moved to dim the lights. Bucky laid perfectly still, his eyes wide open. Sam felt anxiety pooling in his chest as he watched Bucky’s face.     “Will he still be in the trance when the treatment is over?” Sam asked.    “He shouldn’t. The serum shortens how long he stays under mind control. He should snap out of it right before the session ends.” Fifteen minutes later, the machine next to Bucky’s bed dinged. Dr. Leslie moved to take the headphones and wires off Bucky’s face. “Are you with us Mr. Barnes?” She asked. He sat up and cocked his head.    “Ready to comply.” Sam took a deep breath.    “I thought you said he’d be fine.”    “Let’s give him a few minutes.” She grabbed her clipboard and looked at her notes. “I’m going to call Dr. Smith. Can you keep an eye on him and come get me if he goes back to normal?” Sam nodded, gritting his teeth.    “This was a terrible idea.” He muttered after the Doctor left the room. Bucky looked at him with blank eyes.    “Awaiting instructions.” Sam sat with him in silence for a few minutes before he grabbed Bucky’s hand.    “I’m sorry this is happening to you Bucky.” He ran his thumb across the other man’s. “You deserve so much better.” Bucky blinked a few times. “Can you hear me?” Sam asked. “It’s me. It’s Sam.” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the blank look was gone.    “Sam?”  He whispered. Sam pulled him into a hug.    “You did good. You did really good.” Sam whispered into his ear. “Come on, let’s go let her know that you’re okay.”    ***    “Hail Hydra.” The voice played on the recorder. Bucky looked confused for a few moments.    “R-Ready to comply.” He said. Instead of a robotic look, his face continued to look confused.    “Alright. I’m going to place these on your forehead and put the headphones over your ears.” He tilted his head but allowed her to maneuver him. After she dimmed the lights and took a seat next to Sam, she spoke again. “His hesitation was a really good sign. We skipped the serum today but I’m almost positive he’ll snap out of it quickly.” Sam nodded his head.    “Good. Good.” Five minutes later, Bucky took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered closed. Dr. Leslie smiled and wrote something on her clipboard. Ten minutes later, the machine dinged and Bucky sat up. Dr. Leslie removed the wires and the headphones.    “How are you feeling?” She asked. Bucky nodded his head.    “Okay. It wasn’t so fuzzy this time. I felt like I could almost come out of it.”    “That’s great Bucky.” She replied. “Tomorrow we’ll have the final stage of treatment and I think you’ll be done.” Bucky looked down.    “The electroshock?” His voice wavered.    “You’ll only have to do it once. And I won’t lie to you about the pain but they’ll never be able to control you again. I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time?” Bucky nodded before he jumped off the bed and followed Sam out to his car.    “You doing okay?” Sam asked him once they got to the apartment and Bucky laid down on the couch.    “I’m just tired like I’ve been after every one of these stupid mind control sessions.” Sam took a seat on the other couch.   “You sure that’s all?” Bucky sighed.    “I’m scared about tomorrow. Not just the pain, I’m used to pain. I’m scared it’s not gonna work.” He flipped from laying on his back to laying on his side. “I don’t know.”    “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Buck closed his eyes.    “Promise you’ll stay with me tomorrow.”    “Of course. I would never- I’m not going anywhere.”    ***    “We’ll be in a different room today so follow me.” Sam glanced at Bucky who’s face had gone pale while they were in the waiting room. He put his hand on the other man’s back for a few moments before Dr. Leslie led them into the room. Bucky’s breath hitched as he saw the chair in the middle of the room. Both the arm rests and the front legs of the chair had fabric restraints. There was also a strap at the waist and a metal contraption at the top of the chair, connected to multiple wires. Bucky started taking short shallow breaths.    “I can’t do this.” Bucky choked out.    “Yes you can.” Sam replied. “I believe in you. You can do this.” He moved to look Bucky in the eyes. “I know you can.” Bucky nodded and allowed the Doctor’s hands to guide him to the chair. She strapped his ankles in first, then his wrist. Sam could see him visibly shaking by the time she moved to the waist strap. She attached the metal piece to his head.    “I’m going to turn this on and then play the words on a loop. Once it’s over they shouldn’t work anymore. We’ll give you a break after and then test it out. Do you have any questions?” Bucky shook his head. She grabbed a mouth guard off the table and placed it into his mouth. She turned to Sam. “Are you sure you want to stay? This can be very painful for loved ones to watch.”    “I’m not going anywhere.” He told her before squeezing Bucky’s hand and following her to the corner of the room. She stood over a switchboard.    “Last chance.” He shook his head and stared at Bucky’s shut eyes. She took a deep breath before flicking a switch, causing the headpiece to make a crackling noise. There was silence for a few seconds before Bucky let out a horrifying, choked scream. Dr. Leslie waited a few seconds before flipping another switch. The speakers behind Bucky started playing Pierce’s voice on a loop. Sam felt pain in his chest as Bucky continued to scream.    “How long?”    “Two minutes with the recording, another three after it stops playing.” Sam nodded and closed his eyes. “I told you it’s hard for loved ones to watch.”    “I’m not… I just work with him. I was trying not to get attached.” She looked at him for a few moments.    “I can tell you care about him deeply.” Sam shook his head.    “He reminds me of someone I used to love.” He winced when he heard a sob come from the center of the room. “And getting attached is just… part of my personality. It’s hard not to when you learn what happened to him.” She nodded her head.    “I can imagine.” The voice stopped playing from the speakers. Sam took a deep breath and fiddled with the pockets on his jeans. After what felt like the longest three minutes of his life, the electricity stopped and Bucky stopped screaming. Sam ran to the man and put his hands on both sides of his face.    “Buck? Can you hear me?” Bucky spit out the mouth guard.    “Is it over?” He asked, tears streaming down his face. Sam tucked a loose strand of hair behind the other man’s ear.    “Yeah. It is. You were so brave.” He moved aside as Dr. Leslie came over and removed the restraints.    “Let’s go to another room and let you lay down okay?” They followed her to their usual room with the hospital bed. Bucky laid down immediately and closed his eyes. Sam took a seat next to him. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes to test the words.” She told them before heading out the door.    “My head hurts.” Bucky muttered.   “You feel okay otherwise though?” Bucky nodded his head before smiling slightly.    “You called me Buck.” Sam chuckled.    “Sorry, I tend to shorten names when I’m anxious.”    “No- I. I like it. I mean… Bucky is already a nickname but it’s like our own special nickname.” Sam shook his head.    “Your brain is fried. Get some rest.”   ***   “Hail Hydra.” The now familiar voice rang over the tape. Bucky gritted his teeth but looked up in surprise after a few moments.    “No-Nothing’s happening.” Bucky looked up with a confused expression. “I’m still me.” Dr. Leslie flashed him a smile.    “Congratulations Mr. Barnes. You are free.” Bucky shut his eyes before taking a few deep breaths, tears falling from his face.   “Thank you.” He whispered. “Thank you so much.” He choked out. She nodded.    “I’ll give you guys the room. When you’re ready, Emily has some discharge paperwork for you to fill out. It was a pleasure working with you Bucky. She shook his hand before giving Sam a pat on the shoulder and leaving.    ***   “We should celebrate with ice cream or something. Cake? Ohh how about this… an ice cream cake.” Sam looked over at Bucky then frowned. “What’s wrong man?”   “We can’t be sure it worked Sam.”    “She played the tape, it worked.” Bucky sighed. “What is it?” Sam asked.    “I’m going to go to the prison. I want to see Pierce in person.”     “I’m going to go to the prison. I want to see Pierce in person.”    “What?” Sam asked, tightening the grip on the steering wheel.   “I’m going to go see him in person. I want to have him say the words to my face so that I know they no longer work.”   “No you’re not.” Sam could feel his jaw tightening. “That’s a terrible idea.” Bucky sighed.    “It’s not your decision Sam.”    “And you think Steve is gonna be okay with it?” Sam asked before he stole a glance at Bucky who was now staring out the window.    “Maybe you two should let me make my own decisions. Maybe you should stop treating me like a scared teenager. I’ve seen things… Done things.” He sighed. “I know you don’t think I am but I’m an adult capable of having my own thoughts. You wouldn’t understand.” Sam glanced at him again and realized he was crying.    “Shit.” He mumbled before he turned into a parking lot and stopped his car. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders.    “It’s whatever Sam.”    “No it’s not. You’re right, you deserve to make your own decisions.”  He rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “But I don’t have to like it.”    ***   Sam’s hand stilled on the doorknob as he heard shouting. He waited a few moments, until it had gone silent, before he opened the door. “Hey Sam.” Steve greeted him, jaw clenched. “Can I talk to you?” He glanced at Bucky. “Alone.” Sam followed him into his bedroom.    “What’s wrong?”    “Bucky wants to go visit Pierce in person.” Steve rubbed his eyes. “At the prison.”    “I know. He told me yesterday after his last session with the specialist.”    “Can you try to talk some sense into him? Please?” Steve pleaded. Sam shook his head and sighed.    “If he won’t listen to you, why would he listen to me?”   “He considers you a friend Sam. He likes you as a person. He trusts you. He’ll listen to you.” Steve looked straight into Sam’s eyes. “Please. It won’t be good for him.” Sam looked down.    “I can’t talk him out of it Steve. He deserves to make his own decisions. He is a grown man.”    “Fine.” Steve sighed. “But don’t take him anywhere near the prison until I talk to his therapist.” He opened the door to his bedroom and left the apartment before either Bucky or Sam could say goodbye. Sam took a seat next to Bucky on the couch.    “What happened?” Bucky asked.   “I told him I wouldn’t try to talk you out of it.”      “Oh.” Bucky sounded surprised. “Thanks Sam.”   ***   “We can still back out of this.” Steve said to Bucky as the three men took a seat at the table in front of them. Bucky sighed dramatically.    “I told you that you didn’t need to come today.” He glanced at Sam. “I already have my babysitter.” Sam glared at him a little but knew that Bucky was lashing out at Steve, not him.    “I wanted to be here for you today. I- I always want to be there for you.” Steve muttered. A young brunette opened the door.    “They’ll be bringing him here in a few minutes. He’ll have both handcuffs and shackles on and two guards will be here at all times so you won’t need to worry.” Sam felt himself smile, despite the situation.    “Thank you.” Steve flashed her a smile. “We really appreciate it.” She left the room and they sat in silence for a few minutes until the door opened again. Pierce came in with a smirk already on his face that Sam wished he could punch off.    “James Barnes.” He took a seat, his handcuffs clinking against the metal table. “What an absolute pleasure.” Sam felt Bucky stiffen next to them.    “I just want you to use the words on me. Then I’ll be out of your hair.” Pierce nodded.    “But what would be the fun in that? Oh I know…” He smiled. “Tell me about what happened the first time you heard them. Let me guess, your attempt failed and some wack job doctor ‘fixed’ you?” He leaned forward. “It’s pretty brave of you to risk coming here, how do you know the treatment worked? How do you know your doctor’s aren’t a part of Hydra too?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. Sam could hear Steve’s heavy breathing and glanced at him, concerned with the angry look on his face.    “Look,” Sam started. “I’m sure they offered you something in exchange for doing this right? Extra time outside or some other privilege. Just do the words or I’ll convince the guards to take away whatever you were promised.” Pierce cocked his head.   “Did you get a boyfriend James? I always figured you were fag but I thought those women I set you up with would help you with that.” He smiled. “What was that one girl’s name? The 15 year old you slept with? I wonder if she was watching the news during my trial? Or maybe… maybe she didn’t need the words because she couldn’t get what you did out of her mind.” Silent tears fell from Bucky’s eyes.    “Stop.” He whispered.    “Bucky?” Steve asked. “What is he talking about?” A disgustingly evil laugh came from the other side of the table.    “You never told him?” Pierce asked. “Did you fail to mention that one of the girls was underage while you were in your 20’s or did you not tell your brother about your participation in initiation?” Pierce stared into Steve’s eyes for a few minutes before speaking again. “I don’t think you told him.” He moved his gaze to look at Bucky. “It was always such a joy to watch you be strapped to that table.” Bucky clenched his fist.    “Would you like us to remove the prisoner?” One of the guards asked him. Bucky shook his head.    “Not until he uses the words.” Pierce rolled his eyes.    “But I’m having such fun meeting your family.” He glanced at Steve. “You must be the big brother. He used to cry out for you while he was asleep at night. When he was still a teenager. Eventually he stopped. Stopped believing his big brother would come looking for him.” In an instant, Steve was on his feet and had Pierce’s collar in his hands. Sam stood up and reached over Bucky’s head to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.    “Let him go Steve. He’s just trying to get in your head.” Steve did, causing Pierce to roll his eyes.    “So you’re the soft one of the group I can see. Maybe you don’t care about James as much as I thought.” Sam could feel anger pooling in his stomach.    “Man shut the hell up.” He said, gritting his teeth.    “I won’t use the words. He’s gonna have to live the rest of his life worrying that I might still be in his head.” The anger in Sam’s gut flared and he grabbed Pierce’s hand, pulling his forefinger back.    “I will break your finger. Don’t fucking test me.”    “Guard?” Pierce asked.    “I don’t see anything.” The one to his right replied.   “Me neither.” The other said, an amused look on his face. Pierce yelped as Sam pulled his finger back even more.    “Use the words.”    “Hail Hydra.” He said after a few moments. Sam let go and turned to study Bucky’s face.    “Are you okay Bucky?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded, tears streaming from his face again.    “I’m good, yeah.”    “You can take him away.” Steve told the guards before he pulled Bucky onto his feet and into a hug. “Thank you.” Steve told him. Sam shook his head.    “I’m not usually an angry person. I’m sorry you too had to see me like that.” Steve let go of Bucky and pulled Sam into a hug.    “I don’t care.” Sam looked Bucky in the eyes over Steve’s shoulder and couldn’t help but smile when he saw how happy Bucky looked.    ***    “See you tonight Steve.” Sam waived his hand at Steve as he drove away before he walked with Bucky to his own car.    “Thank you.” Bucky told him. “I thought he was going to keep toying with me.”    “He probably would have. I just…” Sam looked down at the ground. “Hearing him talk to you like that? It made me so fucking angry. I don’t… I’m not.” He paused for a few moments. “I don’t know what came over me, honestly.” He jumped a little in surprise when Bucky hugged him. It wasn’t the hug that surprised him, they hugged pretty regularly, but the fierceness in which Bucky hugged. Like Bucky was drowning and Sam’s existence was a breath of fresh air.    “You’re amazing Sam.” Bucky muttered before letting go and walking to his side of the car.    ***    “You like going by Bucky because they only knew your legal name don’t you?” Sam asked Bucky softly while they ate lunch together. Bucky nodded.    “I managed to never let it slip. James reminds me of them a little bit.” He bit his lip. “If Steve asks, are you going to tell him about the stuff you found out during the interview?” He asked, not looking up from the food in front of him.    “Of course not.” Sam replied between bites. “But you should tell him. All that shit is gonna go public once the trial starts again.” Bucky sighed.    “I know, I know. I just…” He paused. “I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t want him to think of me differently.”   “He’s not going to. Your brother loves you. He loves you so much Bucky. ”    “That’s what makes it so hard. He’s basically all I have besides you. And he’s the one who pays you so without him I don’t have you either.” He frowned. “Even my extended family… If something happened, they would take his side.”    “Woah. Woah.” Sam reached out and touched Bucky’s arm. “Why would this cause you to have a falling out? You were raped, Steve isn’t gonna hate you because of that.” Bucky shook his head.    “I know, I’m just. I don’t know.” He sighed. “I always assume the worst.” He looked up at Sam for the first time. “Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”    “You know I won’t do that.” Bucky rolled his eyes. ”But I do want you to know I would still be here.”    “What do you mean?”    “If something happened and I couldn’t work with you. I’d like… I would like to remain friends and spend time together. I mean, it would be a lot less time since I’d have to find a normal job.” Bucky laughed, genuinely, which caused Sam to smile.    “You have no idea how happy that makes me Sam. You’re my best friend.” Sam grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a seat at his couch. He could feel the sweat clinging to his chest. He groaned into his empty apartment, torn between taking a shower or waiting. He chose waiting, turning his TV onto a local news station.  His breath caught in his throat as he read the headline at the bottom of the screen.    Twenty airmen’s bodies found buried in Iraq desert    He turned up the volume and tried to focus on his breathing. “We are sad to report that all twenty bodies' dental records do match the dog tags they were buried with.” The woman on the right read from a piece of paper in front of her.    “All these brave young men and women were either declared dead or missing in action and their families have been notified. As sad as this is, we are happy that their loved ones will be able to find peace.” The man next to her said.    “We would like to have a moment of silence in their honor.” The screen went black for a second before it was replaced with a video of an American flag, 20 names listed on the screen. Sam scanned the list quickly before his eyes paused at a name. The name.    Riley Walker   He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt pre-workout threatening to reach the top of throat. This wasn’t happening. He felt pain on his arms and noticed he had dug his fingers into the skin without realizing. He took a few deep breaths but the nausea continued. He ran to his bathroom and kneeled in front of his toilet, willing his stomach to cooperate. It didn’t. He heaved until he was dizzy, until nothing would come up except his stomach lining. He flushed and leaned his head against the wall for a few moments before his misery was interrupted by his pocket vibrating. He grabbed his phone and checked the caller ID.    “Nat.” He croaked out, not realizing how sore his throat was.    “You saw?” He nodded his head before mumbling some version of a yes. He heard her sigh on the other line. “They didn’t tell his mom until 2 hours ago, she thought they wouldn’t release the names for a few days. She wanted to tell you herself.”    “I’m fine Nat.” He whispered, the smell of his sweat and sickness making him nauseous again. He got to his feet and found his water bottle in the living room, taking a few sips. “It just caught me off guard.” She hummed.    “Do you want me to come stay with you?”    “No. No, I’m fine. Really, I just… need some time alone.”    “Okay… well, I’m always here.”    “Thanks...I love you.”    “I love you too Sam.” He threw his phone on the couch and brought the water bottle to his head. He felt like crap. He decided to take a hot shower after a few minutes of staring at the wall. He stripped off his running clothes and got in, already feeling better.    That only lasted three minutes.    The grief hit him like a freight train. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, thick and hot, burning his eyes. It suddenly became too hard to breathe so he sat down on the tile, not bothering to turn off the water. He sat there for who knows how long, long after the water had run cold. Eventually, he reached over, turned the water off, and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He stood up and wrapped a towel around himself before heading to his room and throwing a pair of sweats on. He went back to the living room and grabbed his phone off the couch. He found Steve’s contact info and typed out a quick message.    I don’t think I can come in tomorrow, I think I’m coming down with something.     He didn’t need to lie, he knew that. He knew Steve would be understanding but he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. His phone buzzed after only a few minutes.    Of course, let me know if you need anything this weekend. I hope you feel better!     Sam glanced at the clock, it was only 7 but he had no desire to stay up. He hadn’t eaten dinner but he decided it was too much effort. He went to his room, laid on his bed, and willed the Riley dream to come. It didn’t. He woke every few hours, his frustration growing. When he woke at 5 am, he took one of his pillows and chucked it across the room, aiming nowhere in particular.    “You always come to me in me dreams you bastard.” He choked out, tears in his eyes. “Last time you died, you wouldn’t leave my head.” He spoke into the darkness. He tried to calm his beating heart but, after no avail, he gave up and moved to his couch. He flicked on the TV, turned the volume down, and found a game show marathon he wouldn’t need to focus on. He must have dozed off eventually because he woke with a start to someone knocking on his door. He glanced at the clock in his kitchen. 10 am. “Just a sec.” He shouted before grabbing a shirt from his room and quickly putting it on. He opened the door, fully expecting it to be Natasha.     It was Bucky.    “Hey Sam.” He gave him a shy smile. “I know you’re sick but I wanted to bring you some soup and some Gatorade. You know, keeping your electrolytes up is important.” Sam couldn’t help but stare.    “Th-Thank you. Um. Steve- Does he know you’re here?” He stepped to the side, letting Bucky walk into his kitchen with him.    “Um…” Bucky placed a grocery bag on the counter. “Technically I snuck out while Steve was playing his drums. I’ll be back before he realizes I’m gone.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.    “Please don’t tell me you stole his car.” He muttered. Bucky shook his head.    “I don’t have a license.”    “I know, that’s why I’m worried.” Sam took a deep breath.    “No, I took a bus. I’m sorry I showed up randomly but you weren’t answering your texts. And I wanted to do something nice.” Sam could see it, the flash of fear in Bucky’s eyes.    “No, no I appreciate it. A lot. But I should call Steve in case he freaks out when he notices you being gone.” Bucky nodded, following Sam to his room while he grabbed his phone. Before Sam could find Steve’s contact, Bucky put his hand on his arm.    “You’re not physically sick. Something happened.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.    “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” He walked out to the living room and took a seat on the couch before pressing the call button. Steve picked up after three rings.    “Hey Sam. What’s up?” He asked.    “Uhhh. Bucky is here, at my apartment. I thought you should know so you don’t freak out when you realize he’s gone.” There were a few moments of silence before Steve responded.    “ What? ” Sam heard Steve opening and closing doors on the other end. “I swear I only left him alone for an hour.” Steve grumbled. “How did he get there?”    “Told me he took a bus.”    “I’ll be there soon.” Sam hung up the phone and noticed Bucky standing against the wall, staring at him.    “You can sit.” He muttered. Bucky shook his head.    “That soup needs to be refrigerated. Is it okay if I open your fridge?” Sam nodded his head and Bucky disappeared behind him. He closed his eyes and rubbed at the crust that had built up there during the night. He jumped a little in surprise when he felt Bucky’s body weight join him on the couch. He opened his eyes to see Bucky staring at him. “Sam, if you want to talk-”    “I’m fine Buck. I’ll be okay.”   “I know. But you’re always taking care of everyone. It’s okay if you let someone take care of you.” Sam tried to smile.    “That’s oddly wise.” He paused “I’ll- I’ll tell you about it someday Bucky, just not today.” Bucky gave him a soft smile and grabbed the remote off the table in front of them, turning the volume up. They watched the jeopardy rerun in comfortable silence until there was a knock on the door.    “I got it.” Bucky mumbled before making his way to the door. “Hey Steve I-” He was cut off by what Sam presumed was a hug. He glanced behind him and confirmed his suspicions.    “You can’t do that.” Steve hissed. “You need to be careful.” Sam could practically feel Bucky’s eye roll from the couch.    “I can ride a bus Steve. I’m not completely incompetent.”   “I know. I know. But with the trial starting again soon… I’m worried something could happen.” Bucky sighed.    “I didn’t even think of that, I’m sorry. I just- Sam’s always so nice to me so I wanted to do something nice for him.”     “You could have just asked me.” Steve replied.    “Oh… I- yeah. I guess I could have.” Steve sighed and walked over to the couch.    “How are you feeling?” He asked softly.    “A little better.”    “You look like shit.” Steve said. Bucky laughed behind him before a glare from Steve shut him up. “Do you need me to get you anything?” Sam shook his head.    “Bucky already brought me soup and Gatorade, I think I’m all set.” Steve nodded.    “Alright. If you’re still feeling sick on Sunday, just let me know so I can call in on Monday. Feel better.” He headed to the exit. Bucky lingered at Sam’s side for a few moments.    “I’ll see you soon Sam.”   “Thanks. For bringing me soup, it was very sweet of you.” Bucky smiled before joining his brother at the door.   ***   As soon as Steve was out the door, Bucky put his hand on Sam’s arm. “You still have pain in your eyes.” He told him. “Steve can’t see it because you hide it really well but I can.” Sam sighed and got up from the table, taking their plates to the sink.    “If I tell you about it, will you leave me alone?” Sam asked him playfully. Bucky stood up and took a few steps toward him.    “Maybe.” Sam sighed.    “I was engaged four years ago. Secretly. To my co-pilot, Riley. Our plane went down when he was flying with someone else because I was sick. They… They never found his body. He was legally declared dead a few months later.” He looked down at the ground. “They finally found his body a few days ago.”    “Holy shit.”    “Yeah, it wouldn’t have been so bad if I had accepted his death but I never did. I never… moved on. Dated anyone else. It’s kind of pathetic, honestly.”   “No it’s not.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder for a few seconds before dropping his hand again. “Lots of people come back from the dead Sam. I’m proof of that. There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful. I’m glad you got closure though.” Sam smiled slightly.    “When did you get so good at talking to people?” He looked up at Bucky who shrugged his shoulders.    “It must be the therapy.” He remained quiet for a few moments. “And you. Being around you is a good influence. You’re such a good person Sam. Like a bright light in the darkness of my fucked up life.” Sam could feel tears threatening to fall from his eyes.   “Thanks.” He managed to get out. “We should uh…” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to watch something?”    “Yeah. Let’s finish The Mandalorian.” Sam nodded his head.    “You got it.”       “You’re worried.” Sam meant for it to come out as a question but there was a sureness in his voice. Steve sighed across the table from him.    “Of course I’m nervous.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is the right decision, right?” Sam met his eyes.    “Of course it is. The surgery is safe, the doctors explained it to me a million times.” Sam looked over at Bucky, asleep on the couch. “And he wants to do it… If it could remove just a little bit of his pain, I think it’s worth it. And they said it should remove all of it.”   “Yeah.” Steve glanced at his brother. “His pain meds are one of the reasons he’s so tired all the time and I can’t imagine it helps his mental health but I…” He stared at his hands. “The thought of him going under the knife again terrifies me.”    “He’ll be fine.” He met Steve’s eyes and smiled. “I’ll go wake him up, we should head to the hospital soon.”   “I’m already awake.” Bucky grumbled before sitting up and running his hand through his long hair. “You two worry too much.”    ***   “The surgery should only last about an hour, two at the very most. Once we take care of everything, you shouldn’t have any more pain. Well… Besides phantom limb pain of course.”   “Can’t forget that fun side effect.” Bucky replied with a fake smile. “Thanks Doc.” The doctor turned and looked at Sam and Steve.    “Do either of you have any questions? I know this can be scary for family members.” She focused her gaze on Sam. “And loved ones of course.” Sam felt the back of his neck heating up as he shook his head. “A nurse will be here in a few minutes to bring you to the operating room.” She left the room after taking a few notes on a clipboard.   “Tell me why I got clocked as gay less when I had an actual boyfriend.” Sam muttered, causing Bucky to actually smile.    “Sorry.” He said. “Next time I’ll clarify that you're my babysitter.” Sam rolled his eyes.    “Shut up.” He glanced at Steve who wasn’t breathing. “You okay?” Sam asked. Steve nodded his head.    “Things like this just make me nervous. Hospitals, surgeries. Not a fan.” “I’ll be fine Steve.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “At least I have doctors this time.” Steve stilled next to him. “Sorry… I was trying to make a joke.”   “No it’s okay. I know you’ll be okay.” Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand, squeezing it gently before a nurse came into the room.    “Ready to head out?” He asked. Bucky nodded.    “Can I have a hug from you both first?” Steve jumped up and hugged him first before Sam got up and wrapped his arms around the man.    “See you in a few minutes.” Sam whispered before the nurse wheeled Bucky out of the room and he walked with Steve to the waiting room.    “Do you want a coffee or anything?” Steve asked as they sat down. Sam shook his head.    “No, I’m good. You doing okay?” Steve grimaced but nodded his head. Sam pulled out his phone and opened social media. An hour and a half later, Sam felt Steve’s leg shaking next to him. “Steve…”    “Sorry.” The other man muttered. “I just want it to be over.” Sam nodded and went back to his phone until a nurse came out and called Steve’s name. She smiled at the two men awkwardly.   “I just wanted to give you an update on James, there’s been some minor complications so the surgery is gonna take some extra time.” Sam felt his jaw tightening.    “How much danger is he in?” He asked. She stared at him for a few moments before shaking her head.    “He should be fine. Like I said it’s pretty minor.”   “I want a percentage.”   “Five percent something goes wrong and we have to do major surgery. Less than one percent…” She trailed off but Sam knew exactly what she meant.    “Thanks.” Steve replied, his voice riddled with anxiety. She smiled and turned back towards the door.    “He’ll be fine.” Sam whispered, more for himself than anything. Steve nodded slowly. Sam grabbed Steve’s hand and squeezed it, trying not to think about that one percent chance. Another hour passed before the same nurse walked up to them.   “You can come to his room and be there when he wakes up if you’d like. He’s perfectly fine, the surgery was a success” They followed her to a different hospital room. “He’ll be kind of loopy when he wakes. Our anesthesiology tech will be here to monitor him until he can go home with you guys.” A young man in brown scrubs waved at them. They both took seats next to the bed and Bucky woke a few minutes later.   “W-What the hell.” He groaned.    “You’re in the hospital. The surgery was successful. I’m here. Sam’s here. You’re gonna be okay.” Steve told him. Bucky moved his gaze to Sam.    “I missed you Sam.” Sam chuckled.    “You just saw me.”    “I always miss you when you’re gone.” A sad look crossed his face. “You’re gonna graduate and I’m never gonna see you again.” Tears filled his eyes.    “Hey. Hey, don’t cry. I’ll still be in your life. Okay? I promise. It’s just the drugs that are making you think that.” Bucky nodded.   “You’re so perfect Sam. So amazing. I think about you all the time. You’re like an angel.” He smiled at Sam softly. Sam felt his face heating up and his palms sweating.    “Tha-Thanks man.” An amused huff came from the tech next to Bucky’s bed.    “He’s good to go home. He’ll still be a little loopy for the next hour.”   ***   “How’s your pain level?” Sam asked him. Bucky shook his head.    “Worse than before the surgery.”    “It’s only been two days, I’m sure it’ll start getting better soon.” Bucky smiled softly.    “Thanks Sam.” He looked at his phone and bit his lip. ‘So Ollie’s been texting me.”   “Your ex?”   ‘Yeah… He um, he wants me to come over and have dinner with his family.” Sam raised his eyebrows.    “Are you going to?” Bucky sighed.    “I don’t know yet. He’s… So different from when I knew him. He was um- I guess I imagined him still living out of his van, not settled down or anything. I- that’s kind of dumb.” Sam smiled.    “No it’s not.”    “So do you think I should do it?”    “Hmm.” Sam cocked his head. “What do you want to get out of it?” Bucky sighed.    “I don’t know. He’s one of the only people from back in high school I’ve been in contact with. I was kind of a loner back then. Well… I guess I still am. I guess I’m curious to see what he’s like now.”   “I think you should only do it if you’re comfortable. You can always wait awhile until you’re ready.” Bucky rolled his eyes.    “You sound like my therapist.”   “Sorry. Force of habit.” Bucky grinned at him. “But I do think you should mull it over for awhile.”   “You’re right. I um, thanks- thank you.” He squeezed his eyes shut.    “You alright?” Bucky shook his head.    “Just overwhelmed.”    ***   Sam glanced at the clock in his kitchen, frustrated his Saturday had already flown by. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and grabbed it, answering quickly once he saw it was Bucky who was calling.    “Hey Bucky what’s up?”    “Sam.” Bucky hissed. Sam immediately stood up straight.    “What’s wrong?” He asked.    “I’m at Oliver's.”   “Right, that was today. What’s wrong?”   “I can’t do this.” Bucky whispered. “I told him I started feeling sick and went to the bathroom but Steve isn’t picking up. I don’t know what to do.” Bucky whispered.    “Text me his address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”   ***   Sam saw Bucky at the corner of the street and rolled down his window. “Hey Buck.” Bucky opened the passenger door silently.    “Thank you.” He whispered. Sam drove them for a few minutes until he found a parking lot.    “Talk to me.” Bucky’s eyes started watering.    “I’m sorry Sam.” Sam waited patiently. “I thought I could handle it.”    “What happened?”    “His kids were nice… even if they kept staring at my lack of arm. But his wife, I could tell she was… scared of me. They both looked at me like I was gonna go crazy. I think she was uncomfortable with me being his ex, I guess I don’t blame her. I spent years thinking about him, wondering if he was thinking about me.” He sniffled. “I think I still have feelings for him.”    “Bucky. I’m sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders.    “Sorry I called you on the weekend. I think Steve’s on a date, Ollie said he’d drive me back so Steve must have turned his phone off.”    “It’s alright. Did you eat yet?” Bucky shook his head. “Alright, let’s go get some dinner. What are you in the mood for?”    “You should pick, you always let me pick.”    “Alright. I’m thinking Italian.” Sam looked over at Bucky and tucked one of his long strands of hair behind his ear without thinking. He could see Bucky’s face blush. “Sorry.” He muttered.    “Don’t be.”    ***   “So do you know anything about Steve’s date?” Sam asked. Bucky smiled.    “Do you remember Sharon from the FBI?”    “That seems inappropriate.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders.    “Trial is starting soon, once it’s over it won’t be any more. And he’s claiming it’s not a date because it’s Steve so of course he is.” Sam smiled.    “Seems about accurate.” He looked over at Bucky and noticed he was staring at a table across the room. “Buck.” He said softly. “You’re staring.”   “Right, thanks.” Bucky blushed. Sam glanced across the room and saw two men holding hands. “Do you miss it?” Bucky asked.    “Miss what?”    “Being in a relationship. I know you said you haven’t been since Riley.” Sam looked down at his food.    “Kind of. It’s been so long that I’m used to not having anyone. I guess it’s weird to even think about. You?”    “Yeah. I do, it’s been such a long time. But… I’m not ready to be in one so…” He took a bite of food. “When did you come out?” Sam let out a huff of air.    “Technically I never did. People just keep finding out. Except for you. I finally felt comfortable enough to tell you Riley was a guy.” Bucky smiled at him warmly.    “I’m glad Sam.”    ***   “Thanks for dinner… and driving me home. I really appreciate everything you do for me Sam.” A warm feeling spread through Sam’s stomach.    “Any-Anytime. I’ll see you on Monday Buck.” Bucky smiled at him and bit his lip.    “You’re a good man Sam Wilson.” Sam watched the other man open the door and walk up to the apartment, only leaving once he saw that Bucky was safely inside.   “Hey Steve.” Sam said as he walked through the door. He paused when he saw that Bucky wasn’t at the kitchen table or in the living room. “Is everything okay?” He asked.    “He won’t get out of bed.” Steve shook his head. “I tried talking to him but he keeps ignoring me.”    “Does today have any meaning for him or your family? Birthdays? Deaths?” Steve thought about it for a few moments.    “I don’t think so.” He sighed. “He hasn’t had a day like this in so long.” Sam nodded.    “Did anything happen with the trial?”   “No, it was announced that Grant Ward took a plea bargain last night. The only person who hasn’t been found guilty is Pierce but his trial starts next week so I don’t think it’s that.”    “I’ll go talk to him. If I don't come out by the time you leave, have a good day at work.” Steve squeezed Sam’s shoulder and shot him a grateful look.    “Call me if he needs me. Or if you need anything. Please.” Sam moved to Bucky’s door and knocked lightly.    “Bucky?” No answer. “Buck it’s Sam. I’m gonna come in okay?” He turned the doorknob and found Bucky laying face first on his bed.    “Go away Sam.” Bucky mumbled as Sam took a seat at the edge of the bed, next to Bucky’s chest. “I’m fine.”    “You don’t seem fine.” His hand hovered over Bucky’s messy hair before he decided against the touch and dropped it back to the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky mumbled something inaudible and turned so he laid on his side, his back facing Sam.    “Can’t a man just lay in bed in peace?” He finally whispered after a few minutes of silence.    “Are you in any physical pain?” No response. “Please just talk to me.”    “I told you my shoulder’s fine, I haven’t had any pain in a week.”    “Okay…” Sam started. “That’s good. And your stomach is okay?” Bucky nodded his head slightly.    “It’s not physical.”    “Alright. Do you want to tell me what it’s about?” Bucky stiffened next to him.    “No.” He whispered eventually. “I don’t want to, please don’t make me.” Sam squeezed his eyes in surprise, his heart breaking a little.    “I’m never gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do. I promise.” He heard the door shut, signaling that Steve had probably left for work. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Bucky shook his head again.    “I know you think you can fix me Sam but I can’t be fixed. I’m too damaged.” Sam felt his heart breaking even more.   “I never said I want to fix you. I just want to help... Listen, you don’t need to be fixed because you’re not broken.” Bucky shifted his position so he could look at Sam.    “You mean that?” He whispered, tears streaming down his face.    “Of course.” He paused for a moment. “Tell me what you need.”    “Hug me. Touch me, just.. I need- please.” Bucky choked out, looking down. Sam laid down next to him and pulled him into his arms.    “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He patted Bucky’s arm and tried not to think about it too much. He knew he was crossing a line but he couldn’t pull away. They were more like friends than a patient and caregiver anyway, at least that’s what Sam told himself to justify the intimacy.   “Thank you.” Bucky whispered into Sam’s chest after a while. “I’m sorry I was being a dick earlier.” Sam didn’t respond but moved his hand down Bucky’s hair, untangling the knots.    “You want some breakfast? I can make you a smoothie.”    “Yeah. Okay. In a few minutes though?”   “Of course.”     ***    “I can call your therapist’s office and see if she has any last minute openings.”    “I’m seeing her tomorrow.” Bucky muttered, not looking up from the tv show he clearly wasn’t watching.    “Then I can find a place in the city that does walk-ins.”    “I’m fine.” Bucky finally turned and looked Sam in the eyes for a moment before he turned away again.    “You need to talk to someone about…” Sam gestured vaguely. “Whatever’s going on.”    “No I don’t.”    “You haven’t stopped crying Bucky. I’m worried about you.”   “Wouldn’t want me to kill myself and cause you to lose your income would you?” Sam stilled next to him.    “Are you thinking about it?” He choked out.    “About what?” Sam caught his eye and flashed him a look. “No, I’m sorry.” Sam grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly.    “Don’t you ever think you’re just a paycheck to me, okay? Ever.” Bucky jumped a little in surprise at the panic in Sam’s voice but nodded his head.    “Shit I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He whispered. “I know you care.” Sam dropped his hand.    “Good. I still think I should try to find you a crisis center.” He stood up to grab his phone from the kitchen counter.    “Wait, I-“ Bucky looked up at him and bit his lip. “What if I tell you instead?”    “Are you sure? I’m not a licensed therapist.”    “I know.” Bucky paused as Sam sat down again. “But you’re my friend. And I trust you.”    “Alright.” Sam said softly. Bucky fidgeted with a loose string on the seam of his pants.    “Do you remember in the interview with the FBI, I talked about one of the men who was held prisoner with me and how they went and kidnapped Trey because he died?” Sam nodded his head. “His name was Dean. I don’t know what day he died, it all just runs together but today…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “He would have been 26 today.”    “You were close?” Bucky opened his eyes and looked at Sam.    “There’s something I never told the FBI, that I never told anyone.” He paused for a few minutes. “His cell was next to mine. He eventually realized that one of the bricks was loose. He smuggled in a stick from outside and used it to loosen it enough to remove it completely.” He smiled softly. “It took him months. Months of work and risk just so he could talk to me. It was… one of the only things that kept me sane, our conversations.”    “Why didn’t you tell anyone about it?”    “Because I-” Bucky looked down at his lap. “I fell in love with him.” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise.    “Oh.”    “Yeah.”    “And did he? Was it reciprocated?” Bucky nodded slowly.    “We would just sit and talk for hours and hours. About everything. What we missed, who we were. Who we wanted to be. Eventually we started talking about getting out, being rescued and starting a life together, getting married and all that jazz… I remember the first time he kissed me. We were working on a house and a guard turned his back on us for a few minutes. He would try his best to find time, moments alone. Everytime he would kiss me, I would think about it all the time. When that one guard would beat me for no reason, when I would feel sick from the crappy food they fed us. When I wanted to die, I would think about him.”    “Have you talked to your therapist about him?” Sam asked softly.   “No. I know I should. I thought if I pretended it never happened, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”   “Oh Bucky, I’m sorry.” Tears streamed from Bucky’s eyes again.    “He-He was so hopeful you know? The rest of us gave up on getting out after a few years but he… he never did. He was a god damn ray of sunshine. I should have known he would do something stupid like try to escape… I should have known.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I should have stopped him. I should have known something was gonna happen.”   “Why do you think you should have known?”   “The night before, he made me promise that I would never forget how much he loves me. That I would stay strong no matter what. I should have stopped him” Sam pulled Bucky into a hug.    “You couldn’t have known.”     ***   “Steve’s coming home soon.” Bucky muttered. Sam glanced at him.    “Yeah, I know. Is something wrong?” Bucky shook his head.    “No I- I was just wondering what you were gonna tell him.”    “I was just gonna say that it’s Dean’s birthday and that it reminded you of the deaths that Pierce caused. That’s all.”    “...oh.”    “Do you not want me to tell him that?”    “I was wondering if you’d tell him the truth. The full truth. I want to talk to him about it but I think it would be easier if you told him the basics.” Bucky took a deep breath. “If that’s okay?”   “Okay, if you’re sure.”    “I’m sure. Thank you Sam.”    ***    When Steve walked into the apartment, Sam saw him immediately look for Bucky, frowning when he didn’t see his brother. “Is he okay?”    “He’s in his room but he’s fine. He just didn’t want to be in here when we had this conversation.” Concern filled Steve’s eyes.    “What conversation?” He asked.    “Bucky told me why he was so upset today. And he wanted me to tell you so you could talk about it.”    “Oh… Okay.” Steve took a seat next to Sam on the couch.    “So, I’m sure you know that one of the prisoners was killed when he was caught trying to escape.”   “Right… Dean.”    “So today is his birthday.” Steve ran his hand through his hair.    “That makes sense.”    “There’s more… Bucky and Dean were- Bucky fell in love with him. Dean managed to loosen one of the bricks in the wall between their cells and they would sit and whisper to each other for hours every night. Bucky said it was the only thing that kept him sane.”    “Okay.” Steve took a few moments to gather his thoughts. “And did Bucky say if Dean reciprocated his feelings?”    “He did. They would kiss if they were ever given a moment alone but he said it was really rare.”   “Has he told- Did he mention it in the FBI interview?”    “No, I didn’t find out until today. He’s never even told his therapist.”   “Damn.” Steve rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. “Didn’t he say that they…” He trailed off, a sad look crossing his face.    “They shot him in front of everyone to teach a lesson, yeah.” Sam noticed tears pooling in Steve’s eyes.    “He’s already been through so much and I didn’t even know about this… I must be doing something wrong. He never opens up to me.”    “Hey.” Sam put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You’re his brother. He looks up to you, he loves you so much. He just thinks you worry about him too much.” Steve took a deep breath.    “Do I?”    “Of course not.” Sam put his hand back in his lap. “It’s a family’s job to worry too much.” Steve nodded his head slowly then pulled Sam into a hug.    “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here and that he trusts you so much. You’re a blessing.” Sam felt heat rising to his face.    “Thanks. You both mean a lot to me.”    “I’m gonna go see if he’ll talk to me. I’ll see you tomorrow Sam.”    “Bye Steve.” “This…” Bucky pulled a canvas from the box sitting in front of him. “This was part of my AP art portfolio. I did a series of portraits.” Sam grabbed the painting from Bucky’s hand and smiled when he looked down. It was Steve, his face engrossed in the music while he played the drums.    “How many portraits did you do?”   “Ten, I think. A few classmates, some friends. My mom. Ollie. Every painting showed the person and their passion.” Sam looked down at the painting again, still surprised at Bucky’s talent.    “I can see why you got offered a full ride.” Bucky blushed and added the painting to the pile on the floor that he had already shown Sam.    “Thanks. I uh- I’m really glad Steve held on to them.” He shook his head. “I have a few other boxes in Steve’s storage unit, maybe I could borrow his key and we could go get them sometime?”    “Of course.” Sam smiled at him. “You should hang some in here.”    “Yeah? I’ve been thinking about it.” He bit his lip. “I’m hoping the inspiration to make things will come back but when I think about it, it’s all fear.”    “What are you afraid of?”    “Being terrible.” Bucky chuckled. “Not being able to do it with only one hand.”    “At least you’re right handed.” Bucky looked up and smiled.    “True.” He reached over and grabbed a painting, putting each piece back in the box one by one. “So what’s yours?”    “What’s my what?”    “Your passion.” Sam bit his lip.    “Honestly, I don’t know. I spend a lot of time helping other people, keeping busy so I don’t have to think about myself. I um- I took a creative writing class when I was 18, I loved it. I’ve thought about trying to pick it up again but…”    “Fear.”    “Yeah. I kept a journal when I was overseas about everyone we saved, everyone we lost. I’ve thought about trying to turn it into a memoir of sorts.”    “You should.” Bucky smiled at him, a soft smile that he only seemed to give when Sam was being vulnerable with him. “Maybe we should both try to find our passions again.”     ***    “How do you feel about a next step in going out in public?” Sam asked. Bucky tilted his head and looked at him for a few moments.    “I’m listening.”    “We live in a city with one of the best art museums in the country. We should go.” Sam smiled at him and handed him a pamphlet to the National Gallery of Art from his back pocket. “Just think about it alright? They have a new exhibit, it’s in the brochure.” Bucky looked down and smiled.    “We went here a few times when I was in high school. Me and my mom… She was really supportive of my art. I used to love museums.”    “Maybe you still do.” Sam said softly, putting his hand on Bucky’s knee.  “We can go in the morning when it’s less busy. I just want to help you find things that make you happy.” Bucky let those words sink in for a few moments before he looked Sam in the eye and gave him a heartfelt smile.    “Can we go tomorrow?”    “Hell yeah.” Sam grinned. “I never took any art classes growing up so you can teach me about the different eras if you want.” Bucky rolled his eyes.    “Let me guess, you were the kid who took extra gym classes for fun.”    “Maybe.”    “We would have never been friends in high school.” Bucky shook his head.    “Good thing we met now and not then.” Sam smiled as Bucky gave him a playful push.    ***    “If you get anxious and need to leave, don’t hesitate to tell me.” Sam looked over at Bucky as he put the car in park. “Alright?”    “I know Sam. I know.” He flashed him a grin before opening his car door. “For once I get to show you something, I’m excited. Something I used to like… you know, before.” Bucky said as he bumped their shoulders together. They made it to the ticket line before he glanced at Bucky, he’d asked Sam to put his hair in a half bun this morning and the excitement in his eyes had spread to the rest of his face. He looked happy. Soft. Sam had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke the other man’s face.    Keep it together Sam. He told himself. He didn’t know what had gotten into him lately but he knew he needed to snap out of it. Sam handed the cashier his card, his thoughts still going a mile a minute. Bucky grabbed the map and looked over it while Sam grabbed their tickets and his receipt. “Thanks.” He told the cashier before Bucky all but pulled him to the first exhibit.    They walked through each room, Bucky explaining the different art styles of each era to Sam. “I’m surprised you still remember all this stuff. I don’t think I could tell you a single thing I learned in high school.” Sam teased him.  Bucky shook his head and smiled.    “Steve found one of my art history books during Christmas break so I had a refresher a few months back.” They walked into a new room and Bucky’s eyes lit up again. “Come on, you have to tell me your thoughts on this piece.” He grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him to the largest painting in the room.   ***    Sam couldn’t remember the last time he saw Bucky this happy. Even when he could tell Bucky had become tired, he still insisted they finish looking at every piece. When they got back to Sam’s car, Bucky pulled him into a hug.    “Thank you Sam. You’re right. The outside world isn’t so bad.” Sam grinned into his hair.    “Anything you want to do, experience, here in the outside world. Just let me know.” Sam let go of him and moved to open his car door.    “Can we um-” Bucky put his seat belt on. “I want to go buy a sketchbook.”    “You wanna go today or wait til tomorrow? I know you’re tired.”    “Today please. There’s a Michaels near the apartment, I can tell you how to get there.”    “You got it.” Sam grinned at him and started the car.    ***   “Take a right turn here.” Bucky pointed at the upcoming street. “And I think it should be on the right soon… or maybe it’s the left.” Sam rolled his eyes silently but turned on his blinker.    “I told you we could have used google maps.”    “Yeah, yeah.” Bucky muttered, keeping his eyes out for the store. “There it is, on the left.” Sam moved to the turn lane before he made it to the parking lot and found them a space.    “Last time I was in a craft store was when Sarah dragged me to one  years ago.” Sam remarked as he stepped out of his car.    “What was she looking for?”    “Supplies for my nephews to make Christmas ornaments.”    “That’s adorable.” Bucky smiled. “I used to go to the Hobby Lobby near my mom’s house and walk around for fun. I was… a weird teenager I guess.” Sam clapped him on the back.    “Not weird. Just… you.” Bucky flushed as they walked through the doors and Sam dropped his hand.    “Umm hi.” Bucky approached the employee at the front of the store. “I was wondering where I could find sketchbooks.”    “Aisle eight, keep walking straight down this way and it’ll be on your left.” The older woman smiled at both of them.    “Thanks.” Sam told her before they both started walking that direction. When they got to the isle, Bucky sucked in a breath. “You alright?” Sam asked him.    “Y-Yeah. It’s just a lot of options. And you know how difficult choice can be for me.” Sam’s features softened.    “Of course. We can take as long as you need. Or come back tomorrow if you want.” Bucky looked up at him and an unfamiliar look crossed his face. Something between fear and happiness, if Sam had to guess. He resisted the urge to shake his head, feeling confused. Bucky turned away from him and started meticulously looking over the different sketchbooks. He eventually picked an 8x10 that Sam offered to carry while he looked at colored pencils.    “Okay I think I’m gonna get these three things.” Bucky muttered, placing the colored and graphite pencils onto the sketchbook in Sam’s hands before taking it all back from him. “Thanks for being patient.”    “Anytime.”    ***   “So I decided to go back on social media.” Sam quirked his eyebrows up in surprise at Bucky’s statement. He put his book down on the table in front of him.    “Yeah?”    “Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “Luckily the popular sites are mostly the same from back then.”    “Were you able to log back in? I mean, did you still know your passwords?” Bucky let out a huff of breath, almost a laugh.    “Embarrassingly, yes. There’s a lot of messages I’ve been reading. Not just from when it got announced I came back, some of my classmates would post on my page or send me a message every year.” He paused and fiddled with the torn off sleeve on his left side. “I don’t know if I should reach out to them or not.”    “Let me guess… Some of them you barely knew?”    “Yeah. How did you-”    “Riley. Nat, my best friend, was also his from high school. She complains about the same thing happening every year. Kids who wouldn’t give him the time of day back then post about him on the anniversary of his death like they were close.”   “Is she the reason you came to DC?” Bucky asked softly.    “Kind of. She got me the interview at the VA but I always loved DC. Riley and I talked about moving here, or to a town near here, after we left the force.” Bucky nodded his head and looked down at his phone.    “Sorry for making you think about him.” Sam smiled and shook his head.    “It’s alright. I’m doing much better than I was before. He was a big part of my life at the time so I don’t mind talking about him anymore.”    “I brought Dean up to my therapist. We’ve spent the last few sessions talking about him.”    “That’s great.” Sam gave him a warm smile.    “Yeah.” Bucky looked down at his phone again and frowned. “I found his brother on facebook. I’m trying to decide if I should reach out.” He sighed. “I don’t think his family knew he was into men, I don’t want to out him after his death.” Sam reached over and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.    “You don’t have to tell them that part. You can just say that you two were close.”    “Yeah.” He gave a sad smile. “So do you want to help me think of a good ‘I’m back from the dead’ post?” Sam beamed at him.    “There’s a really funny meme you could recreate, let me find it.”    ***    “The trial for known cult leader Alexander Pierce is now over. It is now up to the jury to decide if he will be found guilty along with the other ten people who either pleaded guilty or were found so in this same court. Pierce has the most charges against him including first degree murder, kidnapping….” The newscaster’s voice continued to list Pierce’s charges as Sam grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet.    “You want some water Buck?” He asked.    “No, I’m good right now.” Bucky replied. Sam shrugged and filled his glass with water before walking back into the living room. “Do you know what Steve made for lunch today?”    “Sandwiches of some kind. Do you want lunch now?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s after 11 so it’s perfectly acceptable.” Bucky looked up from his sketchbook and smiled softly.    “In a little bit, once I finish this sketch.”    “What’cha sketching?”    “Dean. I’m trying to remember how he looked before he died. I’ve been talking to some of his family and I thought it would be nice since they only have pictures of him from when he was a teenager.”    “That’s nice of you.” Bucky smiled.    “Yeah, it’s hard without a reference though.” He looked up at the news momentarily. “How long do you think it’ll be before the jury makes a decision?”    “No idea. You worried?” Sam noticed him bite his lip, his telltale sign of nervousness.   “Nah.”  Sam pulled out his laptop and worked on a discussion while Bucky continued sketching. They worked in comfortable silence until Bucky sighed. Sam looked up and saw him staring at the sketchbook in front of him.   “You good?”    “Yeah, I don’t think I got it 100% right but it’s pretty close. Want to see?” Sam nodded and Bucky turned the sketchbook so Sam could see.    “Wow.” Sam breathed. “I can’t believe how talented you are.” Bucky’s cheeks flushed. “It’s been two weeks since I started again. My first few pieces were pretty rough.”    “Still.” Sam grinned at him. “He was a very handsome guy.” Sam said softly before he looked closer. “Wait was Dean um-”    “Yeah Dean was black, if that’s what you’re asking.”    “Pretty problematic of me to have assumed he was white I guess.”    “If it’s because you think I only date white guys I um- I don’t. I mean. I’ve never had a preference. I mean- I only date guys but their skin color never mattered to me.” Bucky stuttered and blushed, causing Sam to chuckle.    “Like I said, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Sam smiled at him warmly. “You want lunch?”    “Yeah.”    ***   “After 2 days of debating, the jury has reached a decision.” Bucky grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Pierce has been found guilty of all charges. Sentencing will happen at a later date but there is little to no chance he will ever be a free man. We hope this brings peace to those he affected, especially the ten freed men and the families of those three men who Pierce killed.” Bucky let go of Sam’s hand and grabbed the remote, turning the T.V. off.    “You good?” Sam asked. Tears flowed from Bucky’s eyes but he smiled brighter than the sun.   “I’m so good Sam. I’m so fucking good.” He reached out to Sam and Sam pulled him into a hug. His phone vibrated a few moments later and he grabbed it, answering as soon as he saw that Steve was calling.    “Did you hear the news?” Steve asked him.    “We did.” He swore he could hear Steve smiling on the other end.    “If he’s up for it, I could take some time off and we could all go get lunch together to celebrate.” Sam smiled at Steve’s word’s.    “I’ll ask him.” He lowered the phone. “Do you want to go get lunch with Steve somewhere near his office?” Bucky smiled again and nodded. “Sweet.” He lifted the phone back to his ear. “See you in a few, depending on how bad the traffic is.”    “Can’t wait.” “So what did you think of the movie? Sam asked Bucky as they walked through the door of the apartment.  “Six out of ten stars.” Bucky grinned at him. “But just being in the theater makes me so happy.”    “That’s good.” Sam smiled at him. Movie theaters were Bucky’s new happy place. He’d already gone twice with Sam and once with Steve this week, not that either of them were complaining. “That’s real good.” Bucky flashed him a genuine smile as Sam walked toward the fridge. “Do you want anything from the fridge?” He asked, grabbing a diet coke. He placed it on the counter before he moved to grab a glass. Bucky startled him by crowding into his space. “Buck? Everything okay?”    “Just…” He moved closer to him so their bodies were aligned. Before Sam could ask him another question, Bucky’s hand was on Sam’s face and he was kissing him.    God he was kissing him.    Sam’s mind went blank as he felt the soft lips move in tandem with his. He felt a warmth start to grow in his chest as his hands found Bucky’s hips on instinct. The warmth was replaced with panic after only a few moments, once his brain finally caught up to what was actually happening. “Buck.” He whispered after he pulled back. “Wait.” He put his hands on Bucky’s chest and pushed him back slightly. “What…” He could feel himself breathing heavily. “What…”    “Sam.” Bucky stroked his cheek. “Please.” He murmured.    “I can’t.” Sam whispered. “We can’t.” Pain crosses Bucky’s eyes.    “Have I- Have I misread everything? Sam I- I see the way you look at me. Especially when you think I can’t see you.” Sam looked down at the ground.    “It’s completely inappropriate. I’m so sorry I made you think-”    “So you don’t have those feelings for me? Look me in my eyes and tell me you’ve never thought about it.” Sam closed his eyes.    “I-I can’t lie to you Buck.” He whispered, his throat threatening to close. All his emotions, every feeling he had been forcing down the past few months was threatening to come to the surface.    “Then why?” Bucky forced Sam to look him in the eyes. “Is it because you think I can’t consent? Sam, I can. I-I know I’m in recovery but I’m not too damaged to consent.” Sam took a few deep breaths.    “Of course not. I would never- Of course you can consent. But I’m your caregiver. There’s still a power imbalance... We can’t do this.” Sam felt tears stinging the back of his eyes. Bucky shook his head and squeezed his eyes together.    “Steve doesn’t need to know. He never needs to know.” Bucky moved his hand to Sam’s crotch where he was, embarrassingly, half hard. “I’ll do anything you want Sam. Anything.” Bucky leaned in and whispered into Sam’s ear. “Let me take care of you Sam, let me make you feel good.” Sam could feel the desire pooling in his stomach at Bucky’s words. He grabbed the hand and pulled it away.    “I’m sorry Bucky.” He used his other hand to rub his thumb over Bucky’s cheek. “I want to, god I hate myself for how much I want to. But I can’t do that to you. To Steve.” He brought his lips to Bucky’s forehead and placed a soft kiss there. “I still care about you. So much. This doesn’t change that.” He took a deep breath. “But there’s this thing called transference. It’s common for people to fall in love, or believe they’ve fallen in love with their therapists and I’m pretty sure it can happen with caregivers too. It can be exploited. And I can’t take that risk with you Buck. Once you no longer see me every day, the feelings might go away completely.” Bucky took a step back.    “What if they don’t?” Bucky whispered, his eyes tearing up.         “I can’t risk it. I can’t hurt you. Too many people have.” Bucky nodded his head and took another step back.    “You’re a good man Sam. Too good. You deserve someone better than me anyway.” The tears started falling from his eyes.    “That’s not why-” Sam was cut off by tears falling from his own eyes. “That’s not why Bucky. I swear.”   “I need some space Sam. I’m sorry I did this, I’m so fucking sorry. Don’t check on me, please. I promise to you on my life I’m not going to hurt myself but I just cannot be in the same room as you right now.”    “Buck-” Sam started but the other man had already started walking away. Sam turned and grabbed the countertop, trying to calm his heart as he heard Bucky’s door close. He willed the tears to stop as he went to sit on the couch but they continued to fall.    ***   Sam knocked on Bucky’s door lightly. “Bucky. Can I talk to you for a second? Please?”    “It’s unlocked.” Bucky answered, not bothering to look up when Sam came into the room. He was curled up in a fetal position on his bed. Sam sat down next to him.    “Bucky, I know you don’t want to talk to me. I understand that, truly. But I just want you to know that I’m always here for you. If Steve decides to let me go-” He was interrupted by Bucky moving to a sitting position and looking him in the eyes.    “What?”   “I have to tell him about today. I have a moral obligation as your caregiver. I’ll spare the details, I promise.”    “He- He can’t fire you. You still have 2 months left.” Sam gave him a sad smile.   “He can do whatever he wants I’m afraid. I’m not saying he’s going to but… If he does, I want you to know I still want you in my life. I want to be your friend, if you’ll have me. I know it’s complicated right now and that I hurt you.”   “No.” Bucky cut him off. “You don't have to tell him Sam.”    “Yeah I do.” He moved to get off of the bed.    “Wait.” Bucky grabbed his wrist. “Can we make a compromise? You can tell him I kissed you and that you immediately pushed me off. I don’t mind. Tell him about the…” He snapped his fingers a few times. “The transference thing. He doesn’t need to know about your feelings. Then we can keep working together. You’re good for me Sam. You know that.” Bucky pleaded with him. “You know that if you keep working with me, I’ll be able to be on my own by the time you graduate. If it’s with someone new, it could set me back a month. Months even, if I don’t like them.” Sam sighed and bit his lip, thinking it over.    “Fine.” Bucky gave him a smile before a sad looked crossed his eyes and he dropped Sam’s wrist. “Sorry Buck.” Sam whispered, knowing what the man was thinking.    “Me too… But I still want you here Sam. Even if I’m heartbroken right now. You still mean the world to me. You make me want to get better.” Sam had to clench his jaw to hold himself back. He wanted to kiss Bucky on the forehead again. On the cheek. On the lips.   “I’ll leave you alone. I know today was a lot.” He managed to get out as he tried not to stare at Bucky’s lips, thinking about how they moved against his effortlessly. Naturally, like they had kissed hundreds of times before.    ***    “Hey Sam.” Steve frowned as he saw that Bucky’s door was closed. “What happened this time?”    “I need to talk to you about something.” Sam sat at the kitchen table and fiddled with the notebook in front of him as Steve took a seat. “Bucky wanted some space from me because…” He took a deep breath and tried to steady his breathing. “Bucky kissed me today.” Steve sucked in a breath in surprise.    “Um- Okay. That’s, that’s not what I thought you were gonna say.”    “It’s probably just transference. Have you heard of it?” Steve shook his head. “It’s when patients believe they’ve fallen in love with their therapists. It can happen with other caregivers as well. I’ve explained it to him.” He sighed. “I understand this is a very delicate situation Steve. I understand if you’d rather have someone else caring for your brother.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.    “No Sam. You’re the only one I trust with him.” Sam felt a pang of guilt flare through his stomach. “As long as he’s still comfortable with you. At the rate you’re going, he’ll be able to be left alone by the time you go back to your old job. And that’s all thanks to you, I’d be worried a new person would set back his recovery. I’m um- I’m sorry he kissed you.”    “Don’t be. It’s not a big deal.” Liar. His inner voice screamed at him. He cleared his throat. “Can you just text me after you talk to him so I know if I should come in tomorrow?” Steve’s features softened.    “Yeah of course. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”    ***   He asked me to take tomorrow off. I think he’s just embarrassed about everything. See you Monday.     Sam reread the message for the tenth time, trying not to think about it too much. It made sense, Bucky wanting some time away from him to get over what had happened. But Sam couldn’t help but over analyze the words. Maybe Bucky had changed his mind and didn’t actually want to see him again. Maybe Steve was going to let him go on Monday and he wouldn’t get to spend his last two months with Bucky. He tried not to tear up thinking about the list in his notes app, the one with every movie and TV show Sam decided Bucky needed to see. God he was being pathetic.    Sounds like a plan, see you then. Sam eventually texted back. He rolled over and put his phone on his nightstand before he grabbed one of his pillows and screamed into it. The tears kept threatening to come back, he hadn’t been this upset about another person since… he squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t let himself go there. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 6:30. He reached for his phone again and called Natasha.    “What’s up Sam.” She greeted warmly.    “You busy?” He asked her, trying not to sound upset.    “I’m leaving the office right now.” She sighed. “Do not judge me, you’ve left later.” Sam chuckled.    “You’re not wrong. Do you want to hang out? I can order us a pizza.”    “God yes. I’ll meet you at your place, make sure to get mine with-”    “Extra mushrooms, I know. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up and immediately called their favorite pizza place. Before he knew it, his pizza was delivered and Nat was knocking on his door. She pulled him into a hug.   “This is exactly what I needed, thank you.” Sam grinned at her.    “Rough day?” He asked as he grabbed them plates. She nodded and opened the boxes he laid out on the counter, grabbing two pieces of pizza.    “Just long. You?”    “Emotionally exhausting.” Sam replied as they made their way to his couch.    “Do tell.”    “Bucky kissed me.” He said simply. She gawked at him.    “What?” He shrugged his shoulders.    “He kissed me and now he’s upset because I told him we couldn’t… You know, be physical. It’s um... complicated.”    “You wanted to kiss him back though?” She asked softly.    “Yeah, I did. I feel terrible about it, I know it’s completely wrong. He um… he asked Steve to take tomorrow off so I’m not gonna see him again until Monday.”    “What was kissing him like?” Sam felt his stomach do a somersault.    “It was amazing Nat. It felt like kissing someone who I’m meant to kiss, if that makes sense. And I hate myself for thinking that.” She patted his knee.    “I’m sorry.”   “It’s alright. I’m just hoping, praying that we’ll be able to move on from this. He’s made so much progress, I don’t want to set him back or anything.”    “I’m sure you’ll both be okay.” She gave him a teasing grin. “When I told you to start dating again, this isn’t what I meant.” He rolled his eyes.    “Trust me, I know.”  Sam stood outside the door and forced himself to take a few deep breaths before he put the key in. “If you aren’t awkward, it won’t be awkward.” He muttered to himself before he turned the doorknob.    “Hey Sam.” Steve greeted him from the kitchen. “How did your midterms go?”    “Good.” Sam responded as he threw his backpack on the couch. “Only one of my classes had an actual test for midterm week which was nice. I think they’ve taken pity on us since most of us are graduating this semester.”  He took a seat across from Bucky at the kitchen table. “Hey Buck.” He said softly.    “Sam.” He smiled at him but it seemed forced. “I’m uh- I’m sorry about Friday.”    “It’s all good.” Steve joined them at the table and put plates in front of them.    “What’s in the omelet today chef?” Bucky teased.   “Ham and cheddar. I know the jalapeño’s in the last one upset your stomach.” Steve replied with a grin. “I’m thinking French toast for tomorrow.”    “You know Steve.” Sam took a bite. “If you decide finance isn’t for you, you could open a restaurant. You’ve got mad skills.” Steve shook his head.    “I don’t think I’d like it if I was doing it for a living. I think cooking for others is my love language.”    “Then maybe you should invite one of your lady friends over for breakfast… or you know, let her stay for breakfast.” Steve cheeks went red at Bucky’s words.    “I personally think that’s a great idea. Breakfast with your hook up, your hook up’s brother, and your hook up’s brother’s caregiver wouldn’t be awkward at all.” Sam said causing Bucky to giggle into his coffee.    “See, Sam agrees.” Bucky grinned. Steve put his head in his hands.    “You’re insufferable. Both of you. And unlike you two, I am a mature adult who… You know what, never mind. I’m leaving for work now.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll see you later.” Bucky laughed again as Steve closed the door. Sam took the last bite of his omelette before gathering their plates and putting them in the sink.    “Sam?” Bucky asked from behind him. Sam turned and looked at the other man who was now standing. “I never apologized before, for what I did on Thursday. I’m sorry. I’ve had the weekend to digest what you told me and I understand now. Why we can’t…” He blushed. “You know.”    “It’s okay Bucky. I should apologize too, I know you wouldn’t have kissed me if I didn’t look at you the way I did. I’m sorry. I’m just glad we can… move on. Continue to be friends.”    “Yeah.” Bucky smiled, genuinely this time. “I spent a lot of time this weekend drawing, do you want to see?”    “Yeah, of course.”   ***   “This is a rough sketch of what my room looked like and this…” He flipped the page. “... is what my cell door looked like. My um- my therapist thought that drawing places on the compound would help me heal.”    “Is it?” Sam asked softly. Bucky nodded.    “I think so. It makes me sad too. I drew this.” He flipped to another page that showed a wall with one brick missing. An arm extended from the bottom of the page and joined another hand through the gap in the wall, only their fingers touching “But it just made me feel worse instead of better.”    “That’s how you held hands.” Sam whispered, feeling like he could cry.    “Yeah. There wasn’t much else we could do, you know?” Bucky shook his head. “I’m thinking about trying painting now too but it’s a pretty big step.” Sam smiled at him.    “We could make another trip to an art store today, if you want.” Bucky bit his lip.    “Not today, I’m still deciding… If that’s okay.”    “Of course it is.”    “Right.” Bucky stared down at his hand.    “You doing okay today?” Sam asked him. “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”   “If we… if we met a different way. If you didn’t work with me… Would you consider dating me?”   “I think I’ve made the answer to that pretty clear the past few months.” Sam replied carefully. Bucky brought his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he clearly picked up from Steve.    “There’s a difference between wanting to sleep with someone and wanting to be with someone.” Sam had to grit his teeth together so his jaw didn’t drop.   “Oh god. Bucky of course I didn’t just want to sleep with you. I care about you a lot and those feelings eventually turned… romantic. I never even thought about that part. I was too busy being pissed at myself for just wanting to touch your face.” Sam could feel the back of his neck heating up in embarrassment. Bucky took a deep breath before he responded.    “But would you sleep with me? I mean… in the scenario where it wasn’t complicated.”    “Of course I’d want to if I was dating you. Buck, why are you asking me these questions?” Bucky shrugged.    “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t because of my scars and you know… ” He gestured vaguely at himself. “...the arm.” Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.    “Of course not. You’re...a very attractive man.” Bucky looked up and smiled at him.    ‘Thanks. Can I- can we um… Can we still hug?”    “Of course.” Sam smiled and stood up before grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him up to join him. “Come here.” He wrapped his arm around the other man. Bucky sighed into his shoulder.    “Thank you Sam.”    ***   Two weeks passed by without incident. Sam finally felt like he could keep his emotions in check, that he was moving on from his feelings for Bucky. That was until one morning when Sam opened the door and saw Steve waiting in the entryway. “Everything okay?” Sam asked, concern written all over his face.    “Bucky’s got a date, he just told me.” Sam stilled completely at the words.    “Bucky has a what?”    “A date. Apparently he’s been talking to one of his old friends since he re-joined social media. The guy asked him out and he said yes.”    “Okay…” Sam carefully masked the jealousy he felt crawling all over his skin. “This is a good thing, right? He wants to spend time with someone who isn’t the two of us and he’s thinking about dating someone. Thinking of dating is thinking about the future which we know he struggles with.”    “Yeah but…” Steve took a deep breath. “Do you think he’s ready? To date seems like such a big step.” Sam thought about Bucky’s kiss and the way his tongue swiped over Sam’s bottom lip before he pushed him away.      “He’s 27 Steve. He just wants happiness and love like anyone else.”   “Yeah…” Steve paused for a long moment. “If he agrees to it, will you go? Sit in the corner and make sure the guy doesn’t do anything suspicious.”   “Steve.” Sam said softly. “You know there’s no risk from Hydra anymore.”   “But there’s still bad people. Bad people that could take advantage of a guy with only one arm. Let’s go talk to him about the idea, please?” Steve gave his best puppy dog eyes and how could Sam say no to that?    Bucky was sitting on the couch with his legs criss-crossed. “Hey Sam. Steve trying to talk you out of letting me be a normal person?”    “I’m not Bucky, I’m just worried. I was thinking Sam could be there with you from a distance. The guy wouldn’t know but it would make me less stressed.” Bucky blushed immediately.    “Steve, I'm trying to… move on from my feelings for Sam. The transference stuff. I don’t know if I’m comfortable-” He looked Sam in the eyes for a moment before looking away. “I don’t know if I want him there.” Sam kneeled so he was at the same eye level as Bucky.    “This is your decision Bucky but your brother is just worried about you and the shitty people in the world who could try to hurt you. And if I’m there and the date goes bad, you’ll be able to leave right away.” Bucky thought it over for a minute.    “Fine but you have to sit far enough away so you can’t hear our conversation. I’m allowed that much privacy.”    “Of course.” Sam replied. “Where’s the date?”    “Bookstore and coffee shop a few blocks from here. Tomorrow at 10.”    “Thank you Bucky.” Steve told him before he disappeared into his room to change into his work clothes.    “So is he cute?” Sam asked teasingly, causing Bucky to roll his eyes.    “If I’m going on a date with him of course he’s cute.” Bucky replied, pulling out his phone and showing Sam a picture. He was an attractive man, with green eyes and long black hair.    “You’ve got good taste.” Sam replied, trying to be casual. Bucky grinned at him.    “Thanks.” Steve came out of his room then.    “Sorry I forgot to make breakfast, feel free to doordash something. Have a good day.” He walked over and kissed the top of Bucky’s hair. “Love you Bucky.” He whispered. “I’m sorry I can be overprotective.” He turned and walked out the door.    “Do you want to get something delivered or we can try that diner around the corner? I've heard good things if you’re up for interaction with the outside world.”    “Let’s do it.” Bucky smiled.    ***   “Can I get you boys anything else?” The waitress smiled down at them. Sam shook his head.    “We’re good, thank you.” She nodded and left them alone.   “Can we go to the art store today? I decided I do want to try painting again.” Bucky said in between bites of pancake.    “Of course.” Sam smiled. “You want to head there after this?”    “Yeah. Thanks Sam. I’m sorry I was being kind of hostile earlier.” Sam shook his head.    “Steve’s overprotective, I can understand why you get frustrated. You deserve to have a normal life, especially considering all you’ve been through. I’ll talk him into letting you go on the second date alone.”    “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Bucky grinned. “I don’t exactly have the same charm that I used to.” Sam looked at him and bit his tongue, unsure what would come out if he responded to that comment.   “How do I look?” Bucky ran his hand through his hair. Sam smiled at him.    “Handsome.” Sam paused. “You nervous?” Bucky nodded his head.    “Yeah kinda. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a real date.” He bit his lip. “Are you ready to head out?”    “Yeah.” Sam forced a smile. When they finished their walk to the coffee shop they paused at the door. “I’ll head in first?”    “Yeah, he’s meeting me out here anyway.” Bucky replied. Sam nodded and entered, ordering an iced latte. He took a seat in the corner of the room, where he had a full view of the store. It was a relatively small place with 6 small tables, a bar with charging stations, and a few plush chairs. The bookstore part was much bigger, taking up double the space that the cafe and seating area did. He pulled out his phone and glanced at twitter before looking out the window. Bucky was standing with another man who also had long hair, his black. Sam wanted to look away but couldn’t as the man pulled Bucky into a hug. He looked back to his phone as they entered the store together, pulling out a pair of headphones from his back pocket. He plugged them in and put them in his ears but didn’t play anything.    Bucky and his date took a seat as far from him as they could but he could still hear their conversation if he focused. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he should put on some music so he wasn’t tempted but he didn’t. He strained his ears and listened to them talk about the typical first date stuff, their high school mutual friends, and Bucky’s new obsession with Star Wars. Sam opened a different social media app and pretended to scroll as he focused on not being obvious with his eavesdropping. “I always had a crush on you in high school.” Bucky’s date said to him after taking a drink of his coffee. Bucky snorted.    “No you didn’t.”    “Why don’t you believe me?” He asked, his cheeks reddening slightly as he smiled.    “Because I was a loner art kid who was so deep in the closet I was practically living in Narnia. I kept to myself a lot back then.”    “That’s not how I remember it.”    “How do you remember it?” Bucky asked him with a soft smile.    “I remember thinking you were way out of my league. And that every girl who was interested in the arts wanted to be with you.” Bucky shook his head at the words.    “Steve remembers it the same way. He said he was surprised when it came out that I was gay because I was such a ladies man in high school. I guess I never noticed them. I kinda feel bad now.” He smiled.   “You had a boyfriend though, right? Secretly?”   “Yeah. He um- they thought he killed me for some reason so everything kinda got exposed during the investigation. It was weird, I came back and everyone had known for years.”    “It must be hard transitioning back. After not being a part of society. Is it true, what the news says about the cult?” Bucky stared at the frappe in front of him.    “I don’t really like to talk about it.” He muttered, so quietly Sam could barely hear.       “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just, I always thought.” He paused. “I always thought you’d come back alive. Selfishly, maybe. When I was going through my own problems, I needed some type of hope.”   “Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “Thor reached out after we started talking. I only knew him in passing since he was older than us but he wanted to uh- make sure I didn’t take you to a bar or anything.”   “He worries about me. I had some rough years but I went through rehab. Got my 3 year chip and everything.”   “Good to hear.”    “So do you want to go look at books with me? I could give you some recommendations.”    “Yeah.” Sam looked up from his phone in just enough time to see Bucky flash a bright smile. Jealousy flared through his chest as he forced himself to look back down. He turned on his music as they walked away, finding no reason not to. Thirty minutes later, he looked up and saw them leaving. He glanced out the window and saw them chatting, hands interlaced. Sam forced himself to look away when Bucky leaned in and kissed the other man. He could feel his hands shaking as he paused his music and pulled off the headphones. He put them in his back pocket before he stood up and threw away his coffee cup. He jumped in surprise when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.    “Hey Sam. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you ready to head back to the apartment?”     “Yeah. How was it?”    “Good yeah. Really good.” Bucky bit his lip and smiled. Sam forced himself to smile back.    “I’m glad.”    ***    “Tell me about him.” Sam said as he took a seat next to Bucky on the couch. Bucky rolled his eyes and put his head in the crook of his elbow in embarrassment.    “What do you want to know? Uh his name is Loki , we were in the same year in school. We were kinda friends back then but he was the first person to reach out when I got back. I kinda brushed him off at first but when I started getting better we started talking again. He’s a nice guy. He has his own issues. He gets it, you know?” He looked down at his lap. “Like you do. Um-“ He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”    “Loki? That’s an… interesting name.” Bucky looked up and smiled.    “Yeah, his brother’s named Thor and his sister’s Hela. They had… interesting parents I guess.”   “You uh… you gonna go on a second date with him?” Sam did his best to keep his voice neutral.    “Yeah, I think so. If he wants to.”    “I’m really happy for you Buck. And if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his nose.” Bucky let out a genuine laugh at that, his eyes sparkling. Sam was pretty sure he was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.    “Thanks Sam.”    ***    “So Steve is worried about his wood floors so I’m thinking we could get a tarp? We’d have to rearrange the furniture but I think I could set up a painting corner without too much risk of getting paint on things.” Bucky gestured to the corner of the room. “If we put the bed there and the desk by the window.”    “Okay, rearrange first or go out and get the tarp first?”    “Um.” Bucky bit his lip. “Can you decide for me?” Sam put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.    “We talked about this. I know making decisions stresses you out. But you're free to make them now, it’s good for you.”    “Yeah, yeah. I know my therapist told you not to let me push my decisions on you.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “And let’s rearrange first I guess.”    “Alright.” Sam smiled. “Bed first or-“    “Jesus. Yes, bed first.” They made quick work of rearranging the bed and the desk. “See, I think I can use the desk to hold my paint and put the easel next to it here. Yeah?” Bucky asked.    “Yeah, I think that’ll be good. Wanna go get the tarp and easel now?” Bucky nodded his head.    “Yeah that would be awesome. Thanks.”    “Don’t thank me yet. I expect a painting at some point. Before you get famous.” Sam teased, knocking their shoulders together. Bucky blushed.    “You’re a dork.” Bucky muttered but his eyes were warm.    ***    “Okay do we need a cart or are we just getting the tarp?” Sam asked as they walked into the hardware store.    “Just the tarp since we already got the easel. I can’t think of anything else I need.”    “Sweet.” Sam started walking down the isles, looking at each overhead sign so they could find the item they were looking for. He noticed Bucky stiffen slightly next to him as they passed a table with different power tools. “You good?” He asked Bucky while nodding at the man behind the table.    “Yeah. Just uh, I‘ve tried not to think about powertools since the accident.”    “If you need to wait in the car, I can get the tarp for you.”    “No.” Bucky shook his head. “I’m good.”    “Alright.” They arrived at the correct aisle and Bucky picked out a tarp specifically made for painting. They started walking back to the register but as they walked past the table of powertools, the demonstrator turned one on to show a customer. Bucky paused next to him and started shaking. “Buck? Shit” Sam muttered as he dropped the tarp and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky’s eyes were blank and his chest was heaving.    “Hey man.” He called to the demonstrator. “Can you turn that off for a sec, he has PTSD.” The man did and the customer looked over at them with a concerned expression. Bucky was still shaking and was now leaning all his weight on Sam. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder.    “Don’t take my arm, please don’t take my arm.” He whispered. Sam shuttered, trying not to think of the horror Bucky was probably flashing back to.    “Okay. Okay, we’re gonna go to the car now okay?” He guided him to the exit, keeping a hand on his back. When they got to the car, Sam opened the passenger door and sat Bucky down. He leaned over and put his hand on Bucky’s cheek. “You with me? We left the building, you’re safe. I’m here.”    “Fuck.” Bucky responded after a few minutes. “What happened?”    “They turned one of the powertools on and you entered a dissociative state.” Bucky looked down at his lap.    “It’s been so long since that’s happened.”    “I know. But we’ve never been to a hardware store, so that probably didn’t help.” Bucky shook his head as tears pricked at his eyes.    “I thought I was getting better.”    “You are Bucky. Just because you take a few steps back, doesn’t discount the leaps and bounds you’ve taken forward. Okay?” He pulled Bucky into his arms and hugged him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”    “Thanks. Can you uh- can I take you up on that offer to stay in the car while you get the tarp?”    “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself? We can wait a few minutes, there’s no rush.”    “Maybe wait a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”    “Of course not.” Sam smiled at him softly.    “Do you have plans for today?” Sam asked Bucky as he stirred his smoothie with a straw.    “I have therapy today.” Sam rolled his eyes.    “Pretty sure I know that.”    “Right.” Bucky replied before biting his cheek. “Not really, why?”    “The cherry blossoms are blooming. Do you want to go?” Bucky’s eyes lit up.    “They are? I haven’t seen them in 10 years… yes I want to go. Please.” Bucky smiled softly.    “Let’s head there after your appointment, yeah?”    “Yeah. Don’t let me forget my phone, I want to take reference photos to paint later.”    “Sure.” Sam paused and cleared his throat. “So uh… have you been talking with Loki?”    “Yeah, we’ve been texting. And we talked on the phone last night. We’re still trying to decide what to do for our second date.”    “That’s good. Do you need me to talk to Steve about letting you go by yourself?”    “No, we actually talked about it already and he agreed.”   “That’s great.” Sam smiled. “I know it can be hard for you guys to talk about that stuff.”    “Yeah I’m trying to be better about communicating with him.” Bucky replied.    “I’m proud of you. You’ve made so much progress since we met.” A sad look crossed Bucky’s eyes at the words. “What’s wrong?” Sam asked, noticing the look.    “Just thinking about you leaving is all. We’ve only got 5 more weeks together. It’s gonna be weird. Like- I know I’m gonna be okay on my own but I’m so used to spending time with you every day. But I’m taking my driving test on Saturday so I’ll get a little independence back. I’ve been talking a lot with my therapist about what I want to do once I’m on my own. Work and stuff.”    “I thought Steve said you got a settlement from Hydra. He sounded like he didn’t plan on you working anytime soon.”    “Yeah, I don’t have to. But I’m scared if I don’t have a plan I’ll just be super depressed here by myself you know? Maybe doing something part time would help my social skills. Or I’ve thought about going to college. I’m not sure.” He bit his lip.     “You still have plenty of time to decide.”   “Yeah. Thanks.”   “And Buck… I’m always gonna be here for you. Long after this job ends. There’s no way you’re gonna get rid of me anytime soon.” Tears started pooling in Bucky’s eyes. “You’re one of my favorite people, Bucky. Meeting you was such a blessing.” The tears started falling. “Hey.” Sam pulled Bucky into a standing position and into his arms. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”    “They’re happy tears. I still get scared I’m never gonna see you again. Thanks for reminding me. You’re so important to me, I don’t know what I’d be like if I never met you.”    “You’d be fine, this...” Sam pulled back and gestured at Bucky, causing him to blush. “Was all you. You put in the work, I’m just along for the ride.”    “You can keep telling yourself that, but we both know I’m right.” Bucky muttered. Sam noticed him staring at his lips and felt his palms starting to sweat. He cleared his throat and took a step back.    “You done with your smoothie?” Bucky nodded and Sam took their glasses to the sink.”    ***    “How was therapy?” Sam asked as they got into his car.    “It was okay. We talked about switching to only meeting once a week in a few weeks, now that I’m starting to improve a lot. Like how I’m not going to the nutritionist anymore. But she wants to wait a little bit before we make that switch. Um… I finally told her what happened with us. How I kissed you.”    “You hadn’t told her yet?”    “No. I know I should have but I don’t like talking about that kind of stuff with her. It feels like talking about sex with my mother… or Steve honestly.” Sam snorted.    “I’m glad you finally told her. She probably thinks I’m a terrible person though.”    “Nah.” Sam started the car as Bucky spoke. “I told her about your ex-fiancé and how you haven’t been with anyone since him. And we talked about my relationship with Dean. She thinks um- I, I don’t have to tell you if it makes you uncomfortable.”    “No it’s fine.” Sam replied softly as he backed out of their parking space.    “She thinks we’re attracted to each other because we kinda look and remind each other of the person we lost. You being so optimistic and stuff, I guess it does remind me of him a little.”    “I told Dr. Leslie that you reminded me of someone I love. When you had to do your electric shock, it upset me more than she expected.”    “So I do remind you of him?”    “Only a little but yeah. You’re both smart asses who stress me out. Both of you are too cute for your own good.” Bucky laughed at that.    “Thanks I think.”    “You still want to see the cherry blossoms?”    “Yeah.” They rode in comfortable silence until they reached Stanton Park. “Wow.” Bucky whispered as they came into view. “They’re even more beautiful than I remember.” Sam found parking relatively quickly before they got out and started walking around the park. Bucky took pictures every few minutes and Sam did his best not to stare. “Come here.” Bucky dragged Sam over to a tree and snapped a photo of them together.    “You should send that to me.” He told him. Bucky smiled at him.    “Of course. Do you um- do you want to get lunch before we head back to the apartment?” Sam faked shock.    “Bucky Barnes suggesting being in public. Without me having to beg him?” Sam teased. Bucky rolled his eyes but laughed.    “What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me. And I want a cheeseburger.” Sam stared at him and felt a warmth across his chest. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him so bad it felt like his heart was breaking in two.    “You got it.”    ***    “So do you remember when I was making that portrait of Dean for his family?” Bucky asked. Sam looked up from the textbook he was reading.    “Yeah.”   “I ended up mailing it to them. His brother sent me a message and said they really loved it. They offered to pay me. I said no but it’s pretty cool that they thought I was good enough to pay me right?”    “I told you that you’re insanely talented. But that’s awesome.”    “I’m thinking about making an Instagram for just my art. Try to sell some of it maybe. I think I want to do art full time someday, if I can.”    “That’s awesome, Buck. How’s the painting going?”    “Okay, it’s been a little harder to pick up than drawing was. I mean, the work isn’t bad, it’s just not as good as when I got kidnapped.”   “I’m sure you’ll get there.”    “Have you been working on your writing?”    “A little. I’ve been doing some freelance blogging for a friend of mine so I’m doing it regularly now.”    “That’s good. Have you been working on your book too?”    “I have an idea. But I need to talk to Riley’s mom first. I want to write about what it was like to hide my sexuality and relationship while in the military.” Bucky’s eyes softened.    “That’s so cool Sam. Honestly, you’d inspire so many people.”   “Thanks. But I don’t know if I’d say inspiring. I’m just a guy.”    “You’re more than just a guy.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You underestimate yourself.”    “You’re one to talk.” Sam replied. Bucky’s cheeks reddened.   “Yeah yeah. I’m taking steps though. Like making the Instagram. Which I’m gonna do today.” He bit his lip.    “Hey. Don’t start second guessing yourself. Make the page. I can help you take photos of your work if you want.” Bucky smiled at him.    “Yeah. That would be nice. I think I’ll make the page right now.” He glanced at the clock. “And take the pictures tomorrow.”    “Have you decided on your page name yet?”    “Probably something simple like Art by Bucky Barnes or something.”    “Well, I want to be your first follower so you better let me know.”    “Okay, I will.”    ***   Sam laid on his couch and let the day wash over him. He thought about Bucky next to the cherry blossoms. He wanted to take flowers and braid them into Bucky’s hair. He wanted to push Bucky up against a tree and kiss him. He wanted to hold his hand and kiss the corners of his eyes when he cried. His thoughts were cut off by his phone vibrating in his pocket. Bucky had texted him.    Sorry I forgot to send you this earlier.   He had attached the photo of them with the cherry blossoms. Sam looked at the photo and smiled, immediately saving it. They were both smiling at the camera and had tilted their heads toward each other. They had taken photos together before but this one felt different. If Sam was an outsider, he was pretty sure he would assume that they were in a relationship. God he needed to keep it together.   We look damn good. He texted back. Bucky sent him an eye roll emoji, a tongue sticking out emoji, and a heart emoji. Sam tried not to think about the heart too much. He took a deep breath.    “This is getting ridiculous.” He muttered to himself. “It’s never gonna happen. It can’t happen.” He pulled up the App Store on his phone and typed in Tinder. He paused before downloading the app but decided to go for it. He filled out his bio and added a few pictures before he started swiping. He got a match within minutes.    Hey cutie. The man messaged him. Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got FINE written all over you. Sam tried not to roll his eyes. He bit his lip but decided to respond to the message, even if it was cheesy. Maybe he could get over Bucky after all.  “I had a really great time with you tonight Sam.”    “Thanks uh. You too Rhodey.” He glanced down at their intertwined fingers and felt his cheeks warming up. “I should get home though, since it’s a work night.”    “Can I kiss you?” The other man asked. Sam bit his lip. “Totally cool if you want to wait. I just had to ask.”    “No it’s okay, I- I would like that.” Rhodey smiled and brought his free hand to Sam’s face, slowly leaning in. Sam closed his eyes and let himself focus on the feeling of warmth on his lips. Rhodey pulled back after only a few seconds and smiled.     “I’ll let you get home now.” He said, dropping Sam’s hand. “But feel free to text me whenever.”    “Alright.” Sam unlocked his car and opened the door. “See you later?”    “Yeah for sure.” He closed his eyes once he saw Rhodey turn and walk the other way. His heart was constricting in a way he knew it shouldn’t. He tried not to think about the reason he felt so guilty. He always assumed his first date after Riley would be painful but another person was in the back of his mind instead. He shook his head and started the car.    ***    “Hey Sam.” Bucky walked the few steps from the kitchen to the front door. “Good morning.” He said, giving Sam a side hug.    “Steve leave already?”    “Yeah. Something about a new hire. He seemed stressed about it so I didn’t ask.”   “Seems smart.” He glanced at Bucky’s wet hair. “Did you…”    “Yeah I took a shower without anyone standing guard at the door.” Bucky smiled softly.    “I’m proud of you Buck. Honestly at this point you could tell Steve to fire your babysitter.” Sam teased.     “But I like my babysitter.” Bucky teased back. “And he promised me help with my Instagram.”    “Yeah alright.” Sam gave him a shove. “But breakfast first? I might not be as good as Steve but I can make some mean scrambled eggs.”    “Sounds like a plan.” Bucky smiled at him.    ***    “I saw you shared your page on your personal social media. How did that feel?”    “Nerve wracking.” Bucky responded. “I was worried no one would follow it but a lot of people did. I’m glad I put myself out there. My extended family seems really excited and proud of me. One of my Aunts is a jewelry maker and she told me I should also try selling at craft fairs and art shows so that’s been nice. Talking to her about it.” He grabbed another painting from the stack and put it on his homemade backdrop, snapping a picture.”    “I could see you doing that.”    “Thanks.” Bucky smiled again. “When I shared some of the sketches from the compound on my personal account, I got a lot of good feedback. People care more than I thought. Now that I’m opening up.”    “Of course they care.” Sam responded, confusion laced in his voice.    “I know, I know. But I forget that a lot. I just feel like…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”    “You can tell me if you want.” Sam said softly.    “The people at Hydra made me forget that most people are good people. Or at least… that people in the world will care about me.”    “I understand that. But I’m glad people are proving you wrong.” He glanced at the new painting in Bucky’s hand. “You painted the cherry blossoms. They look beautiful.”    “Thank you.” Bucky scrunched his nose. “It’s one of my favorite memories. Recent memories. Seeing them with you.” Sam felt his heart constrict in his chest.    “Sap.” He teased but he pulled Bucky into a hug, lingering for a few moments longer than usual.    ***    “So how was work for you this week?” Rhodey asked, sliding Sam a box of take out. It was their third time hanging out and they had plans to eat take out and watch moves.    “Super chill. I honestly don’t think he needs me anymore but he won’t admit that yet. He’s taking his meds on his own, he spends a good part of his day working on his art, and he passed his driving test. I’m way more stressed about school if I’m being honest. What about you, you’re the one with the actually stressful job.”    “It’s better now that I’m here. Why’s school stressful?”    “Um.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I have a huge capstone project due before finals. I have plenty of time left to finish it but I can’t graduate unless I get a good grade on it so it’s always in the back of my mind.” Rhodey put his hand on Sam’s waist.    “If you ever need anything, let me know.” He grinned and placed a soft kiss on Sam’s lips. “Come on, I’ll even let you pick the first movie if you’re nice to me.” Sam rolled his eyes and laughed.    “Yeah, okay.”    ***     “Who’s Rhodey?” Sam glanced up from texting and saw Bucky looking over his shoulder.     “Hey man, we talked about this. I’m one of the only people who’s not gonna freak out when you do that.” Bucky bit his lip.    “Sorry. Is he um- do you have a boyfriend now?”    “No. We’ve been on a few dates but he’s not. He’s not my boyfriend.” Bucky nodded at the words but a sad look crossed his face. “Are you uh-” Sam started. “Are you still seeing Loki?”    “Just as friends. We went on that second date but we realized it’s not gonna work between us. I like him as a person though so I’m glad we’re gonna stay friends.”    “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Sam said but warmth spread across his chest. Bucky nodded.    “You could tell me about him if you want.” Bucky whispered, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.    “I don’t think that would be good for either of us, yeah?”    “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I just wanted to be a good friend. I’m uh- I’m still trying to figure out how to do that.”    “Hey.” Sam looked him in his eyes. “You are a good friend. You know it’s just complicated between us.”    “So you do still have feelings for me?” Bucky asked. Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.    “It’s only been a month Buck, of course I do. I still feel terribly guilty about it.”    “I still think about you all the time.” Bucky whispered. “When I kissed him I- I thought of you.” Sam took a deep breath.    “I don’t think we should talk about this. It’s just going to hurt the both of us even more. I’m telling you, it’ll go away when you don’t see me every day.” He brought a hand to Bucky’s face despite his own words. “Sorry.” He said eventually, not moving.    “Don’t be.” Bucky whispered. “Sam…”    “Shit.” Sam finally snapped out of it and pulled his hand away. “Sorry. I um- I’m sorry.”    “It’s alright. I’m gonna um- I think I’m gonna go lay down for a while.”    “Okay, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”   “It’s okay Sam, really.” Bucky smiled but Sam could see the pain behind his eyes.   ***    “... I’m sorry Rhodey.” Sam spoke into the phone. “I hope this doesn’t come as me blindsiding you but there’s an…” Sam bit his lip. “Ex that I’ve realized I need to get over before I can be in a relationship again.”   “I understand Sam. I did have a great time on our dates and if you want to try again in a few months, don’t hesitate to reach out.”    “Thanks Rhodey, bye.” Sam hung up the phone and ran a hand over his face. He took a deep breath and walked up the steps to Steve’s apartment. He opened the door to the familiar sight of Steve cooking and Bucky sitting at the table. “Hey guys.”   “Hey Sam.” Bucky replied, smiling at him softly.    “Hey guys.” Sam grinned as he walked into Steve’s apartment. “I have something for y’all.” He walked over to the table where they were both sitting. Bucky’s eyebrows quirked up as Steve grabbed the envelope from Sam’s hand.    “It’s your graduation announcement. Congrats Sam.” Steve stood up and pulled him into a hug.    “My graduation is the day after my last day of work if you want to come. And I’ll be having a barbeque with my family and friends after.” Bucky pulled Sam from Steve’s arms and gave him a hug as well.    “We’ll be there. Right Steve?” Bucky asked, pulling back with a soft smile on his lips.    “Of course. We’re so proud of you Sam.” Steve replied. “I can’t believe you only have two weeks left. Time has really flown by. We’re really gonna miss you.”    “I’ll always be here. Swear.” Sam told Steve but he met Bucky’s eyes. Bucky blushed before he moved to sit back down at the table.    “Steve went and got us food from the coffee shop down the street.” He said as Sam took a seat across from him.    “Have a good day guys.” Steve said as he headed towards the door. “See you tonight.” Sam glanced at Bucky and smiled.    “I’m so glad you’re coming Buck.”    “Of course.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”    “Sap.” Sam teased.    ***    “Guess what?” Bucky asked Sam a few days later. Sam looked up from his laptop.    “Hmm?”    “I sold my first painting.”    “Shut up. Already?” Bucky nodded. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.” He put his laptop down and pulled him into a hug, not caring that both of them sitting on the couch made it a little awkward.    “I uhh I need to buy some shipping supplies. Will you take me?”    “Of course. You’ll have to show me which piece you sold when we get back. Who did you sell to?”    “Someone I went to high school with. They live in Arizona now though.”    “That’s so awesome. God, I’m so proud of you.” Sam beamed while grabbing his keys.    ***    “It was this piece.” Bucky grabbed a painting out of one of the boxes in his closet. “It’s one of my newer pieces that I made a few weeks ago. Another D.C. cityscape. She said it reminded her of home.”     “I love that.” Sam grinned as Bucky started wrapping the painting in bubble wrap. “Have you decided to pursue art as a career? I know you weren’t sure.” Bucky bit his lip.    “I haven’t 100% decided yet. I talked with Steve about it for a while. He obviously doesn’t think I need to be working yet so he thinks I should just pursue art or go back to school. But I think I want to find something part time to give me structure and also work on the art as well. Something low stress though. Otherwise it wouldn’t be worth it. I don’t want things to get bad again.” His hand stilled.    “You’ll figure out a good balance. I know you will.” Sam responded.    “Can I tell you something I haven’t told Steve yet?”    “Of course.”    “I’m-” Bucky took a shaky breath. “I’ve been looking for a studio apartment near here to rent. I’ve never lived on my own before and it’s something I want. My own independence. I just don’t think he’s gonna love the idea.”    “I think he’ll understand. You’ll just have to give him time. But finding one near here will probably help him come to terms with it.” Sam replied.    “Thanks. I’m not really planning on moving until this summer so I’ll have a few weeks to work up my nerve to bring it up.” Bucky went back to getting the painting ready to ship.    “Well, I’ve always got your back. You know that.”    ***    “Can’t believe it’s your final day.” Bucky mumbled, as he pushed some of his hair behind his ear. “Did you finish all your assignments?”    “Last night.” Sam grinned at him. “I’m officially done with school.”    “We should celebrate.” Bucky turned off the tv and turned to face the other man. “Let me take you somewhere. You haven’t seen the car I bought yet. Come on.” He nudged Sam’s shoulder. “Please? You deserve it.”    “If you want to, alright. Where are you taking me?”    “It’s a surprise.”    “Of course it is.” Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. He stood up and walked toward the table by the front door, grabbing his wallet. “Want me to grab your keys?”    “Yeah, thanks.” Bucky grabbed a hair tie from his room and twisted his hair into a bun before walking back out. He took the keys from Sam’s hand with a mischievous smile. “This is fun.”    “I hate you.” Sam muttered as he followed him outside.    “No you don’t.”    “No I don’t.” Sam replied. Bucky grinned at him as they walked down the stairs and to his car.    “You’re not scared of a guy with only one arm driving are you?” Bucky teased.    “As long as you’re telling the truth about passing your driving test.” Sam said as he got into the passenger seat. Bucky rolled his eyes as he started the car.    “Okay, close your eyes.”    “What??”    “Close your eyes Sam.” Bucky’s eyes were bright. “So the surprise isn’t ruined.”    “Fine.” Sam muttered, closing his eyes as Bucky pulled out of the parking lot. “This is only slightly horrifying.”    “God, you’re dramatic.” Bucky responded. Sam wanted to glance at him but he kept his eyes shut. They drove for 20 minutes, singing along to the throwback playlist Bucky had put on. When Sam felt the car be put into park, he cocked his head.    “Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.    “Hold on.” Bucky opened his door and moved to Sam’s side of the car, opening his door as well. “Take off your seatbelt.” Sam felt his face burn at the direct order but did as he was told. Bucky grabbed Sam’s hand and maneuvered him a few steps. “Okay, you can look now.” Sam opened his eyes and couldn’t help but smile.    “I can’t remember the last time I went to an aquarium.”    “You mentioned that the other day. I haven’t been since high school so I thought it would be nice to celebrate your last day.” Sam had to force himself not to stare at the other man.    “You’re so thoughtful. Such a good friend, come here.” He pulled Bucky into a hug. “I can’t wait.”    ***    “Last exhibit.” Bucky looked up from the map. “Is the shark tank.” He smirked. “I had someone come up to me when I was out with Steve the other night. He asked if my arm was bitten off by a shark.”    “Jesus.”    “I thought it was hilarious.”    “Of course you did.” They walked up to the tank and Bucky stopped in his tracks.    “Wow, they’re beautiful.” Bucky said in awe. They spent a few minutes in the room staring at the sharks before Bucky turned and looked at Sam. “No one else is in here.” He mumbled, almost to himself.    “Yeah?” Sam asked, slightly confused.    “What if… what if we had one moment. And we never talked about it again. And I promise I won’t make it weird. I just want to feel your lips on mine again.” Sam turned and looked at Bucky in the dim light. God he was beautiful , Sam thought to himself.   “Okay.” He breathed before he put both hands on Bucky’s face. He didn’t let himself think about it before he leaned in and found Bucky’s lips. He could have sworn he felt an actual spark as Bucky’s lips moved against his. He pulled back after a few seconds and tried to calm his heart down.    “Thank you.” Bucky whispered, their foreheads touching.    “Come on sweetheart.” Sam said without thinking. “You want lunch?” Bucky’s eyes lit up at the term of endearment.    “Yeah. That sounds good.”   ***   Sam opened his door and smiled, seeing Steve and Bucky. “Sorry we couldn’t come find you right after graduation.” Bucky said, pulling Sam into a hug. “I got overwhelmed with the crowd.”    “No worries.” Sam responded as Steve pulled him into another hug. “Come on, y’all have to come meet my family.”     ***   “Hey.” Sam found Bucky who was sitting with his nephews.    “Hi Uncle Sam. Mr. Bucky was telling us about being an artist. He said he would give us a lesson next time we’re in D.C.” A.J. said.    “Only if your mom and Sam say it’s okay.” Bucky said, a slight smile on his lips.    “Will you two go see if your mom needs help in the kitchen?” Sam asked the two kids. They grumbled for a few seconds before getting up and leaving the two men alone. “Didn’t know you were good with kids.” Sam remarked, trying not to focus on the warmth that was spreading across his chest.    “Neither did I.” Bucky admitted, a slight blush in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “I might leave a little early, you know social settings aren’t my strong suit.”    “Of course. I’m really happy you came.”    “I uh-“ Bucky’s blush deepened. “Can I give you your gift in private? It’s in Steve’s car.” Sam felt the butterflies in his stomach as he followed him to the car. “Close your eyes again, I didn’t have time to wrap it.”    “Is this going to be a constant thing with us now?” Sam asked.    “Shut up, here.” He placed the item in Sam’s hands. “Open.” The item was a canvas but the painting on top of it made Sam feel like the wind had just been knocked out of him. It was a painting of the two of them, obviously based on the photo they took together when they saw the cherry blossoms.    “Bucky-“ He started, his voice breaking.    “You like?” Bucky asked shyly.    “I love.” Sam responded. “Thank you so much.”    “Of course.” Bucky responded before Sam hugged him once again. “You deserve the world Sam. I would give it to you, if you let me.”    “I know Buck, you just gotta give me some time.”    “Of course. I’m gonna go find Steve, I think he’s trying to woo your friend Natasha.” Sam placed a soft kiss on Bucky’s cheek before they parted, Bucky to the main part of the apartment and Sam to the back patio.  Sam’s life went back to where it was a year ago very quickly. He got his old job back within a week and started hanging out with his old work friends again. He still hung out with Natasha outside of work all the time but was able to find excuses to see her throughout the day as well. He started going on runs with Steve every Sunday and Bucky came to his place for dinner a few times a week. They had backed off from their romantic relationship but had become best friends. Sam still felt those feelings though, even if he didn’t want to admit it.    A month and a half after graduation, Sam’s eyes flung open as he heard what sounded like gunshots. He reached for the pocketknife he kept on his end table on instinct before it hit him. It was July 2nd. They were fireworks. He glanced at his clock, 11pm. He’d only been asleep for an hour. The sound of popping continued and he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute. He had assumed the fireworks wouldn’t start until the day after. He took a deep breath through his nose and tried not to think about gunshots, about Afghanistan. About being shot at while trying to rescue other soldiers.    The tears stung his eyes as another crack sounded above his building. His heart was racing and he couldn’t breathe. He grabbed his phone and before he could think about what he was doing, he was calling Bucky. “Hey Sam.” Bucky answered, no sleepiness in his voice which made Sam feel a little less guilty. “Everything okay?”    “I need you.” Sam managed to get out as he curled into a ball on his bed. “Please.”    “Okay, okay. Just hang on, I’ll be right there okay?” Sam could hear him grabbing keys. “Will you stay on the phone with me?” Sam felt like he couldn’t speak but managed a noise that Bucky accepted as a yes. “I’m gonna tell you about my life updates since we last hung out.” Sam focused on the sound of the car starting before Bucky spoke again, this time clearly on speakerphone. “Um-I sold another painting. This time to someone in D.C. so I’m going to take it to them early next week. This is the 25th piece I’ve sold in total. I had an interview two days ago for a part time job at one of those paint and sip places, just cleaning up and keeping stock of the supplies. I’m really hoping I get it. Let’s see, I think I might have found an apartment for rent really close to Steve’s place…” Bucky continued to ramble on until Sam heard his car pull up to his building. “You gotta get up and let me in okay?” Bucky said.    “Alright.” Sam managed, getting out of bed and heading to the door after hanging up. Bucky was standing there in his pajamas with a terrified look on his face.    “Sam.” They wrapped their arms around each other’s bodies on instinct. “Sam, come on. Let me take care of you.” Bucky guided him to the couch and let him lay down on his lap. “Is it the fireworks?” He asked. Sam nodded his head.    “I didn’t expect them until tomorrow.”    “I’m sorry.” Bucky traced his finger down Sam’s shoulder. Sam hadn’t realized he was shirtless until now.    “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize I didn’t have a shirt on. I can go grab one.”    “It’s fine Sam. You’ve seen me in much worse.” Another pop caused Sam to tense. Bucky continued to run his hand down Sam’s shoulder and chest in a calming manner.    “Thank you for coming.” He whispered, as flashes of desert made tears sting at his eyes.    “Anytime.” They stayed that way until the fireworks seemed to stop for the night. “Come on, you need your sleep Sam.” Bucky said eventually, pulling Sam to his feet and into the bedroom. “You gonna be okay?”    “You could stay.” Sam said hesitantly. “It’s dangerous to drive in the city this late.”    “You’re right. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.” He started to walk away but Sam grabbed his wrist.    “My bed is more comfortable. Stay.” Sam climbed into bed and gestured for Bucky to join him. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek but eventually turned off the light and crawled into bed.    And if Sam woke up with his arms around Bucky’s waist, he tried not to think about it.    ***    “Hey Sam, how are you?” Steve’s voice rang through the phone speaker.    “Good, what’s up?” Sam asked.    “You want to get coffee?”    “Yeah I’m down. Meet you at our usual place?” Sam walked a few minutes to the coffee shop they usually went to after their Sunday morning runs. He ordered an iced coffee and took a seat in the corner of the room. Steve showed up a few minutes later.    “Hey.” He sat down with a frozen sugary monstrosity. “Thanks for meeting with me.”    “Everything okay?” Sam asked, worry starting to eat at his stomach.    “Oh yeah. Sorry I didn’t mean to worry you. I just wanted to talk to you about…” He stared at his drink. “Do you have feelings for my brother?” Sam nearly choked on his drink.    “What?” He managed to get out.    “It’s been over 2 months since you stopped working for me. It’s okay if you do. He just moved into his own place and has a steady job. If you want to date him, I’m not gonna think you’re taking advantage of him. Hell, I’d be happy because I trust you more than I could trust anyone else.” Sam stared into his coffee for a while.    “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.” He whispered. “I thought my feelings would have gone away by now… I’m assuming the feelings he had for me have gone so I don’t think it matters.” Steve shook his head.    “He talks about you all the time, Sam. I don’t think you need to worry about that.”   “You sure you’re okay with this?” Sam asked.    “He deserves a good guy. He’d be lucky to have you. You should talk to him.”    “Thanks Steve.” Sam steadied his breathing and tried not to get his hopes up too high.    ***    I need to talk to you. Can I come over?     Sam stared at the text from Bucky and took a deep breath. Of course. He responded. I just got home from work so give me 30 minutes? He hopped in the shower and changed his clothes before taking a seat on his couch, his head filled with anxious thoughts. Eventually he heard a knock on his door. “Hey Buck.” He said after opening the door. “Shit, is everything okay?” Bucky’s hair was a mess and his eyes were red.    “It’s been over two months.” He let Sam lead him into the living room. “You said my feelings for you would go away once you stopped working with me. It’s been what, 4 months since I kissed you? And I think about it every day. I feel like I’m going insane.” He took a deep breath. “ I wake up and I wonder how you slept. I go to bed and I wish I could hold you and ask you how work was. I can’t do this anymore Sam. I thought I could just be your friend but I can’t. I want too much with you, I’m sorry. I should… I should go.” Tears started falling from Bucky’s eyes as he turned to head towards the door.    “Wait.” Sam grabbed his wrist. “Bucky wait.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to stop the tears. “Don’t leave please. You- you’re right. I was wrong. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the last 5 months. Since I realized my feelings.  I- I love you Bucky Barnes.” He brought his hand to Bucky’s face and wiped away a tear. “I’m so sorry I made you cry.”    “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.” Bucky smiled.    “Oh yeah?”    “Be my boyfriend? Or is that too much?” Bucky asked shyly.    “I made you wait too long, baby. Of course I will.” Sam sat down on the couch and pulled Bucky on top of him. “I promise I’ll never do anything like that again.” He whispered before he brought their lips together. Sam felt his body ignite as Bucky kissed him back with a passion that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.    “I love you.” Bucky whispered as they pulled away. Sam kissed his neck before he moved back to his lips. “Can I…” He grabbed at Sam’s shirt. “Can I take this off?” Sam nodded. “Wow.” Bucky muttered after he had gotten it off. “Just… wow.” He brought his hand to Sam’s abs.    “You’ve seen me shirtless before Buck.”    “I didn't let myself look.” Bucky blushed. Sam grabbed at the hem of Bucky’s shirt.    “Can I?”    “Of course.” Sam threw his shirt on the floor and placed a kiss on Bucky’s chest. Bucky brought their hips even closer together and Sam couldn’t help but let out a whine.    “Bucky wait-” He said after another steamy kiss. “Wait… if you want to slow things down, we can. I don’t want you to think I need something to happen tonight.”    “Do you want something to happen tonight?” Bucky asked, his hair falling over his face. Sam laughed.    “Of course I do. But I don’t mind waiting either.”    “Sam… I haven’t had sex in over ten years. I don’t want to wait any more.”    “Okay.” He kissed him again before he lifted him off the couch and walked them to his bedroom, Bucky’s legs wrapped around his waist. “I’m gonna make this so good for you Buck, I promise.”    “Fuck.” Bucky said softly against his lips after Sam laid him down on his bed. Sam climbed on top of him and smiled.    “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”    “Sap.” Bucky teased, bringing their lips together once again. “Hey babe.” Sam kissed Bucky’s cheek. “I’m so sorry I’m late, I had a meeting with a client that ran long.”    “It’s okay.” Bucky smiled. “You want a tour?”    “Do I want a tour of my boyfriend's art show? Of course I do, even if it might cause me to burst from pride.”    “You're so embarrassing.” Bucky mumbled. Sam just smiled and grabbed his hand.    “There’s more people here than you predicted.” Sam whispered in Bucky’s ear. Bucky shook his head but Sam noticed the tips of his ears turning red.    “Bucky!” A man with white hair walked over to where they were standing. “This must be Sam. Hi, I’m Mobius.” He reached out and shook Sam’s hand.    “Mobius is the owner of the gallery.” Bucky said with a smile.    “Of course, it’s great to meet you.” Sam replied.    “Your boyfriend has talent.” Mobius said, glancing around the room. “I couldn’t be more excited to have him here. But I’ll leave you two alone, I think we might already have a sale.”    “I like him, he seems nice.” Sam said softly, kissing the back of Bucky’s hand before they continued on their tour.    “Yeah, I’m really lucky he decided to give me a chance. You know how hard it’s been trying to find someone who would let me do an in person show. Speaking of chances, have you heard back from your publisher?”    “Just a few more edits and then we’ll talk about going to print. It’s pretty crazy.” Bucky nodded his head at Sam’s words.    “I’m proud of you.” He said.    “Thanks, I-uh. I was worried it would be weird. You know, me writing about my secret love affair while in a relationship with you.”    “I make art about my dead boyfriend, you write about yours. Our relationship is never not gonna be weird.” Bucky grinned. “But I love that about us.”  They moved around the room in silence for a bit before Bucky spoke again. “I have something else to tell you.” They paused and Sam waited for him to gather his thoughts. “I met with a doctor named Shuri recently, she’s only gonna be in the states for a year. She’s from Wakanda which has some of the best technology in the world. Anyway, she could give me an arm similar to the one I didn’t qualify for at Stark Industries.” He bit his lip.    “But?”    “But I’m not sure if I’m going to have the surgery. It sounds great because I’d have a completely functional arm but I might be in pain again. But if you’d prefer me to get it, I definitely will.”    “I want you to do whatever makes you happy, I support you either way.”    “Really?”    “Of course, I love you.”    “I love you too.” Bucky brought their lips together for a quick kiss. “Always.” 

1. go to your dashboard and go to skins 2. make a new site skin and copy/paste the following into the CSS: .blurb.user-9263583 { display: none !important; } .blurb.user-6501886 { display: none !important; } 3. give it a random title and make sure all required fields are filled in before making the skin, DONT FORGET TO PRESS ‘USE’ this is to block all works from both somi and dristanotfound if this doesn’t work, try copying and pasting one part in at a time. here is the shell of the command:   .blurb.user- { display: none !important; ALTERNATIVELY: on the dreamnotfound tag, under ‘search within results’, type -SomiMalek and/or -Dristanotfound to hide works from both accounts. thank you to AestheticMermaids for this information! have fun not suffering :) EDIT: I ADDED A CHAPTER WITH THIS SKIN AND CHERRYBLOSSOM’s DARK MODE IN ONE i’ve seen a few questions about using this skin with dark mode, so here is the code for cherryblossom’s dark mode :) body, .toggled form, .dynamic form, .secondary, .dropdown { background: #080808; color: #f2f2f2; }   .heading { font-family: Georgia Pro; }   a, a:link { color: #f2f2f2; }   a, a:link,a:visited:hover { color: #f2f2f2; }   a:visited { color: #f2f2f2; }   h4 { font-size: 1.200em; }   #header a, #header a:visited, #header .current, #header .primary .open a, #header .primary .dropdown:hover a, #header .primary .dropdown a:focus { color: #f2f2f2; }   #header .actions a:hover, #header .actions a:focus, #header .dropdown:hover a, #header .open a { background: #2a2a2a; }   #header .menu, #small_login, #header .dropdown:hover .current+.menu { background: #2a2a2a; background-image: -moz-linear-gradient(top,rgba(221,221,221,.98) 0%,rgba(204,204,204,.98) 100%); background-image: -o-linear-gradient(top,rgba(221,221,221,.98) 0%,rgba(204,204,204,.98) 100%); }   #header .primary { background: #2a2a2a; background-image: linear-gradient(#1a1a1a 2%,#141414 95%,#333 100%); }   #header .search { color: #080808; }   #footer { background: linear-gradient(#1a1a1a 2%,#141414 95%,#333 100%); 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Lexa maneuvered her way through the crowd of teenagers trying to be polite about it, which was difficult considering everyone was all of a sudden constantly in her path walking like fucking brain dead zombies!Finally managing to get through Lexa jogged down the corridor "Hey, Raven!" she called trying to catch up with the girl who was speed walking to the school exit, reaching her, Lexa gently wrapped her hands around Raven's waist stopping her from opening it and running out."Just go away Lexa!" Raven sobbed trying to get out of Lexa's hold causing a few people standing at their lockers; phone in hand to look up with interest. "Hey hey hey Raven it's alright, I just wanna help." Lexa said softly letting go of the crying brunette and putting her hands up in surrender, just then Raven crashed into Lexa's chest clinging on to her hoodie crying her eyes out, Lexa immediately wrapped her arms around Raven's shoulders pulling her closer, resting her chin on the top of the shaking girls head."You're alright gorgeous don't cry please." Lexa pleaded softly, pulling back a little so she could wipe away Raven's tears, after a minute her sobs turned into sniffles Lexa took this as her opportunity to lead them away from prying eyes "Come on let's take a walk." Raven pulled back wiping the stray tears and trying her hardest to look put together and composed with one last sniffle she spoke voice still shaky "I w-, I wanna show you something." she said hesitating for a second without another word she walked off leaving Lexa to follow which she did without a second thought. "Hey." Clarke said to Octavia sitting down at the lunch table that the entire group was currently located at eating their lunch, engrossed in different conversations.Octavia being the only one who wasn't engaged in conversation looked up at Clarke and smiled softly "Hey, I haven't really seen you all day, how you holding up?" she said putting a fry in her mouth.With a sigh Clarke used the hair band on her wrist to put her hair in a ponytail because it was constantly getting in her eye "I'm completely fine." she finally answered Octavia suddenly started sniffing like she was a fucking dog, Clarke furrowed her eyebrows and looked around baffled and a little weirded out "Octavia, what are yo-" her question was interrupted by a particularly loud sniff coming from Octavia. Before Clarke could question what she was doing again the dark haired girl spoke "Can you smell that?" she asked."Uh no?" "You sure? It smells a lot like that thing you always do." Octavia said shrugging. "And what's that?" Clarke asked with an eye roll catching on to what Octavia was getting at but deciding to humor her. "Bullshit." Octavia deadpanned."Haha very funny." Clarke drawled out rolling her eyes again. Octavia chuckled then shook her head "No but seriously Clarke it's okay to be mad, but Lexa is innocent in that crap from this morning so just talk to her, okay? Because you know you want to." Just then Jasper and Harper approached the table, looking to Clarke and Octavia Harper spoke "I just saw Raven crying guys, what happened?" Harper asked in concern. A look of guilt washed over Clarke's face, but was quickly replaced with one of annoyance when Jasper spoke next "It's cool, I saw Lexa going after her." "Surprise, surprise." Clarke said standing up to leave.Octavia rolled her eyes "Clarkeee," she whined "Raven was looking for you earlier." the girl informed also packing away her stuff. "For what?!" Clarke snapped "What more could she possibly want from me?" To say the blonde was fed up with Raven's bullshit was an understatement, she looked up to see Octavia staring at her. And just like that it hit her. Fuck!"Again? Seriously?" Clarke asked running a hand through her hair in frustration. Octavia nodded, pulling out her phone as soon as Clarke opened her mouth to talk sensing what she was about to say "Don't worry griffin I'm already on it, I'll just ask if she's okay and wants us to go to the hospital with her this time, okay?" the dark haired girl asked.Clarke could only nod in response, how is it that Raven fucks up multiple times yet she's the one feeling like the worst friend in the world? Lexa was confused when they left the school building, but continued following Raven nonetheless, they came to a stop outside of an abandoned building that looked a little to creepy for Lexa's liking. Raven then started tapping each bit of wood that was placed over the porch as flooring like she was looking for something, hearing a creaking sound Raven stopped tapping the wood and bent over lifting the plank that made a noise, Lexa had to force her eyes not to stray to Ravens perfectly shaped ass it looked so squeezable and- No! Woods stop what the fuck?! Raven stood back up but with a key in her hand ...okay...? Unlocking the door Raven went inside, Lexa trailing wearily behind her; the inside looked just as abandoned and old as the outside, looking around Lexa noticed a hall type room with a lot of mirrors and railings, it looked like it was for ballet if you asked her. Looking around some more while still following Raven she also noticed a beat up looking piano in the corner of a room with paper all over it.Staring at the piano she didn't notice that Raven had stopped walking, so she bumped into her causing Raven to stumble a bit but Lexa's quick reflexes catches her before she could fall over."Sorry." she mutters sheepishly to Raven who is now facing her, Lexa's hand still on her waist from where she caught her "You're always falling huh, Reyes?" she tried to joke."And you're always catching me" Raven said quietly looking deep into Lexa's eyes, the intensity of Raven's stare freaked Lexa out a bit but she couldn't look away after a minute Raven did clearing her throat and stepping back causing Lexa's hands to fall from her waist. "So what is this place?" Lexa asked desperately trying to change the subject. It worked because Raven started looking around a smile gracing her lips "It's my moms old ballet studio." she said taking a seat on one of the chairs that littered the floor, Lexa also picked one up and sat next to her, both of them just staring at the room "She used to teach lessons here a while back" the Latina explained further. Lexa nodded "Did you do ballet?" she asked an amused twinkle in her eyes. Raven snorted "Hell no Woods, do I look like some poxy princess, stuck up rich bitch?" At that Lexa chuckled shaking her head "You don't have to be rich or stuck up to do ballet Raven." she informed, the other brunette only shrugged."But still ballet? Not really my thing, when my mom had a class and I tagged along, she would teach me how to play the piano instead."A wide grin appeared on Lexa's face almost immediately "Wait so that's your piano?!" Raven nodded "Awesome! I always wanted to learn, but I got stuck in the choir at school" Lexa accidentally let that slip, realizing all to late before she could back track Raven was already looking at her with raised eyebrows and a wide smile. "Choir huh? I see we have a singer in our midst." Raven teased.Lexa groaned "Stoopp." she whined. Raven shook her head still smiling "Oh no no Woods this isn't about to fly over my head, I mean I can still play a couple tunes on the piano, what about you, Beyonce? Can you still bang out those vocals?" "Beyonce? Really? What about you Liberace?" Lexa fired back causing Raven to roll her eyes, standing up she took Lexa's hand and pulled her up too, guiding them to the room that has the piano she sat behind it on the bench and lifted the lid, blowing away the dust that flew around her.Lexa just stood there as defiant as always "Are we really about to do this corny shit, Raven?" "Oh yeah we are." Raven answered with a snort, fixing up the piano as best as she could the brunette started playing, a soft melody filling the room, a few seconds in and Lexa already knew what song she was playing, sitting down beside Raven she let the music consume her. Say you love me, to my face I need it more than your embrace,Just say you want me, that's all it takes,Hearts getting torn from your mistakes As soon as Lexa sang the first verse Raven was entranced, not believing Lexa could sing this well. What they both didn't know was that Clarke had skipped school when she didn't see Raven in class and went to the abandoned studio that she knew the Latina always went when she was going through something, leaning on the wall Clarke rested her head against it, closed her eyes, and listened.Cause I don't wanna fall in love, If you don't wanna try But all that I've been thinking of is maybe that you mightBaby looks as though we're running out of words to sayAnd loves floating away, and just say you love me,Just for today, and don't give me time cause that's not the same,Hmm want to feel burning flames when you say my name, I want to feel passion flowing to my bones like blood through my veins Cause I don't wanna fall in love, If you don't wanna tryBut all that I've been thinking of is maybe that you mightAnd babe it looks as though we're running out of words to say and love's floating away. Lexa stopped singing when she noticed tears falling on Raven's fingers that she's been staring at the whole time the mechanic has been playing the piano, without a word Lexa put her arm around Raven's shoulders, causing the brunette to lean her head on Lexa's shoulder.Silence filled the room. "I-I really like Clarke. " Lexa said quietly. "I know." Heading back to the school grounds Clarke noticed Oliver sitting on the steps by the entrance with his head down, walking over in his direction he looks up smiling when he sees Clarke."Hi you disappeared after lunch I was waiting to see if you'd come back." Oliver blurts out nervously rubbing the back of his neck.Clarke just smiles politely not really in the mood to talk to anyone although she appreciates his concern. Just when Oliver opened his mouth to talk again the school bell rang, causing him to jump which made Clarke snort in return he glared at her playfully. "Not funny." he muttered. "Yes it really is." "Alright well you probably want to be on your way now?" Oliver asked shifting from foot to foot nervously."Yep." Clarke said awkwardly, popping the 'P', uncomfortable silence washed over them for what felt like hours before Clarke cleared her throat mumbling an "Alright then, see you around." before turning on her heel ready to leave, before she could get to far though she heard Oliver ask a question so quiet she almost didn't hear it. Almost being the key word."Go out with me?" To say Clarke was confused would be putting it lightly, she didn't even know he liked her like that they didn't exactly start off on the right foot. He is cute and funny which equals good company right? But..Lexa, no she can't think about Lexa because Lexa's too complicated right now, with the whole Raven situation.Clarke was not expecting to see such an intimate scene between the two when she turned up at the studio looking for Raven, and she certainly was not expecting to hear Lexa's confession about liking her, she was so excited as soon as the words left Lexa's mouth and sunk in she felt a million butterflies in her stomach and heart skipped several beats. So much in fact she's questioning how she's still alive! Because Lexa Woods just said the words she's been dying to hear ever since she knew who Lexa was; so why did it all start to feel wrong?  Looking at the way Lexa and Raven were together made her question everything all over again because for some reason she only believed the brunette to an extent meaning, okay, maybe she likes Clarke...but not just Clarke? Shaking her head of the confusing thoughts Clarke looked at Oliver, like really looked at him, he sort of looked like an exotic prince the way he was built, muscles that are clear to see but not bulging muscles that are just over board, beautiful hazel eyes that made his entire face just shine, a very sharp jawline...kind of like Lexa's actually and black hair that looked rich and shiny.He was pretty damn gorgeous to say the least. Maybe I need this distraction? Clarke thought. She wouldn't mind getting to know Oliver a little better and she wouldn't mind taking a step back from this screwed up situation she's found herself in. "Okay!" Clarke blurted out.Oliver's eyes widened in both shock and excitement "Okay?" he asked smiling wide wanting to make sure he heard correctly. "Yes Oliver, I will go out with you." she said her lips twitching up to a smile with how cute he looked all excited like a puppy. "So to be clear you're saying yes to go on a date with me? Like...the two of us, out together?" he asked teasingly still a little shocked she actually agreed. "Okay olive,r don't make me change my mind." Clarke said rolling her eyes still smiling. "Ooh Sassy are we? It's a good thing I fancy you, Miss Attitude." "You're an idiot." Clarke deadpanned."But you like it because we're going on a date, I've got your number I'll text you the details." Oliver said beginning to walk off backwards still facing Clarke who groaned playfully."Please Don't make me regret this British guy!" Clarke yelled after him. He turned around smiling "Wouldn't dream of it American Girl!"  Tapping the steering wheel with her two index fingers as if they where drum sticks Lexa waited for what felt like hours for Clarke to get home, because familiar faces were starting to pass her car more and more and she was starting to look like a cop on a stake out, a mafia assassin, or just a straight up stalker. Well she was kind of on a stake out right? She's sitting in her car outside of Clarke's house staking out... For Clarke..? Interesting she thought.As she continued to wait for Clarke her mind starting drifting off to Raven, and how upset she had been earlier and how she hated to see her cry and from that moment she vowed to only ever make her smile. After she told Raven that she liked Clarke nothing more was said, they just sat there comfortable in each other's company until Lexa had asked why she was so upset, Raven had proceeded to tell her that her mom was in the hospital because she worked herself way too hard without eating or drinking and forgetting to take her meds. Lexa had offered to take her to the hospital and Raven obviously agreed, after saying bye to each other that was it, there was no resolution or continuation to what she confessed which made her feel a little uneasy.  Shaking her head she checked the time, once more looking back up with a sigh her eyes lit up when she noticed Clarke walking towards her front door, quickly getting out of the car Lexa jogged towards Clarke before she could go inside. "Hey Clarke." Lexa said coming to a stop a couple steps away from the blonde. "Hi." Clarke said turning around, stoic facial expression looking anywhere but at Lexa."So... Did you have a good day?" Lexa asked nervously trying to ease in to what she was about to do. "Look Lexa as much as I'd love to stand out here with you and chit chat, I have things to do so please get to the point or we can do this another time." Clarke said her voice sounding cold.Lexa furrowed her eyebrows in confusion "Okay.... I, uh, just wanted to apologize to you finally, for this morning." she said carefully. "Apologize for what Lexa? We're not together." Lexa shifted a little where she stood, starting to get agitated with the way she was being treated "But we like each other right? So obviously I assumed that we were headed somewhere, and Raven came out of nowhere and I should definitely pulled away sooner but I was shocked because I wasn't expecting it so I'm very sorry" Lexa explained."It's whatever Lexa." Clarke shrugged indifferently "See you tomorrow." "Wait, what is your problem?" Lexa asked narrowing her eyes.  "I don't have a problem." "Really? Cause from where I'm standing it doesn't look that way." the brunette argued. "We should just be friends." Clarke says finally looking at Lexa just in time to see the hurt and confusion wash over her face. "W-what? I thought - I, I was gonna ask you on a date, I-I thought that's what you wanted, I thought that's what we wanted?" Lexa stuttered out frantically clearly getting upset.Clarke sighed her heart sinking but remained impassive knowing this was best for everyone "I did. I do, but you and Raven have some...feelings you need to work out first and I'm just getting in the way.""Feelings!?" Lexa barked "What are you talking about?? I like you! Clarke, you!" she defended. "And Raven?" "What about Raven??" "You don't feel anything for her?"Silence. "N-no" Lexa stuttered quietly ."That's it!" Clarke exclaimed "Right there Lexa that's it, the hesitation to answer a simple question, because that's what it was right? Since you like me so much then that should've been a simple question." she said softly poking Lexa's chest. "Don't tell me what I feel Clarke." Lexa argued weakly. "I'm not. I beleive you. I look at you and I believe that you feel something for me but I-I can't go into anything with you knowing that there's another girl out there that you have possible feelings for okay? Expecially not Raven! Because it's happened before and it's messy Lexa, it's too messy and I don't want that for us-" "But I-I-I like you Clarke!" Lexa pleaded interesting Clarke. The blonde just calmly took Lexa's face in her hands "Look at me," Clarke said softly, Lexa looked up "I like you too, but figure this out with Raven, figure out what it is between the two of you, I'm giving you that opportunity, I'm taking myself out of the equation. You are an amazing person who I could -who I could fall in love with one day, but I don't - I don't want to fall if you don't want to try." Clarke concluded remembering the lyrics to the song Lexa sang earlier. "But I'm trying, I'm here trying to ask you out on a date and you - You're rejecting me" Lexa said feeling insecure she let a tear fall from her eyes which Clarke immediately wiped away with her thumb."I'm not rejecting you, I'm helping you, the last thing any poor son of a bitch wants to do is fall for the wrong girl." Clarke said trying to lighten the mood it worked because Lexa chuckled breathlessly causing Clarke to smile."You'd be trying, by forgetting us, just for now until you figure things out," Clarke whispered resting her forehead against Lexa's "just please don't hurt my best friend" with that Clarke placed a wet kiss on Lexa's cheek and went inside softly closing the door behind her. Lexa just stood there, staring at the door wiping her eyes she turned around and slowly walked back over to her car. Starting the engine and driving off she arrived home, but she didn't get out of the car, just sat there staring off into space; it was quiet but her thoughts were pretty loud she didn't even notice someone opening her car door and sitting in the passenger seat, looking over in alarm she saw Lincoln.  "I saw you pull up but you never got out of the car." Lincoln informed her, looking over at his sister he noticed red eyes but it didn't look like she'd been smoking "Have you been crying?" he asked in worry despite the fact that they haven't spoken in a couple days; he still worries, he'll always worry."W-what? No!" Lexa says defensive, turning away from Lincoln "What do you even want? We're not speaking remember?" "What happen?" was all Lincoln said, calmly."I think I just got dumped...without actually being in a relationship. Or having a first date or first kiss." Lexa said it to Lincoln like a reflex from his question, they had a good bond and always share, or in Lexa's case, try to share their feelings and what's going on in their lives."What?! You're telling me all this brooding and tears is because of a girl who you haven't even had sex with?! No wait, scratch that, who you haven't even kissed?" Lincoln said teasingly but still actually shocked."Alright asshole I get it." Lexa said rolling her eyes."I must've entered a different dimension somehow because this is pretty extraordinary." "That's the right word.""No but seriously that sucks, you think you can figure it out with whoever this goddess is that tamed the beast?" Lincoln asked softly. "I don't know." she answered honestly. "What about us? Think we can figure this out?" "You're annoying but I need you." Lexa said sticking out her pinkie finger, still looking ahead "You're my brother for life.""You're my little sister Lexi, for life. I love you and will always do what I have to in order to protect you, even if you hate me for it." Lincoln said circling his pinkie with Lexa's, also looking ahead."I could never hate you Lincoln, I'm sorry.""I'm sorry too."

Fugo didn’t take long to arrive.  “Hello there,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “I see Mista’s left me a present.”  Diavolo wasn’t a present. But he couldn’t say that.  Footsteps padded behind him. A warm body draped itself over his back. “How’ve they been treating you?” asked Fugo, chin resting on his shoulder.  There was something poking at Diavolo, and it wasn’t Fugo’s dick. It seemed to be wedged under Fugo’s arm or something, right at rib height for Diavolo. It was softer than metal, but Diavolo had no idea what it could be.  “Okay,” he answered, hoping Fugo wouldn’t pry. Mostly it had been. Abbacchio was fine, and Narancia only made him hurt on the inside, and Mista had seemed to be trying to help him. He hated that Mista and Abbacchio felt sorry for him, but if it got them to treat him gently, he’d take what he could get. He didn’t want to talk about it. Giorno would probably ask him later, and he’d cry, but Giorno would hold him and cuddle with him and maybe even kiss him again. That would be alright.  “Mm, you don’t sound okay,” said Fugo. “They were pretty hard on me when I went, and they love me. But I won’t make you talk about it. That’s not my job.”  Fugo. Fugo seemed to know what was going on. Had he been through this before? Narancia had talked about Giorno torturing him. Maybe Fugo had answers.  “What is Giorno doing to me?” Diavolo asked him. It was a struggle to keep his thoughts straight with how aroused he was, but he needed to know.  Fugo chuckled. “I guess you wouldn’t know, would you? I walked into Giorno’s arms knowing exactly what I would get. I even asked for it. It was my choice. You, not so much. You have no idea what you’re in for. To be honest, I might not know what you’re in for, either. Everyone’s Giorno experience is wildly different, I’ve found.”  That didn’t answer his question. Diavolo wished he had Giorno’s rules so he could make Fugo tell him.  “One thing I will say, though,” said Fugo, “is this: If Giorno hasn’t told you, and I’m sure you’ve asked him, then that means it’s better right now if you don’t know. You can always trust Giorno to do what he needs to in order to achieve the desired results.”  Better probably meant for Giorno, and not Diavolo. Diavolo wanted to know what Giorno was going to do with him that was so horrible that he couldn’t be told. He wanted to know what the “desired results” were. Suddenly he felt intensely afraid of this whole ordeal. What was it going to do to him? Even with what had just happened, the prospect of being kept around as a sex toy didn’t scare him as much as the thought that maybe this was some process, meant to prepare him for something even worse.  Following the line of inquiry, his desire had been put on hold for a moment, but when Fugo smoothed a hand up his cock, it all came rushing back. Diavolo bit his lip to stifle noises. “God, you’re so wet,” Fugo marveled. “You have such a nice cock, too. I bet it would be fun to ride.”  Diavolo shuddered, remembering Giorno’s weight on him, Giorno’s tight heat around him, how much it had hurt to come inside him.  “But,” said Fugo, standing up and walking around to Diavolo’s front, “if I ride it, then I won’t be able to do this.”  This? What was thi- Something smacked against the leaking head of his cock.  The impact wasn’t hard, but it stung, and it was concentrated to such a small area that it made him feel like he was burning. Diavolo jerked and cried out. He didn’t know if it hurt and felt good or if it just hurt or if it just felt good. He wanted another one, but he didn’t, but he wanted, and suddenly he realized why Mista had been so insistent on getting him hard. Achieving erection this way would have been pure torture.  Fugo tapped him again, three times in rapid succession, too fast for Diavolo to process individually so it ended up taking him all at once. He writhed in the chains, hips trying to twist away from it, but he couldn’t run from the fire already on his skin. He noticed there was a whistling noise every time Fugo swung whatever the hell it was, just like a whip, and- Oh god, it was a whip. That’s what had been poking him earlier. The handle of the whip. He was being whipped.  It sliced through the air and he jerked, expecting a hard blow to the head of his cock, but instead it struck his inner thigh. He hissed and tried to close his legs, but he couldn’t. He was still chained open. Fugo lashed him over and over, striping all the soft parts of his body with what were surely red welts - all up the insides of his thighs, his ass, his lower back right above his hips, the bottoms of his feet - and Diavolo cried out with each strike, flinching away from the sharp points of contact. He almost felt like he was being cut, with how much it stung. Every now and then, Fugo tapped him gently on his dripping erection and he sobbed, lurching into it. He was so aroused that the bite of the whip even on other parts of his body only fed into the heat. The tab of the whip licked over his chest, teasing his nipples stiff, and he shuddered, expecting its bite on the delicate flesh, and it was almost worse when Fugo didn’t hit him there. He felt shivery and charged, anticipation worked into a buzzing layer beneath his skin, feverish and needing. He cried as Fugo put a hand around his shaft and lifted it, trying to buck into it, moaning in anguish as Fugo’s hand tightened around him to a painful degree. Fugo gave the wet tip a sharp smack with the whip and Diavolo went crazy, screaming Fugo’s name, twisting and pulling and trying to thrust into it and trying to curl around himself at the same time. Fugo cooed at him and smacked him again and again until Diavolo cried actual tears and his cock streamed slick, twitching and juddering in Fugo’s hand.  “You look so cute like that,” Fugo told him. “Do you want to come?”  “Yes,” sobbed Diavolo. “Fugo, please.”  “Aww, so sweet. I’ll give you a choice,” said Fugo. “When you want another hit, say ‘more,’ and I’ll give you one.” Diavolo blushed furiously. He didn’t think he could do that. It was so… dirty. The whip trailed over his inner thighs, tickling the fragile, beaten skin, creeping upwards to tease at the crease between his hips and legs, so close to his… and he wanted it, he needed it.  “More,” he whimpered.  “Good boy,” said Fugo, and laid a hit on his leaking cock.  Diavolo yelled and jerked. It hurt, oh god, it hurt, but it felt so good. It made his flesh prickle and his nerves sing and gave life to the quivering fire in his core, wound him up tighter and tighter, not quite enough to snap but getting close. It hurt him to be this aroused, to need it so much.  “More,” he whispered, lips scorched with shame.  Fugo laughed and gave it to him. Diavolo cried out. He felt so lewd and sordid, begging for something like this, complicit in his own torment, but he couldn’t help himself, lost to temptation. “More,” he pleaded, and received another hit that made him writhe and cry, so wrong, so good. He felt obscene for how hard he was and his cheeks burned with the indecency, but again he called for more, and again Fugo obliged him, until he was calling more, more with every breath he could muster and the heat built within him until he was twitching pitifully in Fugo’s hand. His beaten cock smarted and stung with the hurt of the blows but it dripped with the pleasure, stiff and red and swollen.  Then it stopped. Fugo pulled away and let him rest for a moment, let him feel all the hurts swirling through his body, the soreness in his shoulders, the burning in the soles of his feet, how the tender flesh of his inner thighs stung. He didn’t want to think about the other parts of him that had been lashed because he knew they would only make him blush worse. He hung his head and trembled, wetness running past the soaked blindfold and dripping off his cheeks onto the floor. Diavolo was glad he couldn’t see the puddle of fluids underneath him because it would’ve made him cry even more.   “Poor thing,” said Fugo, hooking his fingers under Diavolo’s chin to tilt his face upwards. Diavolo tried to shy away, but Fugo held him tight. “Does it hurt?”  “Yes,” gasped Diavolo. He wanted to come so badly he was afraid to think about it. The tab of the whip licked up his poor hard cock and his entire body shuddered and he rutted into it, feeling himself drool. He couldn’t even form thoughts anymore. He just needed a little more, please, “Please, please, please…”  The whip snapped, catching him just below the head. Diavolo bucked and keened. He knew it hurt but it was so good, almost right where he needed it, he needed it, needed more, needed to come… Fugo kept teasing the whip against his aching flesh and he cried and begged and tried to thrust into the stimulation but it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough. The leather tab smacked against his heavy, swollen balls, made them swing, reminded him how much he needed them to be emptied, to release… “Fugo, please,” he cried. “I need it, I need it, please. I need to come, make me come, please, Fugo, please,” and he was sobbing, couldn’t stop twitching, couldn’t stop rocking forward, trying to chase the feeling, felt himself tensing up and drawing tight, just a little more until he was over the edge… just a little more… just a little…  Fugo struck him hard on the side of his cock. Diavolo yelled, hips canting helplessly. “Hurts,” laughed Fugo, “but it feels good, doesn’t it? Yes?” He landed a savage blow on the underside, right under the tip, right where all the nerves were. Diavolo bucked up and screamed, feeling himself throb violently as the sensation caught and seared through him and doubled back on itself. Fugo hit him there again, light as a feather, and it worked the fire deeper into him, made it fizzle out across his skin. It hurt so much but it was so good but it somehow wasn’t enough, and Fugo hit him again, and again, and again, whipping his cock, stroking it and beating it with the crop in tandem, every strike growing more and more savage until he was sure he would be bruised.   The heat and the pressure boiled over within him and he felt himself judder, something spilling out. In his delirium, he thought it was blood, but then he realized what was happening. “Oh god,” he sobbed. “I’m coming. I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming…” Over and over again like a litany, like a prayer, and… and… he was seizing up and going taut and Fugo tap-tap-tapped the head of his cock with the whip and he was coming, he was coming, he didn’t know when he started but he was coming, spurting all over the floor, so easily it was like he’d pissed himself, so, so good. His hips thrust forward and his knees slipped open and he poured himself out onto the floor, writhing in pleasure.  “Come on, baby, let it all out,” Fugo murmured in his ear. Diavolo sobbed and strained towards him, wanting contact, a touch, a kiss... Fugo kept stroking him, milking pulse after pulse of thick white seed from his battered cock until he was completely empty, shuddering and twitching through the aftershocks.  Piece by piece, he came back to himself. First to arrive was smell - the room smelled like leather and a distinctly organic scent he thought must be the smell of sex. Next was touch. He was fallen forward and Fugo was bracing his head and upper body so he didn’t hurt himself in the chains. His body felt like one giant bruise, aching all over, sore between his legs. He was exhausted. All the whip marks stung and burned on his skin, especially on his… his… He flushed, unable to think it. The euphoria was trickling out of him, leaving behind all the stinging pains of the lashes, all the soreness inside him from the awful shape of Mista’s Beretta forced within him, all their hurts and abuses.  Finally, hearing returned to him. Fugo was saying something to him, gently petting his hair much like Giorno would. When Diavolo stirred and moved his head, he grasped him by the hair, though not unkindly, and helped him tip it up. If Diavolo hadn’t been blindfolded, they might’ve been looking into each other’s eyes.  He sniffled. Every part of him hurt. His haunches burned from holding himself in this uncomfortable position and his shoulders ached, hands numb for how far they were above his head, all the blood drained out of them. He wanted to be helped down and held. Giorno always held him afterwards. The last time it had felt this good to come, he’d been in Giorno’s lap at the desk, and Giorno had washed his hair in the warm bath.  “I see why Giorno likes you,” Fugo was saying. “You’re so pretty when you need it. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Did you like it? Did it feel good?”  “Yes,” Diavolo murmured, worn. With his eyes shut behind the blindfold, he felt like he was about to fall asleep. Fugo’s solid form against him was so warm. He put his face in Fugo’s neck and breathed in his scent. It was different from Giorno. Giorno smelled like spring and clean cotton. Fugo smelled like copper and rain, like the air when the weather cooled. He wasn’t as soft as Giorno to lean against, but he let Diavolo do it. Diavolo nuzzled into Fugo’s skin, wanting to be close.  Fugo chuckled. “You’re so fucking precious,” he sighed. “I can’t wait to see what Giorno does with you. You’re like a blank canvas. Just a little bit of kindness, and you get like this. He can make anything he wants out of you.” Diavolo whimpered. “And you’ll let him, won’t you?” Fugo continued. “You want it. You want to be kept and molded. Doesn’t it feel good? Doesn’t it feel safe, in Giorno’s arms?”  Yes, it did. Diavolo’s hiccups became sobs.  “Giorno,” he whined, missing him.  “Shh, baby, I know,” said Fugo. “I miss him, too, sometimes. When I’m feeling sad, I go sit at his feet, and he holds me and calls me his good boy. You were such a good boy today, better than I ever was at these things. Does he give you kisses?”  Diavolo nodded. “Yes,” he said, voice weak. He wanted Giorno to come hold him. He wanted a kiss.  “Aww,” Fugo cooed. “You’re such a sweetie. It took me so much time to learn how to be sweet, and here you are, doing it on your first try. It almost makes me jealous. Do you want to be good? I bet you do. You want to be good for Giorno, right?” “Yes,” cried Diavolo, curling into Fugo’s embrace. “Please, I don’t want to be bad, or- or dangerous, or- I just want to be a good boy. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be good.” He sobbed into Fugo’s warmth, and Fugo held him and shushed him, stroking spindly fingers down his back.  “Bruno’s going to have so much fun with you,” Fugo whispered, and Diavolo cried.  “I don’t want it,” he wept. “It’s too much. I want it to be over. I can’t do this. I can’t take any more.”  “Aww,” Fugo cooed again, so gentle but so cruel. It reminded Diavolo of how his father used to talk about the poor, how he always said he felt so sorry for them and tossed them bread and penny change, but never did anything to really help, even though he could’ve. They only mattered to him as far as he could feel sorry for them. This comfort… it wasn’t for him, it was for Fugo. Fugo was getting off on this. Maybe not in the physical sense… Oh god, maybe it was in the physical sense. Either way, Diavolo felt like a show, just a spectacle that came and went. They tortured him, and then they cried for him and pat his head like he was a beaten dog, but soon they got bored, and then it was over. But not for Diavolo. It was never over for Diavolo. He was the one who had to bear the pain of the hurt. He was so distracted by his miserable thoughts that Fugo’s kiss shocked him. Fugo cradled his head and tipped it back, putting their lips together all sweet and chaste.  “I know you probably think I’m making fun of you,” said Fugo, “but I’m not. Giorno doesn’t want me to tell you anything about anything, so I won’t, but here’s what I will say: It’s always better to listen to Giorno. He has power over you whether you like it or not; he can make you feel whatever he wants. If you’re good for him, he’ll make you feel the best you’ve ever felt in your whole life. Doesn’t that sound nice?”  “Yes,” whispered Diavolo. Giorno had already given him a taste of euphoria, that night when he’d been drugged. He sniffled. “Why are you telling me this? You’re all being so nice to me. I don’t understand. I’m your enemy.”  Fugo laughed.  “Oh, darling,” he said. “You must be crazier than I realized if you think you’re still anyone’s enemy. It’s been a long time, sweet thing. GioGio’s all grown up now, and you’re so broken that I barely recognize you anymore.” He brushed a thumb over Diavolo’s cheek. “To be honest,” he murmured, “when we first found you… I was in favor of killing you. But not for the reason you might think. Where do your memories start, after coming back to the real world?”  Diavolo squeezed his eyes shut tighter, feeling tears leak out and run out of the saturated blindfold. He didn’t want to be told in such plain terms how pathetic he was. He didn’t want to fight anymore, but a part of him still wanted to be at least a threat, something they were wary of. He was reeling from the implication of Fugo’s question - that there might’ve been something that happened after coming here that he didn’t remember.  “I remember Narancia found me on the riverbank,” he said. “Then I was in a dark room with a cold concrete floor…”  He didn’t miss Fugo’s exhale. “Okay,” he said. “Then… I guess I’ll let Giorno tell you, if he wants to. How are you feeling right now?”  It reminded Diavolo weirdly of a period of time where he did a lot of training exercises with some people he knew, learning how to fight with their stands. They always went hard on each other, so they had to check in: “Are you okay? How do you feel?” This was like that, to gauge where he was at mentally, except with this check-in, Diavolo didn’t have the option to tap out. He wished he could. He wished this was all just a horrible training exercise that he’d chosen to undergo, that he could call it off if he felt like he was being pushed too far. He definitely did feel like he was being pushed too far, and he knew they definitely wouldn’t let him quit. He didn’t have that choice.  “Not good,” he said. He didn’t really have the words to describe how he felt. His brain was fried. He just wanted to rest.  Fugo hummed. “I guess you’re not as good with words as I am,” he said. “Let’s get a little more specific. I’ll name some feelings, and you tell me yes or no. Alright?”  Diavolo nodded.  “Good,” said Fugo. “Tired?”  “Yes,” said Diavolo.  “Hurting?”  “Yes.”  “Sad?” “Sort of,” said Diavolo. “I think so.”  “That’s fine,” said Fugo. “I’m sure Giorno’s told you this, but let me reiterate that it’s okay if you don’t know. That’s a valid answer, too. How violated do you feel?”  Diavolo wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He wanted the awful wet blindfold off his face. “Very,” he said. “I don’t… I don’t like being touched. Especially not...” he trailed off.  “Hmm,” said Fugo. “Do you like it when Giorno touches you?”  “Yes,” said Diavolo. That was Giorno. Giorno was different. Surely Fugo understood.  “What about how I’m sort of holding you up right now?”  “You’re not touching me,” said Diavolo. “You’re just holding me up. That doesn’t count.” That probably didn’t make any sense, but he was too tired to try and make sense.  Fugo seemed to get it, though. “Alright,” he said. “Do you feel angry?”  Diavolo didn’t want to know if he felt angry. “Why are you asking me all this?” he said instead.  “Because I want to know how you’re feeling,” said Fugo.  “Why?” asked Diavolo. He still didn’t understand what was so important about how he felt.  “I suggest you answer my question, before I get angry,” said Fugo. “I’ve been told I have a short temper, and I tend to do some nasty things to people when I’m upset.”  Diavolo shivered. “I’m a little angry, I guess,” he said. “I’m too tired to be angry. I wish I could make everyone stop.”  “Unfortunately for you, you can’t,” said Fugo. “That power’s been taken away from you.”  “I know,” said Diavolo, scowling.  Fugo chuckled. “Oh, there it is. You were so pissed off at San Giorgio Maggiore, I knew it had to be in there somewhere. I think,” he began to trail a finger down Diavolo’s sternum, “that anger is your default stress response, when you’re in a position of self-determination.”  Diavolo wasn’t exactly sure what those words meant, and he didn’t like that Fugo knew something about him. He didn’t like the way Fugo was touching him now, either. The finger was at his belly button and if it went any lower, he was… well, he couldn’t do anything about it, but he wouldn’t be happy.  Not that it mattered. He suddenly wanted to cry again. He felt… subhuman. Like a cat, taken to the vet to get its shots - he and Donatella had a cat - except this wasn’t the vet, this wasn’t for his good at all. They just wanted to hold him down and hurt him.  “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, defeated.  “Mm, that’s a question for Giorno,” said Fugo. He lifted his hand off Diavolo’s belly and Diavolo breathed a sigh.  All of a sudden, the door opened. Fugo and Diavolo both jumped, and Fugo pulled off Diavolo a little, still supporting him but not as much, to turn and see who it was.  “Oh, Bucciarati,” he said.  Diavolo tensed. He… he was frightened of Bucciarati. He didn’t know what this man was going to do to him, but everyone seemed to think it would be bad.  “There you are, Pannacotta,” said Bucciarati. He sounded calm enough. “You didn’t come get me, so I assumed you would still be here. Leone wants you. He’s got a question about the books.”  “What? Why does he need me? I have secretaries for that,” said Fugo, sounding irritable. “Abbacchio doesn’t fucking know how to use a database. He’s going to spend half the time asking where I’m getting everything from when it’s right the fuck in front of him.” Bruno laughed. “Oh, I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Unfortunately, I myself am monopolizing your secretaries - they’re helping me with my mobile kitchen project.” “Of course they are,” grumbled Fugo. “Apparently I don’t give them enough to do.” Mobile kitchen project? thought Diavolo. The whiplash from sex torture to listening to them talk about work was going to snap his head right off his shoulders. Bruno laughed again. “You don’t have to go right now. I just thought I’d let you know before my dear Leone got all huffy.”  Fugo sighed. “Oh, it’s fine. I was done here anyway.” He gently pulled away, getting Diavolo used to taking his own weight again, and Diavolo… his legs ached so much, and his knees were beginning to bruise, and his shoulders… it all hurt. A few tears made it past the blindfold. He was all used up. He didn’t have anything left.  Then, bizarrely, there was the sound of something unzipping. It wasn’t someone’s fly - there wasn’t a belt buckle sound before it, and it was much too big of a zipper, too. Diavolo heard Fugo release a sharp breath.  “Are we still on for tonight?” Bucciarati asked.  “Yes,” whimpered Fugo. “Bruno-”  “Not yet, passerotto. You have records to sort through, remember?”  Silence. Then the sound of something being zipped back up, and a wet noise that Diavolo identified as a kiss.  “There,” said Bucciarati. Some fabric ruffled. Maybe he was straightening Fugo’s clothes. “Maybe you and Leone will get busy while you’re waiting for me, hmm?”  “Maybe,” said Fugo breathlessly.  Bucciarati chuckled. “Go on,” he said. Diavolo heard shoes turn on the padded floor. “I’ve got a little something I’ve been wanting to do.”    

After James drops him off at his dorm Severus gets to work on making himself Scent Blockers. As much as they were useless for him at school now they would at least be helpful while he was surrounded by deatheaters. And the Slytherin would rather be prepared before walking into a snakes nest. Monday brings Severus a new kind of hell as the paranoia finally settles underneath his skin. The omega starts to carry his new Scent Blocker on him along with strapping his wand to his arm rather than his belt as he waits for whatever Lucius attack would be. Severus feels stupid for being so overly vigilante but he knows Lucius and he knows the other will keep his word no matter what. So Severus plays his waiting game. By the end of the week his nerves were practically gone. The omega had been so high strung he hadn't even been studying which could end up being an issue with how close the O.W.L.S were. So on Saturday Severus sucks it up and goes to the library ready to get in some much needed studying. Even with his guard on high alert and his nerves gone the Slytherin would rather die than risk his grades. When he makes it to the library Madam Pince gives him a small nod in greeting which he half-heartedly returns before he walks on. The library is as empty as ever as Severus makes it to his spot so he can set his bag down before he's off in between the shelves looking for O.W.L.S books to study. It takes the Slytherin barley five minutes to find the books he needs, which is a personal record he thinks as he sits down with all 15 books in hand. Severus is about an hour into his stuyding when someone suddenly sits opposite of him. The omega stops himself from tensing as he looks up from his book only to spot a familiar and unwanted alpha sitting across from him. "Hello pretty little thing." The alpha purrs and Severus seethes at the male in return. The alpha sitting across from him was tall even while sitting down, his dark brown hair was wild atop his head and cold conculating green eyes followed his every movement. The Slytherin hadn't really been paying him much attention in the Apothecary but taking him in now the omega realised he had seen the alpha outside of said place. He was a Slytherin that Severus shared a couple of classes with and was probably also here to take him to Lucius. "So are you my escort?" Severus questions with a soft tilt of his head. The alpha shoots him a shark tooth grin, "such a smart omega you are~" Severus wanders if he can get away with hexing the alpha for a second before he shoves it down not wanting Lucius to be any more furious with him than the alpha already was. "Well, you wouldn't be here if I wasn't." Severus half snarks as he twist his hand anxiously into the bottom of his shirt. "I suppose that's true." The alpha hums before he's standing again and offering Severus his hand, "well then, let's not keep Lucius waiting!" Severus scoffs at the offered hand before he shoves his chair back and stands up on his own. The alpha just keeps smiling as he moves his hand back to his side. The omega stops to spell the books back to their original place before he scoops down to pick up his bag. Once done Severus follows the alpha out of the library and down a couple of halls on the same floor before they come upon an empty classroom. "Lucius gave me a portkey that we can use here, but first you need to get rid of your bag!" The alpha happily chirps his sharp features twisted into a manic smile. Severus shifts nervously in front of the alpha, "why?" "So we can make sure you have nothing on you!" The alpha responds with ease as he tugs out a small silver chain and waits patiently for Severus to comply. The omega sighs as he grabs his bag to dig through it trying to find his Scent Blocker. Once he has it he tugs it out and dumps his bag onto a near by desk so he can apply it to his glands. The alpha grimaces at him as he does so but Severus could honestly care less about the alpha's opinion. "Can i take my wand or?" Severus asks his tone sharp. The alpha chuckles as he streches his hand out with the chain in it, "of course." The Slytherin eyes the alpha for a second before he nods and grabs ahold of said chain. The next thing Severus knows hes stumbling on a forest floor in front of huge old worn down house. The omega stops to gawk at the house before he's suddenly being shoved forward, "you need to go in there." The alpha chirps from behind him. Severus whips around with his wand raised forcing the alpha to back off of him before he puts it away and glances back behind him, "so you wont be coming in with me?" The alpha gives the omega another smile but it looks more forced now that they aren't on school grounds, "nope, im not aloud in, but you are" Severus stares at him blankly for a moment before he sighs and resigns himself to his fate. The omega turns around and stalks up to the house that suddenly looks more threatning then it had before. But still he enters despite his instincts screaming for him to run. The inside of the building was more put together compared to the outside. The main entrance furniture was all new despite the peeling and rotting walls surrounding them. The doorway which lead to what Severus assumed would be the frontroom currently had a fire going in it if the light spilling out into the hallway was anything to go by. The Slytherin huffs as he starts towards said room forcing fake determination with each step. But as soon as Severus approaches where the fire was going a voice sounds from up the stairs, "Glad to see you actually came this time Severus." The omega tenses for a second before he forces himself to relax as he turns to face Lucius who stands at the top of the stairs staring at him expectantly. "Your escort made sure of that." The omega snarks without thinking only to flinch at the sharp look that crosses Lucius face. "Of course, you clearly can't be expected to listen without one." Lucius seethes back before he stops and smooths out his features into netural disgust, "Enough now, the Dark Lord waits for us." Severus just nods as he ascend the stairs and comes to stand by Lucius side waiting for the alpha to continue down the hall. Lucius stares at him for a second before he turns to stalk to the only lit room down the worn hall already knowing that Severus would follow. The room they enter is bathed in the same glow as the one down stairs but the main diffrence is all the people and the overwhealming stench of alpha cloying the room. "So you finally brought me the infamous Severus?" A voice speaks from a chair in front of the fire. Severus immediately feels panic seep into his bones as he takes in the Dark Lord sitting in front of him. "Yes my Lord." Lucius happily purrs beside him and Severus probably would have laughed at Lucius under diffrent circumstances. "Good, now come here my child, let me get a good look at you." The Dark Lord purrs as he sits up and leans forward as Severus approaches him all too aware of all the eyes on him. The omega stops in front of the man his head bowed respectfully to the alpha in front of him. The room falls into silence as he's studied before the Dark Lord suddenly sits back with a heavy frown adorning his features, "why is your scent hidden?" Severus physically stops breathing as he's asked the question, "I-" He's not even given time to finish his sentence before the Dark Lord is talking again, "no matter the excuse it's disrespectful to hide your scent." Severus chest tightens with panic as the man looks behind him with a disappointed expression, "your omega hides Lucius. I won't speak with him until he shows himself." "Of course my Lord. What do you want me to do with him?" Lucius voice sounds tight. Severus knows he's messed up again. "Take him back to the castel and bring him to the next months meeting." "Are you sure? He disrespected you my Lord!" Suddenly the alpha is laughing as he shakes his head, "no he disrespected his own kind, plus an omega who can make such amazing potions is very rare Lucius, you would agree wouldn't you?" "Yes of course." "Good, now take him back." "Right away my Lord." The sudden harsh grip on his shoulders almost causes Severus to yelp as Lucius grabs him and proceeds to drag him out of the room as the others turn to whisper amongst themselves. They surprisingly make it outside of the building before Lucius temper explodes. "You humiliated me again!" Lucius seethes as he shoves the omega forward watching as he stumbles and turns towards him before he pulls out his wand. Severus freezes up as he watches the livid alpha's hand shake. "You pathetic excuse for a slytherin! Hiding your scent like a coward! Diffindo!" Severus gasp as pain suddenly flairs up his side. The alpha's face twist into a cruel grin as he repeats the phrase several more times. Severus pulls out his wand only to get disarmed immediately as pain sears through his casting arm. The Slytherin whimpers after that as all he can do is cover his face and wait for Lucius to run himself dry. The only mercifully thing about all of this is that the alpha mostly hits his hips and sides leaving the clean up and hiding easier on said omega. After a couple of more hits Lucius stops and straightens himself out. The former Slytherin brushes his clothes off and lets his face fall back into his netural expression before he eyes Severus. "Adam should still be waiting for you." He chirps dismissively after a second, turning to go back in before he stops and turns another deadly glare to the small omega behind him, "I'll see you in a month, and if you humiliate me again you will not be leaving here again." Severus nods weakily as he watches Lucius enter the house before ge turns and books it back to the alpha that sure enough had been watching from the treeline waiting for him. "What did you do to make 'em mad Little omega?" Adam asks with a hum. Severus says nothing but seethes at him as he holds out his shaking hand for the portkey. Adam huffs out a laugh as he gets another chain out and suddenly they're right back where they started. Severus sways for a second before he regains his balance and quickly turns to snatch up his bag and book it from the room even as the alpha calls after him. Severus makes it to his room in a daze as he slams the door behind him before he's stopped by the hiccuped sob that rips out of his throat. All at once everything comes crashing back down and the Slytherin just leans back against his door and slides down it as he breaks, his wounds forgotten in favor of his emotions. Severus ends up curled in a ball crying as he lets out his distress at how awful and cruel fate was to him. The omega ends up falling asleep like that, curled up against the door with tear stained cheeks and bloodied clothes.

Gold Standard™ Heroes [23:37] Cold Fire: Why did Natsu change his user all of a sudden? Demon: I don’t know. Maybe he wanted a change or something? A step from Void: No, my senses are telling me there’s something more. Fusion: It’s probably just something stupid. Cold Fire: Y’know what, that’s probably what it is. Angel from Hell: Ehh, that’s the best theory I’ve heard. Angel from Hell: Also, it’s an amazing pun. Cold Fire: Of course you would. Cold Fire: If I didn’t know better, I would say the two of you are related. Angel from Hell: I hope I’m not related to Natsuo. Cold Fire: Why? Cold Fire: Oh. Electric Fire: Anyways, distracting from that… Electric Fire: We should name our favorite colors! Demon: Black. Angel from Hell: Ok, edgelord. Demon: Says you. Angel from Hell has changed Demon ’s username to Demon from Heaven . Demon from Heaven has changed their username to Void Demon Void Demon: I refuse to acknowledge Heaven’s light. I live in the darkness. Angel from Hell: And you say I’m the edgelord. Void Demon: Excuse me, who was the one who recruited me to build a mothman statue? Angel from Hell: Mothman isn’t proof. Angel from Hell: Anyway my favorite color is red. Fusion: I like silver. A step from Void: I also like Black. Cold Fire: Green. Void Demon: Of course. Void Demon: What about you Kaminari? Electric Fire: This might be surprising, but I like purple. Private Chat between Birdfireman and Purrple Dream . [23:43] Birdfireman: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Purrple Dream: I have no idea what you are talking about. Birdfireman: Kaminari likes purple ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Birdfireman: You are purple. Purrple Dream: You’re being ridiculous. Kaminari likes Ojiro. Birdfireman: ? Purrple Dream: Every time Kaminari isn’t hanging out with the “Bakusquad” he’s hanging out with Ojiro. Birdfireman: There’s a reason why, although I can’t say. Birdfireman: dw, Kaminari is still open :) Purrple Dream: If you say so. Gold Standard™ Heroes [23:47] Fusion: Hey Shinsou? Purrple Dream: What? Fusion: You never answered Kaminari’s question. Purrple Dream: Yellow. Purrple Dream: A bright color, the complete opposite of myself. Angel from Hell: Kaminari, why were you getting everyone’s favorite colors? Electric Fire: :) Angel from Hell: That smiley face makes me worried. Fusion: It’s Kaminari, what do you expect from him? Angel from Hell: ANYONE who uses a smiley face with this context is up to some shit. Angel from Hell: I’m fully able to believe that Kaminai is up to something. A step from Void: Don’t stay up too long. I overheard from Vlad King that the exercise is to begin tomorrow. Fusion: Yeah, Kan-sensei said that we should have a good night’s sleep. Angel from Hell: Well I’m exhausted anyways, so good night. Fusion: You okay Mido? That’s not what you usually do. Angel from Hell: i blame aizawa’s training. Fusion: What? Angel from Hell: Aizawa decided that every Thursday from now on is underground hero training. Angel from Hell: It was “Punishment” for what I did to Shigaraki. Fusion: I still don’t know wtf happened. Angel from Hell: So basically I started playing games like Aegis and World War Three Remastered. Angel from Hell: This was just under two years ago. Angel from Hell: And then I found someone with a cool username. Angel from Hell: So we played games together and discussed hero society for a bit. Angel from Hell: And then the most awkward thing happened. A step from Void: Yeah, I heard about the mall incident. Angel from Hell: We recognized each others voices. It was… an interesting time. Angel from Hell: Then some stuff that’s sort of private was revealed… Angel from Hell: and Boom! This happened. I still had no idea this would happen. Fusion: K den. Electric Fire: Let’s talk about something lighter… Purrple Dream: Todoroki and Midoriya fell asleep. Electric Fire: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Void Demon: Nope. they’re in separate rooms. A step from Void: How are you sure? Void Demon: I saw Midoriya stumble into his room muttering about someone called “Black Ice.” Electric Fire: dude, Black Ice is a vigilante. Purrple Dream: did midoriya meet black ice? Fusion: I think so. Fusion: Anyway, I’m going to bed. I need to get some actual sleep for the task. Purrple Dream: Sounds like a plan. I’m down. Electric Fire: If shinso is proposing sleep, then we all need to do it. Fucking Insanity [7:34] Boomboomman: Ready gays? Tapeytapeman: I think you mean guys. Boomboomman: Whatever. Boomboomman: Anyways, sound off! @Everyone Boomboomman: Fuck off! Beyond: Fuck off! Birdfireman: Fuck off! Rockyrockman: Fuck off! Jungle: Fuck off! Icyhot: Fuck off! Pikachu’s Hoe: Fuck off! PunkJack: Fuck off! Ice Hole: Fuck off! Shigkao: Fuck off! Quarter: Fuck off! Assidic: Fuck off! Purrple Dream: Fuck off! Hexafoomin: What are you guys doing? Boomboomman: Saying “fuck off!” to negative thoughts. It’s something that I read about. It definitely makes me feel better. Hexafoomin: Ah, that’s why people were yelling “Fuck off”. Boomboomman: It’s fucking theraputic thats what. Jungle: I don’t know why this works, but it does. Boomboomman: it’s because it’s my idea, of course it fucking works. Dime: Normally I would point out how swearing is something we shouldn’t do, but if it’s helping you guys out it’s fine. Aizawa Shota: Head to Training Ground Tau at 12 noon. There are no classes today. Private Chat between Aizawa Shota and Endless Knives [7:44] Aizawa Shota: Out of everybody on your team, you are the less demonic. Aizawa Shota: Congratulations, you’re now team leader. Endless Knives: Wait, you talked to Kan-sensei? Aizawa Shota: Yeah, he said you wanted more opportunities for leadership.  Endless Knives: Of course I do. I did want to make my own agency someday. Aizawa Shota: Well here’s your chance Kamakiri. Endless Knives: I won’t fuck this up. Aizawa Shota: You better. Team 7 [7:49] Aizawa Shota has added themselves to Team 7 . Aizawa Shota: Hey team of problem children, Kamakiri is now your team leader. Living Spy Plane: Wait, what? Aizawa Shota: Yes. Aizawa Shota has left Team 7 . Living Spy Plane: Well Kamakiri, congratulations for being our team leader. Living Spy Plane: I have some ideas about Quirks you might want to hear. Is that a knife?: Great! We should compile a list of people with destructive quirks. Is that a knife?: And Monoma, we should test if you can copy Hagakure’s Quirk. Is that a knife?: Because if you can, we can get Invisible Knives >:) Copycat (Meow): Sounds like a plan. Although maybe we should have done this before. Is that a knife?: Well as team leader I picked out some base locations. Living Spy Plane: Hey Kamakiri, we should talk about those base locations. Is that a knife?: I think I did a fucking amazing job, but a second opinion would be useful. Stealth is key: I’ve been working on my stealth skills with Aizawa-sensei lately! My new costume is sound absorbing and because it’s based off of my DNA it’s completely invisible! Living Spy Plane: That’s… sort of terrifying. Stealth is key: Well, I consulted Aizawa-sensei, and he said that I should work on my strengths! I’m one of the stealthiest people ever now! Is that a knife?: Have you practiced silent takedowns? Stealth is key: Of course! I put a scrap of cloth on my costume that I can use as a gag. Is that a knife?: So did you want to take more of a defensive role, or an offensive role? Stealth is key: I want to be bolder, so I’d like to taste an offensive role if you don’t mind. Is that a knife?: Well since the exercise is 24 hours in length, I suggest that you rest during the beginning. Living Spy Plane: So are we going to go on the offensive immediately or wait? Is that a knife?: I think we should wait for a few hours, let others tire themselves out. Living Spy Plane: I think maybe I should go out immediately and find easy targets. Also for scouting. Is that a knife?: Are you sure that’s advisable? Living Spy Plane: Information is one of the most valuable resources we could have. Living Spy Plane: Also, there’s very few people that can attack me at normal flight height. And those people I can deflect with fire. Is that a knife?: Y’know what, you convinced me. But prioritize information gathering over engaging enemies. Copycat (Meow): What should I do? Is that a knife?: I think that you should stick with me for defense. Temporarily, at least. Don’t worry you’ll see your fair share of action. Copycat (Meow): Good. I think this is a chance for us to win! Stealth is key: You’re not going to gloat about 2-B being better? Copycat (Meow): Ehhh. Ever since Kan-sensei had us work with 2-A, i don’t know i just got better. Copycat (Meow): I still think 2-B is better :P Team 4 [7:50] Superspy: Ok, I think we should play defensively. M U S H R O O M: Yes! We can fortify the place with MUSHROOMS! Kreator: Ok, I managed to get a decent supply of food for my quirk, so we should be able to create defenses. Froge: I should go out on recon occasionally. Just to make sure everything is fine. Superspy: I feel like our team may be a bit underpowered… M U S H R O O M: No! Our team is quite powerful! We just need to play this strategically. Kreator: Indeed! Our team is powerful, with flexible quirks. Froge: We need to let people like Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Honenuki, Tokoyami, and some of the other powerhouses to wear themselves out. Team 1 [7:52] Lord Shadow Stalker: Alright who changed these names? Queen Alien Dissolver: Probably Bakugo. Duke Word Breaker: Tbh this name kinda sucks. King Explosion Murder: Oi! Fuck off it’s amazing. Lord Shadow Stalker: Remember what we said Bakugo? King Explosion Murder: Yes, yes, we’re going to wait for a bit to get an advantage. Kuroiro is going out for scouting. Queen Alien Dissolver: Yeah! Taking our time will make sure we can win! King Explosion Murder: >:) King Explosion Murder: Let’s fucking do this shit. Team 4 [7:53] (Arm)y: I should go out for scouting. The Birds: No, I should do scouting, my birds would be good for it. The Bird: Yes, Koda should go out and patrol. The Bird: Actually, the four of us should go out and attack immediately. Maybe we’ll find a base or two with the combined efforts of Koda, Shoji and myself. Air Shield: Let’s do this! Full Attack! Team 3 [7:47] Steal steel: So let’s review the plans… E X P A N D: So you’re being the defence for our shit. E X P A N D: And the three of us will go on attack. Steal steel: Defense! So Manly! Steal steel: FUCK YEAH!!! I’M GOING TO DEFEND THE BASE WITH EVERYTHING I FUCKING HAVE!! From two, one: Kodai, you do have the steel bars right? E X P A N D: Of course. From one, many: And I’ll find the targets :) Steal steel: I do not like that smiley face. E X P A N D: Don’t worry, she’s not going to traumatize them too badly. From two, one: Keep in mind that mental battling is important as well. So scare away >:) From one, many: Ok, but I’ll make sure to be careful to not see anything… indecent. E X P A N D: People would really do that shit here? From one, many: I have learned my lesson to be discreet with my quirk… From two, one: you do not need to describe what you saw… Team Traitor [8:34] Flare: How did your guys attempt to go out on patrol alone go? Focus: I made it work. Fungus: Sorry! Asui was a much better suit and I couldn’t make a convincing argument to fight it. Flare: Don’t worry, we’ll take her out along the way. Fast: Yes I did! It was easy to convince my team to go along with me being on patrol. Finger: My team decided to do a full attack, so yeah. Fuse: I’m in the same boat as Shoji, my team decided to do a full attack as well. Fur: I managed to convince my team. Fist: I didn’t get it done :( Ojiro was a better choice. Flare: Don’t worry, our plan can still work. It’ll be more difficult, but it would work. Fucking Insanity [10:00] Aizawa Shouta: 2 hours until the exercise begins. Finish any final preparations that you may have.

Morioh, Japan. June 10th, 1999.   It was very early when (Y/N) arrived at her destination. The first rays of the sun were piercing the sky with difficulty. And yet, her driver was on time to pick her up at the station, as planned. And what a welcome! Out of a big black luxury car came a man in a suit who came to open the back door and help an old man out. And despite the aging, (Y/N) recognized this old man immediately and it was like an explosion of joy in her chest. "Joseph Joestar. It's crazy how old you look now", she joked. "Haha, I see that you haven't lost your insolence, my little (Y/N)." She didn't wait a single second to hug him, and he laughed, hugging her as best he could. Clearly, she didn't blame him at all for leaving her without news all this time, she was far too happy to see him again. The driver took (Y/N)'s luggage to put in the car while she was chatting with the old man. "You didn't need to come here, Joseph. I would have found the way myself. - Maybe, but you're my special guest. I had to escort you. - Oh I see. I'm VIP, it's true." The driver opened the door for her and she got into the car, Joseph following her. She noticed without much astonishment that he was listening to Elvis Presley inside, and she sighed, remembering a few memories. Over his small glasses, the old man was examining her, a smile on his lips, while the car started again. "You know (Y/N), I can't see clearly anymore. But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that you've changed a lot. - I already have wrinkles, right?" she joked. "Ha, no, of course not. But you seem to be... tougher. - Cold, you can say it. - I would say more... Withdrawn. - I know. It's my job that requires that. And then after all, I'm not 16 anymore. - It's true. You are a lovely young lady now. - Ha, charmer. You're not bad either, Joseph." She couldn't stop joking, she was so happy to see him again. She already felt a bit at home. After a few minutes of travel, the car stopped in front of a large hotel. Surely where she would have to sleep. Outside, a group of people seemed to be waiting for their arrival. The driver opened the door and Joseph got out first. And (Y/N) was also about to come out. Except that she heard a voice she knew only too well, which immediately stopped her. "Took you a long time, Grandpa." Her heart started pounding in her chest, like a schoolgirl. She wasn't sure she wanted to go out anymore. "Ha, sorry Jotaro. We talked a lot at the station, that must be why. - Is it a man or a woman?" the voice of a boy that (Y/N) didn't remember knowing asked. "Be a little patient Okuyasu!" another boy exclaimed. No, she couldn't back down. Clearly, she was eagerly awaited. So with a quick glance in the rearview mirror, she checked that her appearance was perfect, before putting on her sunglasses. She took a deep breath. And she stepped out of the car. Immediately, she felt all eyes on her, but she kept her expression closed. She was used to being the center of attention after all, from living among men. But there was an icy stare that she was feeling more than the others. And this one in particular, she ignored it to proudly keep her head held high. One of the boys let out a "woooow" and was elbowed in the ribs by his friend. She approached the group, the sound of her heels echoing on the cobblestones, and removed her glasses gracefully when she reached their level. She immediately sought Joseph's gaze to cheer herself up, and she noticed with amusement that he was wearing a very proud smile. "Gentlemen, I present to you (Y/N) Zeppeli. She will assist us in this investigation. - So you're the famous Stand User Mr. Joestar told us about!" a young boy with gray hair exclaimed. "My name is Koichi! Hirose Koichi! - Nice to meet you, Koichi. I see you've oversold me a little Joseph? - Not at all, not at all. I just told them that one of my Stand User friends was going to join the investigation. - And that your power was unmatched", a young man with dark green hair sighed, examining her from top to bottom. "Well, that remains to be proven. - I hope not to disappoint any expectation, sir...? - Rohan. Rohan Kishibe. What do you mean, you don't know my name where you're from? - I should? - My God. What a lack of culture. - Don't listen to him!" one of the teenagers exclaimed. "He's a killjoy. - Nobody asked you, Josuke Higashikata", Rohan hissed between clenched teeth. "He's always like that", Josuke sighed. "I'm Okuyasu!!!" the teenager who hadn't been able to contain his admiration a few minutes earlier exclaimed. "Well, it's nice to meet you." She'd just arrived yet she was getting a lot of attention, which amused her a lot. And since her arrival, she had perfectly succeeded in ignoring the presence of the only man who hadn't dared to speak, the one who was trying somehow to manage his inner panic, a little too pale to pretend to feel good. "Well?" Josuke said. "Why don't you introduce yourself, Jotaro? - Oh, no need", (Y/N) said in a suddenly colder voice. "We already know each other." Only then, she decided to meet Jotaro's ocean gaze. He immediately looked away and cleared his throat before glaring at Joseph. "... grandpa, I'll have a couple words to tell you. - Oh, later Jotaro, later. First I have to go and book (Y/N)'s hotel room." And with these words, Joseph disappeared inside the hotel. The three teenagers apologized for having to leave so early to go to class. (Y/N) greeted them, she would see them soon enough anyway. For his part, after examining her from top to bottom, Rohan turned on his heels and walked away without another word. He looked hateful, and yet at that moment she would have preferred him to stay rather than leave her alone with Jotaro. She looked up at him reluctantly and he cleared his throat before pulling his white cap over his eyes. Obviously, there were old habits that were harder to die than others. "... what are you doing here?" he finally asked. "... what do you mean, what am I doing here? It's obvious. - ... are you here for the investigation? - Why are you asking this? You need me, right? - ... no, no more than anyone else, I- - Wait, wait, wait... I came because your grandfather told me that you wanted help with this investigation. - But I never said that. - ... eh? - Wait, he's the one who- - Oh merda..." She understood immediately how much Joseph had made fun of her to be sure to lure her to Morioh. Jotaro clenched his jaw and growled in Japanese between his teeth. And without consulting each other, they tumbled at the same time to the hotel reception where Joseph had a little difficulty reserving a room, as if to save time away from his grandchildren. But seeing them enter, clearly annoyed, he preferred to play the card of the fragile and innocent old grandpa. "Oh, there you are! Here, (Y/N), your room key- - Joseph, why did you tell me that Jotaro needed me for this investigation? - ... I said that? - Grandpa, you better have a good explanation. - Oh but... I'm old, you know, I don't really know what I'm saying anymore..." The two young people squinted at the same time and Joseph had to refrain from smiling as they looked so alike. "But whatever, now that you're here, you're going to help us, aren't you (Y/N)? - ... I am here for this. For you . - Perfect, perfect... Thank you very much." He handed her the keys to her room before pretending to have an urge to pee that made the young woman's eyes roll. There followed another awkward moment where Jotaro and (Y/N) gave each other furtive little sideways glances to examine each other. After a long moment of silence, Jotaro finally muttered: "... it's not that I didn't want to see you, huh...it's just that- - It's okay. I get it. Come, I think I need a cigarette, this day is already seriously starting to exhaust me. And it's not even 8 a.m. - ... a cigarette?" Jotaro frowned slightly. "... I thought the smell of cigarettes disgusted you?" (Y/N) frowned in turn. She gulped and shrugged. No desire to admit that the only reason she started smoking was because it was the only thing that brought her closer to him. "... I no longer smoke, count me out." Was he really serious?! Nevermind, she was taking back everything she could have thought. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, groaning between clenched teeth: "... a coffee then." She didn't even wait for him to agree to follow her to head for the hotel coffee machine, her jaw clenched. She pressed a few buttons without a word, clearly frustrated with this situation. And when she turned around, she noticed that Jotaro had followed her without flinching. She handed him a coffee and he thanked her with a nod, his face stone-cold. He might have been ten years older, but he hadn't changed at all. He still had those same facial expressions: cold and self-effacing. She looked at the large hand that had just grabbed the little plastic cup, but quickly looked away when she noticed the wedding ring on his finger. Her throat tightened and she took a sip of coffee to hide her frustration. It was a failure. Her bitterness had just been awakened. And she was determined to make him understand. "Oh wow, that wasn't actually a joke. You really are married." She feigned surprise, but her words left a bad taste in her mouth. Jotaro looked down at his wedding ring and clenched his jaw. She continued. "It's funny, I didn't get an invitation card." She took another sip of coffee to hide the forced, sarcastic smile that curved her lips. Jotaro tensed slightly, clenching his fist on his plastic cup which was starting to crease dangerously. Then he put his ocean eyes on the dark ring that adorned the young woman's finger. "... have you been for long? - What? - ... married?" She nearly choked on her coffee. He had just offered her the chance to return the favor. Lying, of course, but that was far too tempting. "We're just engaged. We're getting married in August." Jotaro couldn't clench his jaw anymore, he might break his teeth any second. The small vein on his forehead was sticking out, and (Y/N) smirked. It was absolutely evil, but she had received the reaction she expected. "... congratulations," he finally mumbled. "Thank you, Jojo." Oh how she loved pronouncing that nickname again with so much bitterness in her voice. Jotaro almost shivered. He even poured himself another coffee, probably to calm his nerves. He really didn't like being there. Besides, why did Joseph have to spend so much time in the bathroom? "Well, I'm not going to beat around the bush any longer, it's starting to tense me up", the young woman groaned, throwing her cup in the trash. He laid his eyes on her after a moment of hesitation, and soon regretted it when he met her cold, withering gaze. "Why did you never answer my calls? What about my emails?" With his free hand, Jotaro lowered his cap over his eyes, which only annoyed the young woman a little more. Why did he have to be so uncommunicative? She sighed, a shaky sigh of frustration, before trying to calm down. "... you know, I really needed to talk to you after what happened in Egypt. It was really hard having to get through this on my own, and then you- - I'd rather not dwell on the past", he muttered. (Y/N) couldn't believe her ears. She felt a pang in her heart. "Jotaro, I was 16 fucking years old. You were the only one I had left, and you- - Stop it. That was 10 years ago, it doesn't matter anymore." He finished his cup in one go before throwing it a little too violently into the trash. (Y/N) felt boiling. She clenched her fists, her fingernails almost digging into the palms of her hands. "... what happened between us too doesn't matter anymore? - ... exactly." Oh how she wanted to hit him! But she just stood there, unable to answer anything. She hadn't dreamed, he had said what she had heard. It was as if he had just taken what was left of her heart and smashed it to pieces. So, between her teeth, she couldn't help hissing at him, "You really are an asshole, Jotaro." And those were the only words Joseph heard when he finally decided to get out of the toilet. As the young woman turned on her heels to bring her luggage to her hotel room, the old man rolled his eyes at his grandson, as if to push him to explain himself. But Jotaro didn't say a word. He simply lowered his cap over his eyes, looking grim.  

Sans was completely frozen and unmoving, like a statue.   ... Did you just break him?   “...Sans? You good?” you asked, trying to regain his attention and mobilize him again.   ...Should you not have come here? Was he mad at you now? You should have texted him, it was wrong to show up unannounced like this!   Even if you were invited by his brother.   You still should have told him! You met him first.   ...The last thing you wanted was for Sans to be upset with you.   You felt relief wash over you when his eye light reappeared.   Okay. He’s not broken.   His gaze shifted over to Papyrus, and then settled back on you. “...uh. what... whatcha doin’ here…?” he asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.   You were starting to view that as a nervous habit.   “Papyrus invited me over for dinner,” you informed him, crossing your hands and resting them in your lap. A nervous habit of your own that you often did when you felt uncomfortable in a situation.   He looked back at his brother, and then to you again. “...where… where’d ya meet..?”   You smiled, softly. “Ironically, I met him at the store. Weird, right?”   You were expecting him to find that amusing like you did, but all he did was give you a soft, fake laugh.   ...He really was upset with you, wasn’t he?   Maybe you were overstepping boundaries? You could see that. You’d been friends for less than a week, and now here you were, showing up uninvited... by him , that is.   You could see it being rude and uncomfortable for him, you being here like this...   ...Maybe you’re overthinking this.   “...Are you sure you’re okay?”   His features seemed to soften. “...yeah. yeah, i’m… i’m great,” he told you gently, taking a seat at the table in between you and Papyrus.   You had a feeling that was complete bullshit, but you decided to drop the subject and focus on your plate. Out of the entirety of the… what, twenty boxes Papyrus made, he only gave you about 10% of the noodles. And even that looked like it was gonna be too much for you to eat.   You looked over at Papyrus’s plate and saw that, like, 80% of the pasta was on it… Where the hell was he gonna put all of that?   Sans, like you, had about 10% of the overall spaghetti, yet he didn’t seem like he was intimidated by it in the slightest. Must happen often around here, then.   Whatever, you still had absolutely no right to judge them on their food intake.   You picked up your fork and cautiously twirled it around in the spaghetti, noting that some of the strands looked… a bit burnt, why a few others seemed a bit underdone…?   ...How the hell did he manage to pull that off?   Well, the look of the pasta doesn’t really matter. What’s really important here, is taste.   You lifted the fork up to your mouth and took a bite.   …   ... huh.   ...Well… you really appreciate the gesture and the fact he cares enough to feed you..?   ...Honestly the experience of chewing on noodles that were simultaneously crunchy and squishy at the same time was one you wished to never experience, ever again. It wasn’t so bad to the point that it was nauseating, but it was bad enough that you didn’t really want to swallow it.   But, not wanting to be rude, you did anyways.   You managed to choke it down, and then looked up to see Papyrus looking at you, expectantly.   ...He looked so hopeful.   “...Wow, Papyrus! The spaghetti sure is… uh… what’s the word…?”   “EDIBLE!?” Papyrus finished for you, excitedly.   ... Barely.   “Y-Yeah! That’s the word… Edible.” Papyrus seemed perfectly happy and proud of your answer. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, before you turned your attention over to Sans.   He was staring down at his plate of food, and lazily twirling his fork in the noodles. He looked deep in thought, as usual.   ...You wanted to ask him if he was okay again, but decided against it. You didn’t wanna be annoying. Instead, you focused back on your food. You had to get this down, or else you would upset Papyrus, and probably Sans, too.   You listened to papyrus talk on and on about things, ranging from his birthday all the way to the type of underwear he uses.   ...You weren’t really sure what you were suppose to do with this information.   By the time dinner was done, you were honestly amazed by how much noodles one skeleton could consume. He literally ate like, eighteen boxes of spaghetti, total. Where the hell did it go?   ...You didn’t really know what to think. That’s a lot of fucking pasta.   But hey, he seemed happy. He wasn’t hurting anybody.   “ARE YOU SATISFIED HUMAN?” he asked you, after you had finished the last of your food.   You smiled and gave a small nod. You were truly stuffed, and quite honestly you were surprised you were able to finish your food.   He seemed pleased with your answer. “FANTASTIC! HAVE YOU SAVED ROOM FOR DESSERT?”   ...Oh god.   There was more?   Was this gonna be burnt and undercooked at the same time too?   ...You have to be polite. He invited you here specifically for dinner, and you probably should have expected a dessert. Your own fault for being unprepared.   “...Yeah. Yes. Sure.” Wow you sound like an idiot . You looked over at Sans when you heard him snort lightly.   See? Even he thought you sounded stupid.   ...But he had that smile, while he stared down at his plate. The one that made you feel weirdly tingly.   ... What the hell was happening to you ?   You looked over at Papyrus to see him pulling a tray out of the oven. It looked like brownies, and honestly they didn’t look bad. In fact, they looked pretty fucking good. You watched as he cut out a big corner piece and put it onto a plate, before setting it down in front of you.   You looked down at the brownie, and almost drooled. It looked fudgy and gooey and amazing . Papyrus cut out another edge piece and put it down in front of Sans before eating the entire rest of the tray.   Shit.   He sure as hell had an appetite.   ...You really hoped it tasted better than the spaghetti.   You could feel Pap’s stare on you, probably waiting for you to eat the brownie, so you did. You picked it up off of the plate and took a small bite.   …   ...It was amazing!?   You couldn’t stop yourself. You ate the rest of it quickly, briefly wondering how the hell he got this to taste so incredible after that spaghetti.   After you finished, you looked up at Papyrus happily. “That was the best brownie I’ve ever had. Thank you.”   “I KNOW!” ...Fair enough , “AND YOU ARE VERY WELCOME! YOU MAY COME BACK ANY TIME! I APPRECIATE A HUMAN WITH A SOPHISTICATED PALETTE! unlike the last human who threw up my delicious food...”   “Oh, thanks. Yeah, I will.” Just as long as it isn’t spaghetti next time .   “WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF FOOD? I COULD MAKE IT FOR YOU!” he offered, and you felt a bit of relief knowing it wouldn’t be noodles.   ...Just as you were about to answer, Sans did it for you.   “she likes sushi.”   “FANTASTIC! I SHALL MAKE SUSHI!”   ...How did he…?   Oh yeah. You went to that restaurant together. You must’ve told him.   “WOULD YOU LIKE FOR SANS TO TAKE YOU HOME NOW?” Papyrus suddenly asked you, volunteering his brother.   ...Was he okay with that?   “...Sure?” you answered, looking at Sans for clarification.   He just winked in response, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit flustered by it. You felt your cheeks heat up a bit, and a tiny, pleasant shiver shoot down your spine. You watched as Sans stood up and muttered a small ‘thank you’ to his brother, before walking outside and leaving the door open, signaling he was waiting for you.   You stood up and gave Papyrus a warm smile. “Thank you for dinner.”   “YOU’RE WELCOME, SMALL HUMAN!” You held back a snort and walked outside to meet Sans. He was standing on the porch, and staring down at his phone, seemingly scrolling through Facebook.   “Hey,” you greeted him, trying to gain his attention.   He looked up at you and turned off his phone, before putting it into his pocket. “...hey. all set?” he asked you, his voice gentle.   You nodded, and then moved closer to hug him, wrapping your arms around his torso. After a moment or two, he slowly hugged you back, pulling you a bit closer.   ...He was warm. A comforting feeling against the chilly fall weather.   You hummed subconsciously, feeling relaxed in this moment. Safe, somehow. You felt him nuzzle the top of your head gently, and you couldn’t help but smile and nuzzle into his chest, as well.   This felt so natural.   He sighed in contentment, and you wondered if he was going to teleport or not.   “...Sans?” you asked softly, giving his chest another small nuzzle.   He grunted in reply, and you took that as a sign to continue.   “...We gonna teleport…?”   He went stiff for a moment, and then relaxed. “...oh. y-yeah. just, uh… close your eyes.”   You did, nuzzling into him one more time, before feeling the world shift.   …   When you opened your eyes, you were both in front of your apartment, standing on the porch.   ...Part of you really didn’t wanna let go, but you needed to go inside.   You released your hold on Sans, and moved slightly, signaling for him to release you.   But he didn’t.   “...” you tapped him on his back gently, and he made a small noise of acknowledgment. “...We’re here.You gonna let go..?”   “...yeah.”   He slowly released his hold on you, hands dropping to his sides limply, before he stuffed them into his pockets again. The look on his face made it seem like he was a bit disappointed. Maybe he didn’t want this evening to end either?   “...Thanks for bringing me home. I had fun,” you told him with a smile as you made your way to the door.   ...Just as you were about to turn the handle, you stopped.   Why did the thought of him leaving right now make your chest hurt?   You turned around and looked at him, meeting his eye instantly. He had a faint blue tint on his cheek bones, and his gaze was fixated on you. He almost looked drunk.   “...Wanna come in..?” you asked him before you even realized you wanted him to.   His eye sockets widened in surprise, and the faint blush disappeared. He just looked completely shocked. You noticed a small amount of hesitation, and just as you were about to say nevermind he started speaking.   “...s-sure. for a bit.”   You gave him a soft smile and then opened the door, walking inside. He followed behind you and closed the door before turning and facing you.   “...What do you wanna do? I don’t exactly have much, but…” it’s enough .   “youuuuuuuu-.... uh….” ...Did he just…? “... .you have a nice place !”   ...Nice save.   “...Thanks,” you said softly, feeling your face heat up again. Why did he have that effect on you? Nobody else ever did!   He clearly couldn’t meet your gaze, so he focused over on your table. “...heh. uh... wanna just… watch tv again?”   “Oh, yeah. Sure.” Good idea. Maybe that could be your thing. Watching tv.   You lead the way into the living room, and sat down on the couch, gently patting the spot next to you. He didn’t hesitate, he sat down and got comfortable.   You turned on the TV and started to go through movies on Netflix.   “...How do you feel about romance movies?” you asked, turning to look at him.   “...depends on if they’re actually good. usually they’re just predictable. like, boy meets girl. they obviously belong together, but you have to sit there and watched for an hour and a half and wait for them to realize that.”   ...Wow. That was actually really accurate.   …   “...I have the perfect movie in mind,” you told him, before you turned on the one romance movie you knew wasn’t like that.   You both got comfortable on the couch, leaning back and watching contently. The movie was a bit different than Sans has predicted earlier, they actually started out knowing they belonged together. Still pretty cliche, but it wasn’t what he said.   You were both mostly silent during the film, up until the kissing scene when he snorted.   “What?” you asked, glancing over at him. What was funny about kissing?   “that is not a kiss. they’re just eating each others faces.”   ...Sure as hell looked like a kiss to you. “It is a kiss?”   He looked at you, skeptically. “are you kidding me? you think that’s a kiss?”   “Well, it looks like a kiss. So yeah.”   He had a confused expression on his face for a moment, and then it quickly turned to one of realization.   “...you’ve never been kissed, have you?”   ...You shrugged.   It wasn’t that you weren’t open to the idea, it’s just… never happened. You never really liked anybody enough to kiss them, and apparently that was a mutual thing because nobody's ever tried to kiss you either.   “...holy shit.” he sounded shocked.   “It’s not that big of a deal,” you said softly, feeling a bit embarrassed.   “...”   He went silent as he stared at you, and you felt a bit uneasy.   “...Um?”   Silence.   “Sans?”   Nothing.   “...Helloooo?” you tried again, waving a hand in front of his face.   ...He grabbed your face gently, cupping it with both hands.   And then he pulled you in for a kiss.   Your eyes widened in surprise, and you made a small noise of surprise.   ...Holy shit.   Sans was kissing you.   Sans. Was kissing you .   ...You kissed him back, now realizing what he meant. On the movie it was rough and uncoordinated, but this? This was much different. It was gentle, and you could feel his… lips? Or the malable bone when his lips would be move in sync with yours.   Your chest felt so nice, and you just didn’t understand why .   His hands suddenly gripped onto your hips tightly, and he pulled you closer until you were almost straddling his lap.   You couldn’t help the small noise that escaped from the back of your throat as you clung to him by the front of his jacket, and you shuddered when he let out a tiny whine.   ...Eventually you found it a little hard to breathe, and you pulled away, panting.   You looked at his face and he looked completely shocked, like he couldn’t believe he just did that. He was panting and staring down at his hands on your hips.   “...Um,” you started, unsure of what to say after a moment like that.   “...”   Poof.   ...He vanished.   You felt a small pain in your chest, and a part of you wanted to scream.   “...Sans!?”   ___   Just how obsessed was he?   How messed up in the head could one person be to literally hallucinate that one person was at their house? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in days, or weeks, so it made no sense that he was already seeing things!   ...Maybe it did make sense.   This was his dream, after all. To have you and Papyrus be friends, and make dinner together and have  that domestic feel… but it was truly sad that he was literally seeing it in his head, and projecting it into his real life.   “...Sans? You good?”   …   That…   This wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t a hallucination at all.   Holy shit, why were you at his house!?   He was trying to distance himself from you so he didn’t do anything to fuck up this relationship!   ...He blinked and looked over at his brother. Papyrus was smiling, like he was proud to have brought home a friend. But where the hell did he even find you!? And why you of all people!?   His gaze shifted back toward you. You were smiling as well, only your smile was a bit anxious. He understood that. He knew he seemed a bit… upset maybe? Which he was, really, just… not as upset as he should be. He loved you, and he loved that you were in his home. What he didn’t love is that he wasn’t in complete control right now. He knew he could snap at any minute, and nobody needed that. That wouldn’t be good for anybody.   “...uh. what... whatcha doin’ here?” he asked you gently before he stuffed his hands into his pockets.   “Papyrus invited me over for dinner.”   ...Understandable. You wouldn’t show up unannounced. That’s just not something you would do with somebody you had only known for less than a week.   Sans looked over at his brother again, and he still looked proud. You however, seemed uncomfortable. He could tell by the way you folded your hands into your lap.   “...where… where’d ya meet?” that’s what he really wanted to know.   You gave him a small smile, and he felt a wave of emotions come over him. All positive and confusing, besides anxiety, He could recognize that one.   “Ironically, I met him at the store. Weird, right?”   Weird?   No, that sounded like fate.   That sounded like you were meant to meet and you were meant to be here at his house.   Still, he let out a small laugh, not wanting you to be creeped out by his real thoughts. What he really thought was that you belonged here.   Now Papyrus knew you, and now things would finally fall into place.   “...Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked him, concern obvious in your voice.   ...You really need to stop worrying about him like that.   “...yeah. yeah, i’m… i’m great,” he lied as he sat down at his usual place at the table.   Sans knew that his brother ate a lot more than the average person, but that was fine by him. Better than not eating enough. But still, the look on your face was pretty cute.   You seemed a little intimidated by the amount of noodles that were in front of you, and even more surprised by the amount that was on Papyrus’s plate.   But the fact that you didn’t comment on it, made him really grateful.   He expected that from you anyways, considering how you were far from judgemental, even if you were taken aback by something.   He saw you look over at his plate, and he’s pretty sure he saw a bit of relief in your expression. Probably because he had the same amount as you did, and that made it seem a little less weird for you to eat so much spaghetti.   After you seemed to accept the fact that you were given so much, you picked up your fork and started to twirl the noodles around on your fork. You were examining it, probably noting the fact it seemed both overcooked and undercooked at the same time.   Paps always claimed he did that on purpose, for a variety of textures.   Despite the look of the food you still took a bite, and Sans watched out of the corner of his socket.   He could tell that you were holding back a face of disgust, yet you just kept chewing. You chewed, and then you swallowed before looking up at papyrus with a smile.   “...Wow, Papyrus!” you started voice happy and even. “The spaghetti sure is… uh… what’s the word…?”   The fact that you were trying so hard to give his brother a genuine compliment was both adorable and nerve wracking.   “EDIBLE!?” Paps offered, unknowingly throwing you a life line.   “Y-yeah! That’s the word… Edible.”   suuuure it was.   Sans brought his focus back down to his plate and started to twirl the noodles onto his fork as well, feeling grateful that his brother was so talkative. That way he didn’t need to speak, and it still wouldn’t be awkward, and you would have someone to speak with.   ...And watching you communicate with his brother really pleased him.   He felt closer and closer to what he wanted now.   To his dream.   You both exchanged conversation and he listened, not learning anything new, but finding enjoyment in the fact you were both learning more and more about each other. Sometimes Papyrus would give you some information that you didn’t necessarily need, but hey, he seemed happy, and you didn’t seem to mind it either.   ...Half of the time he found himself tempted to answer for you. He didn’t, for obvious reasons, but the urge was still there.   You seemed to finish your pasta pretty easily, despite the taste, and honestly Sans was really proud of you for some reason.   He knew his brothers food wasn’t… the best, but you still ate all of it.   You didn’t waste anything.   ...   “ARE YOU SATISFIED HUMAN?” Papyrus asked you after the three of you had eaten.   Sans was pretty sure satisfied wasn’t the word you would use after that meal.   Nonetheless, you still smiled at Papyrus and confirmed you enjoyed the food. Sans was glad that you were the type of person who could tell a little white lie when necessary to spare someone’s feelings.   “FANTASTIC! HAVE YOU SAVED ROOM FOR DESSERT?”   Now ya see, the thing about Papyrus is he’s not a bad baker. Cooking? Not his strong suit. But when it came to sweets, he was fantastic. But of course, you didn’t know that, so the look on your face was priceless when you realized there was still more where that came from.   What made it even better, was the fact you were unable to say no, even though you obviously wanted to.   “...Yeah. Yes. Sure.”   ... oh my god.   You are so fucking adorable.   Sans really fucking wished he could have this every day. You, him and Pap. Where you both were safe, and you would be here and you would love him, and you would never leave and you would look so pretty sprawled out undern-   …   Sans snorted lightly. This was exactly why you shouldn’t be here.   He’s not safe for you.   You looked over at him, seemingly to question what he found so amusing.   ...Shit. Did he just accidentally offend you?   He gave you a wink, trying to show you that he wasn’t laughing at you, but he’s pretty sure it just came across as flirty since your entire face lit up.   Hey, he’s not complaining. Red is a pretty color on you.   You averted your eyes and looked over to Papyrus pulling a tray of brownies out of the oven. He cut a piece out for you, and wow. You looked actually excited for this.   Sans was happy that there was at least something you would enjoy from this evening.   You know, besides talking to his cool brother.   Papyrus gave Sans a piece, and then ate the rest of the tray before sitting back down and watching you for your reaction.   ...Sans felt his soul thump when your face lit up after taking a bite.   And then you scarfed the rest of it down, not caring about how you looked, and it was so adorable .   y o u    a r e   s o   a d o r a b l e .   …   ...When you were done, you thanked Papyrus and told him it was the best brownie you had ever eaten. There was something about you getting along with his brother that was just so… right .   perfect.   “I KNOW! YOU ARE VERY WELCOME! YOU MAY COME BACK ANY TIME! I APPRECIATE A HUMAN WITH A SOPHISTICATED PALETTE!” Papyrus told you, and a part of Sans was screaming that he wanted you here all the time, while the other half knew you shouldn’t be here. “unlike the last human who threw up my delicious food…”   ...heh. Oh yeah. That didn’t end well.   “Oh, thanks. Yeah, I will.”   ...fuck. shit.   That was both the best and the worst news possible.   “WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF FOOD?” Papyrus asked you, enthusiastically. “I COULD MAKE IT FOR YOU!”   ...Sushi.   It was sushi.   He wanted to answer for you…   ...and he did. That wasn’t suspicious. You told him that yourself!   “she likes sushi.”   “FANTASTIC! I SHALL MAKE SUSHI!”   well that’s settled.   You looked a little confused at first, and he felt like his non-existent heart dropped into his stomach. Was he wrong? Did you not actually tell him that?   ...He felt relieved when a look of realization came over your face. Either you really didn’t tell him and you’re just trying to convince yourself you did, or you actually did.   He’s hoping for the latter.   “WOULD YOU LIKE FOR SANS TO TAKE YOU HOME NOW?”   ...Why the hell…   ...He knew.   Papyrus fucking knew.   He could tell, of course he could fucking tell you were his soulmate!   fuck!   He was gonna chew him out later for sure.   goddammit.   “...Sure?” you replied, looking over towards Sans.   ...Last time he winked you reacted adorably, so he did it again hoping for the same effect.   heh. He wasn’t disappointed. Your face lit up like a bright cherry and you shuddered slightly.   He thanked Papyrus for the food and then made his way outside, leaving the door open to signal he was waiting for you.   ...He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and it opened to your page.   You were so beautiful…   “Hey.”   ... shit.   He quickly turned off the screen and shoved it into his pocket, really hoping you didn’t see that.   “...hey. all set?”   You nodded and then wrapped your arms around him in a hug.   ...Wow.   ...You were so fucking warm .   He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in closer, enjoying how natural and right it felt to have you against him like this.   He heard you hum softly in contentment and he nuzzled the top of your head without even thinking. You were just so cute and seemed content and happy .   And then nuzzled him back .   …. breathe.   He couldn’t help but sigh in complete bliss. You were hugging him. You were actually hugging him .   “...Sans?” you started, voice gentle and heavenly.   “mm?”   “...We gonna teleport…?”   …   ... oh.   That explains why you hugged him… you thought teleportation required it.   right .   “...oh. y-yeah, just… uh. close your eyes.”   As soon as you did, he took a shortcut.   …   He brought you both to your apartment, and loosened his grip just a little to signal you had arrived. You blinked a few times before focusing on your surroundings, and he felt a bit of joy when you didn’t immediately let go.   ….But after a moment or two, you released him, letting your arms fall to your sides. You tried to back up a bit, but… he just couldn’t let go.   ... shit.   let go you idiot.   ...You tapped him on the back.   “mh?”   “...We’re here. You gonna let go…?” you asked him softly.   …   “...yeah.”   He slowly released you and le his hands fall at his sides as well before stuffing them in his pockets.   God, he really wanted to hold you forever.   He felt almost high, just from physical contact.   “...Thanks for bringing me home. I had fun,” you told him happily, making your way to the door.   ...You weren’t opening it .   Why weren’t you opening it?   You turned and looked at him, and he couldn’t help but note the pink tint to your cheeks, and the way your eyelids seemed a bit droopy.   …   ...fuck.   You could feel it too.   “...Wanna come in…?”   …   oh no.   oh no no no, that is a bad fucking idea.   …”s-sure. for a bit.”   fuck! you fucking idiot!   ...He just can’t say no to you.   He followed you into the house, mentally scolding himself. He wanted to be with you of course, just…   Fuck.   He closed the door behind him and turned to you, wondering what you had in store.   ...He had a few ideas… but they weren’t exactly ‘friend activities’.   “...What do you wanna do? I don’t exactly have much, but…”   “youuuuuuu-” holy fucking shit what the fuck was wrong with him , “....uh… you have a nice place! ”   ...Wow Sans. Amazing save.   “...Thanks,” you muttered softly, face turning from pink to red.   ...You really needed to stop doing cute things.   “...heh. uh... wanna just… watch tv again?”   TV was a safe route. He could try and focus on something other than the fact he wanted to kidnap you, or from the reality that he really hated the fact you were just friends.   “Oh, yeah. Sure.”   You lead him into your living room. It looked nice. You had a sofa, and a coffee table and a few chairs along with a TV. The walls were decorated and it seemed put together.   Sans couldn’t relate, but he wasn’t complaining.   You both took a seat on the sofa and you turned on Netflix.   If you were dating he would probably make some lame ass joke about Netflix and chill, but he decided against it.   “...How do you feel about romance movies?”   He honestly wasn’t a fan.   But he knew you were.   “...depends on if they’re actually good,” wasn’t a lie , “usually they’re just predictable. like, boy meets girl. they obviously belong together, but you have to sit there and watch for an hour and a half and wait for them to realize that.”   ...That actually sounded a little bit like your current situation.   Huh.   Only the shitty part is he already figured that out and was waiting on you.   “...I have the perfect movie in mind.”   To be quite honest, Sans didn’t pay much attention.   He was watching your reactions from his peripheral vision, like he did last time. Admittedly, he hadn't seen this movie before, but he didn’t really care.   You were much more interesting than a stupid comedy romance flick.   ...He didn’t actually look at the screen until you smiled.   You were smiling at the sappy kissing scene.   ... ugh.   They weren’t even kissing! They were sucking each others faces!   He couldn’t help but snort, feeling both amused and disgusted by the scene in front of him.   “What?” you asked, looking at him.   Shit. He didn’t mean to cause attention.   Oh well. Might as well complain.   “that is not a kiss,” he started, still watching the screen. “they’re just eating each others faces.”   “...It is a kiss?” you sounded confused.   “are you kidding me?” he asked, turning to look at your pretty face fully. “you think that’s a kiss?”   “Well it looks like a kiss. So… yeah.”   What the actual fuck?   It was like you had never seen a real life ki-...   …   holy shit.   holy shit.   You were so fucking adorable.   “...you’ve never been kissed, have you?”   When you shrugged he almost exploded.   “...holy shit.”   You were fucking perfect!   How in the world have you never been kissed before!?   He was worried that he wouldn’t be the first person to ever touch you sexually, but apparently he would be the first person for a lot of things!   This is amazing news!   “It’s not that big of a deal.”   This is an amazing deal!   Y o u   w o u l d   b e   o n e   h u n d r e d   p e r c e n t   h i s !   “...Um?”   You were so fucking pure, and perfect, and amazing and…   fuck!   “Sans?”   Your lips were so fucking perfectly shaped, and he swears to God they were begging for him to kiss them!   “...Helloooo?”   ...So he did.   He just couldn’t hold himself back anymore.   He snapped.   As gently as he could, he cupped your face and pulled it to his, where he kissed you softly.   You didn’t respond right away and for some reason he felt angry .   He was mad at himself for doing this, and he was mad at you for not wanting him like you should.   Even if that wasn’t your fault.   ...But all of that anger melted away when you responded. You moved your pretty pink lips with his in perfect synchronization, and it took absolutely every ounce of strength in his body not to rip your clothes off.   He brought his hands down to your hips and pulled you closer . You let out a small noise and you clung to him !   You didn't push him away! You pulled him CLOSER!   He whined, unable to contain his emotions. You were responding so positively to him, like a good girl,and he was SO   F U C K I N G   H A P P Y !   ...Until you pulled away.   You were panting, and you looked confused and unsure and…   “...Um.”   ...He had to get out of there.   Shit, he couldn’t do this, he was slipping.   All he could see was you underneath him...   Fuck!   He teleported back to his room and freaked the fuck out.

Charlie sat back in her office chair and sighed, rubbing the heel of her hands against her eye lids. She had been staring at the computer screen for several hours, working on an article for the magazine company she worked for. Her boss, Velvet Santinni, has started off as social media influencer several years ago, but slowly built up a fan base and launched her own magazine company, publishing some about fashion, others on food and travel, and Charlie’s personal favorite, self help. The blonde had always wanted to go into social work and had plans to return to school within the next year, but for now, researching and writing on the topic had been fulfilling enough. She checked the clock on the monitor and smiled, allowing herself a small coffee break before returning to her article. Her phone went off and she smiled as she saw the apple picture appear in her phone. She answered at the third ring, “Hi, daddy!” She said cheerfully, “How are you?” She ventured out of her cubicle “Doing well, Apple dumpling. I was calling to see if you were free tonight. Your mother just finished her tour and I wanted to have a family dinner at her favorite restaurant. Aside from you dropping off your friend, I don’t see you as much as I would like to.” “Today’s Wednesday, isn’t it?” She bit her lower lip. It had been a little over four months since she and Alastor had met, and not once had they missed their weekly meet ups on Wednesdays, Fridays, and every other Saturday. It was the only thing she looked forward to, especially after avoiding Vaggie who, even after they talked things out, kept trying to apologize for jumping the gun on not allowing Charlie to explain why she had taken up a second job (which she had quickly quit after meeting Alastor to open up her schedule), and to attempt too make up for the affair she had had with Angel’s former best friend, Cherri. Charlie didn’t have the heart to block her number just yet, but she had the strength to not answer. At least within the last month she had stopped texting as often. “Um, I had plans. I’ll see if I can switch things around, I do miss mom. By the way, how is Angel doing? Is he going to pass probation?” Her father chuckled, “After that car accident he definitely changed and had been a great help since my old secretary retired. I think I will keep him on board. Don’t tell him though, I like keeping him on his toes.” “Daddy, that’s mean!” Charlie laughed, “It’s great to hear though.” She has forgiven him after that faithful night. He had promised, and surprisingly kept it, that he would get cleaned up. So far he had been sober since that night and finally had the approval of being an out patient at the clinic again, but Charlie has insisted he move in with her, to which they upgraded to a new unit in her building. Aside from them fighting over the bathroom, it had been a nice change of pace for both of them. “When you tell him the good news, let me know. I want to record the surprise.” “Alright, honey. We can go out to lunch. How are you anyway? Feeling better about Vagatha? Such a shame, I did like her and she was such a sweetheart.” She could hear the frown in her voice. “I’m ok, dad. I’m actually not as upset as I thought I would be and at this point, it was a long time ago. It doesn’t bother me anymore. These things happen.” She walked into the break room and rummaged through the cupboard for her favorite coffee mug and selected a random flavor for the machine from the coffee rack. Her father tsked, “Yes, but no man likes to see his daughter heartbroken. One of my clients is having a gala next month and has invited not only the senior staff, but our family as well to attend. It’s something up your alley. A fundraiser for the children’s hospital across town. Did you want me to add you to the RSVP?” “Sure!” “Maybe you might meet a more... suitable partner.” “Dad...” she groaned, “Can you put me down for a plus one? Maybe I’ll take Angel as my date. I... I’m not looking for anyone right now. I kinda just want to focus on my things and get back into school, you know?” “Honey, if you need help...” “I’ll be fine. I might need to switch from hourly to commission work when I go back to school but you and mom taught me that I needed to build a nest egg, and I did. Ms. Santinni will understand. Anyway daddy, I have to get back to work. I’ll let you know about tonight, it should be fine though I’ll probably have to meet you there.” “Sounds good, apple pie. I love you.” “Love you too. Bye!” She sighed again as she scratched her head, going though her contacts to find Alastor’s number. “Should I call, or text him?” She shrugged, “Worse case scenario he doesn’t answer.” ——- Alastor looked at the swaying bodies of his victims as the dangled upside down from meat hooks. They were in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town near the river where old steam liners used to pick up lumber and go up stream. The property was owned by one of his clients for him to do his dirty work in. The two men who were struggling and twitching from the pain of the lacerations covering their body whimpered helplessly. He lit up a cigar and inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to enter his lungs before blowing it toward the ceiling. “Honestly, I hate working for Vox and Valentino, but I have to admit, you two picked the wrong company to swindle but this is all so very entertaining because of how absurd this all is. Mixing regular flour and sugar in the dust? Please, bunch of amateurs the lot of ya. Lucky for you it was only a kilo you tried to pass and not the amount they normally handle. Return the money and we may let you live.” One of the men mumbled from behind their gag. Alastor sighed and rolled his eyes, “It’s rude to speak with your mouth full. Did your mother not teach you any manners?” He side swiped the man’s head with his right foot, causing him to scream in pain and blood to dribble out from his ear. “Oopsies! I may have ruptured your ear drum. I’m terribly sorry, how inconsiderate of me.” He grinned maniacally, looking at them with a deranged look. He was about to untie the gag of the other blubbering victim when his phone began to ring. He snarled at being interrupted and looked at the caller ID. Instantly he calmed down and sprinted out of the building. “Ahem... hello dear! Fancy hearing from you at this hour.” His heart thumped nearly painfully in his chest. Any second he had with her was a blessing to him. He looked over his shoulder at the two writhing bodies and wondered how much more he could continue this charade in front of her. He wanted her so much, but she was just too pure, while he was too far gone to be saved and taken out of this lifestyle. He snuffed out the cigar at the door frame before closing the door and balancing the cigar on the small rectangular window pane on the door. “Is this a bad time?” She asked timidly, “You sound winded.” Alastor laughed, “No worries, darling. I was just in the middle of a workout. Have to keep myself fit if I wish to keep up with you.” He wiggled his eyebrow suggestively as he walked over to a large oak tree and settled at the base of it over looking the river. “What can I do you for?” “You can do me for free.” She said in a husky voice, causing a shiver to go down his spine. His heart melted as she giggled, “Well, I’m sorry to bother you regardless but I was calling to let you know I um... I have to reschedule tonight. Something came up.” “Everything alright?” His heart sank. “Oh yea! My mother is back in town so my dad wants to go out and celebrate. Besides Friday, are you free any other night? Saturday maybe?” Alastor was aware who her parents were. Her father co-owned one of the biggest law firms in the state, working with large companies and high profile clients. Her mother was a singer and burlesque performer he had actually met on a few occasions for radio interviews and looking back, he could seem some resemblance between Lilith and Charlie, but not doubt she was her father’s daughter. “My apologies dear, I’m booked all this weekend. There’s a festival the studio wants me to attend. I could probably sneak away early on Sunday.” “Oh.” Charlie didn’t mean to sound sad, “No, it’s ok. I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’ll see you Friday, ok? I probably won’t spend the night though so you can sleep.” Alastor felt disappointed as he picked at the grass around the tree trunk, “Charlie, it’s ok. You can spend the night if you don’t mind waking up early. I have everything moved in and situated.” He has finally gotten around to getting a new apartment for himself half way between the bar and Charlie’s apartment. It had taken some time to figure out where she lived since he still hadn’t been invited over because of her roommate, but once he did, he made sure to find someplace suitable for the both of them. He didn’t want to move until he was certain it was convenient for her to get to. While the motel room had been sufficient, someone of his status shouldn’t have a lady like Charlie get used to such subpar living quarters. Instead he was excited to show her his new home, a two bedroom penthouse suite with a balcony overlooking the city, a jacuzzi, sunken living room, a fire place, and a large, spacious kitchen for him to cook meals for her. He was glad he declined the transfer back to Louisiana. Charlie was worth it. “That’s great! I’m gonna miss the motel room but I’m so happy you finally have your own bachelor pad. I can’t wait to see it.” She giggled once more, “You’re going to have so many big booty hoes over, I just know it.” Alastor chuckled, “Highly unlikely. The only one I love is you, Charlie, since day one.” He pursed his lips, not meaning to say it out loud. “Uh, I mean to say... that I love... being around... uh, you. Ha, yes. I meant love your company.” His cheek felt warm as he was filled with sudden dread. Charlie had a way of making him slip from his usual control. On the other end Charlie blushed, nearly dropping her mug. She couldn’t deny there was more than just a sexual attraction between them, but both had agreed to keep things causal and not form any attachments. Of course, the latter was quite difficult, even for her. He had such great energy, both in and out of bed, and on the days she was unavailable to participate in sexual endeavors, he doted on her with movie nights, chocolate, ice creams, cuddles, and giving her lower back massages and should she be hit with sudden bouts of cramps, there was a heating pad at the ready, complete with lavender scented oils to relax her. She knew he meant it when he said he enjoyed her company as there were days, aside from her period, where they’d just talk all night at the bar until well after closing. Their time together hadn’t always been sexual and they hadn’t missed a date yet. The signs were there. From both of them, she realized. Alastor facepalmed. His master plan was to begin courting her now that he had a home again and maybe, if things worked in his favor, have her move in with him. They were practically dating, even if they agreed to not say that they were, but neither could bare the thought of being with anyone else but each other. Alastor could easily admit that he was in love with her. He only hoped she felt the same. Everything he did for her he never once thought to do with Mimzy. When his ex was dying of menstrual pains, the best he did was toss her a bottle of booze and slept on the couch a few nights, maybe bringing her a few snacks but overall just let her be. With Charlie, if she so much as wanted him to skin himself alive, he’d do it in a heart beat if it would please her. “Al...” “My apologies, forget I said anything as it came out wrong. I’ll see you Friday?” “Yea. Have a good day! I’ll call you tonight after I’m done with my parents, ok?” “Sounds like a plan. Have a wonderful day dear. Good bye.” “Bye, Al.” Alastor ended the called and placed the phone in his side pocket, closing his eyes as he put his hands together in a prayer like fashion and rested them on his lips. His mind raced, hoping the confession didn’t make her pull away. He sighed exasperatedly. “I’m an idiot. What has she done to me?” He chuckled darkly as he got up and went back into the building, lighting up his cigar once more. “I can’t scare her off though she’ll be mine soon enough. I just have to be patient.” He grabbed a baseball bat and spun it around in his hands, “A shame I won’t get to enjoy her company tonight. Ah well. Where were we gentlemen? Oh, right...” he swung the pat toward one of the men’s kneecaps, effectively shattering it. ——- Charlie hummed to herself as she brushed her hair at her vanity mirror. Her mind kept replaying Alastor’s words over and over like a broken record player. She couldn’t deny that she did like him more than she probably should, but it hadn’t been very long since she and Vaggie broke up, and she didn’t want to start anything with him until Vaggie was completely out of the picture. She sighed and sat her brush down on the counter. She knew she shouldn’t have felt bad but skipping her weekly visit with Alastor made her feel a little bit regretful. After a moment of thought, she got up and searched for her overnight bag. “Not comin’ home tonight?” Came Angel’s voice as he yawned, “Where do you go anyway? Ya never told me.” Charlie smiled, “Well, I guess it’s safe to tell you. I’ve been kinda seeing someone. Just casually though, nothing serious.” Her roommates face lit up, “Hey, that’s great toots! I thought it was weird how quickly ya got over Vags, but looks like you been getting some good dicking. Told ya cock was better.” He snickered. Charlie laughed, “Whatever. I do like the guy, but we’re just...” “Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?” Angel finished for her, “Well, be careful out there. You don’t know if this guy is some psycho.” Charlie opened up her underwear drawer, “I’m a big girl, but thank you Angel. He’s not a psycho, I’ve been seeing him for four months.” She laughed at his expression of disbelief, “I’ll be here in the morning to pick you up. Maybe we’ll go car shopping for you this weekend, ok?” “Uh... Sure thing, babe. Have fun.” “How do I look?” She turned toward him and extended her arms to her side. She had settled for a red off the shoulder cocktail dress that fit snug on her torso then flared out. The front of the skirt was shorter than the back which hung to her calves and black pumps. Around her neck she wore a solitaire diamond necklace from Tiffany’s and a matching bracelet on her left wrist. Angel clapped, “Seriously, if you wanted to make more money, you should do porn, hot stuff.” Charlie shook her head and rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips never dropped. ——- Dinner with Charlie’s parents had been a wonderful time and she was glad neither had pressured her into finding another job with one of their family friends or at her father’s firm which would easily double, or triple, her current salary, nor did they bring up anything about Vaggie. As a family, they had enjoyed an expensive dinner with a nice bottle of wine, heard her mother’s stories while on tour, and laughed at her father’s corny jokes. She had missed her parents and hoped they could do this again soon. Although she was enjoying her time with her parents, her mind had been elsewhere, still stuck on Alastor’s slip up. She knew he liked her and had been infatuated with her since the beginning, calling her pet names and taking care of all of her sexual, and sometime emotional, needs without asking for anything in return. He was a gentleman, despite their current agreement, and at some point, Charlie had given her heart to him without realizing it. Perhaps it was time Charlie put her foot down and ended things with Vaggie for good and had a heart to heart with Alastor. Charlie excused herself to the bathroom. Upon entering the stall, she began to text him. -Are you busy?- Almost immediately he responded. -Terribly so. I’m in the middle of an epic battle with a fruit tart.- -Sounds dangerous- -SOS!- She laughed to herself. -Send me an address and I’ll make sure the reinforcements arrive.- -Oh? Need saving from your parents?- -No. I just really miss you and want to see you- she hesitated for a while. She did her business and washed her hands, hit the send button as soon as she exited and felt her heart skip a beat. Her phone vibrated in her hand but she refused to look at it as she wrapped things up with her parents. “Charlotte, you’ve been a bit quiet tonight. How are things with you darling? I’m sorry I have been able to return most of your phone calls. Your father told me you and Vagatha...?” There it was. Charlie sighed, “We broke up, yes. It was four months ago and I feel better. Angel and I moved in together since his dad kicked him out and he’s gotten clean.” “That’s wonderful for him! And he’s working for you now, yes dear?” Lilith turned to her husband who brought her hand up to his lips. “That’s correct, my queen. He’s just about to complete his 120 day probational period I have him on. The beginning was a little rocky but he’s definitely gotten better. You’d think he had multiple arms some days! Might be a bit too sassy at times, but it’s sure as hell entertaining and he makes a mean vanilla latte.” Lucifer took a sip of his wine glass. “I was hesitant to hire him at first knowing his background but I’m glad I took the chance. He’s nearly as good as my last secretary.” Lilith’s brows raised, “How interesting! Good for him. Just don’t leave me for him though, it’s scary how good he looks in a dress. Ever since he was a teen and would spend the night, I have always been impressed. He should have been a model or cosmetologist.” Charlie laughed, “He thought about it but he also doesn’t want to deal with needy clients and competition. He’s happy working for daddy.” Lilith returned her attention to their daughter, “Well, I take it you’ve been living a single life then? You’re twenty seven. Not getting any younger and to be honest, your father and I would like some grandkids at some point.” “Mom!” She whined, “We talked about this. I don’t plan on having kids until after I graduate. I’ll be going back to school the end of the year so if all goes well, I’ll be like 35 when I’m ready. There’s still plenty of time to find someone, but I’m not looking to marry just yet. Maybe in a couple of years.” She blushed as she imagined Alastor in a tuxedo, surrounded by white flowers waiting for her at an altar, ‘Oh hell no! I’m not about to have these teenage thoughts.’ Lucifer sighed, “As you wish dear. When we go to the fundraiser, do have an open mind though. I don’t want you settling for some guys who’ll mooch off you and take advantage of you. At least these guys are well off and can take care of you while you focus on school.” “Dad.” Charlie said in a warning tone, “Can we please not talk about this anymore? We’re here for mom.” She raised her glass of wine, “Let’s enjoy her company before she’s back on the road.” ——- Alastor opened the door to his apartment and smiled widely as he moved to the side to allow Charlie inside. He looked her up and down and whistled. “You didn’t need to get all dressed up for me, dear. If this is your battle gear, I’d hate to see you really dolled up.” He leaned down and kissed her rosy cheek, taking her small duffel bag out of her hand and closed the door behind him. “I’m glad you could make it.” Charlie looked around, “Wow, this place is pretty big.” “Only until I acquire more furniture. I only have the basics. Come, let me give you a tour.” It took less than five minutes for him to show her around. As soon as they got to the bedroom, Alastor placed her bag at the floor and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his head on her shoulder. Even with her heels, he was still nearly a head taller than her. He kissed her shoulder. “There you have it, Chateau di Gallow.” “It’s really nice. I love all the extra storage space. The master bathroom is gorgeous too. Congratulations, Al. You’re finally living the high life.” She squealed as he picked her up to place her on the bed. Her eyes widen as she moaned, sinking into the memory foam as she felt like she was set on a cloud. “Oh my god... this... this is heavenly.” She curled up next to Alastor and threw her leg over his, resting her head on his chest. They stayed silent, only the sound of their breathing could be heard. Charlie listened to the steady beating of his heart, enjoying his warmth and his scent. She felt her heart begin to beat faster, remembering his declaration. She lifted her head to speak, but stopped and smiled, watching his peaceful slumbering face. ‘Am I ready?’ She thought to herself as she nestled back into his side, ‘Is he even ready? He’s the one who was engaged before all this.’ Charlie yawned, drifting off herself. ——- The two had woken up an hour later and got ready for bed since Charlie had to back track and pick up Angel before work the following day. They showered and changed into more comfortable clothes. Charlie wore an oversized shirt and panties while Alastor settled with gym shorts. Once in bed, Charlie crawled on top of him and sat on his torso. “Hey, Al?” she said, happy that they were in darkness so he couldn’t see her nervousness. “Yes?” He said, running his hands along the outer portion of her legs. He loved how smooth she always was. Almost like silk. “On Friday, did you wanna maybe... do something else besides go to the bar? Like the movies?” She bit her lower lip as she drew random patterns on his sternum, “Or grab dinner somewhere?” “Are you asking me out on a date?” He sounded amused, but in reality he was smiling from ear to ear to break their usual routine. He didn’t mind it. He liked the conversation they had at the bar when Husk or Niffty weren’t interrupting before returning to the motel room for a little bit of loving if she was able to. It was never a bore to him, and he was a man who got bored quickly. “N-no... I just thought that after so long, we could try something else, just to see if we were like truly compatible.” “That sounds like a date.” The last part of her sentence piqued his interest. Charlie wrung the hem of her night shirt. Alastor reached over to turn on the lamp at his night stand. “My dear, is everything ok?” Charlie leaned down to kiss him. “Al,” she said in a low voice. The brunette gave her his full attention as he stared at her quizzically, “I want to give us a chance.” Alastor felt his heart stop and his stomach begin to do summersaults. His eyes widened as his mouth parted but no words came out. Was this a dream? Charlie began to get nervous, “I mean... I understand if you don’t wanna date someone as young as me. We’re like six years apart but that doesn’t bother me much. I... I really like you.” She began to ramble, her face heating up, “I know we agreed to just fuck one another but you’ve been so good to me and you’re like... the best thing to happen to me in a long time. We haven’t been outta relationships for long but... but... oh! Will you say something instead of looking like a god damn fish outta water?” She bit her lips nervously as she clutched her hands to her chest. Alastor sat up and stared lovingly into her eyes, a strange but peaceful smile on his lips as he cupped her right cheek. “Ma chèrie, j’ai attendu ce moment. Je te voulais depuis si longtemps. Tu es à moi maintenant.” Their lips were just a breath away, Charlie had closed her eyes as she breathed deeply, turned on by the sound of his voice and his smoldering gaze as he inched forward, “Miss Charlie, I’ve been yours this whole time. Will you be mine?” “Yes.” She gasped as she kissed him, throwing her arms around him and clinging to him for all she was worth. Alastor had managed to roll them over without breaking lip contact. Charlie wrapped her legs around his torso and ground into him, moaning into his mouth as she felt his growing arousal. She broke out into goosebumps as he gently nibbled her lips, doing his best to remove her undergarments, but yielded to ending the kiss to toss the offending piece of lingerie behind him. He then lowered his shorts, his cock springing free for him to plow into her. Charlie cried out, rolling her hips as he clenched his teeth, grunting as he rocked into her. Four months and she still felt as amazing as that first night. Charlie opened her legs as wide as she could, rubbing her clit as she stared up at him with half lidded eyes. She panted, lifting her shirt to expose her bosom to him, inviting him closer. Alastor instead grabbed hold of her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her sensitive nipples until they stood at attention for him to pinch and roll them between his thumb and fore fingers, causing a quiver to shoot down to her nether region. She felt her toes curl as her legs lifted off the bed. She grabbed the back of her legs and pulled them toward her, helping Alastor find the secret spot inside that caused a wave of please for roll over her again and again. Alastor took over and practically collapsed her into a ball. Charlie loved it when he pinned her down in anyway, whether it was by the legs, her arms, and on some nights when they were really horny, the neck. Once or twice she had accidentally passed for a second or two when that had happened, but Alastor always took the greatest care to not hurt her in any way. At least not in a way she hadn’t asked to be. Charlie had discovered early on she liked to be man handled and he was more than accepting of the idea. Alastor spread her legs once more as he leaned forward, her knees nearly touching the mattress. He loved how flexible she was. He ravished her neck with bites and kisses, finally leaving his mark on the areas she could cover. He dragged his tongue from her collar bone up to her throat, loving the saltiness of the perspiration that formed all over her body. “Where do you want it, darling?” He managed to say, slowing his tempo but thrusting harder into her. “Mmmm, you... you know where. Ah!” “Say it.” He commanded, his thumb rubbing her clit in a teasing pressure he knew made her crazy. “Ooh, Alastor... please, you know! Ahhh...! I want... I want you to... hnn, to cum inside meeeeee. Oh, god, you know I love it when you do. Fill me up baby, give me your hot cum. Fill me it it drips out. Al... Alastor! Baby, I’m gonna... oh god I’m gonna!” She came crashing hard, her back arching as her body tensed up. Alastor followed suit, gripping her waist and pulling her toward him as he spilled into her, her inner walls milking him dry as usual as they spasmed around him. As they came down from their highs, Alastor’s hand roamed her body, feeling every twitch and jerk from post orgasm. Her legs began to shake from the intensity of her release. She gasped for air, drinking in as much as she could. He pulled out and laid on her lower half, his head resting in the valley of her breasts. He kissed the area. “We should shower again.” He said, nuzzling into her. “Eh, in a minute.” She yawned, running her hands through his hair. “I’ll probably fall if I try standing now. At least we christened the new bed.” “We should do the entire apartment then. Bless it everywhere with our wildly passionate love making.” His eyes began to droop. “Even the closet?” Charlie smiled playfully. “Especially the closet.” He fired back, causing Charlie to burst in laughter. He reached over and squeezed her bare bottom. “Come now, let’s shower before we fall asleep in our filth.” He assisted her up and followed her in. Charlie hadn’t been that content in a very long time.

Silvia was in between her children in the back seat of the convertible, pretending to be asleep as she tried to process what was going on. Her husband was dead, she'd been repeatedly raped in front of her kids, and her savior was a werewolf. She was so far off normal she didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or have a total breakdown. She hugged a sleeping Zach to her side, he had fallen asleep when he stopped shaking and the tears ran out. Michelle was asleep in her car seat, and she kept a shaking hand on her leg for comfort. Her children, born and unborn, she had to be strong for them. Marcus was driving, but with his hearing he could tell that she was still awake. He looked over at Josi, she was peering through the windshield looking for any other threats. She put on a good act, but he could sense her fear and see her shaking. "I know you're having a tough time with what happened back there, I'd be worried if you didn't. Nobody who takes a life and doesn't question their action is truly human." He put his hand on her shoulder. "You were brave back there. You had a job to do, and you did it. Because of you, those three in back have a chance to live again." "I understand that up here," she pointed to her head, "but in here I'm still feeling guilty." She pointed to her heart. "I can't get the image out of my head. His head... it just exploded, like when we used to shoot jugs of water out back." "I know." He looked over at her. "I've killed before, and I wasn't much older than you the first time. Talking about it helped, but what got me through it was finally accepting that I did what I had to do, when I had to do it, and it was my job to do so. I knew deep down that I had done the right thing, that taking those lives meant innocent lives were saved." He looked back at the road. "It doesn't make the dreams go away, I still have those. They aren't as bad now, my mate helped me move on from that. When I got back from the war, and I had lost all my close friends, I withdrew. It wasn't healthy, and if I hadn't found Rachel I would probably have committed suicide within a year, the dreams were that bad." "What did Rachel do?" "She listened." He chuckled a little. "I told you the first time I met her, she was in wolf form, right? She was too injured to shift back. There was just something about her; even though she looked like this huge, dangerous animal, I didn't feel that way by her. She gave me comfort just by being there, and he eyes were so expressive and accepting. I was able to tell her about things I never was able to talk about before. There wasn't a day after that when I didn't regret leaving her there with her Pack." "So how did she tell you she was a werewolf?" "She showed me. I found her on my front porch one day, and it was like she hadn't been gone. She changed from wolf to skin while her front paws were on my shoulder. She was... breathtaking. As a person, she had the same qualities I loved in her wolf. Brave, caring, loyal, patient. Even though I didn't feel the mate pull like a werewolf, there was something so right about her. It was like I finally found the missing piece in my life. We made love and I asked her to change me so we could be together always." Silvia's voice came from the backseat, she was no longer pretending to sleep. "You chose to become a werewolf?" "Yes, and I haven't regretted it for a second." He looked at her briefly in the mirror. "Werewolves have been around for millennia, but our laws have always kept us secret from humans. We scare them, and entire Packs have been wiped out when something happens to expose us. So we hide, but in plain sight. We have jobs, families, homes. Our children go to school and play sports and participate in activities alongside the humans, at least in our pack. Others separate themselves. Changing is only done for mates, our laws say it is a death sentence to change without permission and approval." Josi looked over quizzically. "Who would you need approval from?" "Each pack has an Alpha pair, they are the most dominant wolves in the group and are the leaders. All decisions that affect the Pack are made by them, and they are subject to rules of the Alpha Council which is made up of all the Alphas on this continent." He looked in the mirror and anticipated Silvia's question. "There are 187 packs in North America, with a total of about four thousand members. My pack is pretty typical in size, we have forty one members, and the pack I was visiting had about thirty. Too many wolves and it becomes difficult to control, they usually split as stronger wolves jockey for the top job. Too small and you can't function well." He looked up at the moon, then back down. "They are my family, my friends, but more than that. They are my closest companions, I would give my life to save any of them and I know they would do the same. It is something I experienced in the Green Berets, that total trust and togetherness, and it is the greatest thing you can have in your life. Well, except your mate. That's the best ever." "How did she turn you? Is it like the movies when you get bitten and turn into a wolf on the full moon?" "Yes, you are changed by being bitten, but the rest is not always accurate. Think of it like an infection, it changes your DNA and your body. You get a high fever, like a bad flu, while you are changing. It takes about three days before it is complete and you can change to your wolf form. You gain a wolf inside you, like another consciousness that shares your brain. He starts out wild, so your mate or Alpha has to be there to ground it until it can integrate with your own mind. If they don't integrate, you can go feral, attacking anyone and anything. The tales of werewolves as monsters are because of these turns." He looked in the mirror, she was taking it well so far. "She bit me as we were making love, since the pain of her bite doesn't do a much when I'm on such a high. Three days later, I was like her." Marcus stopped talking as they rounded the bend in the road, they could see the town of Salmon ahead in the moonlight. There were smaller fires and torches about, but their eyes only saw the huge bonfire on the east edge of town. He slowed down as they got closer, then came to a stop when a Sheriff blocked the road at the edge of town. "Doctor Mendez, thank God you are here." The deputy ran up to the door. "They need you in the clinic. It's bad, real bad." "I know, Robert. It's bad on the road. Can we talk for a minute?" He got out and they walked far enough away from the car so the family wouldn't hear him. "On the way here I came across a family. Three men had killed the husband, and were raping the wife in front of her kids." "Fucking BASTARDS! Let me get some guys together, we'll go get them." Marcus shook his head. "Nothing left to do, we took care of them and left them by the side of the road. I've got her husband in the trunk. What are you doing with the dead?" "We are burning them, that's the pyre over there. Take him over, and we'll give him the best sendoff we can. We lost another three hundred today, and we still have volunteers going door to door finding more. I'd guess we only have a couple hundred who aren't dead or severely injured." He looked at the car. "Good thing some of the old cars still work. Were there any other problems on the drive?" "No, but we came from North Fork so it wasn't that long a drive." He looked back at the car. "I'm going to help with her husband, then take her back to my place and let my wife help with her and the kids. She's pregnant, too." "Fuck. I feel like driving up there and killing them again. Do they have power up in North Fork?" "Not even. No power or electronics, most of the town is dead from the radiation and many were blinded. There are only about four dozen people still alive up there." He gave him a hug, then turned for the car. "We'll catch up later, thanks for keeping things safe here." "It's what we do." They waved as they drove past and took a left towards the pyre. Marcus looked in the back. "I'm sorry, but there are so many people dead and we don't have the equipment to do a normal burial. The best way to prevent disease is to burn them, so that pyre up ahead is being used." She started to cry, but nodded. "We will be with you. You should probably wake up your children so they can say goodbye." They pulled into the street near the fire; it was a section of new housing still under construction, this left open foundations that could contain the fires and the brush and trees had already been cleared so the large fire was safe. He parked the car and went around to the trunk to get the body. He picked up the blanket with her husband, and Josi closed the trunk so she could set him down on it. Silvia held Zach to her side as they came around. "I left Michelle sleeping, she's too young to understand. Zach, we need to say our goodbyes to Daddy." Marcus moved the blanket back carefully so part of his face would be showing while the damage from the bullet would still be hidden. He didn't want the last memory of his father to include that. Zack moved forward, crying softly as his hand rested on his Dad's shoulder and he leaned in and kissed his cheek. Silvia followed suit, then she pulled the blanket back over his face. "Goodbye, my love." Josi hugged her other side while Marcus picked him up and walked him to the men tending the pyre. They were unloading the dead from a trailer being pulled by an old farm tractor. One of the men came forward and took the foot end of the blanket; when they reached the edge, they tossed him into the blazing fire. He bowed his head, praying to Luna for their family to find peace, and then turned back and walked to the car. He helped them back in, then they drove quietly through the empty town. It was a depressing drive; so many empty houses, dead people piled at the end of driveways waiting for pickup. They saw more activity downtown. "They must be using the basements in the larger buildings for shelter, most houses here don't have basements." There were people in the streets manning propane grills, and the smell of cooking meats filled the air. "At least they are using the food in the freezers before it spoils." The car left town again, and soon they turned into the driveway of his rural home. Before the car had stopped, Rachel was running out of the house. "MARCUS!!!" She almost knocked him back into the driver's seat as she barreled into him. She grabbed his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss that went on and on. She might not have come up for air except Josi walked around and cleared her throat. Marcus pulled back from her, kissing her forehead, then turned to make the introductions. "Rachel, these are my friends. Josi we found up in North Fork, she has two friends Britney and Bethany who turn out to be mates to the Becker twins. Two other friends stayed with them, and she came here because she is looking for her Mom." He moved to help get a sleeping Michelle out of the car seat as Silvia and Zach came around to greet her. Over the bond, he warned, "She lost her husband on the road and was raped, Josi and I killed the guys but she's just holding on by a thread right now." He pulled them forward, then said, "And this is Silvia and Zach Perkins. Silvia, this is my mate Rachel." "Mate?" Rachel looked at him while talking over the bond. "They're HUMAN!" "Yes," he responded, "but they know about us. I'll explain later, but I'd rather do it when your father is here. They need to meet the Alpha anyway." Rachel smiled at them all. "Well, we have plenty of food left over from lunch and I bet you guys would like to relax a bit. Come on in." She started to walk towards the house, arm in arm with her mate, and they followed behind. Josi saw movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over, there was a huge black wolf at the edge of the yard with a white right ear and a white patch on his chest. She froze, there was something about it. When Silvia walked into her, they all turned around but Josi was frozen in place. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the wolf. The wolf was also frozen, his eyes focused on her as he sniffed the air. A low growl filled the air, then they heard the bones crunch as he shifted back to his human form. Josi's eyes took in every detail, from his tousled black hair to his chiseled face, broad shoulders, rippling abs and... yes... her eyes kept going up and down his body as her mouth opened and closed repeatedly. The young man was just as struck, it was the Thunderbolt that they talked about in the Godfather. He looked her over, taking in her black hair, her expressive eyes, and her toned body. He didn't move, at least most of him didn't. For the first time in his life, he got an erection. By the time he could put two cogent thoughts together, it was pointed straight at her. He shook his head and walked forward as everyone else moved aside, whether they were respecting the moment or just trying to avoid the creepy naked guy. Josi didn't move, she just watched transfixed as he came closer. He stood in front of her and reached up to touch her cheek. Sparks exploded across his fingers as he touched her, causing both to moan in the pleasure. "I've been dreaming of this moment for a decade. What is your name, beautiful one?" Josi gulped, her hand moved to his chest and the same sparks were felt as she moved it down his abs until she was gripping his shaft. "I'm Josi. Does this mean..." "Yes, Josi, you are my mate." He leaned forward to kiss her, moving his hands to her head he deepened the kiss. The rest of the world could be on fire at this moment and neither would care, they had found each other. "My name is Reggie, I'm Rachel's older brother. Welcome to our family." Josi finally looked around, releasing Reggie from her grasp as her cheeks flushed. In addition to the people she came with and Rachel, more people had come out of the house to see what was going on. A middle aged man and his wife, another younger couple, and two young boys and a girl all rushed out to the front porch on the news that he had found his mate. She buried her face in his chest, hoping her clothes at least covered the raging hard-on that was pushing into her stomach. Reggie caught a flying pair of shorts that Marcus had pulled from a box on the porch, and let her go briefly while he pulled them on. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Josi... we shift, and we're naked when we do so. We don't have the same views on skin that humans do." He pulled her into his side as he faced the people on the porch. "Please, let me introduce my family." He started to walk them towards the older couple, but stopped when the woman rushed forward and engulfed Josi in a hug. "I'm so happy to finally meet you, Josi, welcome to our family! I'm Lisa, Reggie is my son." Her husband came up and put his arms around the both of them. "And this guy is my mate, Richard Wolfe." "Please, call me Dad." He smiled at her as they finally untangled. "Mom and Dad are the Alpha pair of the Salmon pack. Do you know what that means?" Josi nodded. "We didn't go into a lot of detail, but Marcus did explain some of the basics of your Pack. I'm just shocked, two minutes ago I was wondering if I'd ever find my family and now I've gained one!" She walked over to Marcus and gave him a hug. "Thank you again for saving us out there." Reggie let out a low growl, even though his brother in law was happily mated, Josi was unmarked and his wolf was on edge. "I guess we should..." Richard finished. "Go get to know each other." Reggie looked at him, then at Josi. "Really, you're not going to do anything but look at her and ignore us anyway. Take her somewhere that you can get to know each other, but be back before sunrise. Marcus can fill us in on everything that is going on. The young lovers didn't need an engraved invitation. "Show me your wolf?" He nodded and pulled the shorts back off, smoothly shifting back into his fur form. She picked up the shorts and put them in her pocket, then came around to kneel in front of him. She ran her hands through the soft fur of his neck and chest while he rested his jaw on her shoulder, taking deep sniffs of her neck. "Give me a ride?" Marcus nodded. "She's good at it, but I'm sure you're faster than I was." Reggie chuffed and lowered himself to the ground, allowing Josi to climb on his back. She loved how her whole body started to tingle as her skin rubbed against him. He got back up and took off for the mountains behind her house, following his favorite trail to a spot they could be alone. Lisa sighed as she watched them leave. "Rich, I never get tired of watching people find their mates." He pulled her close. "That was pretty tame, it wasn't like pushing two Alphas into the river because I was barreling my way towards you." Kissing her, then turning back to the house he motioned for the others. "Come on out back, we've got the grill going and there are some more Pack members out there who will be happy to see you." Marcus stopped. "Actually, Alpha, I need to go to the hospital, and I'd like to take you there." Richard turned around, Marcus only called him Alpha when it was Pack business in front of others. "This is important?" Marcus nodded. "All right then. Love, can you help settle our guests? We'll fill everyone in when I get back." "Of course, dear. Come on, Silvia, I'll introduce you to the others." She moved into the house as Marcus and Richard got back into the convertible. Marcus got back into the driver's seat as his father in law moved around to the passenger seat. His Alpha stared at him while he started up the classic car. "They know about us? All of them? How the FUCK could you break our laws and let them know who we are? You're in a world of shit, son." Marcus pulled out and started down the road, taking a moment to think about how to defuse the anger. "Things happened, Dad. Do you have any idea how bad it is out there?" "We've stayed close to home, but we did have some humans show up and they gave us an idea." "It's the end of the world out there. North Fork has two hundred residents, other than the Pack there's only a couple dozen still alive. Most of those are badly hurt, with serious burns and blindness. When that solar flare hit, it not only sent lots of radiation but it wiped out the ozone layer. The ultraviolet is intense during the day, that's causing a lot of damage." Richard let out a long sigh. "I figured that when Tom got a sunburn just from running home. That just doesn't happen to wolves. How bad is the radiation?" It was Marcus' turn to sigh. "Pretty bad that first afternoon. I treated some people who were only exposed to direct sunlight for half an hour. One had vision loss, I don't know if that will ever recover. Both had severe sunburns and radiation sickness. Now? The radiation should be down, you're probably all right during the day as long as you cover your skin and use sunblock and sunglasses if you have to go out. You guys have been staying in the shelters, right?" "Yep, we hunkered down right away thinking it was an attack when our phones and power went out. Better safe than sorry, we've been coming out at night to get supplies and patrol. Now, back to the subject. Why does Josi know about us, and why was she riding on your wolf?" Marcus pulled into the parking lot of the Salmon Medical Clinic, which sounded like a lot more than the small building that it was. As a town of two thousand, it rated only a satellite clinic which had been staffed two days a week by Marcus, the rest of the time by a Nurse Practitioner. It was a good balance, allowing access to basic care while saving serious cases for the hospital in Idaho Falls. It was completely inadequate for the aftermath of an extinction level event. "Let me do my job here first, I need to at least make the rounds. On the way through, Deputy Robert and the guys at the funeral pyre told me they've found three hundred or so dead already tonight, and they are still going house to house. The clinic is packed with injured, and I have no power, no medical supplies and no chance to do anything that will save them." He parked and turned off the car. "Come on, you'll see what I mean." They opened the doors to see what looked like a war zone. Wounded were covering the hallways and every horizontal surface. Many were unconscious, but the noise from those who weren't so fortunate ripped at his heart. Richard's face dropped at the sight; there were not words to express what he felt. He knew these people, they had been his friends, they worked in the town, he had gone to school with them. Yes, they were human, but in a way he knew they were his too. "DOC! Thank God!" His nurse practitioner, Tammy Cordoba, moved slowly towards them. She normally was a bundle of energy, but the past few days had worn on her. He could see bruising on her neck and face, her eyes were bloodshot and he could see a trace of blood from her nose. She almost collapsed in his arms. "Jesus, Tammy, you look like shit." He sat her on the floor and leaned her against the wall. "Have you gotten any sleep?" She shook her head no. "Too many patients." She gave him an overview of what had happened while he looked in her eyes and mouth. Her tale was interrupted by a coughing fit that left a fine mist of blood on his shoulder. He looked over at his Alpha. "Radiation poisoning. Even inside, the walls and ceiling weren't enough to protect her." Looking back at his trusted coworker, his shoulders slumped. "Let me guess- those who didn't succumb to severe burns have blindness, nausea, diarrhea, headaches and bleeding sores in the mouth and nose." "Yep, you just described most of the people here. I've been losing ten to twenty an hour for the last twelve. The body wagon has been here three times tonight already." She coughed again. "I don't have any supplies and no ventilator. All I can do is palliative care for the ones still conscious, but I ran out of painkillers a few hours ago. This sucks, Doc. The lucky ones will go quick." Marcus stood up. "Take a nap, that's an order. I'll make my way through. I have a few supplies back at the house. Have you collected medicines from the town?" "The pharmacy gave me what they had, but it wasn't much." Marcus looked at his Alpha. "Dad, can you find the Sheriff. As they go door to door, have them check the medicine cabinets. Any painkiller from aspirin on up, have them bring it here. Same thing for burn and antibiotic creams, bandages, anything they think we can use." He watched him leave, he could feel the anger and despair through their bond and knew it was killing him to see this. It took Marcus an hour to make his way through, there were almost a hundred patients in the small clinic and more were being brought in all the time. There was nothing he could do to help them, not unless he could convince his Alpha to break Werewolf law. His jaw was set hard by the time his Alpha returned. "Come on, Dad, I need to go home and get some supplies out of my storage. Everyone, try to stay calm and I'll be back in an hour or so." There were a few older ladies who were helping with things like distributing water, cleaning wounds and covering the dead. They looked at him and nodded, they would take care of things. As soon as they left, Marcus put his hand on his father's shoulder. "Out of the hundred people in there, only a couple dozen will be alive in 48 hours. This town, it's dying right before our eyes. Two thousand humans a few days ago, and by the end of the week we'll outnumber them. Their bodies can't cope, they can't heal as fast as we can, can't function in the dark like we can." They pulled out of the parking lot. "They are good people, they would be an asset to the Pack." "They aren't Pack. You know the rules, Marcus. We can't change people without their consent and the consent of the Alpha, and only in cases like yours of mates. I'm sorry, my hands are tied." Marcus sighed as they moved slowly through the dark town. "Richard, the two girls I told you about earlier I treated up in North Fork? Britney and Bethany are mates to Eric and Derek. When the three of us were coming here the first night, they caught scent of them on the river and I couldn't stop them. Both girls would have been dead by morning, in fact we had to use CPR on Britney as we were bringing them back to the Den. The boys bit them. Their wolves knew that the change would give them a chance. And you know what?" He looked in Richard's eyes. "It worked. By the time we left the next day, the burns were almost gone and one had regained consciousness. The change stimulates healing and regeneration. I even saw indications that the wolf vision changes could restore some sight." "I'm glad their mates were saved, but we have RULES. There are penalties for not following them, and you know what they are." "Calvin did too. That's why he told his Pack that this was his decision and his only, so if there was any blowback he'd take the fall. He changed them. They only had a handful of people still alive, they were all his friends and were good people. The ones who could understand he asked, the ones who were out of it, he just did it anyway. He bit them, Dad." They pulled up at the house again and he stopped the car. "North Fork is now a werewolf town, and he saved those people. You need to do the same, or all of those people," he gestured back at the city, "all of them are dead anyway."

The next several weeks went by in a blur of Assembles and work with SHIELD. Steve and Tony were both so busy, they barely had time for their fake relationship. They appeared outside together often enough that the papers had pictures to publish, but most of the time they were in full Avengers gear and someone was spraying toxic sand or summoning an army of evil robots just off-camera. It wasn't until Steve was on the plane next to Tony that he really processed that he was on leave from the team, and that he and Tony had three whole days together in San Francisco for the awards ceremony. And they would have to ramp their pretending back up to full power. Pepper was using SI's main jet, so they'd taken another one, still private, still amazing, but smaller and without a lot of the "fluff" that Tony had decorated the other one with. Even on a private jet, a flight was a flight, and after getting the shield and Iron Man through the airport security, loading up, taxiing out only to be told it was too foggy to fly, waiting an hour, and taxiing out again to finally take off, then flying for five hours, Steve was wrecked. Tony had been so busy finishing up work that they barely talked on the plane, and Steve was feeling more and more nervous about the award ceremony by the time they shoved into a car and took off for the hotel. There were only three things they would have to attend as a couple: a small lunch with the president of the charity, last year's winners of the award, and a few other VIPs; a cocktail reception the night before; and the actual, broadcast, awards ceremony. But they would have to be a completely convincing couple the entire time, and so far, Tony had barely said two words to Steve all day. Tired, sore, and with that ruffed up and dirty feeling that was inevitable after a plane ride, Steve stumbled after Tony into the hotel. The woman behind the counter brightened several hundred watts when she caught sight of them. "Welcome!" she said, practically bouncing. "Your room is all ready to go, Mr. Stark, Captain." Steve blinked at her for a moment before it sunk in. The organization had arranged the hotel, sending them an email saying it was all taken care of, and they hadn't given it another thought. But they had no reason to book them more than one room. They were here as a couple. Steve shot what he hoped was a covert look at Tony and could tell instantly that Tony was going through the same realization. "Lovely," Tony said, tightly. The young woman handed them a card with two room keys tucked in it and a room number written in the corner. "If there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, just let me know." She beamed. "We're all big fans here," she tacked on breathlessly, cheeks pinking as she shook her head in a tiny self-reprimand. Tony kindly reached out to shake her hand, and Steve tried to smile. Tony winked. "Always lovely to meet a fan. Now, I'd better get this big lug up and into bed before he passes out completely. He's a sucker for jet lag." She smiled sympathetically in Steve's direction and nodded emphatically. In the elevator, Tony scowled down at the single room number. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't even think of that." "It's okay." At least Tony knew his floral secret so he wouldn't have to share a room and hide the petals at the same time. That would have been almost impossible. He tried to bring the mood back up. "I don't snore." He shot Tony a grin. But Tony didn't smile back. "Oh no, don't worry about it. I'll book another room. You can have this one." He handed the keycards over. "But how? If you ask the hotel to book a separate room they'll -" Steve cut off suddenly, glancing up at the security camera in the corner. They didn't usually have audio, but sometimes they did. Tony followed his gaze and fell silent as well. The elevator doors opened, and Steve led the way down the hall, counting off the rooms. When they reached theirs - his - he slid the card in and opened the door. It was a lavish suite, complete with a sitting room and kitchenette. There was only one bed, but it was the largest bed Steve had ever seen in his life, piled high with pillows. On the dresser by the TV sat a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates next to a note from the staff welcoming them to San Francisco and thanking them for the Avengers. Steve smiled down at the note while Tony dumped his bags in the corner. "I was saying I can have Pepper book me a new room through a proxy. They won't know it's for me." "How will you get the keycard?" Tony shot him a look then waved his phone. "Do you really think I need a keycard? I'll have a  courier check in and push the key under the door then I'll let myself in." Steve's throat burned, and he choked down a petal-laden cough. That was an awful lot of effort to avoid sharing a room with Steve. Why was it such a big deal anyway? He and Tony were friends, and Steve had shared small spaces with all the Avengers at one time or another. But suddenly, Tony seemed inclined to keep his distance. Tony looked up from where he was rustling around in his bag. "Do you mind if I take a shower? It'll take a few hours to get the hotel thing sorted, and it's already late. If I wait, I'll be all wet when I'm trying to sleep." Steve coughed violently and sprayed a handful of petals all over the dresser, the champagne, the chocolates and the corner of the TV. Tony considered him for a moment. "Might want to hold off on housekeeping until we're done here." Steve nodded morosely, digging around until he found the garbage bin, and began to collect the petals one by one. "Of course you can take a shower, Tony. You can do whatever you like. Technically, this is your room too, and if you have to stay, I don't mind." Tony shifted from foot to foot in Steve's peripheral vision. "Right. Well. Thanks. I'll just make a few calls and then clean up." "Actually," Steve looked up, realizing that if he took a shower in the same stall Tony had just  been naked in, he'd probably clog the drain with orange petals two seconds in. "Do you mind if I go first? I'll be quick while you make your calls." "Of course, sure, whatever," Tony waved him towards the bathroom, taking three cell phones and a tablet out of his bag, and Steve grabbed a change of clothes and fled for the shower. He let himself cough freely for a while, spitting mouthfuls of petals into the toilet while the water heated. Under the hot spray, Steve closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. He felt like he hadn't had a second to himself since their bowling date, and now that he did, everything was settling heavily on his shoulders. It hurt more than it should that Tony would go through so much trouble to get a second room when they could share, and it wasn't just because the idea of sharing space with Tony all evening and then sharing a bed with him all night was lung-achingly tantalizing. They'd been such good friends before all this started, best friends, and it felt more and more like this stupid charade was eroding that friendship. Tony's joking kisses had faded, his shoulders carried more and more tension in them, and he'd stopped calling Steve "my boyfriend," or equally cough-inducing pet names. Their dates had been fun at first - for all they were terrifying too - but the closer they got to this award, the farther away Tony pulled. A month ago, Tony would have laughed off the shared room, crawled in next to Steve, and kept him up talking until three in the morning. But now, he'd been planning his escape before they were even in the elevator. Steve sighed, spat a few petals down the drain, then worked shampoo through his hair as quickly as he could. The hot steam-pressure of the bathroom was making him feel short of breath which inevitably reminded him of how his disease could turn if the serum stopped holding it off. He dressed in the bathroom, hating the way the clothes stuck to his damp skin but knowing he wouldn't be able to resist coughing with Tony's eyes skating over his bare back. Tony was on the balcony when Steve came out, phone pressed to his ear. Steve towelled off his hair and sat on the edge of the bed with the booklet the hotel had left of places they could visit in town. He wanted to see the water, touch the ocean that had kept Tony on the west coast for so much of his life. Despite being in California for so long, Tony said he hadn't spent much time in San Francisco at all; Steve had been excited to explore it together, but now that didn't seem to be an option, not if Tony kept pulling away from him. The glass door slid open, and Tony leaned on the frame. "They got me a room, but the courier won't be able to make the hand off for another few hours. How's the water pressure?" Steve tried to smile like nothing was wrong. "It's lovely. Go ahead." "Thanks." While Tony showered, Steve unpacked then lay flat on his back on the bed, bare toes rubbing on the soft carpet. He must have dropped off for a bit because the next thing he knew, the TV was playing the news quietly and Tony was sitting shirtless on the bed next to him, hair wet and tousled, scrolling through something on his tablet. Steve must have made a noise because Tony looked up at him then smiled. "Nice nap?" "I didn't mean to." Steve smacked his cottony tongue and blinked his eyes back into focus. The familiar burn tickled the back of his throat but he swallowed it down. He'd coughed enough today, after holding back for so long on the plane, that even his serum-protected throat was sore. "You can change the channel if you want." "Hmm." It was dark out, too late to go explore the neighbourhood, and way past Steve's usual bedtime. Tony was used to timezone travel, and apparently all he had to do was reset his clocks and he was fine, but Steve was feeling decidedly off-whack by the change. "You okay?" Tony was really looking at him for the first time in a while, and Steve's heart skipped a few beats, flooding his lungs with flowers. "Just feeling a bit off from the plane ride." "We skipped dinner, you know. And you need like seven million calories to run, so that might be why." Steve sat up and his stomach rumbled loudly. "Oh wow, you're right. I completely forgot." And now he'd have to go find somewhere to get food. He reached for his socks with a groan, but Tony snorted and threw the remote at his back,  painfully playful, like they used to be. "Don't be an idiot. We'll order room service." "Isn't that expensive?" Steve said before he really processed what he was saying. Tony didn't dignify that with an answer. He padded across the room, his lithe, muscular chest on full display, dipping the room in soft blue light. He dug a booklet out of the drawer under the phone. His pants were riding low on his hips and Steve couldn't resist tracing their shape with his eyes as Tony flipped through the menu. "What do you want?" Tony held out the menu, but leaning forward to grab it seemed like a lot of work. Steve applied his best puppy dog eyes, and Tony shook his head affectionately and picked up the phone. "Two roast beef sandwiches with salad. Ranch on one, balsamic on the other, plate of fries on the side, and something with a truly horrific number of calories for dessert." Tony picked up the bottle of champagne while he talked and read the label. He hung up and worked the cork out then poured two glasses. He joined Steve on the bed again and handed one over. "To us," he said, but there was something missing in his joking tone. Steve took his and tapped it lightly to Tony's before drinking deeply. The alcohol wouldn't affect him but the sugar would give him a boost of energy to keep him from falling asleep again before the food came. "It'll be twenty minutes," Tony said, sipping his own glass. "Cards?" Relieved that Tony hadn't immediately turned back to his work, Steve agreed overenthusiastically and dug a pack out of his bag. The twenty minutes passed quickly in several rounds of blackjack, all of which Tony won decidedly. Steve was good at cards, had been good at cards even before they'd augmented his memory, but Tony was untouchable. Steve would lose a hundred hands to get to play Tony, though. He swallowed back every wave of petals, not wanting to stop their game to clean them up. The knock from room service surprised them both when it came. There was a table in the little attached den, but they sat on the bed instead, plates spread out between them, eating their sandwiches and sharing the fries. The food was tastier than Steve expected, and the calorie-laden dessert they'd offered was a rich flourless chocolate cake with plump, red raspberries on top. The kitchen had sent one piece, double size, for them to share, probably assuming some sort of romantic, chocolate-related interlude; the thought made Steve blush with every bite. When the food was done, Tony slumped back against the headboard. "I should go to my room." Steve resisted the urge to ask him to stay again. Tony had spent the money on another room. It would be silly to waste it just because Steve didn't want to be left alone to cough himself to sleep. Tony stacked the dishes in the kitchenette and packed up his bag. He said goodnight and went to the door. Steve picked up his phone, but before he could even open it, Tony was back in the room. "What?" he asked. Tony dumped his bags and tipped facedown on the bed. "The hallway is full of reporters here for the event. They've got a few rooms open, and they're having a party. If they catch me walking down the hallway with all my stuff, they're going to know something's up. Shit." Steve was caught between anxiety and relief. Half of him wanted to curl up under the covers and hate for the nine millionth time that he'd made that stupid joke in the first place, and half of him wanted to say, "Let's watch a movie." It jumped out of his traitorous mouth as soon as he had the thought. "We'll kill some time and they'll go to bed eventually and then you can go." Tony groaned into the duvet, but nodded. "Alright." Or you could stay all night… Steve didn't add. Tony was determined to go, and if Steve didn't want to make him uncomfortable by pushing. Knowing he was going to be out like a light as soon as Tony left for real, Steve brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas then settled on the bed beside Tony to watch a movie. They found something action-y on pay-per-view that Steve had never seen, so Tony started it up, and they settled in. The movie was good, and Steve found himself mostly absorbed by it, thoughts only twitching towards Tony when he moved or nibbled at a bag of chips from the minibar. By the time the movie ended, Steve was halfway off to sleep again, his normal bedtime long come and gone. Tony tiptoed to the door again, stuck his head out, and came back in, swearing profusely. "Still partying. At least they're not being too loud. Another movie?" "Tony, I have got to go to sleep," Steve slurred. "Just stay here tonight. Please." Tony wobbled were he stood, lips twisting. "Are you sure?" Steve snuggled down under the covers and closed his eyes. "Yes." Tony dropped his stuff in a pile and hummed, then he pulled sweatpants out of his bag and dropped his jeans. Steve buried his face in his pillow to stop himself from looking. He waited for the mattress to dip, but even after the rustle of Tony's clothes stopped, it didn't. He cracked an eye. Tony was standing next to the bed, fingers wound nervously together. "Tony?" "I could sleep on the floor," Tony said hesitantly, looking furtively towards the door again. "Don't be stupid." Steve shuffled even further towards his edge. "Tony, this bed is so big there isn't even enough floor left to sleep on. We'll practically be on separate continents." "Umm, yeah, about that." Tony sat on the bed and swung his legs up under the covers, but he was still poised to run. "I have this thing where… where I move a lot in my sleep?" "That's okay. I'm a deep sleeper." "Um, not like that." He let out a tight breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm a sleep cuddler, okay? No one will share with me because as soon as I'm out, I'm gravitating towards the nearest heat source. Like a fucking octopus. Rhodey kicked me out of his bed more than once in MIT, in fact I used to sleepwalk from the couch into his room just so I could lie on him. It's… it's embarrassing…" Steve couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. "Sleep cuddler? Is that really a thing?" Tony pouted adorably. "When they put me under to take out my wisdom teeth, I woke up holding the assistant's hand. It's inevitable. I can't help it." Steve's smile bloomed even as the petals pressed against the back of his throat, burning his lungs. "Tony… I get cold at night," he said softly. "I really don't mind. You're my best friend. You won't believe what the Commandos did to stay warm some nights out there. It really doesn't bother me." "You sure?" "I'm sure." Tony stared for a moment longer then snuggled down into the bed properly. He took an extra pillow and shoved it between them. The bed was so large, Steve couldn't imagine that a sleeping Tony would be able to break down the pillow wall and find his way all the way over to Steve. Surely, Tony was exaggerating. Steve drifted off with his eyes fixed on Tony's sleeping face, all flickers and shadows in the soft light of the arc reactor.

The only sound Hux could hear was your heavy breathing in his ear as his hands slid up your waist, slipping gently underneath the fabric of your shirt. His hungry mouth was at your neck, leaving a line of sloppy kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. He paused there, listening to the rapid sound of your heart beating, before returning his mouth to yours, savoring each detail: the feeling of your lips on his, almost as insatiable as he was, the sensation of your skin under his fingertips, your hands running through his hair, your bodies pressed together, like your lives depended on it, like you’d never be close enough- Damnit. The scene in Hux’s head was interrupted by a sharp pain at the base of his skull. His hand reflexively moved to the back of his neck, and his eyes closed, the pain becoming more powerful for a moment before disappearing completely, along with what was left of his lovely daydream. “Get out of my head, Ren,” Hux commanded, his eyes still closed. Despite what others might assume, it was the moments after Ren had rummaged through your thoughts that were truly the most painful. Everything was amplified: any light became blinding, any present pain sharper, and a distinct and overwhelming feeling of loss clouded Hux’s mind. The overall effect was often debilitating for most people who came under Ren’s scrutiny, but Hux was not like most people. “Not exactly an appropriate train of thought for the workplace, General,” Ren said in response, his voice coming from behind Hux. The voice modulator did an excellent job of masking Ren’s emotions usually, but the general sensed a simmering anger there now, just below the surface, despite his even tone. Hux opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust briefly to the sight of the control room, before turning to face Ren. “That’s none of your business,” Hux snapped, walking towards the back of the bridge, away from where you had been stationed. It was your presence in the control room, and the anticipation for your plans that evening, which had initially inspired Hux to that particular daydream. And now that Ren had seen it, he had to be careful, had to keep him far away from you. Ren followed closely behind as Hux walked away. Apparently this was not a conversation he could avoid. Hux stopped again, a safe distance from you and the other officers on the bridge, where he and Ren would not be overheard. “What do you want, Ren?” Hux asked, his own rage and embarrassment thinly veiled behind his words.  “I’d like to know what your intentions are with the girl,” Ren replied, and then added, “the lieutenant.” The clarification was not necessary. Hux felt ice-cold dread flood into his body at the mention of you, and, for a moment, he was frozen. Ren laughed, sensing Hux’s fear. “On second thought, I believe I understand your intentions perfectly, based on that little fantasy of yours. What I have for you is an order: stay away from her.” Ren was obviously in his element, as he loomed over Hux, attempting to intimidate him into submission. Hux had seen countless others cower beneath Ren’s might: Resistance fighters, enemy spies, even crewmembers on the Finalizer, but the general did not plan to let Ren bully him to surrender. He planned to fight.  “And what will you do if I don’t, Ren?” Hux asked in response, taking on an air of cold and vicious confidence. “Kill me?” It was obvious that Ren would like to do nothing more, but Hux had the upper hand now. “She would hate you,” he sneered, “she would despise you. The very thought of you would repel her, more than it probably does now.” Ren made no reply, standing still as a statue, but Hux always had been very good at knowing when to deliver the killing blow. “You really believe that someone like her could ever feel anything like love for someone like you? Pathetic.” Hux walked away then, satisfied in the knowledge that he had won. He knew exactly how devastating those words could be, as he had thought them to himself on more than one occasion. And while they had always hurt him, he had to admit that using them against Ren felt wonderful. Back in his rightful place at the head of the bridge, Hux stood a little taller. If it was a war Ren wanted, he would be happy to oblige. If Ren was being honest with himself, something he normally avoided at all costs, he would have to admit that his conversation with the general did not go according to plan. He wouldn’t call it a setback, exactly—that would be giving Hux too much credit—but it was certainly not ideal. No matter, though. Hux would give in, just like everyone else did when faced by Ren. Or at least, that’s what Ren hoped. You had first drawn Ren’s attention not long after you joined the crew of the Finalizer. It was an early morning, in the Officer’s private dining area by the mess hall. Ren never ate in front of the officers, and rarely even took off his helmet, but the morning meals were normally the most interesting, and Ren liked to listen to the conversations between those in attendance, picking up bits of information that would normally not be available to him without the threat of violence. His presence in the dining area also annoyed the general, which made it all the more worth it. On this particular morning, the dining area was fairly empty. You and Mitaka were the newest recruits to the Finalizer’s cast of officers, fresh from your Academy graduation, and were seated at the table eating in silence. Ren could feel your exhaustion clouding your mind. Sensing strong emotions came naturally to him, through the force, and he had become so used to it he hardly noticed most of the time. And how does she feel about the other lieutenant? Ren wondered to himself. Lately, he had been finding a great deal of entertainment in deciphering relationships between others through his connection to the force, and it had come in very handily in interrogations. He searched your surface of your thoughts—so shallow that his presence in your mind would not be noticed. She’s fond of him, like a brother to her, but worries about his safety too often. Ren filed this information away for a later date. The Finalizer crew only had about thirty ranked officers aboard, and they rarely ate meals at the same time, which meant that there was plenty of seating in the dining area with only a large dining table. You sat towards the head of the mostly unoccupied table, near the general and the captain, drinking your coffee in long, slow sips and ignoring your breakfast.  Ren listened without much interest as one of the other officers, a maintenance supervisor based on the uniform, interrogated you and Mitaka about the inane details of your lives. Hometowns, who your parents were (few people got into the Officer’s Academy without connections, most graduates had high ranking officials for parents), your specialties and interests. “And what did you do before attending the Academy?” the officer asked, with too much enthusiasm for the early hour. “I was a dancer,” you responded, stifling a yawn, “classically-trained.” How unique, Ren thought to himself, absentmindedly. All Academy students were rigorously vetted for high academic ability before being accepted, which meant that most hopefuls were educated privately or attending elite primary schools from a very young age. It would have taken a miracle to get someone with no formal education into the Academy. Ren should have paid closer attention to who you said your parents were. Apparently the general thought this was strange too, as you, Mitaka, and the other officer were interrupted by the sound of a derisive snort from that side of the table. “Something funny, General?” you turned to ask. Your tone was polite, casual, but Ren could sense a burning anger spark to life below the surface. A few more officers had straggled into the room, and sensing the tension, all had turned their eyes to you and the general now. “No, Lieutenant.  It’s just, I’ve never heard of someone with a . . . dancer’s background, make it into the Academy before. Classically trained, you said?” Hux’s voice was dripping with condescension, and despite his lack of interest before, Ren found himself rooting for you now. “Even with a dancer’s background, I could still kick your ass,” you responded on reflex, and the whole room went silent, but Ren was ecstatic. It was obvious that this was not the first time that you had been tasked with defending yourself verbally, and you seemed more than capable. Your hands flew to your mouth in shock, though, when you realized who you had been talking to, and what you had said.  “I am so sorry, sir,” you stammered, clearly panicking, “I didn’t mean that at all.” Hux was frozen, for the moment, unsure of how to respond to the disrespect he had just received. Ren, on the other hand, was completely giddy at this turn of events. Phasma cut in, then, trying to release some of the tension in the room. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, “the general had a near perfect sparring record at the Academy. His combat skills are excellent.” “Absolutely, it was my mistake,” you responded, shooting Phasma a grateful look, “I guess I just forgot I’m not at the Academy anymore.” Hux said nothing, but seemed satisfied with your apology, and Ren could feel you relax as you sunk into your chair. “Actually, Captain, forgive me,” Mitaka said, addressing Phasma, “but I believe that my friend also had a near perfect sparring record while we were in school, didn’t you?” Mitaka looked to you for conformation, and regretted it instantly, as the look you gave him back could have killed him on the spot.  “What was your final tally?” Hux cut in, both anger and curiosity clouding around him. “My final total was 463 wins, 3 losses, but-” whatever you planned on saying in your defense fell on deaf ears as the other officers began to murmur to each other in surprise. 463 wins! Now that was unique, and only 3 losses in your six years of training. Maybe Ren had underestimated you; maybe all of them had. “It doesn’t matter what your Academy record looks like,” one of the officers said in a loud voice. Ren didn’t know all of the officer’s names, but he immediately recognized this one. It was Major Allecull Lindeas, raging asshole and professional bootlicker. “The general has had years of experience more than you. Your classmates at the Academy couldn’t even come close in comparison to the general of the First Order.” “I agree,” you said, annoyed, “It was a stupid thing for me to say, and I apologized, so we should probably just let it go.” “I say we put it to a vote,” Allecull continued, ignoring you, parading around the dining area, “who thinks that the general could beat her in hand-to-hand combat?” Around the room, the other officers sheepishly raised their hands in the air, caught in the awkward position between embarrassing you and angering the general. Hux abstained from voting, but his smug attitude sat clearly visible on his shoulders. “And who thinks she would win,” Allecull asked, pointing at you with dramatic flourish. Mitaka dutifully raised his hand in the air, but he was the only one. You sat with your arms folded, your piercing gaze never leaving Major Lindeas. “Great, are you happy now?” you asked, cleaning up your uneaten breakfast and heading to the waste disposal. You dumped your tray with more force than necessary, and sat back down at the table, but the major wasn’t done kissing the general’s ass.  “Master Ren, you didn’t vote. Do you have any input on the situation?” he asked with mock sincerity. Ren rolled his eyes, the move invisible behind his helmet. He stood, walking over to Allecull, relishing in the waves of fear rolling off of him as Ren moved closer. “I’d be glad to settle this, finally,” Ren responded, and he jumped into your mind without warning. Images from your life flashed before his eyes, as he used the force to read your thoughts. You, as a child, in tears, looking in a mirror as someone cut your hair, a sprawling farmland washed in early sunlight, a box of tools, and a man, your father, explaining how they were to be used. The images flashed through his mind, never stopping long enough for Ren to find focus. He wasn’t looking, not really, but he wanted to make it believable when he ultimately took your side against the general. One image caught his attention though, and he seized it, bringing it to the foreground. There you were, a little younger, a little less sure, facing off against a man two or three times your size. He watched closely as you fought the man, and it was obvious, even then, that your speed, your dexterity, your ruthlessness couldn’t be beat. Interesting. “Damnit Ren, that’s enough.” Ren heard Hux yell, but he didn’t jump out of your mind, not completely. Apparently his trip into your memories was taking a harsher toll than he had initially expected. You sat at the table, shaking, eyes closed, a thin sheen of sweat coating your forehead, your hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that the blood had left your knuckles. Ren let go then, seeing the pain on your face, and you gasped in relief of his absence, breathing heavily to recover from the ordeal.  The officers in the room sat in silence, breathless, all eyes on Ren.  “Based on the evidence, Major,” Ren said, addressing Allecull, but facing General Hux, “I believe I’ll have to side with the Lieutenant."

  ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬   Dead leaves crunch underfoot along the beaten path as you walk through the dark woods. The leaves are crisp, but the air’s crisper; you bury your hands deep into your pockets to shelter them from the biting cold of the endless night, but the chill has already settled deep in your bones, leaving you uneasy and uncomfortable. Claudette strolls alongside you, quiet and tense and on edge. Claudette—The shy one. The botanist. You remember this because someone told you on day one. Another camper who went by the name of Ace, you think. Claudette was too reticent to introduce herself then. Ace did it for her. Claudette, you repeat mentally. Her face is easier to remember, at least. She has a dark complexion with gentle features that befit her gentle nature: soft round eyes framed by blue glasses, small pursed lips that quiver when she speaks, and a head full of fuzzy dark locs contained by a hair tie. Her woven basket hangs under her arm, packed nearly full with a variety of plants gathered by you both. We’re looking for medicinal plants, she had assured you before you left camp with her. And we can find tea leaves while we’re out. And indeed, you’ve found tea leaves. Well… maybe. They’re unlike any tea leaves you’ve ever seen. Even Claudette hasn’t been unable to identify the strange plant; it must be native to this place. Strange, like the constant fog that bathes the seemingly endless woods. But one thing’s for sure—they make a fine drink when boiled. That’s a luxury here, and, admittedly, the only reason you agreed to leave the campfire behind to help her forage. You wouldn’t venture so deep into the fog otherwise. You can’t place exactly how long you’ve been out here. If you had to guess, you’d say half an hour, give or take. Half an hour wandering the woods, digging up roots and plants in silence. You’ve shared almost no words with your company. Claudette’s on the shy side; you know that much about her. She’s definitely not the chattiest of the bunch around camp, and you know hardly a thing about the young woman. You glance at her one too many times and she catches your gaze. She blinks nervously at you, then softly clears her throat. “Th—Thank you for joining me,” she brings herself to say. “I usually come out here… here alone, but… the company is nice.” “Don’t mention it,” you tell her. Claudette hums, drawing an end to the conversation she just sparked. You awkwardly revive it. “So… How have you been?” Her forehead wrinkles before she says anything. You mentally kick yourself for asking such a stupid question—the answer’s obvious, isn’t it? “I’ve been… fine,” Claudette draws out slowly while avoiding your eyes. “As fine as I can be, given the… our circumstances.” “Right.” You keep quiet to spare her and yourself the unpleasantness of forced conversation. Your decision momentarily eases some tension, but it returns in bulk as the cold silence falls over you again. A sudden chill cascades up your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. When your mouth runs dry, you know something’s wrong. But what, you don’t know. Your eyes dart around you to discern your surroundings, but you find nothing. And somehow, that increases your unease. The unknown is terrifying. You halt, and Claudette staggers to a stop beside you. She looks wide-eyed and concerned. “What is it?” she asks, fearful suddenly. She hugs her basket to her chest, looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Maybe you’re just being paranoid. That’s normal here. Who wouldn’t be paranoid, trapped in a morbid purgatory? “It’s nothing,” you tell Claudette, hoping to relax her. “I just thought…I—” You stop short of what you’re saying when your eyes make out a sight through the dense veil of dark fog. You approach the dissipating barrier as it vanishes altogether to reveal a curious sight. Moving forward with Claudette creeping closely behind, you enter a clearing. Nestled within, a two-story dilapidated cabin claimed by the wilderness. Vines and foliage run up the walls, and green moss blankets the surface of the aged wood. It seems to have been abandoned for a long time, which becomes glaringly obvious the longer you wonder at it.  Claudette stares at the structure with big eyes. “I’ve never seen this place before,” she murmurs. “Yeah,” you reply. “This is… new.” You start toward the cabin, startling Claudette. “You—You think we should go inside?” “Why not?” you say. “We might find something worth taking back to camp.” “But what if it’s dangerous?” Claudette argues, while positioning herself in front of you. “Maybe we should go get the others—” “It can’t be any more dangerous than the trials, Claudette. Relax.” You lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She tenses up under your touch and her face darkens a shade as she breaks eye-contact. “I… suppose a look couldn’t hurt,” she says softly, while tucking a stray loc behind her ear.   The porch steps creak and groan under your feet as you ascend them. Claudette jumps in fright when one cracks beneath her. This place is falling apart, for sure, further indicating its neglect. But you offer Claudette a reassuring glance, then face the door. Cracks and moss cover the surface of the aged wood. The door’s parted... You press a hand to the surface and push lightly. It groans as it swings open, then comes to a squealing stop. Moonlight floods the cabin. Claudette peeks past you. “It’s empty,” she says, surprised. The cabin’s vacant. The parlor is bland and empty. On the far wall, you see a door and an entryway leading into a kitchen. To the left, two windows covered with plain brown curtains. And to your right, just a few paces away, a staircase going up to the second floor. A thick layer of dust covers each step, and it’s heavy in the air. Anything and anyone that lived here before is long gone. “It’s fine, see?” You turn to face Claudette. “I’ll go look upstairs.” Claudette hugs her basket closely. "Okay," she says, shivering. "I’ll check around down here.” You peel away from her and move up the stairs. You proceed slowly, opting against dragging your hand on the splintery banister. Empty photo frames dot the walls as you ascend. It makes you wonder whose home this was before it was stolen from the world… When you reach the top of the stairs, you glance back and hear Claudette shuffling about the room below. You turn around and survey your surroundings. There’s a hallway and three doors straight ahead. Two on the left side, one on the right, and a curtained window at the far end. You really doubt you’ll find anything. But you’re here, so might as well look… The first room on the right is a bust; it’s completely empty, save for what you safely assume are rat droppings in the corner. The second room is stacked high with branches and sticks. You move on toward the third room. You push through the door and stop in place. The only thing that catches your eye is a hardcover book lying on the floor. The cover is red and blank. Much like everything else here, it’s layered in dust. You grab the book and examine it. After turning it over, you furrow your brows. There’s no title on the cover; nothing written on the back or the spine… Your confusion doubles when you toss it open -- all the pages are blank. All but one, actually. You flip through to the first page and pause. There’s a single line, messily scrawled in black ink across the center of the page. You thumb over it.   “I know there’s a way out.” Your breath leaves you in a gasp as everything around you suddenly shifts and changes in the blink of an eye. Darkness engulfs you, and then you’re no longer in the abandoned cabin. You’re outside, and you hear flames crackling behind you. You spin around, eyes wide when you behold the sight of strangers surrounding you. People sitting on logs around a campfire, the light flickering across their unfamiliar faces, illuminating their features in glowing orange. Nearly a dozen, you count right off the bat, but then even more gathered in the surrounding area. They all share the same disheveled appearance, their clothes worn and their eyes weary. Turning around again, you come face to face with a man standing just a few mere paces away in front of the pit. He has a suntanned complexion and olive-green eyes buried deep in dark circles. His face is rough and unkempt, with a fine jaw stippled by short hairs that it seems he couldn’t be bothered to shave. His chestnut hair is undercut at the sides, and swept back at the top. You would guess he’s no more than thirty years old. He wears a brown leather jacket over a graying green top, and grimy denim jeans. You lock eyes with him, but his gaze stares straight through you. “Ah know there’s a way out,” he says firmly, with an underlying Scottish accent. His tone carries confidence, but it’s betrayed by the uncertainty on his face. He grips a book in his hand. A book, you realize, appears to be an exact copy of the one you just found in the cabin. “There HAS to be a way out. If something brought us here, it can send us back home!” He waves around the book and persists. “Ah found writings out there in the fog. Writings from a woman named Nasha. She wrote about an escape-” “Just some bullshit from a woman who lost her goddamn mind!” A man shouts. You turn to locate him. The man, rough around the edges and mean, stands beneath a tree close by. He sneers at the man by the fire. “And you’ll end up just like her if you don’t stop raving.” “But she found something. She knew something! And for all we know, she could’ve gotten out!” A woman speaks up next, her voice soft. You find her sitting on a log nearby. White skin, thin face, and oily brown hair draped down over her shoulders. Heavy bags tug at her weary brown eyes, and the sadness that pours from them is almost contagious. “Or maybe she’s dead. Really dead.” Sorrow ruins her features, and her fidgeting hands ball into fists in her lap. She regards the man addressing them. “Don’t do this to us, Bryce. Don’t give us hope like this.” The man--presumably Bryce--furrows his brows. He grips the book so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turn white. “There’s a way out,” he says unconvincingly. “I know there’s a way out. We just need to… to... find...” He trails off and hangs his head. His fellow campers scrutinize him where he stands. “There has to be a way out.”   You blink, and he’s gone. They’re all gone. You’re back in the cabin; in the cold and dark, frozen stiff and gripping the spine of the book in your hand. “What—” It was so vivid, and-and real, like you were actually there! You could feel the heat from the flames, the cold of the surrounding fog prickling your skin… But it’s gone now. You finally release the breath trapped in your lungs. Then you raise the book and stare hard at the blank cover. This… This might be worth keeping. You turn around to leave the room, but crash right into a solid surface. But it’s no wall. You’ve walked right into the tall, shadowy form of something inhuman. You stagger backward, gasping as your gaze snaps up to meet its blank face. Your fear catches in your throat as you watch a maw split apart the dark canvas, revealing two rows of sharp, glistening white teeth. It grins at you. You scream and scramble backward, right into the wall. Your skull slams the wood hard. You grunt and squeeze your eyes shut tightly as pain screws up your face. And when you reopen your eyes, not even a moment later, it’s gone. You hear fast footsteps coming up the stairs. Claudette bursts through the door, her face graven with fear. “Are—Are you okay?” She looks as disheveled and frightened as you’re sure you do. You clutch the book to your chest, scanning the room with wide eyes. Whatever that thing was, it’s gone. You scoff; maybe it was never really there… When you collect your bearings, you nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right, Claudette. 'Thought I saw something, but… I guess it’s just the fog playing tricks on me.” You lift a hand to the back of your head and wince. “Knocked my head pretty hard. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more crazy things later…” Claudette visibly relaxes. “Oh.” She fixes her glasses over her nose and approaches you. Her hand touches your temple. “Should I look at your head?” Her fingers brush over your hand. You drop your arm to your side and assure her, “I’m fine; really. Just a bump.” Claudette lowers her hand. When she catches the book clutched in your grasp, she inclines her head. “What’s that?” “Nothing. Just a blank book.” You offer her a closer look at it, then tuck it under your arm. “Did you find anything?” you ask, changing the subject. “No,” she answers, backing away from the room. “We should go back to… to camp. This place is giving me the jitters.” “Same here,” you mutter. You nod in agreement and walk across the room. “Let’s go.” She moves down the hall ahead of you, and you waver. After a pause, you flip open the book to the first page. The first page, which is now missing; torn directly from the spine. Your brows furrow. But you won’t dwell on it. Not here, anyway. You close the book and tuck it back under your arm, then follow Claudette down the stairs.    ∗ ∗ ∗    The trip back to camp is uneventful. That cabin was swallowed up by the fog as soon as you left the clearing, and it’s long gone now. The odds you find it again are very slim, and, perhaps non-existent. The fog hides things. Meg, another camper here, had told you that. She said the fog is never still… And if you find something, you won’t find it again. The campers figured that out during their time spent here, trying to make heads or tails of this place. A labyrinth, they called it. Hell, said others. When you arrive at camp with Claudette in tow, you sigh in relief as the warmth of the campfire eases your cold bones. Some eyes meet yours: David’s, Adam’s, Bill’s, Jane’s. Other campers. You even catch a gander from Jake, where he stands beneath a tall, dead tree. He quickly looks away. Claudette wordlessly walks past you and finds a seat beside the campfire, where she sets down her basket at her feet. “Good news,” you say, as you come to a stop. “We found tea leaves. No sugar, though, so it’ll be a little bitter…” David snorts. David—the burly brit, the athlete, the loud one. He was intimidating when first you met him, but it became quickly apparent he saves his rugged nature for the trials. He’s friendly enough. Like a mean-looking, but protective (and loud) dog that loves company and attention. “I like my tea bitter,” he replies. “Too much sugar’s bad for your form, anyway!” You settle down amongst the others, taking a seat on a log in front of the crackling fire. Bill sits on the opposite end with a cigarette perched between his lips. Bill—there’s too much to say about the old war vet. He mentioned being a zombie killer at one point. You’re not sure you believe him. Maybe his age is taking a toll on his mind. Or maybe this place is. “Oi, you know wha’ I’ve been thinkin’?” David starts. Bill sighs heavily. “I’m thinkin’ we should start some construction ‘round ‘ere! Maybe put up a few shacks, aye? Gettin’ sick an’ tired of curlin’ up on a lil’ bedroll in a shitty lil’ tent!” “None of us are carpenters, David,” Jane says quietly, and matter-of-factly.  Jane—Talk shows, you think. She hosted one, didn't she? David scoffs. “That so?” He throws an arm in a gesture at Jake. “You know a bit ‘bout carpentry, don’t you?” Jake—loner, survivor… That’s all you got on him. You’re still new here, but you’ve become familiar with most of the others, at least. But Jake? You’ve hardly shared ten words with him. He’s not a people person. Or maybe he’s not a you person. Jake doesn’t even spare the man a glance. “No,” he says. David sucks his teeth. “Just do us all a favor. I’m sure you’re tired a’ sleeping on the ground with all the grubs and shit too!” “I’m not a goddamn carpenter,” Jake replies. “Then why’re you always pokin’ around those hooks, eh?” “I’m good at breaking things, not fixing them. Besides,” Jake closes his eyes and shrugs. “We don’t have any tools or materials on hand to build anything. We’ve been over this before.” So this isn’t the first time David’s hassled the camp. Jake’s done talking. David huffs. “Some help you are.” Then he turns your way. You brace for impact. “Oi! You any good with a hammer, lamb?” “No. Sorry,” you reply. “How about we make a suggestion box for the Entity?” Adam suggests sarcastically. “I used to put them out for my students.” Adam—he’s… he’s a teacher, right. Too many names here, too many stories… It’s getting hard to remember. His jabbing sarcasm goes straight over David’s head. David rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Now that could work,” he says confidently. “Who’s got a pen an’ paper?” You can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. Maybe he’s trying to lighten the grim mood or to ease the atmosphere. It’s almost enough to make you laugh. Almost. Adam sighs and facepalms. “I was pulling your leg, David.” “But it could really work!” David barks. “If this thing’s going to give us bedrolls, it can give us walls too! Maybe a carpet an’ a couple a’ latrines!” The thing, being the thing in charge here. You don’t know what it is. No one does. They call it The Entity, because that’s all it is; a dark being of immense power, with obscure motives for the torment it inflicts upon you all. The Entity. David looks to the dark sky. “Are you listening, you massive twat? Give us somethin’ to work with down ‘ere! I’m not sleepin’ on the ground forever like a fucking do—!” He cuts off abruptly as his form dissipates in a plume of dark smoke and crackling embers. It’s very quiet all of a sudden. “Thought he’d never shut up,” Bill grunts. The silence that follows David’s absence is actually a little nerve-wracking… No one makes a sound. You rub your hands together and pipe up, “I think we should all be grateful we even have this campfire. And lucky it never goes out…” It doesn’t, that’s true. Again, no one knows why. “Can’t imagine being trapped here in the dark,” Jane utters. She shivers and hugs herself. “Cold enough as it is.” No one says anything in reply, then you notice you have Adam’s attention. He fixes his eyes on the book resting on your lap. “Where did you find that?” he asks. “Claudette and I found a cabin out there. Abandoned and empty, but I found this just sitting on the floor…” You wave the book around with a sigh. “It’s blank, though. Completely.” Adam looks visibly disappointed. “Ah… I got a little excited. Haven’t had a good read in a long time.” You pick up a hint of sadness in his tone, then on his features. He hangs his head and stares at the fire. It doesn’t seem anyone’s really in the mood to chat now. David might’ve been obnoxious, but he was keeping the camp alive. You stand up and walk away.   Your tent’s a short walk from the campfire, resting in the fringe just before the dense barrier of dark mist that blankets the territory beyond it. It’s one of many tents scattered randomly in the woods, with origins that remain unknown to you all. But here, where you have next to nothing except the clothes on your back, and the pathetic stockpile of items you’ve all scrounged from beyond, you take what’s given. When you arrive at your personal refuge, you crawl inside your weathered green tent and take a seat on your bedroll. You idly stroke the spine of the book while you sort through your muddled thoughts. What you saw in the cabin seemed real. Extremely real… And that… thing seemed just as real. But it wasn’t. Couldn’t have been. No one else has ever reported anything like that. Not outside of the trials, anyway. That’s where you find the monsters, the killers. So what are the odds you’d be the first to meet one in the fog? You sigh and put your thoughts to rest. After setting the book down, you flop on your back. The Entity might seize you into another trial soon… It’s been a while since your last one, and you want to get as much rest as you can in the meantime. You shut your eyes.    ∗ ∗ ∗    Your feet are cold and wet. Condensed breaths leave your parted lips, and when you peel open your eyes, you frown. You’re someplace else, standing ankle-deep in freezing water, and surrounded by cold, dense white fog. The sky above you is pitch black and dotted with tiny, obscure stars. An intense shiver runs up your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “What is this?” Your voice bounces off unseen walls and echoes back to you before fading out of pitch. You take a tentative step forward and turn on your heels to survey your surroundings. And the unexpected sight you find makes your blood run cold, and your skin stipple with goosebumps. The water ripples ahead of you as the dark form of a head pokes out above the surface. Its visage lacks eyes, ears, a nose, or any defining features granting it an identity. Then a grin spreads across its unusually blank face, but that’s all. The same gnarly, glistening white grin you saw before. That thing’s back, and it’s watching you. Your breath escapes in a sharp gasp, and you recoil so hard you lose your footing and crash backward. You make a splash in the shallow water and freeze in shock. You keep your wide eyes glued to your company. The being, whatever it is, moves. It rises slowly from the water, approaching you one long stride at a time. Its pitch-black form silhouettes against the gray fog behind it with a stark contrast. You perceive it with fear. Black claws that protrude from its torso cage its chest, resembling a form of external ribs. Their sharp tips pierce the sternum, making it unclear if they’re meant to protect what’s beneath the surface, or destroy it. The abdomen below bleeds dark fog from a slit slashed vertically down his torso. The fog spills out into thick black tethers and dissipates in the air. To top it all off, the creepy entity stands taller and leaner than you’re mentally prepared to swallow. It’s physically masculine, but lacking certain parts, and hardly human enough to warrant seeing it as more than a monstrous shade projecting a guise. When you find your voice, you choke out an incoherent mess of words in your fear. A display the shade must find amusing because it laughs. Its oddly warm, deep voice comes from everywhere at once, yet sounds so close. A creepy sensation crawls up your spine and makes you shiver. The shadow continues its approach, grin unwavering. Large, spidery black claws suddenly sprout from its back with sickening snaps and pops, and they extend outward and flex. They share a frightening resemblance to The Entity’s. As the shadow stalks nearer, your panic intensifies. You flip over and scramble to your feet. But a claw hooks your leg and pulls you right down into the water. A startled cry escapes your lips as you’re yanked back, then flipped over to face your tormentor. It looms tall above, with its neck bent to stare straight down into your frightened eyes. When it finally speaks, a terrible smell comes off its frigid breath, reeking of ash and death. “Don’t be afraid,” it tells you, still grinning. But it does nothing to ease your fear—you shiver, and the shadow chuckles, amused. It startles you when it takes to its knee and leans down to reach out a hand to you. You make another attempt to scramble away, but the shadow presses its clawed hand flat to your chest, just over your fast-beating heart, and it pins you down. The icy water chills your bones, and intense pressure immediately builds up inside you. You squirm and fight under the shadowy entity. It remains indifferent to your struggle. “Still warm,” it murmurs. “But the fog will soon change that… We will need to work fast.” Its wide grin doesn’t waver for a second, even when it speaks. You can’t choke out another word in protest—the strange pressure inside your chest rises, becoming unbearably painful and tight. You stifle a cry, never ceasing your struggle. “Wh—What are you doing to me?” It ignores you. To make matters worse, and further your discomfort, its clawed extremities move around you and explore your body. They trace your limbs, pluck at your fabrics, and the spines barbing them scratch and tickle your skin. Through the pain, you only manage a strained whine. The shadow acknowledges your discomfort just for a moment. “Forgive me,” it chuckles. “These twisted things have a mind of their own…” Desperately, you try to fight back and struggle free, to do anything, but you can’t. “Don’t fight this,” your tormentor says. “I only want to see what I’m working with. It’ll just be a moment,” it reassures soothingly. It hurts like hell, the pressure in your chest. A prickly sensation that expands and forces the air from your lungs. You gasp and choke, and then you can’t breathe—   You jolt awake with a sharp gasp as oxygen floods your lungs. When your senses return all at once, you feel warm hands throttling your shoulders, and you find you’re suddenly face to face with Jake. His handsome features are spoiled with concern. “Hey, new girl? You alright?” Your thumping heart slows to a steady pace. But your hairs still stand on end, and your body shivers in fright. “I’m fine,” you manage, your voice hoarse. You slowly sit up and rake a hand back over your scalp. Your skin’s cold and clammy to the touch… A sigh of relief leaves your parted lips. It was just a nightmare. A nightmare, but… it felt so real. Just like in the cabin. Jake still stares at you with concern. “It was a nightmare,” you tell him. Jake pulls away. “Some nightmare,” he scoffs. “I was walking by and heard you choking.” “I was, in my dream.” You don’t know what else to say. How do you explain what happened? What you felt? There’s a moment of silence, then Jake grunts and moves to leave your tent. But he falters and stops. Facing you again, he begins, “You haven’t been here long, right? I’ve only just started seeing you around camp… And I don’t think I got your name.” “I hardly ever see you,” you reply. “And when I do, you don’t look like you’re in a talking mood…” Jake nods, then sighs. He abashedly combs a hand back through his hair. “I… I get like that sometimes, after rough trials. And most of them are rough. You should know that by now.” He pauses, then puts out a hand. “Jake,” he says. You take his hand and notice him flinch at the touch. You’re freezing cold, as you’re sure he just noticed… After you shake his hand and give him your name, he withdraws and turns away. “I’ll see you around,” he says. And he says nothing else before he leaves your tent. As soon as he’s gone, another odd shiver runs up your spine and makes you jolt. Your hand subconsciously moves to your chest. And that heavy, burning sensation you felt in your dream still lingers there… What does it mean? What did any of it mean? Maybe there’s no point in trying to decipher it. The fog is strange and evil. And if there’s one thing it’s good at, it’s getting into your head. But you won’t let it. Things are bad enough with these trials. You won’t rob yourself of what little comfort you have left. You lie back down and release a slow sigh. It was just a dream, you assure yourself. That’s it. Nothing more… But yet… something cold lingers deep inside.     Léry’s Memorial Institute. The decrepit old sign outside the doors is what clues you in. You creep inside and halt in a run-down reception area as a terrible shiver runs the course of your spine. The nearby lights flicker and zap, jolting like your nerves. When you look left and right, you find two lengthy halls encased in darkness. Straight ahead, behind a front counter, another corridor leads deeper into the sinister building. Another unending day, another horrible trial. You anticipate this one will go about as well as your last, which is to say it’ll be a nightmare. You take two steps past a bench when you hear something erupt in the distance, like crackling thunder, and then an ear-piercing shriek. You halt as a fearful gasp leaps to your throat, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. Relax, you will yourself. Get moving. You calm your breathing, your nerves, then proceed.   Being that this is your first time traversing the winding maze of halls and rooms, you walk slowly and on-edge, faltering around every corner for fear of bumping face-first into this trial’s selected tormentor. The deeper in you go, the more you just want to find some place to curl up and hide. If you could tuck yourself into a corner and wait for the trial to end, to miraculously escape, you would. But it’s not so simple… Trials are difficult games to play, and even more difficult to win. You’d surely be dooming yourself and your teammates if you hid away. So, despite your fear, you’re resolved to play this game. Locating generators here is another hindrance. You wander in the near dark for over five minutes and find not one machine to repair. It’s nerve-wracking navigating this dark place, just knowing you share these halls with a killer hounding for your blood. Worse yet, you don’t know who to expect. Or, possibly, what. The hunter could be anyone, or anything. But what they all share in common is they want you dead. They want prey to chase, catch, and sacrifice to The Entity. But their motives for doing so are as unclear as the malevolant being’s itself. You hug the wall down the corridor as you creep steadily along. A crow perched on a windowsill caws as you approach, its beady black eyes observing you. You don’t trust these things—they’re always closely watching. And they’re loud. You swat the bird away and send it fluttering off, then you crouch behind a utility cart. The hall ahead of you is dead-silent and shrouded in darkness. Jitters make you fidgety and uneasy. Move, move, move! The voice in your head urges. Fix the generators, and get out. If only that were easier said than done… You silence your naggy internal voice and move forward. And coming up on another corner, you brace, then turn. You shriek. Dwight shrieks, too. Then you both relax. “Damnit—” you gasp, clutching your heart. “Sorry,” Dwight apologizes. “I-I thought I heard someone over here.” He swivels around, on edge, then faces you again. “You’re looking for a generator? There’s one back this way.” You follow Dwight into a dark room. When your eyes adjust, you make out rows of shower stalls, stained with muck and oozing some strange black gunk. A generator sits in the far corner. “Everyone has a hard time here,” Dwight says, taking a knee at the generator and getting to work. “You never know who or what you’ll run into turning a corner…” “Yeah, I just figured that out firsthand.” You sit on the other side of the machine and bury your hands in the mechanisms to root around for some wires. “It’s got me feeling claustrophobic…” Dwight grunts in acknowledgment. He pauses, his eyes flickering to you. He prompts, “You’re uh, new, right?” You nod. Dwight hums. “Yeah, I must not have been in camp when you showed up, whenever that was… People just appear sometimes, and there are never any real introductions—” A spurt of black oil shoots out of the generator and sprays him right in the face. You both pause, and Dwight sighs as he wrenches his hands free from the machine. He plucks his glasses from his face and wipes the lenses clean with the end of his tie. “I’m Dwight, the village idiot. Or camp idiot, more like…” You offer him a smile. “Nice meeting you, Dwight. I’m (Y/N).” Dwight returns your smile with a bashful one. He replaces his glasses on his nose and says, “You might still be trying to wrap your head around everything here, so I can give you a few pointers. I used to host seminars back at the office.” “I won’t turn down any helpful advice,” you say. “God knows I could use it..” You hear a crow caw in the hallway and you tense up. The silence puts you more on edge than you already were. You continue the conversation. “How long have you been here?” you ask. Dwight visibly hesitates. He touches his chin with an oily hand. “Uh… I… I can’t really say.” His brows draw together and an uncertain look morphs into his features. “It’s hard to track time here, almost impossible. I miss my cubicle calendar.” You crack a smile and Dwight lets out an awkward laugh. “I hated those long hours in the office, but what I wouldn’t give to be back there right now.” Continuing his repairs, he says, “Data management and getting pushed around by my higher-ups was nothing compared to all of this. “I hear you,” you say. “You have any plans in mind when you get back?” Dwight pauses. His brows crease together. “I, uh… I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He soundlessly returns his attention to the task at hand and sighs. “Hard to think about the future when you’re not sure you have one.” You frown. Way to kill the mood, me… You reach into the generator again, but it suddenly erupts in your face. You rear away with a shout, grabbing your singed face. “Shit,” you curse. Dwight looks alarmed. His head swivels back and forth, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. “It’s fine,” he says. “But the killer has our number now.” He stands away from the generator and helps you up. “We should spl—AH!” More crackling thunder, and you both scream as electric currents rush through your feet, then course up through your bodies. You stagger and fall against the wall, hands clutching your head. And when you lift your furrowed gaze, you see a large silhouette standing in the doorway on the opposite side of the room. A man wielding a long, metal shaft barbed with spikes that jolt with electricity. The killer’s head tilts, his chaotic eyes forcibly pried open by an odd metal contraption. But a strangely giddy laugh leaves his grinning maw. This guy’s a first. Dwight’s frightened eyes meet yours and he urges, “Run!” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You both split and run in opposite directions. But the killer’s on your tail, steadily gaining faster and faster. You throw a glance over your shoulder and see him pounding his palm with that weapon, apparently eager to catch and harm you. You run without direction through the halls, winding around trays and hospital beds. And each obstacle slows you down, allowing the madman on your flank to gain closer and closer. His eery, manic laughter sends chills up your spine. He’s within swinging distance, you realize, his menacing stature looming over your form. You hear him pull back, then swing, his mace swishing through the air. But you’re saved by just a hair when you slam a pallet down on him. You hear the big man grunt behind you, but you don’t wait around for him to recover from the stun. You dart into a nearby room and crouch behind an old vending machine. Moments pass by, then the Doctor’s maniacal laughter comes up the hall. You hear him enter the room and slow his pace, his footfalls faint and steady. He’s looking for you. You slap a hand over your mouth and remain deathly silent. Every few seconds, more strange currents course through you, causing your body to jerk and shudder, but you keep a grip and wait. More moments pass by, the tension in the air growing thicker and thicker. Then you feel the man’s overwhelming presence leave the room. And soon, his footsteps fade out of earshot down the hall. You exhale in relief and lean back against the wall. “Close call.” You jump in fright, scrambling to your feet and twisting your head to behold your unwanted company. That… THING from before is back. It stands in front of you, its dazzling grin widening as you face it. The blood in your veins runs ice-cold. You know this is no dream. “Your first chance meeting with the Doctor,” the strange man-thing says. “His bedside manner is wanting, but he’s an expert in his craft.” You slowly back away from the being while working down the lump in your throat. “You’re back,” you utter. “Why did you come back?” “For you,” it replies. “A-Alright,” you scoff, “And what the hell do you want?” you shakily demand. The dark thing chuckles and approaches you with a lengthy stride. You take a step back. “I only want your cooperation,” it tells you. It’s gone, then it’s behind you. You feel its hands on your shoulders and its grinning maw inches from your ear. Frigid breath on your skin makes you tingle. “Time might be endless here in the Dark Realm, but yours isn’t…” You shake loose and put some distance between yourself and it. “Stay away from me,” you order. “I can’t,” it replies. “You’re trying to shut me out, but you need to let me in.” It spreads its arms wide and tilts its head. The permanent grin remains uninviting. “Embrace me.” No. You can’t let this thing get in your head. It’s hard enough holding onto your sanity here, and if you let the creatures of the fog get in, there’s no telling where you’ll end up. Or how you’ll end up. You turn away to leave, but you’re suddenly trapped in place. Those spidery legs enclose around you, drawing a startled gasp from your mouth. “You’re different,” the shadow says behind you. “Fresh,” it purrs. Your entire body trembles. You shut your eyes and clench your teeth. Sounds fill your head. Harsh, grating squeals and strangers’ screams. You experience gruesome sights and illusions. That’s all this is, you realize. This isn’t real. None of it is. You shake free of the shadowy being’s grasp and murmur, “No… No, this isn’t real.” “I can assure you I’m not a part of the Doctor’s twisted treatment,” the creature says behind you. You ignore it and walk across the room before sprinting away. As soon as you’re back out in the corridor, you walk at a steady pace, your eyes scanning for another generator. But those sounds and illusions don’t leave your head. Something scrapes the inside of your skull, like an itch you can’t scratch. You sway and falter, then grasp your head in your hands. “This isn’t real.” You try to control your breathing and push out the noises and pictures that assault your thoughts. Sweat beads on your forehead, your stomach flips, and your skin crawls. “Get out of my head,” you murmur. Then…. you hear whispers. Hundreds upon hundreds of hushed, jarring voices saying things you can’t pick out or understand. Shut up, you demand internally. But they persist, mounting in volume. “Shut up!” you scream. You only just get back to your feet when a large hand roughly grips your bicep. You let out a startled cry and turn your head up to face your assailant. The Doctor. He looms above you, his glowing white orbs piercing yours. You see madness in his eyes. “You should be on the operating table,” he asserts, stunning you. These bastards can talk? You choke out your objections, then gasp as he tightens his grip. Then he walks, dragging you alongside him. You fight and pound at his fist, but his grip doesn’t relent. “Let me go!” you scream at him. “Let go!” He ignores you. You’re dragged forcibly down a long corridor, kicking and struggling to get free. Fear turns your blood to ice and stipples your skin with goosebumps. You notice the killer’s passing hooks. That’s not their M.O. It’s abnormal. A growing pit rests in your stomach as you fear what The Doctor might have in store for you… Lights momentarily blind you as you’re dragged into a large, open room. A treatment theater. Your frenzied gaze darts between the numerous monitors suspended above the room. Each one plays a unique, disturbing sequence of visuals and audio. Your brow drips with sweat. The Doctor snatches you up the slams you down painfully onto the operating bed dead-center in the room. You kick at him, but he pulls a restraining belt across your chest, trapping your arms to your side. You scream in frustration. “Hey! Did-Did I miss something? Or aren’t you supposed to throw me on a hook?” The Doctor meets your eyes and laughs. “My newest patients receive special treatment.” You shudder under his unblinking gaze. He grasps your chin and roughly turns your head from side to side to get a close look at you. You huff in pain and try to fight him, “I don’t need a checkup,” you seethe. “Doctor’s orders,” he responds wryly. The look on his face indicates he has more in mind than a routine checkup. But what more exactly, you can’t guess. Or is it you don’t want to? The possibilities make you sick to your stomach. The Doctor relinquishes your chin, but then jabs his thumb in your mouth. You grimace—it tastes of blood and sweat. Your muffled protests go unheard as he thumbs over your teeth and gums, scrutinizing you closely. “A clean bill of health,” he japes. “I can change that.” You bite down on him hard enough to draw blood. But the action prompts him to release more electrical currents from his fingertips into your head. You scream in pain as he pulls his hand back. “You’re proving to be trouble,” he says with a chuckle. “Anesthetic should fix that.” He takes a syringe from a tray nearby, then taps it with his forefinger. His twisted grin makes you shudder. You repeatedly test the strength of your restraints, flailing and kicking out your legs, then bucking against the strap across your chest. Your futile struggle intensifies as he lowers the syringe, closer and closer to your wide eyes. You squeeze your eyes shut and lock your jaw in fearful anticipation. But the needle never pierces you. Instead, you hear an awful crack cut through the air, and your eyes snap open to behold a puzzling sight. A spiny, black claw sprouted from the ground and protruding from the Doctor’s chest. A twisted laugh escapes the Doctor’s mouth, but judging from the way his face boggles, he’s as surprised as you are. And in a split second, the ground splinters and cracks under him, and he’s yanked down, swallowed whole by the crackling abyss. The scar on the earth heals up after him. Moments of silence follow. You’re frozen stiff in place, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. The only thing filling the silence is the background noise from the monitors playing above you. You’re snapped out of your trance when you hear the roar of the exit gates powering up across the hospital.    ∗ ∗ ∗    “Can’t believe it was that easy,” Dwight utters as he parts through the fog and enters the clearing into camp. You tail behind him, Meg, and Ace. Ace—The gambler. Meg—Athlete, runner. Ace smirks. “Shouldn’t be complaining about it! How often do you get such an easy escape?” He strolls over to the bonfire with a skip in his step. “That’s pure luck,” he says. “Knew I still had it…” He and Dwight select their seats on the logs nearby. Meg leans back against a nearby tree and folds her arms over her chest. Her brows deeply knit. “I saw The Doctor once, and then it’s like he just vanished.” “We saw him,” Dwight pipes up. He gestures at you where you stand in front of the fog barrier. “He found us on a generator and we scattered. He went after her, but I guess she was able to run him around.” All eyes land on you. Even Min’s, who sits on the opposite side of the fire. “That’s lucky,” she comments. “You must not be so bad, for a noob.” Feng Min—The gamer girl… First time hearing her speak English. Huh. So she ignored me the first time I said hello. Your body still jitters after what you went through in the trial. After what you witnessed happen. And you haven’t said a word about it. You don’t know how to respond to them; your mind’s just in such disarray. You haven’t been here long, but you know that what you saw isn’t something that just happens. The killers rule those trials, not the other way around… But something took it. Something devoured it— “Are you alright?” Meg prompts. You’re torn from your thoughts and you meet her eyes. She looks concerned. They all do. You speak past a firm lump in your throat. “Y-Yeah,” you stammer. I’m fine.” They don’t look convinced. Dwight, especially. He was the one that found you strapped down to the table, in shock. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he guided you to the exit gates without poking or prodding for information. And now he’s covering for you, making sure you don’t have to tell. “I’m… I’m going to take a nap,” you say. Dwight opens his mouth to speak, but becomes silent as you move through the camp, headed in the direction of the clearing where your tent is pitched. No one else says a word as you pass by.    ∗ ∗ ∗    With your head downcast and your arms folded across your chest, you pace the are in front of your tent. You’re still trying to wrap your head around everything… You can still hear the moment those claws tore through the earth and gored the Doctor. His giddy fucking laugh as they ripped him apart and dragged him to hell. Or what you believe to be hell. You don’t know what’s down there, in that furious, burning void. But that’s the closest comparison you’re able to make, with what little you gathered. Is he gone? Gone for good? There’s no way of knowing unless you’re pitted against him again, in a trial yet to come. And if he is gone, then how? Why? You shake your head and comb your fingers back over your scalp. “That’s the big question,” you mutter. “Why?” You’re exhausted and disconcerted, but you know you won’t find the answers raking through your head for them, so you won’t stress over it. You turn around to enter your tent and get some sleep.   Then you’re in the void again. You stand ankle-deep in cold water, the dense white fog surrounding you. The sky is dark, no stars, no moon. All the same as before. “Do you still believe I’m a figment of your demented imagination?” Your gaze finds that entity again, which stands straight ahead, watching you, grinning. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you sigh. “You must think you’ve gone mad,” it chuckles. “But it’s far too soon for that. You still have plenty of sanity inside that mind of yours…” “Oh yeah? Then how the hell am I seeing you?” you bite. The shadow purrs. “Because I’m real.” You look away, but it follows your line of sight everywhere you look. You shut your eyes, open them, and it’s gone. And now it’s behind you. “Do I frighten you?” it questions. It’s so close, you can feel its icy breath on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end. “What the hell do you think?” you mutter. It chuckles in your ear. “I thought so… But I’m an ally. A… friend.” You shiver as one of its hands touches your shoulder. “Give me the benefit of the doubt.” “Just tell me what you want,” you seethe through jittery teeth. “What you are.” “Of course.” The shadow moves around you to stand face to face. It plucks your chin with a long, dark finger. “We are one and the same,” it says. You scoff. The shadow laughs. “Truly,” it says. “I wouldn’t lie to you.” You might not get an honest answer out of this thing. Next question. “And what do you want?” “I need you,” it says. “Your cooperation. We can help each other. You want out, don’t you? To free yourself from this twisted purgatory?” Your brow knit together. That’s exactly what you want. But you know getting it won’t be easy. “And you think you can get me out? All of us? What’s the catch? What do you get out of this?” “I want out, too.” Surprise laces your features. “I was like you, once… Free,” the shadow says. “But this place has twisted and corrupted me…” “What are you saying? That you… That you were human?” Your company chuckles. “Precisely.” You don’t believe it. You refuse to believe it. Because if it’s true, it carries some awful implications… Your eyes flit up and down the shadowy spectre. Is this what’s going to happen to you all here? Twisted by the fog and turned into — whatever THIS thing is? Just the thought sends a chill snowballing up your spine. “No,” you say. “I don’t believe you.” “It’s the unfortunate truth, (Y/N).” You cast your gaze to the water at your feet. You see your own shadowed, unclear face staring back up at you. “If you know a way out, then why haven’t you taken it?” You face the shadow again. It answers. “I am blind to the clues and paths to freedom. I have become one with the fog, a part of it. But you aren’t.” It hums—a deep, reverberating hum that fills your head. “You can navigate this twisted place. You’re drawn toward the light in the ever-changing dark corners of this realm. You’ve proven it already when you found the first Mark. The first clue. It was left behind by another like you.” It’s talking about that man you saw, isn’t it? The man you saw in the vision. “Bryce?” you say. “His-His name was Bryce, right? That’s who you’re talking about?” The shadow grins. “You’re a sharp one.” “What happened to him?” you question. “Over time, the fog twisted him. Violated, corrupted, changed him.” For a moment, you see the corners of that awful grin twinge. Only for a moment. But it makes you realize something. A revelation that has your blood running ice-cold and your eyes widening. “Are—Are you-?” The creature, this shadowy, faceless entity, falls silent, and its grin wilts. But again, only for a moment. “That man is gone,” it says. “He, and the others that came before him. None could find the answers before the fog claimed their souls. But you are different. I felt something powerful inside of you.” You scoff. “All of this is so—” “Mad?” the shadow interrupts. “This place is mad, (Y/N). That’s why we must leave before it consumes us. And I need your help to make that happen.” “And what is it you would contribute to this little partnership?” “I can offer you much-needed guidance. And protection, when things get… hazardous.” Another realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You lift your brows. “It was you… You stopped the doctor.” The shadowy specter purrs. You take that as confirmation. You don’t know how it did it, but it actually protected you. It lashed out against a killer and stopped it… Swallowed it in that void. Just recalling the image makes you shiver. This thing is powerful. It’s behind you again, frustratingly. Its hands are on your shoulders, and its gnarly mouth is close to your ear. “Let us find an escape, together,” it purrs. “Please?” You shudder under its touch. But there’s no denying that you want to get out. You want EVERYONE to get out. And if this thing is really offering to help you get there, then… you might need to take this chance. After all, what else do you have left to lose? If you’re stuck here forever, it’s only a matter of time until the fog corrodes and corrupts you. This could be IT. And if this thing really is the man you saw, then it— he still wants to get out. You swallow a thick lump in your throat. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll help you.” The shadow comes face to face with you again, visibly pleased. He extends a spiny appendage from his back. “Do you want to shake on it?” And he tilts his head. You’re sure that if he had eyes, he’d be batting his lashes at you. You slap the claw away. “If we’re really doing this, then I’m laying down some ground rules. First, you keep those things away from me.” You shiver, recalling the first time they violated your body. “And second,” you put out a hand. “I’m a normal person. And normal people shake hands.” The shadow chuckles in amusement. He takes your hand with his own cold, thin fingers. “Freedom is just around the corner.” Then he reads the apprehension etched over your face and laughs. “I’m an ally, (Y/N). Perhaps even a companion…” “I’m not looking for companionship from you.” The shadow’s grin widens. “That could change.” “It won’t.” “It might.” You huff. And when you blink, he’s gone. It’s all gone. You’re standing in front of your tent again, back in reality. But when you look down at your hand, you see dark smoke and embers whisking away from your skin and dissipating in the air. You can’t help but wonder if you just struck a deal with the devil.     You instinctively duck as you hear a bottle whiz just overhead. It shatters against a nearby tree and you’re caught in a cloud of noxious purple gas that surrounds you. It travels to your lungs and gives you a coughing fit, but you scramble away and keep running. You can hear The Clown shaking up more bottled tonics behind you and gaining steadily. A glance back over your shoulder sends a shiver up your spine. The bastard has a nasty look on his face, and a wide red smile plastered crudely around his toothy grin. You didn’t think it could get worse after the Doctor, but this guy has fingers dangling off his hip! And you dread wondering what he might have in store for you if he catches you… There’s a pallet dead ahead, but you don’t make it in time. A bottle you don’t expect hits you upside the head and shatters. The force and pain alone are enough to send you staggering. You hack up your lungs and crash into a tree. Your eyes water as the toxin incapacitates you. The Clown’s portly form strides to a stop before you, and a boisterous laugh makes his round gut bounce. “The new ones are never a challenge,” he croaks. He lets out a few nasty coughs, then brandishes his butterfly knife. “Those fingers’ll look good on my belt,” he leers, “I’m adding them to my collection.” He steps toward you, but you throw out a hand. “Wait!” He halts. “I-I have a joke,” you say, face etched with anxious fear. The Clown snorts, clearly amused by the offer. He lowers his knife and spins the blade around his finger. He’s humoring you, but not for long. You swallow a lump in your throat and begin, “Okay, so—” You trail off, cough a couple more times, then continue, “Why couldn’t the clown laugh?” He stares at you expectantly, waiting for the punchline. But it’s not you that delivers it. The earth suddenly cracks apart beneath the Clown, and a hooked extremity shoots up and pierces him from the back and through his gut. He barks in surprise as the claw lifts him right off the ground, dangling him over a fresh puddle of his own gore and viscera. Blood spatters your face and you flinch back against the tree. “Because he broke his funny bone.” Your shadowy ally spawns beside you, his grin unwavering as he beholds his gruesome execution. He turns his faceless gaze to you and laughs. “Very trite.” You pick yourself up away from the tree with a heavy sigh. “I was stalling.” Dragging an arm across your bloodied face, you add, “And that was the first thing that popped into my head.” Your ally chortles. “I have a better one,” he says. He faces the Clown again and leers. “Why couldn’t the Clown sit down for a week?” His grin grows across his face. You pick up the underlying malicious intent in his tone and shudder at the implications. You’re definitely not sticking around to see the punchline. When you quickly depart, you hear the most god-awful noises behind you. But you block them out and hurry across the trial. And to your relief, you hear the power surge to the exit gates in the distance.   When you arrive at the nearest gates, you meet Nea there, and she’s already got her hands on the switch. Her wide eyes flicker back over her shoulder, meeting yours. She’s surprised to see you. “I thought the clown got you.” She scoffs and mutters, “We’re both screwed though if this damn thing doesn’t open quick enough…” “Relax,” you say. “The Clown’s—” You trail off and shiver as you recall the disturbing sounds. “Preoccupied.” Nea gives you a strange look. “Just—… Don’t ask.”    ∗ ∗ ∗    You stroll leisurely through the fog toward the campsite. Nea booked it ahead of you, eager to return to camp. But you don’t walk alone; your shadowy friend makes his reappearance, taking form in a cloud of black smoke. “The jester popped like a grape when I finished with him,” he grins. “I don’t need the details.” You glance up at the gangly creature as he strides alongside you. “Where do you… take them when you do that?” “They go to a time-out corner,” he answers, apparently pleased with himself. “And the extra naughty ones get a spanking…” You honestly can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But one thing’s clear—he has a fucked up sense of humor. Your brows furrow and you mutter, “So they aren’t really gone.” You sigh. “I guess that means I’m going to inevitably see those killers again.” “Indeed,” your company chuckles. “And they’re going to be thrilled to see you again.” “Great,” you sigh. “So by protecting me, you’re just putting a bigger target on my head.” “My protection wouldn’t be warranted if you could protect yourself.” “You don’t just expect me to square up with the killers, right?” “Of course not. But your friends seem fully capable of getting themselves out of those sticky situations…” “They’ve all been here for who knows how long,” you say. “And I don’t exactly plan on sticking around long enough to become as familiar as they have here. We’re working together to accomplish just that.” You falter suddenly and stop in place, facing your shadowy friend. “And since we’re working together, I want a name. Or something I can call you, at least.” He tilts his head and purrs, “Call me whatever you like.” He’s allowing you to choose a name… And a few names immediately come to mind. A few very unflattering names… But while tempting, you’re not sure you want the word “Asshole” slipping off your tongue every time you beckon for your shady partner… So, you allow yourself a moment to ponder the opportunity. You’ve never named another person, after all, so the occasion calls for consideration. Then a single word comes to mind. A word that resonates with you. A word you’re familiar with, although you don’t quite know why… “Bastion,” you say, simply. It sounds right, you think. Your shadowy companion tilts his head. “Bastion?” “Yeah. Simple, and not too affectionate…” He’s quiet for a moment, then his grin widens somehow. “Bastion… Oh, you thought hard about that, I can tell.” “No, I didn’t.” “You did. You chose a name with meaning… There’s nothing more affectionate than that,” he teases. “Then how’s Bastard sound?” This draws a genuine laugh from his gaping maw. “I’ll take the former,” he chuckles, flashing you a grin. Shaking your head, you turn back around and keep walking. One of Bastion’s clawed extremities strays too close to your shoulder, so you swat it away. “I’ve also been meaning to ask you,” you say. “What’s with the creepy-ass smile?” Bastion purrs deeply. “It makes me seem more approachable.” You scoff. He laughs. “You have spare time now,” he says. “And perhaps that time would be best spent beginning our search. Best use this time while you can. It IS limited…” “I know,” you respond. “Believe me, I want out as much as you do.” Another claw ghosts the back of your neck, so you swat at it. “But I don’t exactly have a roadmap laid out in front of me. I’m as lost as you are.”   You finally arrive at the fog barrier dividing the campsite from the rest of the realm and you pass through. Bastion disappears, and you enter the camp to hear Nea amid a discussion with David and Jeff, who share a log, and Meg, who’s doing stretches off to the side. Nea’s bragging, actually. About you. “-and it was just the two of us, right? But the new girl kept that fat clown busy long enough for me to pop TWO whole gens’ and get the doors powered.” She scoffs. “I thought she’d be minced meat in two minutes, tops. But she’s not bad…” She spots you standing at the border and smiles. “Or was it just luck?” she teases. “Just luck,” you admit. Jeff scoffs. “Some luck,” he says, closing his sketchbook. “I wasn’t that lucky my first time in the ring.” David guffaws and slaps Jeff on the belly. “Cause you’re carryin’ all those extra kilos!” Jeff swats him away and David laughs. He looks at you and barks, “Oi! How’d you do it? I know that Clown bloke’s a bit on the heavy side, but the cunt’s fast! Give us some pointers, lamb.” You take a seat and hesitate, “I, er… I just ran.” Nea scoffs. “I might have to do some surveillance on you. The last trial we had together against the Nurse, you got out without so much a scratch. And that Nurse is no joke.” Meg pauses mid-stretch, her leg still extended out in front of her. “Now that you mention it… I got matched with her recently, too. The Doctor was on her, but I never saw him once. We blew through those generators.” She stands up straight and faces you. “Pretty lucky you could run him around for so long…” It sounds like they’re about to interrogate you… You sigh and throw your hands up. “You got me. I guess my big secret’s out.” Everyone watches you, waiting expectantly. You say, “A demonic creature with a flirtatious attitude and spidery legs protruding from his back acts as my personal guardian angel. He eats killers.” There’s a pause. A long pause. Meg’s looking at you like you’ve lost your marbles, and an incredulous look is etched over Nea’s face. Jeff looks speechless. You think this awkward silence might last forever, but then David laughs. “Right!” He’s bent over, hugging his stomach and laughing his ass off. “That’s cute, lamb!” Nea snorts. “Fine,” she says, “keep your secrets.” She leans forward and speculates, “I think you’re just packin’ heat under all of that. More than Meg.” Meg looks your way, and you notice her eyes glance down your body. Nea laughs. “Jealous, Red? You might not be the fastest chick around now. There’s a new girl in town looking to take your title.” Meg scoffs. “If she’s able to get us out of trials faster, then I’ll gladly pass the mantle.” Good. Your creepy, dark secret remains a creepy, dark secret… You only just take a seat by the fire when you spot Bastion lurking at the edge of the camp, watching you. Immediately, you tense up and furrow your brows, half-expecting one of the others to see him and scream. But they don’t… In fact, they’re none the wiser of his presence among them. That comes as a relief, although an unwelcome one. It’s alarming that you’re the only one able to see this thing… Bastion tilts his head and taps at his wrist. You sigh, then stand back up. All eyes are on you. “You going somewhere?” Meg questions. “You just got back, don’t you want to relax?” “Sleeping Beauty is probably just going to take another nap,” Nea snorts. “It’s all she ever does around here…” “I’m going on a walk, actually,” you reply. You head toward the fog barrier, saying, “I can’t hang around camp all the time, or I’ll lose my mind.” “You’ll lose your mind going out there in the fog,” Jeff says. “There could be any number of things lurking around.” “I’ll be fine,” you say, stopping to look back at them. David barks, “Well, I’m comin’ with ya’! If we run into any trouble, I’ll give the slimy blokes a couple ‘a shiners.” He kisses his fist and Nea laughs. “You’ve said that a thousand times! But the last time you threw hands in a trial, you got your ass handed to you!” “Oi, I put up a good fight though! And I’ll do the same out ‘ere!” Nea snorts as she stands from the log. “I’m coming too. Might find something cool out there… Hey!” she shouts at Meg. “Come with us, Red! You and Speedy here can race, show us who really owns the title of Fastest in the Fog.” Meg shrugs. “Why not? I could use a challenge.” She gives you a cheeky smile. “If you’re up for it.” “Uh,” you hesitate. “I don’t think—” You trail off when you spot Bastion lingering nearby. That same grin stretches over his face as he spectates the interaction. “The fog’s more fun with friends,” he says, tilting his head. Well, since you have his blessing… “Sure,” you say. “I guess I could use the company.”    ∗ ∗ ∗    You severely underestimated Meg’s speed and got CLOWNED in that race. You come to a staggering stop behind her, then lean down and brace your hands on your knees, panting for breath. “You… You are really fast,” you gasp. Your heart’s pounding in your chest—the trials never even take this much out of you… Meg lifts her shirt to wipe a sheen of sweat from her forehead. “Yeah,” she breathes. “I was born running track.” You believe her. Nea runs up behind you both, exclaiming, “Damn! Now that was just sad, Slug.” She slaps you on the back and laughs. “Guess it’s not speed you’ve got going for you…” Sounds like you’ve got a new nickname. And it’s not very flattering… Sigh. David catches up too, panting with exertion. “You girls are faster than I’ve been givin’ you credit for.” He’s completely winded, and his muscles are slick with sweat. Meg faces you. “So, where are we going?” “I don’t know,” you answer. “Just sorta… wandering. Might find something if we look long enough.” You drag your arm across your sweaty forehead, then turn around and keep following the beaten path through the fog. You’re tailed by the three, but you put some distance between them, inviting Bastion to retake his place beside you. “I’m out here now, so where do I go from here?” you ask, looking up at him. Bastion grins down at you. “You should feel drawn toward the other marks. A sort of pull, an urge to find them… What do you feel?” “Cold,” you answer, sighing. “And tired and frustrated.” You rub your hands together for warmth and mutter, “When you offered guidance, I assumed you meant it literally… But I’ve got the reins.” “You’re the only one capable of seeing these winding paths,” Bastion replies, placing a hand on your shoulder. “No one else but you can hold these reins.” You swipe his hand away. “Why does it feel like I’m holding the world on my shoulders?” “You are carrying a substantial weight,” Bastion answers. “But I can carry the burden with you,” he grins. “Can you carry me, too? My legs are killing me…” Bastion vanishes with a laugh. As soon as he’s gone, Nea comes charging up past you. “Hey, I think we’ve struck gold!” The wall of fog on the path ahead suddenly parts, revealing a small wooden hovel. It’s a two-story cabin with a bricked foundation, a rickety porch out front, and a rocking chair sitting under the patio cover. It’s reminiscent of the old cabin you happened upon before. David almost bowls you over as he approaches the hovel. “Aye, we could find some tools ‘ere! Finally start constructin’ some shacks around camp!” Meg follows him, saying, “Claud’ and (Y/N) said the last place was empty. What makes you think we’ll find anything here?” “There’s no harm in lookin’!” He and Nea race up the porch steps, and Meg follows leisurely after them. Bastion appears at your side. “You’re getting better,” he says encouragingly, staring down at you. “This one came easy.You don’t know how you did it, because you hardly felt a thing. But if it’s true you’re the reason these things are showing up in the fog, then there must be some truth to everything Bastion’s said… You go up the porch and enter the cabin. Nea’s strolling through the empty foyer to a doorway on the opposite side of the room, and Meg’s heading upstairs. A few wooden shelves are tacked to the walls on either side of you, each topped with empty glass jars and vials. There’s a fireplace straight ahead, and a single square window that allows moonlight to flood into the room. The floorboards underfoot creak and groan, pressing caution. But David’s none too cautious as he tramps across the floor. He throws open the spandrel door beneath the stairs and knits his brows in apparent disappointment. “This place is picked-clean.” “What’d I tell you?” you hear Meg call from upstairs. David huffs and slams the door shut. “Tired a’ sleepin’ in the dirt,” he grumbles. You approach another door on the other side of the loft and twist the knob. The door whines as it parts open, and you poke your head inside the room. It’s a study, you realize. An antiquated wooden desk is pressed against the far wall below a curtained window, and two empty bookshelves stand on either side of it. A vintage red floral rug is laid over the wooden floor. You step into the room and jump in fright when Bastion appears behind you. “Your predecessor had come to this place as well. You might still find some of his belongings unless the fog has already taken them…” He disappears, and you begin your search. You pull open one of the desk drawers and rifle through a mess of old papers. But every sheet you pluck into your hands is blank. The second drawer bores you no fruit, either. The wooden paneling is all burnt up, and anything that once occupied the space is just ash now. A sigh leaves your parted lips and you slam the drawer shut. “The fog strikes again,” you mutter. You turn around and pause. The floor groans. Normally, you wouldn’t think anything of it, but as you take a second step, you hear an awful crack, then your own startled shout as the floor gives way completely. The wooden boards splinter and break apart, swallowing the rug whole into a deep, dark abyss. You’re almost taken too, but you’re rescued as David’s arm winds around your waist and snatches you out of the room. You both crash to the floor in the foyer, and you land on top of him with a grunt. “Shit—” you curse. Your head snaps back over your shoulder to behold the sight inside the study. The entire floor is all but gone, and everything that once rested in the room, swallowed up by the abyss. Your brows draw together. “What the hell?” “Oi, what the hell is right!” David barks. “What’d you do t’ make the floor fall apart like tha’, aye?” You scoff. “Nothing.” After picking yourself up, David stands too, and says, “Lucky I grabbed ya’ when I did.” “Yeah,” you say, turning to peer into the abyss. An awful, rancid stench emanates from the darkness below, making your stomach flip. It smells like disease and death… Feeling nauseated, you step back and face David. “I could kiss you right now.” David laughs. “You’ll have t’ buy me a pint first, lamb!” You hear fast footfalls, then Nea and Meg both enter the foyer, each baffled. “What happened?” Nea asks, eyes wide. And when she spots the abyss behind you, her eyes widen further. “The hell?”Meg beholds the sight and scoffs. “This place is falling apart.” You give a nod. “Yeah, we should go…” They’re in agreement. Nea bounds across the room quickly, and Meg plants her feet carefully as she follows in tow. “I don’t wanna know what’s down that hole,” she utters. You show the same caution as you follow David. But one second you’re there, the next, you’re not. You blink, and it’s changed.   The room is lit up with orange light from the flames that burn in the fireplace. The window is curtained, and the door shut. You can’t move, you realize, but you are moving. Someone else is in control. You’re in somebody else’s shoes, seeing through their eyes. The body that isn’t yours moves across the foyer and enters the closed study. It’s furnished again, and the abyss is gone. Candles are lit atop the desk, basking the room in orange light. “It’s something,” a voice mutters, not your own. Bryce’s, you recognize. You draw the chair away from the desk and sit down. A satchel comes off over your head and is laid to rest on the floor. Your hands rifle through it and bring out a book. A very familiar red book, the same one you saw Bryce with before— You’re skimming through the pages quickly, a pen in hand. And try as you might, you can’t process any of the messy scribbles or excerpts written over the pages. Bryce finally stops skimming and lands on a blank page. You lift the pen to write, but a voice beckons you from somewhere outside in the fog. “Bryce?” a man calls. You stop and look back at the study door. “Damnit,” Bryce curses. You close the book and leave the study. You cross the main room and stop at a painting on the wall. After nudging it aside, a large hole is presented, and you stuff the satchel inside, book and all. You nudge the painting back into place, and you move toward the door.   When you blink again, you’re back. Back in the cabin, no fire burning in the fireplace, and the cold, rotting abyss still beckoning you from the study. But something else beckons you—your intuition. You hadn’t noticed it before, but there is a hole in the wall where the painting was in the vision. You approach it and stop, brows furrowed. And after some hesitation, you reach your hand inside. At first, you feel nothing. But then your knuckles brush over a cloth strap. You curl your fingers around it and pull it out. Excitement suddenly courses through you as you dig your hand around. But that excitement is short-lived. It’s sapped away as you realize, with despondence, that the satchel is empty. You even flip it over and give it a good shake, but only dust showers out. “An echo,” Bastion says behind you, startling you. You turn to face him. “What do you mean?” “It is an echo,” Bastion repeats. He clarifies, “A crude copy of what was once there, at a time before. The fog maintains the images of these things, but not to the full extent. It has faded anything that was once inside that bag, as it does to everything not born in this place.” You scoff. “Of course it has…” You drop the satchel to the floor and shake your head. “So this was just a waste of time?” Bastion vanishes as you hear David calling for you outside. “Oi, you coming or what, lamb?” Disappointment riddles your face as you step toward the door. But you halt when you hear a faint scratching sound. Like claws on wood— Your eyes find the hole again, then a startled gasp leaves your mouth as a spiny, black tendril suddenly shoots forth out of the darkness. It wraps around your throat and tightens before wrenching you forward hard. Your skull slams against the wall and you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. You see stars when you open them again. And you can only faintly make out a large dark shape as it breaks through the wall and bowls you over. You hit the floor with a shout, panic surging through you. But you aren’t given even a moment to react before another tendril wraps around your midsection, and you’re dragged screaming after the fleeing creature. Before you know it, you’re yanked helplessly through the cabin and out a back door. Then down the porch steps, across the clearing, and straight into the fog. The tendrils around your neck and body are tight, and the spines that barb them are digging into your flesh, tearing you apart. You can hardly breathe, and everything’s a blur as the creature races through the fog. Voices reach your ears and call after you, but they’re all faint. Your hands desperately pry at the tendrils, but they don’t give. Your struggle is futile, but also short-lived. The creature, whatever it is, shrieks suddenly as you hear a sickening crunch. The tendrils restraining you suddenly go slack, and the breath returns to your lungs. As you turn over, gasping for air, you witness four spiny claws sprouted from the earth, entrapping the dark creature and crushing it. They twist and turn, snapping limbs and bones, and tearing black flesh. Then the howling monster is yanked into the abyss. The earth closes up and you collapse on the ground, turning over to look at the sky. “Fuck—” Bastion appears nearby. His head is tilted, and the familiar grin is lacking, for once. “Oh, that’s no good,” he says. Blood oozes from the wounds torn into your neck and body. Red stains your clothes and spills out onto the ground. If Bastion hadn’t shown up when he did, you might’ve been ripped in half… You sputter out blood and sarcastically gripe, “You think?” You hear more shouting. Then your company comes through the fog, their faces twisted in worry and fear. When they lay eyes upon you, they’re horrified. “What the fuck happened?” Nea shouts, staggering to a stop. David’s already tearing his shirt off and ripping it into smithereens. Meg’s on her knees by your side, brows deeply furrowed on her face. You swallow blood. “Something- Something attacked me,” you say. “Came out of the fucking wall and dragged me out here.” David kneels on your other side and begins dressing the gushing wounds on your neck. “Then where the hell did it go?” Nea asks, swiveling around quickly and on edge. She bunches her hands into fists at her sides and barks, “Damnit! Fuck this place!” She looks at Meg and David. “Are you slowing her bleeding?” Meg shakes her head. “No. No, she’s bleeding too much—” “Then let’s get ‘er back to camp, then!” David barks. He tries to wind an arm beneath your body, but you wince away from him. “J-Just… let it happen,” you say, swallowing more blood. “I’ll-I’ll see you guys back at camp.” “We don’t know that you’re going to come back!” Meg shouts. “No one’s ever… died outside of a trial,” Nea says, her arms hugging herself. She looks unsure and afraid. They all do, you notice. You don’t have the confidence to reassure them. Dread creeps in, but then you see Bastion’s dark form looming over your own. He’s grinning again. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Death is not an escape…” And with his reassurance, as grim as it is, you let yourself relax and fade into darkness. Your friends’ voices become muted, then silent altogether…    ∗ ∗ ∗    When you peel open your eyes again, you’re staring up at a dark, starless sky. You’re groggy, and there’s still lingering pain coursing through your body, but you’re alive. You lie in cold water, and fog surrounds you. You’re in Bastion’s realm, you realize. As you sit up, you wince and moan in pain. “Fuck me…” “Is that an invitation?” Your eyes find your shadowy companion standing nearby, watching you, grinning and leering. You glower at him. “What the hell was that thing?” you demand as you get to your feet. “And where was it taking me?” “Going into the fog is no walk in the park,” Bastion replies. “There are dangerous things lurking there… And these things can sense you, as well as you can sense them. Some of them want to deter your quest for answers.” You scoff. “You knew that and didn’t warn me?” “Would it have made a difference?” Bastion questions, tilting his head. “There are risks venturing out into the Dark Realm. But they are risks you must take if you are to find the answers you seek.” You sigh and drop a hand to your side, feeling your body where it was lacerated mere moments ago. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I was sure hoping it would be…” “You might not have found the answers you sought today, but you are becoming more attuned to the fog. The way it shifts and functions,” Bastion says. “It’s not easy, but it will get easier. You only need to take small steps.” He grins at you. Your brows furrow. “My first journey into the fog, and I come out dead, and with nothing to show for it.” You mutter sarcastically, “Off to a great start…” Bastion’s behind you, his arm spread wide. “Do you want a hug?” he purrs. You slap one of his spiny appendages away. “Send me back.”   You take form at the campfire, startling those around it. Your eyes meet Meg’s, Nea’s, David’s, and Kate’s. Meg stops pacing, her worried gaze meeting yours. “Thank god—” She approaches you, brows knit as she says, “You came back.” Nea’s sitting on a log nearby. She lifts her glum gaze and scoffs. “Damn. We were starting to think you wouldn’t…” David’s still shirtless, lingering nearby. He looks at you and scolds, “Oi, no more taking day-trips out there, aye? There’re things out there ‘can’t wait to dig their grubby claws into us.” Kate sets aside her guitar. “I heard what happened,” she says, standing to approach you. When she stops in front of you, she throws her arms around your shoulders in a quick hug, then pulls back to look you up and down. “Now, this place is as close to hell as any. Whose idea was it to go out that far?” She turns to face the other three. “None of us know what’s out there, and you were just askin’ for trouble!” Your face flushes red. Sheepishly raising a hand, you say, “Uh, it was me, actually…” Kate faces you again. “It was?” Nea kicks a rock into the fire. “Sluggo wanted to take a little stroll,” she says. “We only tagged along to get away from camp. But trust us, we didn’t even go out that far! Whatever that place was, whatever that thing was that attacked her, it came to us.” Kate hums. “I’ll start puttin’ boots up rear ends if I hear somethin’ like this happens again.” She moves away from you to go retake her seat, and Meg passes you a worried look. “Well, we learned one thing today,” she says, face glum. “We can die out here, outside of the trials… And there are things that want to kill us.” She continues pacing, her arms folded over her chest. “I thought we’d be safe out here,” she murmurs. You worry you’ve damaged their morale. And there was never a lot there to begin with… “It was just a fluke,” you say. “This is the first time something like this has happened, right? So the chances it happens again are slim. There’s nothing to worry about.” David scoffs. He amusingly jabs, “Aye… You’re a load a’ bad luck, lamb. The trials might play in your favor, but not out ‘ere, it seems…” He leans back against a tree and folds a leg over the other. You find a seat by the fire and sigh. Kate’s strumming her guitar again, and you’re getting lost in your thoughts as you stare at the flickering flames. Today was a fluke, but you’re considering it a lucky one. Sure, some little gremlin that came out of the wall almost kidnapped you, and sure, you did die, but you also found something. An echo, as useless as it is, is still a clue. A sign you’re on the right track. Just take small steps, you think. Small steps and discretion. You might be under house arrest now, so discretion has become a must. David definitely won’t be letting you wander out there anymore, and Kate might actually put her boot up your ass if she finds out you have…   Small steps and discretion. And then you find your answers…     Your knees are raw as you’re dragged forcibly down a dark, spiraling stone staircase. Bricked walls surround you on both sides, the descent only partially illuminated by the torch scones on the stone barriers. But the flames aren’t enough to warm your chilled bones. Parched moans leave your throat, a woman’s voice, not your own. Two pale hands have each of your biceps in their grip, long, blackened nails digging into your flesh. You can hardly lift your head as it hangs limply on your shoulders, and your struggle is weak and futile. It’s happening again, you realize. You’re in somebody else’s body, in a different place, in a different time. But this woman isn’t Bryce— “Please,” your hoarse voice moans. “I’m not your enemy.” The woman’s plea, your plea, is scorned. It goes unheard, bouncing off the walls and coming back to you. Those vice-like grips on your arms tighten further, and you cry out in pain. Your dark skin is slick with sweat and blood, and goosebumps stipple your arms. The heart you share in the woman’s chest is thumping fast, beating against her ribcage in anxious fear. You descend into the darkness, lower and lower. An awful rot emanating from below stings your nostrils. You’re sharing her fear now. Sharing the same dread of what’s coming when you reach the depths below. The dread puts an awful pit in your stomach, and it makes your hair stand on end. You want to fight back, to do anything to get out of this situation, but you’re trapped, same as her. Your breathing is ragged and harsh, each whimper and cry scratchy in your dry throat. You try to get a look at your tormentors, but you’re too weak to turn your head. But you can feel the loathing that exudes from them. Wherever they’re taking you, you have a feeling you won’t be coming back. And that must be a tuition this woman shares. She musters what little strength remains in her body and struggles. She squirms and wrenches her arms, but it’s all for naught. Deeper down you descend into the darkness below. Your features are twisted into fear, your eyes wide and your mouth agape. “Please,” you try. “Please, I’m not the—”    ∗ ∗ ∗    Your eyes open to meet the blank, black visage of Bastion’s face. He’s looming over you, grinning as usual. “Sleep well?” He purrs, face inches from your own. That pearly white grin is giving you a headache. It’s too early for this. You reach out a hand and push on Bastion’s chest, shoving your shady partner away. He falls into the corner of your tent, and a deep laugh leaves his sharp maw. “Thought you could use a wake-up call,” he says, grinning. You sit up and take your head in your hands. You’re drenched in sweat, and your heart is still pounding in your chest. All that crippling fear is slowly deteriorating… “Can I just have five minutes to myself?” you sigh, facing Bastion. Bastion meets your tired eyes and chuckles. “Time’s a commodity here. And it’s not something you should waste away sleeping…” You grunt dismissively and lie back down. “Good point, but I’m tired.” You turn over onto your side and rest your eyes. “Five more minutes.” Your request is denied. You hear a sickening snap, then feel one of Bastion’s spiny claws wind under your body and hook around your waist. Despite your objections and moans, you’re dragged from your tent and dropped to the ground. Bastion stands over you. “No rest for the wicked,” he says, chuckling. “Come now. There are secrets to be uncovered in the Dark Realm.” You’re fully content to fall asleep on the ground. Bastion pokes and prods at you with a claw until you swat it away and sit up. “Fine.”   You splash your face with cold water and sigh. You’re sitting on your knees on the bank of the pond near the campsite. Bastion’s looming over your shoulder, his reflection staring back at you on the surface of the water. A yawn shudders your frame and you dip your hands into the water again. “Being the chosen one isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” you mutter, splashing more water over your face. The crisp air chills your wet skin. “You’re handling it well,” Bastion replies. You scoff. “It’s that, or lose my mind. And like you said—” You stand up and face Bastion. “It’s a little too early for that.” Bastion grins. “I’m here if you require emotional support.” “I’ll pass on that,” you scoff. “But you can answer some questions for me.” Bastion tilts his head. You say, “I want everything you know out in the open. You’ve hidden things from me before, and I ended up dead.” “I didn’t want to worry you,” Bastion says. “Okay, but if I had known there were things out there that wanted my head on a platter, I might’ve been a bit more careful. Not to mention I definitely wouldn’t have dragged the others out there with me.” Bastion’s quiet as a mouse. You huff. “You don’t need to keep things from me, Bastion. We’re a team, right?” Bastion’s grin falters, but only for a second. He folds his arms behind his back and gives you a wry look. “You know everything you need to know.” That seems to be all he’s willing to tell you. You sigh and shake your head. “You’re such a hardass.” “Do you always talk to yourself like this?” Another voice makes you jump in surprise and spin around on your heels. Bastion vanishes, and you lock eyes with Jake. He stands at the border of the fog, his arms folded across his chest and a brow lifted as he scrutinizes you. “Because if you do, I might have to keep my distance. No offense,” he says. You allow your heart to calm down and sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “Not often,” you say. “I was just… heading back to camp.” “You’re a bad liar.” Jake flicks his chin over your shoulder and prompts, “You were going back out there, weren’t you? Back out into the fog? What, you didn’t learn your lesson the first time?” “So you heard,” you sigh. “Everyone’s heard,” Jake replies. “There’s shit out there we don’t want to mess with. And shit you shouldn’t risk bringing back to camp. It’s bad enough in the trials—we don’t need to be hunted outside of them, too.” And here I was thinking you were worried about me, you think with a frown. “I won’t drag anything back to camp, alright? I just need to get away every once in a while.” “Get away from what? The campfire’s heaven compared to everything else out there.” “I don’t expect you to understand,” you say. Jake huffs. “I do,” he says. “But what I don’t understand is why you have a death wish.” “Why do you care? If I run into something out there, I’ll take one for the team and keep it away from camp. But what I do here is none of your business.” Silence follows for the next few minutes. Jake’s staring at you hard, like he’s scrutinizing a toddler who’s hiding their hands behind their back. It’s making you nervous… Then he finally speaks. “Fine,” he says simply. “Lead the way then.” You lift a brow. “What?” “I get that you want time away from camp. I feel the same way too. And if we’re going to mope off into the fog, might as well do it together. Better odds fending off anything that attacks us out there…” You sigh. “I’m not—” “Are you going to stop me?” Jake questions. He looks skeptical you can. You doubt it, too. Jake might be on the shy side, but you don’t know what he’s packing under all those layers. Or what he’s willing to do to get his way. Bastion appears beside you with a slanted smirk. “Want me to get rid of him?” he offers. You give him a dirty look, drawing a laugh out of your shady partner as he vanishes again. You face Jake. “Alright,” you say. “Let’s take a walk.”    ∗ ∗ ∗    Jake’s company is lacking for sure. The last ten minutes have been dead silent. You’d hardly even know he was there if you weren’t side-eyeing him every few moments. He’s not a talker, for sure. You got more out of Claudette than you think you’re going to get out of him. Another glance and Jake catches you eyeing him. You quickly avert your eyes. “So,” you begin. “Uh… Do you like—” “We don’t need to be buddy-buddy,” Jake interrupts. He looks at you and says, “I come out here to get away from all the awkward small talk and pretend.” “Why?” you ask. “You’ve all been here so long, I only figured you’d be—” “One big happy family?” Jake scoffs. “Well, we’re not. We’re just a bunch of sad bastards in the same sinking boat. One minute you’re having a chat with these people around the campfire, the next, they’re leaving your ass for dead in a trial.” Jake gives you a furrowed look. “We’re not friends. We’re survivors, each trying to get by however we can.” You frown. “Everyone has it tough here, Jake. Those trials are hard, and they can bring out something awful in you. But you shouldn’t hold that against them.” You throw a hand out in exasperation and say, “And I’m sure you’ve done the same thing. Don’t tell me you’re a saint. I won’t believe it…” Jake grunts. “I’m not,” he admits. “I do what I have to to get out. Sometimes that means being a team player. Sometimes it doesn’t.” He meets your eyes again. “It’s easier to cut ties when you don’t have any.” “Well, that’s one way to look at it,” you say. “But here’s another.” You stop walking and face him. “We’re all trapped here and stuck in the same boat. And no matter how many trials you escape alive, or how many times you die, at the end of the day, we all share that campfire. The one thing we have is each other. And maybe you should embrace that.” Your heartfelt speech strikes a chord, but only your own. Jake is looking at you like you just told him a joke and botched the punchline. “You get that off a fortune cookie?” The corner of his lips tug up in a smirk, and he shakes his head and keeps moving. “I’ve heard that shtick about a dozen times already. From Kate, Jane, Adam, Dwight—” Jake glances back at you. “And they all delivered it better than you did.” Bastion laughs behind you. You shoot your partner a dirty look and follow Jake. “Alright, I get it. You’re a lone wolf, and you hate inspirational speeches. But if you’re so antisocial, then why did you want my name?” “I like to familiarize myself with my surroundings,” Jake responds. “That includes people, too. Like to know what I’m working with.” You lift a brow. “Sounds like BS.” “It isn’t.” Jake looks at you. “It’s like reviewing a plot of land before setting the foundation for a cabin.” “Weird analogy for someone who’s never built a cabin before…” “Never said I haven’t,” Jake replies. “But you told David—” “I told David I wasn’t a carpenter. And I’m not. Well, not by trade, anyway… But I never said I couldn’t build a cabin.” “Wait, so you CAN build a cabin?” You laugh and say, “The poor man only wants a roof over his head, Jake!” “Then he’ll have to build it himself,” Jake replies. “If you want something, earn it.” You’re beginning to get a pretty good read on this guy… A distant, lone wolf with a people-problem and a dry sense of humor. It’s not much to go on, but it is something. Jake notices you studying him and he turns his neutral gaze your way. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” “You got a camera?” He cracks a smile and draws his scarf up over his mouth. “Ghostface does. I might be able to nab it for you.” “Ghostface?” “An asshole in a shitty Halloween costume. Count yourself lucky you haven’t run into him yet.” Great, you think. How many killers are there? Your trek into the wayward fog brings you to a destination. The fog around both of you disperses, and you stand in a moonlit clearing. No ramshackle cabins, no ponds, no landmarks… You come to a stop and turn slowly on your heels. Nothing. Bastion takes form behind you. “Look closely,” he grins. “You were drawn here for a reason.” Jake grabs your attention when he nudges your shoulder. “You want to head back?” “In a moment,” you reply. You move away from him and slowly take in your surroundings. Trees, you note. Some weeds here and there. And fog. A lot of fog. You scoff. Bastion might be pulling my leg now… But speak of the devil. You spot your shadowy friend standing beside a tree, watching you. And at his feet, a small metallic object glinting in the moonlight. When you lay eyes on it, Bastion chuckles and vanishes. You approach the tree and lean down to pluck the object into your hand. It’s an old Zippo lighter. Mostly a coppery color now because of dirt, age, and rust. You flick it open.   “Shit,” a voice curses. A man’s—not yours or Bryce’s. You’re surrounded by pitch black, save for the flame offered by the lighter in your hands. The ground beneath you is soft and loose. You can hardly tell in the dark, but you’re in a cave. A tunnel. And you’re descending slowly, as carefully as you can. The deeper you go, the more dread that courses through you. Eery sounds reach your ears and cause the hairs on your arms to stand up. Moans and distant screams bouncing off the tunnel walls send shivers running through you. Sweat pools on your brow and you raise an arm to wipe it away. Another scream makes you jump in your boots. You want to turn back, but this man, whoever he is, is resolute in pushing forward. You wonder what he thinks he’ll find down here. But it’s a mild curiosity, trumped by your overwhelming fear. Another sharp scream cuts through the tunnel and the man falters in place. He’s gripping the lighter hard in his fist, the other hand placed on the cave wall to guide himself down. He swallows a lump in his throat and moves forward. But a skittering sound pauses him again. It grows louder and louder, then a large, dark shape bounds of the blackness ahead of you and lunges forward. You scream.   “Hey!” Jake’s voice snaps you back to reality, and your boggling eyes meet his. His hands are on your shoulders, his face close to your own. You exhale a shaky breath. “Hey.” Jake scoffs. He drops his arms to his side and backs away. “First, I find you talking to yourself, and now you’re having manic fits. Do you have a few screws loose?” You sigh and take an arm across your face, clearing sweat from your skin. “I just-… It’s nothing. We all zone out sometimes, right?” Jake doesn’t look convinced. The lighter’s resting on the ground at your feet. You bend down, hesitate, then pick it up. No more visions pop into your head. Good. “We can go back now—” But when you lift your gaze, Jake’s gone. In his place, you see thin black tethers of smoke and crackling embers. Taken for a trial. Bastion appears beside you. “A shame,” he says. “I was enjoying his company…” You look up at him. Bastion grins. “You’ve found another mark. What did you see?” He asks. “Another… vision,” you answer. “I was somebody else again, in a dark cave, or-or tunnel. I don’t know…” You pocket the lighter and say, “The man wasn’t Bryce. I don’t know who it was.” “You share a connection with those that came before you,” Bastion says. “Bryce was only one of many.” “And these visions and dreams are normal?” “Indeed,” Bastion answers. “And they might prove useful in locating more marks.” “Hm,” you hum. “Then maybe I should find that cave.” But not today, as fate would have it. You take a step forward, then you’re whisked away and transported into a trial. A familiar icy shiver runs up your spine as you materialize in the middle of a junkyard. You turn on your heels to survey your surroundings with a stark frown on your face. “Gas Heaven,” you murmur, eyes catching the flickering sign out front of the gas station. “I guess cave crawling comes later.” Not that you mind the delay. You’re not exactly eager to meet whatever’s lurking inside that cave, wherever it is… You wind around a high stack of crushed cars and find a generator, then get to work. You crouch in front of it and bury your hands deep in the machine, rooting around for wires. Bastion appears nearby and watches you soundlessly with a grin. “You could help, you know,” you say, glancing at him. “Maybe come over here and get your hands a little dirty…” “That’s not the dirty work I specialize in,” Bastion chuckles. When he gauges the cross look on your face, he vanishes with a hearty laugh.   You toil away at the generator for around five minutes when you hear a bell chime close by. You pause and look around. Silence. Strange, but you think nothing of it and get back to work. But then the hairs on your neck suddenly stand on end. Fear courses through you and leaves your throat dry and your heart pumping fast. You know well enough what it means. The killer’s near. After wrenching your hands free from the mechanisms, you draw away from the generator to hide. But a twig snaps behind you, causing you to jump in fright and spin around. And just in time to dodge a heavy mace. It swipes by your head as you throw yourself hazardously against a wall of crushed cars. Your eyes widen when you behold the killer before you. Tall, garbed in bandages and a muddied cloak, and wielding a jagged, lethal instrument in one hand, and a bell in the other. Piercing silver orbs meet your own eyes and the killer swings again. You evade the second strike and let your legs carry you fast away. The killer’s hot on your tail. “Where the hell did he come from?!” you shout, throwing a glance back over your shoulder at your pursuer. “The other campers have taken to calling him the Wraith,” Bastion disembodied voice says in your ear. “Be mindful when pitted against this one. He’s very elusive…” You’re chased across the wreck yard to the gas station. You vault the window, but your foot catches on the sill and you crash to the floor inside hard. The lighter flies out of your pocket and clatters out beside you. You hear a pumping generator nearby. The Wraith is right behind you, stepping through the window as you scramble to recollect the lighter. You grab it when a large hand snatches your ankle. The killer yanks you to him, weapon raised high in the air, and then— And then he stops. The tall man freezes stiffly in place, his glowing orbs honed on the lighter still grasped in your fist. You’re frozen too, out of fear and confusion. Moments of reprieve pass, and the Wraith stares soundlessly at the rusted lighter in your hand. You swallow a lump in your throat and idly scrape the rust on the lighter. Any second now, you think, sweat beading on your face. But nothing’s happening. So you act on a baseless instinct and flick the lighter open, catching a flame. And that does it. The Wraith snaps out of his odd trance and rage surges through him. That much you gather from the angry growl that comes up his throat, and the way his grip on your ankle tightens tenfold. You drop the lighter and shield your face, but his attack doesn’t come. In a mere second, the floor cracks apart beneath him, and enormous claws sprout from the abyss. The Wraith is seized by them and enveloped in their grasp. Hellish noises leave the killer’s throat as he’s twisted and abducted into the earth. And then he’s gone. The scar seals itself, and Bastion takes his form beside you. “Another killer that’s going to be gunning for your head,” he chuckles. “You’re not making this easy on yourself…”You finally gather yourself and get back to your feet. “Yeah, I know,” you sigh. You flick the lighter shut and bury it in your pocket. “But it’s not like I have any other alt—”You cut off abruptly as you turn around and notice your company. A man stands in front of a locker on the other end of the shop, his eyes wide and scrutinizing you. You recognize him, of course. Neat blonde hair combed back on his head, handsome face with a strong chiseled jaw, and a pricey, albeit dirtied, dress suit. You’ve seen him around camp from time to time. Felix, you think his name is. Yeah, Felix. And Felix is staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost. Shit. That’s all that’s running through your head now. Shit. Without a word, you quickly vault the window and leave the vicinity. But he’s following. His voice calls after you, “Hey!” You ignore him and quicken your pace. Just fix the generators and get out, you urge yourself. Ignore him and get out. But he won’t be ignored. Felix catches up to you and takes your shoulder. “What the hell was that?” he presses. It’s hard to miss his thick German accent. You shrug his hand off, but he replaces it quickly and harshly turns you to face him. “Answer me.” “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” you bite. Felix narrows his eyes. “I think you know damn well what it was.” You scoff, and Felix’s look hardens. Again, you shake his hand off your shoulder. “I’m going to find a generator so I can get the hell out of here,” you say firmly, and with confidence. Although, that confidence is betrayed by the nervous sweat on your skin. “Feel free to join me.” Then you end the discussion and turn away. You notice he isn’t following you this time. But you can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of your head…   You move leisurely through the fog alongside Adam and Min. Min carries herself with arrogance and a smug smirk on her lips. “Easiest trial I’ve had in a while…” Adam has nothing to say, and neither do you. Felix eventually stalks past you, but not before passing you a scrutinizing look. You almost buckle under his steely gaze, then he moves on ahead. You discreetly slow your pace behind the other two, then stop completely. Soon, they move out of sight. A sigh escapes your parted lips. “Damn it…” “What your fellow campers know, and don’t know, will hardly make a difference,” Bastion says beside you. “They can’t deter you from making progress.” You look up at him. “Yeah, but I’m not sure I want everyone around camp thinking I’m crazy. Jake already thinks I’ve lost my marbles…” Your brows crease and you rub your temples. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck here with these people. But being the camp nutcase doesn’t sound too appealing.” “The man doesn’t even know what he saw,” Bastion grins. “Flip it around, make him believe he’s the one that’s lost his marbles.” “I doubt it’ll be that easy,” you say. “He KNOWS what he saw. He just doesn’t know how to explain it. I wouldn’t either if I were in his shoes.” You get moving again, reluctantly. “If he tells anyone else, I’m screwed…” As you cross through the fog barrier into camp, you stiffen up. The other two are already settling down, and you notice Felix standing nearby with a woman. Elodie, you think. You’ve never held a conversation with her, but you’ve seen her around. The two speak to each other in hushed whispers. And when they notice you, they pause, scrutinize you, then continue speaking. You swallow a lump in your throat. Min is kicked back on a log, and Adam’s found a seat beside Kate. Kate’s strumming her guitar and humming a wistful tune. There’s a cozy atmosphere overhead—always is when Kate’s on her guitar, but you can’t stick around. Not with the two whistleblowers over there… You silently pass through the camp, but Kate takes notice and gives you a kind smile. “I hear tell the trial was easy as pie!” she sings. “From what I’ve been hearin’ ‘round camp, you’re a good luck charm! I wouldn’t mind runnin’ a trial with you.” You grunt absentmindedly, your nervous eyes flickering back to Felix and Elodie. They’re observing you. When you tear your eyes away, you face Kate with a managed smile. “Careful, Kate. You might jinx me.” Kate lets out a delightful laugh and strums another chord. “I’ll be careful,” she says. “You wanna join us ‘round the fire?” “Some other time,” you say simply. Then you move on without another word. Those studying gazes are still on you as you leave camp.    ∗ ∗ ∗    You idly pace the area in front of your tent with a furrowed look resting on your face. The lighter’s in hand as you flick it open and close repeatedly. Bastion stands nearby, watching you and grinning. “I think you’re overreacting,” he says. “Maybe,” you say. “But if I’m not, then I’m—” “Fucked?” Bastion leers at you. You sigh. “Not the word I would’ve used, but yes. Fucked.” You thumb over the rust on the casing of the lighter. “So much for discretion…”     “Your first cold! Congrats, Sluggo!” Nea slaps you on the back as she takes a seat down on your left. “What’s your streak, huh?” Another sneeze shudders your frame and you lean forward with a stuffy sigh. “Haven’t been keeping count,” you mutter, sniffing. You feel miserable. If you knew catching a cold here could be this bad, you might’ve just tanked a trial to avoid it. Death, as excruciating as it is, is only temporary and without the awful aches and stuffy nose… Claudette’s minding a kettle of tea on the fire. Another sneeze draws her attention, and she pours a cup and comes your way. “I’ve added some herbs that might ease your sore throat.” She offers the cup. “But I can’t guarantee it will…” “I’ll take what I can get,” you say, accepting the tea. “Thanks, Claudette.” She hums and retakes her seat on the opposite side of the fire. You blow on your steaming tea when you hear another camper’s arrival. Then Nea greets, “Hey, El’.” You freeze. Your eyes dart over and meet Elodie’s. She enters camp murmuring her greetings, then takes notice of you. She pauses, hesitates, then comes your way. You set your tea aside as she sits on your right. You’re uneasy, which you’re sure she’s noticed. She speaks. “I don’t think we’ve gotten the chance to talk, yet.” You grunt in response, sniffing. “I, uh, have a cold,” you try. “Don’t recommend getting too close, unless you want to catch the sniffles too…” “More things to fear here than a cough,” Elodie says. “You’re still new, right?” You just know she’s going to start prying any second now. You swallow a lump in your throat. “Yeah, sorta.” Any second now. Elodie silently analyzes you. You sweat. “How are you handling it?” she asks. “About as well as everyone else,” you answer, shifting uneasily. Elodie hums. “So,” she says. “Felix tells me—” You hear the familiar sound of crackling embers as David spawns in the center of camp. He’s clearly pissed, clear in his furrowed brow and bunched fists. “Almost made it out,” he barks. “But that lil’ punk snatched my collar!” He tears his shirt off over his head and tosses it aside. “That’s why I go in shirtless!” Nea snorts. “I thought you just liked flaunting your stuff.” “That too,” David says, grinning. The two break out in laughter, and Elodie, you notice, looks a smidgen annoyed. She faces you again, a hard look on her face. “We need to talk, alone. We can go—”Her voice vanishes as she does, in a plume of dark smoke. Snatched into a trial. You sigh in relief and stand to leave. Claudette looks at you with concern. “Did you finish your tea?” “I gotta go lie down,” you respond, fleeing camp. No one else stops you as you enter the fog.   When you arrive at your campsite, you shake your head and sigh. “She was about to go all in.” You peel open your tent and step inside. “I’ve seen the way she and Felix have been eyeing me around camp… It’s only a matter of time until they pounce.” You think you might be talking to yourself, but Bastion appears in the clearing behind you, his arms folded behind his back. “Indeed,” he says. You sigh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already—” You freeze, your hands resting on your bedroll. It’s flat. Empty. Shit. “The book’s missing.” You throw your pillow aside, dig into your bedroll for the damn book, but it’s not turning up. Bastion stands silent nearby, idly spectating your growing panic as you root through your tent. “It’s not here—” “The book was an echo,” Bastion says behind you, ceasing your search. You turn to look at him. “It was?” “Evidently. It simply faded. Nobody’s been through your personal effects. Yet .” Your panic dissolves, and you sigh. “Oh.” Leaning back on your haunches, you mutter, “Well, that would explain why all the pages were blank…” You pause, crease your brows, then utter, “But it doesn’t explain why that page had been torn out—” On cue, Bastion lifts a hand and conjures up a slip of aged paper between his fingers in a plume of black smoke. The very same page that was, you realize, torn from the book. Your eyes widen. Bastion grins. “I kept it.” Reading the puzzled look on your face, he chuckles and says, “I decided to hold on to it for you. As a memento of the first step of your journey. And of our meeting.” “Why hasn’t it faded?” you ask, brow raised. “My realm preserves echoes,” Bastion answers. The paper vanishes, and he returns his arm behind his back. “If there are ever any others you’d like to keep, just hand them over. They’ll remain in mint condition.” “Could I keep other things there, too? Marks?” “Short of disembodied consciousness and echoes, my realm can’t maintain anything else.” You sigh. “Of course not…” Getting to your feet, you drop your hands to your hips and murmur, “I can’t keep my things here. That would just be begging someone to dig through it.” "Do you want me to keep tabs on your fellow campers?” Bastion offers, grinning. You don’t like the implications behind the offer, so you shake your head. “No. They’re only curious.” “Curiosity killed the cat,” Bastion chuckles. “Curiosity doesn’t warrant punishment.” You give Bastion a hard look. “Got it?” “If you insist.” You rub your chin. “I just need someplace to store my findings.” “Bryce made a habit of hiding his belongings, too. You might seek out a harbor in the fog.” “Is that an option?” you ask, facing your shadowy partner. Bastion grins. “Only one way to find out.”    ∗ ∗ ∗    Your venture into the fog has you feeling more miserable than before. You’d love to sulk back to camp and linger by the fire for the warmth of the flames and the company of the other campers, but that's out of the picture since you run the risk of having another close call with Felix or Elodie. Besides, you do have to tend to the more pressing matters… Although, you’ve found nothing in the past ten minutes you’ve been walking blind in the cold fog. Same as your many other previous ventures which were, undoubtedly, what afflicted you with this nasty cold in the first place… Bastion strides silently alongside you, but he must read the apprehension on your face because he speaks. "Not everything will come easy to you out here,” he says, turning his head to look down at you. “The search might very well take hours.” You sniff. “How encouraging.” “If we search long enough, it’s only a matter of time until we find something,” Bastion says. “This is some pep talk,” you scoff sarcastically. “This would go a lot quicker if you weren’t dragging your feet.” You sigh in exasperation. “I don’t feel well! Forgive me if I don’t have a bounce in my step…” Bastion chuckles. “Aw, the little fog wanderer isn’t feeling well? Why don’t we turn back so you can curl up in your sleeping bag and take a nice long nap?” He presses his hands together and makes a mock sleeping gesture with his hands beside his head. “Do you want daddy to tuck you in?” He has a shit-eating grin on his face. You ball a fist and jab him on the side, and it’s no surprise when he whips your ass with a claw in retaliation. You yelp and grab your rear. “Hey!” Bastion vanishes with a laugh as you rub your sore ass. “Bastard,” you mutter. You turn back around just as the fog parts suddenly in front of you. It disperses to reveal a cabin in the middle of a moonlit clearing. Not just any cabin; the same cabin as before. Seeing it again sends a chill jolting up your spine. You recall being dragged out the back door and yanked into the fog by that shadowy creature. But it’s different now, noticeably. Smoke plumes into the dark sky from the chimney, there are warm lights shining through the curtained windows, and stranger yet, an old woman sits in the rocking chair on the porch. Your curiosity urges you forward, slowly. And to your surprise, the woman speaks. “You’ve come back,” she says, her voice soft and buttery. You stop in front of the porch steps for a closer look. Short, coily grey hair frames a dark, wrinkly old face. Milky-white eyes are buried deep in their sockets and gaze blankly straight ahead. The old woman’s scraggly body is garbed in a worn brown cotton frock and a greying apron. Her frail hands slowly knit a yellow scarf on her lap, and she seems none the wiser to the horrors of the surrounding fog. Or perhaps she's just uncaring of them. You lift a brow. “Who are you?” The strange woman hums deeply. She doesn't answer your question, rather saying, “Thought you’d turn up, eventually. But you’re a woman now.” The odd comment has your face etched with confusion. “I don’t think—” You pause, sheepishly scratch your neck, then say, “You should come with me. It isn’t safe out here. There’s a campsite close by—” “No,” the woman interrupts. She stops rocking in her chair, slightly lifting her head to gaze in your general direction. But you’re sure she’s not seeing anything through those blind eyes. “I’m stayin’ right here,” she says firmly. “Staying right here at home.” “This is your home?” “Yes,” the woman replies, rocking again. “Snatched from the world a long time ago… I was snatched with it.” She casts her gaze to her feet, muttering, “Too weak to play in the trials. Too weak to do anythin' but sit here and fade away…” “This is—” You trail off, sigh, then say, “It’s much warmer at the campfire, ma’am. And there are other people there, too.” The woman’s silent. This is baffling. There are dozens of questions swimming around in your head, and many you’re sure you won’t be able to make sense of. You take a step back to get a better look at the rest of the cabin. It’s in better condition than it was the first time you stumbled upon it. It’s undoubtedly the same cabin, but you’re finding that hard to believe… “Have you come for your things?” The woman asks, tearing you from your thoughts. You face her again. “My things?” The woman grunts. “I don’t think they’re here no more. The fog took everythin’ you left behind.” “I’ve never been here before,” you say. “Well, at least I don’t think I have—” “Yes, you have.” The woman stops knitting. She turns her gaze your way and says, “You here to commandeer my house again?” “I’m not—” you hesitate. “I’d like to look inside if you’ll let me.” “I won’t stop you.” You hum and step onto the porch. The woman asks, “Can you gather some more kindling for my fire first?” “Uh… sure.” You step back and turn to go scrounge up some tinder. You can feel the woman’s blind gaze on your back as you move away.   You have an armful of sticks and tree branches you've collected around the clearing when Bastion makes his reappearance beside you. Taking another stick into your arms, you glance at him and ask, “Who is this woman? And where did she come from? She wasn’t here before.” Bastion hums. “This would appear to be the true instance of the cabin. The one you visited before was merely an echo. It would explain why it was deteriorating…” You pause and face him. “The whole cabin was an echo?” “It would surprise you the things the fog is capable of mimicking,” Bastion replies. “It was even enough to convince me.”  He folds his arms behind his back and says, “As for the woman, she’s been here for quite some time… I thought she would be long gone by now.” He chuckles and adds, “She has an incredible will. Although, I can’t help but wonder what she’s hanging on to…” You look surprised. “Wait, you know that woman?” “Bryce did,” Bastion says. “And some others before him, as well.” You pause a good moment, then prompt, “So Bryce’s stuff could still be here?” “Perhaps.” Eager to get inside the cabin, you take what you have up the porch steps and pile it into the firewood rack beside the door. “Thank you,” the woman says. You nod and enter her home. Immediately, you see and feel the difference inside. A fire burns in the fireplace, casting a warm orange glow over the furnished room. There’s a small, square wooden table pressed against the wall beneath the curtained window, the shelves are stacked with vials of jams and sauces, and a red rug is laid out on the hearth. And it’s hard to miss the relaxing aroma of vanilla emanating from the kitchen. This place is cozy. Turning slowly on your heels, you see on the wall beside the front door, a large oil painting of a moonlit lake surrounded by a dense green forest. The same painting from the vision— Instinctively, you approach the painting and nudge it aside. That hole is still there, too. After a moment of apprehension, you reach your arm inside and feel around. Empty. No satchel, but no evil dark creature either… Since that’s a bust, you cross the room toward the study. The door’s already parted open, so you give it a push. It creaks open and you peer inside. No cold, dark abyss in place of the floor, thankfully. And it looks just the same as it did in the echo. There are some unlit candles sitting on the bookshelves. Moonlight floods into the room through the window on the wall above the desk. You waste no time yanking open the desk drawers. But to your disappointment, both are completely empty. There isn't even a single speck of dust. You sigh. “Damn it…” “It seems the fog has taken Bryce’s possessions,” Bastion says behind you. “A pity.” You nudge the drawer shut with your foot and back away. “Just one dead end after another,” you mutter. You turn around, then pause. The desk chair sits in the corner of the room, but there’s a brown leather jacket laid over the back of it. You reach for it, your fingers brush over the sleeve, then you’re—   —In Bryce’s body again. A wall of fog parts in front of you and you come upon the cabin. You spot the old woman sitting on the porch, rocking in her chair. Bryce greets her. “Good mornin', Lydia.” The old woman, her name, presumably Lydia, slightly lifts her head toward him. Toward you. “Hasn’t been mornin’ in a long time,” she says, scoffing. You walk up the porch steps. “How would ye know?” Bryce says. “Yer blind, aren’t you?” “Haven’t felt the sun on my skin,” Lydia responds, chuckling. “Might be blind, but I’m not stupid.” Bryce grunts. “Ah…” You enter the cabin and cross the room to the study. Then you peel a brown leather jacket off and throw it over the back of the desk chair. You take a red book from the satchel on your hip and set it on the desk, then—   Then you’re back. You huff. Didn’t learn a thing from that one… Bastion still stands behind you. He says, “The old woman was kind enough to offer her home to Bryce. It served him as a refuge in the fog… He stored many of his belongings here, away from prying eyes. You might do the same if you’re confident you can return here with ease.” You turn to face him. “I’m not confident I can,” you say. “Bryce had taken to leaving something behind as an anchor,” Bastion says. “Something that would draw him back in…” He gestures soundlessly at the jacket on the chair. Humoring the idea, you pat yourself down, then take that lighter from your pocket. It’s all you’ve got on you. “That’ll have to do,” Bastion says. You set the lighter on the desk and leave the study.   As you step back outside onto the porch, you face the old woman and say, “Your name’s Lydia, right?” “You’re startin’ to remember,” she replies, rocking back and forth slowly. “I was, uh, wondering if I could—” “My home is yours, honey,” Lydia interrupts. You perk up. “Oh? Oh, thank—” You cut off with a sneeze, then sniff and rub your stuffy nose. "Thank you." Lydia hums. “You got a cold, honey? Go take a warm bath.” “You have a bathtub?” Lydia nods. “You’ll have to heat the water up yourself. Go make use of some a’ those soaps, too. You’re smellin’ ripe…” Your face warms up and you sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “And you have soap?” Bastion stands nearby, watching you with an amused grin. You’re sure he won’t let you hear the end of this, but you can’t help it. You rush back inside the cabin with the same enthusiasm as a child running into a candy shop.    ∗ ∗ ∗    You sink into the tub of warm, bubbly water with a blissful sigh. It took around thirty minutes running back and forth collecting buckets of water from a well out back, then heating it up on the old wood stove in the kitchen, but it was worth it. This is heaven. Or, it would be, if the devil didn’t have your number... Bastion takes form on the other side of the tub, making you almost jump right out of your skin. He’s sitting in the water, his long legs bent awkwardly and his arms hanging out the sides of the tub. He stares at you with a grin. “Don’t you have work to do?” You sigh. “This is the first time I’ve been able to relax since coming here.” “Lydia’s cozy cabin isn’t going anywhere,” Bastion chuckles. “Don’t nag me, okay? I can’t even remember the last time I had a hot bath…” You take a bar of wrapped soap from the shelf behind the tub, murmuring, “Or soap…” You feel something tickle your leg, then shoot a narrow look at Bastion. His claws are worming their way into the water. He laughs. “These things have a mind of their own…” You shake your head and mutter, “I won’t let you ruin this for me.” Opting to ignore him, you fold your arms under your head and close your eyes to relax. “I’m never leaving this tub.” Your moment of relaxation is short-lived. Suddenly, you hear crackling embers, then you’re taken away and transported elsewhere. The first thing you register is the intense cold as a breeze brushes past and chills your wet body. The second thing you register is all the corn. And the third is the alarming fact that you’re still naked. You squeal and cover your private bits, pivoting on your heels with wide eyes. You’re standing stark naked in a cornfield! Bastion makes his presence known with a boisterous laugh behind you. Spinning around to face him, you see him doubled over holding his sides while he laughs his ass off. “Oh, I hope that soak was worth it!” You’re blushing a furious red. You hiss at him, “What happened to my clothes?!” “You removed them!" Bastion laughs. He swipes a non-existent tear from a non-existent eye and chuckles, “Better get fast to work. Wouldn’t want a fellow camper or killer to catch you with your pants down.” He vanishes with another hearty string of laughter. You swivel around on your feet, eyes wide as you try to discern your surroundings. You’re on a farm. And to your relief, there’s a farmhouse ahead. You waste no time sprinting through the field toward the rundown structure. You run into the house and root around the empty rooms on the first floor before coming to a staggering stop in what might’ve been a kitchen at some point. There are some old brown curtains drawn over a set of windows. They’re disgusting. Stained in all manner of muddy colors, speckled with dirt and blood— But naked beggars can't be choosers. And given the circumstances, they're all you have.  You tear the curtains down and wrap yourself up. The result is a very musty and shoddy, short dress. This takes the cake, you think. This is the most humiliating thing you’ve been subjected to in the fog thus far. It’s only downhill from here… Click. You freeze. That sounded like a camera shutter. And turning around confirms it. The blood in your veins runs ice-cold as you come face-to-face with a dark-robed man standing by the doorway. He wears a novelty white ghost mask over his face, and a black hood shrouds the rest of his person from view. He has a camera raised up in his hands. “Last thing I ever thought I’d see in one of these trials,” the man chuckles. “But you see something new here every day.” He has a strangely smooth and smoky voice. As you stare boggled at the robed man, you realize this must be the guy Jake had mentioned. Ghostface. The man, Ghostface, takes a step closer to you. “New faces, too,” he says. You back away. “I’ve heard of you,” you scoff. “Yeah, Ghostface, right? The ‘asshole in a shitty Halloween costume’?” Ghostface chuckles. “Who’s your source?” “Sorry, can’t say.” “I get it. Gotta keep it confidential…” He moves in closer. You take a few more steps back. He stops and looks you slowly up and down, which is only indicated by the slight tilt of his mask. “What’s with the getup? You lose something?” You unconsciously back yourself into a corner. “I was having a nice soak before I was rudely interrupted.” The man in front of you laughs. “Oh?” He moves closer yet, blocking you in. “Explains why you’re all wet.” You tense up as he taps his knife to the face of his mask. He’s silent the following moments, making you uneasy. He’s scrutinizing you and sizing you up, you’re sure. Sweat droplets form on your forehead as the tense silence pans out. Then he speaks again. “Let’s get a picture,” he finally says, with a hint of feigned enthusiasm. “Commemorate our meeting.” “I’ll pass,” you say firmly. You try to move past him, but he throws you back against the wall hard. He leans in close, the face of his mask only inches from your own visage. Your breath catches in your throat and you tense up. “I’m not asking," he says. "See, I like to get pictures with all the new players… I’m growing a collection.” Panic builds up inside of you. “I’ll give you a fair warning,” you bite. “Messing with me isn’t a good idea.” You can’t see the shit-eating grin on this guy’s face, but you know it’s there behind the mask. “That’s cute," he says. He throws an arm over your shoulders and takes your chin in his hand, roughly angling it toward the camera he holds in his other hand. He raises the camera up in front of you both and rests his finger on the shutter button. “Say cheese.” The camera flashes. Then you hear a crackling snap and a sickening squelch. A warm, scarlet liquid spatters your face and Ghostface grunts beside you.  You wrench away from the man and spin around to witness a long black claw protruding from the floor and through his chest. His camera clatters to the floor at your feet. Ghostface is sputtering blood beneath his mask. The claw twists, then rips itself free as an abyss forms behind its victim. You allow yourself to breathe again. “What’d I tell you?” Ghostface doesn’t have a response. He sways unsteadily on his feet, his hands clutching the gaping hole in his torso. You bend down and take the camera from the floor. It's a nice camera. After further inspection, you thumb blood from the lens and ask, “Can I have this?” You meet the wailing face of Ghostface’s mask, then tilt your head. “Wait, I'm not asking." You tuck the camera into a fold on your curtain dress and head for the door. Behind you, you hear more claws emerge from the abyss, then abduct the masked killer into the earth.   You arrive at the exit gates minutes after you heard them power up across the farmyard. And you find the others already there, getting the doors open. Dwight, Adam, and Jeff. When the three lay eyes on you, they pause long and hard, eyes wide and mouths agape. Dwight’s the first to speak, sputtering, “Why-Why are you—?” “Long story,” you interrupt, sighing. And thankfully, none of them press further. Adam averts his eyes, clears his throat, then comments, “This trial went… smoothly, yes?” Jeff grunts in response. He’s hyper-focused on the gate switch, trying to avoid looking at you. You notice Dwight glancing your way every few seconds, but he swallows up anything he has to say. It’s like none of them have seen a half-naked woman wearing a curtain dress before…    ∗ ∗ ∗    As you pass through the fog barrier into camp, you brace. And all eyes are on you immediately. Nea, David, Min, and Felix. They’re watching you like you’re the opening act at a circus. Dwight, Jeff, and Adam soundlessly move into camp and select their seats around the fire. David’s staring at you with a mix of concern and bewilderment. “Oi, you alright, lamb? Why are ya’ wearin’ drapes?” He questions, a brow raised. “I’m fine,” you answer. “But my clothes didn’t make it into the trial with me…” David snorts. Min laughs. “Must be a bug," she says. "Hasn’t happened to any of us yet.” “Count yourselves lucky,” you utter, passing the campfire. As you move through camp, you notice Felix stand from his seat and come after you. You quicken your pace.   You’ve left the camp behind when Felix finally catches up to you and calls, “We need to talk.” You stop, sigh, then turn to face him. “We don’t.” “We do,” he asserts. He has a firm look on his face. “We don’t have anything to talk about!” You say. “And besides, I need to get to my tent so I can get a change of clothes on. I mean, I’m naked under this gross curtain, Felix. Completely, ass-out naked. Do you really want to do this right now?” You lift a brow. Felix’s face tints a faintly red hue. “No,” he hesitates. “But this is important—” “I’m just going to get dressed,” you say. “Then I’ll come out and we can talk, alright?” Felix pauses. He combs a hand back through his hair and nods. “Yes. You get… decent, and we talk.” You nod. Felix nods again. Then you turn and walk away. “I’ll be right back.”   You lied, of course. As soon as you cleared Felix’s line of sight, you booked it into the fog and didn’t look back. And you’ve been running blind for the last five minutes. You’re sure he eventually figured it out and isn’t happy with you, but you’re not about to subject yourself to an interrogation. You hear Bastion’s voice in your head as you run. “It’s no wonder you caught that awful cold,” he ribs. “Tends to happen when you run naked through the fog…” “Not now!” you hiss. Bastion laughs. To your utter relief, the fog in front of you parts and you enter the cabin’s clearing. Lydia still sits on the porch, knitting her scarf and rocking back and forth in her rocking chair. You come to a staggering stop and catch your breath before walking up the porch steps. Lydia says, “You left your clothes all over my bathroom floor.” “Sorry,” you apologize, opening the front door. “I brewed a kettle of tea on the stove while you were gone,” Lydia adds. “Go have some, take care of that nasty cold of yours.” You murmur more thanks and enter the cabin. Then you waste no time heading to the bathroom upstairs to recollect your clothes.   As you’re getting dressed, Bastion appears with a teasing grin on his face. “Do you want to run another hot bath?” You shoot him a narrow look. “I learned my lesson, alright? No more breaks around the campfire, or soaking in the tub... I’ll devote every second of my time here being a good little messiah.” You sigh and mutter, “I’m not sure I can even show my face back at camp after this. I’m the camp clown.” “You have a fog haven now,” Bastion says. “You don’t have to step foot back in camp if you so please.” You grunt and kick the pile of curtains into the corner. But your foot catches something hard, reminding you of the camera you nabbed off Ghostface. You rifle through the curtains and take the camera into your hands. Bastion tilts his head. “You stole that rotten man’s camera?” He sounds surprised. “So what if I did?” You say. “The guy's a killer! Not to mention he snuck a very unflattering picture of me…” You power the camera on and navigate to the gallery. And you’re horrified by what you find; rows upon rows of gory, macabre pictures and reel. Scrolling through it all has your stomach doing flips. Ghostface is fucked up. You scroll back to the top and double-take. Ghostface got more than a single picture of you. There are at least a dozen pictures of you running naked through the cornfield! Your face cherry-red, you start clearing the gallery and mutter, “The first killer I’m able to hold a conversation with, and he’s a fucking psychopath.” You land on the last picture taken and pause. It’s the perfect shot of Ghostface being impaled by a gnarled claw. This one you’ll keep. You shut the camera off and set it on the sink. Bastion chuckles. “He won’t be very happy with you.” “What can he do?” you say. “I have a personal bodyguard. The guy can’t lay a finger on me. Next time, I might even take his mask. Maybe his boots, too. He had some nice boots…” Bastion laughs. “Arrogant, aren’t we?” “Yes.” You reopen the bathroom door and say, “I’m going to have a cup of tea, then I’ll get right back to work.” “You’re abusing every ounce of Lydia’s hospitality,” Bastion chuckles. “She offered! I’m not abusing anything.” “Are you going to commandeer her bed next?” You jab Bastion in the chest. “Quiet, you.” Then you leave the bathroom.     You stand ankle-deep in a thick, dark, and putrid substance. Your head swivels on your neck, but everywhere you look, you only see pitch black. It's putting a strain on your eyes, so you squeeze them shut. Another vision, you think at first. But no — not a vision. A dream. You know this because you’re in control. You’re not an unwilling spectator in somebody else’s body, moving under their command and will, like a puppet bound by strings. You flex your hand and wiggle your toes to confirm this. Indeed, you’re in control. But to what extent? You reopen your eyes and gaze into the surrounding void with a growing sense of fear. The stale, cold air around you sends nervous jitters up your spine and causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Then, you hear a hushed voice in your ears, murmuring incoherent words to you. It's a lull, at first, but then the whispers mount in volume and pitch and very quickly become a harsh, grating noise you try to block out. It’s like nails on a chalkboard, and a serrated metal edge sawing into bone. You can’t discern the owner of the disembodied voice, but you realize it’s an amalgamation of many voices, all jumbled together and speaking in attempted unison. You're beginning to make them out clearly now.  “Fresh,” the voices murmur. “No time, hurry.” Something tickles the skin on your wrist and the sensation worms its way up to your arm. And with horror, you behold the sight of almost sentient darkness, swallowing up your form. Thin black tendrils spread over your body and consume you. You peel and claw at the growing black mass, but to no avail. In your panic, you stumble backward over your feet and crash down into the pool of viscous poison. And unsettlingly, it’s warm. Tendrils shoot across your chest and wrap tight around you, pulling you deeper in. You thrash and scream as you’re forcibly submerged. The black ooze sticks to you and fills your throat. It has a coppery, toxic taste, like blood and tar. Your panic grows and you struggle like a mouse caught in a glue trap. You feel a heavy presence lingering above you. Your eyes can’t make out anything in the blackness, but you feel a sharp prickling in your chest, then an icy chill crawling up your spine, like tiny, spidery legs caressing your skin. Deeper and deeper you’re pulled down into the poison pool until, finally, your head submerges. With the last of your waning strength, you extend a blackened arm upward, reaching blindly into the dark and hoping for someone to take your hand and pull you free.    ∗ ∗ ∗    You wake up in a cold sweat. Your vision is bleary, your throat dry, and your hands are bunched into fists at your sides, your knuckles white from the pressure. As your senses return, you’re greeted with the warm, calming aroma of vanilla that emanates from the candle burning on the bedside table. And when your eyes adjust to the darkness shrouding the room, you see Bastion’s flashing white grin, contrast against the shadows where he stands idle in the corner by the door. His grin grows when you shift your gaze his way. “I thought you’d be sleeping like a baby ever since commandeering old Lydia’s bed," he purrs. Although relieved having the familiar company, you’re not in the mood to listen to all his chaff.  “I didn’t commandeer her bed,” you clarify, voice hoarse. “She offered it.” “Keep telling yourself that,” Bastion chuckles. You shake your head and climb from the bed. Your legs almost give out under you, but you catch yourself on the frame. Swallowing thickly, you say, “You need to stop watching me sleep.”   You splash your face with cold water and lean forward over the sink, resting your elbows on the ceramic counter with a sigh. You’re still trying to shrug off the rest of your fatigue, and the haunting sensations your sleep brought you. Though you've woken up, you're still left with odd chills and dull pains in your chest. Whatever that was, it's lingering. Your weary eyes meet those in the mirror’s reflection. They stare back at you, completely in sync, unblinking and thoughtless. You stare, silent and expecting your reflection to end the charade at any moment. Grin at you, blink on its own, or even reach through the glass and take your throat in its hands, then squeeze tighter and tighter until it crushes your windpipe and— “Something on your mind?” Bastion prompts, appearing in the reflection. He stands behind you, his arms folded behind his back and his head slightly tilted at an angle, portraying a genuine curiosity. You break eye contact with your reflection and take a towel from the ring on the wall. “I think David would love this place," you say, patting your face dry, and masking your troubled thoughts. “Undoubtedly.” Bastion chuckles, none the wiser. “But I don’t recommend inviting any of your fellow campers over for a party. They would only become a… distraction.” Setting the towel aside, you mutter, “Yeah, I know. And there’s no time for distractions…” You turn to leave the bathroom. “Back to work.”   You stand on the hearth of the fireplace, swinging a fire poker in your hands, getting a feel for the weight. You’re just about to ready to trek out into the fog. You have a brown shoulder bag (which was thoughtfully gifted to you by Lydia) packed with disinfectants, rolls of gauze, and Ghostface’s camera. And for an extra protective (and fashionable) layer, you wear Bryce’s old leather jacket. It seemed a shame to leave it lying in the cold study, abandoned, so why not make use of it?  You give the poker a few more swings when Bastion appears beside you. The corners of his grin perk up in amusement. “What’s all this?” he says, looking you up and down. You prop your weapon against your shoulder. “Survival gear,” you reply, confidently. “I’m just preparing for the worst. If we end up finding that cave today, I want to be ready to face whatever’s lurking inside.” “ My protection isn’t enough?” “No,” you answer frankly. Bastion feigns hurt, allowing his grin to wilt and pressing his hands flat over his chest. “No offense,” you say. “But it doesn’t hurt to err on the side of caution…” You exit the cabin and step out the front door onto the porch to find Lydia rocking in her chair, per usual. “Good morning,” you greet, then pause. “Or night, or… you know.” “Good mornin’, honey,” Lydia replies, with a soft smile. Her gaze slightly shifts your way. “You goin’ out again?”  “Yep.” “With your imaginary friend, too? What’d you say his name was? Benny? Baldwin?” Beckoned, Bastion stoops low to step through the doorframe behind you. He chuckles heartily.  You say, “Bastion. And he’s not imaginary, unfortunately…” Lydia chuckles. “Whatever you say, honey. Tell ‘im I said hello.” Bastion’s grin widens, and you walk down the porch steps, then leave the old cabin behind. Soon, it’s shrouded from sight by a veil of dense white fog.    Bastion strides silently alongside you. And for about ten minutes, you’re both quiet. There’s an itch at the back of your skull and a nagging sense of unease. You feel what you can only describe as a faint pull, but you can’t exactly place the feeling or the destination you’re yearning for. But the feeling intensifies the longer you walk until finally, it becomes an unbearable, tingling sensation. You stop walking and look down. At your feet, resting in the dirt, you find a shimmering ring. You crouch down and take it into your palm. The ring has a silver band and a small diamond stud, kept in place by three prongs. As you admire it, you hear a man’s voice in your head, a faint echo, saying, “—Called the wedding off.” The voice is carried away, and the ring is, you notice, deteriorating into tethers of black smoke in your palm. You sigh and toss it back over your shoulder. “Another useless echo.” You stand up and swipe your hands clean on your knees. “Just one after another…” Bastion flips the ring in his hand, and it vanishes. He reassures you, “There are many echoes here. Some will undoubtedly be insignificant. But some will not.” You grunt absent-mindedly and keep walking. “The search continues.” Bastion follows alongside you, then he speaks. “What did you dream of?” “Nothing,” you answer. “Had to be something,” Bastion says. “You awoke in a cold sweat, your eyes wide and frenzied with fear.” He grins. “Tell.” “It was nothing,” you assert. Bastion doesn’t let up. He persists, poking and prodding at you with a claw until you swat it away and heave a sigh in surrender. “It was just a nightmare. Not a vision, like before…” You shiver as you recall your torment in the dream. “I was in a dark place. Someplace cold. And all around me, I heard this awful wailing. People screaming and crying. And I heard someone speaking. A bunch of disembodied voices whispering to me. They were so close, it sounded like they were in my head.” You drop your gaze to your moving feet and murmur, “I don’t know what any of it meant.”It’s at this point, you notice Bastion’s stopped walking beside you. You pause and look back at him. He just stands there, and for once, his stupid grin is absent. You crease your brows. “But something tells me you do.” Bastion folds his arms behind his back and audibly hesitates. “Ah… I don’t.” “Why do I get the feeling you’re lying?” Bastion twitches, then reverts to his usual demeanor and grins. “You must still harbor distrust toward me.” You scoff. “Yeah, and this is why.” Turning back around to keep moving, you bitterly mutter, “You don’t always have to be so—” You trail off and come to a faltering stop. Faint moans reach your ears from someplace in the surrounding fog, and you hear harsh, ragged breathing. These are eerily familiar sounds. At first, you can’t place them. But you don’t have to. On the beaten path ahead of you, you spot the thin, ethereal form of the Nurse come floating into view. Your eyes widen, but before you’re even able to react, a claw hooks around your waist and snatches you behind a tree. You get whiplash. Bastion lifts a finger to his grin. “Shh.” Swallowing a lump in your throat, you slowly turn and peer out behind the tree. The Nurse floats slowly across the clearing ahead, her hoarse moans sending chills up your spine. She didn’t see you, thankfully. And she doesn’t appear to be any wiser about your presence. She just hovers away, aimlessly and without direction, like a wandering ghost. Moments pass by, and she vanishes behind the veil of fog, her sorrowful moans fading out of earshot. As soon as she’s gone, you scoff and step away from the tree. “I never thought I’d see a killer way out here.” “The killers aren’t restricted to their respective realms,” Bastion says. “Some of them like to wander when they’re not taking part in the Entity’s games… The only realm truly safe from them is the campsite.” You shiver. “So I might need to be a bit more careful out here…” Waving around your fire poker, you wit, “Thought I'd have to use this.” Then the ground rumbles. The tremors are faint at first, but then they amp up and you almost lose your footing. Bastion rests a hand on your shoulder to steady you, and for a moment, the tremors stop. You’re nervous in anticipation. “Earthquake?” you humor, glancing up at Bastion. “Unlikely,” he replies. His claws twitch erratically. “I think it might be time to call it a day,” you say, heading back the way you came.  Then suddenly, the surrounding ground erupts as monstrous mutts claw their way out of the dirt. You stagger backward with wide, fearful eyes, beholding the beasts. They bear resemblance and size to large canines, but their bodies are without fur, only covered in taut, black skin. Their legs are thin and barbed with spines, and the maws on their gaunt heads froth and drip with saliva. Piercing silver orbs glint with rabid intent, and deep, hungry growls reverberate from their throats. You count eight of the beasts. And they stalk nearer and nearer, closing in on you. Then they launch their attack. One mutt snarls and lunges for you, but it’s snatched in Bastion’s claws mid-launch. Bastion brings the beast close and splits his jaws apart before clamping his grinning maw down on its neck. You hear the squelch of flesh and bone, then a sickening crunch as he tears its head right off. You don’t stick around to see the rest of the grisly show, because the other mutts howl and attack. You spin around and take off into the fog, fear pumping adrenaline through your body and allowing your legs to carry you quickly away. Your pursuers are gaining fast. You hear their wet, snapping jaws and guttural snarls. One gets close and lunges for you. You duck and let it fly overhead. It crashes to the ground, but you don’t wait for it to recover. You make a sharp turn and cut away. You’re running blindly through the fog, hoping and praying you’re not running up on something far worse. In the distance behind you, you hear howls and wailing, accompanied by messy, gory sounds. Bastion’s thinning the herd, but they just keep coming. You look back over your shoulder for just a second, but when you snap back around, you run face-first into a tree. “AH—!” You stagger backward and crash to the ground, moaning in pain. Hot blood gushes from your nose and flows like a river down your face. You get a taste of it as you gaze up at the moonlit sky in a daze. You’re seeing stars — literally and figuratively. Bright, glowing orbs in the dark sky, made blurry by your hazy vision. You aren’t given a chance to recover as a beast comes hurtling through the fog behind you. It lunges straight for your throat, and you instinctively throw an arm up in defense. Long, razor-sharp teeth latch onto your forearm and pierce flesh and bone. You scream as the mutt thrashes you, snarling and biting down harder yet. White froth mixes with your blood and spills to the ground. You flail out helplessly, your other hand scrambling the dirt for something to use as a weapon. Your fingers brush over rocks, sticks, dead leaves, then you feel a cold, metallic rod. The fire poker. You close your fist around it and thrust it forward. The sharp tip pierces one of the beast’s furious eyes and gores it out with a wet pop. The beast relents its vice-grip on your arm and rears backward with a howl. Black, viscous liquid oozes from the socket in its head. You finally pick yourself up, gripping the poker in both hands. “Come on!” you shout, eyes wide in frenzy, and forehead beading with sweat. There's something pumping through you, something more than adrenaline. An urge to fight, to kill. The beast lunges again, jaws snapping, and you swing, hitting it upside the head and throwing it sprawling to the ground. No sooner does it scramble to its feet, than suddenly, claws sprout from the earth on either side of it and seize its flailing body in their grasp. The claws twist and tear flesh and bone, then finally abduct the howling mutt into the abyss. All that remains is a pool of blood and gory tissue. You cradle your arm the following moments and curse profanity under your panting breath. “Shit…” Searing pain surges through your arm. That thing completely shredded the sleeve of the jacket. So much for that protective layer… Bastion appears in front of you, without his usual grin. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he actually looks concerned. Hard to say though, what with his lack of facial features. But the odd tilt of his head and slumped shoulders is some indication. “That looks bad,” he says. You scoff. “It feels as bad as it looks.” Shaking your head, you mutter, “All that for a useless ring.” “Even finding the most insignificant echo is progress,” Bastion says. “Easy for you to say," you bite. "You’re not the one getting mauled by fucked up fog dogs.” You dig into your shoulder bag and rifle out a roll of gauze to take care of your wound. “I didn’t sense those things coming. Aren’t I supposed to have some special sixth sense?” “Give it time.” You huff. “I think I’d rather go through a trial than this.”   And next thing you know, you’re in a trial. Great.  A curtain of fog lifts around you, and you’re standing in the middle of a swamp. You recognize the scenery — this is the Hag’s realm. She’s not the most imposing killer, but her traps and uncanny ability to teleport are utterly terrifying. Facing the Hag means treading lightly and dreading every step forward. The runes she scratches into the dirt can be near impossible to discern. And the killer herself has a craving for human flesh. The first time you faced off against her, she had a little snack before finally throwing you on a hook to hand the leftovers to the Entity. It was scrutinizing, and not something you want to experience again.  But you’re not worried this time around. You have Bastion, after all. The Hag’s going to get her just desserts if she tries to make another meal out of you… You stuff your gauze back into the side bag and get moving. You can tend your injuries later. Finding and repairing generators comes first. You navigate through bunches of cattail and high grass, on your guard and keeping an eye out for traps underfoot. The Hag might not pose a problem for you anymore, but her traps can still give you a heart attack. After just about four minutes of wandering, you happen upon the old trawler in the center of the swampland. There’s a generator on the second deck, you think. You’re not all too familiar with this realm yet, but there’s no harm in taking a look.  You head up the stairs, walk through the cockpit to the bow, and find—   Bastion (❤) Jake (❤) Felix (❤) Claudette (❤) Yui (❤) Kate (❤)       —You find a dormant generator with nobody on it. Well, nobody, in the sense that there aren’t any fellow survivors nearby. But Bastion stands beside it, grinning at you. A surprise, and an unwelcome one. You brace for the pounding headache his company’s no doubt going to give you. “Come now,” he says. “The sooner we escape this realm, the sooner we can get back to work.” You sigh as you approach the generator. “I’m not exactly looking forward to going back out there. I was thinking I’d head back to Lydia’s cabin after this and call it a day…” “Won’t get anything done at that rate,” Bastion chuckles. He taps the generator with a claw, beckoning you. You take a knee beside the machine and reach inside the mechanical guts to root out some wires, but you wince, and your face screws up as torrents of pain shoot up your arm. “That thing had a nasty bite…” You shoulder the pain and get to work. Only moments pass by before one of Bastion’s claws strays toward your arm and plucks the sleeve of your jacket. He worms it further up, then he tips his head. “Might benefit you to tend to that wound first,” he says. “I can do it later,” you reply. Bastion hums. Another claw rifles through your side bag and steals a roll of gauze. You yield and stand away from the generator with a sigh. Putting a hand out for the gauze, you say, “Fine.” But Bastion takes your wrist in one hand, and his fingers on the other inch the sleeve further up your arm, revealing the grisly sight beneath. It’s worse than you thought, now that you’re getting a closer look at it. Deep puncture wounds mark your arm, and your flesh is shredded and inflamed. You grimace at the sight. It looks like you fought a battle with a blender and lost. No wonder it hurts like hell. You only expect Bastion to wrap it up and call it a day, but what you don’t expect is for him to split his maw apart and reveal a long, black, slimy tongue. It worms out of his mouth, and without word or warning, he raises your arm and sweeps his wet tongue over your wound. Alarm twists into your features. “GAH!” You wrench free of his grip and fling a string of thick saliva off your arm. “What the hell?!” Bastion chuckles as his tongue crawls back up into his mouth. He closes his maw and grins at you innocently. You give him the evil eye. “You can’t just—!” You trail off and peer at your arm, brows creased. Black smoke tethers off your wound in wispy strands. And to your surprise, it doesn’t hurt anymore. You meet Bastion’s faceless visage again, and he almost appears smug, his head tipped and his shoulders bouncing in amusement. “Did you think I just wanted a taste of you?” A blush creeps up your neck. “What else was I supposed to think?” Bastion chuckles. He lifts a hand and makes a come here gesture with his finger. You’re hesitant to comply, but you offer him your arm again. He gets to work dutifully dressing your wound with the gauze. He still has a smugness about him. You scoff. “Do you get off on freaking me out?” “Do you want an honest answer?” “No.” “Then no,” Bastion says, his grin stretching far and wide. You allow your eyes to roam elsewhere, just to avoid looking at his stupid grin for another second. They flicker to the generator, then across the swamp grounds, until you finally rest your sights on your feet. It’s quiet for about a minute, then Bastion breaks the silence. “How often do you have those rotten dreams?” he questions. The query catches you off guard. You lift your gaze to face him again, then grunt, unsure if this is a topic you want to share with your shady partner. But he seems to be asking in genuine curiosity, not a mock concern. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, shake your head, then sigh. “Uh… Almost all the time.” Bastion tilts his head. “That often?” “Yeah, that often…” You scoff. “I thought you already knew this. You’ve made a habit of watching me sleep…” “I’m not always watching…” Bastion sets your bandages, but still grips your wrist. His fingers idly trace the veins in your arm. “And do they… hurt?” “Sometimes.” Bastion’s touch sends a chill up your arm that cascades down your spine. You resist shivering. “Do you know anything about them?” you question. Bastion grunts. “No.” He finally relinquishes his grip and gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder, then a nudge toward the generator. “Back to work, Wanderer.” You take a knee beside the generator with a huff. Bastion still lingers behind you, idly spectating your task. If not for the creaky, snapping sounds of his claws twitching every few seconds, you wouldn’t know he was there. Something you’ve noticed during your time spent together is he has no presence. He doesn’t breathe, hardly moves… Unnerved by the silence, you strike up a conversation. “You can manipulate your appearance, right? Change the way you look?” Your eyes glance back over your shoulder at Bastion. “To a degree,” he answers. “Then why couldn’t you become something more appealing? Maybe a cute puppy, or a kitten—” “Like the Cheshire Cat?” Bastion chuckles. “I like this form. It’s… familiar. And much easier to replicate.” You pause and look back at him. “And is there any reason you’re sporting a birthday suit? Or is that just…?” “I don’t have anything to hide,” Bastion grins. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re definitely missing a few parts, here and there…” You glance him down. “Indeed,” Bastion says. He extends his claws behind him, and they twitch. “But these compensate well enough,” he purrs. The very horrifying implications and images that pop into your head make you shudder. “Oh… eugh—“ Bastion barks with laughter at the face you make. He cheekily folds his arms behind his back. “Don’t look so appalled, Wanderer. They can be gentle…” “Your deadly murder-claws can be gentle?” You scoff. “Gentle with who?” The way his grin perks up is answer enough. Ignoring the warm sensation that creeps to your face, you snap your gaze to the generator and get back to work. As you’re messing with a bundle of wires, something cracks behind you, then you feel a tickle on your neck. One of Bastion’s claws straying too close… You swat it away with your free hand and keep working. A few moments later, another claw pokes your shoulder. You promptly slap it and it retracts. And the next one, you see coming. You have both arms buried in the generator when it dips under your elbow and tickles your chin. Brow creased, you spin around and snap, “Bastion!” And the generator explodes. You recoil as you’re showered with sparks and oil. The poor thing’s sputtering now. You burn a glare on Bastion. His claws have been retracted, and his grin is completely absent, leaving his face blank and unreadable. But judging from the way his shoulders and chest tremble, he’s stifling a laugh at your expense. You scoff at him as you move away from the generator. You re-enter the cockpit and tuck yourself into a locker nearby. Sure, Bastion could handle the killer for you if they come snooping around, but if you can make it out of a trial without ticking off another big bad for once, you’ll take it. You just don’t want every killer in the realm gunning for you, is all… Only moments pass by before you’re suddenly pressed flat against one side of the locker with a startled squeak. Bastion’s retaken his form directly in front of you. His tall, lean body is pressed flush against your own and hunched over you to accommodate his size in the tight space. Most of his claws are retracted, but he’s got one hooked around your back that’s tucking you against him. You hiss at him. “Hey!” “Thought I’d join you,” Bastion chuckles. You huff. “It’s a bit too tight in here for the both of us, Bas’.” “Could be tighter,” he purrs. “Do we need to have a talk about boundaries?” Bastion leans in close. “We might.” An acrid, deathly smell comes off his breath and stings your nostrils. You press a hand to his face and push him away. “Not so close! You were just chowing down on rotten mutt.” Bastion laughs heartily and props his chin on top of your head. He drapes one of his arms lazily over your shoulder. It’s quiet for about a minute. Quiet, and very still, you notice. There’s hardly any room to breathe, and you come to a startling revelation—Bastion doesn’t have a heartbeat. You subconsciously lift a hand and touch it to his chest. Cold to the touch, and empty to the core. “Looking for something?” Bastion questions, breaking the silence. Your brows draw together. “What’s keeping you… alive?” Bastion chuckles at the question. “I’ve wondered that myself… And I’m yet to find an answer.” “Hm.” Your hand lingers a moment longer before you pull it back and notice small, shadowy tethers vanishing off your fingers. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the sounding horn of a generator powering up. But your attention reverts to Bastion as he suddenly lifts a hand. He presses it tenderly against your chest, hand flat directly over your heart. You immediately tense up, fully expecting a repeat of the fateful day you met. When his stale touch had your blood running cold and put an unbearable pressure in your chest that suffocated you— Bastion must sense your unease because he draws his hand away. A cold sensation lingers. “Do I still frighten you?” he asks, voice hushed. “Do you want an honest answer?” A chuckle shudders through Bastion’s frame. He releases a hissing sigh and nods his head. “Yes.” “Well,” you begin, “you’re a creepy, seven-foot-tall demonic entity with spidery legs protruding from your back, and a penchant for violence and innuendo. So my answer would have to be yes. You are frightening Bastion.” “And how might I put you at ease?” Bastion tips his head and grins down at you. “You can start by working on your social graces. For starters, it’s considered impolite to put your nasty sex claws all over somebody.” Bastion laughs. Then you hear a sickening snap behind you as he retracts his claw from around you and into his back. “Already making great strides,” you say, amused. “What else?” “The creepy grin needs to go.” “Oh?” “It’s not doing you any favors.” “It adds to my charm.” You snort. “You, charming?” “I must be, to some degree,” Bastion replies, chuckling. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re blushing.” You hadn’t even noticed how warm your face has gotten. “I’m not- This is—” You trail off and avert your gaze, scoffing. “You’re blowing your own horn.” Bastion purrs and an odd chill races up your spine. “You can always blow it for me.” The suggestive comment has you red-faced. You sputter out unintelligible objections and a noise most closely resembling a scoff before calling it quits. You fold your arms over your chest. “Not charming.” “You’re cherry-red.” “No, no, I’m not.” “Oh?” “Nope.” “Then maybe I need a closer look,” Bastion grins, cheekily tipping his head towards you. And much to your own surprise, you offer little to no resistance as an icy finger plucks your chin and turns your gaze upward. Your face is mere inches from your incorrigible company’s. Your breath catches in your throat. He moves in closer and closer, and— And you’re saved by the bell. Which is, in this case, a scream that cuts through the air across the swamp and makes you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?” You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh. “These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it. Bastion tips his head at it. “And not intended for the campers…” Ah. More toys for the killers… You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “I should get back to the nitty-gritty,” you say, parting open the locker door, eager to get out of the tight space. “I won’t keep you,” Bastion grins. And he vanishes. Soon as he’s gone, you exit the locker. The generator on the deck is still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap. You exit the cockpit and retake your place at its side to get back to work. You work diligently for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator and head toward the wounded man’s wailing.   You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks. What you see is blood-chilling. David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star. He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me… There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture. Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention… You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him. You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…? Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze. “Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!” The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them. You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three. Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer… You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside. “Nng—” You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent. The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs. “Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature. Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins. Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet. Cat and mouse. You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap. The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator, popped. You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you. “You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases. Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?” “Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…” You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.” Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes. “You’re nothing special,” you spit. The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!” “Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur. The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…” The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth. “Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—” He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.” Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor. “Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances… The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.” You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, slick with gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours. You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely. He grins. Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and slowly torn apart. Flesh is split and stripped away, and bones splinter and break. Bastion’s more brutal than usual. The gruesome sight is too much to watch, and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling with laughter even amidst his execution. But his laughter quickly becomes gargled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him. Moments of more silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power. You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt. The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl. “Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder. He recoils like a kicked puppy, then audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always. You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…” Bastion’s soundless. But his hand tenderly cups your chin before he thumbs away the blood that flows from your scalp and down your face. You gaze up at him for a moment before sighing and nudging his hand away. “I’m getting out of here.” The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in ti— A startled yelp escapes your lips as a claw hooks you around the waist and plucks you right off the ground. Then, to your surprise, you’re draped gently over Bastion’s shoulder. “You switching sides, killer?” you comment, brow arched. “I hope you’re not taking me to a hook…” Bastion chuckles. “Don’t give me any ideas…” He gets moving and takes long strides through the swamp. “My legs are working fine, Bastion,” you say. “You were hobbling like a fawn .” “And I’ll hobble my way to the exit gates on my own.” “I guarantee you that wouldn’t end well, as amusing as it would be.” “Hmph.” You idly drum your fingers over Bastion’s back. Then your interest is piqued by the strange way his body tethers off and wisps away. Black shadowy strands twirl around your fingers, giving off an almost smoke-like texture before they float into the air and vanish. And stranger yet, you can faintly make out muscle mass underneath the black veil swathing his form from sight. You feel over his back, prompting a chuckle to catch you off guard and cease your curious exploration. “You’re very handsy today,” Bastion teases, slightly turning his head. You flush up and retract your hand. “I’m just—” “Copping a feel?” You scoff. “I’m sure you’d like that…” “I would.” Your face gets a little warm. “Don’t think this makes up for you going ghost.” “I’m sure I’ll find some other way to make up for my untimely absence,” Bastion purrs. “I’m a little skeptical.” “Always are.”   You arrive at the nearest set of gates quickly, and Bastion sets you down at the border. The collapse is almost at its climax. You stagger forward as the earth rumbles beneath you. Bastion rests a hand on your shoulder to steady you, then tips his head toward the fog. “Go on.” You take a few steps away, then stop and swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you offer, turning to face him. Bastion gives you a grin that’s more genuine than his usual shit-eating smirk. “Of course.” Ignoring the odd creepy-crawly sensation you get worming up your spine, you clear your throat and mutter, “Yeah, so… anyway.” He tips his head adoringly at you and chuckles. You give him an awkward little wave and backpedal quickly. And the moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. Within moments, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. You only walk for a minute before Ace comes moving through the fog toward you. He has a dumb look on his face. “Hey, kid!” He stops you in place. “No wonder me and the new chick got such a clean getaway! Had no idea I was runnin’ with you.” His smile wilts and he sighs, “Too bad for David, though. Poor guy thought he could take that pop star in a fight.” Ace scoffs. “Warned him he couldn’t! The guy might look flashy and fun, but those knives of his aren’t!” His smile’s back as he gives you a once-over. “You ran into him too, didn’t ya? Heard you screamin’ halfway across the swamp. Would’ve helped, but I was showin’ the new gal the ropes. But by the looks of it, you got out alright. Guess the new player just isn’t that great, lucky for us.” You audibly hesitate. “Uh, yeah, Ace. He’s not that great…” “Well, I might need a few locks of your hair, kid! Keep it on me for good luck.” Ace grins and slaps you on the back.   Then you’re in a casino. You sit in front of a jungle-themed slot machine. The place is bright, loud, and packed to the brim with people in lavish dresses and suits. Servers glide across the floor with trays of wine and shots, people holler and hoot enthusiastically, and a live jazz band is playing close by. You can’t turn your head to fully grasp the magnificence of the room you’re in. Your eyes are focused intently on the screen in front of you. There are five reels in front of you with mismatched cartoonish symbols. You lift a hand and pluck a necklace around your neck, then lean down and kiss an alligator’s tooth. A voice behind you speaks. “Don’t bet it all, Ace. Tonight hasn’t been your lucky night.” Ace. I’m Ace. “Gotta bet it all to win big, Wally. And I’m goin’ to win big,” you say, in Ace’s voice. You rub your hands together and reach for the lever beside the slots. “I’m walkin’ out of here a winner.”   Ace is throttling your shoulders as you blink back to reality. He arches one brow as you stare dumbly at him. “Hey, you alright, kid?” Your mind’s swimming, but you quickly recollect yourself and nod. “Yeah,” you say, brows furrowed. “I’m fine.” Ace smiles. “Come on back to the campfire, let’s get outta this fog and tell the others about the new guy. Maybe introduce yourself to the new pretty lady while you’re at it.” He turns to go with an eagerness, but you don’t follow. Soon, he vanishes in the fog. Bastion appears behind you, then tips his head curiously. You look at him. “I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Ace’s. It was… It was a memory, I think.” “Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.” You arch a brow. “I do?” “You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion grins. “And in many more ways than one…” “Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?” “You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion chuckles. He nudges you with a claw and grins. “Back to work, then?” “Yeah. Back to work…” You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.     Continue     —You find Jake working on the generator. A wooden board creaks under your foot, drawing his attention. He goes on high alert, his head snapping back over his shoulder with sharp eyes, but you watch relief wash over him as he recognizes you within an instant. His tense shoulders slacken up. “Get over here and help me with—” He stops abruptly and creases his brows as he gets a good look at you. “What the hell happened?” He turns fully around. “What, this?” You wave your bloody arm around with a nonchalant shrug. “Tripped and fell.” Jake doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. His forehead wrinkles. “Really? Because it looks like someone beat you black and blue.” He takes his hands out of the generator and digs a roll of gauze from his pocket. “You’ll be more useful if you patch that up.” He flicks his chin in a gesture for you. You step forward and kneel beside him. After you extend an arm, he plucks your sleeve and cuffs it up. And it’s bad. The wound’s inflamed and bloody. It looks like you fought a battle with a blender and lost. Even you grimace at the grisly sight. For a moment, Jake silently scrutinizes the damage before meeting your eyes with a pointed expression. “You going to tell me what actually happened?” “I told you what happened,” you say, unconvincingly. “Something took a fucking bite out of you.” He scoffs. “A couple a’ bites, actually.” “Well—” You trail off. Hoping he’d believe you was admittedly a bit of a reach, but you don’t know what else to say. Oh, I went out into the fog again and a pack of monster dogs crawled up out of the dirt and attacked me? … Actually, that wouldn’t sound too far-fetched. Jake, knowing what he already knows, might believe you in a heartbeat. But for the sake of avoiding another argument regarding your house arrest, you’ll keep that classified… “It was a really bad fall,” you say. “And all those nasty bruises on your face?” “I ran into a tree.” “That I believe.” He finally calls it quits on his interrogation with a heavy sigh. His hands roughly wrap your damaged arm with gauze. You wince under his harsh touch, and he grunts an insincere sorry under his breath. It’s quiet for a moment between you, then he mutters, “Something about you is just begging for trouble.” “Trouble’s my middle name,” you say, with a dumb smile. Jake doesn’t look amused. You clear your throat. “Not really, it’s—” “I didn’t ask.” Jake sets the gauze and stuffs the excess into his jacket. He turns away and buries his hands back into the generator. “Help me finish this.” For about three minutes, you work soundlessly alongside Jake. The pistons on top of the generator are pumping increasingly fast, but every so often, you notice your company’s eyes flicker your way. Out of mild curiosity, maybe. Scrutiny, definitely. You catch and hold one of his glances for only a second, then smirk. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Jake scoffs. “You got a camera?” As a matter of fact… You dig your hands into your side bag and fish out your camera. Jake lays his eyes on it and gawks in surprise. “Where did you—?” “Nabbed it off’a Ghostie,” you say smugly. “You stole that asshole's camera?” “Steal is a strong word… Let’s just say I’m borrowing it.” “He’s going to be pissed.” “I’m not worried,” you reply, tucking the camera back into your bag. “Like you said, he’s just a hack in a dumb costume… He had some nice boots, though. Wouldn’t mind getting my hands on those too…” Jake stares hard at you, his brows drawn low over his eyes. It looks like he has a lot to say, but he shakes his head and gets back to work. “You might have a few screws loose.” “I have been hearing this weird sorta clanking noise inside my head lately…” “That explains a lot.” Jake leans into the generator and digs his arm around inside. Although his attention’s on the task at hand, he says, “Crazy or not, you’re handling all of this well, actually. Most of the newbies go through a phase of existential crisis and dread, but you glossed right over it.” “I’m just making the best of an awful situation.” “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job so far.” He yanks a bundle of wires out of the generator and says, “Haven’t seen you around camp lately.” “I’m surprised you noticed,” you snort. “Does it bother you?” You arch a brow. “I was just taking a page out of your book. Ya know, distancing myself, becoming the camp loner…” Smirking, you deepen your voice and do your very best impression of him, although grossly exaggerated, and mock, “I’m Jake, and I hate being bothered while I’m brooding under my favorite tree. Oh, you want to talk? Too bad. I only talk to my inner demons.” Jake stares at you. And judging from the way his lips draw into a tight line, you know he’s stifling a laugh. Although you don’t know if he wants to laugh with you, or at you. At you, as it turns out. “That has got to be the worst impression of me I’ve heard yet. And I’ve heard a couple.” “Who takes the cake?” “Dwight,” Jake answers. “Dwight?” you say incredulously. “Okay, I’ve got to see that,” you laugh. “If you stop avoiding the campfire, you just might.” “Careful, Jake. It’s starting to sound like you actually want me around…” Jake scoffs. “I want you to stop putting the rest of us at risk. If you find something you shouldn’t out there in the fog, it could become everyone’s problem. And we have enough problems as it is.” “Ah.” Genuine disappointment riddles your face, but you mask it with a pout. “And I thought I was getting somewhere with you…” You reach for a lever on the generator and mutter, “But surprise surprise, the brooding broodster doesn’t want any friends.” As soon as you pull the lever down, the generator explodes. You rear away with a yelp, shielding your face from the shower of sparks and oil. The poor thing’s sputtering now. You recover quickly and glance at Jake. He’s giving you a hard look. You smile sheepishly. “My bad.” Jake sighs, then he stands away from the generator while wiping his hands clean on his pants. “Would’ve been better off on my own…” Your skin suddenly crawls, and a shiver rattles your frame. That usually only means one thing… Jake’s already walking away, muttering, “Killer will be here any second now.” You follow him into the boathouse, apologizing, “Sorry, sorry—” But you cut off abruptly when he snags your bicep and yanks you into a locker with him. You both squeeze inside as Jake shuts the door. There’s a long silence. You murmur, “This is a first…” It’s a tight fit, and Jake’s leaning awkwardly over you, one arm braced on the wall beside your head, and the other hand resting on your shoulder. You’re pressed flush together, and you feel his heart beating at a steady pace against yours. Crows caw outside and your arms prickle with goosebumps. Jake breaks the silence. “Why do you want to be friends?” He keeps his voice low, and his eyes meet yours. “What the hell is it you’d stand to gain?” Somewhere in the distance, you hear the sounding horn of a generator powering up. You pay it hardly any mind. “Well, a friend, I’d think…" You sigh. “Not everything’s a game of survival here, Jake.” “Don’t try pitching another one of your hopeful speeches to me.” “You could definitely use one. And who knows, maybe eventually, I’ll get through to you. I just think we’d all be a little less miserable here if we weren’t strangers. I’m trying. But if you’re really so hellbent on being a loner forever, then tell me now, and I’ll drop it for good. I don’t want to waste my time trying to break through a brick wall.” Jake’s quiet for a couple of moments. He fidgets in front of you, then sighs. His breath’s hot on your neck. “Friends would just be another thing to drag me down.” "Or to lift you up,” you offer, with a cheeky smile. Jake scoffs. Amusement flickers faintly over his darkened features, and his lips slightly perk up. He turns his head away and mutters, “You’re persistent…” “Persistent’s my middle name.” “I thought it was Trouble.” “Yeah, I uh… I have two middle names. Persistent Trouble.” Jake laughs. It’s a warm, honey-like laugh that has you reeling in surprise. “That sounds about right,” he chuckles. You’re practically beaming at him. Jake reads the look on your face and says, “Don’t let this go to your head.” “Already did,” you reply. “I mean, it’s in there. Deep in there—” Jake’s stifling another laugh, that much you gather from the way his chest shudders against your own. You poke him and spur him on. “Think I’m chipping through that wall of yours, Jake…” He snags your wrist in his hand and ceases your playful prodding. “Really living up to your name…” “I try.” A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?” You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh. “These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it. Jake scoffs at it. “And I don’t think they’re meant for us…” Ah. More toys for the killers… You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “I think we’ve wasted enough time squeezed into this locker together,” you say, parting open the locker door. “Yeah,” Jake sighs. Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap. You work diligently alongside Jake for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Jake to grab your arm. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “Let’s finish this up and move on.” You frown. “He doesn’t sound fine. He’s screaming bloody murder.” “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jake replies. “We need to pop these gens’ and get out.” You shake your arm free and back away. “You can finish up here. I’m just going to check it out.” Jake’s apparently not in the mood to argue it with you, so he throws a hand up dismissively and gets back to work. You finally turn away and head toward the wounded man’s wailing.   You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks. What you see is blood-chilling. David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star. He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me… There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture. Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention… You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him. You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…? Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze. “Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!” The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them. You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three. Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer… You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside. “Nng—” You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent. The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs. “Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature. Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins. Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet. Cat and mouse. You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap. The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator, popped. You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you. “You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases. Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?” “Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…” You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.” Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes. “You’re nothing special,” you spit. The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!” “Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur. The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…” The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth. “Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—” He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.” Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor. “Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances… The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.” You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours. You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely. He grins. Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him. Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power. You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt. The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl. “Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder. He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always. You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…” Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.” The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time…But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you. “Hey—” You swivel around to watch Jake approach. He stops and catches you as you stumble off balance. “Shit, what the hell happened?” His eyes flit up and down your body. He furrows his forehead.  “The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…” Jake’s frown stiffens. “A new one? Great,” he scoffs. “The others back at camp won’t be happy to hear that…” He tosses one of your arms over his shoulders and winds his arm securely around your waist. “Where’d the bastard go?” You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.” “Let’s just hope he’s not camping the gate,” Jake mutters. He starts moving at a slow pace, letting you limp alongside him. “Found David. Poor bastard was dead on the ground when I found him. Bled out from all those nasty cuts he had… The new killers always like to play with their victims…” “That’s something I’ve been learning the hard way,” you reply. “Who got the gates open?” “The new girl,” Jake answers. You arch a brow. He clarifies, “The big-bad must’ve dumped another camper in here with the new killer. Happens sometimes. I ran into her not long after you took off.” You grunt. “Ah… Why did you come for me? Doesn’t really fit the whole lone wolf thing you’ve got going on…” “When you stopped screaming, I assumed you were either dead or dying. And there wasn’t any harm in coming to take a look…” “You can admit I’m growing on you.” Jake scoffs. “You’re growing on me alright. But like a bad rash, more than anything.” “That’s a start.”   The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Jake supports you as you both hobble out into the fog. The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. Jake finally relinquishes his hold on you. You come to a stop behind him with a sigh. “Thank you," you say. Jake comes to a halt, his brow furrowed. “Don’t—” He pauses for a moment and sighs. “Don’t thank me… I dragged you out this one time, but it doesn’t mean I’ll do it again. Next time, I might even be leaving you for dead.” “I know that, Jake,” you frown. “I’m not expecting you to come swooping in like some great hero every time I take a hit. But I’m thanking you for what you did today. Not for what comes after.” Jake's brows crease and his jaw tightens. He seems unsure and cross for a brief moment. Unsure and cross of what, you don't know. But it's clear he's deliberating something... Silence persists between you before he breaks it. He mutters, "Alright," as he combs his hand back through his hair. You offer him a slight smile. “I think you're a good man, Jake. What we do in those trials doesn't define who we are. It's like that one saying. ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.' But, er... trial instead of Vegas.” You chuckle sheepishly and scratch your cheek. "If that makes any sense..." Jake cracks a smile and gives you a nudge with his elbow. “Whatever, Cornball.  Let's just get to camp."   His voice warbles away and you blink, then you’re someplace else. The first immediate change you notice is the sun peeking out over the dense treeline ahead and flooding the clearing in a haze of warm, golden light. You’re leaning forward over the wooden rail of a porch, your arms propped beneath you and one leg folded over the other behind you. Then you realize you’re not you. You’re somebody else again. The scent of pine and grass floods your senses, and a faint, smoky smell emanates from somewhere behind you. Wood burning in a fireplace. You can hear the crackling embers and see clouds of dark smoke floating into the sky above. As comforting as this is, your head is swimming with questions. And one of those questions is answered as you cast your gaze to your feet. You’re wearing Jake’s boots. That’s it, you realize. I’m Jake.   You’re throttled harshly back to reality to meet Jake’s concerned features. His face is mere inches from your own. You blink, and he scoffs. “You’re doing that thing again, where you—” He trails off and removes his hands from your shoulders with an exasperated sigh. “Forget it. I’m heading back to camp. Somebody’s gotta break the bad news to the others… You should come too. I know you’re probably itching to wander into the fog, but you won’t find anything out there.” You collect yourself and reply, “I, uh… I might drop by.” Jake grunts. He turns away and starts moving. “Do whatever you want. I know I can’t stop you.” He soon vanishes in the fog. And no sooner has he gone, than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him. “I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Jake’s. It was… It was a memory, I think.” “Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.” You arch a brow. “I do?” “You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says. “Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?” “You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?” “Yeah. Back to work…” You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.   Continue     —You find Felix working on the generator. Your heart skips a beat, and you come to a staggering halt. He’s focused on his chore and, luckily, hasn’t noticed you yet. Good. You’re not really feeling up for interrogation… So you back away as silently as possible, with feather-light steps, hoping not to draw his attention. You only take two steps before a wooden plank groans noisily underfoot. Felix’s head snaps back over his shoulder, his face etched with terror at first, but then relief as he recognizes you. Then relief gives way to suspicion. Narrow eyes meet yours. For a moment, the man silently scrutinizes you before flicking his hand in a gesture. “You can help me with this.” Great… You join him beside the generator, though reluctantly. His penetrating gaze is already piercing the side of your head. You swallow and clear your throat. “Nice weather we’re ha—” “You said we would talk.” You sigh. “Yeah, I did…” “What are you hiding from the rest of us? Every time I look your way, you’re already scurrying off like a squirrel.” “That’s because you and Elodie are always watching me like hawks.” You face Felix with a look of exasperation. “I know I said we’d talk, but that’s something I’ll do on my own time. I’m not going to let you two… interrogate me. I don’t owe you any answers.” Felix pulls his hand from the generator. “This isn’t about what you owe me! But I saw something, and then you tell me I saw nothing. You’re—!” He trails off, his brows creased as he searches for the word. And when he does, he bites, “Gaslighting! You are gaslighting me!” He cools down and combs a grimy hand back through his hair. “I know what I saw. And I can’t accept that it was nothing. After everything I’ve already seen, I know it wasn’t nothing.” You allow yourself to cool down too. Felix is a persistent pain in the ass, sure, but the guy only wants answers. You'd want some too, if the roles were reversed... “I’m not trying to drive you insane, Felix,” you remark with a sigh. But I’ve been through a lot lately, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all.” “Are you admitting what I saw was real?” “Well—… yeah, I am,” You face him and say, “When I find the time, I’ll have a sit-down with you and Elodie and tell you everything you want to know. Which isn’t much, given that I hardly know much myself.” You watch the tension slowly ease out of Felix’s taut features. He heaves a sigh and nods his head. “Okay.” He swivels on his haunches to get back to work, but he pauses, his eyes flickering from your wounded arm, then to your face. His brow stoops over his eyes. “What happened to your—“ He makes a gesture toward your arm. “I was attacked in the fog. Again,” you answer. Felix arches a brow. You sigh. “I know, I’m under house arrest, and I have no business going out there…” “That’s not what surprises me,” Felix scoffs. “What’s surprising is that you’re actually telling me the truth, for once.” He reaches for your arm and carefully inches the bloody sleeve further up. He grimaces at the sight underneath. Your own stomach flips, too. It's no wonder it hurts like hell. It looks like hell. That dog chewed you up like a toy... “What exactly attacked you?” Felix questions.  “Fog dogs,” you answer. “And they weren’t man’s best friend kind of dogs, either…” “Mm.” Felix pats himself down, then sighs. “I don’t have any—” “I got it covered.” You free your arm and dig into your satchel for a roll of gauze. As you set your bag aside, Felix extends a hand. “I can take care of it.” You relinquish your gauze to him, and he sets to work dressing your wound. “I haven’t seen you around camp. You’ve been out there, in the fog?” “Yeah.” “I figured,” Felix murmurs. “Elodie is almost ready to go out there and hunt you down.” “I know. You’ve both just been waiting for the prime opportunity to jump me, right?” Felix knits his brows and sighs. “We only have questions. And I needed an explanation for what I saw. For what we saw. Those claws that tore through the earth and abducted the Wraith? You know what that was, don’t you?” Felix’s steely eyes meet yours. “Because I can tell you what I think it was. The Entity.” “He isn’t the Entity,” you reply. “He?” Felix scoffs. “And what makes you so sure he can be trusted? You must know a lot more than you’re letting on…” You sigh. “Felix, we can talk about this later, remember? It’s just too much to explain here. And I’m sure Elodie would like to hear it, too.” Felix falls silent in surrender. A minute passes between you both before he murmurs, “I realize I don’t know a thing about you. I don’t even have a name for your face.” “Is this passive-aggressive interrogation, or casual conversation?” “The latter.” “(Y/N),” you say. “I don’t really know a thing about you either, save for your name… And for the longest time before that, you were just Handsome Guy in the Rich Suit…” “I’m sure the others would agree… Not about the handsome part, but—” Felix trails off and sighs. “It’s been… hard adjusting here. I was never very good with people, but now this place demands I adapt. These people are your allies and your only companions, and nobody knows for how long.” He sets the gauze and hands you back the excess. Then he reaches out and touches your nose. “You have a deep cut on your nose—” You wince away from him, and he apologizes, “Sorry.” He withdraws his hand. “The dogs did that to your arm, but your face…?” “I ran into a tree,” you reply, tenderly touching your nose. “Like, full-speed collision. I’m surprised my head didn’t fly off my shoulders…” “Ah. I think your nose is broken,” Felix sighs. “Feels like it.” You turn away and bury your hands in the generator to get to work. “I get what you’re saying, Felix. It’s not easy getting to know a bunch of random strangers you’re forced into bad circumstances with. And a few others back at camp feel the same way. But everyone’s coping as best they can.” “How are you coping?” Felix’s eyes meet yours. You shrug your shoulders. “Better than most, I think… Which is to say I haven’t had a mental breakdown, yet.” You reach a hand into the generator to snag a bundle of wires. “But with the way things have been going, I don’t think one’s too far off…" You grasp a stripped wire in your hand when the generator suddenly conks out and explodes in your face. You rear backward with a yelp, shielding your face from the shower of sparks and oil. When you recover, you heave a sigh of frustration. “I’m this close,” you mutter, pinching your fingers and standing away from the sputtering generator. Felix follows suit, wiping his grimy hands on his pants and moving away. “I believe it.” Your skin’s already crawling as you follow him into the cockpit of the boat. Creeping off now surely means running face-first into the trial’s killer. A concern shared by your company, evidently, as you both come to a stop in front of a locker. Felix side-eyes you, then clears his throat. “After you,” he says. “Oh, we’re—? Right. Alright…” You part open the locker and step inside. Felix ceremoniously climbs inside after you and shuts the door. It’s a snug fit. A little too snug… You’re pressed back against one side of the locker, and Felix is pressed flush against the other side. But the tight space doesn’t offer you much room apart; you feel Felix’s chest against your own. And the man might look composed, but his heart’s beating a million times a minute. You fidget on your feet and knock knees with him. Moments of silence pass, and you pick up an aromatic scent flooding the locker. You sniff. Hmm. A rich, floral smell mingling with a hint of musk… Cologne. “That’s a rich cologne… You trying to impress someone, Felix?” you hush, smirking cheekily. “A little spritz here and there to steal their attention?” Even in the dim light, you can see Felix’s face flush. He idly messes with the cuffs on his wrists and replies, “The, ah… cologne was one of the few possessions accorded to me here. And using it is only a habit.” “Mm…” you hum. “What did you do before all this?” you ask, your gaze flitting up and down his body. You hear the sounding horn of a generator powering up somewhere in the distance, but hardly pay it any mind. Felix answers quietly, “I was an architect.” “Must’ve been a good one, because this is one nice suit.” You touch the lapels of his jacket and hum. “Spiffy.” A small smile graces Felix’s lips. A genuine gesture betraying his unease. “I was only dressing to impress, back before—” He trails off, his brow creased and his eyes dimming. For a brief period, he’s quiet, as if struggling to find the words to continue. But as they slip away, he meets your eyes again and hums. “Your jacket is… tight.” You scoff in amusement. “Tight? " “Yes, tight.… cool? It’s tight.” He chuckles awkwardly and scratches his neck. “That’s what it means, right? I, ah… told you I was no good at this- people thing.” His face is faintly flushed. You offer him a smile. “I can’t tell.” “Still being dishonest," Felix chuckles. “Am I that transparent?” “To me you are.” “Humph.” You fold your arms over your chest. “Call me a liar all you want, Felix. But I’d lose my mystique if I started telling the truth. And I think that might be the only thing going for me.” You run your fingers over your scalp and murmur, “When I’m not the naked lunatic running through the camp, I’m the crazy girl exploring the dangerous fog…” You meet Felix’s eyes and smile sheepishly. “That’s the consensus, right?” “Sounds accurate,” Felix replies, letting a smile slip. “But I think there’s more to you than that…” “Is this another poor attempt at getting all my dirty little secrets?” “That depends… Is it working?” A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?” You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh. “These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it. Felix gapes at it. “And I don’t believe the Entity intended them for us…” Ah. More toys for the killers… You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “Need a raincheck for that interrogation,” you say, parting open the locker door. “But later, I’ll let you grill me as much as you want." Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap. You work diligently alongside Felix for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Felix to snag the sleeve of your jacket. “You want to go after him?” “I think somebody needs to,” you reply, tugging your arm free. Felix draws his brows. A look of uncertainty writes into his features. Then he sighs and stands away from the generator. “I’ll join you—” “You should stay here,” you say, backing away. “I’ll go see what’s up, and you can finish the repairs on this hunk of junk.” You kick a foot out in a gesture at the clanging generator. Felix has a hard look on his face, and his steely blue eyes scrutinize you. But he relaxes his features and murmurs, “I think if anyone can worm their way out of trouble, it’s you… I’ll finish up here. Go help David.” There’s a bitter undertone in his voice you can't help but pick up. Rather than dwell on it though, you turn away as Felix returns to the generator’s side. “You're not wrong,” you mutter, heading off in the direction of the wounded man’s wailing.   You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks. What you see is blood-chilling. David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star. He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me… There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture. Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention… You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him. You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…? Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze. “Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!” The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them. You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three. Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer… You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside. “Nng—” You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent. The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs. “Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature. Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins. Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet. Cat and mouse. You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap. The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped. You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you. “You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases. Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?” “Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…” You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.” Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes. “You’re nothing special,” you spit. The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!” “Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur. The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…” The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth. “Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—” He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.” Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor. “Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances… The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.” You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours. You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely. He grins. Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him. Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power. You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt. The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl. “Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder. He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always. You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…” Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.” The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time… But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you. “Hey—” You swivel around to watch Felix bound toward you. He stops and catches you around the waist as you stumble off balance. “What happened?” His eyes flit up and down your body. He furrows his forehead. “The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…” Felix’s frown stiffens. “There’s a new killer?” He sighs. “That’s bad news for everyone…” He tosses one of your arms over his shoulders and winds his arm securely around your waist. “Where did he go?” You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.” “Ah,” Felix hums. He moves at a slow pace, letting you limp alongside him. “I found David. He’s dead… His body was in bad shape. Our new tormentor must’ve tortured him.” “I saw that for myself,” you reply, brows creased. You shudder as you recall the grisly sight, then ask, “Who got the gates open?” “A woman,” Felix answers. You arch a brow. He clarifies, “Another poor soul dragged into this hellish place. I came across her soon after you ran off.” You grunt. “Ah…” Your weary eyes meet Felix’s. “Then you came looking for me?” “I assumed I would find you in the same condition I found David after I heard your screams… But I couldn’t leave knowing there was a chance you could still be alive.” “You don’t owe me anything, Felix. You took a big risk coming for me.” “I know,” Felix replies. “But I’m trying to hold on to more than my sanity here…” His gaze downcast, he murmurs, “If we lose what makes us human, we’re no better than these killers.” “An architect and a poet. You must've been popular back home." "Not for a lack of trying."   The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Felix supports you as you both hobble out into the fog. The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. Felix finally relinquishes his hold on you. You come to a stop behind him with a sigh. “Thank you,” you say. Felix stops with a tired huff. “Of course.” He combs his fingers back through his mussed hair and turns to face you. “Are you okay?” You nod. “Fog took care of everything.” “I mean, what happened with the killer.” Felix arches a brow. “I’m fine,” you sigh. “Trying to deter the inevitable mental breakdown for as long as I can… So I can’t let any of this get to me. I think everyone feels that way.” “Ah…” And then a few moments of silence pan out between you both. Felix looks unsure of himself, as if he’s contemplating what to say or do next. His fingers flex idly at his sides, and his eyes travel nervously from place to place, never meeting your own. To ease the strange tension between you both, you offer him a smile and your hand. “It’s been nice meeting you, Felix. You know, the you that’s not evil-eyeing me from across the campfire…” Felix returns the gesture with a partial smile, and he puts his own hand out to shake. “Likewise.” And when your hands touch, you’re somewhere else.   Blinding light floods your senses, almost making you recoil. But you come to the startling revelation that you have no control. You’re in somebody else’s body again, reliving a memory that isn’t yours. As your vision clears up, you gaze thoughtfully at your surroundings, drinking it all in. A lavish party is in full swing around you, the manor crowded with well-dressed guests and servants. You’re striding confidently across the floor, your lips curled up in a toothy grin. But the gesture is faux — your jaw is tight and your forehead lined with wrinkles. It’s a mask. A ruse. After nudging your way through the crowd, you stop at a bar at the back of the room and tap the counter with your knuckles to grab the barkeep’s attention. “Whiskey Sour!” you bark with enthusiasm. No, not you. Felix. You’re Felix. You rest forward over the bar with an arm propping up your chin. The room’s abuzz with enthusiastic chatter and droning, but you try desperately to block it all out. A nagging itch at the back of your head prompts you to idly scrape the surface of the marble counter with a nail. Sweat beads on your skin, and your mouth is dry. This isn’t—   “—alright?” You snap back to reality to come face to face with Felix’s worried visage. His close features are laced with concern. He rests a hand on your shoulder and repeats his query. “Are you alright?” You swallow past a thick lump in your throat as you collect yourself. “Yeah,” you reply, locking eyes with him. That nervous itch finally fades out of your skull, and you heave a sigh in relief. Felix doesn’t look convinced. You swipe his hand away. “I’m fine, honest.” “Mm,” Felix hums, backpedaling. “Hard to tell with you…” You frown. Felix sighs. “Come to camp. I know you might try creeping off on another wayward expedition into the fog, but it’s dangerous. And it’s… cold out here. I don’t want to be the reason you’re avoiding the campfire.” “It’s mostly Elodie,” you reply, scratching your arm. “She is way more intimidating than you, no offense…” “I’ll speak with her,” Felix says. “Get her off your back until you’re ready to talk.” He absentmindedly fixes the collar of his jacket and murmurs, “In the meantime, we might… speak about other things. I still hardly know a thing about you, but I think we could change that.” His eyes flicker up and meet yours. “It’s only a suggestion.” “And a hard one to resist,” you reply, smiling. “But—” You trail off, your eyes glancing off at the surrounding fog. Felix creases his brows. “You want to go back out there.” He sighs. “I don’t know what it is you think you’ll find, but is it worth the risks you’re taking?” “We’re all stuck in this fucked up cycle of live, die, then rinse and repeat, Felix. Finding something out there isn’t guaranteed, but I know that if I sit around and do nothing, nothing will change. The chance is worth the risks.” A stark frown screws up Felix’s handsome features. It’s almost contagious. You sigh and say, “It’s not like I want to go out there and face what the fog has in store for me, Felix. But please trust me when I say I’m doing this for all of us. I’m not hiding some deep, dark secret for kicks. I’m hiding it because it’s too hard to explain.” “I know,” Felix replies. “I… I trust you. And when you’re ready—” “Then we’ll talk,” you finish. Felix nods. He finally breaks eye contact with you and turns away to leave. But he falters and glances back over his shoulder. It seems he might have something to add, but he leaves the words unspoken and vanishes in the fog. And no sooner has he gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him. “I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Felix’s. It was a memory, I think.” “Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.” You arch a brow. “I do?” “You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says. “Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?” “You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?” “Yeah. Back to work…” You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.   Continue     —You find Claudette hunched beside the generator. She’s working away at it as you approach. “Hey,” you greet, hoping not to startle her. But your out-of-the-blue greeting spooks her anyway — She springs to her feet and spins around, looking like a frightened cat, all puffed up and alert. But her wide eyes flicker with recognition, and she touches a hand to her heart in relief. “Oh-Oh,” she stammers, relaxing. “You scared me…” She’s about to return to the task at hand when her attention lands on your cradled arm. She looks perplexed. “What happened?” She’s already fishing a roll of gauze from the med kit under her arm. “Fell and scraped my arm,” you say. Claudette hums incredulously. Her eyes flit from your bloody arm to your damaged face. She reaches for your arm and takes your wrist in one hand, then cuffs up your sleeve with the other. She gapes at the nasty wound underneath. You can’t help but grimace at the sight, too. “Must’ve been a nasty fall…” Her brows crease, and she bites her bottom lip. But she asks no further questions. She takes a bottle from her kit and splashes your wound with a clear tincture. It stings terribly, and Claudette murmurs a quiet “Sorry”, then begins dressing your arm. You comply patiently as she dutifully attends to you. “How are things around camp?” you ask to strike up a conversation. “Fine,” Claudette replies. “Everyone’s alright?” “For the most part,” she murmurs. “Some of the others have been wondering where you’ve been. David seemed a little mad and mentioned something about you being under house arrest.” “Right,” you snort. “I’ve been hanging out around my tent, napping when I can, and just… relaxing.” Claudette hums. She sets the gauze around your arm, then takes a small band-aid from her kit. She peels the backs off and lays it tenderly over a cut on the bridge of your nose. You wince. Claudette murmurs, “Your nose is broken.” You lift a hand to touch your nose, and she swats it away. “Try to avoid touching it.” “Mm.” Claudette scoops her supplies back into her medical kit and returns to the generator. You join her on the other side. You both work quietly beside each other, and every so often you side-eye your shy company. Then you catch her sneaking a glance, too. You clear your throat. “You’re really good at all that. First aid, I mean. Were you training to become a nurse?” Claudette audibly hesitates. “I was majoring in botany. I was still attending my university courses when—” She trails off and furrows her brows. A sad look crosses her face before she lets out a quiet sigh. “It turns out having a knack for dirt and plants go hand in hand with stitching wounds and staunching blood…” “Really?” Claudette nods. “Some plants have natural healing properties. I’m good at sorting them out.” “Ah.” You pluck a few wires into your hands and ask, “Do you have any favorites? A favorite flower, or plant, or… leaf?” “Um… There are so many, it’s hard to choose a favorite.” “I get it. Lotta plants out there…” More silence befalls you both and you awkwardly scratch your neck. “My surname’s actually Morel,” Claudette says suddenly. “Like the morel mushroom?” You pause and look at her. She has a small, sheepish smile on her face. “I always thought it was funny.” You return the smile with your own. “That’s neat. Like you were destined to become a botany genius.” You strip down a wire and murmur, “It one of those pretty mushrooms? With all the color and spots?” “Ah—” Claudette hesitates. “It’s, uh… up for debate.” You laugh. “Wait, it’s not?” “It’s a little unique.” Claudette withdraws her hands from the generator and makes a gesture, rounding out a shape in the air. “It has a lot of ridges and holes. Usually light tan or brown in color. It’s not the prettiest mushroom, but I hear it’s tasty.” She smiles. You smile too. “You share more in common with a mushroom than you do any of us,” you joke. And her smile wilts. Her eyes flicker away and she murmurs, “I-I’ve always been more of a plant person…” “I don’t mean it like that!” you reply quickly. “I mean to say you’re unique and-and interesting—” You trail off and face-palm. “I’m trying to be clever, but I’m just making myself look like an idiot…” You bury an arm in the generator to snag a bundle of wires, muttering, “I’m just—" The generator clonks out and explodes in your face. You rear backward with a yelp as you’re showered with sparks and oil. “Damn!” You heave a sigh and take an arm across your face to wipe away the mess. You fling away residue and mutter, “—an idiot. I’m just an idiot.” Claudette fishes a handkerchief out of her back pocket after you both stand away from the sputtering machine. She hands it to you and you wipe your face clean as you enter the cockpit of the boat. Claudette tails behind you, and you come to an abrupt stop in front of a locker. You look at her. “You wanna…?” “Both of us? In there—?” “There’s room for two,” you say reassuringly. “And not a lot of time for debate…” You peel open the door and step inside, then make a gesture for Claudette. She tentatively squeezes inside with you, and you shut the door. It’s quiet and a little tight. You hear your company’s breath hitch. She’s all tucked in and shrunk down, trying to take up as little space as possible. You can feel her pulse pounding in her chest against your own. Her unease is further displayed in the way she idly picks at spots on her clothes and fiddles her thumbs. Her eyes are looking everywhere but at you. The silence pans out and you’re able to pick up the scent glued to her. Flowery and earthy… like pine and wet grass. You know you must reek in comparison. The thought has you feeling self-conscious suddenly. You mess with the collar on your jacket, then scratch the bandage over your nose. Claudette catches your wrist in her gentle hand. “You shouldn’t touch it,” she says softly, finally meeting your eyes. “Right.” You scrunch up your nose and murmur, “I’ve just got an itch…” A generator powers up somewhere in the distance, but neither of you pays it any mind. Claudette withdraws her hand to her side and says, “You go out there a lot, don’t you? Out into the fog? That’s how this happened?” You hesitate. “I tripped—” “I might be a little shy, but I’m not dumb.” You sigh. “Well—yeah. Yeah, I’ve been… wandering a little.” “Why?” Claudette persists, a brow arched. “You’re going to keep getting hurt out there.” “I’m a glutton for punishment,” you jest. Claudette doesn’t look amused. In fact, she looks even more concerned. You scratch your arm and quickly add, “And just curious, you know? Wondering what’s out there, what I can find… You do it a lot too, right? Foraging?” “I never wander very far from camp,” Claudette replies. “And I only do it out of necessity. When we need medicinal herbs or water…” “I can join you sometimes,” you offer, “so you don’t have to go out there alone. I mean, it is dangerous, which is something I’ve been learning the hard way." Claudette audibly hesitates first. “I would appreciate that.” You nod. “I’m usually lurking around the edge of the camp or my tent. Anytime you want to go out there, just come find me.” You offer her a smile, and she returns it with her own. “Okay,” she says, then averts her eyes again. She reaches up and plucks her glasses off her nose to wipe the lenses on her sleeve, but a fumble causes her to drop them at her feet. You quickly offer, “I got it,” then lean forward to reach down for them. But you only end up headbutting her, hard. “Ah—” she squeaks like a mouse and grasps her head. You wince away and quickly apologize, “Sorry, sorry!” Claudette tenderly holds her head in her hands and replies, “It’s fine!” Your face flushes in embarrassment. “See?” you laughingly say, drawing back. “Told you so. I’m an idiot.” Claudette lights up and laughs, prompting a smile out of you. She stifles herself after a moment and you do a little shimmy down to snag her glasses in your hand. When you stand back up, you place them gingerly over her face and get the frames tucked securely under a few thick curls behind her ears. You smile. “Sorry for headbutting you. Almost gave you a shiner worse than mine…” Claudette smiles softly and readjusts her frames over her nose. “Thank you.” Then she’s avoiding your eyes again, looking elsewhere. And her heart is pounding still. You thought she’d have calmed down a bit by now, being that you’re not in any immediate danger, but you guess not… “I think we’re okay, Claudette,” you say reassuringly. “You can relax a little.” “It’s-It’s not that,” Claudette says. “Oh? I noticed your heart is pounding—” “I’m just nervous,” she replies quickly. Her face is flushed. You frown. “Because of me? It’s because of me. Right, well… I think I can get out of your hair now—” You reach for the locker door, but Claudette stammers, “It’s not because of you!” She pauses and adds, “Well-Well, it is, but—” and she trails off, fiddling with her thumbs. “Do I make you nervous?” You meet her eyes and hold them. Sighing in defeat, she answers, “Yes.” “Oh,” you reply. “Well, that’s—” “But not in a bad way!” Claudette blurts out, interrupting you. “In a—” “I’m not offended,” you say, interrupting her. “I mean, I make myself nervous sometimes—” You both trail off and silence befalls the locker. Claudette plucks at a loose thread on her sleeve and you sneakily try to scratch at the band-aid over your nose. She catches your wrist again with cat-like reflexes. You smile sheepishly. She sighs. A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?” You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh. “These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it. Claudette gapes at it. “More weapons?” More toys for the killers. You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “Yeah, but not for us.” After clearing your throat, you murmur, “We should… probably get back to work…” “Yes,” Claudette replies, scratching her arm. Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap. You work diligently alongside Claudette for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… You notice Claudette grimacing beside you, and sweat on her brow. Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, but Claudette’s up on her feet first. You stop her. “You should finish up here,” you say. “I’ll go check on David.” Claudette furrows her brow. “I could join you.” “I got this, Claudette,” you assure her. She stares at you with a mix of stubbornness and concern. But she concedes defeat and backs away slowly. “Okay… But be careful.” “Careful’s my middle name.” You back away from her, and your heel catches on an upturned board on the deck. And before you know it, you’re somersaulting backward down the stairs to the ground floor. You land on your spine with a yelp and groan. “I’m fine!” you call out, wincing. You glimpse Claudette staring down at you with concern over the railing on the second deck. You throw her a thumbs-up and cheeky smile. You can faintly hear a sigh leaving her parted lips. After picking yourself up, you turn and move in the direction of the wounded man’s wailing.   You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks. What you see is blood-chilling. David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star. He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me… There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture. Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention… You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him. You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…? Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze. “Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!” The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them. You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three. Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer… You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside. “Nng—” You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent. The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs. “Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature. Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins. Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet. Cat and mouse. You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap. The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped. You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you. “You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases. Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?” “Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…” You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.” Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes. “You’re nothing special,” you spit. The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!” “Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur. The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…” The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth. “Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—” He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.” Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor. “Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances… The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.” You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours. You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely. He grins. Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him. Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power. You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt. The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl. “Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder. He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always. You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…” Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.” The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in ti— You let out a startled yelp when two arms gingerly catch you around the waist. You spin around and almost bowl over Claudette. She stares at you with a furrowed expression. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes as she braces you up. “I-I didn’t mean to scare you.” You heave a sigh of relief. “Ah… That just makes us even.” Claudette nudges your arm, and you wind it over her shoulder. She adjusts her hold on you and starts walking. “What happened?” she questions, her eyes flitting up and down your body. Concern floods her features. “The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…” Claudette frowns. “There’s a new one?” “Yeah,” you reply, frowning too. “Bad news, I know. And it doesn’t come with good news…” “The good news is you’re still alive,” Claudette grunts softly, struggling to support your weight. “I thought you’d be… dead when I heard you screaming… Where did the killer go?” You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.” Claudette draws her brows. “Ah…” You notice her eyes flitting about nervously, cautious of your surroundings. “We should hurry, then.” “Hm,” you agree. “Who got the gates open?” “A woman,” Claudette answers. You arch a brow. She clarifies, “I’ve never seen her before. I think she might be new. I found her after you left.” “Ah. And then you came looking for me?” “Yes. I-I wanted to come sooner, but—” She trails off and furrows her brows. You give her a nudge. “You didn’t have to come at all, Claudette. But you did. And that says the most.” She finally meets your eyes again and her face flickers with relief. But she averts her gaze quickly and grunts, “I think we’re almost there.”   The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Claudette supports you as you both hobble out into the fog. The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. You slow to a stop, peeling the bloody gauze off your arm. “Thanks for the save. I probably would’ve been shish-kebabed if not for you…” Claudette hums and tucks a thick curl behind her ear. “You’re welcome.” She reaches out for your arm, prompting, “Has your arm healed?” Her fingers brush over your bare skin, and a strange sensation jolts through you. You blink, and then you’re someplace else.   You’re sitting at a desk in front of a computer screen. Your body moves under somebody else’s will, and you can only watch as dark fingers click-clack away at a keyboard before you. Studying the screen, you realize you’re on an online forum. And as you tap away, it becomes clear you’re answering someone’s query about a plant species native to Hawaii. You’re typing unfamiliar words you couldn’t pronounce if you tried. Seems sciency. And then it hits you. Claudette. I'm Claudette. You tap a key and send a message through a private inbox. Then you lean back in your chair with a soft sigh, turning your head to gaze thoughtfully out a window on the far side of the room. You strain your senses to read your surroundings from your peripherals. Your analysis leads you to believe you’re in a dorm room. It’s dreary, with just the bare minimum furnishing the tight space. But what really catches your eye is a single potted cactus resting on the windowsill. It’s drenched in sunlight that floods into the room through the yellow curtains. A slip of paper taped across the front reads, “Sunny :)” The city streets outside are bustling. You hear muted chatter and noisy ambiance. It’s a nice sunny day. A ping from the computer prompts you- Claudette, to turn back around to face the monitor. A notification pops up. It reads—   “Are you okay?” Claudette gently shakes you back to reality. You get whiplash as your senses flip and everything comes surging back to you. When you collect yourself, you’re face to face with Claudette. Concern writes over her face, and she draws her lips into a tight frown. You swallow past a lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.” Claudette doesn’t seem convinced. She has that look on her face, same as before. The look that says, ‘I know you’re lying, but I don’t know what to do about it.’ She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, then sighs. “Maybe… Maybe you should come back to camp with me. It’s not safe out here.” You notice her eyes flicker toward your arm. “I know the others would like that too.” You hesitate. “I, uh… I’d like to, but—” You trail off and scratch the back of your neck. You make a face, and Claudette sighs again. “Well, I’d… I’d like to go out with you sometime. Foraging, I mean!” she quickly finishes. Her face darkens a shade, and she nervously plucks a thread on her sleeve. “Whenever you decide to come back to camp.” “I’ll come around soon, Claud’. Promise. I don’t want you going out there alone.” “I could say the same for you,” Claudette murmurs. You frown. And she takes you off guard as she suddenly reaches out and gingerly peels the band-aid from your face. She touches the bridge of your nose and musters a soft smile. “You can scratch it now.” She’s contagious; you can’t help but return a dumb smile at the gesture. You lift a hand to touch hers, but she draws back. A look of hesitation crosses her face, then she turns away and leaves. She vanishes within the fog, and you’re alone. But not for long. No sooner has she gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him. “I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Claudette’s. It was a memory, I think.” “Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.” You arch a brow. “I do?” “You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says. “Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?” “You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?” “Yeah. Back to work…” You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.   Continue     —You find Yui working on the generator. She has her back to you, and her arms buried inside the machine’s mechanical guts. She’s working meticulously. You don’t want to spook her, so you announce yourself. “Hey.” Yui’s on her feet in an instant and her sharp gaze snaps to yours. But her narrow features relax and the tension seeps out of her shoulders. “You-” But she cuts off as her eyes flicker from your face to your cradled arm. She blinks and furrows her brows. “What happened to you?” “Slipped and fell,” you answer. Yui scoffs. “You’re bullshitting.” “Honest!” you say. “I was walking and then lost my footing, and—” “And then you were beaten black and blue and bleeding from a wound on your arm?” Yui shakes her head. “I have had some nasty wipeouts on my bike before, but I never came out of them this bad.” She reaches for and takes your arm, almost too rough for your liking, then inches your sleeve up. Her brows lift in shock. “Something tore the hell out of you.” Her eyes meet yours, then narrow. “Nasty fall. Real nasty.” You give her a nervous smile. Yui silently scrutinizes you, then grabs at your bag and questions, “Do you have a medkit in this thing?” “Bits and pieces,” you reply. Yui rifles through your supplies and gathers a roll of gauze. “This will have to do,” she mutters under her breath. She lets your bag fall against your side, then she gets to work dressing your arm. “You’re the naked one,” she murmurs after a moment of tense silence. Her eyes meet yours. You raise a brow at the comment, and she clarifies, “You’re the one who came out of a trial naked.” Oh. “You heard,” you sigh. “I think everyone has,” Yui replies. “Feng min has been telling the entire camp about it. She says it must have been a bug in the system.” She scoffs. “That woman treats this nightmare like a game…” “Listen, I was wearing clothes one minute, and the next I wasn’t. It’s like this place is out to get me…” “I thought you had amazing luck?” Yui jabs. “Ace has said, ‘that’s one lucky woman.’ And it must be true if he’s saying it…” You scoff in amusement. “Bit of a stretch… I mean, just look at me. Do I look like a good-luck magnet?” “No.” Yui sets the gauze and stuffs the excess back into your bag. She gives you a pat on the shoulder, then turns around and retakes her spot at the generator. “You look like hell.” You hesitantly join her beside the generator to get to work. “We haven’t spoken around camp, I don’t think… To be honest, I didn’t even know you spoke English—” “I didn’t before coming here. But Adam has been a great help,” Yui interrupts. “The man’s a patient teacher. And I have had plenty of time to learn…” You pick up a bitter undertone in her voice. She glances at you and mutters, “But language barrier or not, I was avoiding you. The word around camp is that you’re trouble. And I don’t need that jinx around me.” “That…. sort of hurts my feelings…” “But it’s not wrong, is it? You go out there into the fog like some lunatic attracting all kinds of trouble. And I suspect that’s how you ended up in the state you’re in now.” “Well—” “Don’t tell me you tripped. It’s bullshit, and we both know that.” Tough nut. Really tough nut. You concede defeat and put your hands up. “Alright! So maybe I didn’t trip. Maybe I happened upon a pack of feral dogs and maybe I ran into a tree…” Yui scoffs. “And you did all that why?” “What, you think I went looking for trouble?” You sigh. “It just happened. I was taking a walk, okay? And like I said, I’m a bad luck magnet. Trouble always has a way of finding me.” You bury an arm into the generator to reach for a bundle of wires, muttering, “Ace definitely stretched the truth a little. I’m probably the unluckiest camper in the fo—” The generator suddenly clonks out and explodes in your face. You rear away with a yelp as you’re showered with sparks and oil. The generator sputters and chokes as you look at Yui, shame-faced. She sighs and stands away from the generator. “Unlucky is right.” She leaves the bow and enters the cockpit with you trailing behind her like a lost puppy. You both stop in front of a locker, and Yui gives you a side-glance, then a sigh. She enters the locker and flicks her chin in a gesture for you. “Are you coming in, or…?” “Oh—” You climb in after her and shut the door. With a dumb smile on your face, you hush, “Locker buddies.” Yui scoffs. It’s dead silent for a few minutes. The two of you are pressed flush together within the limited space, neither willing to break the ice. The tension’s enough to put you on edge. You finally clear your throat and hush, “So you like bikes?” Yui meets your eyes. “I was a racer.” “Cool,” you reply. “Uh… like a street racer?” “Hm,” Yui hums in response. You sigh. “If you want me to shut up, you can just say that…” For a moment, Yui silently studies you, as if considering your idea. You’re afraid she might actually take you up on the offer, but she says, “Yeah, I was a street racer. Some were legal, some were not…” “Are you afraid I’m going to rat you out to the authorities? Because I don’t think that’s a problem here…” Yui scoffs in amusement. “No, just… I didn’t think you’d have an interest in it.” “It sounds pretty badass to me,” you reply. “Were you any good?” “The best,” Yui affirms. You lift a brow, and she goes on, “I won a lot. I’m not trying to brag or have a big head about it… But when I hopped on my bike, I left the rest of the world behind. It couldn’t keep up.” “Sounds like bragging,” you snort. “But if you were that good, then it’s okay. Don’t need modesty if you can put your money where your mouth is.” “And I did.” A generator powers up somewhere in the distance, but neither of you pays it any mind. You nudge Yui to continue. She does. “Being on my bike, racing, it was the only thing I had ever wanted to do. And the only thing I excelled at. I was making a name for myself doing what I loved, and… and I couldn’t have been happier. I even had a gang—” “Wait, a gang?” you interrupt. “Like a… a gang-gang?” “It’s not what you think,” Yui chuckles. “We weren’t vandalizing the streets or shaking down the elderly. My friends stood in support of me, and we stood in support of many others. Of women, notably.” She suddenly lifts her arm to show you a pink cloth band wrapped around her wrist. “Our hachimaki was our symbol. They represented unity.” “Oh.” You gaze curiously at the band as she lowers her arm. You comment, “That’s amazing, Yui. To stand for something so—” “Don’t get soppy.” Your face flushes. “Hey, I’m being genuine here!” Yui raises a brow and smirks in amusement. You scoff. “Fine, fine. I won’t give any soppy speeches… But I will say this: girl power.” You have her laughing, and you join in. When you’ve both quieted down, Yui drops her gaze to her wrist and murmurs, “It used to stand for something, but now?” Her face loses its smile and her lips wilt. “I don't think it means a thing now. Nothing does. And that might never change.” The heavy atmosphere puts a pit in your stomach and a frown on your face. You hesitate, then lift a hand to rest it on Yui’s shoulder. “It can still stand for something, Yui. Unity and hope. Things will change. And the best thing you can do in the meantime is to have something to look forward to. I’m sure you’d love to hop back on your bike again, right? You’ll have those other suckers eating your dust again in no time.” Yui finally lifts her gaze and scoffs. Her features brighten up and she slowly shakes her head. “You sound like a dumb optimist. But you might be right…” She nudges you in the ribs with her elbow and prompts, “What about you? What is it you’re looking forward to?” “Me? Well—” A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?” You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh. “These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it. Yui studies them with a stark frown, then scoffs. “They aren’t for us.” Ah. More toys for the killers. You hum and replace the knife on the wall. “Yep.” You meet Yui’s eyes, then say, “We should get out of here.” Yui doesn’t have any objections. Both of you leave the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering thanks to your minor mishap. You work diligently alongside Yui for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Yui to pause and look at you. “Are we going after him?” she asks. “We, no. Me, yes,” you reply, backing away slowly. “You should finish up here. I’ll go check on David.” “Are you sure you can handle it on your own?” “Sure. But that might just be my dumb optimism talking…” You wink and Yui noticeably fights back a smirk. She turns her gaze to the generator and says, “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to take another nasty fall.” You have a dumb smile on your face as you finally part ways. And you head toward the wounded man’s wailing.   You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks. What you see is blood-chilling. David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star. He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me… There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture. Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention… You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him. You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…? Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze. “Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!” The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them. You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three. Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer… You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside. “Nng—” You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent. The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs. “Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature. Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins. Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet. Cat and mouse. You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all in due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap. The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped. You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you. “You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases. Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?” “Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…” You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.” Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes. “You’re nothing special,” you spit. The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!” “Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur. The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, alright… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…” The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth. “Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—” He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.” Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor. “Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances… The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front row seats to the show.” You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours. You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely. He grins. Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him. Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power. You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt. The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl. “Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder. He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always. You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…” Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.” The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time. But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you. “I told you to be careful.” Yui comes up behind you as you turn to face her, surprised. She catches you as you stumble off-balance, her arms winding securely around your waist. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?” You muster a sheepish smile and sigh. “Nope…” Yui tosses one of your arms over her shoulder and gets moving, helping you slowly along. “You look terrible. But not as bad as David… He was already dead when I found him.” She side-eyes you and asks, “What happened?” “The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor… Carved me up and cracked my head open with his stupid bat.” “I’m surprised you’re still kicking,” Yui comments, grunting. “It’ll take a lot more than that to take me down,” you reply. Yui scoffs. “Are you trying to impress me?” “Uh—” You trail off, face flushed. And you must have a funny look on your face because Yui laughs. “Because it is a little impressive. You might’ve made a good racer back in the real world. Persevering, hard-headed, and just crazy enough to pull it off.” “I might have to try it when we get out of here,” you say, smiling. Yui smiles too. She helps you over a log and questions, “Where did the killer go?” You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished with me. Don’t know why and don’t know where.” “I hope he’s not waiting for us at the gates,” Yui frowns. “Who got the gates open, by the way?” “It was a new woman,” Yui answers. When she sees your puzzled look, she clarifies, “She’s new here. She must have come with the killer. I ran into her after you left.” “And then you came looking for me?” “When I heard you screaming, I wasn’t sure there was any point… But I couldn’t leave without humoring the chance. And lucky you, I did.” “Well, what do you know,” you begin amusingly. “Turns out I’ve got a little luck after all.” Yui stifles another laugh beside you and shakes her head. “Less chatter and more escaping.” “Won’t argue that.”   The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth’s rumbling violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg, but Yui supports you as you both hobble out into the fog. The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash through you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. You slow to a stop behind Yui, peeling the bloody gauze off your arm. “Thanks for the save,” you offer her with a smile. She stops in front of you, wiping sweat off her brow. “Don’t mention it.” She suddenly turns around and puts a hand out. “I’ve been avoiding you this whole time and never got your name.” Her lips perk up in a welcome smile. You return the gesture and reach for her hand. “I’m—”   Your voice is drowned out by the deep roar of an engine. So suddenly, you find yourself sitting atop a motorcycle, speeding down a street after dark. The engine purrs beneath you as you hug it close, and your fingers are tight on the handlebars. You swerve around bends and corners so fast; the world is a blur around you. Colorful neon lights in front of storefronts flash off your visor, and your stomach does a flip. But there’s an undeniable rush coursing through you, having your hair stand on end. Quickly you realize you’re not in control. Again, you’re merely a spectator in somebody else’s body in a different time. And quickly, you realize whose. Yui’s. You glimpse the familiar pink band wrapped around your wrist. Yui — You throw a glance back over your shoulder. You glimpse three more bikes far in the distance, trying to catch up. But they won’t. They can’t. You round another bend and notice the sidelines barred with railings. And behind the railings, dozens, if not hundreds, of people crowding around spectating. They cheer and call out loudly. Some wave colorful strips of cloth and signs. Just ahead of you, you discern the finish line. You’re so close. Something washes through you, like a surge of adrenaline. Your heart’s pumping fast and your hands grip the handles tighter. This is it. You didn’t come here to lose. You won’t.   “Hey—” You blink back to reality to come face to face with Yui. She has her hands on your shoulders, and a screwed-up look on her face, mixed with concern. “Are you still with me?” She snaps her fingers in front of your face. You swallow past a thick lump in your throat as everything comes back to you and hits you like a bag of bricks. “Yeah,” you manage, blinking. “Were you saying something?” Yui sighs. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” “Well, no, I—” You trail off, sheepishly scratching your cheek. “Did, I uh… give you my name?” Yui makes a face you can’t discern before changing the subject. “I’m going back to camp. Are you joining me?” She’s insisting more than she is asking. “I’d like to, but…” “But you want to play dare-devil in the fog again?” Yui pinches her brow. “There’s no point in trying to stop you, is there?” You frown. “Can’t help myself.” Yui silently scrutinizes you before shaking her head and turning to go. She throws an arm up and makes a gesture with her hand. “Stay safe out there, Trouble.” The hint of amusement in her tone has you smiling like an idiot. She vanishes within the fog, and you’re alone. But not for long. No sooner has she gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him. “I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Yui’s. It was a memory, I think.” “Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.” You arch a brow. “I do?” “You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says. “Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?” “You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?” “Yeah. Back to work…” You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.   Continue     —You find Kate on the generator, with her back to you as you approach. Before you announce yourself, you notice her humming contentedly to herself. It’s a familiar, sad song; one you’ve heard sung at the campfire, those times when there was hardly anyone else around, and Kate’s head was too hung to notice you lingering and listening. You don’t want to sneak up on her, so you clear your throat. Kate startles anyway and snaps her eyes over her shoulder to meet yours. Relief washes over her face. “Ah,” she sighs. “You scared the boots off me…” “Sorry,” you apologize. “You should be,” she replies, puffing. “I could’ve—” Her eyes go wide as she looks you over, from top to bottom, and shock overtakes her features. “What happened?” she asks, pushing away from the generator to approach. She reaches for your arm and tugs your sleeve up. Grimacing at the bloody sight beneath, she exclaims, “Oh, gosh—” Deep puncture wounds mark your arm, and the surrounding flesh is bloody and inflamed. You grunt. “I… I fell.” “I don’t think so,” Kate replies scoffingly. “You look like you got caught and dragged under a semi! And all this”—she cups your face and turns your head from side to side as she scrutinizes the damage—“What’s all this then, huh?” She asks. “You’re beaten black and blue.” “It was a really nasty fall,” you say. From the look on her face, she doesn’t believe you. That’s fair; you wouldn’t believe it yourself. Kate relinquishes you, and she slaps the satchel hanging on your hip. “You got somethin’ in there to take care of all this?” “I got some bandages—” “That’ll have to do,” Kate huffs. She helps herself to the contents of your bag until she fishes out a roll of bandages and gauze. Then she gets to work dressing your wound. You patiently wait while occasionally catching one of her off glances. “Do you wanna tell me what really happened?” she asks. “Or do I have to wring it outta you?” she adds, with amusement glimmering in her eyes. It’s a cute threat coming from a pretty woman with a cartoonishly southern drawl. You smile partially and cook up another lie. “Well—” “It happened out there in the fog, didn’t it?” she interrupts pointedly. Ah, well. “I didn’t say that.” “But that’s the truth. It’s where you had your nasty fall, and it’s where I’m guessin’ you were before being brought here.” She sets the gauze around your arm and gives it a pat before shoving the excess supplies back into your satchel. “We know you spend a lotta time out there,” she says. “And I think it’s no good for you.” She retakes her spot on the generator. You join her, reluctantly, and you get to work. “And I thought I was being discreet…” “You’re about as discreet as a rooster at dawn.” “I’m digging the country lingo, Kate. It’s cute.” “Don’t try flattering your way outta this,” Kate replies. “What do you do out there in the fog, besides piddlin’ and gettin’ hurt?” “I just like to get away from camp,” you answer. “I need time to myself sometimes.” Kate side-eyes you with a studying look. After a brief pause, she nods and focuses her attention on the wires grasped in her hands. “Well, it’s none of my business, is it? I just don’t like the idea of you gettin’ yourself into trouble…” “What can I say? Trouble’s drawn to me like bees to honey… Or flowers, I-I mean, or… Do bees like honey? Or is it pollen?" Your awkward fumble gets a laugh out of her. But she’s so distracted that she botches the repair and causes the generator to backfire. You both rear away, startled at the explosion of gas and fumes. Kate wafts at the toxic cloud, coughing as she gets to her feet and sighs heavily. “I-I might be more trouble than you,” she says. The generator sputters oil and sparks. Kate wipes grime off her face, and she whips her hair out of her eyes. “We should probably hide,” she suggests. You follow her into the boathouse and find a single locker nearby. After sharing a look, you both squeeze inside and shut the door, hiding in case your little mishap draws unwanted attention… The tight quarters don’t offer the two of you much space apart. It’s dark, but you can just barely make out Kate’s shadowed face with the light that seeps through the vents on the door. She’s as quiet as a mouse, and airing a collected facade, but you feel her heart pounding in her chest against yours, and her quick breaths fanning your skin. An uneventful minute passes before Kate breaks the silence with a whisper. “Y’know,” she begins. “I just got to thinkin’… You remind me of this mare that lived on a ranch in my old town.” “A horse?” you whisper. “Mm-hmm. And all the ranchers called her B.W. Do you wanna know why?” “Humor me.” “Well,” Kate continues slowly, with the faintest flicker of amusement crossing her expression. “It’s because she was as stubborn as a brick wall. Never did what she was told, and she was always runnin’ off and gettin’ herself into trouble…” She prods you gently in the chest with her pointer finger. “You remind me of that stubborn mare.” A generator blares to life in the distance, momentarily drawing your attention. But you pay it little mind and let out a quiet laugh. “I think this is the first time anyone’s ever compared me to a stubborn horse… But was she at least a pretty mare?” “As pretty as they come,” Kate replies laughingly. “And although they couldn’t control her, they kept her around… She must’ve grown on ‘em.” A smile edges your lips. “Aw, shucks… Now, is this the part where I compare you to a pretty cow, or—?” “A heifer?” she exclaims, laughing. “I think you’re bein’ too harsh.” “I’m not insulting you!” you reply, amused. “It’s a compliment. You’ve got some pretty cows down south, right?” “You think I’m a southern girl?” Kate says, amused. You blink. "Aren’t you?” Kate chuckles. “Pennsylvania, born and raised,” she says. “But I put roots down south, for a while… Picked up a lot of the local lingo while I was at it. For instance, if you’re tryin’ to compliment a country girl, you should try somethin’ along the lines of, ‘pretty as a peach,’ or ‘sweeter than cherry pie.’” She stifles another laugh that has your heart fluttering before a darling smile sets upon her lips. “You’re too cute though, I swear.” A scream suddenly cuts through the air across the swamp, startling you both, and making you jump. David. Something nicks the back of your neck, causing you to wince. “Ah- What the hell?” You touch a hand to your nape and smear blood over your fingers. Baffled, you turn your head and look at the wall behind you. And perplexingly, you notice a rack of iridescent throwing knives. Huh. “These are new,” you murmur, plucking one off the wall to more closely examine it. Kate blinks at them. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like those just lying around…” “They’re throwing knives,” you murmur as you turn the blade over. “Must be more toys for the killers.” You replace the knife on the wall. “We should probably get out of here.” You both exit the locker and return to the generator on the deck. It’s still clanging and sputtering, but you’ll salvage what progress you can.   You work diligently alongside Kate for about five minutes when you hear another scream. David. A beat passes, then you hear him scream again. Then again, and again… Ceasing your repairs, you draw your hands out of the generator and furrow your brows. David can take a beating. He wouldn’t be screaming like this if he were hooked… Urged on by the naggy feeling in your gut, you move away from the generator, prompting Kate to stand beside you. “We goin’ for the save?” She asks. “I’ll back you up.” “I can handle it,” you reply. “Finish this gen’. I’ll go see what’s hassling David…” “There’s you bein’ stubborn again,” Kate says with a sigh. “He might be in some real trouble if he’s makin’ all that noise…” “What’s a little trouble to such a stubborn mare?” you jest. Kate resists rolling her eyes; you can tell. She retakes her spot by the generator, sighing. “I should’ve kept my silly mouth shut,” she murmurs. “You be careful, you hear? Because I’ll come runnin’ otherwise.” “Got it,” you reply. Then you turn away and head toward the wounded man’s wailing.   You trek through the swamp for just about three minutes, hearing another generator come to life across the trail. You’re nearing David’s screams as you come upon the pier in the far corner of the swamp, tucked close to the borders. The closer you get, the higher the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the faster your heart pounds in your chest. Sweat slicks your forehead as you duck behind a thicket of cattails and high grass. Although hesitant, you peer out at the ruined docks. What you see is blood-chilling. David’s an appalling sight — Beaten to an almost unrecognizable pulp, bloodied, bruised, tortured. The sight alone puts an awful pit in your stomach and has bile rising in your throat. You slap a hand over your mouth and avert your eyes to the man that stands over David. Flashy, wack, and armed with a brutal bat. At first glance, he looks like a pop star. He must be new here. You haven’t heard any of the others around the campfire describe him before… Great, you think. Haven’t even met the rest of the roster and the Entity’s already throwing new tormentors at me… There’s nothing you can do to save David now, you know that. But the least you can do is spare him from more torture. Your hand moves down to your satchel, but you suddenly realize you’re without your fire poker — Must not have made it into the trial with you. You sigh, then scan the ground for a weapon before taking a hefty rock into your hand. Won’t do a lot of damage, but it might just steal his attention… You wind your arm back and chuck it hard at the bastard. And your aim is true. The rock sails through the air and clonks the guy on the back of the head. For a moment, nothing happens. The killer’s stiff in place, and David’s just moaning under him. You swallow a lump in your throat. Did I knock a screw loose…? Finally, the man moves again. His head snaps back over his shoulder, and piercing golden eyes meet yours and spit diggers at you. He turns fully to face your way, a wicked grin stretching from ear to ear. You shudder under his crazed gaze. “Playtime’s over, pop star!” you shout. “Come pick on somebody else!” The man chuckles, then shouts something at you in a foreign language. And quicker than you’re able to react, he throws his arm up and flicks his wrist. A small blade shoots past your face, cutting a bleeding gash into your cheek. You stagger away in surprise, touching a hand to the cut. Blood slicks your fingers. “Shit,” you curse. The pretty knives belong to the pretty boy. And evidently, he knows how to use them. You spin around and take off fast. You hear the killer giving chase, cackling like a madman. When you throw a glance back over your shoulder, you almost laugh. He even runs like a looney! You hear the swish of another blade and instinctively dip to the side. It embeds itself in an overturned canoe in front of you. After vaulting the wreckage, you turn your sights to the shack up on the hill near the realm’s border. A generator powers up across the yard. That makes three. Another knife zips past your neck, drawing a line of blood. You’re nearing the shack, but the killer’s gaining quickly in tow. Closer… Closer… You slam a hand on the wooden sill and vault through the window. A blade catches you in the back of the thigh, drawing a scream out of you as crash to the floor inside. “Nng—” You grip the handle in one hand and steel yourself before ripping it out. The blade clatters on the floor nearby. Blood oozes from your wound and you tighten your jaw in pain. You’re barely back on your feet before the killer comes stepping through the window after you. Wild eyes meet yours and glint with malicious intent. The madman speaks again, propping his bat against his shoulder. You don’t understand a word he’s saying — you stare dumbly at him, and he laughs. “Ah, English, then.” He has a suave voice that betrays his cruel, maniacal nature. Any second now, you silently urge Bastion. But moments pass by, and your shadowy partner is absent. You take a nervous step back; the killer takes a step forward. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it,” he grins. Your eyes flitter nervously to the doorway on the other side of the shack. The killer follows your glance and peeps the exit. Your eyes meet again and he smirks at you, then tips his bat toward the outlet. Cat and mouse. You make a mad dash for the door, but don’t get far at all due to your busted leg. A blade hisses through the air and shoots the collar of your jacket, pinning you to the doorframe. Then the guy’s right on top of you. He snatches the knife from your collar and strikes you upside the head with the blunt side of his bat. You stagger and hit the floor with a grunt. Your head is swimming and your vision is a blur. Blood oozes down your scalp and drips into your eyes. You blink blearily through a haze of red and stumble to your feet. Another swing cracks you across the back of the head and sends you staggering into the wall. Your legs give out under you and you crash to the floor in a moaning heap. The killer’s looming above you, playfully spinning his bat in circles. You can barely make him out through your bleary vision. A horn sounds in the distance. Another generator popped. You’re grabbed by the collar of your jacket and lifted to your feet. You sway off balance and brace against the man, slurring a jumble of words. He wraps his arms securely around you. “You aren’t the first to faint in my arms,” he teases. Your face rests in the crook of his neck and rich cologne stings your nostrils. You scrunch up your nose and the killer tips his head adoringly. “Moon Radiance,” he says. “Do you like it?” “Fffuck you and your cologne,” you drawl dizzily. The man laughs before giving you a nudge backward. You crash into the wall, and he cups your face. “Stay with me,” he coos. “I need you here for this…” You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he suddenly slams one of your hands beside your head, then stabs a blade through your palm. You scream in pain and try thrashing free, but he repeats the process with your other hand. You’re pinned to the wall. He leers in your face. “Perfect.” Plucking your chin in his hand, he leans in, his crazed eyes burning into yours. “Most people would kill to be this close,” he hushes. “You’re nothing special,” you spit. The killer recoils, a hand in front of his heart in mock offense. “You’ve never heard of the Trickster?” he announces melodramatically. “My music was raging across Seoul, stealing the hearts of men and women alike!” “Dun’t ring a bell,” you slur. The Trickster chuckles. “Oh, all right… But you’ll be screaming my name soon enough.” He takes a knife from his belt and drags it across your cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. His lips are drawn into a sick grin, revealing two rows of bright teeth. “I wonder what sounds you’ll make for me…” The knife crosses your jaw, moves down your neck, over your collarbone, and goes further down yet, at an excruciatingly slow pace. You grit your teeth. “Where’s your sweet spot?” Trickster questions, tipping his head. “Here?” He takes the knife down over your hip. “No, no,” he murmurs. “Maybe here.” Then the knife drags slowly over your belly. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He pouts. “Tough crowd… Maybe—”He takes the knife lower until reaching a particularly sensitive spot, and you can’t suppress the whimper that escapes your lips. Trickster stops and smirks. “Found it.” Your futile struggle increases tenfold, but you’re only doing more damage to yourself. Blood spills from your hands and collects in puddles on the floor. “Bastion!” you call out, panicked. Pitifully calling for your shady partner isn’t beneath you, given the current circumstances… The Trickster laughs. “Oh, calling a friend? Go ahead. He’ll have front-row seats to the show.”You brace for what happens next, your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw tight. An excruciating moment of nothing passes, then you flinch at the sound of flesh tearing. Blood spatters your face and you blink your eyes open in surprise; a black claw protrudes from the Trickster’s gut, sleeked in gore and viscera. The man staggers forward, crashing into you and bracing an arm on the wall to keep himself up. He coughs blood in your face, and his bulging, mad eyes meet yours. You can’t help but smile in gratification. “Make some noise,” you say snidely. He grins. Another sickening snap and he’s yanked backward with a shrill, hysterical laugh. You watch with wide eyes as he’s seized by another claw, then a third, and then twisted and torn apart. The gruesome sight is too much to watch and you avert your eyes. The Trickster’s howling laughter quickly becomes gurgled moans, and then silence as his mangled body is abducted into the abyss. You watch the ground seal up after him. Moments of silence follow, only broken by the sound of the final generator roaring to life, and the blare of the exit gates surging with power. You snap out of your daze and wrench one of your hands against the knife pinning it in place. Searing pain jolts up your arm, but the blade comes loose and clatters to the floor. You grip the other knife and rip it from your palm with a grunt. The Collapse begins, and it’s signaled by a tremor that shakes the earth. You lose your footing and stagger off balance, but you’re caught and steadied by a hand on your shoulder. You lift your gaze and meet Bastion’s blank face. His grin’s absent. Your lips form into a scowl. “Where the hell were you?” You slap his hand off your shoulder. He audibly hesitates, “I was… indisposed.” Vague and frustrating, as always. You scoff. “Yeah, well, while you were indisposed, that guy was carving me up.” You cradle your hands to your chest and mutter, “Another sick killer. And another one adding me to their personal hit list…” Bastion’s soundless. You give him a pointed look, then sigh and shake your head. “I’m getting out of here.” The Collapse is intensifying as you stumble out of the shack. Embers are rising from the crackling scars on the ground, and the earth rumbles. Given your current state, you might not make it to the gates in time. But your nagging doubts cease completely as you hear a familiar voice call after you. “Hey!” Kate comes up behind you as you turn around, surprised. She catches you when you stumble off-balance, her arms winding securely around your waist. “Didn’t I tell you to be careful?” She sighs. You muster a sheepish smile. “I tried.” Kate tosses one of your arms over her shoulder and gets moving, helping you slowly along. “You’re in bad shape… But better off than poor David.” She grimaces upon murmuring his name. “I found him, and… gosh, it was horrible. What happened?” “The new killer happened,” you say, wincing. “The guy’s a lunatic. Might even be worse than the Doctor…” “There’s a new killer?” Kate frowns. “Shoot… And where’d he go?” You hesitate. “He ran off after he finished carving me up. Don’t know why and don’t know where.” “Well, let’s hope he’s not guarding the gates,” Kate says, shuddering. “Who got the gates open, by the way?” you ask. “Some new bell,” Kate answers. When she sees your puzzled look, she clarifies, “A new camper. My guess is she was tossed into this mix with the new killer. I ran into her after you left.” “And then you came looking for me?” “Mm-hmm. I wasn’t so sure you’d still be alive, after all that screamin’, but I had to take the chance.” She meets your gaze with a smile in her eyes. “And I’m sure you would’ve done the same for me, B.W.” “Oh, please don’t tell me that’s my new corny nickname…” Kate laughs. “But it’s fittin, isn’t it? I can’t think of one better.” You blow a raspberry, amused. “I guess I’ll take it…”   The collapse is nearly at its climax when you both arrive at the nearest set of gates. The earth rumbles violently underfoot, and you can hardly keep your weight on your bad leg. Kate supports you as you both hobble through the gates and into the fog. The moment you pass through the barrier dividing the realms, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as the fog heals your battered body. In a matter of seconds, your various wounds heal, and you have a pep in your step. You slow to a stop behind Kate, peeling the bloody gauze off your arm. “Thanks for the save.” Kate stops in front of you with a soft smile. “Anytime.” After a pause, she adds, “But that doesn’t mean you should run off and get yourself into more trouble. I can’t always be there to carry you out of the fire…” She pats your arm.   The world shifts and changes around you as you’re whisked out of the fog, and transported someplace else. You’re momentarily blinded by intense rays of sunlight. But when your eyes adjust, you blink and take in a change of scenery. You’re in the shade of a tall tree amid a vast field of flowers and grass. The setting sun on the horizon paints the sky with hues of purple and pink. Similar to your other strange visions, you’re not in control. You’re simply a passenger in someone else’s body. An acoustic guitar rests on your lap, and your fingers tread its strings, strumming a melancholy song that’s carried away on a faint breeze. You hum along to the melody, and it takes you a moment to recognize the angelic voice. You come to a sudden realization—you’re Kate. She plays her song and sings, blissfully ignorant of everything else but this moment. You could lose yourself in the beautiful sights and songs forever, and you’d be content with that. You’d be—   “Hey!” You come face to face with Kate. She throttles your shoulders with a concerned expression on her face. “Are you okay?” You blink at her and swallow past a thick lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you say, recollecting yourself. “I’m fine.” Kate’s brow wrinkles. She hesitantly draws away. “Are you sure? Because for a minute there, I thought I’d lost you—” “I’m fine, really,” you reply with a nervous smile. “That, uh… just happens sometimes.” “Mm.” Kate scuffs the dirt under her heels and spins around. “We should get to camp,” she says. “You must be exhausted after what you went through.” “I’ll stop by later,” you say. Kate falters, and she looks at you with a frown. “Later?” she says. “Now, what’s keepin’ you from joining me there now?” Without an answer, you fall silent. Kate pouts, then she shakes her head. “Ah, I get it… You wanna go out there again, don’t you?” She swings her arm in a wide arc in a gesture at the dense fog. Your brows stitch in hesitance. “Well… Yes, but—” “You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Kate interrupts with a sigh. “I won’t drag you back to camp if it’s not where you want to be.” She turns away from you and takes just a few steps before pausing to look back once more. “You keep outta trouble,” she says, more a demand than a request. “That’s my top priority,” you reply, wearing a managed smile. “I sure hope so,” Kate says. She spins around and walks away, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t be a stranger!” Her form vanishes in the fog. But no sooner has she gone than does Bastion appear beside you. He tips his head curiously down at you. You look at him. “I saw something,” you say. “Another vision, but it was Kate’s. It was a memory, I think.” “Oh?” Bastion doesn’t sound too surprised. He folds his arms behind his back. “You have a unique connection to the fog, and everything and everyone in it.” You arch a brow. “I do?” “You’re special, Wanderer,” Bastion says. “Right.” You sigh. “So I’m a messiah and a mind-reader… Does this gig come with any other cool perks?” “You’ll just have to find out,” Bastion replies. He tilts his head and grins. “Back to work, then?” “Yeah. Back to work…” You gaze ahead at the fog for only a moment before turning and moving the other way. You’ll have time to visit the camp and check in on everyone later. But your search comes first. Answers come first.   Continue   So often you’ve found yourself in the dark lately. Your unconscious mind doesn’t take you anywhere else but this same cold, empty void. But you’re never alone here. As always, you hear faint whispers and feel a terrible overwhelming presence nearby. Some looming, disembodied entity of malevolence and wrath that just watches you. When these night terrors first began, you thought that entity was Bastion. But as cold and similar to him as it is, you know it isn’t him. You twist and turn on your feet to gaze out into the endless expanse. But yet again, your eyes can’t make out anything in the darkness. A pit rests in your stomach and your skin crawls. You want to get away, but you’re rooted in the toxic tar underfoot, and there’s nowhere even to go. Spidery legs tickle your throat, so you open your mouth and let out a scream: but the void swallows up your voice, and the intense silence persists. The creepy-crawly sensation worms up and out through your parted lips, then extends itself down over your chin, your neck, collarbone, then chest. Then all at once, a thousand needle-like barbs prick your skin and pierce your flesh. A silent cry escapes your mouth and you claw at the unseen assailant stabbing into you. But your fingers come into contact with nothing. So, in a sheer panic from the agonizing pain rushing through you, you turn against yourself. Your nails shred your flesh in a frenzy, and hot, wet tears spill down your face and drip into the blackness below. But no matter how much you rip and tear, the prickly, evil sensation doesn’t go away. Your face twists with agony. Then your stomach flips and you lurch forward onto your knees in the black pit. Everything on you screams in pain and your body shudders uncontrollably. That evil feeling digs into you and buries itself in deep. In one desperate last bid to remove it, you reach into the bloody cavity in your chest and try to rip it out. But your bloody hand only grabs a hold of your own heart. It beats fast in your fist. This should stop it , you think, gripping it tighter. This should make it stop. So you crush the beating organ in your hand, eager to end it all.    ∗ ∗ ∗    “Caw! Caw, caw, caw!” You peel your eyes open and blink blearily up at the ceiling as your senses come crashing into you. Wood burning, a faint vanilla scent, and strangely, the cold. How is it cold? You sit up in bed and glance about the room. For once, you eagerly seek out Bastion’s company, but he seems to be absent. Figures. He’s making a habit of never being there when you need him… You slightly turn your head, then blink in bewilderment when you set your sights upon the window behind the bed frame. The shutters are open, the windowpane lifted, and a single crow sits on the sill, watching you closely. Beady black eyes meet yours. “Caw!” A whistling breeze gusts into the room, ruffling the crow’s feathers and giving you goosebumps. You don’t recall opening the window… Huh. You lean forward to make a swatting motion at the bird. “Shoo.” It doesn’t move. Only sits there staring at you. So you stare back. And strangely, it tilts its head inquisitively. Almost too inquisitively… You hesitate, then reach out a hand toward it. The crow allows your hand close, then surprisingly, it dips its head under your open palm. You gently stroke its body and a small smile forms on your lips. “Aw…” The crow seems to enjoy your doting affections. But maybe a little too much.“Ah, that feels good.” “HUH!?” You recoil so fast you throw yourself back and knock your head on the bed frame. “Gah!” Your vision flashes white and you take your head in your hands. Your wide eyes snap back to the bird and you bark, “Bastion?!” The crow — Bastion, laughs at you. He does a little hop and barks, “Oh, the look on your face!” You snatch a pillow into your hands and toss it at him. But suddenly, he isn’t there. The pillow flies out the window as Bastion vanishes. Then you jump in surprise when he reappears in his humanoid form at the foot of the bed behind you. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” You scoff. “A crow? Really? Is that your new thing?” “I thought you could use a wake-up call,” Bastion grins at you. “Or rather, a wake-up caw.” He laughs at his own stupid jape and you roll your eyes. “You’re not funny.” “Not even a little?” “No.” You climb out of bed with a sigh. “Day’s already off to a great start,” you mutter, moving toward the door. Bastion chuckles and trails behind you. “With that attitude, it’ll only get worse.”   You toss your leather jacket over your shoulders and cram your fire poker into your bag. Now you’re ready as ever (yet reluctant) to venture out into the fog yet again. You packed all the necessities and more. This time you’re equipped with an oil lantern supplied to you by Lydia, and a very sharp kitchen knife (just in case the fire poker isn’t enough for whatever you might encounter on your expedition.) You couldn’t be more prepared. As you’re fixing the lantern to your belt, you hear Lydia call from the porch, “Have some tea before you go!” “Thanks, Lydia!” you call back, stepping toward the kitchen. You find a cup of steaming tea waiting for you on the kitchen table, and you down it quickly like a shot before crossing the room and stepping outside. Lydia rocks idly in her chair, and her gaze slightly shifts your way. “Be careful out there,” she says, humming. “I’ll try,” you reply. You move down the porch steps, then falter and stop. “You know, Lydia, there’s a man back at camp I think you should meet… His name’s Bill. I’m sure you’d like each other.” You glance back with a smile. Lydia perks up and chuckles. “I think you’ve got enough on your plate, honey. You don’t need to go and play matchmaker for me…” “No, really,” you laugh. “Bill’s a cool guy! Old war vet, grizzled, and he’s not always so grumpy… I just think you two would be perfect.” “Why, ‘cause we’re old?” Lydia chuckles. “I guess we’ll see… Bring ‘im by sometime, then.” You give her a friendly nod and thumbs-up, then step off the porch. She calls after you, “Oh, I think one of your friends came by lookin’ for you earlier.” You stop and look back, a brow raised. “A friend…? Who?” “I don’t know,” Lydia replies, shrugging. “A man, I think… He was quiet, didn’t utter a word. Crept in and out so fast, I almost missed ‘im.” She scoffs. “Would’ve invited him in for biscuits and tea if he wasn’t such a spook…” “What’d he look like?” Lydia gazes blankly ahead. You make a face and sheepishly scratch your neck. “Sorry. Uh—” You turn away and get moving, calling back, “Just let me know if he comes by again.” “Will do,” Lydia replies. You finally leave the old cabin behind and venture into the fog.   You walk for five minutes before Bastion appears and startles you half to death. “What was the old woman going on about?” he asks, tipping his faceless gaze down toward you. “We had a visitor,” you reply, features slant. “I think someone from camp found Haven…” “I doubt it will become a problem,” Bastion says. “Although, your fellow campers might not be too happy to find you’ve been living in such luxury while they’re living in squalor.” “Hey, you’re the one that told me not to throw any parties,” you say. “If it were up to me, I’d have the whole camp over for a bash. God knows they could use one…” Bastion laughs, then sighs. “Put it out of mind. Whoever it was, I doubt they even know you were there. And it’s even less likely they’ll happen upon the cabin again. It’s very odd they even stumbled upon it the first time…” He rubs his chin. “But these things happen.” “Yeah, I guess.” You yawn and stretch your arms out in front of you. “So, how long were you going to let me pet you before you said anything?” You side-eye Bastion. He grins at you and chuckles. “Oh, I wasn’t going to utter a peep. It felt rather nice…” You scoff. “Okay, Zeus.” Then you make a motion with your hands. “And how did you…?” “Much like you, I share a unique connection to this dark realm. It’s been my… home for so long, after all. And as such, it twisted me, and gave me the ability to twist it.” He flexes his claws in a gesture and adds, “I can draw on the surrounding fog to manipulate my form, as well.”  He gives you a demonstration of this and vanishes. Then he’s a crow again, perched on your shoulder. “I can become anything…” He vanishes again, then makes you jump as he reappears suddenly in front of you, taking YOUR appearance. "Or anyone.” Such an unpleasant surprise has you tripping backward over your feet. “Whoa!” You stagger to a stop and stare wide-eyed at the spitting image of yourself. She’s exact in almost every regard, except the hollow-eyed gaze, and a glistening white grin spread over her face. It puts an awful knot in your stomach, and Bastion laughs before vanishing again and finally retaking his initial appearance behind you. He stoops down and rests a hand on your shoulder. “It’s just a shell, Wanderer.” “Mm.” You shudder and keep moving. “Cool, cool, just… don’t do that again.” Bastion chuckles before prompting you, “Care to share what you dreamt of tonight?” You sigh. “This isn’t going to become a thing between us, Bastion. This isn’t some… book club where we come together and share stories and small talk.” “I’m only curious,” Bastion says. “You were doing that thing where you whimper and mewl in your sleep… You even kicked out a few times and balled your fists in the sheets.” “Yeah, nightmares can do that to you,” you mutter in response. Bastion chuckles. “Oh, so it was a nightmare? I thought you were having a wet dream, the way you were clutching the sheets and moaning.” You bat him in the side, and he laughs heartily and nudges you with a claw. “Tell.” “No.” Bastion insistently nudges you until you smack his claw away and assert, “I said no, Bastion. I told you already. You and I? Not friends. And small talk is reserved for friends.” Bastion finally concedes defeat with a huff. “Wrong side of the bed indeed,” he says while folding his arms behind his back. “You’re breaking my heart, Wanderer.” “You don’t have a heart,” you say matter-of-factly. Bastion hums, then vanishes. And now you’re alone. As soon as he’s gone, you feel a tinge of guilt. It’s not that you didn’t want to share with him, per se… You just didn’t want to dig up the nightmares you just so recently buried. It was such a horrific, god-awful experience, and not one you want to relive by sharing it with your shady partner. You doubt he’d even have any comfort to offer you, should you tell him. And after that harrowing experience, you wouldn’t mind a little comfort… But what’s done is done, and now you find you have some alone time. It’s a rarity nowadays, just to have some time for yourself. No trials, no beasts in the fog, no persistently annoying demon companions… You walk silently for about ten minutes. And not once do you feel that strange pull to guide you to your next destination. Just the crisp, stale air, and silence of the fog. You finally decide to call it quits and take a break when you enter a small clearing. You find a rotten log against a tall, dead tree and take a seat. It crunches under you and a swarm of bugs scatter beneath it, but you hardly care enough to move. When you kick back, you rifle your lighter from your pocket and idly flick it open and close. Your eyes glance about the clearing boredly before you sigh and lean forward to rest your head on your hands. You’ve been so caught up in your quest for answers lately that you haven’t had the opportunity to really sit down and let the gravity of the entire situation hit you. It’s one thing to take on the mantel of the messiah. But you fear burdening that weight for too long will take a toll on you… Well, a toll worse than the one it already has. What comes after these terrible nightmares? What comes after each and every grueling venture you take into the fog? And what will come for you in the end? Each what and why has your nerves constantly flared, and your morale delicately thin. Bastion might constantly assure you you’ll find the answers you want, but even so, you can’t help but distrust him. He knows more than he’s letting on while you know next to nothing. “Who knows what happens next,” you mutter, sighing. Then you finally shoulder your concerns to allow yourself some reprieve. You lift your gaze from your feet and lean backward. “Caw!” Your eyes flit up and catch a crow watching you. It’s perched high in a dead tree. A frown draws over your lips. After your little moment with Bastion earlier, you have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t a normal crow… You evil-eye the bird for a minute before grabbing a rock and chucking it. “Take a hike, stalker!” The crow squawks and flies away. Hmm. Maybe it was a normal bird… You lean back on the log when you get a sudden spine chill. Your body tenses up and you cast a look back over your shoulder at the fog. Of course, you see nothing. But you’re on edge, nonetheless. You get to your feet and scan your surroundings. “Bastion?” you call out. A twig snaps behind you one second, and you’re racing the other way the next. You’re running blind, letting your feet and panic take you as far from that clearing as quickly as they can. And you keep running until the ground disappears right under your feet. “AH!” You shout in panic as you run off the edge of a cliff. Your arms and legs flail before you’re suddenly snatched around the waist and caught. Your stomach lurches and you grunt in pain. Wide-eyed, you glance down at a claw hooked around your abdomen, then turn your head to blink at Bastion. He stands on the edge of the cliff behind you, his head tipped and shoulders bouncing in amusement. “Careful, Wanderer,” he says with a chuckle. “You shouldn’t run blindly through the fog… There’s no telling what you’ll run into. Or in this case, run off of.” He draws his claw back and sets you down at his side. “Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that,” you say, backing away from the cliff’s edge. You look up at Bastion. “Was that you creeping up on me back there?” Bastion tips his head curiously. You sigh. “I felt something, then heard something—” He still appears puzzled. You shake your head. “Never mind. It was probably nothing…” Then you lean forward to peer down over the cliff’s edge. There’s a dense pool of fog below, shrouding the bottom and anything else from sight. But strangely enough, you sense something. It’s that odd feeling, same as before. The feeling that has your hair standing on end, and that puts an unbearable itch in your skull… “I need to get down there,” you say, stepping back. Bastion tilts his head. “Oh?” “Yeah. I don’t know what’s down there, but it’s something.” Bastion chuckles behind you. “Well, in that case.” You crease your brows and glance up at him. He has a cheeky grin on his face. And before you’re even able to discern the reason behind it, he swats you with a claw and sends you hurtling down over the edge of the cliff with a shout. You scream as you flail helplessly through the air. The world spins around you before you break through the fog and see the ground below. You squeeze your eyes tight and shield your face, fully expecting to go splat. But you’re caught unexpectedly in somebody’s arms. The panic floods out of you as you peel open an eye and look up. Bastion grins down at you. “I think you might be falling for me.” “Bastard,” you scoff, punching him in the chest. He chuckles and sets you down. You straighten up and mutter, “Some warning would’ve been—” You cut off and gaze wide-eyed ahead. There’s a large, rocky formation before you, with a cavernous, dark hole in the face. A cave. Excitement rushes through you. “The cave… It’s the cave!” Then excitement becomes dread. You shiver. “The cave. I was hoping we’d never find it…” “Well, we have,” Bastion grins, nudging you toward the rock face. “And we have a mark to find.” You trip forward and stop. “Wait, now?” “When else?” he replies. “This is what we came for. If we leave, we might not find it again…” Apprehension roots you in place. “Well, yeah, but—” You bite your lip and throw an arm out in a gesture. “It’s a creepy-ass cave! And there are things down there!” “This is your expedition,” Bastion says with a chuckle. “Are you getting cold feet, Wanderer?” You sigh and kick a rock. “Fine. Fine!” You take your lantern from your belt and twist the knob to catch a flame. It lights up, and you raise it high before stepping into the mouth of the cave. Then you stop. Peering into the blackness, you can faintly make out a rocky, dark tunnel that descends below. Wind whistles through the cavern and a spidery sensation crawls up your spine that makes you shudder. You swallow a lump in your throat and fidget nervously on your feet. Bastion makes you jump as he dips his head toward yours. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” He grins at you. You scowl at him before sighing and taking a step forward. “Here we go…” One step, you pause. The cold has your skin stippling with goosebumps. You take another step and falter when the whistling air resembles shrieks. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and your hand tightens around the handle of the lantern. “Maybe this isn’t even the right cave,” you try, looking back at Bastion. “Maybe we shouldn’t even waste our time—” “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.” “The dark, no. But dark, creepy caves with who knows what lurking inside? Yes.” Bastion laughs and puts out a hand. Then he tips his head and grins.    ∗ ∗ ∗    Another whistling shriek makes you jump and tighten your hand around Bastion’s. Your heart is racing, and your skin is slick with sweat, despite how cold the tunnel is. You’ve only been descending for about ten minutes, and you already want to turn back. Because the deeper down you go, the worse your fear gets. Not to mention your lantern’s dimming… You neglected to check the oil before you left the cabin. These tunnels are undoubtedly the same ones you traversed in that man’s memory. The rocky walls are all too familiar, and they hug close to your sides, hardly offering you space to walk. Bastion strides silently beside you, but he’s got that stupid grin on his face. You can’t tell if it’s smugness, or if he’s genuinely pleased to be holding your hand… It’s likely the former. “Don’t let this go to your head,” you hush. “I’m not holding your hand because I like you… Because I don’t.” “Oh, of course,” Bastion says with a chuckle. “I’m serious.” “I’m sure you are.” You shake your head. The path ahead is getting narrower and narrower. And pretty soon, you have to let go of Bastion’s hand to move in a single file line down the cramped tunnel. You occasionally glance back over your shoulder to check your shadowy companion is still there. He chuckles at your behavior. “Afraid I’ll vanish?” “Yes, because it wouldn’t be the first time…” You pass him an accusing glance. “Don’t even think about abandoning me in these messed up tunnels.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bastion replies. “And speaking of dreams—” “No.” “Come now, Wanderer. Humor my curiosity,” Bastion says while grinning. “Are you going to make me beg?” “I might.” Bastion laughs heartily as he falls behind you. “I see…” Silence befalls you both as you proceed along the tunnel. And soon, you come upon a dead end. Well, at first glance, it’s a dead end. But upon further inspection of the rocky wall, you realize a narrow cavity just wide enough to squeeze through. As you peer through the crack, there’s only darkness on the other side. But this is the only way through, you’re sure. You sigh. “Fuck this place, seriously…” You replace your lantern on your belt and ease sideways into the opening. Apprehension of what you might find on the other side has jitters running through your body. You spend a very claustrophobic two minutes squeezing through the tight space before reemerging on the other side. After retaking your dim lantern from your hip, you raise it high to illuminate your new surroundings. But you can hardly even make out your own feet beneath you. You’re surrounded by pitch black, and an eery, stale atmosphere. You swallow a lump in your throat and utter, “Okay… This is okay…” You blindly reach out an arm, hoping to contact a wall, but your fingers grasp at nothing. Another whistling shriek makes you jump. “Shit—” you curse. And it’s only then you realize Bastion’s absence. You peer back over your shoulder, then left, then right, but can’t make out your companion anywhere. Granted, he’d be near impossible to see down here, but it’s painstakingly obvious he’s missing. “Bastion?” you call out. Your voice reflects back to you, and you shiver. “Bastion!” A screeching noise cuts through the cavern and stipples your arms with goosebumps. You take a few steps, then pause when you make out a dripping sound close by. You can’t discern which direction it comes from, though, which further adds to your increasing fear. Your feet carry you forward slowly, step by step when you feel an icy hand take your shoulder. A frightful shriek leaves your lips as you jump and spin around. Your pounding heart only calms when you make out a tall, dark silhouette, and Bastion’s roaring laughter. “Asshole!” you bark, punching him in the side. “Ah, I couldn’t help myself,” he chuckles. You hiss and shake your head. “It’s bad enough I’m down here with who knows what! But I’ve gotta be stuck with you, too.” Bastion plucks at your shoulder with a claw, and you swat it away. “Of all the annoying sidekicks I could’ve gotten,” you mutter. “Sidekick?” Bastion says, feigning offense to the statement. “If I’m the hero of the story, then you’re just the sidekick.” You glance back at him with a wry smirk. Bastion chuckles. “You seem to be embracing the role of great messiah,” he says. “I don’t have a choice,” you scoff. Another moaning breeze gusts through the cavern and makes you shudder. To distract yourself from your increasing fear, you ask, “Did you ever do anything like this? When you were Bryce?” You look back at Bastion. You notice the change in his demeanor immediately. His grin wilts, and, in fact, he appears to be scowling. You come to a stop as Bastion folds his arms tightly behind his back. His faceless gaze drops to the ground and you hear him grinding his teeth. Nervous anticipation makes your hair stand on end. “Bastion…?” you say uneasily. His head snaps up so suddenly it makes you jump. He forces a grin. “Forgive me, Wanderer, but my memories of Bryce’s ventures are… foggy.” “O…kay,” you murmur, turning back around. “Sorry I asked…” You move forward, saying, “I was just wondering…if…” Your voice trails off and your footsteps falter when you hear whispers intruding your mind. Eyes wide, you glance about the surrounding darkness to seek the source. But your eyes find nothing, and the whispers mount in volume, becoming harsher and more grating. And carried with them is an all too familiar prickly sensation and sinister presence. You squeeze your eyes shut tight and try to discern the words being murmured to you. But so many voices speak, all at once and in a chaotic order, and you can’t make out a damn thing. Bastion’s claw throttles you back to reality. As soon as you reopen your eyes, the whispers fade, and that presence vanishes. You glance up at Bastion, and he stares back soundlessly, perhaps awaiting an explanation. You don’t have one for him. Shrugging his claw off your shoulder, you say, “Let’s just find that damn mark and get out of—AH!” Your voice leaves you in a sharp scream as a sudden intense pain shoots up your leg. You stagger forward and crash to your knees, your face screwed up in pain. Your eyes dart to your leg and you find a crude arrow shot right through your calf. A bloody bone arrowhead protrudes from the front. The cavern comes alive with animalistic grunts and growls and hooting and hollering. You lift your dim lantern high, but the darkness remains ever static. “Bastion—?” You glance fearfully at your companion just as you hear another arrow whizzing through the air. The air rushes out of your lungs as a claw catches you around the midsection and snatches you right up with a yelp. A flaming arrow strikes the ground where you sat mere moments ago. “I think it’s time to go!” you shout. Bastion makes a noise in agreement just before you hear another arrow loosed from a bow. You only catch a glimpse of it whizzing through the air before it strikes your companion in the back. His shadowy form is suddenly engulfed in smoldering flames, and a dreadful, monstrous shriek rips from his maw. In the heat of the moment, he drops you carelessly on your bad leg. “Shit!” you curse. The intense light from Bastion’s burning form momentarily blinds you. But as your vision returns, you crawl backward, wide-eyed, and witness his distressed, flaming silhouette. The entire cavern is lit up now. You’re surrounded by steep rocky ledges that stretch up toward the cave ceiling. And resting on these ledges, are dozens upon dozens of nude, humanoid figures. Their skin is grey and taut over their frail bodies, heads hairless and eyes milky-white. They’re just perched there, watching you. And many are armed with crude weapons crafted from sticks and stones and bones: bows, clubs, cleavers, and axes. You’d rather be in the dark. You shoot another frantic look at Bastion. He’s lit up and covered in flames from head to toe. His claws are alight too, like broken, flaming wings protruding from his back. He wails like a busted siren and claws and tears at himself in a panicked attempt to extinguish the flames. And when that fails, he up and vanishes with a gravelly moan. As soon as he’s gone, the light vanishes with him. Darkness shrouds the cavern again. You cry out, “Bastion!” The cave dwellers erupt in volume and animation, and you hear fast running footsteps coming your way. You act fast, snapping the arrowhead off the arrow embedded in your leg, then you rip the shaft out and stagger to your feet. You take off blindly into the darkness, using only the light from your dim lamp to guide you. Another flaming arrow shoots past your head, and you cut down a narrow tunnel. Those things are giving chase. You move as fast as you’re able, what with your busted extremity. Excruciating pain shoots up your leg with each step, but the adrenaline coursing through you numbs it just enough to keep you going. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” you pant, glancing back over your shoulder. The only thing you’re able to make out are the dark shapes of your pursuers, gaining in tow. You almost slip on the wet, rocky stone floor underfoot. And you notice the tunnel is steadily declining. You dodge yet another flaming arrow, but something hard catches you around the legs and trips you up. You hit the ground hard and tumble down the tunnel, grunting and yelling in pain. The world spins around you for a minute before you go sliding off an edge. You lose your grip on your lantern and fall into darkness before crashing down hard into a shallow pool of cold water at the bottom of the pit. You moan in pain when you hear your lantern smash to the floor nearby. It shatters, and the measly amount of oil left in it spills out and ignites. Bursting flames light up the small cavern you now find yourself in. You weakly lift your head and gaze about the room. Then you freeze solid when your eyes catch the unsettling sight tucked against the cave wall. A variety of bones, undoubtedly human bones, piled high and littering the floor. It’s enough to put a nasty knot in your stomach. But what comes as a striking and welcome surprise is the sight of a leather-bound book resting atop the graveyard. That might just be what you came for. You quickly identify the object tangled around your legs: A bola crafted from two battered human skulls and thick twine. After rifling your kitchen knife from your bag, you cut yourself free and carry yourself out of the pool. You drag your bad leg behind you before dropping to your knees before the bones. A shriek behind you makes you jump and glance back. You can make out the gaping dark hole of the tunnel you fell out of, and you hear your pursuers fast approaching. Skin stippled with goosebumps, you reach out and take the book, then cram it into your bag. Another screech grabs your attention, and you shoot back to your feet, spinning around to watch two dwellers leap down into the pit. They land with a splash in the pool, their twisted grey bodies shimmering in the light of the flickering flames spreading throughout the cavern. Their muddy-brown, snarling teeth glint and snap at you. There’s something hungry in their eyes… Hungry and sinister. You have a pretty good idea of what might happen next… Despite the near-crippling fear, you brandish your knife and bark, “Stay back!” The savages snarl at you and stalk nearer, undeterred by your shaky stance. One is armed with a hefty skull club, the other with a stone shank. You limp backward, arm trembling and knuckles white on the handle of your pathetic weapon. “Back!” you shout, sweat slicking your skin. But to your surprise, and immense horror, they push forward, right through the wall of licking flames. They’re unaffected by it. Unbothered. Their bare feet pitter-patter over the stone floor, and without word or warning, one lunges straight for you. It swings its club and knocks you upside the head. Something cracks- your own skull shattering against the blunt impact. You grunt and lose your grip on your knife, staggering backward and crashing down into the pile of bones. The savage is right on top of you, clawing and beating on you with its fists. The other stays back, spectating and stomping its feet in excitement. Nails dig into your scalp, and you buck wildly to try throwing the fucker off. But it’s latched on tight. It howls and dips its head before chomping down on your neck. You scream as it rips into you. But its attack is short-lived. You glimpse something large and dark lunging forward out of the shadows before it bowls you both over. You crash to the ground again and roll to a stop, head spinning. Groaning in pain, you press a hand firmly to your shredded neck and lift your head. Your blood runs cold at the new twisted sight. A large, hulking beast is before you. It stands over twice your size on its four legs, and the only way you can describe it is it resembles a hairless panther. Black skin is taut over its muscles, it has sharp, dagger-like claws, and a gaping maw with glistening white canines. It lacks eyes and ears, and a long, bony tail swishes behind it. Black spidery hooks similar in appearance to the Entity’s protrude from its back. You watch wide-eyed in terror as the beast snatches the savage up in its jaws. And with a sickening crunch, it clamps down on its skull, smashing it like a melon. Blood spatters the cave floor and you flinch when you’re caught in the splash zone. Then the beast turns its attention to the other savage. The other tries to flee, but it’s toppled over and crushed under the monster’s hulking paw. The monster dips its head, buries its teeth in the savage’s back, then rips its spine right out with a crackling snap and squelch. You gag and avert your eyes. And then, finally, the beast turns its sights to you. You pick yourself up, then trip backward over your bad leg and hit the ground again with a painful yelp. The beast stalks near, tail swishing slowly back-and-forth behind it. You flip over and scramble for your knife, but the beast is right on top of you. A heavy, bloody paw rests on your back and pins you down. You let out a whimpering yelp and struggle helplessly as it slowly dips its head toward the nape of your neck. Blood oozes from its snarling muzzle and drips onto your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as the beast huffs cold breath on your neck. Then it flips you over onto your back, and you peel open an eye to see its glistening, bloody canines forming an odd grin on its muzzle. A baritone, yet all too familiar laugh escapes the beast’s dripping maw and catches you completely off guard. “Did I scare you?” The fear rushes out of you, replaced with anger and relief. You narrow your eyes. “Bastion!” Bastion laughs again and barks, “Haven’t you heard the old saying, Wanderer? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—?” You scowl at him and punch him in the chest. “Get off me!” He obeys your request with a chuckle, then scoops you up around the waist with one of his spidery hooks. “You got what you came for,” he says, tossing you onto his back. “I think it’s time we go.” “Do you know the way out?” you ask. “No,” Bastion replies. “But I suppose we’ll have to find one.” He spins around and silently surveys your surroundings before taking off fast toward a dark tunnel on the far wall of the cavern. You lurch backward and hold on to one of his spiny claws for support. “Slow down!” “Faster?” “No, SLOW DOWN!” “Faster it is,” Bastion chuckles beneath you. He picks up speed and you hug his body to hang on. “I really hate you sometimes!” Bastion’s racing into darkness, and you can’t make out a damn thing around you. You just hope and pray he doesn’t run into more trouble… The tunnel shrieks and whistles around you, and you shout above the noise, “What the hell are those things, anyway? They almost look human!” “Everything you’ll find here in the Dark Realm is a twisted reflection of something in the real world,” Bastion answers. “Taken by the Entity because something inside them tempted it. Something dark… My guess is, they used to be a cannibal tribe… But now, they’re just another part of the fog’s demented collection.” Bastion cuts fast around a bend and you almost go flying off his back. A claw catches and steadies you. You shout, “Well, that’s… disturbing!” “I would be surprised if you could find something here that isn’t.” “Good point!” The surrounding darkness abruptly breaks as you enter an enormous cavern. Moonlight floods into the cavern from a gaping hole in the rocky ceiling high above. Bastion comes to a sudden stop, almost bucking you right off his back. “I think that might be our way out,” he grins. You raise a brow. “How? Are you going to grow wings and fly?” Your sarcastic comment elicits a laugh from your companion. “That’s not a bad idea.” Then you watch in mild horror as two long, bony appendages sprout from his back, and a black membrane forms around them. They take on a wing-like shape, then stretch out wide on both sides. You impulsively touch one — it’s tough and leathery. “Huh,” you murmur, drawing your hand back. Bastion’s tail swats your shoulder and you cringe away in disgust. “Hold on tight,” he says, grinning. He leaps from the ground and beats his wings, taking you up fast with a shout. You grip tight to his claws as he ascends rapidly toward the narrow opening. Then an air-piercing shriek draws your attention back down into the receding darkness. Your head snaps back over your shoulder, and you can just barely make out the black silhouettes of a near dozen cave dwellers down below. And with wide eyes, you watch them raise bows and draw flaming arrows. “Watch out!” you shout in warning. The savages let loose a barrage of arrows, and Bastion does a barrel roll, nearly throwing you right off. You grip his claws and yell in increasing panic as he hazardously dodges flaming projectiles with almost no regard for you on his back. An arrow zips right past your head, too close for comfort. And you don’t want a repeat of before, what with Bastion catching aflame and vanishing. So, you take your satchel off over your shoulder and grip the straps tight in your fist, your other hand still clutching hold of Bastion’s claws. And any arrow that flies too close, you strike away with a swing of your bag. “Nice try, assholes!” you taunt.  Your chaotic escape finally comes to a close as Bastion bursts out of the chasm and reemerges outside. The change of scenery floods you with relief. Bastion lands on solid ground, and you climb off his back. He finally retakes his humanoid appearance and peers down into the dark abyss. “That was exciting,” he grins. You scoff. “Yeah, that’s one word for it…” You put some distance between the hole in the earth, then turn slowly on your heels to survey your surroundings. And for once, you’re relieved to find yourself in the fog again. Any place is better than those fucked up caverns… You’re in a small clearing enclosed by fog, and filled with shrubs and tall, dead trees. You slouch onto a rotten old tree stump and heave a sigh in exhaustion. The adrenaline’s beginning to wear off, and pain from your various wounds courses through you. Bastion strides toward you before stopping and folding his arms behind his back. He tips his head toward your satchel. “What did you find?” “A book,” you reply, sighing. You roll your shoulders and wince. “Haven’t looked through it yet.” “Hm,” Bastion hums. “We'll have time for that when we return to Haven.” You grunt absentmindedly and rest your head in your hands. A few minutes of silence pass before you lift your gaze and give Bastion a pointed look. “So,” you begin. “Fire…” A funny sort of look crosses Bastion’s mostly blank face. His grin wavers, and his jaw tightens. “Fire,” he repeats, shoulders tense. “I… have quite an aversion to it.” “Yeah, I noticed,” you say. “I think I've finally figured out your kryptonite…”   "Are you okay?" (❤) "Are you okay?" "You left me to the wolves."       Concern laces your expression, and you furrow your brows. “Are you okay?” you ask. “You were screeching like a banshee.” Bastion’s grin brightens substantially, and he tips his head. “Were you worried about me?” “Well… yeah. When you vanished, I thought you might’ve—” You cut off and bite your lip. After a moment of hesitation, you shake your head and sigh. “I didn’t know if you’d be coming back.” Bastion’s smug grin suddenly wilts. His mouth draws into a tight line, and he drops his faceless gaze. “Ah…” Your genuine concern must’ve caught him off guard… “I didn’t mean to alarm you, Wanderer,” he says while managing another odd smile. “Or to… abandon you.” One of his claws comes close and plucks your chin ever gently. Your gaze is lifted, then Bastion tips his head. “Are you okay?” “Well, I was shot in the leg, knocked upside the head with a skull club, and a nasty cannibal chewed on my neck… I’m peachy, Bastion,” you say with a tired smile. “I can take care of that,” Bastion replies, plucking the hood of your jacket. He tries to get a closer look at your bloodied neck, but you scoff and ease his claw away. “If by taking care of it you mean licking me down with your slimy tongue, then I’ll pass.” Bastion chuckles. “What’s wrong with that?” “It’s gross. I’ll stick to the old-fashioned way, thanks.” You reach into your satchel and pause to face Bastion again. You audibly hesitate for a second, then say, “Thank you, Bastion. For getting me out of there.” Standing up, you smile and add, “You’re not the worst sidekick.” You put up a hand. “High-five it.” Bastion’s stupid little grin stretches from ear to ear. But he merely glances at your hand before throwing his own arms out wide and tipping his head expectantly. He wants a hug. Why not? You think, rolling your eyes. You take him by surprise when you step forward and wrap your arms around his waist. He tenses up, making you laugh. “What?” you say, peering up at him. “Didn’t think I’d do it?” A rumbling purr shudders Bastion’s frame. Then he takes you by surprise when he suddenly draws his arms tight around you and scoops you up right off your feet. You squeak as his claws close around you, too. Ignoring how warm your face gets, you pat him on the back and say, “Okay… I think that’s enough hugging.” But he doesn’t relinquish his hold. Rather, you watch with surprise as his grin splits apart, and he reveals his long, slimy tongue. You exclaim, “Whoa, no tongue! No tongue!” You kick him and squirm, but it’s no use - he sweeps his tongue right over your bloody neck. You grimace. “Agh!” Bastion lets out a laugh as he finally sets you back down. You wipe your sleeve over your neck and bark at him, “So that’s how it is, huh? Lure me in with a hug, then strike like a snake!” Bastion laughs. “I was only taking care of that nasty bite for you… I know you’re too stubborn to ask.” You scoff. Sure, the pain has diminished, but you’d honestly rather bear through it than have Bastion put his tongue anywhere near you… “That is the first and last hug you’re ever getting from me,” you mutter, retaking your seat on the tree stump. Bastion clasps a spot over his chest and makes a disappointed noise. “Now don’t be like that,” he says, feigning hurt. You make a point to ignore him and fold your arms over your chest. He sighs. “Well, in any case, I enjoyed the hug.” He grins at you. You do your best to hide your blushing face. “You can go do whatever it is you do when you disappear,” you say, digging into your bag. “I’m going to patch myself up, then I’ll meet you back at Haven.” “I can give you a ride,” Bastion offers. “On the freaky monster thing? Pass,” you laugh. Bastion vanishes, then startles you when he reappears at your side. He stoops down low and cups your chin in his hand. “You can always ride me, then,” he purrs. That does it. Your face simmers like a pot. You trip and stumble over your words for the next minute, but you’re unable to get anything comprehensible out. You’re babbling like a looney. Bastion chuckles and steps away. “I’ll be seeing you,” he says. You silently wave him away, eyes glued to your feet. Then he vanishes. Steam’s coming out your ears. You hold your face in your hands and whine. “Gaah…” But the heat doesn’t last long. You’re suddenly whisked away and carried off into a trial. Your head is reeling as you retake your form in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing you register is the biting cold — it sends a shiver streaking up your spine. You hug yourself as the fog unveils your surroundings. You blink and turn slowly on your heels. Snow crunches under your feet and blankets the realm around you. The intense change of scenery is almost blinding. You slow to a stop and peer at a large structure just ahead. A wooden lodge. Then you spot a defaced old sign out front. Mount Ormond Resort. “This is a first,” you murmur to yourself, shivering. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You rub your hands together for warmth, then limp slowly toward the lodge. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better…”   Continue     Concern laces your expression, and you furrow your brows. “Are you okay?” you ask. “You were screeching like a banshee.” Bastion chuckles and pokes you with a claw. “Were you worried about me? You scoff and smack his spiny appendage away. “Hardly. But you freaked the hell out of me.” You reach into your satchel and pause to face Bastion again. You audibly hesitate for a second, then say, “Thank you, Bastion. For getting me out of there.” Standing up, you smile and add, “So maybe you’re not the worst sidekick.” You put up a hand. “High-five it.” Bastion grins and slaps your hand. You retake your seat on the tree stump and rifle through your satchel. “I’m willing to overlook that you vanished and left me to fend for myself,” you say amusingly, glancing back at him. “You can go do whatever it is you do when you disappear. I’ll patch myself up and head back to Haven.” Bastion folds his arms behind his back and takes a step away. “Of course.” He grins at you, then vanishes. But he’s only absent for a moment before you’re suddenly whisked away and carried off into a trial. Your head is reeling as you retake your form in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing you register is the biting cold — it sends a shiver streaking up your spine. You hug yourself as the fog unveils your surroundings. You blink and turn slowly on your heels. Snow crunches under your feet and blankets the realm around you. The intense change of scenery is almost blinding. You slow to a stop and peer at a large structure just ahead. A wooden lodge. Then you spot a defaced old sign out front. Mount Ormond Resort. “This is a first,” you murmur to yourself, shivering. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You rub your hands together for warmth, then limp slowly toward the lodge. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better…”   Continue     “You left me to the wolves, Bastion,” you say, furrowing your brows. “I know you had your own thing going on, being on fire and all, but you left to fend for myself in a cavern full of fucked up cannibals.” You scoff. “You make a pretty lousy sidekick. You’re absent more than you’re around, nowadays…” Bastion makes a low humming noise and droops his shoulders. His grin wavers and wilts. “I… apologize, Wanderer,” he says. “Shame? Now that’s surprising… And you’ve been full of surprises today… You can shape-shift, flames hurt you, and you can get hurt. Just one after another…” Bastion manages a sheepish grin. “I have many more where that comes from.” “Save it,” you say. “I’ve had enough surprises for one day.” His grin twitches and he forces a strange smile. “Of course,” he says. Then he falls completely silent. You rifle through your satchel, then glance at your shadowy companion. He’s just lingering there, awkwardly… You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “I’m calling it a day. You can go do whatever it is you do when you disappear. I’ll head back to Haven on my own.” Bastion vanishes without another word. You only have seconds to savor your own company before you’re suddenly whisked away and carried off into a trial. Your head is reeling as you retake your form in a cloud of smoke and embers. The first thing you register is the biting cold — it sends a shiver streaking up your spine. You hug yourself as the fog unveils your surroundings. You blink and turn slowly on your heels. Snow crunches under your feet and blankets the realm around you. The intense change of scenery is almost blinding. You slow to a stop and peer at a large structure just ahead. A wooden lodge. Then you spot a defaced old sign out front. Mount Ormond Resort. “This is a first,” you murmur to yourself, shivering. “Fuck, it’s cold.” You rub your hands together for warmth, then limp slowly toward the lodge. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better…”   Continue     You enter the lodge with a limping gait, coming to a halt to survey your surroundings. As you come to a halt, you take in the expanse of the interior. It’s a surprisingly homey place, with a welcoming waiting area adorned with comfy furnishings. A front desk stands before a shelf filled with brochures and directories, while a wooden staircase beckons you to explore the second floor. Your eyes are drawn to the crude graffiti scrawled on the wall upstairs, just behind the wooden banister. In white letters, it reads “The Legion.” Memories of idle camp chatter resurface, connecting the moniker to a notorious group of killers. David, in particular, irately refers to them as “A bunch a’ punks.” But beyond that, well… You’ll admit you weren’t really all there during orientation. Too many killers, names, and faces to remember, and your memory is shot. A shiver courses through your body, intensifying the bone-chilling cold that permeates the lodge. Yet, the flickering flames in the nearby parlor fireplace promise respite and warmth. An inviting round couch curves around the hearth, beckoning you to seek solace from the biting chill. You’re desperate for its warmth, but your current condition cautions you not to expose yourself in the open. Limping to the front desk, you take cover behind it, wincing as you slump back against the wall. Every inch of your body throbs and aches, a harsh reminder of your daring venture through the fog… Pushing aside the biting cold as best you can, you rummage through your bag for supplies. A grimace crosses your face as you realize the absence of your knife. Nonetheless, you retrieve gauze and disinfectant and prepare to tend to your injured leg. Just as you’re about to begin, a sudden freeze seizes you. Your heart quickens its pace, pulsating in your chest, while an eerie chill sends shivers down your spine. On high alert, you cautiously peer over the counter toward the parlor. Is the killer nearby? The telltale signs of an approaching threat gnaw at your senses. It’s deafeningly silent, aside from your thumping heartbeat. Moments pass… You slowly settle onto your haunches, releasing a heavy sigh. “Looking for someone?” A comical gasp escapes your lips as you jump in surprise. The sudden movement propels you backward, colliding with the shelf behind the counter. Your head connects with the wood, prompting a sharp yelp of pain. “Ah-!” Grasping your throbbing skull, you swear under your breath and pivot on your heels, locking eyes with a stranger. To your surprise and utter relief, he looks friendly, though unfamiliar. The young man has a rugged face marred with a few scars, which add character to his otherwise handsome features. A distinct slash marks the bridge of his nose, and a subtle scar cuts into his lips. His brown eyes are shadowed by dark circles, and he sports a dark, buzzed cut. Your gaze scans his attire—a black leather jacket and green camo pants. And it’s impossible to ignore the striking tattoo adorning his throat: a mad skull consumed by furious flames. Positioned by an open doorway, he stands with his arms crossed over his chest. Finally tearing your attention away from his appearance and regaining your composure, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you begin hesitantly. “I… thought you for someone else. Uh…” Frowning, you wrinkle your brow. “Are you—?” “New?” the stranger interrupts, a smirk tugging at his lips. He grunts. “Yeah.” Then he gestures toward your leg. “You should probably take care of that.” “I was just about to before you crept up on me,” you say, sighing. The newcomer flicks his chin in the direction of the parlor before heading toward the fireplace. You limp hesitantly behind him, eventually settling on the sofa beside him. He pats his knee invitingly and gives you a crooked smile. You lift your bum leg and rest it on his. He grabs your bag and rummages through it for whatever supplies he might find. When he withdraws the old, digital camera, he meets your gaze with a questioning look. “I found that!” you blurt out. “I didn’t, uh… steal it from anyone or anything…” A brief silence hangs in the air before you clear your throat. “So, you’re new? We just got another rookie not too long ago, and I haven’t even met her yet.” A sudden thought creases your brow: if there’s a new camper, could there be a new killer? They tend to come in pairs… But it’s a possibility you won’t humor; the last one was bad enough… The stranger nods, tucking the camera back into your bag. Finally, he fishes out a roll of gauze and a clear bottle of disinfectant. “Haven’t been here too long,” he replies, briefly lifting his gaze from your leg to meet your eyes. “I don’t spend much time around camp, so I might’ve missed you when you arrived,” you reply. Ignoring the constant tingles and chills running up your spine becomes increasingly difficult. You nervously scan the room before focusing on him again. “We might as well get introductions out of the way since there’s no telling when I’ll see you around camp.” You extend your hand, offering a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).” The stranger hesitates, his gaze fixed on your outstretched hand. The hard look on his features makes you uneasy, until, finally, he takes your hand. “Frank,” he says, a wry smirk on his face. He has a very firm grip. You smile nervously, retracting your hand after a shake. “Welcome to Hell, Frank. Or whatever this place is… I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s no way out. Yet…” Frank gets to work on your leg, scoffing. “Yet?” “Well, I’ve been looking into it,” you say. “I mean, all we have here is time, so why not?” “Sounds like wishful thinking,” Frank replies. “Maybe it is, but if there’s a way in, there has to be a way out, right? One can only hope…” Frank grunts dismissively. Silence settles between you. In an effort to stave off your mounting worries and pounding heart, you comment, “Cool jacket, by the way.” Frank’s eyes flit up and meet yours. For a second, it looks like he wants to laugh… “I was about to say the same about yours,” he says. You smile, playing with the lapel of your jacket. “Oh, this? I found it out there. It’s not mine.” You pause. “Well, it is now, but…” You trail off awkwardly and scratch your neck. “Thanks.” Your heart’s going crazy. You run your hands up and down your arms, casting another nervous glance around the room. Frank catches your gaze. “You alright?” “It feels like the killer’s right on top of us,” you reply. “Oh, yeah? What’s the giveaway?” You laugh nervously. “Uh, it’s like… fear. Just overwhelming, heart-thumping, blood-chilling fear… It’s so awful that you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. It’s almost deafening… You’re not feeling it?” Frank smirks. “Nah.” You make a face. “There’s no way—” Acting on impulse, you reach out and touch the spot over his heart. But you realize, shockingly, that you don’t feel a thing. You explore further, furrowing your brow as your conclusion remains exact. “Weird,” you murmur. You only realize how long you’ve had your hand on his chest when he takes yours and slowly eases it away. “Is it?” he says. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” you sigh, withdrawing your hand to your side. “You run enough of these trials and it happens.” Frank finishes wrapping up your wound, giving your knee a pat. You drop your leg to the floor when you notice his eyes on your trembling hands. “You cold?” he asks, lifting his gaze. “Yeah, but it’s—” You hesitate, shake your head, and say, “Yeah. Cold.” Frank studies you with intense eyes. “Is it something more than that?” You sigh. “It’s been a crazy day. Even crazier than usual, I mean. And, uh… nightmares.” Scoffing, you mutter, “I must sound stupid. I’m sure everyone here has nightmares, but… but these are different.” Frank nudges you, encouraging you to continue. So, you do. “It’s like… like I’m somewhere else. And then it’s just torture. And I can feel everything that happens: the pain, the overwhelming fear, and I hear these haunting whispers, and—” You trail off, shaking your head. “They’re not ordinary nightmares. Every time I fall asleep, I’m trapped there.” You scoff. “I thought sleep would be the only time I’d get some actual rest, but nope. This place is just one big, endless nightmare.” When you look up, you notice Frank’s gaze fixed to the floor. He remains silent. You nudge his foot with yours, and he comes to. “You have those too?” he says, his voice barely audible. You tip your head to the side, surprised by the question. An unusual silence hangs between you before Frank audibly hesitates and shakes his head. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, reverting to his previous demeanor. “Ever try warm milk before bed?” You chuckle in amusement, then sigh. “You’re not a shrink, I know. I just needed to vent a little… I’m sorry for dumping all that on you. It’s probably the last thing you need to hear.” “Yeah, I’m not a fucking shrink, but I get it,” Frank responds, his tone understanding. “Sometimes you need to let all that shit out before you blow your fucking lid… I get it.” You nod. Following a fleeting pause, you stagger to your feet. Your bad leg wobbles and threatens to give out, but Frank swiftly reaches out, his arm catching your waist for support. “Easy,” he says, standing up alongside you. His hands are warm and secure on your waist. Once you’ve steadied yourself, you offer him a gracious smile. “Thanks.” Frank nods slightly, withdrawing his hands from your waist. But then he pauses, narrowing his gaze on your temple. “Shit, when did you crack your head open?” He raises a hand to your bloody scalp. You wince under his touch, gently easing his hand away. “Slipped and bumped my head,” you fib. Frank makes a face, clearly unconvinced. You smile sheepishly. “It’s really slippery outside, with all the, ehm… ice.” “You gotta be careful around here, klutz,” Frank says, chuckling. He pats your shoulder. “That ice is killer.” “I’m more concerned about the actual killer than all the ice,” you joke in reply. Admittedly, the little gibe isn’t even that funny, but Frank seems on the verge of cracking up. He bites his lip, stifling the laugh threatening to escape, and he gives you another gentle pat on the shoulder. “I bet.” You make your way over to the large hole shredded into the lodge, then hug the ruined wall and peer out across the snow-covered realm. The stillness and silence unsettles you. “You want to go find a generator?” you ask, turning back around to Frank. However, he’s gone. His sudden absence has you more on edge than before. But, wildly enough, that overwhelming fear has dissipated, and your fast-thumping heart settles into a calm rhythm. It’s enough to make you wonder, but you don’t dwell on it. You’ve wasted enough time already. So, you creep out of the lodge and head off in search of a generator to repair.   After around fifteen minutes, you’re working meticulously on a generator concealed behind a mound of snow. Then, suddenly, a piercing scream cuts through the air; Zarina’s, you recognize. You falter momentarily, sucking in a deep breath before you continue working. Five more minutes pass, and the generator springs to life. You creep off, eager to find another. What comes as a startling and heart-stopping surprise is Nea, whom you walk right into. You stagger backward with a gasp, your hand flying to your chest. Nea, her hands up in a ‘whoa there’ manner, offers an apology. “Damn, sorry.” When your heart settles, you dismiss the apology with a casual wave. “It’s alright. I’m just a bit jumpy today…” You’re honestly glad to be seeing a familiar face. Well, one beside Bastion’s or Lydia’s. You haven’t been around camp in a while, and you’ve got a little homesick… or whatever you’d call it when you miss your mutual sufferers and their company. You’re not sure many of them reciprocate that feeling, though… Nea’s gaze flickers to your bandaged leg, and she raises an eyebrow. “How’d you fuck up your leg?” “Slipped on a sheet of ice.” “Rookie move,” she retorts. You only just notice the way she cradles her bloody arm. Scarlet drops trickle down her elbow and dribble to the ground, contrasting against the snow. “Can you help me with this?” “How’d you fuck up your arm?” Nea rolls her eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing across her face. “The killer fucked up my arm. I just lost the bastard around the lodge. Can we speed things up before I bleed out in the snow?” You nod and limp after Nea, following her toward a small storage shed. Once inside, you pull the door shut behind you and crouch beside the wall. Nea didn’t pack any supplies, but you’re more than willing to use your own to help her out. You get to work patching up her arm. “So, is this your first time in the resort, Sluggo?” she asks. “Yeah.” “It’s cold as shit, right?” “Mm,” you hum. “If I live, I might have the sniffles…” “If?” Nea scoffs. “You probably have the longest living streak in camp. I think you might’ve already bagged Jake’s record.” “Maybe,” you murmur absentmindedly. You sense Nea’s piercing gaze fixed upon you. Looking up, you meet her eyes. She frowns and playfully kicks your foot. “You alright?” “Just tired,” you reply, letting out a sigh. “You’re always tired,” Nea snorts. “Every time you come around camp, you mope off to your tent for a nap. And speaking of which—” You sigh, anticipating her comment. Nea finishes, “Haven’t seen you around camp much lately.” “I’ve been around,” you reply. “Oh really?” “Yup.” “Hmm.” Nea’s scrutinizing gaze finally leaves your anxious features after a tense moment of silence. She throws up a hand dismissively and mutters, “Whatever you say.” As you finish wrapping the gauze around her arm, she gets up and heads for the door. “I think Zarina already got it,” she says, peering out into the realm. “Didn’t hear her bite the hook though, so it might just be us and Bill.” She shivers, and her gaze flicks back over her shoulder. “Let’s find a generator and get the hell out of here.” You nod and move after her, but come to an abrupt stop. Your brows furrow. “Wouldn’t that make five of us?” Nea raises an eyebrow. You clarify, “You, me, Zarina, Bill, and Frank. That’s five. I know I’m still a bit of a newbie, but the usual’s four, right?” She looks at you funny. “Who the hell’s Frank?” A croaky scream pierces the realm, causing both you and Nea to jump. Bill. Nea swears under her breath and swings the shed door open. “Let’s just find a damn generator,” she says. She hurries off, and you do your best to keep up. But your bum leg slows you down, and before long, you end up losing her around a blockade of wooden dividers. She’s long gone by the time you make it around the barrier. You come to a limping stop, leaning against one of the walls to give your leg much-needed rest. “Damn,” you curse, wincing in pain. Sliding down against the wall, you settle into a sitting position. An exhausted breath escapes your lips as you lift your gaze to the white, puffy sky. Light snowflakes gently brush against your brow and melt. The winter scenery would be a nice change if it wasn’t minus twenty out. If the killer doesn’t get you soon, frostbite will. Another scream makes you jolt. Bill, again. You sigh harshly and pick yourself back up. Sitting around doing nothing isn’t helping anyone, much less you. You decide to search for Bill and offer whatever help you can. You’ll have plenty of time to feel sorry for yourself later.   You wander through the realm, following the sound of Bill’s last scream for about five minutes until you spot the old man slumped against an old snowplow, clutching a bloody patch on his jacket. “Bill—” you announce, moving quickly to his side. He hardly even turns his head to look at you. “Hey, kid,” he gruffs. Gently wrapping an arm around his waist, you murmur an apology as he winces. Supporting him, you help him to his feet, and he leans into you, coughing blood onto your shoulder. You grimace at the sight. “Hey, old man. I expected to find you on a hook.” “That little asshole isn’t hooking anybody,” Bill replies, blood trickling from his mouth and down his chin. His face contorts in pain. “Just left me here to bleed out in the snow.” You raise an eyebrow. “He’s slugging?” (You picked up that neat little term from Feng Min.) “Yeah,” Bill grunts. “Hell if I know why, though.” He spits blood into the snow and mutters, “The prick was actin’ like he was in a goddamn hurry…” “Maybe it’s the cold that’s got him in such a rush,” you reply with a touch of humor. Bill grunts in response. “‘Good a reason as any.” You need to get him somewhere quiet to patch him up. You help him stagger a few feet, but he hollers in pain and crashes to his knees, tightly clutching the wound in his gut. “Shit—” When you reach out to assist him, he swats your hands away. “I’m not recovering from this, kid. Worry about yourself.” You frown. “I can help you—” “Just lean me back against that wall there.” Bill gestures weakly toward a wooden divider. Complying with his request, you carefully guide him and settle him against the wall. He slumps back, letting out a sigh. “The cold’s giving me a goddamn headache.” You sit beside him and wince as you rest your bad leg. Bill glances at the bloody gauze wrapped around your limb. “Hell happened t’ you?” “Slipped.” Bill scoffs. You chuckle. “Rookie move, I know…” “Mmph.” Silence fills the air. Bill idly surveys the realm, then weakly retrieves a cigarette from his fatigues and perches it between his lips. He reaches into his pocket, feels around, then lets out a sigh. “Lost my damn lighter…” You fish your own lighter out of your bag and light his smoke. He grunts gratefully and takes a long drag from his cig. “Who’s the killer?” you ask him after a moment. “One of ‘em Legion kids,” he answers between puffs. “Right.” Bill takes another drag and nudges your knee with his. “Go on. Get to work and get the hell outta here.” “But—” “It’s alright, kid.” The old man leans back further, tipping his beret down to shield his eyes. “I’ll see you around camp.” He scoffs, then mutters, “Unless you’re still avoidin’ the rest of us…” “Sounds like I’m becoming a hot topic,” you say, sighing as you rise to your feet. Reluctantly, you begin to distance yourself from Bill, but then falter and stop. “Almost forgot—” You turn around to him. “There’s this woman I think you’d like to meet—” Bill gives you a stern look. You sheepishly scratch your arm and dismiss the notion with a wave of your hand. “This is a bad time. Right, okay, uh… Later. Later, then…” Turning back around once more, you finally part ways with Bill.   During your search for another generator, you hear one come to life in the distance. That was either Nea, Frank… or both. You subconsciously start heading that way when your heart suddenly picks up pace in your chest. Nervous jitters creep up your spine and sweat beads on your brow. You take cover behind a wooden divider and make yourself as small as possible. Your thumping heart quickens, and the sweat on your brow gets slicker with each passing second. You hold your breath and cautiously peer out at the snow expanse. “Is this more of that paranoia you were talking about?” Frank’s voice breaks the silence, making you jerk around. He stands behind you with his arms folded across his chest. Relief washes over you at the sight of him. “Second time I’ve run into you,” you say with a hint of humor, standing up. “And I haven’t even seen the killer once…” “Lucky you,” Frank retorts, smirking. You notice blood staining the bandages on his palms. You raise a curious eyebrow, your eyes flitting over him in search of a wound that might explain it. Frank grabs your attention with the wry comment, “Are you checking me out?” Meeting his shit-eating smirk with a light flush, you audibly hesitate. “I was just… uh… never mind. You disappeared back there in the lodge. ‘Didn’t say a word before your little vanishing act, and had me wondering what could’ve spooked you off.” “Nothing spooks me,” Frank asserts. “I’m just not a team player.” He takes a couple of steps forward and invades your personal bubble before reaching for your arm and tossing it over his shoulder. He winds his arm around your waist, settling his hand on your hip. The gesture, coupled with his contradictory statement, almost makes you laugh. Frank catches the glimmer of amusement in your eyes. He scoffs. “I make exceptions for handicaps.” “Who are you calling handicapped?” “Your leg’s fucked, and I’m pretty damn sure have a concussion.” “Good point.” “You run into anyone else?” Frank asks, helping you hobble along. “Nea,” you reply. “But I lost track of her a little while ago…” “I’m willing to bet she’s in the lodge,” Frank mutters. “Let’s go pay her a visit.”   As you and Frank enter the lodge building, he helps you up the stairs, and together, you hobble down a long hallway before hearing a generator pumping nearby. Frank nudges a door open with his foot, and you peer into the room to find Nea hard at work on the machine. She has her back to you, and her arms buried elbow-deep inside the mechanisms. “Nea—” “Heard you coming a mile away,” she interrupts, turning around to look at you. “Where the hell have you b—” She cuts off abruptly with a horrified gasp, and she throws herself off the generator, crashing into the wall behind her. Her eyes are wide, her posture tense, and her mouth agape in horror. The fear on her face sends nervous jitters racing up your own spine. Glancing over your shoulder and finding nothing out of the ordinary, you turn back to face Nea. “Relax!” you exclaim. “It’s just us!” You nudge Frank and continue, “This is Frank, the new guy I told you about—” “Are you fucking insane?!” Nea screams, pressing herself against the wall, desperate to create as much distance between you as possible. Her frantic gaze darts around the room, searching for an escape route. But the only way out is the door you and Frank are blocking. You’re left utterly bewildered. Frank hasn’t said a word beside you. You give him another nudge and insist, “Say something, Frank. You’re freaking her out…” To your surprise, he shrugs your arm from his shoulders and takes a step forward, wearing an eerie smile. “Nice meeting you, Nea,” he utters with a sarcastic and mocking tone. The horror on Nea’s face intensifies. You begin, “Frank, what…?” But then you trail off when you see his hand delve into his jacket, and he retrieves something that makes your heart sink: a plain white mask with a crude grin smeared over the face. Your brows furrow. “What are you—?” Before you can finish your sentence, Frank brandishes a knife from his hidden arsenal. Your eyes widen in shock, and the gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d face-palm if you weren’t frozen in fear. “Shit,” you mutter, your voice laden with both disbelief and dread. Frank’s masked gaze snaps to you, and you’re not even granted a moment of warning before he strikes. He thrusts his knife into your gut and buries it in deep, topping it off with a twist. A cry escapes your lips, and Frank rips free his blade and gives you a little push into the wall. You crash against it and crumple into a heap with your arms wrapped around your stomach. The excruciating pain has you seeing stars. Through your bleary vision, you make out Frank wiping his knife clean on his sleeve, then turning his attention back to Nea. He’s on her in a second, and all you hear are screams as he slaughters her. Knowing there’s nothing you can do, you stagger to your feet and stumble out of the room. You keep one arm wrapped around your stomach, and the other on the wall to steady and guide yourself. By the time you hobble out into the hallway, Nea’s stopped screaming. You make it to the stairs and reach for the banister. But in your frantic attempt to descend, your body crumples and you lose your footing entirely. It’s your bad leg that gives way first, sending you tumbling down the entire flight of stairs until you finally come to rest on the floor below. Gasping heavily, you struggle to catch your breath. Through blurred vision, you manage to lift your gaze, only to find Frank standing at the top of the stairs. “Told you to be careful, klutz,” he sneers with a dry mockery that cuts through the air. Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you gather yourself and stagger away, crashing into the front desk and using it as a crutch to support your battered body. Frank’s presence looms behind you, and you hear him suck his teeth. “They’re never this easy,” he mutters, his voice tinged with disappointment. “Why-why are you doing this?” you sputter. “If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m the fucking killer.” You swallow up the blood threatening to spill from your lips when you feel a rough hand snatch your collar. Frank yanks you backward and you trip over your own feet, then drop to the floor with a grunt. Hot blood gushes from your abdomen. You moan in pain. “The only reason you’re not dead yet is because I want some fucking answers,” Frank says. He stands above you, knife on full, threatening display. His voice drips with menace. “Who the fuck are you?” You cough, struggling to find your voice amidst the pain. “I told you who I am—” “I don’t give a shit about your name,” Frank interrupts. “How do you know all the shit you do? And all that fucking talk about knowing a way out? Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” “I don’t know shit,” you spit defiantly. Without warning, Frank’s boot delivers a brutal blow to your gut, and the force is enough to toss you over. You land on your knees with another cry, still slumped over and puffing in pain. Your tormentor kneels in front of you. He uses the edge of his blade to lift your chin, forcing you to meet the face of his mask. “I thought maybe you were one of us,” he murmurs. “A killer. Thought you were thrown in here by mistake… Because all that shit you’ve been seeing? That horrible shit you’ve been dreaming of? That’s meant for us.” “I-I don’t know…” you trail off and swallow blood. “I don’t know why I’ve been seeing that. I-I thought they were just nightmares.” “Those aren’t fucking nightmares.” Frank retracts his knife and roughly seizes you by the collar of your jacket, forcing you upright. His masked face looms inches away from yours as he speaks. “If you don’t know shit, then I’m just wasting my time.” You wheeze for breath. “You-You know, I thought you were one of us, too.” Frank’s grip tightens on your collar. “Why? Is it my charming smile? Or that I can hold a fucking conversation with you?” He scoffs. “It’s all part of the game.” “You don’t have to play that game—” “You’re new, so maybe you haven’t figured it out yet,” Frank interrupts. “Here, you’re the wolf or the rabbit. There’s no in-between, no middle ground, and no choice.” “There’s always a choice.” Frank presses his icy blade against your throat, the edge drawing a scarlet line in your flesh. You freeze in fear. “You think I chose this?” he seethes. “You think we fucking wanted this?” “I-I didn’t—” He cuts you off, his voice dripping with bitterness. “We never wanted this. I have some fucking news for you.” Leaning in even closer, he murmurs, “We all suffer the same.” His voice trembles and his grip loosens on his knife. He’s vulnerable.   Take his hand. Take advantage.     Despite your better judgment, you raise your bloodied hand and tentatively touch Frank’s hand, which still tightly grips the hilt of his blade. His body stiffens at your touch, and his breath catches in his throat. Ignoring the risk, you gather your courage and let your hand travel from his clenched fist to his mask. Slowly, you begin to lift it, revealing his face until your eyes meet his once again. You expect to find malice, but you’re surprised to find his face etched with sadness and confusion. Maybe he wonders why he hasn’t struck you down yet. Maybe he wonders why you’re doing this… You wonder the same. Just looking at him, you know he could tip over the edge at any moment, but you press on. “I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through,” you murmur. “But I’m sorry.” Frank releases a shuddering breath and his face contorts with anguish and horror. It’s as if a flood of emotion crashes into him all at once. His gaze becomes distant and unfocused, as if he’s staring through you. “We didn’t have a choice,” he croaks. A heavy silence hangs in the air, heightening the tension in the room. Suddenly, Frank’s grip on his knife goes slack, and it slips from his grasp, clattering to the floor. His trembling hand reaches out to touch yours, his cold fingers gently brushing, and then squeezing them. Frank murmurs something that eludes your comprehension, as the world around you grows muted, drowned out by a grating, harsh roar intermingled with whispers and hushed voices. You try desperately to block out all the noise, but it grows in volume and intensity. You squeeze your eyes shut, then reopen them a moment later. When you meet Frank’s gaze again, you come to a startling realization. He hears it too. Something inside him just snaps. A violent switch flips. In an instant, the light fades from his eyes, replaced by a glint of pure malice. His hands swiftly close around your throat, tightening their grip with a bone-chilling force. A strangled cry escapes your lips as both of you crash to the floor, his fingers constricting your airway mercilessly. You writhe and convulse in a desperate attempt to free yourself. But no matter how human he might look, he possesses inhuman strength and power. Blood fills your mouth, and your windpipe constricts, your vision fast becoming a dizzying blur of fuzzy, colorful specks. Suddenly, Frank is violently wrenched away from you. As his weight is lifted, you frantically grasp your throat, gasping for precious air. When your vision clears, you make out a grisly sight: Frank, being twisted and torn apart by black claws sprouting from between the floorboards. He cries out in pain, and you do your best to drown him out. You quickly avert your eyes and stare soundlessly up at the ceiling. Something nearby splinters and cracks, and then you know Frank’s gone. Everything becomes quiet. And then everything’s dark.   ∗ ∗ ∗   Wetness is the first thing you register when your body is woven back together someplace else. The second thing you register is the cold. And the third, when you peel open your eyes, is the dense, white fog. You’re in Bastion’s realm. With a heavy sigh, you sit up, cradling your head in your hands. “You know, it would’ve been nice if you had stepped in before I got stabbed,” you remark, your voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. Raising your gaze, you find Bastion standing before you. He maintains his usual poise, arms folded behind his back, and his face devoid of his customary grin. He stares soundlessly at you for a minute longer than you’re comfortable with, then you utter, “Or whatever…” When you get to your feet, you shake your head. “That wasn’t right, Bastion. With Frank… One minute he seemed so… so human, and the next—” “There’s something you need to understand,” Bastion says out of the blue, interrupting you. You look at him with furrowed brows. “These people aren’t human anymore,” he says. “And the parts that are, are buried deep down. Suppressed by an unnatural force no one understands…” “But it was there,” you reply, frowning. “It was there, and then those whispers came, and… and then it wasn’t.” “That would be the Entity,” Bastion says. He’s behind you suddenly, making you jump. His hand rests on your shoulder. “You brought out something in that killer, and the Entity put it right back in.” You make a face. “I did that?” “I told you, Wanderer. You’re special.” He moves away from you with a sigh. “But killer or camper, you’re all pieces on a board. And to each of those pieces, a role is given, and boundaries are made. Those boundaries cannot be crossed…” His blank gaze comes back to you. “No matter how special that piece may be.” A heavy pit rests in your stomach. You lower your gaze to the water at your feet and stare soundlessly at your reflection on the rippling surface. “I get it,” you murmur. “I get it…” When you finally tear your eyes away from your reflection, you look up to witness the world around you falling away and shifting. And then you’re standing in the woods and the fog, alone.   Continue     Seizing the opportunity presented by his momentary lapse, you swiftly knock Frank’s knife out of his grasp and propel yourself forward, using the force of your shoulder to slam him to the ground. Frank crashes to the floor and his knife clatters away as you land on top of him with a grunt. Despite the searing pain in your abdomen, you maintain a firm grip around it with one arm, while your other hand desperately searches for the knife. Just as your fingers close around the hilt, Frank growls and seizes your hood. In a swift countermove, you drive your elbow backward, connecting with his face. His mask flies off and skids across the floor. Without hesitation, you pivot back around, driven by a blend of panic and adrenaline, and thrust the knife deep into his chest. The blade slices through him with unsettling ease, catching you off guard. Frank cries out, his face contorting in pain. Horror washes over your own features, and you release a shuddering breath, realizing the gravity of what you’ve just done. You withdraw the blade from his chest, your brows deeply furrowed in a mixture of shock and confusion. “I-I’m sorry—” you murmur. “I-I…” Your voice trails off. Why am I sorry? You wonder. Why do I feel bad? He did the same to me, to Zarina, Bill, Nea— He killed them, and he tried to kill you, too, just as he’s killed so many times before. No, no… you’re not sorry. How can you be sorry for someone so cruel? These are his just desserts. And you have no problem serving them. The surge of thoughts raging through your mind fuels your anger. It intensifies until you’re seething, gripping the knife tightly in your fist. As you raise the blade high, poised to strike again, he unexpectedly seizes your wrist with a grip far stronger than expected. “So, that’s how it is,” he growls through gritted teeth. “You attacked me first!” you spit venomously. “Pretended to be something you’re not, just so you could get close and stab me in the back!” “You just did the same shit!” Frank barks. You scoff and fix him with a glare. “I’m not like you.” He takes you by surprise when he suddenly flips you onto your back. He squeezes your wrist painfully tight, and you finally relinquish your grip on his knife. Then his hands pin your wrists down beside your head as he leans in close. “I didn’t think you’d have that in you,” he says. “But you’re just like us…” “I’m not—” “We both wear a mask,” Frank murmurs. “But yours doesn’t come off.” You’re rendered speechless. Shaking your head, you choke over your words. “I-I’m not like you… I had to do it—” “So did I.” The silence that hangs above you is deafening. But it doesn’t last for long—the world around you grows muted, drowned out by a grating, harsh roar intermingled with whispers and hushed voices. You try desperately to block out all the noise, but it grows in volume and intensity. You squeeze your eyes shut, then reopen them a moment later. When you meet Frank’s gaze again, you come to a startling realization. He hears it too. Something inside him just snaps. A violent switch flips. In an instant, the light fades from his eyes, replaced by a glint of pure malice. His hands swiftly close around your throat, tightening their grip with a bone-chilling force. A strangled cry escapes your lips as his fingers constrict your airway mercilessly. You writhe and convulse in a desperate attempt to free yourself. But no matter how human he might look, he possesses inhuman strength and power. Blood fills your mouth, and your windpipe constricts, your vision fast becoming a dizzying blur of fuzzy, colorful specks. Suddenly, Frank is violently wrenched away from you. As his weight is lifted, you frantically grasp your throat, gasping for precious air. When your vision clears, you make out a grisly sight: Frank, being twisted and torn apart by black claws sprouting from between the floorboards. He cries out in pain, and you do your best to drown him out. You quickly avert your eyes and stare soundlessly up at the ceiling. Something nearby splinters and cracks, and then you know Frank’s gone. Everything becomes quiet. And then everything’s dark.   ∗ ∗ ∗   Wetness is the first thing you register when your body is woven back together someplace else. The second thing you register is the cold. And the third, when you peel open your eyes, is the dense, white fog. You’re in Bastion’s realm. With a heavy sigh, you sit up, cradling your head in your hands. “You know, it would’ve been nice if you had stepped in before I got stabbed,” you remark, your voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. Raising your gaze, you find Bastion standing before you. He maintains his usual poise, arms folded behind his back, and his face devoid of his customary grin. He stares soundlessly at you for a minute longer than you’re comfortable with, then you utter, “Or whatever…” When you get to your feet, you shake your head. “Is it just me, or was there something off about him? One minute he seemed so human, and the next—” “There’s something you need to understand,” Bastion says out of the blue, interrupting you. You look at him with furrowed brows. “These people aren’t human anymore,” he says. “And the parts that are, are buried deep down. Suppressed by an unnatural force no one understands…” “But it was there,” you reply, frowning. “It was there, and then those whispers came, and… and then it wasn’t.” “That would be the Entity,” Bastion says. He’s behind you suddenly, making you jump. His hand rests on your shoulder. “You brought out something in that killer, and the Entity put it right back in.” You make a face. “I did that?” “I told you, Wanderer. You’re special.” He moves away from you with a sigh. “But killer or camper, you’re all pieces on a board. And to each of those pieces, a role is given, and boundaries are made. Those boundaries cannot be crossed…” His blank gaze comes back to you. “No matter how special that piece may be.” A heavy pit rests in your stomach. You drop your gaze to the water at your feet and stare soundlessly at your reflection on the rippling surface. “I get it,” you murmur. “I get it…” When you finally tear your eyes away from your reflection, you look up to witness the world around you falling away and shifting. And then you’re standing in the woods and the fog, alone.   Continue     I misplaced a toolkit the other night. Left it at the cabin in my haste to return to camp, and when I returned a while later, it, among other things, was gone. But I have been developing a theory — the fog took it. From what I already know, the fog shifts and changes, and it stirs up everything within. I know this. I thought that rule only applied to the realms and locations, but now I believe it might apply to everything here. So, I made a plan and tested this theory. I tied a strip of red cloth around the knob of the main door and then left for some time before returning to gauge my finds. And the only thing that changed? The cloth was gone. I’m yet to find it again, wherever it may have been relocated by the fog. This might prove that nothing here remains static for long. No matter what changes are enacted, or what things you might take or place down, everything will always revert to its initial state. There have been other instances of this, too. I use soaps in the cabin, and they’re back any matter of time later. Days, hours, minutes, even seconds, on some occasions. There are no rules in this place. Only organized chaos.   You close the journal with a huff. “Great…” As you lean back in the creaky wooden chair, Bastion appears beside you and startles you. “Have you learned anything yet?” he asks, his head tipped toward the book on your lap. “Besides a bunch of theories and speculations, no, not really…” You drop the old journal into the drawer and kick it shut with your foot. “I crawled down into those caverns for someone’s old diary. And all I’ve got now are more questions…” You sigh. “It would explain why that guy never went back for it. It’s worthless.” You turn around in your chair to fully face Bastion. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t marks supposed to be useful?” “Marks are only possessions or items touched by the others that came before you… They can be many things.” “Right,” you scoff. As you stand up, you bitterly mutter, “I wonder what’s next. Someone’s dirty socks?” After snuffing out the candle on the desktop, you leave the study and close the door behind you. When you enter the main room, a delicious aroma of pastry comforts your senses. Lydia calls from the porch, “I prepared some biscuits and jam for you and your friends at the campfire, honey.” You perk up like a puppy and head to the kitchen. And you find a woven basket on the table, draped with a small pink towel. After taking the basket in hand, you draw back the towel to peek inside at the goodies: A large mound of freshly baked biscuits, two jars of fruit jams (strawberry and blueberry, you think), and a jar of honey. Your mouth waters. Then a thought crosses your mind. A thought that quickly becomes an idea, then a plan. “You know what?” you draw, nodding. “I think now’s as good a time as any to stop by the campsite.” Bastion reappears close by with his head tilted curiously at you. “Oh? And why is that?” “Because I’m taking a break.” You leave the kitchen with the basket in your arms and cross the living room for the front door. Bastion strides behind you. “A break?” he says. “So soon?” “Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve been cave crawling, found some marks here and there, and I think I’ve earned myself some time off. Besides, I’m not exactly keen on going back out there and getting munched on by more cannibals…” Bastion huffs behind you. You spin around and say, “Hey, you can take a break too! I know you must be tired of pulling my ass out of trouble every five minutes.” “I don’t take breaks,” he replies simply. “Start now.” When you step outside, you stop on the porch and face Lydia. “Thank you, Lydia. Everyone back at camp is going to freak.” “Don’t mention it, honey,” Lydia smiles. “I know you all need some lovin’ now and then…” You give the old woman another kind smile before stepping down the porch steps and moving off into the fog. You help yourself to a biscuit and shudder in delight when you sink your teeth into the warm, fluffy bread. This biscuit? It’s heaven. You moan in bliss. “That’s an interesting sound,” Bastion chuckles, appearing beside you. You almost choke. “No, no, no—” you begin, dismissing him with a wave of your hand. “Go away. I’m on vacation.” “And I’m not welcome to join you?” “Yeah.” You look up at him. “You’re like… a work friend. A colleague. And this is my private time off, not a company outing.” “Curious analogy. Because here I was thinking we were companions.” He flashes you a grin and rests a hand on your shoulder. You promptly smack it away. “I’m not sure you can call what we have a ‘companionship.’” “Oh, then it must be more than that,” Bastion replies cheekily. “Nope.” Bastion pouts. You shrug. Then he vanishes. When you finally arrive at camp, you waver at the border disconnecting it from the rest of the dark realm, hesitant to make your reappearance. But when you gather the resolve, you sigh, then pass through. You’re nervous against the odds of risking a run-in with Felix or Elodie. You’re not exactly ready to spill the beans to them yet… But as you step foot in camp, the eyes that find yours are, luckily, not belonging to either of them. You draw the attention of Min, Kate, Nea, Jake, Dwight, and David. The last of which first looks surprised, then amused. “Would you look who decided to join us!” David ruffs, unfolding his arms and stepping away from the tree he’s comfortably propped against. He bears down on you, and you quickly backpedal and waggle a finger in his face. “Uh! I come bearing gifts. Be nice…” David halts and some curious eyes hone in on the basket in your arms. Nea sniffs twice, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree. “There’s no way.” She’s on you in seconds, her hands tearing the towel off the basket, and her mouth practically dripping at the sight of the mound of buttery biscuits underneath. “Where the hell did you find these?!” She snatches a biscuit and stuffs her mouth. David perks up and gets grabby, so you fend him off with a gentle slap on the hand. “Hold on, guys! Everyone’s going to get a biscuit.” The campers are already up on their feet and closing in. Kate’s set aside her guitar, and she’s moving in on your left. Min’s skulking on your right. And Dwight’s in front of you, looking at you with puppy-eyes. You’re surrounded. Is this how celebrities feel? You generously begin handing out biscuits. Kate accepts hers with a gracious smile. “One surprise after another with you,” she says in a sing-song voice. She doesn’t even wait to go sit down before stuffing her mouth. Soon as she takes a bite, she lets out a moan that has Dwight blushing, and Nea snickering at her. “Mmmm… My mama used to make biscuits like this all the time,” she comments in-between a mouthful. “Now don’t tell ‘er I said this, but these are better!” Nea laughs and almost chokes. You hand off a biscuit to Dwight and Min, and David digs his hands into the basket to nab his own. Then he unexpectedly tosses an arm over your shoulders and pecks a friendly kiss on your cheek. “Thanks, lamb!” He walks away as you fan the blush off your face.  Nea comes creeping back in for another treat. You lean close to her and whisper, “Did you, uh… tell anyone about what happened in our last trial?” She sucks her teeth. “Everyone.” “Great. Thanks.” She gives you a pat on the back and nabs another biscuit from your open arms. “But I’m willing to overlook that you got me stuck like a pig!” As she saunters away, you catch a glance from Jake and remember he’s here. Surprisingly, he doesn’t share everyone else’s enthusiasm for the treats… He’s still sitting on his log with his arms folded, his knees bent, and his attention on the fire pit. Maybe he’s purposefully trying to appear disinterested… You catch and hold his eyes, then shake the basket. “Biscuit?” He eyes you suspiciously. “Where did you find those?” “I… found them in the fog—” Jake scoffs, interrupting you. “You found a basket of biscuits out in the fog?” “Yeah.” Jake’s features furrow — it’s clear he has more to say. But Kate swallows up a mouthful of bread and barks at him, “Don’t you go lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth!” “I’m just asking her where she found them.” Min scoffs. “If you’d rather eat tree bark and chew on grass, then just say that.” Jake concedes defeat and stands up with a huff and sigh. He approaches you and waits expectantly for a biscuit. You hand one over with a smile, and he wordlessly goes to retake his seat. After sharing the jars of fruit jams and honey around camp, you find a seat on a log by the fire and set your basket beside you. You’d like to save some sweet treats for the others, if and when they finally come around… Then you gaze at the flickering flames. But intrusive and grim thoughts trump the warmth and comfort of the surrounding atmosphere. The idle chatter of your companions floods away, and your mind wanders and digs up memories you’ve been trying to suppress. The dancing flames before you form a grin, and floating embers resemble specks of blood. In the fire, you see a mask… A crudely drawn visage grinning at you. Frank’s—… no, that killer’s mask. An amalgamation of voices murmurs in your ears. They express doubts and regrets, and they make your skin crawl something terrible. You try to block them out, but it’s no use. They want to talk about what happened at the lodge. You don't.  “Why did you do that?” they ask. “What compelled you?” “I don’t know,” you murmur in reply. If you could go back, maybe you would’ve done something differently… But you doubt it would’ve mattered… “Maybe it would have.” You shake your head and try to silence the voices. They persist, mounting in volume and intensity. “Don’t reject us…" The flames form an arm that outstretches and extends a crackling hand to you. The grin remains unwavering, and the crude eyes burn holes through yours. “You’re one of us.” “Oi! Just finished a trial, lamb? Come grab a scone!” You’re wrenched from your thoughts by David’s barking. When you tear your eyes away from the fire, you find a stranger’s face at the border of the fog veil. She’s a young woman with a neatly trimmed lavender bob, a deep purple ruffled blouse, a form-fitting black skirt, and a fluffy white coat. That must be the new girl. You gawk at the woman. She seems completely disinterested in joining your company. Her dark eyes are cold, and her demeanor uninviting. A sneer warps her expression, and her arms fold tightly over her chest as she silently stalks past the campfire and away. You lose sight of her. David throws an arm up dismissively. “Suit yourself, then!” he barks. Kate sighs. “Now, I think she’s just adjusting, David,” she says. “We all went through that phase at some point or another…” “But she doesn’t need to ‘ave her pants in such a twist!” David retorts. Nea hums in agreement. You find her sitting opposite you on a log, swiping bread crumbs off her chest. “She’s pretty, but she’s a real bitch. Ran two trials with her already, and she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of us…” “Yeah, she isn’t the, uh… nicest camper,” Dwight comments, fixing his glasses over his nose. “I think she has the right idea,” Jake pipes up. You direct your attention to him. “Being a team player will only have you dead by the end of the day. Too much risk and too little reward.” “Some would argue just the opposite,” Kate replies pointedly. “Then they’d be wrong.” Jake fixes his eyes on you and holds your gaze longer than expected. He might be waiting for your two cents. But as much as you’d like to bump heads with him and spill your whole shtick of having hope and faith in each other, you just know it’d fall on deaf ears. You don’t give him a response, and when he finally averts his steely gaze, he shrugs his shoulders and utters, “But everyone plays the game differently.” Kate’s usual angelic face twists with a sneer. She shakes her head and dismisses Jake with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you say. But doin’ some real good is a reward in itself.” Jake’s done talking. A silence falls upon the campfire, and you shift nervously before getting abruptly to your feet. “Think I better go introduce myself,” you say. “And what better way to do that than with a goodie basket?” Nea makes a face at you. “Hey, miss tight-ass already made it clear she wants nothing to do with us.” “Yeah,” Min throws in. “More biscuits for us.” “Sorry, but you guys had your share. I’ve gotta save some for everyone else.” Nea looks at you like you just broke her heart. She clasps her hands in front of her chest and begs comically. “Please, please please please please—”You quiet her up when you toss another biscuit at her. She catches it as you stroll away. “Share!” you shout. The fog rolls in behind you and your companions vanish from sight.   By the time you’ve left the camp far behind, you’re hot on the new girl’s trail… You catch up to her in minutes. Her form comes into view through the trees, and you quickly join her side. “Hey,” you begin, offering her a friendly smile. “I brought you some—” Your reluctant company doesn’t even spare you a glance before she picks up her pace. You quicken your own to keep up. “Listen,” you say. “I know what you’re going through. Everyone here does. We’ve all been through it.” She ignores you. You persist. “It doesn’t get easier. I know that’s the last thing you need to hear, but it’s the truth. But alienating all of us and treating us like your enemies is only going to make this fucked up situation worse. You already have enough enemies here.” The woman stops dead in her tracks, and you stagger to a stop beside her. She spins around and jabs you in the chest with a manicured nail. “I don’t want to be a part of whatever pity-party you have planned for me!” she bites. “I don’t want your pity or your protection, or your hand in any of this! I don’t need it.” The mean look on her face is enough to make you shiver. “Relax—” “Don’t tell me to relax,” she interrupts sharply. She jabs you again, making you wince. “I’m tired of hearing you people tell me to relax! This place is hell. And as far as I or any of us know, there’s no way out. If I’m going to suffer here forever, I’d at least like to do that in peace!” Her venomous tone sends a chill streaking up your spine. But her visible anger aside, you notice her hand trembling, and her features shaken. You tenderly ease her jabby index away from your chest. “Is that really what you want?” you ask softly. You hope your sincere response might cool her off, but she’s not having it. Her expression sours up, and she snatches her hand from yours. “Stay the hell away from me.” Then she twirls around and stalks away. It was worth a try. But you’ve never been one to give up easily… You follow her. “Can I get your name?” you ask. “If I give you my damn name, will you leave me alone?” “Maybe.” The woman stops and faces you. “Yun-Jin,” she says bitterly. You smile and put out a hand. “I’m—” “This is the part where you leave me alone,” Yun-Jin jeers, moving again. You sigh and keep up with her. “I get it, okay? You want to be left alone. But walking off into the fog like this isn’t how you do it… Well, it is, but—” You pause and scratch your neck. “It’s dangerous.” “I don’t care.” “You will care when some fucked up fog monster attacks you.” Yun-Jin stops. She looks at you with furrowed brows. You say, “Yeah, fog monsters. That’s a thing here. And they are not friendly. I know from firsthand experience.” A deep, pondering look crosses her face. Maybe she’s weighing her options. Walk back to camp with you, or take her chances in the fog to escape your persistent company… And, surprising no one, she chooses the latter. She dismisses you with a scoff and keeps walking. And, surprising no one, you remain persistent. You trail behind Yun-Jin. But she spins around and snaps at you like a feral dog. “Get the hell away from—!” Her voice leaves her with a sharp gasp as your surroundings suddenly shift and change. The fog vanishes, and darkness engulfs the world around you. You lose sight of Yun-Jin, but hear her scream. You jump in fright and bump into a solid shape behind you — a wall. Fear cripples you in place, and you lose your grip on the basket. You blink twice and give your vision a moment to adjust. When it does, you just faintly make out Yun-Jin’s fearful face in front of yours. She huffs in fear and reaches out blindly, jabbing you in the eye with her hand. “Hey, relax!” you coax her, wincing. “What the fuck just happened?!” she screams in reply. You pat yourself down, then rifle your lighter from the pocket in your jacket. When you catch a flame, you realize a wall behind Yun-Jin, then another behind you. To your right, a long, dark hall. To your left, an antiquated wooden door with a bronze knob. You turn the knob and hear a click. It’s locked. After giving it a few more twists, you concede defeat and turn around. “Okay,” you utter. Yun-Jin hisses behind you. She shoves you aside and takes her own go at the door. It doesn’t budge. “Damnit,” she curses. She faces you, and you can barely make out her features in the flame’s light. “How the hell do we get out of here?” she breathes. “I… don’t know,” you reply. You turn around and gaze at the darkness ahead. An itch at the back of your skull makes your skin crawl and your spine tingle. You’re getting that pull again. There’s something here you need to find. So much for your vacation… After you resolve yourself to move forward, you nudge Yun-Jin and beckon her to follow. You step over the spilled biscuits on the floor, the sight almost enough to make you cry, and you proceed down the hall. Yun-Jin follows so closely in tow, you can feel her breath hot on the back of your neck. Wooden floorboards creak underfoot. You eyeball the walls on either side of you, but they’re bare and undecorated. No framed photos, windows, nothing. Only dust fills the hall, and it makes the air stale. When you come to the end of the hall, you stop at a door. It’s ajar, but you can make out light on the other side. You give the door a push and it swings open with a creak and groan. Yun-Jin tucks herself safely behind you as you step through the doorway. Your eyes widen as you enter the room — a spacious foyer on the first floor of a manor. There’s a large, shattered skylight in the ceiling above you that allows moonlight to flood the room. Two grand staircases draped with red carpet twirl up to the second floor on either side of a fireplace and hearth. A wooden banister cages the second floor. You turn and gauge the rest of the foyer. Dark hallways line the walls on either side of you, but, as you noted before, there are no furnishings or decor. A detail that puzzles you at first, then becomes clear why when you notice the splotches of dark void and decay on parts of the walls and floor. “An echo,” you murmur. “What?” Yun-Jin hushes behind you. You glance at her. “Nothing.” As puzzling as this all is, something here is drawing you out, and you can’t leave until you find it. You move forward with Yun-Jin in tow, toward a hall on the other side of the room. “Is this normal?” your company asks behind you. Her voice is jittery, and when you look at her, she carries herself fearfully, her arms hugging her shoulders tight. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot?” “No,” you reply. “But a lot of weird stuff happens out here…” Yun-Jin makes a face. You say, “This place keeps you on your toes.” You stop at the mouth of the dark corridor and peer into the pitch black. Yun-Jin voices her apprehensions behind you. “There has to be another way out,” she says. “That’s what we’re looking for.” You proceed into the corridor with slow, cautious steps, careful to watch for any spots underfoot threatening to give way into a void. The farther in you move, the darker it becomes as the foyer recedes behind you. Soon, you have only your lighter to guide your way. Because of this, Yun-Jin walks close in tow. You hear her breath shuddering to your left, and occasionally feel her hand ghosting your arm. “It’s okay,” you say reassuringly. You glimpse her eyes and add, “I don’t think there’s anything here to worry about.” “What makes you so sure?” Yun-Jin bites back sharply. You try to come up with a reasonable response, but you can only offer her a shrug. She scoffs at you. You’re able to make out tall, dark windows on the wall to your right, but they’re concealed by worn, black curtains. When you peel one away, you find the outside world. The woods flooded with fog, and the sky, dark and shimmering with the moon and stars. Escape from this echo is so close, yet so far — the window is caged with iron bars, and you assume they all are. You let the curtain fall back into place, then keep moving forward. You carefully ease around precarious spots on the floor, but notice Yun-Jin’s none too cautious. She almost steps on a foggy board, so you catch her by the wrist and tug her away. She staggers into you and gives you a puzzled look. “Sorry,” you say. Then you point at the floor. “Don’t go near that stuff. It’ll vanish right under your feet.” Yun-Jin purses her lips and yanks her hand back to her side. You’re already uneasy, and the silence only makes it worse. So you strike up a conversation. “What did you do before all this?” you ask. “I was a music producer,” Yun-Jin answers, taking you by surprise. You weren’t actually expecting a response… “What kind? Pop, country, rap…?” “K-Pop.” “Cool… wait.” You connect some dots, ponder the conclusion you draw, then raise a brow. “You produced music for idols… You wouldn’t happen to know that Trickster guy, right?” The way Yun-Jin’s face morphs into a nasty sneer is answer enough. She falls silent and folds her arms tightly over her chest with a look that tells you to drop the subject. And not wanting to evoke any of her wrath, you do just that… You clear your throat. “K-Pop. Cool. Uh… you got a favorite color?” She doesn’t answer you.   You come upon a door on the wall to your left, then pause and face it. You give the knob a try, and the door cracks open with a low moan. Yun-Jin keeps close as you step into the room. It’s a sun parlor, basked in the moonlight that floods in from the skylight above, and the large windows bordering the space. It’s empty, as the rest of the house is, save for a destroyed nest resting on a windowsill just opposite you. There’s something small and dark on the floor beneath it. You mistake it for a pile of soot at first, but as you draw closer, its actuality comes as a pleasant surprise — a baby crow. You move foward, and the chick chirps and cranes its head upward. You’re hesitant to interfere, but doubtful its mother will return for it anytime soon. The nest is destroyed, and this Echo is fading… You take a knee in front of it and gently scoop it into your hands. “Aww…” It’s like a tiny, black cotton ball with bright blue eyes. It’s adorable. You coo at the bird, then pause and eye it suspiciously. “Bastion?” you hush. The chick tilts its head at you. “Put that thing down and let’s get the hell out of here,” Yun-Jin says abruptly behind you, making you jump. You turn to look at her. “What’s the rush?” “We don’t know what this place is,” she replies, folding her arms over her chest. “And we don’t know if we’re alone.” You sigh and get back to your feet. “Alright, alright.” While still suspicious of the chick in your hands, you decide to bring it along with you. Either it’s an actual bird and you’ll have made a new friend, or it’s Bastion playing another trick on you, in which case you’ll feel like a fool… But in the meantime, you’re banking on the former. You tuck the crow safely into the pocket of your jacket, then leave the room. The chick chirps nonstop as you proceed down the hall. Yun-Jin glances distastefully at your pocket, but remains quiet on the matter. You continue down the long, dark corridor before coming upon another set of doors. That itch in your cranium grows more intense with each step forward, and it becomes clear why — whatever drew you here must be behind them. Luckily, the doors aren’t locked. You push one open with ease and peer into the darkness within. You falter in place, and Yun-Jin tries to deter you. “We shouldn’t go in there,” she says. “I don’t think it’s the way out.” “Probably not,” you reply. “But I’m checking it out. Wait out here if it makes you feel any better.” Yun-Jin scoffs at you and roots herself in the hallway as you enter the dark room. You move inside painstakingly slow, placing your feet carefully so as not to misstep and fall into a void. The air in here is cold and stale, and the wooden boards creak with each step. A part of you wants to turn back, but you can’t leave without finding what’s drawing you in. You’re granted some relief, however, when you hear your (suspicious) little friend chirping in your pocket. You move deeper in, slow and steady, then jump in fear when your shoulder bumps into something. When you raise your lighter, you discern a wooden bookshelf in front of you. And gazing upward, you see it stretches up high. The shelves are barren and covered in thick layers of dust. You move past the shelf and find another one at the end, perpendicular to it. This must be a library. And it’s a maze… You place a hand on the wood and guide yourself slowly along. The prickly sensation in your skull gets more intense. You’re getting closer… And when you turn a corner, you find the source that beckons you. It’s so dark, you almost miss it at first. No, you almost miss her — Undoubtably the silhouette of a woman standing a few mere paces ahead of you. She’s slender, pale, and garbed in a sheer white gown. Long brown hair pours from her scalp down her back to her waistline, and she’s facing away from you. You sweat, and goosebumps stipple your skin. This is the last thing you expected to find… But that pull is so intense now, and you know it must come from her. You’re holding your breath. But after swallowing past the thick lump in your throat, and shouldering your fear, you say, “Hey-Hey… Are you alright?” The woman doesn’t move. She’s still and soundless. You shift nervously on your feet, uncertain of what to do. Is she another camper? you wonder. How long has she been here?  You're boggled by the many questions swimming through your head, and this strange woman's the only one who can answer them. After a pause, you step forward, and she scares you silly when her head suddenly snaps at you over her shoulder. You gasp in surprise and jump backward, gaping at her in horror. Her eyes are bloodshot and ooze black viscous liquid. Her visage twists with agony, yet remains static and unwavering — like a still-shot from a terrible moment, trapped in time and written permanently over her face. “Whoa!” you exclaim. “Uh, never mind! I-I didn’t mean to bother you—” You backpedal so fast you bump into a shelf and lose your lighter. It clatters to the floor, and the flame goes out, allowing the darkness to engulf you. “Shit,” you curse, taking to your knees to scramble for your tool. But you pause when you hear shuffling footsteps. Slowly, at first, like feet dragging lazily across the floor. But then they pick up pace, and the pitter-patter is coming nearer. You panic and sweep the floor with your hands before finally retaking possession of your lighter. You flick it open and relight the flame, but to your surprise, the woman’s gone. When you get back to your feet, you feel a weight crash into your back that nearly topples you over. You stagger forward and hit a shelf, grunting as stiff arms fold around your neck, and legs wrap tight around your abdomen. The pale woman screams in your ear and rakes her nails over your throat. “Gak-!” You buck wildly and claw at her arms to loosen her grip on you. But the effort’s to no avail. She beats and punches you relentlessly, and all you can do is take it. Your struggle brings you to your knees, then ends abruptly as your assailant vanishes in a puff of dark fog with a horrendous wail. Air returns to your lungs, and you grasp at your neck as you wobble to your feet. You relight your lighter and waft at the fog as it ebbs away. Your face screws up in bewilderment and fear, but you put that all aside and rush back out the way you came.   You find Yun-Jin just where you left her when you come crashing out of the dark library. She jolts in fear and stares at you, wide-eyed. “What was all that screaming?” she asks. “Nothing,” you tell her, still shaken. “Let’s—” A scratching noise makes you falter and stop. You turn slowly on your heels and direct your gaze upward where the source of the noise intensifies. Something rattles and shakes loose dust glued to the ceiling. You share an apprehensive look with Yun-Jin. “I think we have company.” That becomes apparent when a terrible shriek down the hall makes you both jump. Your scuffle in the library might’ve drawn some baddies out… You spin around and race the other way with Yun-Jin hot on your tail. Your lighter does little to guide you as you race down the black corridor. Your pursuers, whatever they might be, storm after you. The only indication of their presence and being is the clickity-clack of claws on wood, and the gnashing of teeth. You’re in such a rush, you’ve forgotten completely about the gaping, dark patches of void in your path. So it comes as a startling surprise when you suddenly hear Yun-Jin cry out beside you, then her hand harshly snatching your left arm. She yanks you down with her, and you twist and crash to the floor on your ribcage with a grunt. The air rushes from your lungs, and you meet Yun-Jin’s frantic face inches from your own. “Pull me up!” she screams. She hugs your arm in a vice-like grip as she dangles over an empty black pit. The floorboards beneath you smoke with dark fog — it’s only a matter of time before they give way, too. “Hold on,” you wheeze. She’s put you in a really bad spot. With one of your arms out of commission and your body pinned flat to the floor, you can’t get enough leeway to lift her. Not to mention she’s putting a god-awful strain on your arm. “You need to climb up,” you tell her breathlessly. “Climb over me.” Yun-Jin seems reluctant to unhand your arm, but when those monstrous cries grow nearer, she relents. She throws a hand out and grips your shoulder, then hoists herself up. You brace your free hand against the floor to keep yourself from spilling over the edge into the abyss. Yun-Jin crawls up over your head and lifts herself the rest of the way before rolling to the floor beside you with a breathless huff. She’s back on her feet quickly and doesn’t even offer you a hand. In fact, she accidentally steps on your spine while stumbling in the dark, and neglects to apologize for it. By the time you’re back on your feet, she’s already taking off down the hall. You follow quickly after her. The race through the corridor is hectic. It has your blood running cold and your nerves on end. You catch up to Yun-Jin, but those monstrous sounds are very close, and all around you. In the walls, the ceiling, behind you. You’re afraid to look back. The hall bends to the left, and you cut the corner fast, then come to a staggering stop. You’re in another foyer at the back of the manor. But the entire right wall and the one perpendicular to it are completely gone, eaten up, and faded away. Beyond the absent walls, you find relief in seeing the woods. The only thing between you and freedom is a moat of void. As the harrowing wails and cries grow nearer, Yun-Jin’s already ahead of you, getting a running jump over the moat. She lands on the other side with a slight stumble and catches herself. Looks easy enough. But your bad luck shines through at the wrong time. You’re leaping over the pit when a dark shape lunges from the shadows and attacks. Claws rake the back of your calf and a weight yanks you straight down. You exclaim in panic and snatch the edge of the void, gripping dirt and grass beneath your fingers. Your eyes dart down to see the assailant clutching your leg, and you find a horrifying breed of mutt and monster. Black, hairless, vile, and hungry. Disturbing human-like hands grip you tightly. And a more doggish muzzle snarls at you from below. Your face contorts in fear and you shout, “Yun-Jin!” You tear your eyes away from the beast and desperately claw at the dirt to pull yourself up. You grunt with exertion and lift your head just enough to find Yun-Jin, backing away slowly with a furrowed look on her face. She only spares you a dismissive shake of her head before she turns around and runs. You lose sight of her behind the tree line and the dense fog. You’re on your own. Your attention reverts to the creature as it digs sharp claws into your leg. You grit your teeth and kick at it, barking, “Fuck off!” The beast bares sharp, gnashing teeth at you. And what comes as a nasty surprise is when it suddenly speaks. “We see you.” You freeze solid, eyes wide and mouth agape. The voice is deep, guttural, and disembodied. You choke over your own words, unknowing of how to respond or react. And you’re only snapped out of your crippling fear as the beast snarls and chomps down on your leg. You scream and beat your heel against its skull before delivering a harsh kick that dislodges it from your limb altogether. It rips away and hurdles into the black pit with a terrible wail, soon vanishing from sight as it’s swallowed by darkness. You muster up what remains of your waning strength and heft yourself up and over the edge onto solid ground. As soon as you recover, you limp off into the fog and leave the fading manor behind.   You wander the fog sluggishly with your damaged leg slowing you down. The wound’s not too bad and a simple patch job might take care of it, though you neglected to bring any supplies… But somehow, that’s the least of your concerns. The only thing on your mind is that monster that attacked you. And what it said… If that’s really what you heard. A part of you doubts it really happened. Maybe you imagined it… It wouldn’t be too far-fetched, and definitely not the first time you’ve seen or heard things. You’ve said so yourself — a lot of weird things happen here. Your concerns depart when you hear a faint chirping. Reminded of your little friend, you peel open your pocket and peek at it. It cranes its head up and whistles at you. You sigh in relief. “I didn't think you'd make it," Yun-Jin scoffs. You falter to a stop and snap your gaze up to meet Yun-Jin’s scowling face. She sits beneath a tall, dead tree with her knees to her chest and her arms hugging her legs. You didn’t even see her there… She shakes her head at you and mutters, “You actually got away?” “Yeah,” you reply, frowning. “But not without a few scrapes and bruises…” Yun-Jin falls quiet. You step nearer to her and say, “Are you brooding, or just lost?” When she doesn’t humor a reply, you say, “I can show you back to camp if you’re—” “I don’t need any favors from you,” Yun-Jin interrupts. “Is everything this difficult with you?” She scowls at you. “I’m supposed to believe you want to help me? After I—” “After you left me for dead?” You interrupt pointedly. “That’s not my M.O. I meant what I said before, Yun-Jin. I know what you’re going through. But a helping hand every once in a while can remind you that not everything’s completely fucked. Some of us are still holding on to humanity, believe it or not…” “Well, aren’t you a saint,” Yun-Jin sneers. She gets to her feet and crosses her arms. “Do you think that makes you better than me?”     "No." "You're a bitch."       You make a face at her and sigh. “I’m not doing this just so I can have the moral high ground. I help because I can, Yun-Jin. And because I want to. I made a choice to help you back there, and you made a choice to leave me behind. But I get it.” Your brows crease and you add, “And I know none of my soppy speeches are going to change your mind, but the way I see, I’m lucky to have that. Those killers we face off against every day? Some of them don’t get that choice. They’re forced to play the game, and they’re forced to hurt us. Everything they used to be was stripped away so they could be molded into weapons. They lost their humanity, but I’m going to hold onto mine as long as I can. And I won’t let that go, even if it kills me.” Your voice shudders and breaks. Your mind is drawn back to the most recent memories you’ve been desperately trying to suppress, and you shut them out again. After squeezing your eyes shut and reopening them, you face Yun-Jin and shake your head. “Do whatever you think you need to do. But don’t do something you’ll regret. Because until we find a way out, you’ll have to live with it forever.” Something you said must’ve struck a chord because Yun-Jin falls silent with nothing else to say. For a moment, you glimpse a look of shame across her features, but she dips her head and drops her gaze to her feet. Maybe you got through to her. Or maybe she’s just tired of arguing with you… The deafening silence persists for a long minute, but your aching leg is enough to draw your attention back to reality. You wince as you turn around and get moving. “I’ll show you back to camp,” you say over your shoulder. Yun-Jin remains voiceless, but you hear her shuffling feet moving after you.    ∗ ∗ ∗    By the time you arrive back at Haven, you’ve probably lost about a pint of blood, give or take, and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and call it a day. You showed Yun-Jin back to camp but didn’t bother stepping in for yourself to greet the other campers. Your mood was sour, and you didn’t have any biscuits to share, so you opted against it.   You trudge up the porch steps and murmur your greetings to Lydia. She offers you a smile as you pass by. “Did your friends enjoy those biscuits?” she asks. “They loved them, Lydia,” you reply. “Thank you.” Lydia chuckles. “Sounds like I’ll have to bake another batch for ‘em sometime, then.” You leave Lydia with another smile after bidding her goodnight. After moping off upstairs and to the bedroom, you toss open the door and plop onto the bed with a heavy sigh. You’re so tired, in fact, that you hardly even notice the tall shadow in the room’s corner as it creeps up beside the bed. Darkness pours over you and you blink up at Bastion’s perky grin. “Have a good time?” “What do you think?” “Oh, I didn’t think so,” he chuckles. “You weren’t such a hot mess when you left earlier…” You roll your eyes. “What have you been up to today?” “I’ve been keeping an eye on dear Lydia,” Bastion replies. “Making sure she didn’t set her home aflame…” “So you’ve been babysitting her when you could’ve been babysitting me?” “I think the blind old woman warrants more of my attention,” Bastion laughs. “Besides… you were on vacation.” You give him a dirty look, which he returns with a cheeky smirk. “I suppose I should ask about your day,” he says. “I have a lot to tell,” you reply, sitting up. Your brows crease and you make a strange gesture with your hands. “An echo just… appeared today. One second I was in the fog, the next I was in some large mansion. The entire house just took form around me.” Bastion hums. “Curious, but not unheard of…” “Wait, you’re saying that can just happen?” “Evidently.” You make a face, then sigh. “But that’s not even the craziest thing that happened. A woman attacked me in that house. She attacked me, and then she just vanished! Poof!” Bastion doesn’t appear the least bit surprised. “Echoes can take many forms,” he says simply. “You’re kidding me.” “I’m not. And I’m sure that must come as an unpleasant surprise…” “Of course it does! I’m searching for clues, not fucked up demon people trying to kill me!” Whatever snarky remark Bastion might have for you never comes, as his attention is grabbed by the chirping that comes from your pocket. A smile lights up your face. “But today wasn’t all bad,” you say. “I made a new friend.” You reach into your pocket and present the baby crow in your open palms. It does a hop and chirps at Bastion. “Say hi.” For the first time ever, Bastion’s face (as lacking as it may be), flickers with disgust. His lips curl into a sneer as he regards the baby bird. “A crow?” “Hey, don’t look at it like that! It’s adorable.” You coo at the baby bird and say, “You know, I thought it was you at first, playing another dirty trick, but I have never been more glad to be wrong.” Bastion doesn’t look impressed or amused. You smirk. “Are you jealous?” “Should I be?” You stick your tongue out at him, a gesture he returns with a faint chuckle. “If you’re in for the night, I’ll leave you to your little friend.” “I'm not going anywhere else if I can help it,” you reply.  Bastion hums in acknowledgement, then vanishes. When he's gone, you return your full attention to the chick and smile. “I gotta think up a name for you, little guy…”   Continue     You narrow your eyes at her. “You left me to die! You didn’t even think twice about it.” “I don’t owe you a damn thing,” Yun-Jin retorts. “And I won’t let anyone drag me down.” “What, like you almost did to me back there?” You scoff. “This isn’t a climb up some fucking corporate ladder. It’s not about who gets to sit on top. Because the bottom line is, you’re going to die here, a lot, and there’s nothing you can do about it, no matter how many people you step on to get your way. And at the end of each and every fucking day, you won’t have anyone to lean on when all that comes crashing down. You’re going to be very lonely, very soon, and you’re going to wish you weren’t such a bitch.” Yun-Jin glares hard at you. She has something to say, but you cut her off. “You want to know why I helped you back there? Because I could. Because I’m not a heartless asshole. And maybe that does make me better than you.” You render her speechless. Her angry expression wavers and her brows crease before she drops her gaze to her feet. If she has anything else to say, you won’t hear it. You turn away from her, ready to leave and call it a day. As you depart, you bitterly say back over your shoulder, “Good luck finding your way back to camp.” And with that, you leave in silence.    ∗ ∗ ∗    By the time you arrive back at Haven, you’ve probably lost about a pint of blood, give or take, and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and call it a day. You didn’t bother stopping by camp again. Your mood was sour, and you didn’t have any biscuits to share, so you opted against it.   You trudge up the porch steps and murmur your greetings to Lydia. She offers you a smile as you pass by. “Did your friends enjoy those biscuits?” she asks. “They loved them, Lydia,” you reply. “Thank you.” Lydia chuckles. “Sounds like I’ll have to bake another batch for ‘em sometime, then.” You leave Lydia with another smile after bidding her goodnight. After moping off upstairs and to the bedroom, you toss open the door and plop onto the bed with a heavy sigh. You’re so tired, in fact, that you hardly even notice the tall shadow in the room’s corner as it creeps up beside the bed. Darkness pours over you and you blink up at Bastion’s perky grin. “Have a good time?” “What do you think?” “Oh, I didn’t think so,” he chuckles. “You weren’t such a hot mess when you left earlier…” You roll your eyes. “What have you been up to today?” “I’ve been keeping an eye on dear Lydia,” Bastion replies. “Making sure she didn’t set her home aflame…” “So you’ve been babysitting her when you could’ve been babysitting me?” “I think the blind old woman warrants more of my attention,” Bastion laughs. “Besides… you were on vacation.” You give him a dirty look, which he returns with a cheeky smirk. “I suppose I should ask about your day,” he says. “It was shit, and I have a lot to tell,” you reply, sitting up. Your brows crease and you make a strange gesture with your hands. “An echo just… appeared today. One second I was in the fog, the next I was in some large mansion. The entire house just took form around me.” Bastion hums. “Curious, but not unheard of…” “Wait, you’re saying that can just happen?” “Evidently.” You make a face, then sigh. “But that’s not even the craziest thing that happened. A woman attacked me in that house. She attacked me, and then she just vanished! Poof!” Bastion doesn’t appear the least bit surprised. “Echoes can take many forms,” he says simply. “You’re kidding me.” “I’m not. And I’m sure that must come as an unpleasant surprise…” “Of course it does! I’m searching for clues, not fucked up demon people trying to kill me!” Whatever snarky remark Bastion might have for you never comes, as his attention is grabbed by the chirping that comes from your pocket. A smile lights up your face. “But today wasn’t all bad,” you say. “I made a new friend.” You reach into your pocket and present the baby crow in your open palms. It does a hop and chirps at Bastion. “Say hi.” For the first time ever, Bastion’s face (as lacking as it may be), flickers with disgust. His lips curl into a sneer as he regards the baby bird. “A crow?” “Hey, don’t look at it like that! It’s adorable.” You coo at the baby bird and say, “You know, I thought it was you at first, playing another dirty trick, but I have never been more glad to be wrong.” Bastion doesn’t look impressed or amused. You smirk. “Are you jealous?” “Should I be?” You stick your tongue out at him, a gesture he returns with a faint chuckle. “If you’re in for the night, I’ll leave you to your little friend.” “I'm not going anywhere else if I can help it,” you reply.  Bastion hums in acknowledgement, then vanishes. When he's gone, you return your full attention to the chick and smile. “I gotta think up a name for you, little guy…”   Continue     You poke around a handful of soil before letting out a sigh and dropping it. “No gold…” Lydia calls from the porch behind you, “Digging for more grubs, honey?” “Yeah. Little Poe’s gotta eat,” you reply. You get to your feet and scout out the yard for other potential dig spots. When you find a prime plot of dirt, you drop to your knees and scoop out another crater with your hands. “I’ve got some oats inside if you’d rather feed ‘im that,” Lydia says. “I don’t think he’s a big fan of oats,” you reply. “Well, excuse me,” Lydia chuckles heartily. “Didn’t know your little friend was a fussy eater.” Poe makes a soft croaking noise where he rests in your pocket. He pokes his head out the side and cranes his beak up at you. You pat him gently on the head and laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. You are a picky little guy…” You carry on your search for creepy crawlies when you feel an ominous presence looming behind you... Ominous, but familiar.  “You aren’t being very productive.” You toss a glance up over your shoulder at Bastion. “Poe’s hungry. I’ve gotta get him some food.” "Poe?” “You haven’t forgotten about my new pal already, have you?” You gesture faintly to your pocket and say, “Had a hard time coming up with a name, then Poe came to mind. You know, after that one guy who wrote that one poem, The Crow?” You look up at Bastion, smug and clever. “It’s a fitting name, right?” Bastion tilts his head. “The Crow?” He hums a moment, then snaps his fingers. “Ah, Edgar Allan Poe… The man with the sleek hair and fancy for his young cousin… I hate to burst your bubble, Wanderer, but I think the poem you’re referring to is The Raven.” The smugness drains from your face. “The-…? But I thought—” Bastion’s shit-eating grin twitches — you know he’s just dying to laugh at you. You defensively say, “Okay, so maybe I got it a little mixed up…” Your shadowy companion barks with laughter, and you dismiss him with a wave. “Whatever! It’s too late to change it now! Poe’s his name, and I’m not changing it…” Bastion pats you on the head. “You’re adorable,” he chuckles. You smack his hand away and keep digging into the dirt. “Thought it was called The Crow,” you grumble. Nothing’s turning up, and Poe’s getting impatient. He pecks your arm and coos. You sigh. “Where are all the worms?” "What a shame poor Poe will starve under your neglectful care,” Bastion says. “He won’t starve,” you reply. “Something’ll turn up sooner or later.” But sooner doesn’t come soon enough, so you stagger to your feet with a defeated huff. Bastion looks almost smug, and you get an idea. “Why don’t you feed him?” you suggest. “You know, do that thing where you turn into a bird! Then you can dig him up some worms.” Bastion scoffs at the idea. You clasp your hands together. “Come on, Bastion! I think you’d make a great crow daddy—” “Flattery won’t work,” he cuts you off. “I’m sooner to make an appetizer of that little pest.” You blow a raspberry at him in defeat. “Fine, whatever. Maybe I’ll have better luck out there.” After swiping your hands clean on your legs, you gather your satchel from the porch and move off toward the fog. “Bye, Lydia!” you call out. Lydia waves you off.   Bastion graces you with his presence five minutes after you leave the cabin behind. He walks beside you, every so often sneaking furtive glances at the young crow perched on your shoulder. You catch one such glance and sigh at him. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Bastion.” He jeers at you with a twisted smirk. “Me, jealous? You’re mistaken, Wanderer. I’m displaying caution.” “Caution of what?” “Of that little squealer perched on your shoulder,” Bastion replies. You make a funny face at him and he chuckles. “Haven’t you ever wondered the role our little avian friends might play here?” “They’re animals, so no, I can’t say I have…” “These things have a close bond to the Entity,” Bastion says. Then he strokes his chin and hums. “Or perhaps bond is too strong a word… Let’s go with servitude. Yes… they serve nothing but the very thing we’re fighting against. They act as our tormentor’s eyes and ears.” You laugh at the absurd claim. “Wait, you think Poe’s a spy? What, like double-O-seven? Or, or Jason Bourne?” You snicker. “Come on.” “I wouldn’t lie to you, Wanderer.” “That would be a first,” you reply. “You’re kidding me, right? Poe’s a baby crow. He’s not wearing a wire.” “I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Bastion says. “You can kiss your privacy goodbye with that thing glued to you.” You scoff. “I kissed my privacy goodbye the moment I struck a deal with you.” Your adamance disgruntles Bastion to the point he huffs like a child not getting his way, then up and vanishing without another word. As soon as he’s gone, Poe coos and nestles himself within the crook of your neck. You stroke his head tenderly. “It’s okay, Poe. The bad man’s gone…”   During your walk, you decided to make a little detour and stop by camp. You’d usually steer clear, but the others might appreciate meeting your adorable new friend! You’re sure they’re in desperate need of a morale boost… Shouting’s the first thing that reaches you, then the light of the flames as you draw to a stop before the campfire. The few campers present don’t even notice your arrival — Kate’s storming back and forth with a mean look on her face, cursing and muttering and balling her fists. Claudette’s hunched over on a tree stump beside the firepit, probably doing her damndest to stay out of her way. Jeff and Ace are turning over a log together, and Zarina idly spectates the scene from where she stands nearby. “Things don’t just go missin’ like that!” Kate snaps, still unaware of your being here. She scuffs the dirt under her boots and hisses a sigh. “What’s missing?” you ask abruptly. All heads turn to you, and Claudette actually jumps in surprise. “Kate’s guitar is missing,” Claudette replies. Her eyes flicker from yours to Poe, but she withholds any comment she might have on your little corvid friend, instead opting to share, “And my basket’s gone, too…” Kate’s guitar is missing? That explains her rampage. But it doesn’t explain the two lumberjacks over here… You make your way over to Ace and Jeff, then perk up at the sight of all the creepy-crawlies beneath the log they’re hefting. You take a knee and scoop up some grubs and worms. Jeff gives you a funny look, strained by the weight he’s holding. “We have berries if you’re hungry,” he says. “Not for me,” you reply, standing back up. “For my little friend here.” You feed Poe a juicy grub, then comment, “You know, I don’t think you’ll find a guitar under there.” Ace drops his end of the log and sighs. “We’re not lookin’ for the cowgirl’s guitar! My lucky alligator tooth’s missing!” Jeff finally drops his end, then braces his hands on his back like an old man. He winces and mutters, “Told him we wouldn’t find it under there…” Ace sighs. “I swear, it was around my neck one second, and gone the next!” he snaps his fingers to emphasize his point, then he strokes his chin. “Well, maybe I took it off over at the creek so I could wash some stink off’a me, but then it disappeared!” “When did these things go missing?” you ask. Kate replies, “Just today! It was here ‘fore I was grabbed into a trial, and it was gone by the time I got back! I had it propped right against that tree over there.” “The same goes for my basket,” Claudette says, hugging herself. “It can’t be a coincidence that they’ve all gone missing at the same time,” you say. Jeff lifts a brow. “You think someone took them?” “I think the Boogeyman took our stuff!” Ace interjects. You pass him a look and he clarifies, “The Entity! It’s just taking what little we have left.” “But why would it take our stuff now, of all times?” Zarina questions. You all share addled looks and shrugs. “Well, if it’s not around camp, then there’s really one other place it could be,” you say. “I’ll scope out the fog.” Zarina’s face flickers with amusement. She folds her arms over her chest and says, “Like you need an excuse to lurk off into the fog.” She joins you at the hip and says, “I’ll tag along. I’ve been dying for an excuse to get away from camp for a while…” “I’m not sure that’s—” “Besides,” Zarina interrupts. “You might need a little help sleuthing. And I’ve always been great at finding my mark.” She offers you a friendly smile. Jeff barks, “Wait up!” He comes your way and almost trips over a log before staggering to a stop in front of you. He straightens himself up and clears his throat. “After everything I’ve heard about that fog, you might need some extra guns.” Zarina snickers at him. Jeff puffs up and jabs himself in the chest with his thumb. “Hey, when David’s not around, I’m the designated big-boy.” You want to laugh at the statement, but you bite your tongue and move off into the woods. “I guess I can’t turn down the help… Better odds of finding the stolen goods this way.” Although, you’re hesitant to take anyone into the fog with you. What with you being an actual magnet for misfortune and trouble, it’s just asking for someone to get hurt. But today, you’ll make an exception and put your faith in Bastion. He’s done a decent enough job protecting you so far, and you’re sure he won’t mind babysitting two more… “You’ll be strumming your guitar again in no time, Kate!” you call back over your shoulder. “I’m holdin’ you to that!” she replies. Ace shouts, “Find my tooth while you’re at it!”    ∗ ∗ ∗    The fog always has a way of chilling you to the bone and putting your hair on end. It’s cold, sure, but there’s a certain atmosphere heavy in the air that weighs unendingly upon you and makes the breath in your lungs stale. But on this certain occasion, you’re granted respite from the apprehension and pressure. With Zarina on your right, Jeff on your left, and little Poe tucked against the crook of your neck, you’ve never felt more at ease in the fog. The warmth of familiar company is enough to alleviate your fear. The company is pleasant, but it’s quiet. You feed Poe another grub in the silence, an action that prompts Jeff to kickoff some small talk. “Where’d you find the little guy?” he asks out of the blue. You face him and shrug. “Uh… the fog. Found him by a messed up nest, so I thought I’d take him under my wing, so to speak…” “It’s never advisable to take in a baby bird,” Zarina says on your right. You sheepishly scratch your neck. “Yeah, but I wasn’t so sure he’d do any better on his own out here.” “I think it’s pretty cool,” Jeff comments. “Uh, not the whole kidnapping a baby from its parents part, but just having it, you know? I’ve seen Jake messing with these guys from time to time. Guess we’ve got two crow-whisperers in camp now.” “Well, it’s only a matter of time until it learns to fly. And it might not stick around,” Zarina says. You gently stroke Poe’s beak with a sigh. “Yeah, I figure that. But in the meantime, he’s my little buddy.” Zarina chuckles. Then she asks, “So what do you do out here, anyway? When you creep off into the fog?” “The rest of us can’t help but wonder,” Jeff comments. “You’re becoming a stranger around camp.” “And if you try telling us you’re just taking a midnight stroll, we’re going to have to call BS,” Zarina finishes with a quirked brow. Been a while since someone from camp’s drilled you like this. But then again, you rarely leave footprints in camp… You know well that these questions won’t stop coming, but coming from Zarina and Jeff makes it less daunting than if they came from Felix or Elodie… And you have to admit, it’s tempting to put the truth out there. So tempting, in fact, that you can’t resist. “Alright,” you begin, smirking. “The truth is, I’m out here searching for answers and a way out under the protection of a tall, shadowy demon man.” You expect a moment of stunned silence or snickering, but your company grants you neither response. Zarina scoffs at you with an amused smile. “I’ve heard that one already. Yeah, Nea’s told us all about it…” Jeff plays along with you. “Really? What’s this demon guy like? He taller than me?” You glance him up and down, then give him a nod. “He’s at least seven feet tall…” “Wow,” Zarina humors. “So he’s tall, dark… is he handsome?” “There’s not much to look at,” you reply. “He’s got no face, doesn’t wear any clothes, has nothing going on… down there. Most of the time, he’s got this stupid shit-eating grin on his face.” You make a claw-like gesture with your hands, then add, “And not to mention the freaky claws he’s got poking out his back. The stuff of nightmares, not dreams.” Zarina chuckles. “Does this friend of yours have a name?” “Bastion. But I might let Bastard slip now and then…” Jeff nudges you in the arm and draws your attention. You turn toward him as he says, “Something like this?” And he presents his open sketchbook to you. You’re surprised to find a sketched image of a being closely resembling Bastion’s likeness. “Whoa,” you murmur. “Did you just draw that?” “It’s, uh… a rough sketch,” Jeff replies humbly. Zarina peeks past you to get a look. You scoff and comment, “That’s awesome, Jeff. And honestly? I see the resemblance.” Zarina chuckles, then you almost jump out of your skin when Bastion appears suddenly. He looms down over Jeff’s shoulder to peer at the sketchbook, then his wide grin perks up. “Like looking in a mirror…” He vanishes again without another word. You clear your throat and say, “I’m only messing with you guys, by the way…” Zarina humorously replies, “Wait, so your protective demon boyfriend isn’t real?” “—Not my boyfriend. Barely even a friend…” Zarina bites back a laugh. “Right, clearly.” Jeff tucks his sketchbook under his arm. “Hm. But I’m willing to believe anything nowadays. After all the shit we’ve already been through and seen, nothing’s too far-fetched.” Zarina agrees with a nod. Then she elbows you in the side and jabs, “So, I hear you’re in cahoots with the killers now.” You make a face at her and she clarifies, “Nea told us all about how you strolled in arm-in-arm with that Legion kid. Then how you sicced him on her…” “I didn’t—” You sigh and pinch your brow. “She actually told everyone… Listen, I had no idea he was the killer. He came off so-… normal! He greeted me, introduced himself, we had some small talk…” “What sort of small talk?” Jeff asks. “The normal kind you’d have with another normal person. We discussed nightmares, the weather, cool jackets…” Zarina chuckles and pats you warmly on the back. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Those kids have pulled that trick with all of us, at some point or another… We never got as far as small talk, though, before they were burying their knives in our guts… Are you a killer whisperer, too?” “Maybe,” you mutter bitterly in reply. “I actually met those punks before I was carted off here,” Jeff says. You both look at him curiously and he goes on, “They paid me to etch a mural in that old cabin up at the resort. It’s still there, actually.” He scoffs and scratches his beard. “But that was way back in ‘96. They haven’t aged a day.” Zarina furrows her brows. “How long have they been here?” No one has an answer. But it’s enough to make you wonder… Poe draws you from your wandering thoughts when he suddenly chirps in your ear. You gently stroke his wing, but you falter and stop when a barrage of harsh noises overload your senses. You feel a sudden unease that makes your spine tingle, and you can feel eyes watching you. You glance around quickly, nervous and on edge. But you can’t make out anything in the dark forest around you. Your skittish demeanor draws Jeff’s attention and prompts him to throttle your shoulder. “Hey? What’s up?” The ceaseless whispers and murmurings drown him out. You silently mouth something to him, but your voice can’t escape your lips. That feeling of being watched intensifies — your eyes dart frantically around the woods, seeking out the owners of the disembodied voices, but you can’t find them. But one voice rings through, loud and clear. It makes your blood run cold, and your skin crawl. “We see you.” An awful itch crawls up your arms and neck. You scratch your collar, then your wrist, but it doesn’t let up. You end up scratching your wrist red, then raw and bloody before Zarina notices and snatches your arm in her hand. “Hey!” Your party comes to a dead stop, and all that noise finally fades out. When your senses return to a calm, the pain makes you wince. Your arm looks like a scratching post — Jeff and Zarina look concerned. A tense silence pans out for a minute before you yank your sleeve down. “Hell of an itch,” you say shakingly. The two of them share a nervous glance, and you don’t wait around for anything else they might have to say. You get moving again, drowning out Poe’s coos in your ear. But you only walk a few paces when you feel something warm trickle from your nose. You stop, touch a finger to the ooze dribbling down your chin, then gape in horror. A black substance coats your fingers. Alarmed, you take your sleeve across your face to smear it away, but it doesn’t stop gushing from your nose. You sputter in panic and quicken your pace. Jeff shouts after you, but you don’t stop running. Your nose gushes like a busted hydrant, and to make matters worse, you feel a prickly sensation crawling up your throat. Full panic and fear set in. You run so fast and blindly that your foot catches on a root and trips you up. You crash to the ground on your hands and knees, sending Poe flapping off your shoulder with a chirp. He lands before you and tilts his head up to coo at you. The prickly sensation makes you gag. You violently dry heave over the dirt before vomiting up a mess of thick, black ooze. It tastes toxic in your mouth and has your eyes watering. Poe, with his childlike mindset and infantile wonder, tries to hop into the toxic puddle. You nudge him away with a shaky hand. “D-Don’t—” You cut off as more vile liquid purges from your throat. Fast-running footfalls are coming your way, and you hear Zarina and Jeff shouting. You try to focus on their voices, but those whispers return and flood them out. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, urging them away, but they persist. Pain wracks your head and your breathing is ragged and harsh. Your strength wanes and your arms give out under you first, then your legs — you collapse in a heap, and your consciousness fades…    ∗ ∗ ∗    You register the sounds of crackling flames and creaky wood as you come to. Something pinches your ear and stirs you awake. When you peel open your eyes, you gaze blearily up at a ceiling. And with a groan, you sit yourself up. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you glance to your side and find Poe, hopping and chirping around you. He coos and pecks at your leg.Then you glance about the rest of the room, noting it for what little it is — a simple cabin, you gather. Small, empty, and dust-covered. A single window on the left wall, a closed door to the right, and a lit fireplace straight ahead that basks the rest of the room in warm light. You’re still so out of it you hardly even notice Jeff and Zarina on the other side of the room. “She’s awake,” Zarina says, as the two make their way to your side. Jeff takes a knee in front of you and startles Poe. You scoop the small bird into your hands as Jeff gently takes your shoulder. “Take it easy,” he says. “Did that nap do you any good?” Zarina asks beside him. You lick dryness from your lips and blink tiredly at your companions. “Nap?” “You blacked out back there,” Zarina says, with her brows creasing in concern. “We were going to drag you back to camp, but we found this place and brought you inside to recover.” “Really? Another random cabin in the woods…” you mutter. Jeff asks, “How are you feeling?” “I’m fine,” you reply. You set Poe upon your shoulder, saying, “My nose just started bleeding out of no—” You pause as you lift a hand to touch your face — your sleeve is clean. You scan the rest of your jacket, touch a finger to your nose and your chin, but there’s no strange black blood anywhere. You crease your brows. “And-And I was feeling faint, too…” “We didn’t find any blood on you,” Jeff says, sharing a look with Zarina. Zarina sighs. “Maybe all the time you spend out here in the fog is taking a toll on you,” she suggests. “Maybe,” you murmur in reply. You’re honestly beginning to believe it… When you let your eyes wander the room, you find Bastion lurking in the farthest, darkest corner, watching over you like a silent guard. You have questions for him, but those questions can wait. You get to your feet with a hand from Jeff, but you stagger off balance and crash into him. He places a secure hand on your waist to steady you. “You got it,” he says. You murmur your thanks to him and straighten yourself up. “We should get our asses back to camp,” Jeff says. Zarina nods in agreement. “I think it’s time we call it quits on that missing stuff. Could be anywhere, and it’s not safe out here.” Jeff notices your eyes glance at the flames in the fireplace. He says, “Wasn’t lit when we got here,” he says. “We used this.” He hands you your lighter. “It fell out of your bag. And this, too—” He turns around and takes a camera from the floor. When he hands it to you, your heart drops at the sight of the shattered lens. Jeff sheepishly scratches his neck. “Must’ve broke when it fell,” he says. “We tried and, uh… failed to fix it up.” “But there’s no fixing a broken lens,” Zarina says. She turns and heads for the door. “Let’s hurry back.” They exit the cabin as you turn the broken camera over in your hands. Besides the shattered lens, the shutter button’s stuck, and you hear an odd clanking noise inside when you shake it. Busted as busted can be. You cram the junk into your satchel and follow the two out the door. When you step outside, you shiver in the cold and hug yourself securely. Then you turn around and backpedal to get a bigger look at the cabin. It’s a one-story, humble wooden hovel in the woods. There’s nothing else to it, and it’s got nothing on Lydia’s cozy cabin. Her cabin, which you’re dying to get back to right about now… Jeff and Zarina are already walking off into the forest. You move after them, but Poe suddenly chirps and flutters right off your shoulder. He lands on the ground with a hop, then casually strolls toward the side of the cabin. “Wrong way, Poe,” you say, walking after him. You follow him around the small cabin to the backside, then you come to an abrupt stop. There’s a large shed in the backyard, straight ahead. Plain, old, and unkempt from years of neglect, it seems. You get a funny look on your face and cock a brow. “Huh.” Poe’s at your feet, cooing and pecking at the dirt. You scoop him up and replace him on your shoulder before approaching the shed. When you stop in front of it, you realize it’s locked tight with a heavy padlock. And you’re lacking its key… You scan the ground for anything you might use to bust it open, then you jump when a cold finger taps you on the shoulder. Poe’s startled by Bastion’s sudden appearance, too. He squawks and buries himself against your neck. “Too stubborn to ask for help?” Bastion chuckles behind you. You stroke Poe to calm his ruffled feathers (and your own fast-beating heart.) “My bad,” you reply. “It’s just so easy to forget you exist…” Your little jab makes Bastion laugh. He gently nudges you out of his way and strikes the padlock with a claw. It breaks apart with ease. Then he gives you a friendly grin and warm chuckle before vanishing again and leaving you to your findings. You draw the shed door open, and you’re astounded to find a whole treasure trove of items inside. And better yet, the missing items from camp, sitting on top of the hoard. Kate’s guitar propped against the wall, Claudette’s basket on the floor beside it, and Ace’s alligator tooth necklace draped over a cluttered shelf. Truthfully, these are the last things you expected to find, but it’s a welcome surprise. “Guys!” you call out. Jeff comes running like a quarterback, and Zarina’s tailing closely behind him. Both looked concerned as they come around the cabin. “What’s wrong?” Zarina calls toward you. When they slow to a stop, you step aside to show them the goods. “Case closed,” you smirk. Zarina’s eyes widen, and Jeff gawks at the sight. He murmurs, “How the hell did all of this…?” You give him a shrug. “Who knows?” you reply, stepping into the shed. “But it’s lucky you guys found this place.” “This was just sitting under our noses?” Zarina murmurs as she enters the shed. She eyes the stacked shelves and boxes with wonder, then mutters, “My detective skills might need some work.”   The three of you peruse the shed like kids in a candy shop. You move down a thin aisle between two shelves of miscellaneous items and junk. But you scan it all like a picky collector. And boy, does this place have a little of everything. From your basic junk, to buckets, books, blankets, clothes, scrap metal, and toys. It’s reminiscent of a thrift shop. Bastion startles you when he appears behind you. You watch him pluck a black top hat off a shelf and place it upon his head. With a grin, he purrs, “Jaunty find…” He gives you a playful nudge, which you return with a roll of your eyes. He vanishes with a pout and lets the hat hit the floor. During your search, you scoop up a few items you think the others back at camp might appreciate. Some blankets, coats, socks. You also find a stack of porno mags, which you curiously try to get a peek inside at, but the pages are stuck together like glue… Gross. You lose your enthusiasm after that and step out of the shed, muttering, “This is just some hoarder’s stash…” “A hoarder and a thief,” Zarina calls over. “Whoever nabbed all of this stuff must’ve snuck into camp. And who knows how many times they’ve already done it.” Your company joins you outside of the shed, each with armfuls of goods they grabbed up. Jeff has Kate’s guitar slung over his shoulder, and Zarina has Claudette’s basket and Ace’s necklace, as well. “That’s a mystery we’ll have to solve another day,” you reply. “Let’s just get all this stuff back to camp and call it.” They’re in agreement.    ∗ ∗ ∗    “We emerge from the fog victorious,” you call out as you enter camp with your companions in tow. Kate, Ace, and Claudette are all still here, surprisingly. And they all look pleased to see you. Jeff hands off Kate’s guitar, and she throws her arms around him with a delightful squeal. “I didn’t have a doubt in my mind you guys wouldn’t come through!” “Really?” you reply, lifting a brow. Kate chuckles and slings her guitar over her shoulder. “Okay, maybe just some doubt.” Claudette smiles softly as her basket’s returned to her, and Zarina elbows you in the side. “Sherlock here is to thank for it,” she says. “She found everything herself.” Ace slaps you on the back and laughs. “Nice going, kid! Hey, if we ever get out of this, let me buy you a drink!” “I’m holding you to that.” Claudette hugs her basket to her chest, and her eyes wander to the pile of blankets in your arms. “What’s all that?” she asks. “We found everything in a packed shed,” you answer, setting the pile down on the log by the fire. “Don’t ask us how it got there.” “I know better than to ask questions,” Kate says. She’s already taken her seat by the fire, strumming her guitar again. She smiles at you. “You goin’ to stick around a while?” “I’m, uh… heading to bed,” you reply, backing away from the campfire. “I’m tired.” Kate sighs. “You sleep more than my great ma…” You don’t know how to reply to that remark, so you turn to leave in silence. Ace calls after you and throws you two thumbs-up. “Sleep tight, kid!” You give your farewells to the others, then make your swift departure into the fog.    ∗ ∗ ∗    When you arrive at Haven, you greet Lydia and head inside to call it a day. It wasn’t a very productive day, but you feel drained and just tired. Poe’s already dozing off by the time you make it upstairs. You toss your jacket off and take a seat on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. Bastion appears a moment later. You turn to him. “Do you have any clue how that stuff could’ve gotten in that shed?” you ask him. Bastion shrugs his shoulders. “I’m drawing blanks.” “Awesome…” You plop onto your back and murmur, “I don’t think it was one of us… And there’s no way it was a killer, right?” “The campfire is a safe refuge from the killers,” Bastion replies. “So who the hell could’ve done it?” “There are others out there in the fog, Wanderer. Others like Lydia. Those incapable of joining the trials, and others who have found ways to avoid them.” “What, so anyone can just creep into camp?” You scoff. “Then how safe is it really?” Bastion either knows as little as you do, or he’s hiding what more he does. He doesn’t have an answer for you. You sigh and mutter, “That’s concerning…” But not something you want to dwell on. You have more than enough to worry about as is. So you put it out of mind and prepare for bed. First, you form your jacket into a makeshift nest for Poe and set him gently atop it. He’s fast asleep in seconds. You settle yourself next and say, “I’m in for the night.” Bastion soundlessly nods his head in acknowledgment before vanishing. No sooner does he leave than do you feel fatigue putting you to sleep…    ∗ ∗ ∗    A bitter, coppery taste lingers in your mouth. You’re resting on your knees in a pool of dark, tar-like substance, and you’re surrounded by darkness. You come here so often, you know better than to try making heads or tails of this place. Something crawls up your spine, and that awful taste in your mouth intensifies and makes you gag — you spit and choke on it, but it never comes up. And to make matters worse, you can FEEL someone watching you. You feel eyes boring holes through you from somewhere in the surrounding darkness. But you can’t see who or what it is… It’s so close. And stranger yet, you hear breathing. Your fear spikes and your skin crawls. Then suddenly, out of the darkness, you hear a crow cawing.   You wake with a gasp and jolt. Poe’s cawing close by, and when you sit up, you find him on the windowsill behind you, cawing and flapping his wings in a fuss. When you reach out for him, he hops away and flutters out the window. “Poe!” you shout. With a hiss and a curse, you throw your blanket off to go outside after him. But as you turn your gaze to the other side of the room, you freeze solidly in place, with your leg hanging over the side of the bed. Fear stabs through you, and your blood runs cold at the unwelcome sight before you. Your wide eyes meet the white, hollow gaze of Ghostface’s mask. He stands in front of the bedroom door, silent and looming, and watching you. He must find you a funny sight, because he chuckles behind his mask. It sends a shiver coursing up your spine, and there's little you can do to remedy the way your body reacts in fear.  The silence that follows is nerve-wracking. Ghostface spares you that, at least, when he makes a spooky gesture with his hands and whispers, "Boo."       “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Ghostface taunts. He slowly approaches your position with light steps, moving like a specter from the door toward the bed. The black ribbons float behind him like threads of web in the wind, and the candlelight casts an intimidating orange hue on his form. Your heart beats uncontrollably and pounds in your ears. You’re frozen solid, unable and unwilling to make a move — just like a deer in the headlights. You’re still paralyzed the following moments before your brain finally resets and your fight-or-flight kicks in. Against your better judgment, you try to take a dive out the window; some part of you would rather jump two stories than face Ghostface. And the other part’s relieved when your assailant snatches you by the collar and yanks you right back in. Your shirt goes taut around your neck and makes you choke, then you jerk backward into Ghostface. The momentum sends you crashing into him and right off the side of the bed. He hits the floor with a grunt, and you topple right on top of him. In your panic, you scramble away and reach for a candlestick on the nightstand. But gloved hands seize you by the shirt and yank you away and to your feet. You gasp as an arm winds tightly around your neck. Ghostface has you in a chokehold. You buck and kick, and you pry at his arm, but can’t get any leeway. The cologne he’s wearing stings your nostrils. You venomously choke, “Your… cologne… smells like shit.” Ghostface lets out a breathy chuckle behind you. “Really? I spritzed on the good stuff just for you.” He moves his masked face closer to whisper in your ear. “Now, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?” You choose the latter. You jab your elbow into his ribs and wrench away when his grip goes slack. An effort all for naught when he snatches you by the throat and slams you into the tall mirror propped against the wall. It shatters from the force, and Ghostface’s hand tightens as he leans in close. The fearful face of his mask mirrors the expression on your own. “I wanted it the hard way, too,” he flirts. His slimy words roll off his tongue, and his tone oozes something uninviting and malicious. He’s made his intent and motivations terribly clear. Not that you didn’t understand his reason for coming prior—you can guess he wasn’t too happy with you after your first encounter… “I’m glad you think so,” you grit. You snatch a large shard of the shattered mirror before stabbing him in the side. He loses his grip on you with a painful bark. You swing at him again, but he deftly dodges your swipes and catches you by the wrist. He tightens his fist and forces you to drop your bloody weapon. Your back meets the wall again, and he laughs in your face. “You’re a firecracker.” A duel-wielding firecracker. You have another shard of glass clenched in your other hand, unbeknown to him. You bury it in his shoulder. He retaliates by punching you upside the head, hard enough to throw you to the floor and have you seeing stars. Your head spins. Ghostface is a tall dark shadow in your vision, standing above you. He rips the shard from his padded shoulder with an inaudible sigh and drops it at his feet. Another mistake on his part, and one you promptly punish. You snatch the shard and stab him in the leg. But unfazed, he kicks you in the face and sends you sprawling on your back, moaning in pain. “Ah—” you moan, touching a hand to your hurting face. Your nose gushes blood, and he busted your lip. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got,” Ghostface taunts above you. You can hardly make him out in your bleary vision. His mask is an insignificant white blur in a haze of warm candlelight and cool moonlight. You scoff at him. “F… Fuck you.” You take the back of your hand across your face and smear the scarlet river flowing from your nose. Ghostface bends his knees and tilts his head. “I think someone wore herself out,” he coos in a mocking tone of voice. He reaches out a gloved hand and pinches your cheek. You can hardly summon the strength to swipe him away. He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.” He winds an arm beneath you, then hefts you up and over his bloody shoulder. He hisses in pain as a result of the damage you dealt him. You slur mockingly, “That must hurt.” He chuckles. “I’m feeling it… You pack more bite than I expected... I bet you’re fun in bed.” You’re carried across the room, then tossed carelessly on the bed. You land on your face and whine in pain as your nose bleeds into the sheets. Ghostface moves in behind you, and you sluggishly try to crawl away. But he seizes both your arms and yanks them hard behind your back. One fist grips both your wrists, the other unlatches a belt on his hip. Your sudden panic is only momentarily eased when Ghostface dips his head toward the back of your neck and murmurs, “Don’t get the wrong idea… I’m here for business, not pleasure.” He pats you on the back and wraps his belt around your wrists, then pulls it tight enough to make you wince. When he's satisfied with his work, he flips you over onto your back and drops his hands to his hips. You glare at your captor. He chuckles. “Don’t look at me like that… You were begging for this when you sicced your dog on me.” His smooth-sounding voice almost makes you melt. A reaction you resent and resist. “But before we get into that,” Ghostface continues. “Where’s my camera?” You pause. And you remain paused for a good, long minute. The incredibly dumb look on your face might’ve made anyone else laugh, but Ghostface is silent. He wants a serious answer, and you seriously want to be anywhere else but here. How do you tell the killer holding you hostage that you busted up his camera? You mull over your options while Ghostface impatiently taps his foot. “Your camera,” you begin slowly, sitting yourself up. “It’s, uh… a funny story, actually—” “Is it?” You swallow and glance nervously at the satchel resting on the floor. But you quickly avert your eyes and say, “I lost it.” Ghostface slowly tilts his head. And you watch with increasing anticipation as he turns his gaze toward the bag himself. He backs away from the bed and takes it off the floor. Nervousness becomes pure dread as you watch him rifle through your bag. And your heart’s beating a million times a minute when he finally fishes his prized possession into his hands. For a moment, he just holds the damned thing without a word. And when the tension’s become too unbearably thick, he turns his head toward you and stares. You shrink under his silent gaze, refusing even to swallow or move. “It-It was an accident,” you manage after a second. Ghostface sighs heavily behind his mask. You blink nervously at him—it’s impossible to gauge just how pissed he is. Like everything about The Ghost Face, it’s perfectly concealed. He pockets his busted camera, then, in a move that surprises you, he opts to continue fishing through your bag. You observe him take your lighter into his hand, then flick it open and catch a flame. Almost inaudibly, he murmurs, “This’ll do.” You’re nervous again. He drifts across the room, stops beside the bed, and lights a candle on the nightstand to your left. He lights a second, then approaches the dresser. You swallow thickly. “What do you want from me? Revenge? Is-Is that it?” “I have questions,” Ghostface replies, lighting another candle. “I want to know what makes you so special. Why did the big-bad step in like your knight in shining armor?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie. Ghostface pauses. He shifts his masked face your way. “Too late to play stupid.” “I really don’t know,” you say. "I-I don’t know what that thing was or why it saved me.” You watch with nervous apprehension as he lights the last candle, then strides to the foot of the bed. You meet the hollow eyes of his mask and sweat. “If you want to be hush-hush, then we can just skip ahead to the good part.” Quicker than you can react, he snatches your ankle and yanks you to the edge of the bed. You muffle a startled yelp when he tucks himself between your legs and leans down over you, one arm firmly across your chest to pin you down. His other hand reaches slowly toward his hip. You hear him draw a blade, which he puts to your neck. The cold steel kissing your skin elicits a gasp from your quivering lips. Ghostface whispers, “If you won’t talk, we’ll have some fun. Then maybe your guardian angel will swoop in for the save… Or maybe it won’t.” You swallow past a thick lump in your throat. “I-I told you,” you stammer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ghostface runs the blade from your neck to your face. You flinch as he takes the tip slowly across your cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “I don’t like to make things personal,” he murmurs. “But you cast the first stone.” “You were going to kill me,” you reply shakily. “I just wanted a picture with the new girl,” he replies innocently. You scoff. “And when you got it? Am I supposed to believe you were going to let me walk away?” “Maybe. After all, I caught you with your pants down… I would’ve at least given you a head-start.” He teases your collarbone with the tip of his blade. Your trembling causes him to knick you. A drop of blood beads on your skin. He lifts his knife. “You know,” he says. “I stopped by a couple of times before… But you weren’t home.” “I don’t like surprise visits, Ghostie,” you bitterly reply. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he chuckles. “I even considered asking the old woman when you’d be in.” Your eyes widen. Lydia. “What did you do to her?” you demand with narrow eyes. “If you hurt her—!” “Don’t worry,” Ghostface cuts you off with a wry chuckle. “I didn’t touch a hair on her sweet, wrinkly head… I mean, a blind old woman? That’d be low, even for me.”  The look you give him prompts him to add, “I told her I was an… old friend and she let me stroll right in.” Oh, Lydia… Not that you can blame her; you’ve been duped by a killer before, too. Ghostface draws his knife away. “I could sit and chat with you all night, but that’s not what I came here for… Are you going to cooperate, or do I need to be a bit rougher with you? What’s it take for your friend to pop in? A call, a shout, a scream?” Cold sweat collects on your brow. You give Ghostface a hard look. “I told you—” He shushes you with a finger to his mask. “Let’s just find out,” he says. He raises his knife high, making you flinch and cower beneath him. But then, in the blink of an eye, a tall, dark shape lunges from the shadows and snatches the costumed man right off of you. You gasp in surprise, then relief when you recognize Bastion’s shadowed form, claws extended from his back and trapping your assailant in a spiny black cage. Bastion lifts the man off his feet, bringing him face-to-face. He grins. “What an unpleasant surprise…” “Took you long enough!” you snap, sitting up. “Where the hell were you?” Bastion turns his faceless gaze toward you. “I had no idea you had company, Wanderer. The odds of someone finding this place were slim… and yet, here we are.” He faces Ghostface again, chuckling. “You sneaky little devil…” Ghostface is suspended helplessly in the air, amusingly stiff and quiet. The image reminds you of those cheap Halloween decorations people would prop on their front lawn or hang from their tree to scare the little trick-or-treaters. He looks like a costumed idiot. You’d laugh if you weren’t so weary. Ghostface’s masked gaze snaps from you to Bastion, then up and down your shadowy companion’s form. He scoffs, then interjects, “So this is your guardian angel… He’s taller than I expected.” Bastion purrs. “Do I make you feel small?” “You know how to humble a guy,” Ghostface chuckles. This is getting weird. “Are you going to kiss him, or kill him?” you ask with a cocked brow. Ghostface laughs, garnering your attention. He shakes his head and sighs quietly. “Yeah, three’s a crowd, right?” You hear a familiar metallic click. Ghostface raises a hand in front of him and an orange hue suddenly illuminates the face of his mask. He still has your lighter. Wait— “Bastion!” Your shout of warning comes too late. Ghostface flicks the lighter at Bastion, and flames swallow his form up in seconds. He’s covered head to toe in hungry, hot flames, scorched and wailing. In his panic, he flings Ghostface from his grasp and flails carelessly about the room, going off like an air siren. His hazardous rampage rips a curtain from the window, shatters the rest of the mirror, and knocks framed photos from the walls. The room quakes with his wails. The terrifying spectacle only ceases when he vanishes with a furious roar. You could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence. Your wide eyes seek and find Ghostface slumped against the wall, groaning in pain. He picks himself up with a hefty sigh, pats out a flame on his shoulder, then turns his gaze to you. You swallow thickly. “I wasn’t so sure that would work,” he says as he approaches the bed. “How-How did you know—?” “I’ve been following you around the block,” he replies, chuckling. “And I took some notes.” He stops at the foot of the bed. “Now it’s just you and me… How long do we have until your friend returns?” “I-I don’t know,” you stammer, scooting away. Ghostface tips his head. “Aw,” he coos. “Is someone nervous?” He climbs onto the bed and hovers over you with both hands propped on either side of your head. You sweat beneath him. “Do you have a Plan B?” he asks quietly. Evidently not. Ghostface chuckles. “I didn’t think so.” He thwarts your attempt to scramble away when he rests his arm over your chest. You puff in fear, struggling helplessly beneath him. He tilts his head. “I know I don’t have to ask, but are we still playing stupid?” You’re rendered silent. Bastion was your ace, and he’s out of commission… What else can you do but give the killer what he wants? Be that answers, or seeing you grovel… You swallow up your pride and concede. “I don’t know exactly what he is… but he’s helping me,” you confess. “Now was that so hard?” Ghostface teases. You scoff. Smug bastard. He nudges you to go on. “And what’s he helping you to do, exactly?” “He protects me,” you reply, “and I look for the way out.” “The way out?” “I know there’s a way. There has to be… I-I can see things that others can’t. Memories and echoes connected to people who came close before.” “And what have you found?” You hesitate. “N… Nothing. Nothing yet… Just old journals, and notes, but… that’s it.” Ghostface clicks his tongue as if unsatisfied with your answer. You shrink under him and shift your gaze from his mask. You’re left to wonder what happens next in the following moments as the silence persists. And you don’t know what Ghostface is thinking—it’s impossible to tell what’s going on behind his mask, or what thoughts swirl through his demented mind… The steady silence makes the air thick and hard to swallow. And just when it becomes difficult to breathe, your captor grants you respite from the silence. “I want in.” Initially, you believe you’ve misheard him. Or rather, you want to believe you’ve misheard him. You give him a dumb look. “You… You what?” “I want in,” Ghostface repeats. “If you find the way out, I’m clocking out and leaving too.” You scoff at him. “Wha- But this place has to be heaven to you! You can perv out and hurt people as much as you want. Why the hell would you want out?” Ghostface chuckles. “You’ve got no idea… I like to be seen,” he says. "I want every dirty little deed in the headlines. But I can’t get that here… I’m on a leash playing hide and seek with the same bunch of sad bastards day in and day out. This shit is getting boring.” He’s phrasing it like all this is to him is a minor inconvenience. That it’s something keeping him from getting his kicks, rather than the hell it is for the rest of you. The idea’s enough to turn your bemused look into a hard glare. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to team up with you.” You spit the last word with venom. Ghostface tilts his head. “I know you can use all the help you can get… You haven’t found shit on your own, yet.” He jabs you in the brow and adds, “Put that moral compass away and use your head. Besides,” he adds, “you’re already working with another rogue.” “Bastion’s on my side,” you reply. “What makes you so sure? You don’t know what that thing is, you said so yourself.” “He used to be human.” “Didn’t we all?” Ghostface chuckles. Your features relax to appear uncertain. Ghostface observes your hesitance, then says, “You may be the only one who can find the answers, but that might not be enough to get you out… Are you really in a position to turn down a helping hand?” I don’t know. How could you know? The Fog is so dubious and cryptic. You’ve seen enough to know that finding the answers won’t be easy, and nobody here will just hand them to you. It’s a constant fight and a test, now a pick and choose. Ghostface jostles you from your addled thoughts when he says, “We can find the rabbit hole together.” You maintain your uncertainty for several uneasy moments before sighing heavily. “Let me think about it.” He seems satisfied with your answer. He pats you on the chest and replies, “I know you’ll need some time to sleep on it.” To your relief, he finally climbs off of you and leaves the bed. You watch him reach up his sleeve and pluck out a photo, which he tosses onto your lap. “When you’ve made up your mind, burn that at your cozy little campfire.” You raise yourself into a sitting position and look at the picture. It’s Ghostface posing for a picture crouched over an unidentifiable person’s body inside a dark room. The flash illuminates his mask and tasteless thumbs-up. You avert your gaze from the photo and give him a hard look, seeking clarification. But he doesn’t elaborate. Then, to your surprise, he turns around and heads for the door. You furrow your brows. “Where are you going?” Ghostface stops and turns back toward you. “I did what I came here to. I’ve got places to be.” “Wh… Is that all you wanted?” He laughs — it’s a disarming laugh, conveying friendliness and warmth, deceiving of his true nature behind the mask and cowl. It’s enough to put nervous butterflies in your stomach. “Oh, I didn’t come here to lay a finger on you,” he says. “I only wanted some answers.” You scoff and lick your bloodied lip. “Maybe you should’ve led with that.” “Where’s the fun in that?” Ghostface turns away again, saying, “I can overlook what you did to my camera… As a show of good faith.” Before he’s out the door, you ask, “Can you untie me?” He pauses again and looks back at you. “I could.” But he doesn’t. He gives you a little wave, then stalks out of the room. Moments after he’s left, that heavy, fearful feeling pounding through your veins fades, then vanishes. Your heartbeat calms.    ∗ ∗ ∗    Soon after Ghostface left, you rolled off the bed, hobbled downstairs, and grappled dangerously with a kitchen knife for about ten minutes before finally cutting the belt from your wrists and freeing yourself. You step outside onto the porch and inhale deeply, then exhale. Ghostface’s cologne was still so strong inside the cabin, lingering like a poison odor. You needed a breath of fresh air… You’re relieved to find Lydia still alive and well, napping peacefully in her rocking chair. True to Ghostface’s word, he left her alone… Although, it’s baffling that she seems completely unaware of the events that took place inside her house. The old woman stirs awake when you slump down onto a creaky porch step. She shifts her blind gaze in your general direction and smacks her dry lips. “That you, honey?” she asks, sitting straighter in her chair. “It’s me, Lydia,” you sigh in reply. “Where’s your friend?” she asks. “He leave already?” “He, uh… He wasn’t a friend. He was a killer.” Lydia frowns. “He was a- I had no idea,” she says while balling her hands on her lap. “He told me he was a friend from your campfire.” “It’s alright,” you tell her, chuckling. “He’s a silver-tongued devil… It’d be enough to fool me too if he lost the mask.” Lydia huffs. “I heard all that ruckus up there,” she says. “But I just thought you two were…” she trails off cautiously. Her implications almost make you laugh. You scratch your nape and shake your head. “Nope. We weren’t… Nah. And in your bed? I would never.” “Did he hurt you?” Lydia questions worrisomely. You touch your bloody lip and trace a deep cut on your face. But you opt against giving Lydia more reason to worry. “No,” you tell her. “We just talked.” Your reassurance isn’t enough to wipe the frown off her face. She shifts, then lifts herself from the chair with a creaking groan. “I’ll go put on some tea,” she says, hobbling past you to the door. She rests a warm hand on your shoulder as she carefully passes by. The door shuts behind her. Moments after she leaves, you can make out a faint cooing nearby. Your mind immediately snaps back to Poe. You shoot up and race towards the side of the house to find him hopping pathetically on the ground beneath your window. You furrow your brows and scoop him carefully into your hands. “Are you okay?” you murmur while you examine him. He seems fine… Just a bit fussy and ruffled. You tenderly stroke his wing. “You’re alright, buddy.” He coos and nestles in your hands. Bastion scares the ever-loving fuck out of you both when he appears suddenly on your right, growling like a feral dog. “Where is that SLIMY little BASTARD?” He’s hunched over, hands flexed, mouth snarling, and his claws extended from his back, twitching and snapping furiously. He looks like he’s ready to tackle and maul something. Poe croaks and flaps out of your hands in panic. You catch him and heave a sigh. “Fucking hell!” you curse, placing a hand to your chest to calm your fast-beating heart. “I’ve had enough surprises tonight, Bastion,” you hiss. “Ghostface is long gone.” Bastion growls. “Of course he is…” He straightens himself up and relaxes his shoulders to an extent. But his anger rings through and has an almost suffocating aura. You back away from him and scoff. “This temper’s new,” you comment, drawing your brows. “Never thought a killer would get one up on you, huh?” The nasty look he gives you is cause enough to stop pushing his buttons. You tenderly touch the bleeding cut on your cheek and mutter, “He got one up on us both…” You stroke Poe under your hand and ask, “How did he find me here? You said there was like a one-in-a-million chance anyone else finds this place. But he’s been here multiple times.” Bastion silently ponders it himself. Then, after a moment, he sighs heavily. “He had an Anchor.” You make a face. “But what could’ve brought him all the way out… here…” You trail off and facepalm. “His camera.” Bastion grunts. But before you can hear whatever snarky remark he might have in store for you, you shake your head and swap topics. “Back in the room, he saw you. How?” “I can shift between the spirit realm and the fog,” he answers. “Only you can see me when I’m veiled. I just like to pop in to make things… personal.” “We both might’ve been spared the trouble if you hadn’t,” you scoff. “You could’ve just done that thing where you summon claws and abduct him, but you had to make a scene…” “You seem to have come out of it unharmed,” Bastion replies bitterly. “He didn’t hurt me,” you say, frowning. “That’s not what he wanted.” Bastion tilts his head, insisting you to clarify. You do. “He wants to partner up.” A lot of words can describe Bastion’s immediate reaction, but none fit as well as flabbergasted. His mouth forms a mean sneer. “He wants to what?” he says as if he didn’t hear you right the first time. “Yeah, I know,” you begin, huffing in exasperation. “It’s insane! He strolled in, beat my ass, then claims he wants to hop on our bandwagon!” “You’re not actually considering it?” You pause. A pause, suspect enough to make Bastion slowly shake his head. “No—” “I don’t want anything to do with the guy, alright? He’s a piece of shit, and rolling with killers isn’t my M.O. But after everything I’ve already been through—” “No, no, no,” Bastion repeats, interrupting you. “And with what else I might go through, I could use all the help I can get,” you finish.  “I’M all the help you need,” Bastion asserts, angry again. “You don’t need to go hand in hand with that rotten—!” “I don’t like it either!” you snap. “But I’m not sure the two of us are going to be enough.” You allow yourself to cool off, then sigh and shake your head. “I haven’t made up my mind yet… I don’t want to, honestly, but sooner or later, I have to make a choice… This isn’t just about me. I need to find the answers so I can get everyone out. And I need to make a choice that increases my odds.” When you look at Bastion again, you almost shrink under his mean mug. He draws his arms behind his back and folds them tightly. His wound shoulders, flinching claws, and crooked sneer betray his poise. “I understand.”   "Bastion." (❤) Let it go.       “Bastion,” you say calmly, trying to pacify your angry companion. You relax your own features and his mean sneer wavers. It takes a minute, but he finally lets up. He releases a hissing sigh and eases the scowling look off his mostly blank face.“Forgive my temper, Wanderer,” he says. “I’m not mad at you.” “I’m tasting a really passive-aggressive tone in your voice right now.” Bastion’s lips curl into a toothy grin. “Do you want a taste of something else?” And he’s back. You scoff amusingly at him and shake your head. “Pass.” He catches you off guard when he licks his thumb, then cups your chin in his hand. He takes his digit gingerly over the cut on your cheek. “I don’t envy the decision you have to make,” he says quietly. A warm blush crawls up your neck and invades your face. You raise a hand to touch his. “Neither do I,” you sigh in reply. “I’d ask if this was something you ever had to do, but I know that topic’s off-limits, right?” Bastion grunts in reply. He thumbs over your busted lip, then pauses. Your flushed skin grows warmer with each passing second as you gaze up at him. The uneasy feeling, coupled with your nervousness, puts butterflies in your stomach. You fear one would flutter out and away if you parted your lips to speak. Another minute drifts pass, and you swallow. Bastion finally breaks his silence and draws his hand away. “I trust you to make the right decision, Wanderer. And I’ll stand by you no matter what.” He curls his lips into a friendly grin. You finally break your gaze from him. “Okay,” you murmur. Bastion peels away and says, “But I can’t promise I’ll play nice should you decide to take the ghost on his offer… I’ll split the rotten man down the middle when I see him again.” “Fine by me,” you say. “I’d be gunning for revenge too, if he torched me…” “It’s not about what he did to me,” Bastion replies. You watch him tuck his arms behind his back and turn away to leave. He steps a few paces, then stops to look back at you. “He made it more personal than that.” And he vanishes without another word. Moments after he’s gone, you touch your fingers to your lips and trail them slowly over the freshly healed skin. A funny feeling makes you jitter. You don't particularly like the way your skin crawls in Bastion's presence, but the air is cold and unwelcoming without him... You can't place why.  Poe breaks your idle trance when he coos and pecks your hand. You smile at him and stroke his head. “Let’s see if that tea’s ready,” you say, heading around the house. You can definitely go for a hot cup of tea. Anything really to calm your nerves. You have a lot of worrying to do later, and decision-making you’re not looking forward to… You’ll have your tea and mull it all over. But you’ll surely have to sleep on it.   Continue     You know nothing you do or say will appease your furious companion. Understandably, he’s pissed, but you can’t put up with that right now. You have too many problems on your mind as it is. “I didn’t want this either,” you say, frowning at him. “But it’s not something I’m going to stress about right now.” You perch Poe on your shoulder and move past Bastion toward the porch. “I need to get some rest… We can talk about this later.” Bastion grunts in response to your dismissal. You glimpse him vanishing out of the corner of your eye without another word. Moments after he’s gone, you sigh and shake your head. You can definitely go for a hot cup of tea. Anything really to calm your nerves. You have a lot of worrying to do, and decision-making you’re not looking forward to… You’ll have your tea and mull it all over. But you’ll surely have to sleep on it.   Continue     Poe hops across the yard in front of you searching for a midnight snack. You idle on the porch steps watching him, but your thoughts are elsewhere. You hold Ghostface's picture firmly between your index finger and thumb. Every few seconds, you turn it over and gaze bitterly at the static scene captured on the film. Why Ghostface handed you the damn thing is beyond you. And why you’re actually considering his offer is a greater mystery. You’ve gone without sleep for many long hours, just moping around the cabin while you wrack your brain for an answer, and struggle to make a choice. It’s no simple choice. What’s your next move? Take the furtive killer up on his offer, or reject him and hope for the best? But what is the best outcome? And how do you say no to a powerful killer? Sigh. Who knows when you’ll decide? Until then, if then ever comes, you’ll be carrying the picture around like a bad omen… Part of you wants to lose the damn thing and forget that encounter with the costumed man ever happened. The other part encourages you to reconsider. You're torn between them. Just the idea of going arm in arm with him and digging up clues like Mystery Incorporated is laughable. And you would laugh if the pit in your stomach wasn't making you so ill.   After turning the photo over twice more, you pocket it with a heavy sigh. Who would have thought you'd consider partnering with a killer? If that’s what's on the table, then maybe it’s about time you come clean with the others and let them hop on the bandwagon too. Although you're reluctant to let them join the party... After all the shit you've been through, you don't think it's worth dragging them through it, too. They've all been through a lot already.   Poe interrupts your nagging thoughts when he finally tires of scrounging the dirt. He hops over to you and coos repeatedly until you pick him up and put him on your lap. You stroke his wing. “What should I do, Bastion?” you ask quietly, beckoning for your partner. You wait for Bastion to answer, but he never appears. You lift your gaze from your lap and glance around the yard. “Bastion?” … He doesn’t show. You scoff. He has you talking to yourself now... You wait a couple more moments before standing away from the porch and moving Poe to your shoulder. “Duty calls,” you mutter, hiking your satchel over your arm.    ∗ ∗ ∗    You wander aimlessly through the fog, hoping to pick up a scent along the way. But until you find a path to follow, you're fixated on the picture in your hand, dwelling on it more than you should. Ghostface could’ve killed you. He could've done whatever he wanted if he wanted, and you gave him every reason to. But he’s serious about this… You scoff. Conditions here are so bad, even sick creeps like The Ghost Face want out. “Poe, what do you think?” you ask your feathery friend. “Any thoughts? Comments, or…?” You side-eye the bird. Poe looks very content and head-empty. He gazes thoughtfully at you with those big blue eyes but says nothing. “Sorry,” you murmur. “I know I shouldn’t put something like that on you… It’s a big decision, and mine to make.” Poe plucks the drawstring of your hoodie and tries to choke it down his chute. “Not food,” you assert while taking it from him. You’re so preoccupied playing tug of war with the baby crow that you don’t notice the dark fog moving in around you. When it clears only moments later, you realize you've been relocated to a trial ground. The black tendrils at your feet disperse and vanish. After turning slowly on your heels and reading your surroundings, you stop to stare at the tall, dark chapel ahead. You hear carnival music in the distance. Shit. It’s The Clown’s caravan. You only hope he isn’t home… Poe makes you jump when he chirps in your ear. You snap your head to look at him in surprise. Huh. You didn’t know the Entity allowed guests. Poe doesn't seem too bothered by your current situation. He doesn't even seem to know what just happened... But he's making a fuss, nonetheless. He coos and flaps his wings. You shush him and creep off to find a generator. When you find one near the edge of the realm behind a wooden barricade, you get to work. Poe refuses to cool down. You resort to peeling away from the generator to dig up the earth for something to keep him occupied. And that comes as a long, juicy earthworm. You dangle it in front of the bird. “I give you this, and you behave,” you coax him. Poe coos. Good. You lower the worm and he snatches it with his beak. As you return to the generator, you’re startled to find someone else already there. When you see Adam's tall figure standing beside the machine, you jump in fright. Your heart relaxes quickly and you huff. “Shi—… Hey, Adam,” you sigh in greeting. “Sorry,” Adam apologizes. He settles down beside the generator and glances at the baby crow on your shoulder. “Your little friend makes a lot of noise…” "Yes," you say, joining him to work on the machine. "But I think I handled that." “Was it such a good idea to bring it along?” “I didn’t mean to,” you reply. “He was with me when I was taken, so…” You trail off and worry your attention on the wires in front of you. But you can’t focus on them. Your mind wanders, and your vision begins to blur as you lose yourself in your thoughts. It’s the uncertainty that makes your head buzz. The uncertainty caused by the photo, and the choice that still weighs heavy on your mind. So heavily, in fact, that you’re not paying attention to the work your hands are doing. You botch the repair, and the generator erupts in your face, snapping you harshly back to reality. Poe panics and flutters off your shoulder as you cry out in surprise. As soon as you recover from the shock, you wipe grime and oil from your face. “Damn it,” you mutter. You scoop Poe back up and return him on your shoulder. “Sorry,” you apologize to Adam. You notice he's stopped repairing. His eyes show concern. “What’s on your mind?” He speaks softly and sincerely. “We don’t need to do this,” you say. “I’m just tired.” “We've got the time, so why not?” Adam insists. You visibly and audibly hesitate. “Uh… It’s no secret that I’ve been hanging out in the fog, right? Everyone in camp hassles me about it every time I stop by…” “We’re all just curious.” “Yeah, and I get that. I’ve been… searching for answers. For anything that might put me on the right path. In a way, I’m looking for the final exit gate. For escape.” “Go on,” Adam says. “And it hasn’t been easy, right? There have been so many obstacles and decisions along the way already, and I haven’t even found anything yet.” You express your exasperation with a huff and a shake of your head. “It’s like a wild goose chase.” Adam slowly nods his head. He mulls over what you’ve told him before quietly saying, “I think it’s admirable you’re trying to find answers no one else has been able to. But maybe you’re looking for something that isn’t there.” His negative words put a stark frown on your face. “I-I know,” you reply. “I’ve considered it. And it could be true… But we might as well keep looking. Either we’ll find the way out, or we’ll end up dead-dead by the end of the day. As long as there’s a chance, someone needs to take it.” Adam doesn’t immediately respond, so you sigh and dismiss yourself. “I don’t mean to dump all this on you, Adam… Forget it.” Your attention returns to the task at hand. Adam doesn’t move beside you. “I can tell that’s not all that’s bothering you,” he says. “I’ve seen this look on many of my students… When they have questions they’re ashamed to ask.” Scoffing, you remove your hands from the pumping machine. “I thought you were a teacher, not a therapist.” Adam prods you with his elbow, prompting you to proceed. So you do. You make a weird motion with your hands and slowly draw out, “Let’s say, hypothetically, that you want to get somewhere, and you can take shortcuts. But these shortcuts are… they aren't good. And they lead you down dark roads with bad people… Is it worth it?” You meet Adam’s eyes, and he looks deep in thought. “Does the end justify the means?” he murmurs almost inaudibly. He hums deeply. “That’s a question with no simple answer,” he tells you. “In fact, no correct answer at all. I think it’s up to the individual to decide. They need to ask themselves which choice will weigh less heavily on them. The guilt of walking a dark road, or the regret of not having made it to the end of the right one?” In silence, you ponder Adam's words. It’s not the advice you wanted, but maybe it's advice you need… You’ll take it to heart and keep it in mind for the challenges ahead. You nod at him. “Thank you, Adam.” He returns your gratitude with a hum, and he finally continues repairs. “You remind me of one of my students,” he says while occupied. You catch his glance and he adds, “He was a… strange one. He was always showing up late to class, with one odd excuse after another. The other students called him—” "I know where this is going," you chuckle and cut him off. “I get it, I’m the camp weirdo. A little subtlety wouldn’t hurt.” “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” he chuckles. I’m just saying—” “Say less, Adam.” You smile lightheartedly at him, which he returns before getting back to work. “It’s the new word around camp,” he says. “The others have made bets… Maybe she’ll show up with a tall stack of pizza. Maybe she’ll drive through on a pickup, or dance into camp wearing a bikini and carrying a cocktail—” “What do you think?” you humorously ask. “What stunt will I pull next?” Adam pauses. As he strokes his chin, he murmurs, “With your current reputation, I wouldn't be surprised if you sauntered into camp with a killer, both wearing matching BFF bracelets...” Your throat runs dry. The amusement vanishes from your face and leaves you looking nervous. You trip over your words, scoff, then fall silent. Adam notices your expression and pauses. He furrows his brows. “I'm kidding,” he says. Nervousness dissipates. You manage a smile. “I know.” Adam still eyes you as you get back to work. “I, uh… I don’t think I’ll be doing something that crazy anytime soon,” you murmur. The awkward silence that follows draws an end to your casual discussion. Both of you turn your attention to the generator, which is nearing completion. Then you’re startled by a scream in the distance. Min. Another scream follows shortly after. You pull free your grimy hands from the machine and step away. “I’ll handle the unhook,” you tell Adam as you depart.   You cross the trial grounds in the direction of Feng’s last scream. Your eyes scan your surroundings as you make your way to the hook, hoping to pick up an indication of the killer's identity. But to further add to your unease, you spot nothing. When you arrive at the hook, you hoist Min up and off. She staggers into you with a painful cry. “Thanks, newbie,” she says while suppressing a whimper. You give her a gentle pat on the back and rifle some gauze from your bag. “Let’s get that taken care of,” you murmur, patching her up. Min waits patiently while you get to work on her shoulder. Her eyes flicker occasionally to Poe, and you catch a funny look on her face. She opts not to share whatever’s on her mind with you… And she startles you half to death when she coughs in your face. “Sorry,” she sputters. “The Clown’s tonics are poisonous.” “It’s the Clown?” Min nods. You sigh. Great. By the time you finish patching up Min, you hear the Clown’s hacking cough in the distance, and your heart rate picks up. “I’ll take aggro,” you say as you cram your supplies into your bag.  Min scoffs at you amusingly. “Good luck, noob.” She flicks you a friendly salute and takes off. You split the other way and head straight for the Clown. You meet the big bastard halfway inside the chapel and almost run straight into him. You come to a staggering stop behind a row of pews. He halts at the opposite end of the room, and his painted grin widens tenfold when he sets his eyes on you. He says nothing, but he doesn’t need to—the look on his face perfectly conveys the trouble you’re in when he catches you. That's why you won't let him catch you. You flash him the bird and run away. He’s hot on your tail and gaining as you race out of the chapel. You lead the Clown on a breakneck chase around the center building, past his looney caravan, and straight to the shack, dodging and ducking the bottled tonics he chucks at you. One just whiffs past your head as you vault the window into the wooden hovel. Your game of cat and mouse ends when the Clown clips your back with a swing of his blade. You stagger and crash into the wall, further incapacitated by the noxious pink cloud that engulfs the shack. Just barely, you’re able to make out the Clown’s form through the haze and your bleary vision. He makes a show of mixing another bottle as he backs you into the corner. Poe shares your fear. He fusses on your shoulder and buries himself against your neck. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Clown croaks. He lets out a boisterous laugh that makes his round belly bounce. “Been keepin’ my eyes peeled for you…” Silently, you count each passing second. Bastion, any minute now... He doesn’t show. Your skin crawls with fear. The Clown slowly tilts his head to the side. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve, kid?” You clench your fists. The clown steps forward. Your back touches the wall. “No hard feelings, right?” you nervously draw. “It wasn’t personal.” “I’m about to make it personal,” the Clown grins. Lacking other options, you try to dart past him. He snatches you by the neck and slams you back against the wall with a shout. Poe panics and hides in your hood. You fight back as much as you’re able, kicking at the large man and beating on his arm. He leans in close and you grimace when you pick up the nasty bite on his breath. “We’ve got a hot date,” he leers. And you can only watch through the colorful specks flooding your vision as he balls his other fist and delivers a blow to your head.    ∗ ∗ ∗    Darkness envelops your world once again. While you linger in the void, you hear screams in the distance, co-mingling with playful carnival music. You mistake the wails at first as part of your morbid imagination. But then you pick out Min’s shrill cries, as well as Adam’s and Meg’s, and you realize what’s happening. Your fellow campers are being slaughtered while you’re helpless to do a damn thing about it. Try as you might, you can’t stir yourself awake. You hang your head and stare at the black tar beneath you, then you catch a glimmer of light rippling on the surface. You lift your gaze and find a startling sight—a circle of dark, shrouded figures looming above you, holding flaming torches. Although they're the only light in the dark, you've never felt more afraid. If you could move, you would certainly run. The figures don’t move or breathe or speak. That is, until one of them turns their hidden gaze to another. “She's seen us," he whispers. His voice sends a shiver racing up your spine. “Who are you?” you ask. But your voice doesn’t come out. They say nothing more, and you refuse to breathe under their scrutiny. As the seconds tick by, you realize the screams have stopped. Amid the music and your company’s silence, you hear a crow caw close by—it’s Poe. You focus on him and shut your eyes tight. Then you open them.    ∗ ∗ ∗    You jolt awake gasping for air. Immediate ache and pain pound your skull, making you wince and groan. You strain your foggy vision against a barrage of bright, colorful lights. And when your vision clears, your predicament becomes clear. You're inside a wagon in the Clown's caravan. That explains the deafening carney music so close by. You try to move before realizing your wrists are tightly bound to the armrests of the rickety wooden chair you're sitting in. Panic sets in. But you keep a cool head and survey the cramped quarters. The room is lit almost entirely by the lights strung up to the walls, and by a few flickering candles on the counters on either side of you. A small box TV sits on a shelf in the uppermost left corner, and on both walls are counters topped with jars, vials, and pots. There’s a shuttered window to your right and a row of cupboards beneath it. Your panic is only momentarily eased when you find Poe, trapped in a rusted black cage to your immediate right. Poe panics just as you do, fluttering and cooing and poking the bars with his beak, then trying to squeeze through them. “Yeah,” you breathe. “We’re in trouble.” You battle against the ropes on your wrists, but the damned things don’t give. Your struggle only burns your skin nearly raw. You hiss in frustration, then huff in fear. How do I get out of this one? But more importantly… where’s the fucking Clown? You can hear the automaton fortune-teller outside the wagon, repeatedly jeering, “You’re in for misfortune.” The garbled audio, white noise, and twisted mechanical whirring set you on edge. You crane your neck as far back as you can and find your satchel, draped carelessly onto a shelf behind you with some of its contents spilled out onto the floor. But none of which can get you out of this mess—not that it matters much longer. Your skin prickles, and your heartbeat quickens. Telltale signs of impending doom. You wait in anticipation before the door flies open, and you spot the Clown’s large, blubbery form from the corner of your eye. He stomps into the wagon, making the whole thing bounce and rock under each heavy step. He slams the door shut, making you jump. Then he stops directly in front of you. His round belly is too close to your face for comfort—you worry one of the strained buttons on his shirt will pop right off and take out your eye. The Clown’s getup is bloody. It confirms your fears about the fates of the others, and your heart sinks. Poe makes an even bigger fuss beside you, but you focus your attention solely on the killer. You speak after swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Is this your idea of a hot date?” You’re finding it hard to control your pounding, erratic heart. The Clown scoffs above you. "As hot as it gets." He grins and shows you his yellowed teeth. “Had to make sure we had our privacy… Got rid of your friends already.” “I figured,” you grit in reply. The killer surprises you when he reaches into his pocket and reveals… a photograph. The photograph. You furrow your brows. “Before the party starts, I thought we’d have a little talk first,” he says. “Where’d you get this?” You try to mask the nervousness on your face with confusion. “It’s not mine,” you say. “You had it in your pocket.” “I don’t know how it got there.” The Clown scoffs. You reassert, “Honestly.” “You’re a lying shit,” the big man mutters. “Fine. I’ll ask the fucking spook myself.” He sets the photo on the counter. “You remember our first meeting, kid?” “Hard to forget.” The Clown cackles. “Yeah, I know. Hard to forget the romp I had with that thing you sicced on me… Looked like the ringleader to me, with all those nasty claws… But why would the damn thing stick up for you? Didn’t know it played for both teams…” “I don’t know,” you answer while fidgeting in your seat. The look on his face is doubtful. You repeat, “I don’t know. I swear.” “You swear? Do you swear on your little pal, here?” He slams his fist on the cage, startling Poe further and making him panic. You glance at your feathery companion, then nod your head. “Yeah.” “Really?” The Clown draws out his reply, giving you a malicious grin as he rubs his chin. He yanks open the cage door and grabs Poe in his fist. Poe squawks. Your eyes widen in terror. “Put him down!” you bark. The Clown squeezes tighter, making Poe coo and twitch. “What game are you playing?” he demands. “I’m not playing a fucking game!” He tightens his grip even more. You hear a bone-grinding sound and grimace. “Stop!” Any noise Poe tries to make doesn’t come out. His baby blue eyes seem about to pop out of his tiny skull. The sight alone pierces your heart. “Alright!” you shout. “I-I’ll fucking tell you! Just put him down!” The Clown finally loosens his grip on the fledgling. But the look he gives you next makes your blood run cold. “But you swore on the little guy.” He tightens his fist again, eliciting one final, painful squawk from Poe before crushing him in his fist. Hollow bones twist and snap, and you can only cry out in surprise and anguish. The Clown reopens his fist and plucks a feather from the dead crow before dropping him lifelessly at your feet. You choke back a cry, but can’t even bring yourself to look at his broken little body. Your eyes burn holes in your lap. The Clown chuckles above you then tucks his new prize into the cigar box on the shelf. “You’re going to tell me everything you know,” he says. “Or I’ll be plucking your feathers next.” You can hardly make out his voice through blood rushing through your ears. Your face grows hot and you seethe so hard you chip a tooth and induce a migraine. Your pent-up rage explodes, and you scream at the bastard. He socks you hard enough in the eye to flood your vision with pretty white stars. When you recover from the momentary stun, you slur your words and sway dizzily. You can already feel your eye swelling up. “Start talking,” The Clown orders. “I’m not... I'm not telling you shit,”  you garble. Your captor scoffs. “You want to play? I can play…” Through the red haze of your fucked up eye, you watch the Clown draw his knife. He snatches your left hand, and despite how much you fight him, he flattens it out over the armrest and presses his blade to the knuckle of your index finger. “We’ll have it your way, kid.” He chops your finger off, and you scream. As he steps away, he lifts your stolen digit to his red lips and sucks on it. Then he takes it out with a wet pop and crams it into the cigar box on the shelf. “You’ve got plenty a’ fingers for the taking!” The Clown laughs. “And we’ve got plenty of time…” You heave and puff in pain, biting back painful moans. “You-You can’t do this… You’re supposed to kill us. Not torture us.” “As long as I throw your asses on those hooks at the end of the day, the big-bad doesn’t give a shit what I do to ya! I could strip you naked and fuck you silly if I wanted to.” He croaks with laughter and crosses the wagon. You evil-eye him and watch him yank open a cupboard before rummaging out a square black case. No, not a case, but a VHS tape. He pops it into the player on top of the TV and turns on the old contraption. You’re surprised to find it actually works… then appalled when you discover what he’s playing. An old-as-shit filter-fried porno. You avert your eyes and drop your reddened face to the floor. The Clown takes one look at you and scoffs. “It’s a classic,” he says. He turns the volume to max and snatches a clear bottle of brown liquid off a shelf. He takes a swig, then shoves the unidentifiable drink in your face. You snap your face away. He yanks your head back and forces the bottle past your lips. You gulp down the mystery drink only to avoid choking on it. When he finally draws it away, you sputter and cough. It’s lukewarm, bitter, and alcoholic. "It'll take the edge off," Clown grinningly tells you. He slams the bottle onto the counter and collects an armful of other bottled tonics off the shelves. You watch him mix something up in a pot on the counter. “You making me a cocktail?” “Yeah. Somethin’ special just for you,” Clown chuckles. “This’ll turn your guts to soup and have it coming out your ass.” “Awesome.” The Clown bumbles back and forth in the poky space while you silently observe him. If looks could kill, you’d already have him dead, what with the glare you’re burning on his back. But when you tire of watching him, you drop your gaze and sigh. Your swollen eye stings and bleeds, and your phantom digit hurts like hell. You feel like complete and utter shit. And the only thing to distract you from your tormented state is the shitty porn playing on the television. How do you get out of this one? Bastion’s a no-show, which is becoming typical of him. He might be totally out of the question. You’ll need to have a talk with him after this… But until the after comes, you’re stuck in a bad spot. Although you keep your eyes off the TV, it's hard to ignore all the shitty acting, skin-on-skin contact, and choppy grunts and moans. Not to mention the awful squeaking of a bad bed frame. You don’t know if it’s what was in that drink, or the nervousness that’s got your skin slick with cold sweat. You fidget in your discomfort, and the rotten aftertaste on your tongue makes you spit. The Clown looks at you amidst his work. “Enjoying the show?” he grins. He cackles at your mean face. "Right," he murmurs. “You’re a little tied up.” He steps in front of you and leans down into your personal bubble. “You need help getting off?” He touches a hand to your thigh, which he edges closer and closer to your nether regions. You grimace in disgust, then spit in his face. Clown doesn’t take too kindly to that, and he snatches a bottle off the shelf above you. You immediately identity its contents when he pops the cork off and splashes your left hand. Sizzling corrosive acid eats away at your skin in seconds. You cry out in pain and thrash against your restraints as the Clown places the bottle back on its shelf. “You’re brave, you little shithead.” He pinches your nose hard between his fingers.   Then you’re in a memory. The world spins and changes so fast you get whiplash. When it calms, you feel small and in pain. You’re curled up on the floor, resting on your knees with your body bent forward and your arms shielding your head. Choked sobs escape your quivering lips, and blood oozes from your stuffy nose and drips into a crimson puddle on the floorboard beneath you. Through your bleary vision, you make out a tall shadow looming over you. A quiet, boyish voice says, “I-I won’t do it again…” A gruff voice returns, “I didn’t think so, you little shithead.” The shadow raises its boot, and a powerful force strikes you on the back of the head, smashing your skull to the floor. Everything goes dark.   You rejoin reality, sputtering in pain. As you catch your breath, you're once again face-to-face with the Clown. You’re able to shoulder the biting pain in your hand to say, “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree…” Clown freezes and stares at you. “What the fuck did you say?” “You heard me.” You shrink under the furious man’s glare, but to your relief, he only scoffs at you and walks away. He disappears out of your line of sight and yanks open the door. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he grunts. “I won’t keep you waiting…” Then he’s gone. Your heartbeat slows to a calm, and you’re offered a reprieve from his absence. But not from the pain you still bear. You spare a look at your thoroughly abused hand and cringe at the sight of it—it’s raw and bloody. The shock of it alone sends a tremor through your body. But you don’t have time to moan about it. You need to get out of here. And you just had an idea… Your sights land on the bottled acid on the shelf above you. He set it close to the edge… And if it falls, it’ll land right on top of you… This could work… but is it really something you’re willing to try? Hm. It’s that, or dealing with the Clown’s liquid-guts cocktail… Acid it is. You gather your resolve, then kick the wall to your left with as much force as you can muster. The wagon shakes, and the bottle rumbles on the shelf. You kick again and again until the bottle finally tips over the edge and crashes down. It shatters on your forearm, and the acid spills out over your sleeve and hand. It burns through the leather quickly, devouring the skin beneath it. You grind your teeth to bite back your painful cries. Your suffering pays off though—the acid eats away at the rope trapping your wrist in place. The restraint is weakened in seconds, and you're able to snap it off. You waste no time freeing your other hand, then staggering up and away from the chair. After gathering your personal effects and Ghostface’s picture from the counter, your gaze lands on your dead companion’s body. Fury and grief co-mingle before you bring yourself to collect his body and tuck it securely into your pocket. Then you exit the wagon. That fucked up horse outside makes a fuss when you stagger down the steps. You try shushing and coaxing it to be quiet, but it doesn’t let up. So you leave the area as quickly as you can. You hunt for the hatch with increasing desperation, keeping your one good eye peeled for the Clown, wherever he may be. By now, he must have realized you're missing, so you need to hurry. Relief floods your battered body when you hear the heavenly hum of the open hatch. You climb through a window into the chapel and spot your salvation dead-center in the room. But then your skin crawls and your heart rate picks up. You make a mad dash for your escape, and you’re practically right on top of the damn thing when a bottle whizzes through the air and smashes against your skull. You crash to the floor with a grunt, moaning as you hold your head. A cloud engulfs you and blinds you. Then a vice-like grip closes around your ankle and drags you away from the hatch. “You’re a slippery little shit,” the Clown grumbles as he drags you away. “I’m not done with you yet, kid!” Adrenaline rushes through your veins and you flip yourself over to deliver a barrage of kicks at the big man. One well-aimed blow strikes him in the groin when he turns around to bark at you. But he’s unfazed by the attack. “Make this easy on yourself, brat!” he snaps. He’s too preoccupied scolding you to notice the tall, dark figure that appears behind him. You recognize it, and you offer the jester no warning of what comes next. Dark hooks and claws burst from the ground with a furious roar and trap the Clown in a crooked black cage. He loses his grip on you and offers you the chance to crawl away while you watch the spectacle with relief. You expect some wry remark, or some clever quip from Bastion when he strides up to meet the Clown face to face, but he says nothing. Stranger yet, the fear that makes your hair stand on end doubles with his arrival. He's missing his familiar grin. The Clown gives up quickly on his futile struggle against the prickly restraints, and he scoffs at Bastion. “This must be our mutual friend,” he remarks, looking the shadowy entity up and down. “I was wondering when you’d—” Clown’s voice ends abruptly when Bastion snatches him by the throat and rips his head right off with a squelch and snap. A spray of blood splashes your legs, and you jump in fright at the unexpected execution. “Shit!” you bark. The claws trapping the Clown’s headless corpse twist and tear, dismembering the rest of him and shredding him into an unrecognizable pulp. The bloody remains are sucked into a sweltering void, and the earth closes up after them. You’re left staring wide-eyed at a puddle of blood and leftover viscera. Once you’re finally able to tear your attention from the gore, you look at Bastion. He drops the clown’s head at his feet, where it bounces twice and rolls to face you—the painted smile droops and bleeds. You gag at the sight. “What-What, no witty monologue this time?” You scoff and pick yourself up. “About time you showed up,” you mutter bitterly. “But better late than never, right?” Bastion snaps his blank face to yours so quickly it's as if he just noticed you. Silently, he stares at you for a moment before slowly tipping his head to the side. He says nothing. Then he attacks. Your only warning comes as the sound of his claws snapping before they dart forward straight for you. You throw yourself clear of his first strike with a startled cry, then barely catch yourself when you stagger to a stop. “What the hell?!” you shout at him. You evade another, but at the expense of your balance. You fall backward and hit the ground. Too late to react to the next attack, a claw pierces your abdomen and pins you down. You scream. Bastion stalks nearer to you, lacking the poise you’ve come to expect from him. He carries himself like a predator cornering its prey. Blood shoots up your throat. You sputter and cough, then let your head fall to the side to let it spill down your face. “B-Bastion,” you choke, eyes flickering up to meet his blank face. He stands tall above you, then slowly leans down to touch an icy hand on your face. His talon-like fingers caress your skin. Your breath catches. “Hey-Hey,” you stammer. “It’s me… It’s— AH!” You let out a cry when his claw hooks your midsection and he snatches you right off the ground. He suspends you off the floor in front of him while you struggle helplessly in his clutches. You double over, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Bastion!” you scream at him. A grotesque maw forms vertically on his face, and splits apart to show row after row of sharp, mangled teeth. Worse yet, a clutch of slimy black tendrils worm out of his mouth, each terribly barbed. You gape at him in horror and scream his name again and again, but there’s no reaching through whatever’s overtaken him. You shield your face with your arm, and a slimy tendril wraps around it and squeezes tight, trying to pull you in. The prickly barbs pierce your leather sleeve and stab your flesh. You resist as much as you’re able, kicking and screaming and trying to wrench free. Another writhing tentacle catches your other arm, squeezing hard enough to break skin and bone. You choke out another scream, which you stifle into a whimpering cry. Fighting’s pointless—your strength wanes, and everything hurts so terribly you just want it over with. You shut your eyes tight and hope death will come fast, however that may be in the face of the horrifying monster in front of you. Cold, thick writhing muscle lashes your cheek, slathering you in saliva. You expect him to chomp down on your head and end it. But the end never comes. You peel open your good eye and watch Bastion’s tendrils retreat into his maw. He clamps it shut, and it forms a thin line before vanishing from his visage altogether. Then he just stares at you, and you stare at him, trembling. Something new washes over him, and he rips his claw from your abdomen and drops you. You land in a heap, moaning in pain with your sights fixed on Bastion as he slowly backs away. He falters, and he stops, and then he vanishes. He takes your overwhelming fear with him. As soon as he’s gone, you gather the last of your strength and crawl to the hatch, bloody and bruised, and weak. And with a hefty grunt, you spill over the edge and into the void.    ∗ ∗ ∗    When you materialize in camp, the first faces you see are Dwight, Adam, Min, and David's. They fix their eyes on you. The men look concerned — Min sneers at you. David is the first to speak when he marches toward you and grabs your shoulder. “The hell were you, lamb?” he questions, his brows deeply creased. “Others got back a fuckin’ hour ago.” “You were hiding, weren’t you?” Min interjects. “You just vanished in the middle of the trial! Left us to face the Clown.” Adam frowns at her baseless accusation. “Let’s not point fingers,” he says. He looks at you and asks, “What happened? Did you escape?” They all stare, waiting for an answer. You swallow thickly and lick your lips. “Yeah… I got out.” Min scoffs. Adam shoots her another hard look. “The Clown knocked me out,” you add, furrowing your brows. “And he dragged me to his fucking caravan… locked me up in his wagon… and…” You trail off and cradle your hand. “Uh…” They all look suddenly appalled by the implications. You whiffle your head. “No, he didn’t… He just—” You make a face, then give up trying to explain. “I need to go,” you say, crossing camp to leave. David tails you like a dog and reaches for your arm. “You don’t have to keep runnin’ from us—” “Leave her be, David,” Adam sternly says. “I’m just tryin’ to— Bah!” David dismisses the man and turns to face you. He’s red-faced, probably from bridling his increasing frustration with the others (and maybe even you…) But he cools off to a noticeable degree to give you a sincere, soft look. He lays a hand on your shoulder. “Keep it all to yourself, lamb, that’s fine. But we’re all here if you need us, right?” His concern is so sincere, and you want to thank him for it. But you’re too dry-mouthed to get anything coherent out. Instead, you give him a small nod and smile. Not your best smile, but the only one you’re able to fix, what with the mad thoughts running through your head. David returns your nod, and he draws his hand away. Looks for a second as if might have something else on his mind, given the way he opens his mouth a second time, but he says nothing more. You leave him and the others behind without another word.    ∗ ∗ ∗    Lydia detects your arrival and welcomes you from her rocking chair. “You find anything out there?” she greets, smiling. As you draw nearer, you notice she has something on her lap. It’s not until you’re on the porch steps that you realize what it is—or rather, who it is. Poe’s nestled in Lydia’s lap, looking content and warm. He cranes his head to look up at you, and he coos at the sight of your company. Despite your sour mood, you can’t help the smile that breaks out over your face. “Poe?” You scoop the baby crow into your hands. Lydia chuckles as you smother the fledgling with affection. “Found your little friend making a mess in my kitchen,” she explains. “I thought you took ‘im with you before you left, honey.” “I did, but—” You stop. Following a moment of hesitation, you simply say, "Or... Maybe I forgot...". You set the bird on your shoulder and he makes himself at home against the crook of your neck. “I’ll be upstairs,” you tell Lydia, then enter the cabin. When you reach the bedroom, you bury your hands in your pocket, and you’re shocked to find Poe’s previous body gone. He’s alive again… One thing’s been made certain here: Nothing stays dead. Not much of a shocker, given your own miraculous revivals. Still, it's a welcome surprise. And one you’re grateful for, in light of your recent problem. Bastion attacked you. Your only ally went off the wall, unhinged and feral. And you don’t know why. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Maybe he’s been planning it. Or maybe something out of his control just snapped. You don’t know. And you’re not sure you want to find out… but you need to. Yet another dilemma you need answers to. And yet again, no sure way of finding them. But speak of the devil.  Your soul departs when you turn around and walk right into him. You shriek and dart straight for the window. Bastion catches you mid-dive around the waist with a claw, and he draws you back in and face-to-face. He stands tall and poised again, as if he hadn't tried to mangle you not even twenty minutes ago. You fight him like a feral dog, and he seems none too bothered by it.  Your struggle ceases momentarily when he speaks. “Time for a long overdue talk.”     You gawk at him. “Oh, you think?” Anyone else would tremble at the venom in your tone. Bastion, however, stares back silently and unwavering. His indifference to your frustration causes your blood to boil and your face to become hot. “Put me down,” you order, glaring hard at him. He doesn’t immediately obey, so you snap. “Put me DOWN!” Admittedly, pushing his buttons after his attack during the trial doesn’t seem a good idea. But you’re desperate for an explanation and too heated to consider the consequences. Fortunately, Bastion complies with your command. He places you down, and as soon as your feet touch the floor, you snatch your lighter from your bag and wield the tiny flame like a weapon. “Start talking!” you bark. “I want to know what the hell that was back there. You attacked me! But not before waiting for The Clown to have his fun, right?” “It’s complicated,” Bastion replies, a little too cool for your taste. “Explain,” you demand. Bastion locks his blank stare on yours with a silent intensity that causes your skin to break out in a cold sweat. Under his gaze, you fidget and shrink until he folds his arms behind his back and resumes his usual posture. “I told you in the beginning, Wanderer,” he begins. “The Fog did vile things to me. Things I won’t be inclined to share.” You blink, and he’s gone. But he sends a spike of fear through your chest when he appears behind you. One hand rests on your shoulder, thoroughly startling both you and Poe. You fight every urge to light him up. “This realm spares no one from torment,” he murmurs as he stoops low toward you. “Not you, nor the killers, nor I.” “What are you saying?” you shakily question. Bastion pulls away from you. “We all have our roles to play. I told you this…” “And what’s yours?” “You won’t like my answer.” Your lips draw into a tight line. “Is that so?” “I’ve defied my role here long enough to reclaim a degree of self-control. But where there’s a deviant, there’s something… unpredictable. You’ve witnessed that first hand.” You have — with Frank. Bastion goes on. “My attack was a relapse spurred by elements out of my control. Elements fostered by you.” The look on your face prompts Bastion to further explain, “You’re a catalyst—the source of the unpredictability. You draw out what’s being suppressed.” “And is this the first time it’s happened? The first time you’ve lost control?” You ask. “No,” Bastion answers. “These… impulses come frequently. And when they do, I retire to my realm to shut them out.” You fall silent. He could be telling you the truth… It all makes sense, doesn’t it? But to hide something that insane from you could mean he’s hiding much worse, and that wouldn’t surprise you. It’s been riddles with him since day one. Riddles and secrets and lies. But… But he’s kept his word, hasn’t he? He’s protected you, and guided you. Maybe there’s some truth. Maybe there’s more. “Is that why you’re never there when it matters?” you question him. “Because you’re always on timeout?” “Call it what you will.” You shake your head and sigh. “You shady bastard…” Your scrutinizing glare fades, and you lower your arm and weapon. “You’ve protected me from monsters and killers, but it turns out you might be the biggest threat to me all along. If I’d known you had the whole Jekyll and Hyde complex going on, I might’ve never struck that deal with you.” You sneer. “And that must be why you’ve kept it hidden from me for so long…” As your anger slowly subsides, you mutter, “I’ve pissed off a lot of killers, Bastion. Or rather, you’ve pissed off a lot of killers. And it’s coming back to bite me… These guys see me, and all they’re seeing is red. Now I find out that the only guy who can protect me also wants my head on a platter.” “I don’t want to kill you, Wanderer,” Bastion replies quietly. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?” You furrow your gaze. “So what makes you any different from those killers?” Your remark strikes a nerve— A nerve you’ve only just recently learned that Bastion has. His claws twitch behind him, and a sneering maw splits across his face, showing two rows of sharp, vicious teeth. You expect him to snap at you, and you flinch in advance. But visibly he bites back whatever angry retort he may have, and he simmers down within moments. Then, to your surprise (and unease), his sneer wavers, and he grins. “They don’t have my charming personality.” There’s a bite in his tone that makes you shudder. “We’ll finish this later,” you tell him, eager to end this confrontation. You inch warily away from him and toward the door. His grinning gaze follows you across the room. When you reach the door, you look back at him and remark, “I’ve made up my mind. About Ghostface’s offer.” “I think you’re being too hasty, Wanderer,” Bastion replies, as if he already knows the decision you’ve come to. “I’m not,” you bite back. “I’ve been working alongside a bloodthirsty killer this whole time… So how much lower can I go?” The way Bastion still grins at you just rubs you the wrong way. You know full well he isn’t happy with your decision. He might even be pissed. But he wears that toothy grin like a mask, and you know that’s all it is—a ruse hiding what’s really beneath the surface. That’s Bastion’s only truth, his only consistency. He hides. When your skin begins to crawl too terribly under his scrutiny, you leave. You feel his faceless gaze watching you walk out the door.   ∗ ∗ ∗   Camp is quiet when you stroll in from the woods. You slow to a stop and scan over the small crowd. David and Dwight are speaking to each other a way off, too quiet to even pick out pieces of their conversation from where you are. Then you find Nea and Min huddled beside a log, playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt with their fingers, and seated on a log by her lonesome is Yui. None of the campers are wise to your presence. You take advantage of your momentary discretion and creep toward the campfire. You stop a pace away, then draw Ghostface’s photo from your pocket. A shiver runs up your spine that makes you hesitate. Are you really about to do this? You can’t help but reconsider… Burning this photo means striking a deal, doesn’t it? It means dealing with a killer. An evil man. What are those answers worth to you? “Is that an offering?” Nea’s voice startles you, and you spin around. As she stands up, she dusts off her knees. You clutch the photo to your chest to hide it. “An offering?” you reply while quirking a brow. Nea makes a face and sighs. “You’ve never made an offering before?” Min pipes up. She leans back on her haunches and scoffs. “And how long have you been here?” Nea explains to you, “Sometimes when you throw shit on the fire, it changes your next trial. No one really understands how or why it works, but my guess is maybe the big kahuna gives us a chance to turn the trials in our favor…” She strides to a stop beside you and shrugs. “We normally burn flowers or plants, or even broken junk we find in the fog, but…” She cocks a brow at your concealed offering. “Are you holding a picture?” You take a step away from her. “Yeah,” you reply nervously. “I… found it out there. Didn’t know what to do with it.” Nea hums. “Well, toss it in the fire,” she says. “See what happens.” Your hesitance resumes as you face the crackling flames. Hesitance, which Nea mistakes for nervousness. Her tongue clicks. “The fire doesn’t bite. No, really.” She baffles you when she suddenly throws her arm out over the flames. And to your surprise, the flames harmlessly dance around her. You make a stupid face, and she laughs. “It’s cool, right? Can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.” She withdraws her arm and props both on her hips. Then she flicks her chin in a gesture at the bonfire. “Try it out.” “I’m not sure I—” “Don’t be a wimp,” Nea teases with a roll of her eyes. “Go on!” She gives you a friendly shove, and you stagger and fall right on top of the bonfire. But the flames aren’t so kind to you—they lash at you like ravenous beasts. A piercing shriek erupts from your throat as the blaze engulfs you. The camp breaks out in a sudden panic, and you hear the others shouting, though you can’t make them out through the furious red haze engulfing your vision. You scramble away, wailing, flailing, and trying helplessly to put yourself out. When your legs fail, you crash to the ground and roll, but it’s a futile effort. You can’t smother the flames, no matter how hard you try—they overwhelm and consume you. Every nerve on your body screams—and as the heat enters your lungs and scorches you from the inside, your screaming quickly turns to hoarse moans. You can only writhe in silent agony, then gasp futilely for breath that never comes. The light fades away, and your life is extinguished like a snuffed flame.   ∗ ∗ ∗   Death is mercy. Despite having been rent from your body, you’re grateful to be free from its clutches. And you find yourself in the limbo again; in the dark. The place your dreams take you. You realize this when you detect the familiar malevolence lurking close by, but remaining unknown and unseen. Then, when you try to stand. You’re rooted on your knees, trapped in the viscous black tar pool. The black fluid chills you to the bone. You quit battling it and lift your heavy head, and you fix your eyes on a tall, dark tower in the distance. It’s only made visible under a beam of moonlight. When you lift your gaze higher, however, you find no stars, no sky, and no moon. You struggle to stand, and your laboring pays off. You heave and rise to your feet. The poisonous tar adheres to you like glue and attempts to pull you back down, but you resist and raise one foot to move forward. Then you raise the other and persist, one step at a time, toward the tower. You don’t know what it is, but something draws you in. And yet, other elements deter you. “You won’t find your answers there.” You halt and spin around to find a cloaked figure. One of the robed strangers from before. Their identity remains a mystery, as their dark cowl obscures their face. A lump forms in your throat. “What?” The void steals your voice. Nothing comes out. Though that doesn’t matter—the stranger turns and walks away. They glide with ease through the poison. You try to follow, but you’re unable to move. “Wait!” you silently shout. They vanish from sight. You huff and puff, straining against the gluey tar, but it’s a wasted effort. You release your frustrations with a growl. Then frustration turns to fear as you make out the faint whispers in your ears. The whispers, hundreds upon hundreds of voices, grow louder and louder before becoming an unbearable roar. You clench your fists and grind your teeth. And when you drop your gaze to the dark pool, you find blackened hands and faceless figures rising from it, moaning and crying. They reach for you, grasping your legs and pulling you down. You scream silently as you fight off your assailants. But it’s an effort for naught—long, spidery claws shoot from the pool and pierce your chest. You do everything you can to fight back. But you’re gradually dragged down and snared in the hooks and arms of the moaning shades. Before you’re fully submerged, you make out a face that appears above you, like an image in foggy glass. It remains unclear at first, but the moment you recognize the cold features, your heart stops. She looks like you.   ∗ ∗ ∗   When you’re finally revived, you appear with a croaky gasp, staggering forward and just barely catching yourself. You quickly register your surroundings and find solace that you’re in camp. But the relief and warmth dissipate when you lay your eyes on the smoldering remains of your own body, resting a few mere feet away. It’s vanishing slowly into wispy tethers of dark fog. Poe rests by your body, cooing at it as if his efforts will stir your charred corpse back to life. But when he cranes his head and spots you, he perks up and ruffles his feathers. You gather your little companion into your hands, then lock eyes with the others around camp. For a brief moment, it’s as if you’re looking at statues with permanently etched terror on their faces. You find Nea first, sitting on a log with her knees bent to her chest. Her eyes are wet, and her mouth gapes open. Dwight, Yui, and Min stare at you wide-eyed and silent, and David, no matter how hard he tries to mask it, looks nothing short of horrified. Nea’s the first to animate. Her features flicker with relief as she picks herself up. “I-I’m sorry,” she says. “It wasn’t supposed to burn. It-It’s never burned anyone before!” She wipes her wet eyes with her palms. “Never, I swear.” “We tried to put you out,” Dwight says shakily. “We tried water, dirt… but they wouldn’t stop burning.” His gaze flits to your smoldering body, and he clenches his jaw. “We’ll have no more of that pushin’ and shovin’ each other into the fucking pit,” David declares abruptly. “This isn’t a fucking rugby pitch!” He passes Nea a hard look that she can’t even bear to meet. She looks down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” she repeats quietly. She approaches you, then stops, holding out the charred remains of your photo. Burnt almost beyond recognition, but thankfully so that it reveals nothing. “It burnt up before we could get it off you,” Nea tells you. You take the photo from her with a nod of your head. Then you turn away and look at the fire. After all, you came here for one reason only. It’d be a shame to walk away with the job unfinished… Without a second of hesitation, you toss the scrap into the flames and watch it burn. It goes up in smoke and embers, and it seals a dark pact. You take a step back from the fire with a solemn expression on your face. When you find your voice, you turn to regard the others with a managed smile and reassurance. “It’s alright, guys… It was just a freak accident.” Dwight scoffs. “You just burned to death. I-I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, but—” He trails off and exchanges a glance with Yui. You dismiss all their concerns with a wave of your hand. “Honestly,” you say. “I’m okay.” Your words do little to ease your companions. You’re sure you could stand here arguing with them all night, but you’re done. “I should get going,” you say, while scratching your nape. “I’m, uh… pretty tired.” You back away from the campfire, then retreat into the woods without another word.   ∗ ∗ ∗   You want more than anything just to be alone, right now. Just a moment of quiet and solitude, to give yourself time to relax and cool off. To think, and breathe… But even that’s asking too much, nowadays. You have unwanted company. With a heavy sigh, you turn your gaze over your shoulder and find—   Nea Yui (❤) David (❤) Dwight (❤) Bastion (❤)     “Why do you keep walking away from us?” Nea comes running up behind you. She slows her roll and joins your side with a soft look on her face. “I’ve had a long day,” you reply. “And I’m feeling a little burned out.” Nea frowns. She sheepishly scratches her neck and utters, “I’m really sorry about the whole… setting you on fire thing. But that fire’s never burned anyone before. I-I just thought it’d be cool to show you.” “It’s okay,” you tell her. “It was just an accident.” “I wouldn’t be so peachy if I got toasted to a crisp,” Nea says, scoffing. You say nothing in return, and the silence between you makes her tense. She rolls her shoulders, kicks a pebble underfoot, then lets out a heavy sigh. “But you know what?” she says. “I think we’re even now. You got me killed by that masked punk, and I set you on fire.” She says it humorously, in an effort to lift the mood… which you encourage. “I thought we were even after that goodie basket,” you reply with a small smile. Nea snorts. “It takes more than some sweet honeyed biscuits to get on my good side… Maybe sprinkle some honeyed words on top.” Your laugh goads her to continue. She elbows you gently in the side, saying, “So, are you ever going to let the cat out of the bag? Or do I need to hassle you for it?” “I’m not holding any cats in a bag,” you reply. Nea scoffs. “Like hell, you aren’t. You’ve got a sack of those puppies! Or… kitties. Whatever.” She prods you again. “Come on. Every time you come around, you’ve got this look on your face, like you’re balls-deep in thought.” “First time hearing it that way,” “Sorry,” Nea says, “but you know what I mean.” You come to an abrupt stop and drop your gaze to your feet. Nea stops beside you, silently awaiting a response. You shrug before giving her one. “There’s a lot to think about,” you tell her. “That’s it. I just think a lot.” Nea nods slowly. Her friendly expression becomes a sincere one. She bites her lip, then sighs. “You’re gonna want to punch me in the mouth for saying this, but you need to hear it: stop thinking about the sad shit. Our extended stay in hell only gets worse the more you think about it… Don’t ask what you did to deserve to be here—start asking what sweet shit you’re going to do when you get out.” You lift your gaze and quirk a brow. “Is that what you do?” “Yeah…” Nea dips her shoulders and tucks her hands into her pockets. “I wonder about my next kiss, or how many times I can outrun the cops before getting caught, or even when I’ll piss off my parents again. The good shit, you know?” She faces you again with a smile tugging at her lips. You laugh. “I’m not gonna lie,” you say. “That all sounds like heaven right about now.” “You know it.” Nea chuckles and gives you a friendly jab in the side. “But what are you really looking forward to?” You fall silent in thought because your answer doesn’t come easy… You would think so, but there are so many things you’d love to go back to; so many things you’re dying to experience again, and yet… one thing comes straight to mind. When you crane your neck and gaze up at the moonlit sky through the dense canopy, your answer is simple. “I want to see the sun again.” It’s so absurd that you can’t help but laugh. But it’s the truth. You face Nea with a coy smile. “That’s not crazy, right? But I thought about it, and… man, I just hate being in the dark.” You expect Nea to laugh or poke fun at you, but she smiles. “I’m more of a night owl myself, but I’ll agree with you there.” She backs away, still smiling. “I know you came out here to be alone,” she says. “I just wanted to check on you.” “I appreciate it, Nea,” you reply. She nods. “Yeah. But hey, quit being a stranger. Stop by camp sometimes! Just drop in and say hi or whatever, you know? I promise I won’t immolate you again.” When she spins around to go, she calls back over her shoulder, “And bring us more goodies next time!” You wave her off. As soon as she’s gone, you feel the warmth of her company fade away. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart. Am I really doing the right thing? The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”   Continue   “How can you just walk away after something like that?” Yui’s voice follows after you. As you slightly turn your head, she catches up and slows her roll to stride alongside you. Her wrinkled brows and pursed lips make her intentions clear. You, unfortunately, don’t have the energy to entertain her company. “You can understand why I might need to get away from camp now, right?” you say bitterly. “I understand,” Yui says. “But coming out here is not the answer.” She moves in front of you to block your path. When you try walking around her, she stubbornly refuses to get out of your way. As you sigh, she narrows her eyes. “I have seen some nasty wipeouts on the track,” she says. “Men and women mangled by the asphalt—” “And?” you interrupt her. “—And I have never seen something like that,” Yui continues. “Nor have I seen someone just get up and walk away from it as if nothing happened.” “You said it yourself, Yui—I’m a dumb optimist. We don’t dwell on the terrible shit that happens, all right? We let it go and move on.” “You don’t have to put on a brave face,” says Yui. “You can’t keep everything pent-up inside like this. There are people around that campfire who care, and we’ll give you a shoulder to cry on, but only if you let us.” “Oh? Then where are those people now? Or are you the spokesperson of the caring community?” Yui wrinkles her brow. “They care,” she says. “But it’s not always easy making that known… I almost didn’t follow you out here because I’m not used to this sort of thing… If that doesn’t tell you I care, then I don’t know what will.” Your hard expression softens. After a brief pause of opening and closing your mouth, you sigh and bow your head. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m just— I need to be alone.” “You want to be alone,” says Yui. “But it’s not what you need. If I’m wrong, I’ll go… But I’m not wrong, am I?” “I thought you were a street racer, not a shrink,” you say with a humorous undertone. “I’m adaptive,” Yui replies, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Knowing that she’s gotten past your walls, she posts up against a nearby tree with her arms folded over her chest. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “If not, we can talk about something else—anything else.” “Well, I’m not exactly eager to discuss the deets of burning alive, so… let’s try something a little more pleasant, huh?” Yui nods. She ponders silently for a minute before drawing on a new subject. “Have you ever felt the wind in your hair?” “I’ve felt the wind, yes—” “On a bike, I mean,” Yui clarifies. “Racing down an empty road, the sun on the horizon, and everything around you just a blur?” Her features soften as if she recalls precious memories. “It’s… it’s an experience,” she says. “Unforgettable and thrilling, and— Ah, I’m making this about me… What I mean to ask is if you’d ever consider riding?” “Well, you make it sound so tempting,” you reply, smiling. “I’ve considered it since our last discussion…” “When we get out of here, we should go on a ride together,” Yui invites. “I know a long stretch of road on the coast in Tohoku—” You gasp—startling Yui—and make an expression of mock surprise. “Yui, you said when… Did I just catch you being optimistic?” She scoffs and playfully punches your shoulder. “I must have gotten it from you… You rub off on people,” she says. “In more ways than one,” you jest. She raises an eyebrow. You realize the unintended implications and guffaw. “I-I don’t mean in a— I’m saying— Wow, I dug myself a pretty deep hole just now…” Yui laughs and sighs. “I know what you mean,” she replies. Softly, she says, “So, what do you say? I’m not out of line asking, am I? I just think you could use that when this nightmare is over… We both could.” You briefly consider before giving a nod and a smile. “I’m in,” you agree. “But you might have to slow it down for the rookie. I’m no pro on a bike…” “Then you’ll ride with me,” Yui offers. “If you don’t mind having your arms around my waist…” Heat creeps across your face. “Oh,” you say, while a sheepish smile tugs at your lips. “I-I mean… Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” Yui smiles as she passes you by. “Then it’s a date, Trouble. And I look forward to it; keep that in mind before you go out there and do something crazy. I need you to make it out okay, got it?” “Got it,” you reply while returning her smile. Yui pauses and looks back. “I’m headed back to camp… But anytime you need to talk, you know where to find me.” She turns around and walks away. As soon as she’s gone, you feel the warmth of her company fade. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart. Am I really doing the right thing? The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”   Continue   David comes up behind you and slows down to match your pace. He lifts his shirt to wipe a sheen of sweat from his brow while muttering, “You’re so dodgy, lamb. I can’t be arsed to keep chasin’ after you like this…” “Then don’t,” you reply. “I’ll be okay without you breathing down my neck, David.” David scoffs. “Aye, I’m sure you would.” He drops his shirt and meets your eyes with a telling look that you’re in for an earful. You’re sure it’s all just been boiling up inside him while he waited for his chance to catch you off guard… “You remember what I told you?” he begins. You sigh. “Yeah. You’re a shoulder to cry on, I remember… You told me an hour ago.” “Well, I meant it,” David ruffs. “You run off e'ery chance you get, and that’s not how you deal with this sorta thing, lamb—” “And how do you deal with it?” you retort while coming to an abrupt stop. “Punch all your problems away? Beat your feelings senseless?” David stops too. “See? This is what I mean! You keep all this shit inside, and you get all irritable and snappy!” He gives you a friendly push and throws his arms out wide. “You need someone to go off on? Put it on me! Just get it all out, I can take it!” His offer and display are almost comical. He means it in good nature, but you're seeing him through an irate film, right now. You shake your head at him. “I don’t need a punching bag, David. I just need to be left alone—” “Don’t spill that piss with me,” David dismisses with a heavy sigh. “Heard that about a hundred times from Grouchy already. You’re two sad peas in a fuckin’ pod, I swear…” “Has anyone ever compared you to a brick wall?” “All the time,” David grins proudly. “So there’s no use in trying to shake you off, is there?” David lays a tender hand on your shoulder as his features soften. “I’m just lookin' out for you,” he says. “Not trying to get your pants in a twist, or rile you up… We’re all just worried, is all.” He's so sincere, you feel a pang of guilt for trying to run him off. He cares, that's it. Sure, he's more stubborn than a mule, and frustrating as all hell, but he cares. And you couldn't ask for more, here.  As you simmer down, you sigh and concede. “Since this is what we’re doing”—You slump back against a tree and slide down into a sitting position, then draw your knees to your chest—“Let’s talk.” David joins you, knees bent, and arms folded. Waiting for you to speak, he remains quiet. “I’m just tired, David,” you tell him. “And I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m not in the right headspace to deal with any of that right now. There's too much on my mind.” “I understand all that,” David replies. “You don’t need to spill your guts to me, like I said before. Keep it to yourself. But it’s one thing to be hush-hush, and it’s another to come runnin’ out 'ere in the fog to get away from all your problems. It’s dangerous out 'ere, innit?” “Oh, you have no idea,” you mutter under your breath. You hesitate, then lean over and rest your head on his shoulder, only to pause. He’s built like a goddamn brick wall!  “Man, David,” you chuckle. “You make an awful pillow.” He barks with laughter beside you, and you get as comfortable as you’re able against the kind bruiser. He did offer you a shoulder to cry on, so you’ll take it, no matter how uncomfortable it may be… You gaze up at the moonlit sky through the canopy above, silent at first, before asking, “Who appointed you camp-guard? Or did you take on that mantle yourself?” “We weren’t handin’ out roles like delegates,” David chuckles at your question. “I saw people who needed protecting, and I figured myself the most capable of watchin' out for you lot. I’m a fighter.” “Did you fight a lot before? Back in the real world?” David snorts. “All the time! Lost track a’ how many! Pub brawls e'ery week, or dealings with the bad sort that led to fisticuffs. Been a rough chav all my life, and I’ve got a look about me. Mean gits couldn’t help themselves.” He laughs again, as if proud of his violent past and upbringing. And, knowing David, you're sure he is. Now it all makes sense, actually. Why he's so willing to run head-on into danger, or put himself in harm's way—it's all for the sake of a fight, isn't it? For an old thrill he used to get skirmishing in pubs. It's clear he's reminiscing on the subject... Though you don’t find it so appealing. You crease your brows and look at him. “What, so you were… a thug? Never would’ve guessed, David… You’re always so sweet, and protective... of… everyone…” You notice his frown, so you trail off. “I don’t mean it like that,” you say, trying to reverse the damage. “I just mean—” “No, no, you're right,” David utters. He hangs his head and sighs. “I was a bit too rough for my own good. Always finding trouble or knockin’ heads with someone… I spent most of my life brawling over scraps and petty disagreements. Loved it, too. But we’re all in this mess together 'ere, lamb. And it’s a nice change of pace to fight for something else. And I’m willing to fight tooth and nail for that.” He eases up and throws two jabs at the air with renewed vigor, like he's imitating a fight. “It's more gratifying that way, innit? Takin' a hit or two for someone who needs it? Even dishin' it out! And I'm bloody good at that! Made for this, right 'ere. If it has to be someone, I'll 'ave it be me, any day.” Ah. The bruiser has a big heart. Your features relax and you extend a hand to squeeze his arm. “You’re a big softy underneath the hard exterior,” you tease, then smile at him. David chuckles. “I’ve been called worse b'fore. I’ll have that.” Then he returns your smile with his own, and it’s so charmingly stupid, coming from a man who looks so rough around the edges. You laugh at him, and he gives you a friendly jab in the arm. “Oi, are we done brooding, lamb? This tree’s putting a knot in my fuckin’ back, I swear it.” “Sure,” you snort humorously as you get to your feet. You take two steps away and slowly draw out, “Well, we had our little talk, and you got your questions and concerns out of the way… Am I off the hook now?” David stands beside you, laughing. “I still have half a mind to drag you back to camp. Don’t like the idea of you bein’ out 'ere fuckin’ around and findin' yourself in trouble.” “David—” “Yeah, yeah, do what you want, lamb,” David dismisses with a sigh. He backs away, one step at a time, saying, “I won’t keep a leash on you. Just had to check in, that’s all. Thought you’d need it after that cock-up in camp.” “Thank you, David,” you reply with a smile. He nods, then turns around to walk away, barking over his shoulder, “If somethin’ out 'ere hassles you, give me a shout! I’ll come runnin’!” “Got it!” He moves on, then soon vanishes from sight. As soon as he’s gone, you feel the warmth of his company fade away. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart. Am I really doing the right thing? The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”   Continue   Upon catching up to you, Dwight slows his pace to join your side. He huffs in exertion, re-tucks his shirt, and finally meets your eyes with his nervous-blinking set. “Hey. Do you want to talk?”   “If I wanted to talk, I wouldn’t have walked away,” you reply softly, and matter-of-factly. Dwight nods. “Right.” He idly adjusts his tie while dropping his gaze to his feet. “You’ve had it rough here since day one,” he remarks quietly. “Which is saying something…” “Don’t remind me.” “I’m not trying to—” He stops short and sighs. “My, uh… My offer still stands, you know?” he says. “If you need any pointers, or someone to show you the ropes, I can, uh… give you some private lessons.” You quirk a brow. “Private lessons?” “Yeah,” Dwight nods. “We could come out here, and I can give you the rundown, just whenever. Maybe some Q and A…” He draws a small notepad from his breast pocket and flips it open. “I’ve got notes on generator repairs, and tidbits on the killers. Their MO’s, strengths… weaknesses, and…” he trails off when he sees the look on your face. The corner of your lips quirked, and a flicker of amusement in your eyes.  “Private lessons, huh? You make this same offer to anyone else?” Dwight chuckles and scratches behind his ear. “I—I have before, but no one’s ever taken me up on it…” He laughs sheepishly, then sighs. “There are always trust issues, you know? With the… with the new people. It takes a minute for the whole reality of the situation to sink in, and by the time it does, well… They don’t—” He stops again and sighs in defeat. “You know what I mean, right?” “I got it.” You slow your roll and come to a stop, prompting Dwight to halt beside you. You could use this, right? After that shitshow in camp and the number it did on your psyche, you're desperate for any distraction, no matter how big or small. Anything to get the fresh memory of scorching hot flames, and your own horrible screams off your mind. You need to cool down. And even if that means hearing a lecture from Dwight in the woods, you'll take it.  “Why not?” you say with a casual shrug of your shoulders. “I could go for some advice from a veteran.” Dwight’s brows lift in surprise. “Wait, really?” “Yeah,” you reply. “And we’re already out here, so… Let’s start now.” Dwight nods quickly in reply. “Alright, uh… There’s so much to go through”—He thumbs nervously through his little notepad, eyes flitting up and down the pages while he murmurs—“First… Hm…” “Let’s keep it simple,” you say. “What’s lesson one?” Dwight pauses. “Lesson—Lesson one? I haven’t, uh… grouped everything up into lessons, but… er—” “What’s most important?” you ask encouragingly. Dwight meets your eyes and pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Most important…” He pockets his notepad and murmurs, “I would say… trust. Trusting each other. We’re all in the same boat, right? And while we might not find land anytime soon, we can all keep it from sinking a little while longer. And that takes trust.” You nod to indicate you’re following along. Dwight continues. “In the trials, you put your life in someone else’s hands. Frequently, too. So you’ll need to trust others to have your back, and trust them to help you complete the objective. And to trust someone, you need to know them.” He offers a slanted smile and jokes, “Stranger danger, right?” You share a laugh with him. Dwight shrugs his shoulders and tacks on, “That’s the one upside to being trapped in limbo with the same people forever… We don’t have to be strangers, at least.” “So you want to be more than strangers?” Dwight pauses, then shrugs his shoulder and blows air out of his mouth. “Uh—Uh… Yeah.” “And where do we start?” “Where do we…? Um… Well, we’re… I thought we were—” He trails off and fixes his glasses over his nose with shaky hands. “If I’m being honest, I’ve… I’ve never been so great at getting to know people. Or talking to them… I mean, I’m having a hard time just working up the courage to ask you—” He stops himself and makes a sheepish face. “You know, people have just never been interested in getting to know me.” Oh, he’s crumbling. It’s like witnessing a demolition squad level a skyscraper… And in this case, wouldn’t that make you the demolitionist? Dwight continues to trip over his words while he recollects himself. “Know what?” he begins, while putting on a cool face. “Why don’t we just move on? I think we’re way past the whole stranger stage anyway, right?” Your lips snake into a smile that cracks his facade and blushes his cheeks. “Yeah, but I think I’d like to be friends, Dwight.” “You want to be..? That’s, uh…” “Does everyone make you this nervous, or just me?” Dwight lets out a small laugh that hitches in his throat. “Yes,” he initially answers, before rapidly saying, “I—I mean no! I’m saying—” he stops and breathes harshly through his nose before dropping his reddened gaze and occupying himself with his loose tie. He fumbles around with it for a good minute before you step forward to offer him a hand. Dwight catches his breath and freezes solidly as you reach out and grasp the tie. You tighten it gently around his collar, give him a friendly pat on the chest, then smile. And that utterly devastates what little composure he has left. You didn’t think the man could flush any darker, but his face blooms cherry-red. A nervous laugh escapes his lips, and he brushes your hand with his own clammy fingers. But when he notices you’ve noticed, he quickly draws back and stammers, “Sorry. I just get, uh… a bit nervous when... I’m...” He trails off, flushed in embarrassment. After wiping his hands up and down his slacks, he rakes his fingers back through his messed hair. “You know what? I, uh… I think the rest of our lessons can wait, right?” He takes a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. He teeters, catches himself, and clears his throat. “Yeah.” “We aren’t even past lesson one,” you humorously reply. “We just about covered it,” he says. “Yep. Uh… And—And if I’m being honest, I… I actually came out here to see how you were doing.” He sheepishly rubs his nape while avoiding your eyes. “After what went down in camp, I thought you’d need it, you know?” When he lifts his gaze, he gives you a sincere look, eyes flickering with concern, and his brows knitted. “You were worried about me?” “Yeah. We all are, but… I just had to be sure.” He offers you a managed smile. A warm sensation crawls up the back of your neck and over your face, giving it a crimson glow. You part your lips to speak, pause, then say, “Oh… thanks. Thank you, Dwight.” He gives a nod. “Anytime you want to finish the, uh… the lessons, you know where to find me, right? We'll go over everything nice and slow, maybe get hands-on—” He swallows his words and makes a face before waving his hands in front of him swiftly. “Not like that!” he blurts. “Just— Ah, never mind. Later. Later...” After sharing one last sheepish smile, he dips his head and quickly turns away, seemingly eager to go. He retreats into the fog and vanishes from sight. As soon as he’s gone, you feel the warmth of his company fade away. The cold fog seeps into your bones and wilts your smile. A condensed breath leaves your parted lips. How did you get here? Making pacts with killers, hiding from the only people who care, and letting yourself feel more alone than you have to be? You only just burned that photo, and yet you feel a weight heavier than any other settling on your chest and compressing your heart. Am I really doing the right thing? The fog returns your query with silence. You hang your head and sigh. “Who knows?”   Continue     Bastion strides behind you, poised and silent, as if he dares not to speak or announce himself. He simply follows you like a shadow. And, while embittered seeing him again so soon after your dispute, you’re glad he’s at least come without that infuriating, unsettling grin. “Did you enjoy that light show?” you remark heatedly as you turn back around to keep walking. “Now I know how it feels… Fire bad.” “I thought I’d check on you,” Bastion replies quietly. You shake your head. “I’d rather have an explanation. Do you have one for me, or was that just a freak accident?” “We’re more alike than you know.” You glance over your shoulder at him, but he adds nothing further. You scoff. “Whatever that means.” Bastion reaches out and rests his hand on your shoulder, which you shrug off before whirling around to face him. “Am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t try to kill me earlier?” He says nothing in reply, which irritates you beyond your limit. Your brows crease and you breathe deeply. “We can’t do this, Bastion. If I’d known you were always just a hair away from snapping and trying to shish-kebab me, I might’ve never taken so many midnight strolls with you. Being around you is like walking on eggshells.” You scoff and add, “And you never bothered telling me…” “I don’t want you to fear me,” Bastion replies. “But you’re okay with stabbing me in the back? Knowing that at any moment, you could snap and hurt me?” Anger and nerves shake your voice, and you poke the bear again, uncaring of the potential consequences. “I’ve put so much trust in you. And all you’ve done is lie to me. When you attacked me back there, I can’t even say it surprised me. Because you’ve been a ticking time bomb all along, just wearing a mask to cover it up.” Bastion is silent in the face of your verbal assault. Maybe he’s trying to devise another lie, you think. Oh, but no. Lies come naturally to him. Could it be you’ve actually rendered him silent? Now that would be a surprise. You’ve got the smart-mouthed demon biting his tong— “Do you want me to go, Wanderer?” His soft question jolts you from your thoughts. You blink at him, and he returns your gaze silently, waiting for an answer. For your order. A stammer leaps to your throat, and you realize you don’t have an immediate answer for him—or even one for yourself. Well, do you? A tiny voice asks inside your head. You blank, and a thoughtful look joins your brows together. I don’t know. If you told him to get lost, you know he would. He’d vanish without another word and leave you to stew alone. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? He’s the source of your sour mood, so why not just get rid of him? Maybe your temper would fade with him. You have every reason to, but… you can’t. Bastion remains patiently waiting, and you sigh at him as you lower your head. “Sometimes I think you might actually… care. I—I don’t know why, but we spend so much time around each other, and… and you’re the only one here with me now.” You swivel your head. “No one else cared enough to follow me into the deep, dark woods—into the fog. But you have.” When you lift your gaze and search his face, you scoff—of course, there’s nothing there to search. He hides, your inner voice repeats. He always hides. You silence your nagging thoughts. “Do you care, Bastion?” you ask, your voice scarcely audible. “Or are you just protecting your best interests?” “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t,” Bastion replies. His honesty, though appreciated considering his reputation, spoils your face with a frown. Worse, your heart sinks into a deep pit. You give him a dismissive shrug of your shoulders to mask the disappointment becoming clear on your features. “Okay,” you murmur. “I get it.” Your body reacts faster than your clouded mind is able, and your legs try to carry you away from him. You turn your back, but don’t get two feet before his next words falter you. “It would also be a lie to say I didn’t care.” You cast a glance behind you. “Am I supposed to believe you?” “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care, Wanderer.” The blunt statement drives a wedge through your throat and blocks off whatever you have to say. You lock your gaze on Bastion, struggle to swallow past the lump in your airway, then give up and hang your head. Although a part of you still wishes to walk away, something leaden and heavy binds your feet to the ground. Bastion says nothing else in his defense, doesn’t poke or push you. He just stands there, waiting, and watching, as you’re sure he would all night, if you gave him the opportunity. He’d stand by your side. You know he would. He must care at least a little, right? To some degree, big or small... And, admittedly, maybe you care too.  “I’m sorry,” you murmur barely above a whisper when you find your voice. “For yelling at you, for blaming you, and—”  You stop short with a shuddering breath and hug yourself. Your nerves still tingle like they’re on fire, the memory of your immolation just too fresh to dismiss. Pinpricks of phantom pain pierce your skin and make you jolt and quiver. But you don’t mind showing some weakness now. Not around him. He’s seen it before; it’s nothing new. “And—And I threatened to torch you. But I wouldn’t do that to you… It’s so god awful, I wouldn’t do that to anyone.” You lift your gaze and face him again. “I was just confused, Bastion. And angry, and—” “You don’t owe me an apology,” Bastion interrupts. “Don’t I?” you reply. “What you did was out of your control. You couldn’t help yourself. And I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” You approach him and reach out for his hand. As soon as you grasp his hand in yours, he visibly bristles at your touch, shown by the way his claws twitch and snap behind him. When you close your fingers around his, an icy chill prickles the length of your spine. You shrug off the creepy-crawly feeling and resolve yourself. “When it happened, what… what was going on inside your head?” Bastion doesn’t immediately answer. You look up at him, and he stares back silently in his reluctance. You lightly squeeze his hand. He wavers. “Honest answer?” he quietly asks. You nod. More silence fills the space between you both before he finally speaks again. “I wanted to hurt you. Every voice inside screamed at me to kill you… And I was going to satisfy those voices.” He tips his blank face to peer at your joined hands. Then he gingerly curls his fingers around yours. “I would’ve done unspeakable things to you… Heinous, vile things.” The many horrific implications that run through your mind make your skin itch and your throat dry. You don’t ask him what he means—you don’t want to know. You know enough. “What can I do next time?” you ask. “How do I stop you? Because torching you would be the last resort.” “Wanderer—” “No,” you interrupt. “There has to be some way, right? A way to snap you out of it. Maybe we can use a special word… Could that work?” He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t indicate if you’re right or wrong, and there’s no way to read his faceless gaze. You sigh and jostle his arm in frustration, “Bastion—” One of his claws twitches unexpectedly, putting you in a sudden panic and making your heart race. You flinch and recoil in fear, then lose your footing and trip. When you hit the ground, you gasp, scramble, and stop. He just stares at you, and you return the stare. Shame darkens your face. “Oh-Oh—” “I still scare you, Wanderer?” Bastion’s shoulders sag. He retracts his claws and takes a step back. “N-No,” you stammer as you rise to your feet. “You just surprised me—” He’s about to do that thing where he vanishes in a puffy cloud of fog. But before he can, before he has the chance to leave you, your body reacts faster than your mind, and you dash forward and throw your arms out around him. He freezes, caught off guard. You wrap yourself tightly around him and rest your face on his chest. “I’m not scared of you,” you reaffirm. To prove it, you draw away and grasp his hand, then guide it to your heart, flat over your chest. “See?” you say. But your big-brain plan backfires completely when you realize your heart only picks up pace. It thumps like a drum, and the fast tempo is audible in your ears. Bastion notices, too. You hold your grip on his wrist as he tries to pull away. “I-I’m not scared. Just nervous…” “Nervous?” You give a fast nod. “Yes.” The mood changes entirely as Bastion’s face morphs. He noticeably perks up and grins, flashing you two rows of gleaming, sharp teeth. “Nervous in a good way?” And with that stupid, flirty line, the grim atmosphere lifts and dissipates. You scoff at him while fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “You really have a way of ruining the moment,” you comment as you finally relinquish his hand. Bastion lets out a warm chuckle as he cups your chin. It’s maddening the way he does this. And yet, you keep letting him get away with it... You offer no resistance as Bastion tips your face up to meet his. He puts a lid on his nuisance behavior to get serious. “I understand you don’t want to hurt me, Wanderer,” he says softly. “But you need to understand that you can’t tame a monster. If it’s you or me, choose yourself. I’m no stranger to punishment.” You frown at him. “But—” “I don’t want to argue with you, Wanderer.” You concede and sigh. Your face warms up in his hand as you bitterly mutter, “You’re forgiven for earlier… Well, until you inevitably piss me off again, because that seems to be your favorite way of fucking with me…” “I can find other ways to fuck with you,” Bastion cheekily replies. Your face blooms crimson red. You try to snap your gaze away, but he draws your face back toward him. Then he tenderly runs his icy touch over your flushed cheek, chuckling again as he admires his handiwork. “Oh, there it is…” You smack his hand away and pull back. “I can’t stand you,” you scoff, amused. “Then get on your knees,” Bastion flirts. Butterflies wreak havoc on your insides and choke you up. While you stupidly trip over your words, Bastion laughs. So, you’re relieved, though a tad disappointed, when he finally draws away from you to go. “You should retire to Lydia’s cabin, Wanderer… Have some rest.” “Right,” you reply as you regain your composure. “That’s… That’s the plan.” Bastion gives you a curt nod to mark his departure. But before he vanishes, you quickly say, “Wait.” He stops. You take a deep breath and swallow hard while you work up the courage to speak what’s on your mind. As Bastion gazes silently at you, waiting, you steel yourself and sigh. “I… burned Ghostface’s offering,” you confess, shame-faced. “I know,”  he replies calmly. “Are you… Are you mad?” you ask, brows knitted. “Honest answer?” “Yes, Bastion.” “I’m not happy with your decision,”  he replies. “But as I told you, Wanderer… I’ll stand by your side no matter what.” His sincerity and soft tone of voice put you at ease and settles your nerves. “Okay,” you breathe, relieved with a weight lifted off your chest. “That’s—” “Why do you care?” Bastion interrupts, taking you by surprise. You give him a puzzled look, and he clarifies, “Why do you care what I think?” You hesitate. “I—I, well… We’re partners.” “Partners?” “Yeah,” you reply. For a long, silent minute, he stares at you, and you shrink down under his unwavering gaze. While you ponder what’s on his mind, fighting the flush creeping to your face becomes increasingly difficult. A million things could be running through his head right now, just like the rampant thoughts racing through yours. Your nervousness has all but doubled when he finally spares you from the scrutiny. “I see,” he says. Then he grins at you, chuckles, and vanishes. As soon as he’s gone, the cold becomes colder, and the weight on your chest weighs heavier. Were you too hasty in your decision to burn Ghostface’s offering? Too quick to seal a pact with a killer? You have Bastion, and although he might have some… problems, you trust him. And surely his help is all the help you need? Ah… It’s too late now though, isn’t it? You can’t take it back… “Too late,” you murmur, bitterly. “Too late.”   Continue     Though you thought you’d take comfort in having another’s company here in the dark, that isn’t the case. When you realize the shrouded figure standing straight ahead of you, illuminated only by the flaming torch they wield, your fear becomes insurmountable. You don’t know the stranger, and every past effort to have yielded no results. Who they are, what they want, and how they’ve invaded your head is another mystery that’s yet to be explained. The uncertainty makes you nervous. Again, and as always, you’re a prisoner of your own mind. A rat in a cage under the watchful eye of a malicious entity you can’t see. Toxic tar binds you to your knees at the mercy of your sinister company. You don’t bother communicating with the stranger because they won’t hear your voice. For a short period, you watch and wait, and they do the same. The stillness only breaks when the cloaked figure raises their torch high above their head. Then they drop it at their feet. The flames streak across the surface of the shimmering black pool, spreading like amber paint on a dark canvas. And when they reach you, they flay your skin and eat you alive.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You tear your eyes from the flickering candle, refusing to look at it any longer. It’s too similar to the most recent night terrors you’ve experienced. Every night since the incident in camp, you’ve dreamed of savage flames devouring you. And every night since, you’ve awoken drenched in cold sweat. Bastion hasn’t been on your radar lately. And for what reasons, you don’t know. He doesn’t wake you with a rise and shine, nor does he see you off to bed, nor does he drop in with perverse remarks or witty dialogues. Maybe he’s taking a break… Regardless, you’ve been too apprehensive to venture out into the fog without his guidance or protection. In the meantime, you’ve busied yourself skimming through the journal scavenged from the cave. There are some tidbits of useful information found here and there, but nothing major. Nothing game-changing. Things have been quiet around Lydia’s cabin.   Sitting at this desk for so long, your body aches. You fidget and squirm, then sigh and close the book. After arching your back and popping your stiff joints, you drop the book in the drawer at your feet and kick it shut. Your weary eyes return to the lit candle. Sweat drips from your brow, and a tingle in your spine causes you to jitter. But a sudden urge trumps your fear—the urge to test a theory—a… wonder, even. Poe seems to know what’s going through your mind. Where he sits on the countertop beside you, he cocks his head and coos, as if questioning your next move. You pay him no mind, and after only a moment of hesitation, you reach out your hand and hover your palm over the flame. It licks your skin and burns, but thankfully, it doesn’t engulf you immediately, like the bonfire at camp did. You snatch your hand away and stare puzzled at the candle. Interesting. And you watch with increasing wonder as whirling tethers of dark fog dance over your sizzled flesh. A knock at the door makes you jump. You turn in the chair and watch Lydia appear as she slowly parts the door. “I’ve put on some tea,” she says warmly. “Thank you,” you reply. Lydia hums, steps back, then stops. Her eyebrows furrow. “I noticed you haven’t left in a while… How are you? You doing okay?” “I’m just… taking a break,” you say. “Being out in the fog so often can be draining.” Which is an understatement. “I understand,” Lydia says with a nod. “Just figured I’d come and check up on you. The tea’ll be ready in a minute,” she adds. Then she leaves, closing the door after her. You return your gaze to your palm. The burn’s gone. You crinkle your brow and stare addle-brained at your hand for a good minute as your mind races with curiosities. But when you’re unable to deduce a cause or reason for the perplexing instance, you drop it to save yourself the headache. Why rack your head for answers you won’t find when there are dozens of other immediate concerns? Like… What do I do now? Since burning The Ghost Face’s offering, you’ve had this nagging itch irritating your cranium. And your inner voice frequently asks, “Why stop there?” That’s a good question, isn’t it? Why not go to the others? You have two killers on your side now, so why not recruit more help? Maybe you should reach out to your fellow campers… Or at least Felix and Elodie. Those two seem to know something, don’t they? More than they’ve let on… After all, they’ve been the most persistent in trying to wring you for answers. They could very well be hiding their own deep, dark secrets… And maybe it’s time to find out what those are. Why not? Your inner voice murmurs. What do you have to lose? With nothing else to do, and little motivation to venture into the fog alone, you'll pay a friendly visit to camp.  You throw your bag over your shoulder, gather Poe into the palm of your hand, then you leave the study.    ✱ ✱ ✱   Dark fog whispers around you, dancing close and kissing your skin with its icy touch, making you shiver and jolt. Despite your efforts to dispel your paranoia with idle humming and the occasional skip in your step, nothing works. Even Poe’s pleasant company can’t soothe the uneasiness that swells up in your stomach. Does the fog make you antsy, or your impending encounter at camp? On the one hand, meeting with Felix and Elodie seems a necessary chore. On the other, you’re hesitant to divulge your secrets to them. What would they think of your alliance with these killers? Who knows? Your mind answers. “You’ve gotta give me something,” you sigh. “Is any of this right? Am I making the right move?” … At times like these, you miss Bastion’s company. You yield to the silence and have no more words with yourself or with the little crow on your shoulder. The silence, however, does not last. A familiar murmur makes you pause and falter. Unintelligible voices rise in volume and upset the calm. Though you can’t make out the words they share, their meaning is clear in the way they make your heart race and your skin to prickle with goosebumps. The screeching voices don’t come alone—you pick out dark figures all around you, melting into the shadows, watching and waiting. Don’t look at them, you encourage yourself. Keep walking. You quicken your pace. Something warm dribbles from your nose to your chin. You touch it and reel at the black goop on your fingertips. After taking your arm quickly across your face, you walk faster. The shadows follow and the voices grow louder. Frighteningly, Poe’s aware of the ominous presence pursuing you. He nestles up to your neck and coos. And at some point, his cooing becomes less of a frightened animal, and more like an omen. Croakier, deeper, until altogether, the crowing becomes a voice. “We see you.” Directly into your ear and startling enough to make you jump. Poe’s beady black specks catch your eye, and the young bird speaks again, as if possessed. “Run as far as you can, as fast as you’re able. But we’ll always find you.” You tear your wide eyes away and dash through the fog, carried forward by your fear. You know it’s not really Poe speaking. It’s your mind playing more tricks on you… It’s the fog. Don’t let it in. Block it out. “A cog in an ever-turning wheel,” Poe says. “Do you truly believe you’ll find the way? Do you have what it takes?” Keep running, you press. They’ll go away, they always do. “Cowards run. Cowards never find the answers.” Sweat slicks the skin on your brow. You move so fast, everything around you becomes a hazy blur. “Just like all the rest,” Poe taunts. Then he chuckles, a noise akin to nails on a chalkboard, and screeching metal.“You’re all the same.” A shadow leaps out at you from the fog, arms extended. A shrill wail rips from its blank face. Then another lunges, and another and another. You dodge the shady specters, stumbling and tripping over your feet. Darkness obscures your vision until you run through an empty void, hounded by the shades. They gain steadily in pursuit until you can feel their ghostly hands brushing the hair on your neck. “We’re closer than you know.” The darkness breaks by blinding warm light. You stagger to an immediate stop, gasping for breath as your vision returns. Reality hits you like a truck—you stand before the bonfire in camp, looking frantic and wild. The voices fade out, and the crackling fire fills the absence left behind. After willing yourself to relax, you touch your lip where the black ooze spilled, and you find it’s dry. Poe’s still perched on your shoulder, and when you cock your gaze to look at him, he stares back innocently with his bright blue gaze. You smooth his ruffled feathers, then cast your attention around camp. You’re startled and embarrassed to find three sets of eyes watching you. Jake sits against a tree with his knees bent, arms folded, and his scarf drawn up over his mouth. Once you lock eyes with him, he stands up and walks away, leaving your gaze to wander toward Claudette. She rests beside her basket while she packs some rolls of bandages and gauze. It appears she’s going to venture into the fog… Last, you spot Kate sitting on the log beside the fire. She breaks her sights from yours and strums her guitar on her lap. It’s not the company you were hoping for, but you’re glad you don’t have to face Felix or Elodie just yet… Maybe you’re not as prepared to as you thought. You're partly disappointed to have come out all this way for nothing, but another fraction of yourself is glad to be out of the cabin. It was getting too stuffy... But what now?   Follow Jake (❤) Join Claudette (❤) Sit with Kate (❤)     It’s hard to resist following your favorite loner into the woods. After you leave camp, you follow Jake’s footsteps on a quiet, beaten path. Your motives are as foggy as the dark woods you trek. You don’t know what compelled you to leave the bonfire behind and follow the loner into the night. Judging by how quick he was to dart up and away when he saw you, it’s clear he doesn’t want your company… But you can’t help but seek him out. You walk silently for nearly five minutes without catching sight of him. So you falter to a stop and look around like a lost puppy before creasing your brow. Might’ve lost his trail… “Ahem.” You spin around, startled, and find Jake propped up against a tree. While your features relax, Jake’s harden. “Knew you couldn’t help yourself,” he says. His arms cross his chest tight. Your lips curl into a smile despite his bitter greeting. “You know me too well.” You catch a faint gleam of amusement in Jake’s eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it came. He shakes his head slowly as he steps away from the tree. You move aside to let him pass. “Where are you off to?” you ask him. “Maybe I’m hiding secrets like you,” he replies, staring at you sharply. “Are you?” He doesn’t respond. He changes the subject instead. “I heard you were messing around by the bonfire and got burned.” You catch up beside him. A frown creases your brow. “Well… yeah.” “It hasn’t burned anyone else.” “So I’ve heard,” you sigh. “Everything here is out to get me…” “Are you alright?” You pause and meet Jake’s eyes. Sincerity replaces the usual moodiness that tarnishes his features. You blink at him and shrug. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?” Jake scoffs. “You’ve been through some shit,” he says. “Everyone has, but I think burning alive takes the cake… I think you’re hiding how you really feel.” “Do I need to break down and cry for you to be satisfied?” you say with a quirked brow. “I think it’s fucked up how well you’re handling it.” “I could say the same for you,” you reply. “Haven’t seen you shed so much a tear since I’ve been here. You probably love this place, right? No rules, off the grid, and this is as secluded as it gets—” “This place is fucking hell.” His sharp tone shuts you up. Irritation flickers across his face. You tense your jaw and avert your gaze. “I know,” you say. “Sorry…” While awkwardly rubbing your nape, you mutter, “If I’m being honest, I haven’t been handling it very well… I go to sleep, and I’m burning again. I wake up screaming like a banshee and sweating bullets. And when it all finally passes, I’m left wishing I’d never crawled into bed.” You scoff. “I’ve hardly slept lately… My legs feel like lead.” Jake’s eyes flit to you, and both of you are silent. He softens just a moment before dropping his gaze and grunting. “That explains why you look like hell.” “Gee, thanks.” Jake grunts indifferently before faltering in his steps. As you slow behind him, you watch him hesitate, then change his course. You quirk a brow and open your mouth, but he cuts you off. “We all have them,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Nightmares… For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re going through this shit.” “That… means a lot coming from you, actually,” you reply. “Didn’t know empathy was a word in your dictionary.” Jake’s brow wrinkles, and it’s hard to read the expression hidden under his scarf. But you’re spared the suspense of his reply when he comes to a sudden stop in the face of a large clearing. You stumble beside him and gape at the sight before you — a shelter smack-dab in the center of the clearing. You admire a small ramshackle shack with a conical wooden roof plastered over with plastic sheeting. There’s a scrap of worn gray cloth hanging over an entryway, and warm light filters through it. A stone chimney on the roof billows a cloud of dark smoke into the twinkling midnight sky. Your feet draw you curiously into the clearing, and your eyes dart between a wood chopping block and a wire drawn between two trees—an assortment of clothes hangs on it. You slow down, turn on your heels, and scoff. “What the hell is all this?” “Home,” Jake grunts in reply. As he walks past you toward the little hut, he gestures for you to follow him. You tail him closely. “How’d you do all this?” “Time and patience. And I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.” Jake pushes through the curtain into the hut, and you follow him inside. A fire crackles in the small stone-bricked fireplace at the opposite end of the stuffy room, enveloping you with warmth and a soothing scent of burning oak. Under your feet is a floor paneled with wooden planks and covered with the remains of a flattened tent. An old brown bedroll clings to the wall to your left, and you see a stack of beaten pots and pans to your right, next to a pile of dry grass and chopped tinder. There’s just enough room to lay out on the floor with even some space to spare. Altogether, it doesn’t hold a candle to Lydia’s cozy cabin in the woods, but it’s impressive nonetheless. Your lips twitch in a smirk. When you look at Jake, he creases his brows as if he knows what words are about to come spewing out of your mouth. “Do you bring a lot of girls back to your place?” Jake scoffs. “It was only a matter of time until you sniffed it out on your own…” He slumps back against the wall and draws his knee to his chest. He gestures for you to do the same. As you sit beside him, you clasp your hands on your lap. After a long moment of silence, Jake asks, “What brought you out of hiding this time?” He gives you a knowing look. “You don’t come around camp unless you’re looking for something.” “Wanted to hassle my favorite emo,” you reply. He blinks at you, unamused. A chuckle escapes your lips as you point to his scarf. “Why are you all covered up? Afraid I’ve got cooties or something?” Jake pulls his scarf down without a word to reveal a work in progress. Dark patches of hair frame his jawline and stipple his chin. It’s a harsh blow to his normally handsome features, and a surprise that makes you snort. “Oh, wow. That’s… That’s coming in nicely, isn’t it?” You can’t help the laughing tone in your voice. “Have you ever tried shaving without a razor?” “Good point,” you reply. You nudge him with your elbow and offer, “I might scrounge you up a little something-something, if you ask nicely…” “You shouldn’t go out into fog all fucking willy-nilly,” Jake says. He inclines his head. “I think maybe you’re getting too comfortable out there…” “Is this your way of saying you’re worried about me?” “Take it however you want,” Jake scoffs. Maybe I will. He stops talking, and you satisfy his want for silence as you focus your idle attention on the fire again. The flickering flames muddle your head with anxious thoughts—the same thoughts that keep you awake late into your curfew. Whispers break through the crackling fire and tickle the fine hairs in your ears. Despite your best efforts to keep them out, they grow in number and volume. You squeeze your eyes shut and ball your fists. Ignore them. Yet louder and louder the voices murmur… We see you. We’re watching you. We’re with you. Don’t listen. You hear screams amongst the cacophony. Horrible, piercing screams… A jolt courses the length of your spine. It’s not real . None of it is. Even with your eyes closed, you notice the warm glow of the fire vanish. You’d think something had snuffed it out if you didn’t know any better… Open your eyes. The fire’s still there. You hear another voice telling you not to. And another demands you look at it. To your left, a third voice screams, then cackles and croaks… Help us. Shut up. Something touches your forearm—a hand. It’s cold… sharp nails pierce your skin and draw blood— Don’t touch me. You feel the bony fingers pinch and tear, peeling back the flesh on your arm until— “Where’d you find the crow?” Jake’s voice abruptly silences the whispers. They cut away with a hissing sigh, and you snap open your eyes to meet the flames once again. Blinking, you turn to Jake. You quickly wipe the fear from your face and wrinkle your brow. “Poe?” Just a whisper escapes your lips before you clear your throat. “I… I found him in the woods. Mommy wasn’t around, and I didn’t think she’d be coming back…” You gingerly stroke Poe’s beak, the action stirring the young crow from his slumber. Cooing, he rises away from your neck, cranes his head and blinks at Jake. You smile. “Looks like you’ve caught his eye…” Jake silently asks for permission, and you nod. He extends an arm out toward your shoulder invitingly. Poe eyeballs him curiously before hopping onto his hand. He clicks his beak, and Jake hums. “Heard around camp you had a little friend, and I wondered when I’d finally meet him…” He draws his arm back and closely admires the crow. “He’s a fledgling, so he’ll be flying in no time.” Poe hops along Jake’s arm and settles down on his shoulder. He plucks at a lock of black hair before cooing and nestling in a fold of his hood. Jake smiles, and it’s a welcome sight. You smirk. “Oh, so the bird gets a smile out of you?” “You’ve gotta put in a little more work for it.” You chuckle in response. While watching Poe snuggle up to his new friend, you ask, “You like animals?” Jake makes a slanting gesture with his hand. “Like is a strong word… I respect them. And I think that feeling’s mutual…” He smooths the feathers on Poe’s wing and murmurs, “They only do what they can to survive, day in and day out, just like the rest of us. Just like me.” “I get that,” you utter your reply. “It’s like an understanding. It’s—” “Don’t get so sappy on me again, Cornball,” Jake interrupts with a sigh. “Is that an endearing nickname?” “Endearing?” A smile brightens your features. “Oh, it is. Man, Jake, it’s all adding up. No wonder you showed me home…” Jake scoffs at you, but his eyes show a glimmer of laughter. “I’m about to show you the door.” You share a small laugh with him before allowing a warm silence to fill in. Poe’s already fast asleep on Jake’s shoulder as you kick back against the wall to relax. You glance at the flames as Jake grows quiet again. You just stare at them for a long time, silent and unmoving. But before those thoughts can creep back in, Jake draws you out. “How long have you been having them?” You glance at him curiously. He clarifies, “The nightmares?” “Oh,” you hum. “Since… Since day one. But I’m sure everyone has.” Jake nods. He rubs his gloved hands together as his features crease. “Yeah… When I first got here, I thought it was all a bad dream. Or maybe I had died. Could’ve been anything… A cold, an infected cut. Maybe I even went peacefully in my sleep to a condition I didn’t know I had.” His face darkens and he hangs his head. “But after my first trial, I knew. It wasn’t some awful dream. It wasn’t even Hell. This is a game—a game spun by some fucked-up entity that wants to break us. And it’s working…” You frown at him. “If it’s a game, we can win.” The look Jake gives you quiets you up. He shakes his head. “You want to know why I think I’m here?” He doesn’t wait for your response before finishing, “I ran. I ran from a good life, from the people who cared about me. And now, there’s no more running.” He scoffs. “Scratch that. We can run as far as we want, but it won’t get us out of here.” Run as far as you can, as fast as you’re able. Those words come back to you and make you shudder. You force them out of mind and try to offer him your reassurance. “Every road ends, Jake.” “You haven’t walked this one as long as I have.” Silence envelops the room, almost suffocating. You shift uncomfortably and sag your shoulders, struggling to find what words to say next. But you know that nothing you say will comfort Jake. And you’re sure that he doesn’t want to hear it. Jake, however, spares you the silence when he kicks his foot toward his bedroll. “You can have my sleeping bag.” You raise a brow. “If you’re having so much trouble sleeping, you can sleep here,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye on you and wake you if you start fussing.” “I’m fine, J—” “Don’t argue with me. You look like shit, and we all need our rest.” He has a point… You look like absolute shit, and you feel even worse. And you have been dying to get a good night’s sleep… You sigh in surrender and offer Jake a sheepish smile. “No argument there…” After climbing onto his bedroll and laying out, you stare up at the ceiling and utter, “Thank you.” He only grunts in reply, making it clear he’s finished with all the small talk. But in one last-ditch effort to lighten the mood, you murmur, “Careful not to get on my bad side, Jake… Because David’ll be hearing about this place if you do.” It’s enough to make him snicker. You manage a smile and add, “He’ll be tearing down your front door the moment he hears.” “Let’s hope he doesn’t,” Jake replies with a hint of amusement. With no more words to share, you turn your gaze to the ceiling and let the crackling flames lull you to sleep…   ✱ ✱ ✱   —Watching you… Being watched… Wake up. Wake up! You jolt awake with a start. When you’ve gathered your bearings, you gaze up at the ceiling as your eyes adjust to the warm glow of the fire. You sit up, blink, then pause. Jake’s fast asleep where you last saw him, leaning back against the wall nearby with his arms folded across his chest. He’s missing his jacket, though… Ah. His jacket lays over your body. A smile softens your features, but it’s gone when a terrible sensation crawls up your spine. You shudder as you scan the room nervously. You feel that pull again… Something’s here. Something’s outside. You return Jake’s jacket by draping it gently over his shoulders. Then you gather a sleeping Poe from his lap and leave the hut. The fog chills your bones the moment you step outside, and a shiver makes you falter. The source of that pull remains elusive as you scan your surroundings. That is, until the fog barrier around the clearing thins and vanishes completely. You make out a dark figure in the distance. A person. Fear turns the blood in your veins to ice. You presume the figure to be another figment of your imagination at first, but then… it moves. And it runs away! You lose sight of the figure, but it takes the pull with it… Carried by your curiosity, you pursue the dark stranger.     Once you leave the clearing, your speed increases from a jog to a breakneck sprint in pursuit of the stranger. You know you shouldn’t run aimlessly through the fog, especially on your own, but whatever that is, whoever it is, is a lead. And you can’t let leads slip through your fingers. Come on, where the hell did you—? THWACK! Your chase comes to an abrupt halt as something strikes you on the back of the head. You cry out and stagger forward before falling to your knees. While you clutch your head and grit your teeth, you hear leaves crunch to your right, then watch a shadow fall over you. “Risky move, pursuing a stranger into the fog,” a gruff voice says. Through a haze, you watch a dark-robed figure step into view. A man, you think. He stops before you and inclines his shrouded head. “But then, your kind has always been so brave.” He spits the last word coldly. Your heart beats thunderously and you struggle to catch a breath. “Wh-What?” you gasp. “Who are—? Why did you— Gahh, my head…” You hold your pounding noggin and groan in pain. He doesn’t allow you a moment’s reprieve. He leans forward, grips the lapels of your jacket in his fists, and hauls you to your feet. You’re hardly upright before he throws you back against a tree and pins you there. “Ah!” you grunt. Your head spins like a top. You can’t make out the man’s face through the shroud of his cowl, but you can see two piercing, golden orbs in the dark. Those orbs slightly shift toward Poe on your shoulder, where the baby crow nestles against your neck, cooing and anxious. “Interesting,” the man utters. “You’re real,” you exhale in disbelief. “What gave it away?” His biting sarcasm makes you scoff. You reply, “I’ve seen you. In my dreams—” “And we’ve seen you.” “Who are you?” The robed man doesn’t answer. He turns his head to the side, looks around the dark woods as if on edge, and then faces you again. “The Host isn’t with you? Where’s it gone?” “The what?” Again, he doesn’t answer. You glimpse the man’s hands, barely visible beneath the sleeves of his robe. His skin is pallid and streaked with pulsing orange veins. You blink curiously at the sight before the man speaks again. “I could end it all right now, couldn’t I?” he murmurs, just above a whisper. You crease your brows. “End what?” The man leans in closer, and though you can’t make out his face, you can feel his unusually cold breath on your lips. “I could. I could end it all and put everything back in motion… I could reset it.” His obscurity makes your skin crawl. “What-What are you talking about?” He hums deeply, then suddenly releases his hold on your jacket. As he takes a step back, you stagger forward and catch yourself. “No, no,” the man mutters as he backs away. “Too soon… I’ll give you a chance.” “A chance for what?” You can’t help the bite in your tone. “Stop talking in riddles! Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” You approach the man, and he backs up further. “Stay back,” he warns. “Just tell me something, please—” The rest of your plea goes unheard as the man throws a hand up, and an unseen force knocks you off your feet. When you hit the tree behind you, all you see is black.   ✱ ✱ ✱   Within the swirling darkness of your mind, you see a faint, pulsing blue light in the distance. And you hear a voice—a woman’s voice. Though you can’t clearly make out her words. Gradually, her voice becomes closer, but less clear. You desperately try to pick out meaning from her murmurings, but they fade altogether as your consciousness stirs…     You’re met with darkness when you come to. But the dark breaks away to a dim light as your eyes adjust. The source of which is a small square TV on top of a short dresser opposite you. The screen plays, but it’s only static and buzzing white noise. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you realize you’re in an apartment room… A grimy and humid apartment. Your body’s slumped back against a wall. How the hell did I get here? Your mind is a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Was that man you met in the woods actually real? You hoist yourself up with a grunt, then touch a hand to the back of your head. It doesn’t ache or bleed… But surely an attack like that would leave an injury? Ah… Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe you imagined it. Poe startles you when he pecks at the lobe of your ear. You smooth the crow’s feathers and cast your eyes around the room. The air is thick and humid. Sweat already slicks the skin on your brow. When you turn to your left, you find a window on the wall, drawn shut with a tattered black curtain. A coffee table sits in front of the TV, and a grimy gray recliner rests before it in the center of the room. The material is tattered with holes and stains. Right behind you is a hallway shrouded in complete darkness, and a doorway leads into a shadowed kitchen. The carpet underfoot has seen better days… This place is a shithole. Could it be another echo? You scoff. Just my luck… You turn slowly on your heels, then freeze solidly in place with widened eyes. You’re horrified to find the wall behind you tacked with page after page of newspaper clippings and articles. But it’s the subject of these articles that has your blood running cold—each tells a different story about The Ghost Face killer. Your breath catches in your throat. As you skim each page and shred of paper, a feeling of dread gradually creeps in. Every article details a gruesome murder committed by the masked killer… They’re all dated from the 90s… You pick out the latest article, one aptly headlined “Roseville Massacre.” You reach out and pluck the page off the wall. And it’s just then that your skin crawls something terrible, and you hear the floor creak behind you. “I wasn’t expecting company.” Your body freezes. A throaty chuckle follows the all too familiar voice. “You’ll have to forgive the mess.” It takes a minute, but you finally calm your nerves enough to react. You shake your head and scoff. "You narcissistic asshole..." As you turn around, you see Ghostface emerging slowly from the shadowed hallway. His arms cross his chest, but one hand grips his knife. He taps the blade against the face of his mask. “I’m the asshole?” he says with a touch of amusement. “And who just broke into whose house?” You crease your brows, and he chuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking… How the hell did you get here?” The mere sight of him makes you shiver. But you have to keep your cool… “A sith lord jumped me in the woods,” you answer. “Knocked me out, and I woke up here. At least, that’s what I think happened.” You scoff. “My head’s been too messed up lately to discern fiction from reality. For all I know, this could be a dream, too.” “Want me to pinch you?” Ghostface flirts. He smirks behind the mask. You can tell. You give him a stern look. “Whatever happened, I’m here. Wherever here is…” You cast your gaze quickly around the room, refusing to take your eyes off your company for too long. When you meet the face of his mask again, he nods slowly. “Well,” he says, taking some steps forward. “Since you’re here… Let’s talk.”   Continue     “Hey, Claude,” you greet your favorite botanist. She startles and spins around to face you, allowing her features to soften and relax. Hugging her basket in her arms, she shakily replies, “Oh-Oh, hello.” She touches a hand softly to her chest, then sighs. “You like to sneak up on me…” “Bad habit,” you say apologetically. “You going out?” Claudette nods. You smile. “I’ll join you. We did plan a date, right?” The color of her face darkens noticeably. Though she drops her gaze to her feet while sheepishly tucking a hanging loc behind her ear. “We did,” she says. When she faces you again, she offers a friendly smile and a nod. Then she turns away and walks off, peering back over her shoulder invitingly. You join her side and leave the camp together.   As the firelight fades behind you, the fog begins to roll in, and a shiver judders your spine. Claudette shuffles beside you, clutching her basket as if it’s a source of warmth. You nudge her with your elbow. “Want my jacket?” She meets your eyes just for a second and whiffles. “I—I’m fine,” she stammers over her trembling voice. Sure, sure, but it’s cold as hell, and if you’re feeling it, you know she is, too. You’re already removing your jacket. “I have thick skin,” you say, draping it over her shoulders. “The cold doesn’t bother me.” She stiffens, then relaxes with a small sigh. “Thank you,” she murmurs. She grasps the lapels of the jacket and draws it in around her torso while shrinking down inside. Then she falls silent, leaving you to clumsily transition to the next topic. “Have you been coming out here alone?” you ask her. Claudette hesitates audibly. “Yes… I’ve gone looking for you at… at your tent, but I can never find you.” You frown. “Ah… Well, I’ve been—” “I heard about what happened,” Claudette interrupts. She grunts apologetically when you look at her. You nudge her to continue. “I heard about what happened,” she repeats. “About the fi—” She stops herself, then sighs. “I-I know you don’t want anyone… reminding you. I’m sorry it happened. It’s so horrible.” She sags her shoulders and wrinkles her brows. “But it’s never happened before.” “So I’ve heard,” you mutter. Claudette frowns. “Are you doing okay?” “Okay enough.” For her sake, you manage a small smile. But she shakes her head. “It’s okay to not be okay… And it might even help to share that burden with others. To… To talk about it.” You maintain your forced smile. “I know, Claude. But you’re not a bunch of shrinks, and I’m sure no one wants to hear all my depressing babble.” “I’ll listen if you’re willing to share,” she reassures. She could have a point, a tiny voice inside your head says. Tell. You sigh. “Well, fire’s great,” you begin. “Until it’s burning you alive, that is… And it’s the sorta thing that sticks with you a while.” Claudette nods to indicate she’s following. You continue, “So you can imagine I’ve been having some pretty terrible nightmares after that… Worse than usual.” You could go into detail about your horrifying nightmares, but you’ll spare Claudette that. It’s not something you want to recall, and you’re sure it’s not something she wants to hear, despite her willingness to. “Let’s just say I haven’t been sleeping well,” you conclude. “Hard to get any sleep knowing what awaits me when I shut my eyes.” “You do look exhausted,” Claudette replies, frowning. “You can tell? How bad is it? Are we talking light baggage, or full-on ghoul?” Claudette makes a careful face. “Ah… ghoulish.” “Ouch.” “We might find something that could reduce your anxiety,” Claudette informs at your side. “Which-Which might help you get some sleep.” She pushes the bridge of her glasses up her nose and scans her surroundings. “Chamomile tea could do the trick,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. You watch her scamper away and comb the shrubbery. She snoops around bushes while you stop and observe. “Chamomile is…?” “A flower,” Claudette clarifies. “White petals with yellow disks… They’re a rare find out here, but it won’t hurt to look.” She tears the brush up determinedly. You join the search and look around some tall, dead trees. Claudette sighs harshly behind you. “They grow best in the sun. Digging some up would be a miracle.” “You don’t have to do all this for me, Claude,” you tell her. “It’s no biggie if I miss out on a few winks—” “You should be getting sleep,” Claudette interrupts. She looks back over her shoulder at you with a deeply flushed face and blinks apologetically. “Sorry.” After standing and swiping dirt off her knees, she touches her chin thoughtfully. “If we can’t find any chamomile, we can try lavender.” She scurries off with her basket in hand, and you following quickly in tow. When you catch up, you humorously say, “Claude, really. You don’t need to scour the woods for me—” “I think there’s a clearing nearby,” Claudette murmurs, not paying attention. “Or was it back the other way?” She shifts her eyes about the woods, then fishes a small notepad from her back pocket. She thumbs through a few pages. “Chamomile, clearing west of camp,” she reads off quietly. “Claude.” “Lavender, field by the creek…” She taps a pen against her cheek and shakes her head. “Checked there last time… Wilted.” “Claudie.” “Maybe there’s a—Oomph!” She hushes up and stumbles into you when you stop in front of her. You place a hand on her shoulder and give her a smile. “Claude, we’re not hunting chamomile.” “But—” “Nuh-uh. Hunt’s over, alright?” Claudette wrinkles her brow and reluctantly lowers her notepad. You carry on your smile and give her a friendly nudge. “You don’t have to go out of your way for me. If I’d known you were going to start a wild goose chase, I might’ve kept my night terrors secret. But I’ll be okay, Claude. A few sleepless nights never hurt anyone…” “There was actually a study conducted… in…” Claudette trails off and sheepishly hides her face behind a curtain of hanging locs. “There’s one last place we can look,” she says hopefully. She doesn’t wait for your reply before she moves past you. You have no choice but to let her lead the way.   After five minutes, you slow your roll behind Claudette as she stops at the edge of a clearing. You falter beside her and gawk at the sight laid before you. Gray, puffy clouds hang in the dark sky above and reflect off the surface of a small, shimmering pond centered in the clearing. Dew beads on the healthy grass, and mist blankets the surface of the water. Frogs’ croaking and bird songs fill the air. You take a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance of flowers and oak in the faint breeze. The serenity fills you with a calm you haven’t known in a while. Claudette speaks softly beside you. “We won’t find chamomile here, but… maybe you can get some rest.” She offers a bashful smile and creeps into the clearing. You follow her to the pond. “Has this place always been here?” you ask. “I-I found it a while ago,” Claudette replies. She sits on the bank of the pond and places her basket at her side. “I come here sometimes. Times when there’s nothing else to do, and-and when—” She stops herself and creases her brows. “When I want to be alone. I appreciate the quiet.” She reaches for a white lily floating on the surface of the water. “You can almost forget we’re living in a nightmare.” You sit with Claudette to your left and glance at your reflection on the surface of the water—it makes you double take, then scoff. She wasn’t kidding. Those bags under my eyes could float an anvil… You avert your gaze and notice a bright yellow flower to your right. You rip it out of the grass and pick clumps of dirt off the stem before turning to present it to Claudette. “Hey.” She turns her gaze and peeps the flower. Then she hums. “Taraxacum officinale,” she says. “Taraxawhat?” “It’s a dandelion,” Claudette clarifies. “A weed. We can’t use that.” “Oh. Yeah, I… I didn’t think so… I was actually, erm… gifting it to you.” You smile dumbly at her and push the flower — weed forward. “I don’t know, I saw it and thought it was pretty… Then thought it’d look prettier in your hair.” “In my…? You mean— Oh,” Claudette stammers. Her face darkens a deep shade. She tentatively touches your hand, then allows you to place the dandelion over her ear, tucking it securely beneath a bundle of fuzzy locs. It’s a pop of color that contrasts nicely to her dark skin. You smile. “My hypothesis was correct,” you say. Her small laugh makes your heart flutter. She shifts on her knees and gathers a bundle of pondweed and cattail from the water. You watch her carefully weave the plants together, interlocking the stems. You guess she’s crafting a crown. As she earnestly works, you ask, “Do you like being alone?” “I don’t like it, per se,” Claudette replies. “But I’m no good at the alternative.” Her eyes flicker towards yours and she quickly adds, “I do prefer the quiet, though.” You nod in understanding. Claudette murmurs in addition, “And I like your company.” “You do?” “Yes,” Claudette says. “It isn’t too overwhelming.” You snort. “But it is overwhelming?” She gives you a smile and makes a pinching motion with her fingers. “Just a little.” You chuckle as Claudette returns her attention to her project. “Some people are just too much for me. And a lot of them don’t understand. Sometimes I don’t understand, either.” She gingerly thumbs a white lily’s petal. “But nobody’s perfect.” You notice that she’s in her element. Relaxed and at peace, as if she belongs here. For once, she’s free of nervousness and fear. If there was ever a time to see the girl behind the timid shell, it’s here and now. “I don’t know about that, Claude,” you say after sucking your teeth. She turns her nose at you and tilts her head. You smile. “I think you’re pretty great.” You wish you could capture the look on her face—the way her cheeks radiate and the bright glow in her eyes. She reacts to the compliment as if she isn’t sure how to reply to it. For a moment, she stammers over her words, until getting out a partial thank you, and giving you the sweetest smile. You smile back at her, but your expression wilts when a faint, scratchy voice tickles the hair in your ears. Then the voice becomes many voices, and then a chorus of hellish, harsh screams and whispers. Your mind fades out and the world around you becomes a blur. Claudette's sweet smile disappears.  Despite your best efforts to keep the voices out, they grow in number and volume. You squeeze your eyes shut and ball your fists. Ignore them. Yet louder and louder the voices murmur… We see you. We’re watching you. We’re with you. Don’t listen. The cacophony is horrible and piercing… A jolt courses the length of your spine. It’s not real. None of it is. Even with your eyes closed, you notice the moonlight vanish.  Open your eyes. The light's still there. You hear another voice telling you not to. And another demands you look at it. To your left, a third voice screams, then cackles and croaks… Help us. Shut up. Something touches your forearm—a hand. It’s cold… sharp nails pierce your skin and draw blood— Don’t touch me. You feel the bony fingers pinch and tear, peeling back the flesh on your arm until— “If—If you want to get some sleep, I’ll watch over you." Claudette's soft-spoken words bring you back to reality. You open your eyes and meet her concerned gaze. The whispers fade away. Claudette peers at you with concern. “And I’ll wake you if I think you’re having a nightmare," she says quietly.  “I haven’t inconvenienced you enough already?” you reply after finding your voice. Claudette shakes her head quickly. “It’s fine! That’s why we came here,” she says, “so you can get some rest. I don’t mind.” She further insists by patting the grass beside her. There’s no sense arguing about it—you’re tired as hell and dying to get a good night’s sleep… And if this is how you get it, then you’re all for it. Drowsiness makes you weak the moment you plop down on the grass. Your limbs get heavy and a yawn shakes your frame. “Thanks, Claude,” you say as you cross your arms under your head. Claudette hums beside you, smiling as she weaves her flower crown. You return the smile and let your eyelids flutter shut. Then you’re out like a light…   ✱ ✱ ✱   —Watching you… Being watched… Wake up. Wake up! You jolt awake with a start. When you’ve gathered your bearings, you gaze up at the dark sky as your eyes adjust to the radiant moonlight. You sit up, blink, then pause. Claudette’s fast asleep on the ground beside you, her body curled up beneath the jacket you lent her. A flower crown—the one you watched her meticulously craft—rests on the grass at your side… For you? A smile softens your features. You take the crown and admire its intricacies before raising it and resting it on your head. But your smile’s gone when a terrible sensation crawls up your spine. You shudder as you scan the clearing nervously. You feel that pull again… Something’s here. You stand up and, though reluctant to, walk away. The fog chills your bones the moment you put the clearing behind you, and a shiver makes you falter. The source of that pull remains elusive as you scan your surroundings. That is, until you make out a dark figure in the distance. A person. Fear turns the blood in your veins to ice. You presume the figure to be another figment of your imagination at first, but then… it moves. And it runs away! You lose sight of the figure, but it takes the pull with it… Carried by your curiosity, you pursue the dark stranger.     Once you leave the clearing, your speed increases from a jog to a breakneck sprint in pursuit of the stranger. You know you shouldn’t run aimlessly through the fog, especially on your own, but whatever that is, whoever it is, is a lead. And you can’t let leads slip through your fingers. Come on, where the hell did you—? THWACK! Your chase comes to an abrupt halt as something strikes you on the back of the head. You cry out and stagger forward before falling to your knees. While you clutch your head and grit your teeth, you hear leaves crunch to your right, then watch a shadow fall over you. “Risky move, pursuing a stranger into the fog,” a gruff voice says. Through a haze, you watch a dark-robed figure step into view. A man, you think. He stops before you and inclines his shrouded head. “But then, your kind has always been so brave.” He spits the last word coldly. Your heart beats thunderously and you struggle to catch a breath. “Wh-What?” you gasp. “Who are—? Why did you— Gahh, my head…” You hold your pounding noggin and groan in pain. He doesn’t allow you a moment’s reprieve. He leans forward, grips your collar in his fists, and hauls you to your feet. You’re hardly upright before he throws you back against a tree and pins you there. “Ah!” you grunt. Your head spins like a top. You can’t make out the man’s face through the shroud of his cowl, but you can see two piercing, golden orbs in the dark. Those orbs slightly shift toward Poe on your shoulder, where the baby crow nestles against your neck, cooing and anxious. “Interesting,” the man utters. “You’re real,” you exhale in disbelief. “What gave it away?” His biting sarcasm makes you scoff. You reply, “I’ve seen you. In my dreams—” “And we’ve seen you.” “Who are you?” The robed man doesn’t answer. He turns his head to the side, looks around the dark woods as if on edge, and then faces you again. “The Host isn’t with you? Where’s it gone?” “The what?” Again, he doesn’t answer. You glimpse the man’s hands, barely visible beneath the sleeves of his robe. His skin is pallid and streaked with pulsing orange veins. You blink curiously at the sight before the man speaks again. “I could end it all right now, couldn’t I?” he murmurs, just above a whisper. You crease your brows. “End what?” The man leans in closer, and though you can’t make out his face, you can feel his unusually cold breath on your lips. “I could. I could end it all and put everything back in motion… I could reset it.” His obscurity makes your skin crawl. “What-What are you talking about?” He hums deeply, then suddenly releases his grip on you. As he takes a step back, you stagger forward and catch yourself. “No, no,” the man mutters as he backs away. “Too soon… I’ll give you a chance.” “A chance for what?” You can’t help the bite in your tone. “Stop talking in riddles! Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” You approach the man, and he backs up further. “Stay back,” he warns. “Just tell me something, please—” The rest of your plea goes unheard as the man throws a hand up, and an unseen force knocks you off your feet. When you hit the tree behind you, all you see is black.   ✱ ✱ ✱   Within the swirling darkness of your mind, you see a faint, pulsing blue light in the distance. And you hear a voice—a woman’s voice. Though you can’t clearly make out her words. Gradually, her voice becomes closer, but less clear. You desperately try to pick out meaning from her murmurings, but they fade altogether as your consciousness stirs…     You’re met with darkness when you come to. But the dark breaks away to a dim light as your eyes adjust. The source of which is a small square TV on top of a short dresser opposite you. The screen plays, but it’s only static and buzzing white noise. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you realize you’re in an apartment room… A grimy and humid apartment. Your body’s slumped back against a wall. How the hell did I get here? Your mind is a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Was that man you met in the woods actually real? You hoist yourself up with a grunt, then touch a hand to the back of your head. It doesn’t ache or bleed… But surely an attack like that would leave an injury? Ah… Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe you imagined it. Also worth noting, your flower crown’s missing—bummer. Poe startles you when he pecks at the lobe of your ear. You smooth the crow’s feathers and cast your eyes around the room. The air is thick and humid. Sweat already slicks the skin on your brow. When you turn to your left, you find a window on the wall, drawn shut with a tattered black curtain. A coffee table sits in front of the TV, and a grimy gray recliner rests before it in the center of the room. The material is tattered with holes and stains. Right behind you is a hallway shrouded in complete darkness, and a doorway leads into a shadowed kitchen. The carpet underfoot has seen better days… This place is a shithole. Could it be another echo? You scoff. Just my luck… You turn slowly on your heels, then freeze solidly in place with widened eyes. You’re horrified to find the wall behind you tacked with page after page of newspaper clippings and articles. But it’s the subject of these articles that has your blood running cold—each tells a different story about The Ghost Face killer. Your breath catches in your throat. As you skim each page and shred of paper, a feeling of dread gradually creeps in. Every article details a gruesome murder committed by the masked killer… They’re all dated from the 90s… You pick out the latest article, one aptly headlined “Roseville Massacre.” You reach out and pluck the page off the wall. And it’s just then that your skin crawls something terrible, and you hear the floor creak behind you. “I wasn’t expecting company.” Your body freezes. A throaty chuckle follows the all too familiar voice. “You’ll have to forgive the mess.” It takes a minute, but you finally calm your nerves enough to react. You shake your head and scoff. “You narcissistic asshole…” As you turn around, you see Ghostface emerging slowly from the shadowed hallway. His arms cross his chest, but one hand grips his knife. He taps the blade against the face of his mask. “I’m the asshole?” he says with a touch of amusement. “And who just broke into whose house?” You crease your brows, and he chuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking… How the hell did you get here?” The mere sight of him makes you shiver. But you have to keep your cool… “A sith lord jumped me in the woods,” you answer. “Knocked me out, and I woke up here. At least, that’s what I think happened.” You scoff. “My head’s been too messed up lately to discern fiction from reality. For all I know, this could be a dream, too.” “Want me to pinch you?” Ghostface flirts. He smirks behind the mask. You can tell. You give him a stern look. “Whatever happened, I’m here. Wherever here is…” You cast your gaze quickly around the room, refusing to take your eyes off your company for too long. When you meet the face of his mask again, he nods slowly. “Well,” he says, taking some steps forward. “Since you’re here… Let’s talk.”   Continue     With a lack of else to do, and an unwillingness to trek back to the cabin on your own, you decide to sit around. Who knows, maybe Felix or Elodie will show if you wait around long enough. You take a seat on the log by the fire, just opposite Kate. Claudette slips away from camp, leaving the two of you alone. For a moment, you stare at the ground and pick at your nails idly, then your gaze crosses over the flames to peer at your lone companion. She plucks the strings of her guitar tenderly, humming a wistful tune to the melody. It’s like a lullaby, and you lose your train of thought and fade into a stupor. Your eyelids flutter shut as you daydream of better days and better things. Nights spent in a warm bed at home… The twinkling stars in the sky above a world not so cruel… Candies and cookies, and good shows and movies… Time spent with good friends, forming close bonds— “I heard about what happened.” Kate’s soft words startle you back to reality. You open your eyes and meet her face across from you. She kicks her boot towards the bonfire. “When you… ya know. It’s god-awful. And I’m so sorry it happened to you.” “It was only an accident,” you reply. “I’m okay.” Kate hums. She drops her gaze to her instrument and murmurs, “You waitin’ for someone?” “Yeah… I was hoping to speak with Felix or Elodie whenever they come by.” “You just missed Ellie,” Kate says. “And I haven't seen Felix in a while. Might be broodin’ off like the rest of ‘em.” You frown. Well, there go my evening plans… Seeing as there’s no other reason to hang around, you stand up to go. But Kate makes you halt. “Sit and stay a while,” she invites with a warm smile. “Try to relax some. I know you need it. And don’t tell me you’re off to take a nap—I know better.” You pause before retaking your seat. “Okay, Sarge.” Kate chuckles. She flicks a string and kicks back. “Why have I gotta beg you to stick around, B.W? You hate us all that much?” “I don’t hate anyone,” you reply quickly. “I’m just… so…” You trail off and carefully consider your next words. “Shy,” you decide. “I’m shy.” “Shy?” Kate says with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes. “You? Same gal that pranced through camp in her drawers?” “That was a matter of very weird circumstance.” “Well, if you say so… You don’t have to tell me what’s keepin’ you. None of my business, after all…” She begins another tune on her guitar. Another dreamy melody to fill the quiet and chase off the horrors beyond the fog… While you watch her, you ask, “How long have you played?” A smile as warm as the fire lights Kate’s face. “For as long as I can remember,” she answers. “Soon as I could hold a guitar on my own, my fingers were dancin’ over those strings. And I’d sing like there was no tomorrow. Wore myself out doin’ it…” You smile at her. “You were a musician?” Kate nods. “I put on some shows and made a few fans here and there…” “As good as you are, I think you’re being too modest.” You make her laugh. She shakes her head and sighs. “Alright, maybe more than a few. But it wasn’t about all the attention. It was about… connecting. Creating something that would bring people together. And music does just that. You can have them laughing, dancing, and singing, without worry or hate… It makes for a good time.” You point to her guitar. “And that’s why you still…?” Kate nods. She dips her head and sighs. “Someone’s gotta, right? I’m doing what I love and helpin’ to lift the mood a smidge at the same time. It’s the little things, nowadays. That’s what counts—and it’s just enough.” A solemn expression appears on her face — her lips wilt and her brow wrinkles while her fingers freeze on the strings. “Those… those trials can bring out some pretty nasty sides of us. Of all of us. But we can be ourselves out here, away from all the blood and death, and-and… And we can still hope, right?” She lifts her head and searches your face for something—for confirmation or reassurance, maybe. You almost fold under her sad gaze. “Yeah,” you tell her. “I think so.” Kate flips a switch and wipes the frown off her face, replacing it with a managed smile. “If I didn’t have my guitar, I might’ve lost my mind already. You remember how mad I was when it went missin’? Nearabout lost it then and there.” The change in tone makes you hesitate before you reply. “I thought we were all in trouble if we didn’t find it.” Kate chuckles. “Long as I got something to hold on to, I can keep my sanity a bit longer.” She takes her fingers down the neck of the guitar before pleasantly offering, “Why don’t I teach you a song?” “A song…?” “One of my favorites,” Kate replies. She pats the spot beside her invitingly. How can you say no? You stand up and cross the camp to join Kate at her spot. After you take a seat, she stands up and moves behind you to hover over your shoulder. Then she hands over her guitar and helps you get situated. While resting a hand on the small of your back, she says, “You’ll want to straighten up a little. And cradle it like this—” She leans down over your shoulder and adjusts the guitar on your lap. “Just like that.” She nods in approval. “The rest is real easy,” she says encouragingly. The warmth of her breath on your cheek makes you flush. “Simple song made by a simple girl, way back when. Wrote it when I was just a tot.” She takes your hand and guides it up along the neck of the instrument. “Now, you’ll want to pluck these gently,” she says, while moving your fingers over the strings. Then she chuckles in your ear, and a shiver runs the length of your spine. “Lost my pick a while ago, so we’ll have t’ make do without it.” Kate leans forward, her chest to your back, and she hovers her hand over yours. Her other rests on your shoulder. “Now, when you strum these down here, you’ll just want to flick your wrist. Try to keep your elbow steady.”   You follow Kate’s instructions and strum the strings she directs you to. Soon, you’re strumming up a nice melody while Kate hums along behind you. It’s a moment of appreciated tranquility, ruined by the arrival of an ominous presence… A faint, scratchy voice tickles the hair in your ears and makes you shiver. Then the voice becomes many voices, and quickly, a chorus of hellish screams and harsh whispers join the melody you produce on the guitar. Your mind fades out and the world around you becomes a blur. The sensation of Kate’s warm hand on your shoulder vanishes, and you feel alone. Despite your best efforts to keep the voices out, they grow in number and volume. You squeeze your eyes shut and ball your fists. Ignore them. Yet louder and louder the voices murmur… We see you. We’re watching you. We’re with you. Don’t listen. The cacophony is horrible and piercing… A jolt courses the length of your spine. It’s not real. None of it is. Even with your eyes closed, you notice the warm glow of the fire vanishes. You’d think something had snuffed it out if you didn’t know any better… Open your eyes. The fire’s still there. You hear another voice telling you not to. And another demands you look at it. To your left, a third voice screams, then cackles and croaks… Help us. Shut up. Something touches your forearm—a hand. It’s cold… sharp nails pierce your skin and draw blood— Don’t touch me. You feel the bony fingers pinch and tear, peeling back the flesh on your arm until— “You still with me?” When you open your eyes, you meet Kate’s. She peers at you with concern, and her hand rests warmly on your forearm. You offer her the only smile you can muster. “I’m alright, Kate.” She hums, unsure. But she retakes her seat beside you and allows you to hand off the guitar. “You’re a natural at this,” she compliments. “You any good on your feet, too?” “We’ll have to find out.” Kate chuckles. She idly plucks a string on her guitar as she murmurs, “Noticed you lookin’ a bit worn,” she says. “I won’t keep you any longer. I figure you’re just dyin’ to go get some rest.” “Is it that obvious?” “I mistook you for a ghoul when you first strolled in.” You share a laugh with Kate before shrugging your shoulders. “Think I might stick around,” you tell her. “Growing partial to your company…” Kate’s eyes light up, and a sweet smile graces her lips. She gives your knee a pat. “You can lean on my shoulder and try to get some sleep, if you wanna.” Very tempting offer. And if you don’t get some shuteye soon, you might go comatose… With more insistence from Kate, you give in—after scooting closer and resting your head on her shoulder, you murmur, “Thanks.” Kate replies with a melodious hum as she goes back to stroking the strings on her guitar. The melody is so soothing, you find your consciousness ebbing and your eyes falling shut.     ✱ ✱ ✱   —Watching you… Being watched… Wake up. Wake up! You jolt awake with a start. When you’ve gathered your bearings, you gaze at a furious flaming ball in front of you, before your eyes adjust and you realize you’re staring at the bonfire. You blink, then pause. Kate’s fast asleep at your side, her head propped against your shoulder, and her arm wound intimately around yours. Her guitar rests on the ground in front of you. A smile softens your features, but it’s gone when a terrible sensation crawls up your spine. You shudder as you scan the clearing nervously. You feel that pull again… Something’s here. You gently nudge Kate off you and lay her out over the log to let her sleep. Then you walk away. The fog chills your bones the moment you put the campfire behind you, and a shiver makes you falter. The source of that pull remains elusive as you scan your surroundings. That is, until you make out a dark figure in the distance. A person. Fear turns the blood in your veins to ice. You presume the figure to be another figment of your imagination at first, but then… it moves. And it runs away! You lose sight of the figure, but it takes the pull with it… Carried by your curiosity, you pursue the dark stranger.     Once you leave the campsite, your speed increases from a jog to a breakneck sprint in pursuit of the stranger. You know you shouldn’t run aimlessly through the fog, especially on your own, but whatever that is, whoever it is, is a lead. And you can’t let leads slip through your fingers. Come on, where the hell did you—? THWACK! Your chase comes to an abrupt halt as something strikes you on the back of the head. You cry out and stagger forward before falling to your knees. While you clutch your head and grit your teeth, you hear leaves crunch to your right, then watch a shadow fall over you. “Risky move, pursuing a stranger into the fog,” a gruff voice says. Through a haze, you watch a dark-robed figure step into view. A man, you think. He stops before you and inclines his shrouded head. “But then, your kind has always been so brave.” He spits the last word coldly. Your heart beats thunderously and you struggle to catch a breath. “Wh-What?” you gasp. “Who are—? Why did you— Gahh, my head…” You hold your pounding noggin and groan in pain. He doesn’t allow you a moment’s reprieve. He leans forward, grips the lapels of your jacket in his fists, and hauls you to your feet. You’re hardly upright before he throws you back against a tree and pins you there. “Ah!” you grunt. Your head spins like a top. You can’t make out the man’s face through the shroud of his cowl, but you can see two piercing, golden orbs in the dark. Those orbs slightly shift toward Poe on your shoulder, where the baby crow nestles against your neck, cooing and anxious. “Interesting,” the man utters. “You’re real,” you exhale in disbelief. “What gave it away?” His biting sarcasm makes you scoff. You reply, “I’ve seen you. In my dreams—” “And we’ve seen you.” “Who are you?” The robed man doesn’t answer. He turns his head to the side, looks around the dark woods as if on edge, and then faces you again. “The Host isn’t with you? Where’s it gone?” “The what?” Again, he doesn’t answer. You glimpse the man’s hands, barely visible beneath the sleeves of his robe. His skin is pallid and streaked with pulsing orange veins. You blink curiously at the sight before the man speaks again. “I could end it all right now, couldn’t I?” he murmurs, just above a whisper. You crease your brows. “End what?” The man leans in closer, and though you can’t make out his face, you can feel his unusually cold breath on your lips. “I could. I could end it all and put everything back in motion… I could reset it.” His obscurity makes your skin crawl. “What-What are you talking about?” He hums deeply, then suddenly releases his hold on your jacket. As he takes a step back, you stagger forward and catch yourself. “No, no,” the man mutters as he backs away. “Too soon… I’ll give you a chance.” “A chance for what?” You can’t help the bite in your tone. “Stop talking in riddles! Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?” You approach the man, and he backs up further. “Stay back,” he warns. “Just tell me something, please—” The rest of your plea goes unheard as the man throws a hand up, and an unseen force knocks you off your feet. When you hit the tree behind you, all you see is black.   ✱ ✱ ✱   Within the swirling darkness of your mind, you see a faint, pulsing blue light in the distance. And you hear a voice—a woman’s voice. Though you can’t clearly make out her words. Gradually, her voice becomes closer, but less clear. You desperately try to pick out meaning from her murmurings, but they fade altogether as your consciousness stirs…     You’re met with darkness when you come to. But the dark breaks away to a dim light as your eyes adjust. The source of which is a small square TV on top of a short dresser opposite you. The screen plays, but it’s only static and buzzing white noise. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you realize you’re in an apartment room… A grimy and humid apartment. Your body’s slumped back against a wall. How the hell did I get here? Your mind is a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Was that man you met in the woods actually real? You hoist yourself up with a grunt, then touch a hand to the back of your head. It doesn’t ache or bleed… But surely an attack like that would leave an injury? Ah… Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe you imagined it. Poe startles you when he pecks at the lobe of your ear. You smooth the crow’s feathers and cast your eyes around the room. The air is thick and humid. Sweat already slicks the skin on your brow. When you turn to your left, you find a window on the wall, drawn shut with a tattered black curtain. A coffee table sits in front of the TV, and a grimy gray recliner rests before it in the center of the room. The material is tattered with holes and stains. Right behind you is a hallway shrouded in complete darkness, and a doorway leads into a shadowed kitchen. The carpet underfoot has seen better days… This place is a shithole. Could it be another echo? You scoff. Just my luck… You turn slowly on your heels, then freeze solidly in place with widened eyes. You’re horrified to find the wall behind you tacked with page after page of newspaper clippings and articles. But it’s the subject of these articles that has your blood running cold—each tells a different story about The Ghost Face killer. Your breath catches in your throat. As you skim each page and shred of paper, a feeling of dread gradually creeps in. Every article details a gruesome murder committed by the masked killer… They’re all dated from the 90s… You pick out the latest article, one aptly headlined “Roseville Massacre.” You reach out and pluck the page off the wall. And it’s just then that your skin crawls something terrible, and you hear the floor creak behind you. “I wasn’t expecting company.” Your body freezes. A throaty chuckle follows the all too familiar voice. “You’ll have to forgive the mess.” It takes a minute, but you finally calm your nerves enough to react. You shake your head and scoff. “You narcissistic asshole…” As you turn around, you see Ghostface emerging slowly from the shadowed hallway. His arms cross his chest, but one hand grips his knife. He taps the blade against the face of his mask. “I’m the asshole?” he says with a touch of amusement. “And who just broke into whose house?” You crease your brows, and he chuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking… How the hell did you get here?” The mere sight of him makes you shiver. But you have to keep your cool… “A sith lord jumped me in the woods,” you answer. “Knocked me out, and I woke up here. At least, that’s what I think happened.” You scoff. “My head’s been too messed up lately to discern fiction from reality. For all I know, this could be a dream, too.” “Want me to pinch you?” Ghostface flirts. He smirks behind the mask. You can tell. You give him a stern look. “Whatever happened, I’m here. Wherever here is…” You cast your gaze quickly around the room, refusing to take your eyes off your company for too long. When you meet the face of his mask again, he nods slowly. “Well,” he says, taking some steps forward. “Since you’re here… Let’s talk.”   Continue     Ghostface advances slowly, pushing your cool demeanor to the limit. You step backwards. He stops. “You have anything for me?” The question lingers in the air while you give him a dumb look. He taps his foot and you scratch your neck. Then he chuckles, amused. “The photo,” he clarifies. Oh. “I burned it at the campfire,” you submit, keeping your voice steady. “Like you said to.” “So that’s what brought you way out here,” Ghostface replies slowly. “You want to make us official.” You don’t like the way the word rolls off his tongue, or the warm chuckle that immediately follows. Ghostface tilts his head, smirking behind the mask. “I didn’t expect you to go through with it.” Neither did I. “What is this place?” you question him. “This isn’t a trial. And that’s what the offerings are for, right? The trials.” “You don’t say?” Your mean look makes him laugh. A sigh escapes his lips, then finally, to your relief, he sheathes his knife. “This is an old… hideout. Won’t call it home. It was just another part of the ruse… I bounced from one place to another—” “I don’t want your life story, asshole,” you sharply interrupt. “Do you know how I got here?” Your gall surprises him as much as it does you. You can only guess the look on his face behind the frightened mask. His subsequent silence leaves you sweating. Or maybe it’s just the humidity. You pluck your damp clothes from your skin and fidget your feet nervously as if you’re standing on hot coals. As soon as your eyes can no longer bear to hold that pale, wailing gaze, you cast them to the floor, where they remain for a solid minute before Ghostface sighs. He heaves his shoulders and refocuses your gaze on his mask. “Your guess is as good as mine. But you twist the rules everywhere you go…” “What happens now?” you ask. “I think that’s up to you.” You scoff. You thought you’d already made your choice, but now it’s back like a dark cloud… Is this a second chance? An opportunity to reverse a terrible decision? It may be tempting, but… you made that choice for a reason. And that reasoning still stands, no matter how much you hate to accept it. Ghostface silently awaits your answer. You glance away from him, then around the room. The wall of trophies catches your attention again. It sours your expression. “Each one of these is a dirty deed…” You pluck a few tattered pages from the wall, then skim the articles and scoff. “The Ghost Face Strikes Again,” you read off with a bitter undertone. “Florida Family Slaughtered In Their home… Elderly Man Slain On Main Street. Young Couple Discovered Dead Early Morning…” You crush the papers in your fist and throw them at him. “You’re sick,” you venomously insult. The masked man doesn’t even flinch as his deeds rain down upon him. “And what does that make you?” he asks, slowly inclining his head. “Running to a killer for help… That’s not something someone with a clean slate would do…” “You think I want to do this? That I want to be buddy-buddy with a killer?” you retort. “I want nothing to do with you. But there are bigger, more fucked-up fish out there. And if I’m going to figure this out, I need all the help I can get.” With a shake of your head, you add, “If we do this, I’d just be using you. We won’t be friends, acquaintances, or even partners. You’d be a tool.” Ghostface chuckles. “Whatever makes it easier to swallow…” You glare at him and turn away. Approaching the window, you pull back the curtain and peer outside. Dark and almost pitch black, save for the flickering light from a streetlamp across the street. The block looks rundown and abandoned. Tall buildings appear uninviting and dangerous, windows covered and boarded up. Sidewalks and alleys are littered with trash, and some cars sit undisturbed on the pavement. Looking further out towards the end of the street, you see a dense barrier of dark fog that conceals what lies beyond. You scoff. That must be where the illusion ends… But it’s as reminiscent of the real world as it’s going to get. Backing away, you let the curtain fall back into place. “What happens when you get out? Are you going to keep killing?” “Oh, not at all,” Ghostface replies sarcastically. “I’ll go straight. Put down the blade and cowl, maybe even settle down and craft a cushy life—” “Why the hell should I help you?” you cut him off. You turn to face him. “I’m guaranteed to let loose a killer.” Ghostface laughs, startling you. He approaches slowly, making you back away. “Nothing’s guaranteed yet,” he says. “If you had it all figured out, you wouldn’t have come running to me, babe.” “Don’t call me that.” He comes closer and backs you into the wall. You step to the left, but he leans forward and throws out an arm to prop beside your head, caging you in place. Your voice catches in your throat. His mask is inches away from your face. When he speaks, you can smell his breath—smoky, with a trace of tobacco. “You need me because I’m dangerous,” he says. “You need a killer.” “I don’t—” “Don’t kid yourself,” he interrupts. As he leans in closer, you’re glad he’s wearing a mask. “You can’t be the hero on your own… You can’t make all the tough decisions, or carry all that weight on your shoulders… That’s why you came running.” You don’t have any snarky replies or mean retorts. Because he’s right. You hate to admit it, but he’s right. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll let you leash me,” he adds. “We’re partners if we do this. I won’t be your little pawn.” “You’re already a pawn,” you bite back after finding your voice. “You’ll just be under new management.” Silence fills the void and makes you sweat. You’re getting too bold and forgetting yourself—this is a killer you’re smack-talking, after all… You nervously await Ghostface’s response. And it comes as a chuckle, then a prodding finger to your forehead. He says, “You’re cute.” Finally, he drops his arm and steps back. “Are we doing this?” And he extends a leather-clad hand. His costume’s ribbons drift over his shoulders like eager spectators. Or snakes poised to strike. You feel a lump in your throat. No, an inner voice tells you. You don’t want this. But you need it. You stare at his hand, conflicted. Sweat beads on your forehead and drips down your face. The clothes clinging to your damp skin suffocate you. Give the man an answer. You clench your jaw until your teeth hurt. Your body fights the part of you that wants to say no—the part that wants to turn away and get out. But your mind’s made up, and your mortal shell doesn’t have the final say. You take Ghostface’s hand and try not to think about how many lives he’s taken with it. Regret rolls in immediately when he chuckles at you. Then he gives your hand a shake, with a firmer grip than you’d like. “Smart choice.” Your mouth’s too dry to speak. Ghostface withdraws his hand and offers a name. “Danny.” A name, but no face—he keeps his mask on. “I don’t care,” you reply when you find your voice. “And you’re not getting my name.” “Then I’ll call you Spunky.” He pats you on the head. You smack his hand away and watch him cross the room with a chuckle. “What made you change your mind and come crawling back to me?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder. You glare at him, unwilling to answer. Though, it might be best to avoid a bitter start to your new alliance… “My other partner tried to kill me,” you concede. As you recall Bastion’s brutal attack, you shudder. “Which put a few things in perspective…” “And where’s the eldritch bastard now?” What comes as a startling surprise is when the shadow on the wall behind Danny morphs and takes a taller, bodied form, looming dangerously behind him. A wicked grin spreads across Bastion’s face. His arrival makes you jump, and you have about a hundred questions for him following his leave of absence. But more pressing matters put those out of mind. Bastion goes unnoticed by Danny until he lays a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “A pleasure seeing you again under… better circumstances,” he says. He drums his fingers on Danny’s shoulder. If Danny’s surprised, he hides it well. He barely flinches at the sudden contact. He only turns his masked face up at the shade. “Wasn’t an invitation,” he says, swiping the hand off his shoulder. Bastion’s grin twitches. You sweat. You vaguely recall Bastion’s bitterness toward the ghostly man… Particularly, how furious he was when he got one up on him. And surely, he’s been vying for some payback. Payback, which would really put a damper on your newfound alliance… “Bastion,” you say in warning. “Bastion?” Danny repeats. He looks from you to him. “I was expecting something more like Bruiser, or Beast. You know, something more fitting for a dog.” Sweat dribbles down your cheek. Seems Danny’s held a grudge, too. You glance nervously at Bastion, and you can see the visible restraint he exhibits. His claws twitch and flex behind him, as if raring to seize and tear something apart. Danny cuts short your next warning. “Wait, the guy attacked you, and you’re still hitched?” He chuckles. “Oh, the bar is low…” “He didn’t mean to do it,” you say in Bastion’s defense. “He couldn’t control himself—” “So the bastard’s got rabies?” Bastion’s grin becomes a sneer. His straight posture wavers as he folds his arms firmly behind his back, perhaps as a means of self-control. “He’s good,” you say, giving Danny a hard look. You can’t tell if it’s enough to convince him, what with the mask and all, but he lets it slide. He faces Bastion. “Hey, no hard feelings about last time, right, Banshee?” he says with a mocking drawl. He extends his arms like he wants a hug. Bastion forces his mean sneer into a grin. “None.” Danny’s arms remain empty. He eventually drops them and spins to face you. “I want to know everything you do.” You scoff. “Where to start?” Danny kicks back in his gross recliner and comically folds one leg over the other. Bastion scoffs at him before creeping away. While he disappears down the shadowed hall, you struggle to gather your thoughts. “So… I’m special,” you begin awkwardly, like a kid giving a presentation. “At-At least, that’s what I’ve been told… I see and find things here that no one else can. Echoes and marks. I’m drawn to them—” “Slow down, babe,” Danny interrupts. You give him a sharp look, then continue. “Echoes are copies of things in the fog. And marks are items that were touched by the others that came before me—other people just like me, I guess.” “And where are those people now?” “They’re… They’re gone, I think. Gone for good. I don’t know where, or why, yet, but all of them, the campers and killers, gone. We must be a new batch.” Danny nods, encouraging you to continue. “When I find these marks or echoes, sometimes I see… visions. Memories from the people that touched them before. And sometimes those memories lead me to other clues—” “So this is all one big scavenger hunt?” Danny interrupts, not sounding impressed. “That’s one word for it,” you sigh. “Can you quit interrupting me?” Danny chuckles. You shake your head. “The gig also comes with a few bonuses, if you can call them that… When people touch me, I might see their memories, too.” “The Wanderer has a deep connection to the fog, and everything within,” Bastion interjects behind you, startlingly. You glance back and find him looming over your shoulder. After clearing your throat, you face Danny again and finish, “That pretty much covers everything I know so far.” The room becomes silent. As Danny leans forward in his chair, he clasps his hands in his lap and nods slowly. When he’s done processing what you’ve told him, he flicks his chin toward Bastion. “And what’s your deal, Butch?” Bastion sneers at him. “Don’t address me.” “Who pissed in your cereal?” “Bastion used to be like us,” you say. “And now he’s… like you.” Danny’s mask faces you. “Like me?” “A killer. Or, he was… He doesn’t kill campers anymore… Just everything else.” “Right,” Danny utters. “Last question”—He chuckles and looks Bastion up and down, then he faces you—“Do you fuck this thing? Be honest.” “Do I what?” “Hey, it’s not my place to judge,” Danny laughingly replies at your expense. He throws a gesture toward Bastion and adds, “I’m just looking at him and thinking — he’s tall, right? But he’s missing all the best parts, so what I really mean to ask is, HOW do you fuck this thing?” His teasing tone of voice rubs you the wrong way. When you glare at him, he just stares back silently, as if waiting for a genuine response. Bastion surprises you by actually humoring the question. “We haven’t had the pleasure… yet,” he says amusingly behind you, while resting a hand on your shoulder. His grinning gaze meets your hard stare as you look up at him. He chuckles and sighs. “Though it might not be in the cards.” He pulls away from you. New alliance is turning out to be a double whammy. “Moving on,” you say. “We need to lay down some ground rules, then discuss what comes next.” “I don’t do rules,” Danny asserts. Bastion appears behind him and leans down over the back of his chair. “You do now.” “Don’t touch me, ever,” you start off. “If you do, you’re losing a hand.” “I’ll see to that,” Bastion grinningly tacks on. “Second rule: I don’t want you killing the others anymore.” Danny’s chuckle surprises you. “Oh, that one’s not doable.” You wrinkle your brows. “And why not?” “You haven’t wondered why I have so much free rein?” Danny replies. “The big guy lets me do whatever I want because I meet his quota.” He stands up and leaves the ratty recliner to slowly approach you. “If I don’t, then the leash gets tighter.” He makes a looping motion with his hands, then balls his fists and tightens them as if tying a noose. Leather squeaks. “And it’ll get tighter and tighter until I lose my head.” He stops in front of you, just a foot away. Bastion watches him like a hawk. “I get it might make you a little misty-eyed, but I’m doing what I have to.” “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” you sharply reply. Danny chuckles. “Be lying if I said I didn’t.” It leaves you with a mean look on your face and an urge to call it all off. But you’ve come this far and can’t turn back now… “Final rule,” you say bitterly. “You do whatever I say. I’m the ringleader, you’re the clown.” Danny doesn’t like that one. He sighs behind the mask. A man like this, used to doing whatever he pleases, with no regard for the rules or law… But, much like you, he must realize this pact calls for surrender—whether that be the surrender of certain cherished ideals, or the surrender of personal freedoms. Both of you are compromising to make this work. Only time will tell who handles their sacrifice better… Danny gives you a nod to show his understanding. You return the gesture and a small weight comes off your shoulders. Not the whole burden, but enough to move on. You walk past him toward the door. “We shouldn’t waste any time. While I’ve got you, I can use you… Let’s go dig something up.” “Straight to business,” Danny says as he ghosts beside you. He chuckles. “That’s promising.” You unlatch the locks and step out. It’s dark, just dimly lit by a flickering light on the ceiling above you. Darkness encases both ends of the hall. Danny takes the lead and heads to the left. You follow him and hear Bastion comment behind you, “I’ll be glad to get away from this mess you wallow in. You live like an animal, Danny.” “And you smell like one, Brucie,” Danny fires back. He peers back over his shoulder to gauge Bastion’s response. Bastion growls. Danny laughs. You sigh. Double whammy.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You thought leaving Danny’s grimy apartment behind and having a breath of fresh air would ease some of your anxiety. But it rains upon you all the same as you trek the fog with the ghostly killer. A tightness coils around your still fast-beating heart, and it shows no signs of slowing down… You lead the expedition through the dark woods with Danny trailing behind you. Having a killer at your back makes you nervous. But that’s somewhat mitigated by Bastion’s presence at your side. There have been no words exchanged since you left Danny’s realm. Your spine tingles with dread. You roll your shoulders and glance at Bastion, heaving a sigh. “Where have you been?” you ask. Bastion slants his head. “Following recent events, I thought you’d appreciate some time apart.” “A little heads-up would’ve been nice,” you reply. “Your disappearing acts are getting old, Bastion.” He hums and tightens his arms behind his back. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You nudge him with your elbow. “You good?” “Eager to get back to work,” he replies, snaking his lips into a grin. “Salvation won’t find itself…” “Glad to hear it.” Hands crammed into pockets, you glance about the fog warily. After a pause, you say, “While you were on vacation, I ran into someone out here.” Bastion tilts his head. You continue, “Some guy in a dark robe. He rambled on about resetting something, and… and something called a host? Then the prick knocked me out. That’s how I wound up at Danny’s place…” He falls silent. You notice he avoids your gaze when you look up at him. He’s doing that thing he does… the suspect silence, like he knows something but won’t say it. You furrow your brow, and he audibly hesitates. “I’ve said it before, Wanderer… There are others out there in the fog.” You frown at him, knowing he won’t tell you more. Disappointed, but not surprised. You figure that’s the end of the discussion. But Bastion asks, “Did he harm you?” “Well, he force pushed me into a tree, but… I don’t think so.” You touch the back of your head and murmur, “Honestly, I might’ve imagined the whole thing.” Bastion grunts. “I can’t take my eyes off you for a second before something crawls out of the woodwork.” “When we struck that deal, you became a full-time babysitter. You knew what you were signing up for, right?” “Indeed,” Bastion chuckles. “I’ll be more vigilant, Wanderer.” You give a nod, then startle when Danny suddenly appears on your right. The furtive killer’s close-proximity derives the meanest look Bastion’s lacking features can muster. Then your companion falls behind and leaves you beside your unwanted company. As you expect, your heart thunders in your chest, sending tremors up and down your spine. You inhale, exhale, and do your best to keep your cool. But your efforts aren’t enough to mask your fear. Danny chuckles beside you. “Am I making you nervous?” Though you don’t give him the satisfaction of your honest reply, he notices the sweat on your brow and the trembling in your hands, and he laughs again. “You should be… ‘Cause I might just stick ya a couple times.” He does a fast jabbing motion with his knife, making you jump away. He laughs at your fear-ridden face, then sighs, amused. “I’m just fucking with you.” As he tucks his knife under his robes, you scowl at him. “Get this through your head; we’re not friends. And we’re never going to be friends, because you’re just a means to an end.” “Are you trying to intimidate me? Now that’s adorable.” Danny leans into your personal bubble. “I’m shaking in my boots.” You push the man away and give him a mean look. But the action only stokes his fire, clear in the way his laugh escalates. “I knew there was something I liked about you,” he flirts. “Real shame we never got a chance to play in a trial… Your mutt got in the way.” You throw a cautious glance back over your shoulder at Bastion. Danny turns to face your companion, too. “Hey, Beanie,” he says. “Why did the boss promote you?” Bastion doesn’t answer him. Danny persists, however. “I’ve seen some shit here in the playing field, but didn’t know you could just switch teams like that…” “It wasn’t by choice,” Bastion bitterly replies. Maybe he hopes his answer will shut Danny up, but the costumed man isn’t finished yet. “Ah… So,” he continues. “Did you like it?” Bastion falls silent. Danny goads him. “You must have, right? Because what’s not to like? Get your hands as dirty as you want, with no worry or fear of getting caught or shut down… Mess around a bit, have all your fun… And all without a care in the goddamn world. It’s like heaven, isn’t it?” “Danny,” you say in warning. He ignores you. “Who were you before all this?” Danny asks Bastion. “Why did the big guy choose you?” It’s impossible to tell whether he’s asking a genuine question, or just doing his damndest to push Bastion’s buttons. Either way, you can see steam coming out his ears, so to speak. His past is a touchy subject, you know that. And to have Danny poking his nose into it must be his final straw. Bastion sneers at the masked man. “You presume I did something deserving of my bondage? Even that I enjoyed it?” “I think you still do,” Danny replies. “Would you be playing fetch with Spunky here if you didn’t?” “We’re playing the same game, Danny,” Bastion growls. “In it for the same prizes.” “If that’s what gets you to sleep at night,” Danny says, wryly chuckling. “But I think you’ve gotten comfortable on your leash. And like a good dog would, you follow any lead clipped to your collar.” Correction: That was Bastion’s final straw. Bastion snatches the ballsy man right off his feet, showing the unbridled rage usually concealed behind his poise. He grips his collar tight in his fists, draws him in and snarls in the face of his mask. “What will it take to shut you up?!” “Bastion, no!” you scold as you stumble to an immediate stop. “Put him down!” He ignores you. His spidery claws go berserk behind him, twitching and cracking like whips. Sure, watching Danny fall victim to them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but you can’t imagine it’ll be good for your newly formed partnership… Danny laughs in the face of danger. He’s either insane or thinks you have more control over Bastion than you actually do. But with as unpredictable as your shady partner’s been lately, he should be as nervous as you are. “Bastion,” you warn. He snaps his head toward you, and you’re glad for his lack of facial features—you’re sure if he had them, the look on his face would kill. And though he spares you, he turns back to his quarry. “You haven’t seen all of my teeth yet. But I can give you a closer look.” “I think I like the sound of that,” Danny spurs. He hangs there like a limp noodle, unmoved by the threats. Bastion obliges; his snarling lips peel back as his toothy mug splits apart. A nasty snap makes you nauseous, and you watch with wide eyes as a cluster of writhing, barbed black tentacles emerges from his maw. The all-too familiar sight sends a spike of fear through your chest and has your heart racing. In your panic, you scramble for your lighter. But when you grasp it in your fist, a moment of clarity makes you pause and rethink your next move. Don’t freak out. Fire bad. Then your sights land on a pretty hefty rock. You take the rock in hand and chuck it right at Bastion’s head. It hits his skull with a hollow-sounding thud, successfully stealing his attention and sparing Danny his wrath. His tendrils snap back into his maw and he clamps his jaws shut. Though still gripping Danny’s collar in his fists and suspending the man off the ground, he turns to you irately. “I didn’t want to go all David and Goliath on you, but you’re way out of line,” you say with a harsh sigh. “Drop him, Bastion.” Bastion sneers at you before reluctantly loosening his grip and dropping Danny. You scold him, “I don’t like this any more than you do, but what’s done is done. He’s on our team now, and you don’t get a say in it.” You can’t hide the frustration in your voice, because you’re tired and angry, and just so… argh! You don’t want to be out here as it is, and it’s made worse when you have to babysit these two and keep them from going at each other’s throats! Bastion releases a hissing sigh, and he straightens up his posture. “I understand, Wanderer,” he acknowledges. When his twitching claws don’t resume the same poise, he retracts them into his back. Crisis averted… Or so you thought. “Look at that,” Danny comments snidely. “He even heels on command.” You gawk at Danny. Because no amount of words can express how deeply you want to throttle him and demand, “What the hell is WRONG with you?” How does he possess such a god complex? Where did he get this god complex? And furthermore, why does he believe it acts as a safe bubble? You can only watch with bated breath as Bastion’s collection shatters into a million pieces. You brace for all hell to break loose, and the possibility of a bloodbath, but it’s not Danny who becomes the immediate target of Bastion’s retaliation—it’s you. Bastion gives you the most unsettling grin he’s ever formed. Sharp and toothy, and just enough to send a shiver jolting up your spine. You almost buckle under his gaze. “I just had an idea,” he says. “Our new friend is here to prove himself. And you brought him into our little circle because you thought we could use him. So perhaps this venture can serve as his trial run.” You don’t like where he’s going with this. “Bastion,” you say uneasily. He chuckles at you. When you blink, he’s gone, then he’s looming behind you. He leans down and rests his hands on your shoulders. He squeezes hard enough to make you uncomfortable. “Aw, have some faith in our new ally, Wanderer. After all, he’s only here because my help alone didn’t suffice. Surely he’ll more than make up for that.” “Bastion, don’t—” He cuts you off when he gives you a push forward, sending you stumbling right into Danny. As you both crash to the ground, you land on top of him with an oof. He chuckles and rests his hands on your hips. You plant your hand on his mask and shove him away before picking yourself up and spinning to face Bastion. “Don’t you dare!” He lets out a hearty laugh and crosses his arms behind his back. “She’s a handful, Danny. And from one mutt to another… Good luck.” Then he’s gone before you can get another word out. “Bastion!” If he hears your call, he ignores it. Hm. You almost forgot how frustrating he can be… You growl and kick a rock. “Fine!” you snap. “Be that way!” “You two ever consider couples’ counseling?” Danny says behind you. You shoot him a dirty look, and he laughs as he picks himself up. “That was too easy,” he says while dusting off his knees. “Now it’s just you and me…” You scoff at him before turning around and marching away. “Maybe you haven’t figured it out yet, but there’s shit out here that’s gunning for me. And without Bastion, I might be as good as dead.” Danny comes up on your left. “Hey, like Benny said—have a little faith in me. You came running to my side for a reason…” Danny returns your glare with a snide chuckle, then throws an arm over your shoulders, startling you. He brings you in close, saying, “I’ve got your back.” When you break away from him, you straighten up and mutter, “You’ve already broken rule number one.” “Then it’s a good thing I spooked off your pal,” Danny retorts. He wiggles his fingers. “Still got both my hands.” “Shut up.” ✱ ✱ ✱   It’s been just around twenty minutes since Bastion’s departure, and your heart hasn’t slowed down since. Being alone with The Ghost Face, you’re more tense than before. You still fear he’ll turn on you and stab you in the back. It’s in his blood, isn’t it? Like Bastion, maybe he won’t be able to resist… God, what were you thinking agreeing to any of this? It’s insane. Joining forces with a killer who hunts your friends around the campfire? And one who gets a kick out of it, no less. Partnering with Bastion was one thing, but this is another. If the others could see this, they’d think you’ve gone mad… Hell, maybe you have. All you hope is that you don’t find anything, so you can call it quits and get away from him. The sooner, the better. Thankfully, it seems Danny’s run out of stupid shit to say. He went quiet over ten minutes ago when you stopped responding to his obscure horror movie references and taunting jabs. He stalks silently alongside you now. But every so often, you notice the face of his mask shift slightly your way. The furtive glances make you nervous. And judging by his occasional chuckle, he’s getting the reaction he wants. Asshole. The only solace you have comes from Poe, who rests close on your shoulder. He’s as wary of Danny’s company as you are—he hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second, and the way he trembles is clue enough. You do what you can to soothe the baby crow, stroking up and down his wing. Cooing, he nestles in the crook of your neck. “It’s okay,” you assure him. Or are you assuring yourself? You glance at your surroundings as you walk. It’s the same old, same old—the woods never change. Just the same tall, dead trees, and wispy dark fog to cloud your path. It seems like you could walk for hours without finding anything. At what point do you throw in the towel and bid adieu to Danny? Your legs feel more and more like lead with each passing tree… “Thought this would be more exciting.” Aaand he’s talking again. You side-eye Danny. “You don’t want excitement, trust me…” “I’m sure you have stories to tell.” “I do,” you reply. “Just not for you.” He lays his hands over his chest. “Now you’re hurting my feelings.” “I wish.” “Oh, you’re a keeper,” Danny says with a laugh. “Might have to steal you from Bandit…” “We’re not an item,” you assert. “Then this will be easier than I thought,” he flirts in reply. Take off the mask. Take off the mask so I can punch you in the eye. Poe coos on your shoulder. You shush him. “I’m surprised you haven’t stoned this thing and cooked it up,” Danny comments as he regards the crow. “I thought it was rough around that campfire…” “We’re not a bunch of savages. And we’re not starving, either.” “Right, right…” Danny falls silent. You hope it’ll stay that way, but Poe makes a fuss on your shoulder. He clicks his beak and pecks at your ear. “Poe, quiet,” you gently scold him. Like a child throwing a fit, he stamps his little feet and nips the back of your neck. You only get him to relax when you take him into your hands. “He’s smarter than he looks, Danny. And I don’t think he likes you.” You scoff and mutter, “Which makes two of us…” You expect some stupid retort or feigned offense, but you’re surprised when Danny says nothing. When you look at him, his mask stares back, his head slightly nodding as though he’s speaking. You purse your lips in confusion until you realize you can’t hear him. Adding to your confusion, the rest of the ambience around you fades out and becomes muted. A faint ringing in your ears grows in volume, making you wince. Danny’s still speaking beside you, but you can’t make any of it out. Poe fluffs up in your hands and points his open beak ahead, gesturing like a compass. The invasive noise becomes more intense as you push forward through the denser-growing fog. A ghostly, cold sensation ahead beckons you. Just turn back, your internal dialogue nags. You don’t have to follow it. A whisper to your right makes the hair on your arms stand up. You change course slightly and continue forward. Danny follows. Finally, as the white noise fades and the fog dissipates, you come to a halt. Danny catches your shoulder and startles you. “Hey, Spunky. You still in la-la land?” He snaps his fingers in your face. You push him away. “Look, asshole,” you respond. You whip your chin ahead. Danny shifts his mask to follow your gaze. Both of you scoff. Because you don’t know what you expected to find, but it wasn’t this. A gloom hangs overhead, shadowing a slum town before you. The moon’s an insignificant silver orb in the sky, impeded by the dark clouds that threaten to unleash a storm. There’s a chill in the air, and an icy breeze whips past the poor hovels lining the street. Boarded up and unwelcoming, with shutters drawn shut and wooden planks barricading their doors. A stone arch above the road precedes your entrance. Short stone-bricked walls border the path on both sides and wheel tracks run through the mud in and out of town. The area’s surrounded by dense woods and barren fields of tall, dead grass. Looking back over your shoulder, you find a black fog barrier separating this realm from the rest. You move ahead and stop beneath the arch with Danny at your side. He whiffs behind the mask. “Ripe.” Yup. Manure and other unpleasant scents fill the air. You gaze upon the town with curiosity. This place isn’t modern; it’s poor and archaic, with not a slab of concrete or pavement in sight, nor metal vehicles. Just abandoned wagons and carts… A roaring thunderclap overhead makes you jump. After shaking off the jitters, you face Danny. “You remember what I said about being drawn to things?” Well, something drew me here.” “Thought you were shitting me,” Danny utters. “I wasn’t.” You scoff. “Was hoping to get away from you, but it looks like the plan’s changed.” Poe’s finally settled down. You place him on your shoulder and turn your eyes up to the gray sky. A raindrop splashes on your cheek. You grunt. “Let’s find our mark before the downpour…” “I’d hate to get my robes wet,” Danny replies in agreement.   The town is static as you trek the streets. Air whistles past, carrying a raunchy smell, and stirring the shutters on the windows. You jump now and then when you hear one beating against the wall of a cottage. Danny doesn’t so much as flinch beside you. He’s even kept quiet. A surprise, though you can’t call it a welcome one. You’d actually be glad to hear the asshole say something, just to break the eerie silence… You’re careful to avoid piles of muck on the road. Danny shifts his mask toward you. “Do all your trips bring you to Transylvania?” he asks with a touch of amusement. “Not sure I’m prepped to fight vampires…” “This would be a first…” you murmur. “And it’s an echo,” you additionally point out. “You can tell because it’s fading.” You nod your head toward a small hut passing on your left. The roof deteriorates and emits tendrils of wispy black smoke. Danny turns his mask to it and inclines his head. “And what does that mean to us?” “It means we need to hurry,” you reply.   As you continue along, you get deeper and deeper into town. You pass an overturned cart of hay bales and wooden crates. The path bends to the left, crosses a trodden stone bridge over a running creek, and takes you down a road bordered with crumbling cottages. You’re getting warmer… The pull is more intense. You’re close, you can feel it. As you’re passing an abandoned wagon, you catch movement from the corner of your eye and falter. Danny elbows you and directs your gaze to a shack on your right. You almost miss it at first—but you spot the shadowed face of a man peering at you through a window. He’s pale and disheveled. As soon as you lock eyes with him, he pulls away and the shutters slam. Your blood runs cold. “We’re not alone,” Danny murmurs beside you. You scoff. “I can see that…” If the town’s an echo, then the people must be, too. You know from past experience that these echoes aren’t always so kind… How many might there be? Are you being watched? Danny nudges you and keeps walking. You quicken your pace beside him, eager to find the mark and get out. “We’re close,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It’s here somewhere. As soon as we find it, let’s get the hell out of Dodge.” “What’s the rush? This just got more exciting…” “The last one of these pricks I ran into tried to tear my throat out with her nails. And if we’re dealing with a whole town full of them, then we’re in trouble.” “That just sounds like a good time.” A frown creases your brow. About a hundred mean, dismissive responses immediately come to mind. But Poe’s huffy rattle stirs your attention back to him. You cock your head to view him on your shoulder. He ruffles his feathers and cranes his neck to the left, with his beak parted open and wings outstretched. You only wonder for a moment what spooks your little friend until you lay eyes on a dark chapel in the distance on the fringe of town. The structure’s tall, with walls of stone bricks, and gabled, wood-shingled rooftops. Vines and leafy tendrils creep up the sides, and a steeple stretches to the sky. You spot a set of wide, heavy doors in the front, and two shuttered windows on the face of the building. A bricked path cuts through the vast, barren field of colorless grass and weeds that lay between you and it. You halt where the dirt road ends and the field begins. Danny slows beside you and stops. “I’m guessing the party’s in that funhouse…” “I think so,” you sigh. Poe beats his wings and caws. You stroke his beak to calm him down. “I see it, Poe,” you mutter. “Of course it’s in the creepy dark chapel… Why wouldn’t it be in the creepy dark chapel?” You start down the rocky path with Danny in tow. “Find the mark, then get out,” you murmur. “Find the mark, then get out…” “I’ll hold your hand if it makes you feel any better,” Danny offers at your side. “Please shut up.”     Heavy doors squeal against rusted hinges as they swing open. Danny leads the way into the dark chapel, and you follow cautiously in his shadow. Dust showers from above and settles at your feet. You cough as you waft at the space in front of you. After your eyes adjust to the dim light, you squint into a poorly lit hall. There are two rows of dust-covered pews to your left and right that approach the altar at the back of the room; a table about waist-high covered in a frayed white cloth that sits empty. A red, tattered rug paves the aisle. Danny peels away from you to search the shrouded corners. You stop in your tracks as you gaze upon the old murals on the ceiling and walls. If they told a story once, they no longer do—the art’s marred and almost completely unrecognizable. It’s as if someone deliberately scraped away the golden paint… You can’t weave a story of what little is left behind. Your gaze wanders to the tall windows covered with dark sheets. Moonlight filters through them. You approach one and pull the sheet aside—the window’s barred. A metallic clatter makes you jump. You spin around and catch Danny yanking a sheet from another window. He drops it to his feet and shifts in your direction. “Letting some light in.” You proceed down the hall and stop in front of the altar. Oval indentations in the cloth cover hint at the removal of candle scones. Further back, you see a wall where an effigy is sure to have stood. Everything’s gone… But where’s the mark? It feels like you’re right on top of it. The itch in your head is unbearable. It’s here somewhere. It has to be. Thunder rumbles dangerously overhead. The chapel shudders. Unease makes your chest tight and your spine tingly, as if crawling with spiders. You glance nervously over at Danny. He lurks down the aisle with his back to you. “Why did you do it?” Your voice breaks the silence. By doing so, you hope to quell your fear and end the nagging itch that scrapes the inside of your skull, if even for just a moment. Another thunderclap makes your hair stand on end. As you lick the dryness from your lips, you wait for Danny’s response. The furtive killer turns around slowly and inclines his head questioningly toward you. You clarify, “Why did you kill people?” He’s quiet for a minute. “I was telling stories,” he eventually says. “I wrote them all myself.” “Stories?” You scoff. “You were killing people. Ending their lives and ruining the lives of others.” “And those make for the best stories, don’t they?” Danny’s chuckle embitters you. “Everyone loves a good sob story… A mystery, even… Who is the Ghost Face Killer? Who’s behind the mask? Could it be my neighbor? My best friend? Family? Or just some deranged creep getting his kicks?” You scowl at him. He turns away, indifferent. “The mystery’s the best part.” After watching him creep toward another window, you face the altar again. I’m missing something… I have to be. “You could’ve done anything,” you murmur absentmindedly. “Could’ve been anyone… But you chose to hurt people and stroke your own damn ego in a shitty gazzette.” A gust of cold wind ghosts the back of your neck. You turn around and jump when you find Danny directly behind you. Your breath hitches. He tilts his head. “And what did you do?” he asks with his voice kept low. “Who did you become?” You don’t have an answer you want to give him. You back away and shake your head. “Don’t make this about me.” “You like to push,” Danny says, “but don’t like getting pushed back.” He steadily approaches until he’s backed you up against the table. When you bump into it, he leans forward, forcing you to shrink under him. His hands rest on both sides of you. You swallow. “Step back, Danny.” “Or what?” He tilts his head to the side and shoves his mask in your face. “You gonna call Buddy to come and punish me? “You don’t want to piss him off again.” “Maybe I do,” Danny replies. “Get him in here and have ourselves a good time…” He peers down over your shoulder for a moment. “You think this old table can hold your weight?” You plant a hand on his chest and shove him away. He stumbles and stops, and you glare at him fiercely. “Don’t forget what we came here for. This isn’t a field trip.” Danny chuckles and throws up his hands. “Relax, Spunky. I’m still following your lead…” As he backs away, you still glower at him. And only once you’re satisfied with the distance between you both, you turn around to keep searching. Your eyes glance over the table as you carefully scrutinize everything. Then you notice the scuff marks on the floor. Lines drawn through the thick layer of dust, lining up with the table legs… And you make out a boot print beneath it. Not Danny’s, or yours… Someone dragged this table, and recently. On a hunch, you get down on your knees and pull back the cloth covering. You find a square carved into the floorboards, and a silver ring in the center. A hatch. You stand and hurriedly scrape the table across the floor and out of the way. Danny appears behind you. “Sharp eye,” he compliments. “Yeah,” you huff. “And you might’ve noticed it too, if you weren’t wearing that stupid mask…” You clear the table and grip the hatch ring before yanking it up. A cold, rotten draft punches you in the face as it flies open. You back away, coughing and wafting at the air in front of you. “I think our mark’s down there.” A rickety wooden ladder descends into the darkness. You get on your knees and grip the first rung to test its strength. Danny lingers over your shoulder. “Who’s going first?” You hesitate. “Stay up here. Keep an eye out for anything.” “Well, aren’t you brave,” Danny humorously comments. He gives you a slow clap. You return a mean look before creeping towards the edge of the open hatch. “I’ll shout if I need you.” You trust Danny about as far as you can throw him. Which is to say you don’t trust him for shit. And the last thing you’ll do is let the homicidal prick tail you into a dark cellar. If you get into trouble, you’re counting on Bastion to be there for you… You carefully descend the ladder, jumping and gripping for dear life every time the damn thing creaks or groans beneath you. You don’t know how far down it goes, but it only gets colder and darker… Your skin’s stiff as plaster when you finally feel solid ground beneath your feet. You cautiously let go of the ladder and step away. A thundering boom in the distance shakes the chapel and stirs dust from the ceiling. You fish your lighter from your bag and flick it open, then light it up. The small flame illuminates just the surrounding space. You extend your arm and peer into the darkness. “How you doing down there, Spunky?” Danny shouts from above, startling you. You spot his silhouette in the hatch opening as you turn your gaze upward. But you don’t give him an answer. You slowly creep away from the ladder, using your light to assess your surroundings. But you can hardly see five feet in front of you… Your left foot bumps something hard, and you panic for just a second before realizing it’s a thick wooden pillar. It stretches up and reaches the ceiling. You keep moving. When you come up on a bricked wall, you hug it closely as you move along. You count one, two, three more wooden pillars along your way, then come up on a corner. You turn and follow it perpendicularly. You keep your hand pressed to the cold bricks. You hear a thudding sound upstairs. Thunder? Or Danny messing around? Another pillar comes up on your right, then a second. You exhale in frustration. Hell, what am I looking for? “I could watch you stumble around in the dark for hours.” !!! A voice nearby sends your heart racing and makes you jump. You gasp in fear and throw yourself against the wall. Then you flinch at the sound of grating metal, and something roaring to life before an explosion of hot, red light bursts at the other end of the cellar. You squint at it as your eyes adjust. A robed figure becomes visible standing next to an old, growling furnace. The stranger tosses a bit of wood into the open chamber with their back to you. You’re speechless as you gawk at them. And the person, a man, you guess, speaks again. “But that’s not what I came for…” His voice is low and hoarse. He shifts, turns on his heels, and the shadowed face of his cowl stares directly at you. “And that’s not what you’re here for either, is it?” A lump traps your voice in your throat. You try to swallow past it, but to no avail. Your hands feel clammy, and you shakily lower your lighter. Then your eyes glance around the rest of the room. It’s fairly large, but just as barebones as the chapel hall above it. Other than the pillars and the furnace, there isn’t much else. Just a heavy wooden door to the far left, and a shadowed hall on the opposite end of the room, behind the cloaked man where he stands in the corner beside the furnace. You shift your wide eyes back to the man and swallow down the lump in your throat. “You-You again,” you shakily say. “We’ve never met,” he replies. He might tell the truth… He sounds different from the man you met in the woods. His robes are darker, too. When you look him up and down, you’re glad to see he appears unarmed. But he holds something in his right hand - a book. He notices you staring. He raises it and waves it in the air. “You came for this, didn’t you? Like a dog sniffing out a bone…” You watch him feed another block of wood into the fire. “Who are you?” you question. “I’m a nobody.” You scoff. He grunts. “Truly. I gave up my identity long ago… I gave up everything.” “And what are you doing here? Are you… Are you like me?” The man surprises you when he chuckles. The chuckle turns into a hacking cough as he swivels his head. “Ah, no… Not at all. You’re cut from a very special cloth, Wanderer.” “You called me— How do you know what—?” “Not my place to say,” he interrupts. He takes a fire poker from the wall beside him and stirs up the flame. “I wanted to see you for myself,” he croaks. “Wanted a close look at this new messiah.” He cackles. “Oh, how dutiful… You’re all the same. Same old habits, fresh new face.” Is everyone here so cryptic? “Are you on my side?” you question, cutting to the chase. “Just tell me that much.” The man becomes quiet. He chucks another piece of tinder into the greedy flames. You carefully observe his silence until he grunts, then speaks. “We’re just witnesses… And you have many of those, Wanderer.” He turns to you. “This place could be another step in your journey… Or the end of it.” You raise a brow. “This chapel?” “Not this reflection. The true instance of it… And if you’re brave enough, seek it out. Though, from what I’ve observed so far, I don’t think you can manage.” What the hell does that mean? Frustration sours your expression. You take a step forward, gesturing for the book. “Can I…?” “You want me to hand this over?” He twirls the book, then cackles. “You should know better, Wanderer… We wouldn’t make it so easy on you.” You watch him back toward the furnace. “I only came to see the fresh fish… And we’ll be watching to see if you have what it takes. If you’re worthy of your given role.” He raises the book to the mouth of the furnace. Your eyes widen. “Don’t—!” “Your trial isn’t over yet,” he interrupts. “If you’re competent, you’ll find the answers. If you’re not… then you’ll fade like all the rest.” He chucks the book into the furnace, and the flames swallow it up with a roar. You shout and dive right past the man as he slips away down the shadowed hall. He disappears. In your frenzy, you reach into the flames to free the book. But regret scorches your hands and makes you withdraw with a sharp hiss and a cry. “Fuck!” you curse. Burned skin becomes red and blistered. The flames consume the book—you need to do something! You whip your head from left to right before your sights land on the fire poker. You snatch it up, then poke and prod at the flames desperately until you fish your catch out. The flaming book lands on the floor, and you hurriedly stomp out the fire. The remains are blackened and charred, but perhaps salvageable—you take it into your hands. Then—   Dark hands turn the page of a book on your lap. Your vision’s foggy and unclear—you can’t make out the contents of the pages. Can’t hardly even make out your surroundings. You’re in the woods, in the fog. Tall, dead trees surround you. You’re resting on the ground, sitting on your knees. A sigh escapes your lips—no, not your lips. A woman’s lips. This woman’s lips. She murmurs, but her words are garbled. Something comes up behind you. Some one . There’s another voice, but it’s heavily distorted, unrecognizable. “A fr… of w h… you ’ll …fi….?” You lift your heavy head and look back over your shoulder. You see—   When reality crashes into you, you gasp. The book’s hot in your hands. You cram it into your bag and startle when you hear Danny’s faint shout from upstairs. “We’ve got company, Spunky!” You race across the room and quickly ascend the ladder. When you pull yourself up and into the chapel hall, you’re startled at the sight before you. A mob of people stands against the set of heavy doors on the other side of the room. The townspeople. You freeze solidly beside Danny and scoff. “They followed us,” you murmur. You glance over at least two dozen townspeople. Their shadowed faces are grim and tired. They wear worn cotton rags and frocks, with messed hair and dirty, pale skin. And they gaze at you with dark, hostile eyes. They carry pitchforks and torches. This is an angry mob, if ever you’ve seen one. But angry at what, you don’t know. You display your honest intentions by putting up your hands. “We-We don’t want any trouble.” They remain silent, motionless. Your eyes shift towards Danny. “What the hell do they want?” you whisper. “Maybe they came for the party,” Danny replies. He grips his knife tightly in his fist. His bloody knife. Only then do you notice the body lying on the floor between two pews. You glimpse a foot wearing a ratty leather sandal, and a pool of blood spilling out into the aisle. Shock and horror twists your expression. “Did you kill someone?!” you hiss. “The guy was creeping in with bad intentions,” Danny replies with a maddening chuckle. “I didn’t know a whole platoon would show up.” You gawk at him, then jump as thunder rumbles. Rain patters on the chapel roof and rolls down the sides. The townspeople don’t react or move. Anxiety tightens your chest and makes your mouth dry. You lick your lips and force down a wedge in your throat. “W-We’re not—” “She’s one of them!” A woman in the crowd screams. The rest of the mob erupts in angry hollers and shouts. A man hurls a pitchfork at you, and Danny yanks you clear. It clatters against the brick wall behind you and hits the floor. You wrinkle your brow and shout, “One of what?” “I don’t think they’re here for a chat,” Danny says. Another woman chucks a torch that strikes a curtain on a window, then lands on a pew and rolls off onto the floor. The flames catch the wood and spread rapidly across the boards. The townspeople retreat and slam the chapel doors shut behind them. When realization hits, you charge the doors and try to throw them open; they’re barred. You’re locked in. “Shit,” you curse. “HEY! Let us out!” You throttle the handles and ram the barricade, but they don’t budge. When you glance back over your shoulder, you watch the fire spread. Smoke billows towards the ceiling and fills the room. Here’s to hoping Bastion was just bluffing. And maybe he’ll realize you’re in deep shit and come back to pull your ass out of the fire… Danny comes up beside you. He tips his mask toward your burned hands. “What did you find down there?” “Some asshole in a cloak. He tossed our mark into a furnace”—You ram the door again, then grunt—“I had to fish the damn thing out… while… he…” You trail off, then widen your eyes. “The cellar.” You leave Danny without a complete answer while you spin around and race back toward the hatch. You dodge a wall of flames and drop to your knees at the opening. “I-I think we can get out down there.” “What makes you so sure?” Danny asks cooly. “He must’ve gotten out somehow. And if he did, then so can we.” “Hell of a gamble…” “Yeah, but we’re out of options.”   You quickly descend into the cellar and drop off the ladder with Danny right behind you. Then you lead him down the dark hallway past the burning furnace and into another room. Bare bones as the other, but you’re relieved when you see stone stairs leading up to a wooden hatch. You sprint up the stairs and ram the doors with more force than necessary — they fly open and send you stumbling into the mud. Danny steps out behind you and grasps your arm before hoisting you onto your feet. He pats you on the back. You smack his hand and gather yourself. You’re behind the chapel. Even with the brewing storm overhead and the soft pattering of rain, you can still hear the commotion of the crowd on the other side of the building. You hug the wall and move toward the edge. Danny creeps behind you. “Wrong way outta town,” he says. “We’re not leaving yet,” you whisper. “We need to find that man. Whoever he was, he knows something. And we can’t let him get away.” “Starting a little witch hunt of our own, huh?” You give Danny a hard look before turning to peer out from the side of the building. You lay eyes on the town across the field, blanketed with dense mist stirred up by the rain. “We’ll have plenty of cover in town,” you say. “We just have to keep a low profile.” “That's just my style.”   Creeping through the field of tall, dead grass unseen is the easy part. It’s when you step foot on the dirt road that you realize you have a much bigger problem. Since you first passed through, the town has come alive. There’s a buzz of activity all around. You duck beside a cottage with Danny. There's a group of men carrying farm tools and torches, storming down the street. Danny scoffs beside you. “Looks like the whole town’s in on this…” After they pass, you jump a ramshackle wooden fence into the yard behind the hut. You’re just bending around the other side of the cottage, toward the road, when you come face-to-face with three furious people and stagger to a halt beside Danny. Two men, one carrying a scythe, the other a pitchfork, and a woman gripping onto a knife. A bearded man with gray hair and a mean mug steps forward and jabs his pitchfork toward you. “You got out, eh? Whole town wanted to hear you burn…” “Your friend looks different,” the woman hushes, her deep-set eyes focusing on Danny from behind a curtain of greasy blonde hair. “Never seen 'im like this before…” You crease your brows and side-eye Danny. He shrugs beside you, then brandishes his own knife. “Are we about to tussle?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. His nonchalance and eagerness for conflict puts a knot in your stomach. You elbow him, then face the townspeople. “We don’t want any trouble,” you say. “We’re looking for someone—” You’re interrupted by the closest man shouting and charging at Danny. He tackles him into the mud and the two engage in a skirmish. The second man turns his sights on you and stalks forward. You back away, putting your hands up. “Whoa, h-hold on!” He swings. You’re slow to react, and the curve of his blade catches your calf. He yanks back hard and trips you up, also slicing open the back of your leg. You wail in pain and crash to the ground. Blood gushes from your leg. With one hand raised defensively, you crawl backwards and plead, “We-We didn’t come here to hurt anyone!” He winds back his scythe to swing again. You shield yourself with both arms. His strike never comes—you peek through an open eye and watch Danny tackle him. While you glance away, you notice the other man lying dead in the mud, pierced with stab wounds. His body is vanishing into wisps of gray matter. Danny sinks his blade into your assailant’s chest and tops it off with a twist. His death rattle makes your hair stand on end. He too ebbs away like smoke. Danny stands, wipes his knife on his robes, and sets his sights on the woman. She cowers away, gripping her knife with trembling hands. “J-Just leave,” she hushes. “Please, just leave.” “We can’t,” you croak. “Not yet… Why don’t you take a page out of your own book?” She falters. As she looks between you and Danny, she appears to swallow. Something changes — her expression hardens, and she grips her knife even more tightly before screaming and charging at you. She doesn’t get very far. Danny cuts her off and cuts her down. He stabs her in the gut, rips the knife out, and slashes her throat. She hits the ground, gurgling blood and choking before she dies. Her dead eyes gaze at you as her body dissipates. “Oh, these people are batshit,” Danny chuckles. He wipes his blade on his sleeve and turns to you. You meet his mask with a glare. “We didn’t come here to kill anybody,” you say shakily. “Tsk tsk.” Danny takes your arm and hauls you up to your feet. You stumble into him, wincing in pain. He peers at your leg. “That looks like it hurts.” “It does.” You push away from him and keep your weight off your leg. “I’ll patch it later,” you say, turning around to keep walking. “We need to find that—” You walk right into a dark, voluminous cloud and shrink away, staggering back into Danny with a hiss and cough. Poe freaks out just the same and tries to flutter off your shoulder. You catch him in your hands and stare wide-eyed at the dark cloud. Its shape changes into an imposing lean body standing straight with gray skin taut over solid muscle and broad shoulders. The creature has a bat-like face with large black eyes, flat nose, and a wide grin that exposes a set of curved fangs. From its bare head protrude long, pointed ears. You’re sure you’d find more to gawk at if its loins weren’t covered by a ragged black cloth fastened with a leathery belt. It stands over twice your size and rivals the height of the cottage beside it. You shriek in fear, stumble backwards, then trip over your feet. As you land on your ass in the mud, Danny brandishes his knife, as if that’ll do either of you any good. You’d take off and leave his ass in the dust if you weren’t crippled. But you can only shut your eyes and brace for— —Nothing. Nothing but a boisterous, baritone, and rage-inducing laugh. You sigh. Shame on me. “Put your little toy away, Danny,” Bastion chuckles. He pokes the smaller man in the chest with an ungodly talon. Danny stumbles and jabs his knife at him. “Think you’re a funny guy, huh?” Bastion snickers. You pick yourself up while smoothing Poe's ruffled feathers. “You need to ANNOUNCE yourself before you do this.” “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He gives you a pat on the head and pinches your cheek before you slap his hand away. You’re helpless as he grabs your arm and lifts you right off your feet like a mewling kitten. When he brings you in for scrutiny, he blinks his gleaming black eyes at your maimed leg. “Ah, thought I smelled blood…. Knew you weren’t up to task, Danny.” “Spunky's fine,” Danny insists. “Just some scrapes and bruises…” Bastion grunts. He drops you on his shoulder and turns his back to Danny dismissively. “I’ll show you how it’s done.” For balance, you wrap an arm around his neck. “There was a man here,” you tell him. “Like the one I met in the woods. We need to find him.” “We’ll tear this town apart if we have to,” Bastion replies. He breaks out into a sprint, almost jostling you off his shoulder. Danny shouts behind you, “Where the hell are you going?” “You’re on your own,” Bastion returns. Peering back, you see Danny sulk off into the shadows. One less problem, you think. You’re glad to be away from him… When you turn forward, you clutch Bastion’s head to keep from being bucked off. “What inspired this freak?” you ask as you stare up and down his form. He turns to you with a sharp grin and a jarring wink. Jarring, because it’s the first time you’ve seen the bastard wink. “Do you like it?” You scoff at him. He laughs. “A killer from days past,” he answers. “Saw his work firsthand… He was efficient.” “Right…. And you’re wearing pants! Or… whatever that is—” “Want to see what’s beneath?” “No! No, no, no.” Bastion abruptly changes course and winds up on the main road through town. You widen your eyes. “Uh, I think you’re being too bold!” “We won’t find your man by creeping around in the shadows,” Bastion replies. “We need to catch him before the trail goes cold…” A thundering boom makes you jump and grip tighter. Lightning flashes and bathes the town in an eery white glow. You hear a clamor in the distance despite the storm. Men and woman shouting—the mob hunting a witch—the mob hunting you. You tighten your jaw. When a group of locals comes into view down the road, you’re initially relieved to watch some flee in terror. Yet just a few are too brave — or too desperate. The few men armed with basic farm tools who think they can make a difference. A man races into your path and swings a flimsy shovel. He’s neither a threat nor an obstacle to a charging ten-foot-tall monster man… So it comes as a nasty surprise when Bastion curb stomps him and caves his head in like a melon. Gore splashes your face and makes you recoil so hard that you nearly fly off his shoulders. He grabs you around the waist to keep you upright. You smack his head. “Hey! So maybe don’t murder a bunch of people on your way through!” “They’re just echoes, Wanderer. And they’re in the way.” He heedlessly charges down the road, cutting corners past ruined cottages, and barreling over anyone who lands in his path. He overturns a wagon and crushes a woman beneath it. Two men come at him waving hammers and forks, and he turns them to minced meat and pulp. You try your best to keep your eyes peeled for your target, but it’s hard to see anything through the havoc. Bastion’s rampage continues over the bridge you crossed earlier. At the sight of him, a small mob scatters. Some turn on him and charge—futile efforts to chase off the monster ravaging their town. You’ve never seen people so desperate and afraid… You’d think they’d run at the sight of something so vicious and unknown, but something drives them to these extremes. You avert your eyes as Bastion cuts them down. The world spins around you. A growing knot in your stomach makes you cringe and gag. This whole town and its people might only be echoes, but it’s all too real… The carnage, the screams, the fear. And the hot blood oozing down your face feels all too real, even as if fades into nothing. A man cloaked in dark robes tries to flee with the rest of the crowd. Bastion grabs him by the throat and lifts him off his feet. He gives you a close look. “Is this who we’re looking for?” The poor guy writhes in Bastion’s grip, choking and snarling like an animal. His hood comes off, and all you see is the fear-stricken face of an elderly man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time… His eyes bulge and his legs flail beneath him. You release a shuddering breath. “I-I don’t think so…” “Shame,” Bastion mutters. You jump when he rips his teeth into the man’s neck. A nasty crunch makes you grimace, and a spurt of blood gets you in the eye as he snaps back with a chunk of meat and bone clamped in his jaws. He drops the sputtering man to the ground and spits gore from his mouth. “We’ll find him,” he says as he takes an arm across his bloodied face. “We just need to thin the herd…” You’re not so sure. Might’ve already lost him… And maybe this bloodshed’s all for nothing.   Bastion continues down the road with you quickly becoming an unwilling passenger on his shoulder. His victims’ piercing screams make your skin crawl. He crushes a woman underfoot and breaks her bones. She’s wailing like a broken siren when he sets his sights on a group of men huddled up with weapons. “Bastion,” you whisper. He shuts the woman up when he stomps her again. You feel your stomach lurch. “Bastion,” you say sternly a second time. A blood-curdling scream makes you flinch and close your eyes. They deserve this, you tell yourself. They tried to burn me in the chapel. And they wouldn’t even tell me why. They’re not innocent. They deserve this— When you open your eyes, just for a split second, you spot something that makes you wish you hadn’t. A little girl, no older than six, cowers in the shadow of two ruined cottages. Blood soaks her poor rags, contrasting sharply with her dirty, pale skin. Her dark eyes gaze at you from behind a curtain of matted brown hair. Your heart sinks. You find yourself unable to peel your eyes away. Then Bastion spots her, too. When he stops everything and turns to her, your stomach flips. Then he takes a long stride forward, gets down on one knee in front of her, and he grins. “A witness…” The girl doesn’t move—you’re sure it’s the fear paralyzing her. Bastion tilts his head. “We’re looking for a friend,” he says. He blinks his eyes innocently, but the masquerade’s flawed by all the blood staining his features. A tear spills down the girl’s cheek, and she trembles uncontrollably. Bastion reaches out his hand, causing her to flinch. Then he wipes away her tear with a bloody, curved talon. “We’ll be gone when we find him,” he coaxes her. She chokes over a sob that escapes her lips. Then, “She’s gone,” is all she whispers. Bastion loses the grin, and his expression darkens. “Oh?” The girl’s eyes flit toward you. You don’t know what to do or say, and she observes your hesitance as Bastion slowly withdraws his hand. Before he makes another move, you blurt, “W-We’re done here.” He turns his face toward you. You meet his dark eyes and repeat, “We’re done.” You have a stare-off before a familiar voice shouts above the storm. “Use fire!” You snap your gaze over your shoulder to find none other than your cloaked quarry standing at the end of the road. He lifts a torch and screams out, “You’d let this thing ravage your homes? Use fire to put it down! It fears the flames!” The stragglers in the area hear his commands loud and clear. They creep out of the shadows like timid mice, casting their wretched gaze upon you and Bastion. The fear creeps from their faces, replaced by the same hardened looks you met back at the chapel, before they locked you in and tried to snuff you out. They gather in numbers and resolve, lighting torches and moving in like predators. And for the first time, you watch flickers of fear on Bastion’s face, permitted by the features he has this rare occasion. His pointed ears go back like an anxious dog, his glinting black eyes widen, and his forehead wrinkles. Then he shifts forms again and takes on the body of a large, hairless man-bat. Charcoal skin draws tight over a brawny body with two very long arms extending into leathery wings. Although his body is more like a man than a bat, his face is monstrous and animal. Two strong misshapen legs stand him up, and awfully sharp talons barb his feet. When he changes, you fall off his shoulder and land in a puddle of blood and muck. But he snatches your waist in his talons and beats his wings to get airborne. You shout on liftoff. Bastion breaks away from the gathering crowd like a bat out of hell. But not quick enough—a tossed torch strikes his wing and lights him up like a Christmas tree. In an instant, the flames consume his entire form. He loses control and flails midair, taking a blind spiral downward with you still in his clutches. And your panic elicits a shout as he crashes right through the roof of a decrepit old barn. Bastion loses his grasp on you, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, bracing for an impact that might maim or kill you. But you’re relieved when you land and roll onto something soft. When you open your eyes, you watch Bastion crash to the ground amid a mess of hay and wooden boards. He screams like a banshee as the flames eat away at him. In his distress, he loses his form and begins to shift erratically, becoming a shapeless, dark horror with snapping, spidery claws, and lashing tendrils. Then he vanishes with a final, ear-piercing wail. A heavy downpour beats on the roof as thunder rumbles overhead. There’s nearly no light in the room, except the ray of moonlight streaming in through the hole that’s been made. A shuddering breath leaves your parted lips. You blink at the surrounding darkness, then shift and sit up. Poe's still with you, thankfully, gripping the collar of your shirt with his talons for dear life. You try to stand, but then you pause—something wet squishes under your hands. Something cold and wet and… and hairy? You look down, and horror spoils your face. What broke your fall wasn’t hay… It’s a pile of mutilated, rotting human corpses. And the one you had the misfortune of landing right on top of is the festering body of a young woman, with her stomach cavity seeping blood and crawling with a clutch of maggots. You scramble away with a scream, tripping and landing on your ass. A wave of nausea makes you gag. You spin around and hurl the contents of your stomach onto the floor. You sputter and choke, trembling as you desperately wipe clumps of bloody hair and gore off your hands and legs. Then you dry heave until nothing else comes up. Bile burns your throat and tears sting your eyes. As you stagger away, you let out a shuddering breath. But you glue your eyes to the morbid sight, with a thousand questions racing through your head. “That’s all your doing.” A scratchy, low voice makes you jump and spin around. A man in ragged clothes emerges from the shadows on the other side of the room. His face is heavily wrinkled, his brows stitched, and his short hair is grey and wet. Dull brown eyes hidden within deep sockets stare at you. He grips a sickle in his left hand. With the other, he points accusingly at you. “You brought that damned thing back… Now we’ve more bodies to add to that pile.” You swallow thickly and back away. “I’ve never been here before…” You put up a hand. “Hey, put the sickle down—” “Those don’t wake up,” the man interrupts you, thrusting his blade toward the bodies. “Dead as dead… But you already know that, don’t you? Here to finish off the rest of us?” A flash of lightning illuminates his scowling face. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” you snap at him. “I-I don’t even want to be here. I’ll go, alright?” “Now you want to go? After what you’ve done?” He snarls and lunges at you. You’re slow to react, and he slashes your arm with his sickle. It cuts deep into your flesh, drawing a line of gushing blood. As he swings again, you tackle him before his next strike connects. He hits the floor with a heavy grunt as you land on top of him. You grip his wrist and try to squeeze his weapon from his grasp, but he throws a flimsy punch that connects to your jaw, and another that knocks you upside the head. The world flips and you’re suddenly on your back. The man sits on you, raises his sickle and brings it down fast. Metal strikes wood as you throw your head to the side. You sink your teeth into his arm and bite down hard enough to draw blood, until he wails and drops his weapon. It clatters on the floor beside you. When you try to buck him off, he growls like an animal and digs his thumbs into your eyes. He forces them deeper, which elicits a shrill scream from your throat as you fight back with everything you have. But he pushes down, grunting and growling and trying to gouge them out. Dark spots fill your vision, followed by searing pain. As panic sets in, you flail and kick, grabbing his wrists, digging your nails into his skin, and attempting to relieve some pressure on your eyes. He puts all his weight behind his attack and screams in your face. Everything’s dark. Your eyes burn. It hurts. It hurts! In distress, you throw out your arm and sweep the floor. When your fingers brush the handle of his sickle, you don’t hesitate to grasp it tightly and swing at him blindly. The curved blade cuts through flesh. The man screams in pain. Blood spatters on your chest, and your attacker falls back. Once the pressure’s gone, you sit up, choking back a painful moan. You can only peel open one eye, and even then, it’s hazy and blurred. You make out a deep scarlet line slashed across his face. Oozing blood runs diagonally from his jaw to his brow, dripping down his chin. He moans in pain and crawls away from you. You stagger forward, step on his leg, then drop to pin him beneath you. You still grip the sickle. The rusty blade is covered in fresh blood. Then the whispers come to you… You feel the sensation of jagged nails scraping the nape of your neck up to the back of your skull before pinching tender flesh between twitchy fingers… Hurt him, the whispers command. Bleed him… Kill him. A cold feeling ghosts your nape, like a hand caressing your skin. Kill him. Your head pounds. A scream cuts through the air, followed by another and another, turning into a chorus that rivals the raging storm. You squeeze your eye shut.   Spare Him Kill Him     The voices scream for violence and blood, and the whispers coax you, like a mother to her child. Hands grasp yours and squeeze your fingers. A hush to your left fans cold breath on your cheek. Then you feel softness pressing on your bruised eyelids like cotton. But the affections are like poison, and you shun them as such. Your brow wrinkles intensely as you force the chorus to silence. Their voices boom like thunder, and their screams cut through your head like lightning, but you resist. Their rage becomes punishing as it sends a thousand needle-like sensations up and down your spine, then fingers that dig into flesh and bone. Your scream joins the cacophony until you open your eye and cease the noise. They all fade together as your vision returns. Reality hits you like a truck, and you’re gripping the sickle so hard your knuckles turn white and ache. Rain pelts you from the hole above, drenching your skin and clothes, and chilling you to the bone. A lightning flash illuminates the old man’s fearful face beneath you. He trembles and whimpers in pain. An expression so woeful and broken that it sends a spike through your chest. After tossing the sickle away, you grasp the man’s shoulders. “Stop,” you breathe. “Please… I-I don’t know who the fuck you are! I’ve never been to this fucking town before, and-and I didn’t want to hurt anyone!” Your voice trembles and breaks. Pulling back, you clutch your head in your hands. “Coming here was a mistake… I knew I shouldn’t have followed. I knew—” A sharp, stabbing pain on your lower side cuts you off. A cry escapes your lips as you fall back and hit the floor. You touch the blossoming red stain on your shirt. Then you lift your gaze to meet the man’s furious eyes. He picks himself up, gripping a bloody bit of sharp wood in his hand. His mad look shoots daggers through you. “You’re all the same,” he spits venomously. “We’ll see you burn, Wanderer. You and all your fuckin’ ilk. And we’ll burn as many as we have to… We’ll turn you to ash and do it again!” He lets out a furious scream when he lunges. You flinch. But a shadow slips out of the darkness and intercepts the old man. A blade cuts flesh, and then the man’s body falls to the ground, dead. He lets out a rattling groan. Your eyes widen at the scene. A flash of lightning illuminates your guardian angel. Danny wipes his blade on his sleeve and waves at you. “Did you miss me?” You scoff. Danny chuckles and approaches you before taking to his knee and tipping his mask down toward the bloody patch on your side. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “You just learned a hard lesson, Spunky.” He tears a ribbon from his robe and slaps your hand away to wrap up your wound and apply pressure. “Let’s get the hell out of this backwater shithole, huh?” You won’t argue. He ties a knot and wraps an arm around your waist to heft you up and onto his shoulder like a sack. You writhe in pain. He pinches you on the thigh.   Danny slips out of the back of the barn and sets his sights on the treeline in the distance. You’re relieved to be back under the radar. But a voice in the back of your head taunts you—missed your mark, it says. You don’t care. You’ll just be glad to get away and put this town and its secrets behind you…   ✱ ✱ ✱   The world’s a hazy blur. You teeter on the brink of unconsciousness, blacking out every so often just to be throttled back to reality by Danny every time he jostles you on his shoulder. He carries Poe on his other shoulder. And Poe, much like you, doesn't exactly have a say in being a passenger.... Since leaving town, Danny's cinched your leg with a belt and stanched the bleeding on your side with bandages and gauze from your bag. A part of you would surely be grateful if he weren’t a homicidal egomaniac. You haven’t uttered a single word. You just gaze at the ground as it moves under you, occasionally glancing around the fog at the dead trees or dry brush. You hurt all over. You have a dry mouth, heavy eyelids, and a queasy feeling in your stomach. All you want to do is get back to Haven. As you fade out for the umpteenth time, you hear Danny utter, “Where the hell is Bucky? That bastard should be lugging you around…” “Shut up,” you croak. “This is the thanks I get for pulling your ass out of the fire? You’re a real heartbreaker, Spunky.” You’re quiet for a moment. Upon swallowing and licking the dryness from your lips, you murmur, “How… How did you find me?” “I stuck around to watch the show,” Danny answers with a chuckle. “Your pal knows how to party. He really racked up those numbers… And didn’t you look so cute, hugging onto his shoulders?” Danny slightly turns his mask while you scowl. “You had a front-row seat… How many bodies did you count?” Images of the massacre flash through your mind. You shut your eye. Danny continues to poke. “I don’t know about you, but it looked like he was having a blast. Looked almost too natural, didn’t it?” It was. “Lucky you have him on a leash…” You grind your teeth so hard that it hurts. Danny lets you simmer in silence, but just for a minute. He jostles you again. “Your place or mine?” “Whichever’s closest,” you mutter. He nods. You close your eyes with a huff and go slack when the quiet persists. You won’t fight the fatigue any longer. Your body hurts so badly and your leg feels like it is going to fall off. So you let the pain and the exhaustion pull you under… You hear Danny murmur something to you, but his words are lost as you fade away…   ✱ ✱ ✱   Some time later, you awaken not in a cold sweat, but a hot one. You recognize the humidity of Danny’s apartment even before you open your eyes. As you slouch forward in the dark, groaning, you take your head in your hands. Poe's sitting on your lap, while you're sitting on the floor of the living room. The coffee table’s been pushed aside to clear the space, and the TV’s been turned off. Upon looking up, you notice the curtains are drawn back, and when you turn your head, you see Danny reclining in his leather chair. He’s holding something… the book you recovered from the chapel. He looks up when he notices you’re awake. Then he scoffs and throws the book on the floor beside you. “The damn thing is torched,” he mutters. He stands up and paces. You take the book and quickly skim the pages. Many of them are black and crumble like dead leaves under your fingers. You flip through them with an increasingly hard look on your face. “No, no, no,” you whisper. One after another… Anything that was once written on the pages is now ruined. Your blood boils. “Fuck… We can’t salvage shit from this—” You turn another page and bite your tongue. Though burnt up like all the rest, just bits and pieces are legible… —In the tower, one fuzzy line reads. Warned me… avoid… Imperiatti. You trace that unknown word with the pad of your thumb, then you whisper it on your tongue. It doesn’t ring a bell. It’s an unknown. And one surely you’ll be racking your brain over down the road… You turn the page and startle when a sheet falls out onto your lap. It’s untouched by the flames, and the parchment’s different. You pick it up… Simple charcoal doodles of shadowy figures dancing around a fire. You turn it over to find another drawing depicting a shadow curled up inside a cage. You can’t make heads or tails of the odd drawings. You return the page to the book and close it. Danny watches you get up. “Party’s over,” you say. After cramming the book into your bag, you head straight for the door with a limp in your step. “Leaving already?” Danny says behind you. “I’m going back to the cabin for some rest… I think we’ve done enough.” “You can rest up here,” Danny offers. You scoff dismissively at him. “I’ll come around if I need you…” Just as you reach the door, you jump when Danny appears behind you and slings an arm over your shoulder. “Hey, let’s get a picture for the road.” He raises a camera, pulls you in close, and then presses the shutter. The flash blinds you—you wrench away from him while rubbing your eyes. “Thought I broke that damn thing.” “You really thought I only had one camera lying around?” When your vision clears, you watch Danny admire the photo. He chuckles and tips his mask up. “Just to commemorate our first day in the field together.” He gives you a wave. “Let’s do this again sometime…” You sneer at him before exiting the room. The hall is quiet. You scoff under your breath and shake your head. You don’t like that at all… That Danny pretends to give half a shit about you or your well-being. He’s using you the same way you’re using him. It’s a mutualistic relationship that’s both parts need and hate. And boy, you hate that you fucking need him. You hobble down the hall, eager to get out and away from this dingy complex, but you falter and stop completely when Bastion appears suddenly in front of you. You hit the brakes to avoid walking right into him. He’s back to normal… Or, as normal as he gets, anyway. You don’t miss those dark, creepy eyes or that fanged grin… “Welcome back,” you say, while clutching your racing heart. His company makes your skin crawl. Bastion slants his head. “You made it out… So that man’s good for something, after all…” “Yeah, I guess so.” Bastion grunts absentmindedly. “I’ll help you back to Haven, Wanderer. Then we’ll discuss what you found.” You scoff. “I didn’t find… a…” You trail as you watch Bastion walk past you toward Danny’s room. You lift a brow. “What are you doing?” “I just want to have a word with our new friend first,” he replies. “Bastion—” “Mind yourself, Wanderer.” He looks back at you with a sharp grin. Then he vanishes. You scoff, throw a hand up dismissively, then turn and keep walking. It’s not your problem…     Trudging footfalls fade out of earshot. She’s gone. Danny sighs softly as he steps away from the door. He’s missing her already… Or maybe he’s missed all the make-believe and role-playing… It’s good in small doses. But his social graces need some work. It’s been a while since the mask came off. He crosses the room while scrolling through the gallery on his camera. Fresh photos he snapped of Spunky while she was unconscious on his floor… Oh, that’s a good one… She’s laid out in front of the window, curled like a budding flower and spotted with bruises and marks left over from their escapade. He had to part the curtains to let some light in for a decent shot, and it paid off. She’s framed in a square spotlight that pours through the window. Sharp shadows contrast with the blue glow and highlight all the right parts… This would look great on a two-page spread with his headliner above it… “LOCAL HERO SLAIN IN THE BOONDOCKS.” Danny scoffs. A hero… She really thinks she’s something… But if she made one thing clear today, it’s that she doesn’t know shit. And she needs his help more than he thought. He can use that. Danny makes plans to develop the film later. As he turns around, he stops abruptly when he finds Spunky’s tall friend. He scoffs. Guy doesn’t know how to knock? “You just missed her, Bruno,” he says.  “I wanted to have a word with you.” “Oh?” “Just a word of warning.” The shade folds his arms behind his back and tips his head. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt our mutual companion…” His grin curls up and shows two rows of gleaming teeth. “Right, Danny?” Danny could easily agree. He could tell the tall shade everything he knows he wants to hear, just to get him off his back and out of his damn apartment… It’d be so easy, too… Won’t lay a finger on her pretty little face… You don’t have to worry about me! I’m a team player… But what’s the fun in that? He can’t help himself. Danny smirks behind the mask and tilts his head. “I don’t know, Buster,” he challenges. “Might not be able to help myself… Maybe I’ll flip my lid like you.” He lets out a laugh. “But there’s a lot of room for mistakes, huh? You can testify to that…” Bruce’s grin wavers. Danny's on his feet one second, and suspended off the ground with a spindly black claw slicing into his gut the next. His back and skull meet the plastered brick wall behind him. He grunts behind the mask and fights an immediate headache. Blood surges up his throat, which he sputters out with a shrill, nervous laugh. “Ah, ah, shit,” he chokes. Bastion lunges forward to snarl in his face. “I will FUCK you in half.” “Slo-Slow down, Cujo. You’re moving too fast for me—” Danny swallows a mouthful of blood and laughs again. Shit. He expected a reaction, but not one this severe… “You’re just a tool, Danny,” Bastion growls in his face. “A pawn. Remember that. Because the moment you forget, I’ll drag you through hell.” “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Bastion sneers. “You put on a brave face. But behind the mask, you’re just another sniveling little fucker who wants out. And if you ever want to see the light of day again, you’ll wear your leash with pride. If the Wanderer says sit, you sit.” He tilts his head. “Do you understand?” “I get it, Baxter.” Bastion forces a toothy grin. “Glad to hear it.” He pulls his claw from Danny’s gut and flings a string of blood onto the walls. Danny collapses on his knees with a hacking cough. He gulps blood and groans in pain. “I bet… bet you’re fun in bed…” Bastion turns away to leave. Then he pauses, turns around, and extends his hand. “Hand it over.” Danny plays stupid. Bastion growls. “Don’t test me.” When Danny surrenders his camera, Bastion crushes it in his fist and plucks the ribbon of film between his fingers. After, he drops the remains and curls his lips to give Danny a haughty grin. “Until our next venture.” And he’s gone like that. Danny loosens up the collar around his neck and stumbles into the wall. He hugs his stomach. The wound’s already stitching itself back together, but it still hurts like hell… He trudges over to his recliner and slumps down into it with a heavy sigh. “Fucker.”   Continue     The voices scream for violence and blood, and the whispers coax you like a mother to her child. Hands grasp yours and squeeze your fingers. A hush to your left fans cold breath on your cheek. Then you feel softness pressing on your bruised eyelids like cotton. Drinking in the affections from the unseen, you exhale shakily. Your resolve hardens, and you open your good eye. Lightning illuminates the old man’s fearful face beneath you. He trembles and whimpers in pain. A state you find ironic, given how eager he was to maim you just moments ago… You know that if you give him the chance, he’ll try to finish the job. Don’t let him, a voice whispers. Don’t let him hurt you. Your expression twists before you slash his throat with the blade. Blood sprays across your chest and face. The man wails and tries to snatch your arm. You beat him down and slash him again and again and again, becoming blind with rage through a mist of red gore. The whispers encourage you—they become senseless and excited and erratic. Deserved, they sing. It’s okay. You grunt and scream while you ravage his chest and face with your blade. Soon, he stops fighting. His screams stop and his body goes limp beneath you. The whispers are gone as quickly as they came. It becomes silent. And only when the red screen clears do you see the work laid out before you. A bloody cavity hacked open that spills fluid and viscera onto the floor and into a murky red pool around you. You shredded his chest into ribbons of gory flesh and muscle, and you slashed his face into an unrecognizable pulp. A weight crashes into you, and a hoarse scream cuts through your throat as horror twists your face. You drop the sickle and scramble away, gasping and choking on the breath you can’t let out. Wetness coats your face and dribbles down your nose and chin… “How’s it taste?” comes a voice whispering in your ear. You jump and turn to meet Poe’s blue eyes. His unblinking gaze pierces through you. You feel warmth in your mouth and taste copper. Poe chuckles. “Not the blood on your tongue,” he says. “The blood on your hands. A kill under the belt… How’s it taste?” A slow clap snaps you back to reality. You avert your gaze to the right and startle at the sight of a shadow emerging from the darkness, approaching you slowly. A flash of lightning illuminates Danny. He stops and tilts his head. “I didn’t think you’d have that in you,” he says. “Now that’s a good look on you…” Your eye narrows. “No… No, I-I didn’t— He-He didn’t give me a choice,” you get out. After taking an arm across your face, you stand and stumble on your bad leg. Danny reaches out to catch you. “You don’t need to make excuses,” he says while resting a hand on the small of your back. “Hey, the asshole had it coming, right?” He lifts a hand to touch your swollen eye. You push him away and growl. “Don’t touch me.” Danny puts up both hands with a wry chuckle. “Aw, you’re really selling the act. I’m almost convinced…” You could stand here and argue with him all day. But a clamor in the distance makes you pause. The mob’s coming. You try to run, but trip and fall to your knees. Pain surges from your damaged leg and makes you grit your teeth. Danny bends down, wraps his arm around your waist, then hefts you up and onto his shoulder like a sack. You can’t complain.   He slips out of the back of the barn and sets his sights on the treeline in the distance. You’re relieved to be back under the radar. But a voice in the back of your head taunts you—missed your mark, it says. You don’t care. You’ll just be glad to get away and put this town and your mistakes behind you…     ✱ ✱ ✱   The world’s a hazy blur. You teeter on the brink of unconsciousness, blacking out every so often just to be throttled back to reality by Danny every time he jostles you on his shoulder. He carries Poe on his other shoulder. And Poe doesn’t exactly have a say in being a passenger…. Since leaving town, Danny’s cinched your leg with a belt to slow the bleeding. A part of you would surely be grateful if he weren’t a homicidal egomaniac. You haven’t uttered a single word. You just gaze at the ground as it moves under you, occasionally glancing around the fog at the dead trees or dry brush. You hurt all over. You have a dry mouth, heavy eyelids, and a queasy feeling in your stomach. All you want to do is get back to Haven. As you fade out for the umpteenth time, you hear Danny utter, “Where the hell is Bucky? That bastard should be lugging you around…” “Shut up,” you croak. “This is the thanks I get for pulling your ass out of the fire? You’re a real heartbreaker, Spunky.” You’re quiet for a moment. Upon swallowing and licking the dryness from your lips, you murmur, “How… How did you find me?” “I stuck around to watch the show,” Danny answers with a chuckle. “Your pal knows how to party. He really racked up those numbers… And didn’t you look so cute, hugging onto his shoulders?” Danny slightly turns his mask while you scowl. “But you’re not so bad yourself… Two peas in a pod.” Images of the old man’s grisly corpse flash through your mind. You grind your teeth so hard that it hurts. Danny lets you simmer in silence, but just for a minute. He jostles you again. “Your place or mine?” “Whichever’s closest,” you mutter. He nods. You close your eyes with a huff and go slack when the quiet persists. You won’t fight the fatigue any longer. A guilt weighs so heavily on your chest you almost can’t breathe, and your leg feels like it is going to fall off. So you let the pain and the exhaustion pull you under… You hear Danny murmur something to you, but his words are lost as you fade away…   ✱ ✱ ✱   Some time later, you awaken not in a cold sweat, but a hot one. You recognize the humidity of Danny’s apartment even before you open your eyes. As you slouch forward in the dark, groaning, you take your head into your hands. Poe’s sitting on your lap, while you’re sitting on the floor of the living room. The coffee table’s been pushed aside to clear the space, and the TV’s been turned off. Upon looking up, you notice the curtains are drawn back, and when you turn your head, you see Danny reclining in his leather chair. He’s holding something… the book you recovered from the chapel. He looks up when he notices you’re awake. Then he scoffs and throws the book on the floor beside you. “The damn thing is torched,” he mutters. He stands up and paces. You take the book and quickly skim the pages. Many of them are black and crumble under your fingers. You flip through them with an increasingly hard look on your face. “No, no, no,” you whisper. One after another… Anything that was once written on the pages is now ruined. Your blood boils. “Fuck… We can’t salvage shit from this—” You turn another page and bite your tongue. Though burnt up like all the rest, just bits and pieces are legible… —In the tower, one fuzzy line reads. Warned me… avoid… Imperiatti. You trace that unknown word with the pad of your thumb, then you whisper it on your tongue. It doesn’t ring a bell. It’s an unknown. And one surely you’ll be racking your brain over down the road… You turn the page and startle when a sheet falls out onto your lap. It’s untouched by the flames, and the parchment’s different. You pick it up… Simple charcoal doodles of shadowy figures dancing around a fire. You turn it over to find another drawing depicting a dark figure curled up inside a cage. You can’t make heads or tails of the odd drawings. You return the page to the book and close it. Danny watches you get up. “Party’s over,” you say. After cramming the book into your bag, you head straight for the door with a limp in your step. “Leaving already?” Danny says behind you. “I’m going back to the cabin for some rest… I think we’ve done enough.” “You can rest up here,” Danny offers. You scoff dismissively at him. “I’ll come around if I need you…” Just as you reach the door, you jump when Danny appears behind you and slings an arm over your shoulder. “Hey, let’s get a picture for the road.” He raises a camera, pulls you in close, and then presses the shutter. The flash blinds you—you wrench away from him while rubbing your eyes. “Thought I broke that damn thing.” “You really thought I only had one camera lying around?” When your vision clears, you watch Danny admire the photo. He chuckles and tips his mask up. “Just to commemorate our first day in the field together.” He gives you a wave. “Let’s do this again sometime…” You sneer at him before exiting the room. The hall is quiet. You scoff under your breath and shake your head. You don’t like that at all… That Danny pretends to give half a shit about you or your well-being. He’s using you the same way you’re using him. It’s a mutualistic relationship that’s both parts need and hate. And boy, you hate that you fucking need him. You hobble down the hall, eager to get out and away from this dingy complex, but you falter and stop completely when Bastion appears suddenly in front of you. You hit the brakes to avoid walking right into him. He’s back to normal… Or, as normal as he gets, anyway. You don’t miss those dark, creepy eyes or that fanged grin… “Welcome back,” you say while clutching your racing heart. His company makes your skin crawl. Bastion slants his head. “You made it out… So that man’s good for something, after all…” “Yeah, I guess so.” Bastion grunts absentmindedly. “I’ll help you back to Haven, Wanderer. Then we’ll discuss what you found.” You scoff. “I didn’t find… a…” You trail as you watch Bastion walk past you toward Danny’s room. You lift a brow. “What are you doing?” “I just want to have a word with our new friend first,” he replies. “Bastion—” “Mind yourself, Wanderer.” He looks back at you with a sharp grin. Then he vanishes. You scoff, throw a hand up dismissively, then turn and keep walking. It’s not your problem…     Trudging footfalls fade out of earshot. She’s gone. Danny sighs softly as he steps away from the door. He’s missing her already… Or maybe he’s missed all the make-believe and role-playing… It’s good in small doses. But his social graces need some work. It’s been a while since the mask came off. He crosses the room while scrolling through the gallery on his camera. Fresh photos he snapped of Spunky while she was unconscious on his floor… Oh, that’s a good one… She’s laid out in front of the window, curled like a budding flower and spotted with bruises and marks left over from their escapade. He had to part the curtains to let some light in for a decent shot, and it paid off. She’s framed in a square spotlight that pours through the window. Sharp shadows contrast with the blue glow and highlight all the right parts… This would look great on a two-page spread with his headliner above it… “LOCAL HERO SLAYS AN ELDERLY MAN.” Danny scoffs. A hero… She really thinks she’s something… But if she made one thing clear today, it’s that she’s no one’s hero. What kind of hero kills a man the way she did? No, she’s just like him… And he can use that. Danny makes plans to develop the film later. As he turns around, he stops abruptly when he finds Spunky’s tall friend. He scoffs. Guy doesn’t know how to knock? “You just missed her, Bruno,” he says. “I wanted to have a word with you.” “Oh?” “Just a word of warning.” The shade folds his arms behind his back and tips his head. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt our mutual companion…” His grin curls up and shows two rows of gleaming teeth. “Right, Danny?” Danny could easily agree. He could tell the tall shade everything he knows he wants to hear, just to get him off his back and out of his damn apartment… It’d be so easy, too… Won’t lay a finger on her pretty little face… You don’t have to worry about me! I’m a team player… But what’s the fun in that? He can’t help himself. Danny smirks behind the mask and tilts his head. “I don’t know, Buster,” he challenges. “Might not be able to help myself… Maybe I’ll flip my lid like you.” He lets out a laugh. “But there’s a lot of room for mistakes, huh? You can testify to that…” Bruce’s grin wavers. Danny’s on his feet one second, and suspended off the ground with a spindly black claw slicing into his gut the next. His back and skull meet the plastered brick wall behind him. He grunts behind the mask and fights an immediate headache. Blood surges up his throat, which he sputters out with a shrill, nervous laugh. “Ah, ah, shit,” he chokes. Bastion lunges forward to snarl in his face. “I will FUCK you in half.” “Slo-Slow down, Cujo. You’re moving too fast for me—” Danny swallows a mouthful of blood and laughs again. Shit. He expected a reaction, but not one this severe… “You’re just a tool, Danny,” Bastion growls in his face. “A pawn. Remember that. Because the moment you forget, I’ll drag you through hell.” “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Bastion sneers. “You put on a brave face. But behind the mask, you’re just another sniveling little fucker who wants out. And if you ever want to see the light of day again, you’ll wear your leash with pride. If the Wanderer says sit, you sit.” He tilts his head. “Do you understand?” “I get it, Baxter.” Bastion forces a toothy grin. “Glad to hear it.” He pulls his claw from Danny’s gut and flings a string of blood onto the walls. Danny collapses on his knees with a hacking cough. He gulps blood and groans in pain. “I bet… bet you’re fun in bed…” Bastion turns away to leave. Then he pauses, turns around, and extends his hand. “Hand it over.” Danny plays stupid. Bastion growls. “Don’t test me.” When Danny surrenders his camera, Bastion crushes it in his fist and plucks the ribbon of film between his fingers. After, he drops the remains and curls his lips to give Danny a haughty grin. “Until our next venture.” And he’s gone like that. Danny loosens up the collar around his neck and stumbles into the wall. He hugs his stomach. The wound’s already stitching itself back together, but it still hurts like hell… He trudges over to his recliner and slumps down onto it with a heavy sigh. “Fucker.”   Continue     Harrowing screams rip through the darkness and curdle your blood. The screams of a town ravaged by a monster you unleashed in a relentless pursuit of answers you ultimately lost. Blood spilled for nothing. And it follows you still, like a river raging after you. You’re resting on your knees in a warm pool of it—it comes up to your waist, and it’s warm and unwelcoming. You miss the cold, black tar. An intense smell of copper and death stings your nostrils. The massacre flashes before your eyes and the pain echoes throughout your body. You close your eyes tightly. Then you hear a whistle to your left, and a familiar dark voice. “You can’t ignore it,” it tells you. “Open your eyes and take a good look.” You can’t even muster the voice to tell it to shut up. “Come on,” it goads, “look around. Might find something you like…” You ignore the nagging voice until it stops. Then a minute passes, then another, and another, until you open one eye to peer into the darkness. You see a small shadowy figure ahead of you. You blink at it until you realize it’s a child. A silhouette of one, that is. A spectral black form sitting on its knees. It faces away from you. But you notice small movements and hear the scritch-scratch of pencil on paper. With blood replacing the tar, you find that you’re not as bound to it as you are normally. You stand and trudge toward the child. When you summon your voice, hoarse and unsteady, you call out, “Hello?” They freeze. You falter too, just a few paces away. Then their dark head slowly swivels on their shoulders. If they’re facing you, there’s no way to tell; they have no face. They emit a voice— your voice. It repeats back to you, “Hello?”   ✱ ✱ ✱   You skim blackened pages tentatively. If you’re careless, they’ll crumble in your fingers and turn to ash. It breaks your heart, honestly. This thing could’ve provided you with so many answers, but you watched it burn in that furnace… What are a few minor burns when you step back and look at the bigger picture? They would have healed eventually. But this knowledge is lost forever. You lean forward on the porch step and close the book. No sense in picking through this thing any longer… You’ve gathered what bits and pieces you can: marred entries alluding to a tower, strange happenings in the fog beyond the campfire, an unknown word only hastily scribbled once—Imperiatti. Maybe diving for the book was a mistake. You should have tried harder to catch that guy. Whoever he was, he obviously knows something. Him and that other man you ran into in the woods… Who are they? Are they working together? And what are they working toward? They know more than you do. Not to mention the one knew Bastion’s aversion to fire… It feels like you’re sitting in the dark, just being strung along by unseen forces. Hell, that guy in the chapel lured you in with a mark. He knew you’d come for it, didn’t he? Was he messing with you? You’re startled to hear the front door swing open and then Lydia steps outside behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see her holding out a plate with a teacup and a biscuit. With a honeyed smile, she says, “Made you a little something.” You accept her gift while uttering your thanks. The old woman shuffles over to her rocking chair and sinks into it with a hefty sigh. You absentmindedly pick some crumbs off your biscuit. “I’m, uh… sorry for inconveniencing you, Lydia. I know I’ve been leeching off you for a while, but I promise I’ll pack up and get out of your house soon. Just as soon as I figure all this out…” “Don’t apologize,” Lydia chuckles. “I appreciate your company. No one else out here to talk to… You make everythin’ feel like home, like how it used t’ be… Don’t ever apologize for being here.” You smile and nod. Then you pause before asking, “Did Bryce ever mention anything about weird, er… guys in robes?” Or… Or a chapel? Anything at all?” Lydia hums softly. “I don’t recall… But Bryce was always ravin’ about something. Might’a just slipped my mind. I’m sorry.” “It’s alright,” you reply. Those answers will have to come from Bastion. He was Bryce, after all. But you’d have more luck panning gold out of a kiddie pool than getting anything useful out of him. His past is really hush-hush… After gulping down your tea and inhaling the biscuit, you stand up to head inside. You whistle first, then wait. Poe flutters down from the roof and lands on your outstretched arm. He crows at you in greeting. You smile and smooth his wing. “Your little bird’s already flying?” Lydia asks from her chair. “He’s getting there,” you reply. Poe rubs his head against your open palm and blinks his ocean-blue eyes at you. It’s a wonder they’re still blue… You thought they’d turn brown at some point, but maybe he’s just a curious case… Hm. It’s just as curious that he hasn’t left. You thought he’d take off and never return the moment he got off the ground. And yet, he remains a constant presence, glued to your side as a loving companion should be. You’re grateful for that.   When you enter the cabin and the study, you toss the book into the desk drawer and kick it shut. Poe flaps off your shoulder and onto the countertop to peck at a cup of oats you’ve set out for him. You turn around, then startle as Bastion appears directly in front of you. You sigh harshly. “Need to collar and bell you.” “I think it’d be a better look on you,” he retorts with a haughty grin. You shake your head. He waits expectantly. “I’ve combed through every black page of that book at least a hundred times,” you tell him. “And I haven’t found anything concrete… Or anything legible, anyway.” Leaning back against the wall, you fold your arms and sigh. “All this salvaging won’t get me the answers I need. What am I doing wrong?” “Nothing,” Bastion assures you. “You knew this wouldn’t be easy… If those answers were so easily found, then we’d surely already be free.” A frown appears on your face. “If only…” He plucks your chin and nudges your face up. “Chin up, Wanderer. You’ve done well so far…” You swipe his hand away. “You can reassure me all you want, but I’ll only believe it when I see it.” “It’s this determination that’ll get us there,” Bastion says with a chuckle. “I hope so.” You move around him to the door. “I’ll head out and see if I can pick up a trail…” Upon leaving the study, you scan the small room in search of your bag. You see it draped over the fireplace mantel. “I’m crossing my fingers for good lu—” You cut off as you’re reaching out for the bag. Your fingers just brush the strap when you feel a cold sensation at your feet. Tendrils of dark, wispy fog snake up your legs as you look down. In almost an instant, you’re pulled away and drawn into a trial.   It’s been a hot minute since last you touched the trial grounds. You materialize to an all-too familiar and jarring experience. You stumble and groan with a woozy sound. When your vision clears up, you turn around slowly to catch your bearings. You recognize the old mining estate. It’s just one of the many variations you’ve seen in your time here… Then you spot a decrepit, half-collapsed structure in the distance, shadowed by a tall tower which stands erect above it. You release a shuddering breath and rub your biceps to keep the cold at bay. You’ve almost forgotten the discomfort and fear imposed by these dark realms…   You creep through the realm with caution and discretion. As you approach the mines, you notice a chest hugging the exterior wall. Normally, you wouldn’t bother trying to crack one of those open - they’re noisy and the bounty's never worth it. But seeing that you were pulled into this mess without your usual gear, you’re willing to take a gamble this time around… Dropping to your knees before the chest, you start throttling the lid to break off the old, rusted latch. A tingly sensation creeps up your spine after a minute passes. You pause and glance over your shoulder. Nothing. Back to work clanging around the damn thing before the lock breaks right off. You heave the lid and scrutinize the junk inside—scrap metals, dead leaves, plants, twigs… After rummaging around, you’re pleased to find a battered flashlight. You click it on to test its beam — flickering, dim, but it works. Nice. You turn around, only to startle and gasp at the sight of Élodie. She stands behind you with a hard look on her face, balled fists, and emanating an aura so intense it makes you shudder. You’d almost blissfully forgotten you had the two potential whistleblowers hounding you for answers. If it’s not the shit out there in the fog coming after you, it’s your fellow campers. You keep your cool. “Hey, maybe don’t sneak up on people out here.” You quirk a brow at her. Hers draw together. When you try to walk past her, she steps in your way. “We need to talk.” “About what?” you ask dumbly. “You know what.” Her eyes are like piercing daggers. “You’ve been avoiding us this whole time because you’re hiding something. And I think you’ve been hiding it long enough.” As you scoff at her, you put on your best bemused expression. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shoulder past her. “I’m going to fix some generators so I can get the hell out of here. And I advise you to do the same.” You don’t even need to look back to know she’s tailing you. Maybe before your partnership with Danny, you really considered airing out your dirty laundry to the two. But now, you’re only second-guessing that possibility. How would they react if they found out about your pact with a killer? Or rather, two killers? The homicidal freak in a Halloween costume, and the enigmatic fog-demon you’ve become so well acquainted with. You can only guess it wouldn’t be positive… So the longer you keep them in the dark, the better. You creep into the rundown structure beneath the dark tower and spot a generator on the lower end of the deck. The deck is in ruins and falls into a pit leading to an adit barricaded by rubble and dirt. You can guess that led into the mines at one point. Then you feel a knot in your stomach when you consider the possibility of people being trapped inside… Elodie is still stalking you as you work on the machine. You glance at her every few seconds and find her glaring vindictively. “You going to help, or just stand there?” You click your flashlight at her. Her eyes narrow. “You don’t need to work on those damn generators. You don’t need to do shit, because you seem to have a workaround here. You know ways around these trials, don’t you? You don’t have to play by the rules like the rest of us. You’re putting on an act. Playing pretend.” “Are you insane?” You swing your arm out wide. “There’s a killer out there gunning for us right now, and you want to throw around these baseless accusations?” “Baseless? I know you’re hiding something!” Elodie raises her voice and sneers at you. “I’ve looked around camp, but you’re never anywhere to be found. That’s because you don’t want to be found. And you don’t want us finding out your dirty little secrets either. If this is my only chance to get those answers out of you, I’m taking it.” Both of you are startled by a scream in the distance—Meg. You frown and face Elodie. “Our friends are dying—” “If they were truly your friends, you wouldn’t keep them in the dark.” You narrow your eyes with scorn that Elodie returns. Another scream has you backing away from her. “I’m going to help.” You try to leave and she roughly grabs your forearm. “Stop bullshitting us!” “You need to back off!” you snap at her as you spin around. “You’ve lost it.” That strikes a nerve and sours her expression. You don’t wait around for her retaliation, however it might come. While storming up the ramp toward the tunnel entrance, you hear her shout after you, “You’re running because I’m right.” You scoff. “I’m running because you’re unhinged.” Another nerve struck — you glance over your shoulder and watch her face darken. But she drops her pursuit, much to your relief. After bending around the mouth of the collapsed entrance, you step through a patch of shaded grass. Then you hear a click. A click immediately followed by a metallic snap, a splintering crunch, and then your own scream tearing from your throat. You double over and cry out like a wounded animal. A rusty bear trap holds you in its vice grip. Its jagged, sharp teeth bite into your flesh and the pressure crushes your leg in its maw. Blood gushes from the lacerations, and jolts of searing pain soar through your body. Tears well up in your eyes as you grind your teeth hard. Panic sets in like a storm. You see Elodie lingering in the corner of your eye. “I-I’ll help you out,” she says quickly, “but only if you tell me something!” Her voice trembles with desperation. Agony shakes yours. “Did-Did you know that was there?!” you scream at her. She doesn’t answer. “We don’t have a lot of time, so start talking!” You give a bitter laugh, choked up by another cry escaping your shuddering lips. “Are-Are you fucking serious?” Dread crawls like pinpricks up your spine. The killer’s coming. You grip the jaws tight, straining, while trying to pry them apart. You’re startled by Bastion’s sudden appearance in front of you. He’s concealed, thankfully—Elodie shows no reaction to him. He tips his head toward your mangled leg before peering over at Elodie. Then he sighs like a disappointed parent. “I can’t help you unless I unveil myself, Wanderer,” he informs. You glance off at Elodie. She watches you closely. With a scoff, you turn your eyes to Bastion and murmur an inaudible, “No.” Maybe it’s just stubborn pride, but you don’t want to give her the satisfaction of winning this standoff. No matter what, it’s painfully obvious that you’ve lost your leg. It’s broken, that much you can tell. And all the blood trickling down your calf and pooling at your foot isn’t a good sign either. With trembling hands, you try again to pry the jaws apart. A spring snaps, then you groan in pain as it tightens. “You’re only making it worse,” Elodie says. “Let me help you—” “Get the hell away from me!” you bark at her. You’re just hoping she’ll creep away and save herself the trouble as the killer draws nearer. Then Bastion might discreetly lend you a hand. But Elodie does the opposite of what you wish—she slips into a locker nearby. Waiting and watching… To watch you buckle under the pressure and show her everything she wants to see, or… the unfortunate alternative. Bastion lingers closely with his head tipped toward the growing crimson puddle. His restless claws twitch and flex behind him. “I don’t think watching you die is a part of our contract, Wanderer.” “I-I don’t remember signing one,” you hush in reply. Blood loss makes you woozy. You give up trying to free your leg from the trap. Bastion sighs and shakes his head before vanishing. He’s only gone a second when your heartbeat quickens. It beats thunderously in your chest, joined by your anxious breaths and final gasp when you spot the killer approaching. A stout man garbed in a dirty set of black suspenders with a crude grinning mask and a jagged-edged blade. You’ve heard the others call him by several names—Miner, Chuckles, Trapper—they’re all fitting aliases for the coal-stained killer. But given your current circumstance, you can’t give half a damn what to call him. As the tormentor draws in for the kill, you fall on your ass and crawl backwards, dragging the trap on your leg. His heavy breathing becomes more intense and agitated, and yours picks up and escapes in quick gasps. You crawl to the broken edge of the ramp where it abruptly drops into the ditch. The killer stops before you and raises his weapon. You throw out a hand and turn your gaze from your grisly fate. —A fate that never arrives. Upon opening your eyes, you find the man a curious sight; his weapon raised high above his head, held in a trembling, unsteady hand. Moonlight glints off the static blade. Harsher breaths escape his throat, as though he struggles to breathe. A shudder goes through his body, and he drops his arm limp at his side before relinquishing his weapon. It clatters to the ground. You flinch when he suddenly collapses to his knees in front of you. He raises both ashen hands and wrenches his mask off his face. The ruins of a tormented man are a startling sight. His sunken eyes are dull and void of light, and his skin is split and leathery as though it had been whipped until it broke and cracked. You can’t miss the fear and horror on his face. With a guttural grunt, he lets his head fall into his marred hands. Then he shuts his eyes and his face strains. You don’t know what to say or do. Stupor creeps in and makes you moan and sway. You do all you can to hang on to consciousness, even if just for a few more fleeting moments. Catalyst, comes a voice in your head. You recall Bastion’s brief lesson and conclude that this results from that… You, being a catalyst that sends everything around you haywire. The source of the unusual and unpredictable. You struggle to gather your thoughts before reaching out to touch the battered man’s shoulder. Then a jolt zaps you away.   You’re reliving another memory. Through a disorienting, bleary film, you make out the hazy image of a man standing tall before you—he has an imposing stature and a more menacing tone of voice. “They’re just maggots,” he spits at you. His breath is ripe of tobacco and alcohol. It makes you grimace. He adds, “If they get in your way, crush ‘em under your heel.” He makes a fist beside your head and tightens it until you hear his knuckles pop. “Remember that, Evan. Keep ‘em all in line. Step on ‘em. Even if they all go under, at least you’ll be on top. That’s how you make it in this world, you hear me?” He awaits your response. You await the response of your given host, too. A response that comes in a shaky, boyish voice. “Maggots,” comes the word from your mouth. “I understand.” A rough hand lands on your shoulder and gives you a firm shake. You immediately feel pride. But then you feel scorn.   You snap back to reality with a gasp. The Trapper still hangs his head. You murmur his name quietly at first, barely above a hush. He doesn’t hear you. You repeat yourself, louder. “Evan?” You pose it as a question. One given an immediate confirmation when the Trapper lifts his head and meets your eyes with a startled look. His split lips quiver as his eyes widen. “Ev… Evan?” His voice is hoarse and cracked. Spoken as though he hasn’t said a word in years. He tries again, mustering more strength to better articulate. “Evan….” A startling realization strikes you in the heart. Realizing that this man is just another unfortunate soul caught up in this game of life and death. Another tormentor forced to dirty his hands at the behest of a dark entity. You can guess he didn’t give in willingly—the hooks and shrapnel barbing his shoulders and back might result from cruel punishment. You can’t find the right words to say. Nothing comes out, and what sounds you do make are incoherent or unintelligible. The world spins like a saucer. You no longer feel the searing pain that coursed up your leg moments ago. In fact, your whole leg has gone numb. Uh oh. You can feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. The moment you can no longer hold yourself up, you sway and fall on your side in a shallow pool of your own blood. You welcome the warmth as death’s cold touch looms over you. Darkness creeps in. Your fast-beating heart slows down. A hand rests on your shoulder. Then you hear a chorus of whispers. They come all at once, roaring in your ears. Fear makes your heart race. Is this the Entity, come to pull the killer under? To take over and force him to fulfill his role? You remember what happened to Frank. Hard to forget. Evan hears them. You know that because his jaw clenches, and he balls his fists and beats the ground. His head swivels back and forth as he voices his guttural objections. “No… M-My name is… My name is Evan. I’m not… I’m not—” His words are cut short as you watch claws erupt from the surrounding ground. They seize him like a spider does its prey. A horrible sight you’re forced to witness in terror. The ground crumbles as he's ensnared by the claws. Then he’s rent apart, his skin slashed and his limbs twisted with sickening cracks and pops. While he’s pulled down into the smoldering gash, you reach out with what waning strength you possess. He’s gone just as your fingers brush his own. The split seals itself and leaves you shaken. Though not for long—tendrils of dark mist creep in before blanketing you and whisking you away…   Pain subsides as you materialize on your feet. You stumble forward and fall to your knees before the fireplace. Lydia’s fireplace—you’re back at the cabin. Confusion riddles your face, but a part of you is relieved to be back. You pat yourself down and find your leg fully healed. Huh. You get up and turn around. Then you startle to find Bastion looming behind you. A hard look ruins your expression. “I told you not to intervene,” you reprimand him. “Now, after everything Elodie just saw, she’ll be all over my ass.” Bastion scoffs at you. “Wasn’t me,” he says simply. Your head tilts. He explains, “The trial’s key player was… out of commission. The game couldn’t go on, and the ringleader had to reset.” A frown creases your brow. “So… So it ended the trial early?” “It’s a very rare occurrence… And one you’re to thank for.” He lets out a galling chuckle. “Oh, you little temptress, you. Broke the poor man’s chains… Made him buckle and bend… Even if for just a moment.” The look you give him shuts him up. But only for just a moment. He curls his lips to give you a grin. “What’s your plan, Wanderer?” “I don’t know,” you reply bitterly. You slouch against the wall and sit down. “Elodie knows something’s up now… Hell, she already did, but this time there’ll be no dancing around it…” “And what does that mean to us?” “It means I’m done dancing.” You sigh and slump your shoulders. “She made a good point, didn’t she? I call these people my friends, but I keep them in the dark while I do all this funny business in the fog. Might even feel good to lift some of that burden off my shoulders… And if it means getting those two off my back, then… then I’ll tell them everything, like I initially planned. Maybe we can come to an agreement—maybe even work together.” You scoff. “I’ll just have to leave out the part about Danny… Shit would really hit the fan if they found out about him. Might hit the fan when they find out about you.” “It’s your call.” You grunt and nod. “Yeah… Okay, alright.” You stand and brush yourself off. “I’ll go now. The sooner I get this over with, the better.” You head straight for the front door, muttering, “And the sooner I can mope back here and crawl into bed…”   ✱ ✱ ✱   Camp is close, you can feel it. Brings the same old jitters you always get when you come around. Same feeling as stepping into class late; everyone looks up at you and scrutinizes, wondering where you’ve been and why you’re late. It’s an awkward spotlight… Ah… might be good to see the others, though. Seclude yourself anymore than you already do and you’ll become the gross hermit living in the woods… Come around camp sometimes to sit around looking grim, then creep off into the fog again, making everyone wonder what the hell you’re— !!! You let out a muffled cry as a cloth bag comes over your head and blacks out your vision. A rough arm winds around your throat, and hands wrestle yours behind your back before wrapping your wrists tightly with what feels like rope. You buck and kick like a wild animal, but you’re wrenched backwards and forcibly dragged away. For about two minutes, you verbally voice your objections until you’re thrown forward. You stagger and crash into something hard… A tree? A hand presses on your shoulder and forces you to turn and sit at the trunk. Then the bag comes off. After blinking to clear your vision, you scoff in disbelief. “You didn’t.” The culprits… Felix and Elodie. Felix looks less than willing to be a part of this. He shifts his awkward gaze between his left foot and right foot, scratching his nape and avoiding your eyes. However, Elodie glares at you. This stunt must’ve been her idea. Hm. You’re partly glad it was them, though… It could have been anyone with a burlap sack and rope dragging you into the fog… “Kidnapping? Really?” you say. “I’m sorry,” Felix sighs. Elodie hushes him. “You forced our hands,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d risk coming around camp, though… That’s pretty ballsy, isn’t it? Knowing that I know what I do? Huh… Thought we’d have to go out there and comb the fog for you…” You narrow your eyes. Elodie returns the sneer. “You can’t deny anything now, so don’t even try.” “Or what?” They exchange glances. Then she steps in front of you and leans forward to brace her hands on her knees. “There’s no alternative,” she insists. “You’re going to tell us everything.” “Or what?” you repeat, hardening your look to match hers. Elodie growls and backs away while flinging her arm in the air. “She doesn’t want to talk, like I said!” “I wouldn’t either if you kidnapped me and dragged me out into the words, Ellie! I told you this wouldn’t work.” He avoids her fuming look when he faces you. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It wasn’t supposed to come to this—” “Stop apologizing!” Elodie snaps. “She’s been hiding shit from the rest of us! And who even knows why?” You glance back and forth between the bickering two. Clearly, Elodie is the boss. Felix is just the lackey… Got it, got it. “Can you loosen these restraints?” you ask, while interrupting their quarrel. “The rope’s digging into my wrists—” “Only if you loosen those lips first,” Elodie retorts. “Good one.” Felix sighs. “Elo—” “We agreed to do this, Felix,” she cuts him off. “Back in that trial, I know what I saw. Just like you know what you saw before.” She faces you again. “Tell us everything right now. And believe me, we’ll keep you out here all night if you don’t.” You scoff at them. “You want me to cooperate? After you bagged me and dragged me out here to hold me captive?” “You’re not a captive.” “I’m in shackles.” “It’s rope.” “What difference does it make?” Elodie gives you the stink eye. Felix grips her arm. “Elodie, can we—?” Then he pulls her aside and they converse in hushed tones. They glance at you occasionally. You just watch. This is bullshit. You came out here planning to tell them everything, but now they pull this little stunt? You might keep it hush-hush now, just out of spite alone. Hell, they kidnapped you! They tied you up and threw you on the ground! You sigh in frustration. Bastion appears on your right, startling you. You look up at him and sneer at his stupid grin. His shoulders bounce as he chuckles. “How do you get yourself into these messes, Wanderer?” “Are you going to help me out, or just stand there?” “Oh, I don’t know,” he replies. “You look good all tied up like that…” You give him a dirty look before dropping your glare to the dirt. Then you wonder if the two will actually keep you out here all night… Night never ends. How long are they willing to play Bonnie and Clyde? But more importantly, how long are you willing to do this? …Not very long, honestly. You’re already tired as hell and itching to get back to the cabin. You’ll be out like a light the moment you plop into bed. You sigh. Damnit. Your mind was already made up before you ventured out here… Might as well go through with it and get this all over with. “Untie me and I’ll talk.” They pause. Their eyes shift to you. Elodie furrows her brow. “If we untie you, you’ll run.” “Run where? And, what, you don’t think you’d catch me? I’m not exactly a track star. Shit, I’m not Meg.” Felix elbows her and whispers something in her ear. You roll your eyes. These two are shiftier than me, I swear. Another minute ticks by before Elodie steps forward. She gets down on one knee in front of you and jabs you hard in the shoulder. “The ropes are coming off,” she says. Don’t even think about running.” “Roger.” She mean-mugs you one last time before undoing the ropes binding your arms behind your back. As she steps away, you stand up and rub your chafed wrists. They both watch you like a hawk, but true to your word, you don’t move a muscle. And now they just wait. “Where to start?” you utter, sighing. You touch your chin thoughtfully and hum. Elodie narrows her eyes. “Don’t get smart with us. Give it to us straight.” “We’re all on the same side,” Felix pipes up carefully. “Right…?” “I hope so,” you murmur. You gather your thoughts as best as you can, but you sigh in anticipation of spewing them out. “There’s… there’s a lot,” you say. And I’m not the best at words, or explaining things, so… I’ll let him handle it.” You flick your chin over their heads. On cue, Bastion appears behind them and bends forward to rest his hands on their shoulders. “I’m the one with the silver tongue.” His slimy tongue darts out of his mouth and flicks Elodie’s cheek. You know what kind of reaction to expect, and they definitely don’t disappoint. When the two set eyes on the tall shade looming behind them, they enter panic. Elodie screams and Felix wrenches away so hard he loses his balance and hits the ground. Elodie trips, falls backwards on her hands, then jerks up and flees. A hooked claw catches her around the waist, causing her to lurch forward with an oof. Then a fleeing Felix is caught by the leg and yanked backwards. Both of them are snared in Bastion’s claws and hefted off the ground, then drawn towards him. You wave your hands and reassure them, “Relax! He’s on our side!” “You’re insane!” Elodie screams. She bucks like a bull and squirms wildly. When she lashes out, she strikes Bastion in the head and chest. Unbothered, he chuckles in her face. “You’re a feisty one…” Then he turns to Felix and thumbs a speck of dirt off his cheek. “But aren’t you submissive?” “Stop freaking them out!” you scold him. “I’m on my best behavior, Wanderer,” he says with a chuckle. You pinch your brow. Elodie growls in frustration, and her voice trembles with fear. “Do-Do you have any idea what this thing is? Its-Its claws—!” “I can assure you I have no relation to the big, bad wolf,” Bastion says. Elodie scoffs at him. Felix swallows hard. “This thing is… This is the thing that’s been helping you? Has it been here all along?” “Longer than most,” Bastion returns cryptically. You rub your temples. This is looking bad… Elodie’s screaming bloody murder, and Felix is so pale you’re afraid he’ll drop dead on the spot. Not to mention Bastion isn’t helping matters. To ease the situation, you order Bastion, “Put them down. Then we can all have a civil discussion—” “I’m not speaking with this… this thing!” Elodie venomously spits. She squirms and kicks. “I knew you were up to no good. Creeping around in the shadows, hiding secrets like this from us?!” “It’s not what you think!” you snap. “And I’ll explain everything if you can just calm the hell down!” You look at Bastion again. “Drop them.” “They’re awfully skittish,” he replies carefully. “If they run, they run,” you say, “but they came to me for answers.” You face Elodie. “And if you want those answers, you’ll stick around to hear me out.” You don’t provide her with an alternative. She glares back and forth between you and Bastion, then shares a look with Felix before she heaves a sigh and stops fighting. Felix too calms down. Bastion grunts and reluctantly drops them on their feet. Part of you expects them to flee and go tattle-tailing to camp. They don’t. They back away from Bastion. Elodie keeps her wary eyes on him. “Tell us,” she says, side-eyeing you. “Tell us everything.” “What… What is he?” Felix asks. He flits his eyes up and down Bastion’s form. “This is Bastion,” you start off, motioning toward him. He gives the two another perky grin and a courteous nod as he folds his arms behind his back. “I’m a friend,” he says. “And I only want the same things you do.” “Yeah?” Elodie challenges. “And what’s that?” “Freedom,” he answers. “He’s—or he was—human,” you add. Felix and Elodie stare at you slack-jawed. “I found it a little hard to believe too, at first,” you say, then sigh. “But he used to be a man named Bryce. Like us, he was trapped here. And I guess over time, the fog just… changed him. It made him into this.” It’s a notion that terrifies them visibly. The idea that something human can become something so… inhuman. And that it could happen to anyone. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s more to be said, and they both wait and listen. To your word, you tell them everything.   You tell them about your deal with Bastion. Tell them about the marks, echoes, and anchors. You share what you’ve learned from your dreams, your visions, and those memories you’ve seen. It’s a back-and-forth delivery—you tell them something, and they ask why? Where? When? You tell them you’re special; they ask how? When you answer, they only have more questions. How do you know? Why you? You go over everything for at least twenty minutes. Then the questions stop coming while the two silently process everything you’ve told them. You and Bastion just wait. Felix paces back and forth. Elodie has been staring at the dirt for the past ten minutes, with this furrowed look on her face. You tap your foot. Bastion is as patient as ever. Then comes one final question. Elodie lifts her gaze and asks, “And where have you been hiding out here?” Surprised we missed one. “That’s the best part,” you say. “I think I’ll just show you…” Elodie quirks her brow as you walk away. She and Felix are both hot on your tail. Bastion strides behind them. “Where are we going?” Elodie asks skeptically. “You want to see where I’ve been shacking up, right? It’s this way.” They finally quit questioning you. You lead the way in silence.   ✱ ✱ ✱   As you approach Lydia’s cabin nestled in the clearing, Elodie and Felix slow and stop behind you. Seeing the old woman in the rocking chair on her porch, they cast curious glances at you. Lydia hears your arrival, too. “That you, honey?” she calls out. Poe’s perched on the armrest of her chair. He flutters off and swoops down onto your shoulder, pushing his head into the crook of your neck. He crows affectionately. As you stroke his beak, you smile. “It’s me,” you call out. “And I brought a couple… friends.” You approach the porch, but when you look back, you find the two firmly rooted in place. You know a thousand questions must be racing through their heads… More questions they’ll bombard you with later, you’re sure. A smile graces Lydia’s lips, and she hoists herself out of her chair. “You brought company? Shoulda’ told me,” she says. “I’d have put on some tea and biscuits…” You walk up the porch steps and nearly trip over your feet... Ah, not your feet. A flashlight. The same flashlight you picked up in that trial… After quirking your brow, you kick it out of the way. You look back at the other two. “You going to introduce yourselves?” Lydia stands beside you with an inviting smile. Felix’s face turns a deep shade of red. “Ah, yes… I’m… I’m Felix,” he offers politely. However, Elodie seems too absorbed in pondering to show good manners. Felix gently prods her. She clears her throat. “Élodie.” Lydia chuckles. “Gorgeous, gorgeous.” She turns to you. “I didn’t know you had any real friends out there,” she says. “Thought maybe you preferred the imaginary kind…” She pats you warmly on the back. “I’m proud of you.” “Aw, thanks.” Lydia hobbles to the door. Her insult clicks. You furrow your brows. “Wait… hey!” You hear her laughter as she makes her way inside. “Hmph.” You address Elodie and Felix again. “There you have it,” you say while clapping your hands together. “Satisfied?” Felix gives a slow nod, but he looks anything but decided. Elodie only grunts. It’s unclear what to expect from them… “What now?” you ask. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, where do we go from here?” They exchange a glance. Elodie sighs deeply. “We’ll… We’ll need a minute to really process all of... this." She glances nervously at Bastion as he lingers behind them. "Then maybe… Maybe we’ll figure something out together.” “What do you mean?” “We’ll join forces,” Elodie confirms. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders. You sigh with relief. Elodie adds, “We’ve been poking around in the fog ever since we dropped in, but we’ve found nothing. You can change that.” “We might make a difference,” Felix adds. “But we’ll come to you when we’re ready,” Elodie concludes. You nod. Then you knit your brows and awkwardly scratch your nape. “Uh, nobody around camp will hear about this, right?” “Only if it comes from you,” Elodie says. Then they both quickly turn away to depart. You’ve given them a lot to think about… Or maybe they just want to get away from Bastion. He flicks his tongue at them when they pass by.  But as they’re leaving—   "Felix." (❤) "Elodie." (❤) "They don't like you, Bastion." (❤) Head inside.     “Felix, wait—” You call out for him. He stops and looks back. After passing a furrowed look to Elodie, she creeps out of sight, and Felix joins you on the porch with a sigh. “You want to talk, don’t you?” he says, sounding nervous in anticipation. “Mm-hmm,” you reply. After opening the front door, you motion for him to follow you inside. Felix looks slack-jawed as you enter the cabin. You’re sure it’s been a long time since he’s seen anything more luxurious than his worn tent and the dull campfire… You give him a moment to take it all in. He peruses everything like an antique collector at a flea market. He glances between the shelves stacked high with jarred jams and fruits, and the yellow curtains on the windows. Then, he looks at the intricate red rug laid out on the hearth. Once he’s had his fill, he faces you. His expression changes and he scratches sheepishly at his arm. “I’m sorry it had to come to that,” he begins. “The… the kidnapping. I know I said you could come to us when you were ready, but after the trial, Elodie was raving. She wouldn’t listen to reason…” “It’s fine,” you reply. “I can understand her urgency…” Felix hums. “And I understand why you were so reluctant to share.” He glances nervously over your shoulder, as if expecting to find Bastion lingering there. He chuckles and lowers his voice. “Ah, and to think I really thought you needed us. You have everything you need out here. A warm bed, a warmer fire, and your… esteemed bodyguard.” “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” you reply with a scoff. “This cozy lil cabin doesn’t exactly make up for all the shit I go through…” Felix frowns. “You have a lot on your shoulders. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. It’ll be worth it in the end. Getting there won’t be easy, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll endure whatever it takes.” “Evidently,” Felix replies. You hear Lydia clanging around in the kitchen. You clear your throat and change the subject. “Hey, so… You could… swing around sometime. I-I mean, when we’re not busy and… being hunted down. Just come, er… hang out, you know? Cozy little cabin, and I know the campfire can be pretty claustrophobic.” Felix looks uncertain. “I don’t—” “Or don’t,” you interrupt nervously. “Your loss… But you should know that Lydia makes a mean biscuit, and an even meaner sweet tea. Not to mention she has a real bed. It’s fit with sheets and a comforter, and even… uh—” You trail off when you notice the pink dusting his cheeks. Clearly he’s picking up some implications behind the offer… You clear your throat. “I’m not saying we should— I-I’m just saying, if you ever want to get a good night’s sleep, then I’m sure Lydia wouldn’t mind having you over… I wouldn’t mind, either.” His expression flickers with hesitance. He glances at the floor, furrows his brows, then shakes his head. “I just don’t think that would be very…” He pauses to find the right word. Then, “Appropriate,” he decides. When he meets your eyes again, he further includes, “I was—am—uh… engaged. To be married, back home.” A silence settles over the room. You blink at him, at a loss for words. When you find some, they come out a blathering mess. “You’re…? Okay. Yeah, that… that makes sense. I-I mean, you’ve never mentioned this before, but…” You trail off with an exasperated sigh. “Oof. Uh… Right. I-I wasn’t even implying anything, just… just being, uh… nice.” Felix tries to speak, but you cut him off, still trying to save face. “Hey, good for you! Marriage is… it’s awesome, right?” You manage an awkward smile. He makes a face that makes you want to find a dark corner to curl up and die in. Although he spares you further shame by changing the subject. “I… I think this will be good for all of us,” he says while backing toward the door. “With what all you know, and what more we might find together… This could turn out.” You sigh. “Yeah, I hope so…” Felix opens the door and takes a step outside. He looks back at you as if to add something, but he leaves it unsaid. Then he’s gone. He’s only left for a moment when you hear Lydia giggling behind you. When you turn and watch her emerge from the kitchen, she comments, “Trying to put the moves on a married man?” Your face grows warm. “I was just being… nice! And-And I had no idea he’s engaged.” Lydia quirks her brow. As you sigh and droop your head in your hands, embarrassment turns your skin a deeper red. “Man… I was hitting on him. I just thought it was mutual… Because there was this time in a locker—” You stop, and a deep look furrows your brow. “Was… Was he just being nice?” Lydia chuckles—she finds your whole ordeal funny, apparently. As she shuffles past you toward the door, she says, “Well, he sounded real nice… The best ones are always taken.” She steps outside, and you can still hear her giggling at your expense. Ugh. You drag your feet up the stairs. Off to bed, where you’ll curl up under the sheets and fester in shame and dejection…   Continue     “Elodie, wait—” You call out for her. She stops and looks back. After passing a look off to Felix, he creeps out of sight, and Elodie joins you on the porch with a hardened expression and a stiff posture. You can tell by her face that she already knows what you want her for. She says nothing while she follows you inside. Upon entering the cabin, you notice a faint hint of surprise on her face. You’re sure it’s been a while since she’s seen anything more luxurious than her worn tent and the dull campfire… You give her a moment to take it all in. She peruses everything like an antique collector at a flea market. Her glowing eyes dart from the shelves filled with jarred jams and fruits to the yellow curtains hanging from the windows. Then she looks at the intricate red rug laid out on the hearth. As soon as she’s had her fill, she turns back to you, looking as nettled as ever. “Are you satisfied?” you ask her. “Done breathing down my neck?” She grunts. A stubborn part of her surely wants to argue about it, and an even more stubborn part of you would oblige—but she surprises you when she gives a small nod. “Yes.” “Really? You’re not looking for another excuse to go all Rambo and tie me up again?” “You’re not entirely off the hook yet,” Elodie responds. She adds, “Hiding something this big from us for so long? Yeah, I’ve gotta dock you a few points.” She folds her arms and looks around the room. “Not to mention keeping this place a secret. I might kill for a warm bed and a sweet old woman making me biscuits every morning…” “Well, luckily you don’t have to kill anyone,” you say. “Just drop by whenever you like.” Elodie faces you again and purses her lips. “You’re offering?” “Yeah, why not?” you reply. “We could have a little sleepover… What’s Lydia’s is mine… and also yours.” She smirks. Her gaze turns to the painting over the mantel. “I won’t lie,” she begins. “I thought you were working against us all this time… Didn’t know why, or to what end, but I’ll admit I thought you’d become a problem.” You scoff and humorously reply, “I’m a problem alright, but not yours… Unless that’s what you’re into—” She scrunches up her nose. You catch a glimpse of amusement in her eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. She turns away from you and heads for the door. “I’ll go over all this again with Felix. We’ll need more than a minute to process everything…” “I can imagine.” She turns around to face you again. “I might take you up on your offer. Only as long as you’re willing to have me…” “That bed’s roomy enough for the both of us,” you reply with a smile. Then a flush spreads over your cheeks, and you quickly add, “N-Not that I’m saying we’ll climb into bed together, but… I’m just saying it’s pretty big… big enough.” Elodie stares. You dumbly scratch your chin and clear your throat, then startle when she lets out a soft laugh. She shakes her head and sighs. “To think I believed you were a threat…” After a pause, her expression droops and she knits her brows. “I’m… sorry for treating you like one.” “I’m sorry for gaslighting the hell out of you… Or trying to, anyway,” you reply. “Damn… Nothing I said worked, did it?” “No. I’ve been called crazy for nearly half my life… but I always knew better.” She tilts her head to the side. “I think we’re even.” You shrug. “I don’t know… I mean, you watched me step on a bear trap, bagged me, and had Felix drag me through the woods in a chokehold.” “That was me,” she points out. You gawk. “You’re kidding.” She shakes her head. You scoff. “You’re stronger than you look,” you mutter while touching a tender spot on your neck. “I really pissed you off, huh?” Elodie hums. She steps forward and surprises you when she reaches out and softly touches the same spot. Taking her finger along a thin line of splotchy bruises, she examines you as if you’re under a microscope. “You did,” she murmurs. You feel her hand brush against yours. Your face flushes. You swallow and say, “We’re even.” She meets your eyes and maintains contact before pulling away. As she drifts toward the door with her back to you, she says, “We’ll come around soon.” She steps outside, then she’s gone. You touch your neck again. Lydia’s giggle catches your attention, and you turn around to watch her emerge from the kitchen. “Inviting strangers into my bed, are you?” Your cheeks blush a deep red. “No, just… I-I mean—” Lydia interrupts with a chuckle as she shuffles past you. “Sleep in it as often as you like,” she says, “but don’t you do the nasty in my sheets, you hear?” “Lydia, I wouldn’t.” She’s still giggling as she steps outside. Well, that happened… Now off to bed, you suppose. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? Kidnapped, interrogated, and you stepped on one too many bear traps for your liking… Until your new allies come knocking, you’ll get some rest…   Continue     …Never mind. You watch the two depart before giving Bastion a pointed look. “I don’t think they like you.” A grin spreads across his face. “Now, what makes you say that?” “They got out of here in a hurry, didn’t they?” You turn around to go inside. Bastion stoops to duck through the door, tagging behind you. “I think you might have got off on the wrong foot,” you say. “Made a pretty bad first impression…” “Ah, I tried,” Bastion chuckles. “But you like me well enough.” He gives you an endearing grin. Your eyes roll. “You’ve been pushing it, lately.” You walk upstairs to the bedroom. You stumble into him as he appears right in front of you. “I do like to push,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder to steady you. You sigh and walk around him. It’s a chore trying to shake off someone that’s not bound to the laws of space and time like the rest of you… Poe flutters off your shoulder and settles down in a makeshift nest of sheets on the dresser. You throw your jacket on the floor, kick off your shoes, then pull your shirt off over your head. But when you see Bastion lingering in the reflection of the still-shattered mirror on the wall, you turn to face him. “Clothes are coming off and this is your cue to leave.” “Sounds like all the more reason to stay,” Bastion flirts. You blink at him. He slowly tilts his head. “You should already know how we play this little game, Wanderer… I can’t go until I get a reaction out of you.” He vanishes, then looms over your shoulder. He plucks your chin and tilts your face up toward him. “A smile, a warm blush… Something to take home for the night.” You suck your teeth. “I think I’m becoming immune to your wiles, Bastion… Uh oh.” When you swipe his hand away, you turn around and fold your arms. “You can always go try your luck with Felix or Elodie again.” A laugh erupts from him. “Oh? Is that what this is all about?” “No,” you answer. “I’m tired, and you’re keeping me from that warm bed.” You hope your reasoning is enough to chase him away, because you’re desperate for a good night’s sleep. You’d just have an easier time getting that without him around...  You pull away from him and climb into bed. After snuggling up under the blankets, you hug your pillow and sigh. Bastion’s still there. You can hear his claws creaking and snapping. “Shouldn’t go without saying goodnight…” he says. You turn over to look at him. “Goodni—” He appears right on top of you, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips as you jump, then shrink down. He’s on his hands and knees, his claws piercing the bed at your sides and acting as bars that cage you beneath him. The breath in your throat catches as he stoops low and moves his grinning mouth to the side of your face. Redness darkens your face and you feel like a boiling kettle about to burst. After fanning a cold breath on your skin, which tickles the fine hairs on your neck, Bastion murmurs a low, “Goodnight.” Your heart races. You drape both arms across your face to hide your blush. Bastion pulls back to inspect his handiwork, and he chuckles. You feel silly. In addition, he rubs salt in the wound with the comment, “You make this too easy, Wanderer…” “I’ll make it harder from now on,” you muffle from behind your cover. “Make it too hard, and I might get too bold…” You scoff at him and lower your arms. “Good one. Got any more of those up your sleeve?” “A load,” Bastion purrs. “Want to relieve me of it?” You burst into laughter. “Stop,” you command as you playfully push on his face. A deep chuckle rumbles his frame, and he lashes his long, slimy tongue across your hand. A thick string of saliva oozes down your palm. You cringe. “Bastion!” He barks with laughter and wraps both arms around your smaller frame, while resting his considerable weight on your body. As he buries his head in the crook of your neck, you huff. His teeth graze your skin. The… same teeth that tore an old man’s throat out just for being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time… You feel leaden knots in your stomach. Pervasive thoughts echo your resentment with Bastion and everything he’s done. Heinous acts subjected to a town that did nothing wrong… Now you’re stuck with those memories that haunt you at night. Yet, he’s completely unbothered, isn’t he? Lying here with you, stealing a warmth and comfort that you’re uncertain he deserves. A sudden feeling of revulsion darkens your face. You press a hand firmly to Bastion’s shoulder and try pushing him away. He must think you’re playing, because he tightens up his arms around you and shakes his head. You try to keep the bitterness out of your voice as you say, “Have enough to take home with you?” An invitation to leave. He remains unwise to your change in demeanor—he doesn’t get the message. “Depends,” he says. “Am I taking you home with me?” That one might’ve worked any other day, but not now, while you have such a bitter taste in your mouth. “Laying it on thick tonight,” you mutter. “It gets thicker.” That’s enough. “You won our little game,” you say, no longer bothering to mask your caustic tone. “Now you can leave.” He finally catches on. Withdrawing his arms, he pulls back to be face-to-face. Then he tilts his head like a puzzled dog. You might feel bad if you weren’t having vivid flashes of him slaughtering a town of defenseless people in rags… “Can I ask where this is coming from, Wanderer?” “I’m just… tired.” He isn’t totally convinced. He leans back further to sit upright. Although you expect him to yield and disappear without another word, he remains persistent. “You can tell me when I’m… too much, Wanderer. You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me these things.” A frown creases your features. You sit up and reply, “It’s not that—” “I’ve been in the dark for a long time, Wanderer. I would appreciate if you would keep me out of it.” He offers a wavering grin. “We’ve been working on our honesty, haven’t we?” You feel a tug at your heartstrings. Then you can feel your anger and bitterness subside, leaving only shame and pity. Honesty is something you’ve been working on together… So telling him the truth is the least you can do. “You… You kill things, Bastion. I-I watched you turn a whole town into minced meat and paste. So you can imagine it might be weird for us to do… whatever this is.” You throw an arm out wide and scoff. “Cuddling the monster that cameos in my bad dreams?” Oh. That sorta slipped out. You watch the way his demeanor changes in an instant. His grin droops, his shoulders sag, and his twitchy claws stiffen up and curl. Unbridled reactions he doesn’t even bother trying to hide. Words hurt even the most eldritch of bastards. “Ah,” is all he says after a moment, barely above a whisper. You fumble over how to respond, how to apologize, but he doesn’t let you get anything out. “Everything I do is a necessary evil… Acts that only a monster can execute… but you know that.” He looks up and drops his head to the side. “I wouldn’t be very useful if I was unwilling to do those things… Is that the part that scares you? The willing?” You hesitate. “I’d be scared of my willingness to overlook it.” The room falls silent. Bastion lets out a low hum. “I can’t change that.” He regards you the next moment before uttering, “Goodnight, Wanderer.” Tethers of fog whisk away from him, telltale signs he’s about to vanish. You instinctively reach out and grasp his arm before he’s gone, then you hold on tight. He gives you a slanted look. You sigh heavily and hug his arm. “Bastion, just… wait.” He remains at your behest. You loosen up your grip on his arm and trail your fingers down toward his wrist before closing your hand around his. “I know you’ve only done these things to help me, and… I can’t exactly hate you for it.” You shake your head. “I shouldn’t have called you a monster—hell, I-I didn’t mean to. I know better. It just… slipped out.” “It’s the truth, isn’t it? I’m not exactly human anymore…” “Yes, but…” You trail off and entwine your fingers with his. “I’ve seen all the parts that still are.” When you find the courage to face him again, you add, “I don’t exactly like some of what you’ve done, but I know it doesn’t make you a monster. And you know I don’t hate you, Bastion. Because we’re… partners.” Your earnest monologue is followed by a long pause. You feel your face growing warmer in the escalating silence, then Bastion utters a simple, “Partners?” You nod. He chuckles. “Oh, there’s that word again… Partners. Not even friends, Wanderer? Just partners?” “Friends? Now that’s pushing it,” you reply humorously. “Well, you know how I like to push…” Bastion draws closer, slowly closing the small gap. “Here I thought you might be more fond of me.” There’s barely a hair’s width between you both. You can taste his cold, deathly breath and feel it ghosting your lips. “Why would you think that?” you ask, playing along. “I just had this feeling,” he replies. You don’t even notice him lift his hand until his fingers pluck your chin. A deeper red color ebbs into your cheeks. “Can you describe it?” “Can I show you?” Your heart skips a beat, and then it races a thousand miles per hour. You want to say yes, but a lump wedged in your throat keeps anything from coming out. So you give him a small nod instead. With your given consent, Bastion closes the menial distance. You exhale sharply at the contact of cold, uninviting lips on yours. As your mouths mesh tenderly, you feel a jolt race down your spine, and Bastion takes in your warmth with a resonating purr. In a moment of pure bliss, you let your eyes drift closed, lean toward him, and he tips his head at an angle to deepen your kiss. Slow and velvety soft, but vapid and wanting. You actively resist the urge to pounce onto his lap while asking for just a little more. You feel his delicate touch treading up your back, talons teasing the curvature of your spine before his hand encloses your waist. You jump away at the icy touch, an action enough to elicit a chuckle from him so warm that it makes you melt. It’s all just a moment that feels like at least a thousand emotions and feelings short-circuiting your brain at once. Just a moment. Because while you’re sure you could share in this moment for longer, it’s a possibility you’re robbed of when the bedroom door creaks open. You break off the kiss in an instant, and the euphoria subsides as you snap your wide-eyed gaze to the other side of the room. Lydia stands at the doorway. “I thought your friends left, honey,” she says. “You up here talkin’ to someone?” You lick your lips. “I’m, uh… speaking with Bastion.” Lydia wrinkles her brow. “Ah… Well, tell Bastion I said goodnight.” She offers a warm smile—you know she’s only teasing you again. “I’ll put some biscuits in the oven when you wake up, maybe prepare some fruits and jams…” “Sounds good,” you say quickly. “Thank you.” The old woman smiles and nods, then she backs away and closes the door. Afterward, it’s awkward, silent, and the butterflies fly away… You face Bastion with a stinging red color in your cheeks. He stares back with a slant head and a smugger-than-ever grin. A part of you wants him to cup your face in his hands again so you can start over. However, it’s a wish that doesn’t see the light of day. When nothing happens, you try to say something coherent, but all you can come up with is blathering and babbles. You give up and hide your face behind your hands. You simmer like that until Bastion grabs your wrists and pries them away as you offer no resistance. He leans in close. You feel hopeful again. “Sweet dreams, partner,” he flirts. Cupid machine-guns your heart. Then he leans in closer yet… You think he’s coming in for another kiss, and you open yourself up for it like a puppy awaiting a treat, but he stops short, chuckles at your doe-eyed look, and he bumps his forehead against yours. It’s a soft action that lasts only a moment before he disappears. You fall apart immediately. A sigh rattles through your entire frame as you slouch forward. Rebuking him one second, sucking face the next... Only he could get away with something like that. Because if there’s one thing that’s become terribly clear… you’ve fallen hard for that bastard. Uh oh.   Continue     ...Never mind. You opt against sharing any more words with the two. So you just watch them depart in silence before you turn around and head back inside. “That went well… enough,” you mutter as you shut the door behind you. Bastion appears beside the fireplace. “Seems you’re putting together quite the posse,” he comments. “Yeah, and I hope it’s enough. I’d like to figure this out without roping everyone and their mother into it.” “You might be asking too much…” “Maybe,” you scoff. “Did your friends leave already?” comes Lydia’s voice behind you. You turn around and watch her emerge from the kitchen. “Yeah,” you answer. “It was just an… impromptu visit. They wanted to see my crib. Or, your crib, I guess…” Lydia sighs. “Ah.” She shuffles past you toward the door. “Well, they’re welcome back anytime they like. I enjoy all the company.” The old woman steps outside, and you head for the stairs. Bastion watches you. “Where do you think you’re going?” “I’m calling it,” you tell him. “Going straight to bed.” “Ah… I’m sure you’re all tuckered out after your little meet and greet.” You stop on the stairs. “Hey, I ran a trial and worked shit out with Felix and Elodie. That’s enough to earn me some rest…” Bastion scoffs. You turn back around and continue upstairs. “Goodnight.”   Continue       It’s easy to forget that you’re trapped in a timeless purgatory. Although the dark sky hasn’t changed, it’s felt like days have flown by while you’ve waited for Felix and Elodie to arrive. There’s this growing concern that they’ve reconsidered the alliance. You try not to consider the possibility that they returned to camp and just blathered about everything they saw and what you told them. They need more time to think, is all… Just more time than you expected. Ah, as much as you love any excuse to sit around and do nothing, there’s always work to be done. And being that you’re the only one capable of carrying it out, well… duty calls.   It begins with a stroll into the fog. You gear up, bid farewell to Lydia, then march off like a good little soldier… Poe accompanies you, as always. He’s hopping across the branches over your head, having a field day in the trees while occasionally stopping to preen or crow at your surroundings. Bastion’s absent, but you don’t always need him to hold your hand… Besides, you feel a tad safer having Poe acting as your eye in the sky. If he sees trouble, you have faith he’ll alert you to it. Several minutes into your stroll, you feel that familiar itch inside your skull. The pull that guides you toward a mark… You cross your fingers that it’s not just another echo that’ll fade to dust in your hands; you’d actually like to have something to show to Felix and Elodie when… if, they come around. Your internal compass leads you deeper into the woods, and you follow it faithfully. It tells you to turn left, then it guides you straight ahead past a thicket of brambles and dead trees. You can feel yourself getting warmer, and the tiny whispers tickling your ears become louder and more excited, like a crowd cheering you on. The beaten path winds through dense shrubbery and even denser mist before you reach a clearing. As the whispers fade, the itch grows stronger. The clearing’s empty, save for a single spindly tree that towers above you. The branches are bare and look like spidery legs against the moonlit sky. Further up, you see a silver glint in the branches… Jewelry, if you have to guess. Target acquired. You peer up at the tree from the base. Very high… Hm. You’re not about to break your back trying to scale this thing… “Bastion?” You call for him and wait. Any second he’s going to pop in with a quip or a jab… But the seconds turn into minutes, and he doesn’t show. You sigh and chew your bottom lip. You won’t poke the bear. If he’s taking another leave of absence, you’re probably better off… You’re afraid which side of him might show up if you keep insisting… It’s time to cuff your sleeves. You’ve faced worse obstacles out here before, so you won’t let a tree stop you.  Your ascent begins swiftly, and Poe is alongside you each step of the way, perched on every branch above your head. He tilts his head and caws at you—he’s surely wondering what business you have being so high off the ground… Or not. He is just a bird… but you like to give your little pal more credit. As you climb higher, the branches become thinner. One you step on cracks beneath you, making you flinch and hug the body of the tree. You’re just a few meters off the ground, but a fall even from this height could easily maim you. And you can’t imagine carrying out your duties with a broken leg… Being more cautious as you proceed, you’re nearing your mark. When it’s within reach, you realize it’s a necklace. More specifically, a heart-shaped locket. There are splotches of silver showing through the rusty color. You reach for it. It’s just a hair’s width away. When the branch sways underfoot, you hug the tree again, sighing. Poe flutters onto the branch above you. The same branch from which the locket dangles… You get an idea. “Hey, Poe,” you coo at him. “Be a good boy and grab that shiny little trinket for me.” You motion upward at the mark. Poe cocks his head. “The locket,” you say again. “Just… Just grab it in your beak, or-or your talons, and… just…” You trail off while Poe watches you. Right. What am I thinking? Maybe I give the little guy too much credit… You reach out again, stretching up tall and standing on your tiptoes. Closer… So close… The branch cracks. You flinch, but persist. Finally, the locket is within your grasp; you brush its body with your fingers, then— Your vision flashes red, and a blood-curdling scream cuts through the air like a knife. An instant later, every nerve in your body is burning with searing, hot pain. You shout, then recoil like a snake. You recoil so hard you tip right off the branch. Your heart leaps to your throat, and your scream pierces the air as you plummet downward. You break through the tangle of branches on your way down, being bounced back and forth between them, snagged and bruised with each impact. It’s a battering descent that only lasts a second. You hit the ground hard at the base of the tree, landing on your back like a ton of bricks. When you thump your head, the world spins. Nausea and pain wash over you. “Ah… ah, fffuck,” you drawl. Stars swim across your vision. You squeeze shut your eyes and wince, then moan. Since your back absorbed most of the impact, you can feel the consequences in your chest—as if a stampede trampled you and shattered your ribs like glass. Poe’s dark shape streaks downward and lands at your side while your vision is still a jumble of colors. The crow coos. When you blink at him, you see the locket hanging from his beak. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. As you feebly reach out to grab it from him, he suddenly startles and takes flight. He takes the locket with him. You call, “Poe!” He’s gone in a flash. You curse. Hopefully, he’ll return… and hopefully he’ll bring the locket along with him. You try to move again, but everything hurts like hell. You fall still and groan in frustration. Knew better than to come out here alone, your inner voice nags. You scoff—you feel like an unsupervised kid when Bastion’s not around… What more to do now than to wait around for him to drop by? You know he might laugh, point his finger at you, make you feel silly… ‘How do you manage?’ he might ask. ‘I saw something shiny,’ you’d reply, stupidly. He’d get a kick out of it… Although, to be fair, you might’ve found it funny too, if you didn’t feel like a battered piñata. This’ll teach me, the nagging persists, This’ll teach me. You sigh in wait. Wait… What scared Poe? While the concern wrinkles your brow, you spot a dark figure standing on the other side of the clearing, almost completely obscured by the shadow of a tall tree that looms beside them. You feel your heart pounding against your aching ribs, and your breath catching in your throat. You hope it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you… but then the person moves, drawing closer. Soon as they enter the clearing, they’re bathed in moonlight, but because of your hazy vision, you still can’t make them out. Are they another robed lunatic? Another witness? You dread the possibility. You muster your strength to crawl away. The effort doesn’t get you very far. Every small movement makes you wince. Feels like your bones will crumble to dust… You can only watch with bated breath as the stranger comes closer and closer. Fear turns your blood to ice and sends tremors down your spine. When the stranger finally stops in front of you, you realize… you realize it’s just some guy. The unease subsides. A sigh leaves your parted lips as relief washes over you. Just some guy… He doesn’t look very friendly, but you’ve seen meaner mugs out here in the fog. Uglier ones, too. In fact, he’s rather handsome. A young, dark-skinned man in his late teens or early twenties. His head is shaved, and his jaw is covered with fuzzy hair. You notice blackness smeared around his eyes, like messed eyeshadow or charcoal… His attire’s all black, mostly, and… interesting. Black hoodie, black pants, a bandana tied around his wrist, and a padlock and some chains hanging from his belt… New guy? Or someone like Lydia, who travels the fog, wayless? Your curiosity puzzles your expression. Nothing is said, and the silence makes you uncomfortable. The young man stares at you intently. All you can do is stare back. And it runs like that until you clear your throat and break the ice. “Hi,” you croak. The man grunts. His tight shoulders go slack. The tension dissipates. “What happened?” he asks. His voice is deep and quiet. “I… fell." Your arm flies up to motion at the culprit, then you wince and let it fall to your side. “Ah,” you hiss. “It’s, uh… not my finest moment.” The stranger gets down on one knee to have a closer look. You wince when he grabs your arm and tries to hoist you up. He stops and furrows his brows. “How bad is it?” “I can still feel my arms and legs, so it’s not terrible,” you reply. “But everything hurts,” you add. “I thought so,” he mutters. His eyes flit up and down your body before his gaze stops on your head. He wrinkles his brow. “Your head’s bleeding.” “My head—?” You reach up feebly and touch the back of your skull. Wetness coats your fingers. When you draw your hand back around, you grimace at the sight of your bloodied digits. “Okay,” you sigh. “So maybe it’s a little worse than I thought…” “You need to get help.” “I sorta thought that’s where you’d come in,” you sheepishly joke. It’s a joke left hanging in the air for longer than you’re comfortable with. The stranger looks uncertain... Nervous, even… Is he seriously deliberating about helping you or not? Oof. Ouch. Not that you can blame him. With the troubles you all face out here in the fog daily, it is a lot having someone else add to your burden… You dismiss your idea and say, “Or, y’know, just leave me here and I’ll… figure it out…” He sighs. A hard look writes over his expression. He's thinking about it, you can tell... Honestly, you feel bad for putting him on the spot like this. Not his fault he walked up on the poor idiot who tumbled out of a tree... A long minute passes by, and it seems the angel on his shoulder’s won. Both his hands tuck beneath you—one under your knees, the other under your back—and he effortlessly lifts you up into his arms. He apologizes when you wince and adjusts his grasp to accommodate your sore state. “Where am I taking you?” Good question. No offense to your new friend here, but you don’t exactly want to lead him back to Lydia’s cabin… Don’t want to make a habit of inviting strangers into her home. But then, you can just imagine the reception you’d get if this guy carried you back to camp in the state you’re in. Scrutiny, concern, and more questions than you’d care to answer… Not to mention that you might be put under house arrest again. You're no good if you're moping around camp under everyone's watchful eyes.  “There’s… There’s a cabin nearby,” you hesitantly surrender. "You can take me there." “Point the way.”   ✱ ✱ ✱   Lydia’s cabin is a sight for sore eyes. You feel battered and bruised when your new friend carries you up to the porch. Seeing the old woman rocking in her chair, he abruptly comes to a halt. He looks at you, puzzled. You announce your presence with a quiet, “Hey, Lydia.” Lydia’s knitting hands pause, and she slightly cranes her head in your general direction. “Hey, honey. Back pretty soon, aren't you? You just left not too long ago,” she replies. “Yeah, about that…" You sheepishly scratch your neck. "I, uh... brought a new friend.” Lydia’s face brightens. “Another one?” she says with a smile gracing her wrinkly features. “Well, I’m ready for ‘em this time. Still got some tea on the stove and some a’ that leftover oatmeal pie… Where they at? What's their name?” You glance up at the stranger’s face. His brows draw together and he remains silent. A few moments pass before Lydia hums and shakes her head. “They shy? Alright… Come on in.” She hefts herself out of the chair and hobbles for the door. You nudge the man until he ascends the porch steps and follows the old woman inside. He carries you into the living room and stops on the hearth. Lydia walks to the kitchen, but asks over her shoulder, “Now, why do I only hear one set of footsteps?” “Took a nasty spill out there,” you say. “I’m being carried by my shining knight.” Lydia’s shuffling feet stop. “Are you okay?” she calls from the kitchen. “Fine. Just headed upstairs to tuck in for the night.” A hum, then a murmur, “You hav’ta to be more careful out there.” “I know, I know…” You direct your rescuer upstairs where he kicks open the bedroom door and carries you to the bed at your behest. He backs away slowly after placing you down. You sit up with a wince and a groan, then you rifle through your supply bag. He watches you silently. “Thanks,” you tell him. “Probably would’ve laid out in that dirt for hours if you hadn’t come along…” He grunts in reply. You carefully peel your shirt off over your head to examine the mess underneath. And it's some mess, alright—your chest is black and blue, smothered in horrific bruising and lacerated by some nasty cuts and scrapes. You can just imagine how bad your back must be… As there’s nothing you can do about your bruising or soreness, you just get to work dabbing disinfectant onto your wounds. “Are you new here?” you ask while you work. “Because I’d hate to be the one to give you the whole ‘You’re in hell and it’s going to suck’ orientation.” You look at the new guy and catch his eyes for a split second before he quickly averts his stoic gaze. He looks at the wall, then at his feet. “Been here a while,” he says. “Huh.” So, odds are he isn’t a camper like the rest of you… Probably like Lydia, then. A fog-dweller who lives somewhere out there, deep in the woods beyond the campfire, free from the trials… Lucky him. When you touch the back of your head, you grimace as you feel blood flake off under your fingers. It’s a mess back there, you’re sure. You give your company an asking look. He appears reluctant at first, then he yields and sighs. He moves to the side of the bed, snatches some cotton balls, then makes quick work dabbing up the oozing wound on your skull. He's not exactly gentle, but you can’t really complain… Being in close proximity, you notice dark smudges on his hoodie and pants… old blood stains? Your brows knit closely. His voice interrupts your thoughts. “What were you doing climbing that tree?” “I… saw something up there,” you answer slowly. You crane your head up at him, and he nudges it back down as he wraps bandages around your skull. “Got close to grabbing it, then—” Then those screams. The horrible, excruciating pain... You swallow. “Then I slipped,” you say. “The rest should be self-explanatory…” He nods. Once he finishes up, he relinquishes your supplies and backs away from you. You watch a studying look cross his features, like he’s reading you up and down… He’s quiet for a minute before just faintly murmuring, “Frank did say you were a klutz.” Soon as the words leave his lips, your blood runs cold. A dry mouth hinders your response, and you feel the hairs on your arms and neck standing up. “F…Frank? You mean—?” You both fall silent when you trail off. A flickering look appears in his eyes; restraint and caution… He watches your every move like a hawk—makes you feel like a mouse under his steely gaze. “He told us to watch out for you, too,” he says while sizing you up. As your eyes meet again, his expression darkens.  You’re in no condition to run or fight… but it won’t keep you from trying. You scramble off the bed and make a mad dash for the door. Course, your weakened legs fold like wet noodles the moment you touch the floor. You crumple and hit the ground hard with a grunt. As you’re picking yourself up, a weight crashes on top of you and you’re pinned down. Your assailant twists your arms behind your back and locks them in a vice grip. You put up a tough fight, but it’s not enough to make any difference. You seethe through your teeth, “You guys really know how to play pretend.” He tightens his grip on your wrists. “Stop,” he firmly commands. You hiss at him and squirm. “Is that why you came here?” you say. “Your buddy Frank sent you? I get it,” you spit. “Pissed off another killer who’s out for my blood—” “I’m not—” “Just don’t… don’t hurt Lydia,” you interrupt him, panic shaking your voice. “W-We don’t need to do this in her house—” “I’m not here to hurt you!” he snaps. You become silent. While not completely relieved, you calm just enough for him to get out his next piece. “Frank told us about you,” he begins slowly. “That there was something… off about you. That you were dangerous.” “He did?” you breathe. “Yeah… But I don’t see it.” He releases some pressure from your wrists and back. You can still feel his body hovering over yours. “You have a special friend, right?” he asks, sounding nervous. “Something out here that protects you? Don’t call it in… We’ll talk.” You don’t seem to have many options. If Bastion were watching, you wouldn’t even be having this discussion with this guy right now… You’d be mopping his blood off Lydia’s floor and going to bed with more nightmares. … But he doesn’t need to know that. “Fine,” you reply. He gives a small nod. Then he frees your wrists, and his weight comes off your back. After he steps away, you stand, stumble backward, and hit the wall. He watches you the entire time. You’re finally realizing now what that look on his face is—it’s unease. Like standing down the barrel of a loaded gun… You don’t know what Frank told him, but this guy regards you as a threat. A killer, afraid of you? ... Feels good, actually. “Did you come out here looking for me?” you ask him. “Yeah.” “And how did you—?” “Heard your scream,” he interrupts, giving you a pointed look. You grunt. That makes sense. “And what do you want?” you ask while eyeing him carefully. “Can I tell you my name first?” “I… sure.” “Joey,” he says. “I’m Joey.” “And what do you want, Joey?” You can tell he doesn’t appreciate your mean tone. If he has a retort, it goes unsaid. “When I heard you scream, I thought you were another camper… Someone wandering where they shouldn’t be. Once I realized it was you, I wanted to know if everything Frank told us was true.” “And what’d he tell you?” “Like I said: that you were dangerous.” Joey sits on the edge of the dresser opposite you and he leans back. His shoulders are still wound, and his brows are drawn tight. He’s as nervous as you are. Fair—he could snap and go berserk at any moment, and Bastion might make a guest appearance any second now…  “Am I everything you expected to find?” you ask. Joey looks at you from top to bottom. For a second, he looks unimpressed. He folds his arms. “No… Nothing like what I expected.” “And is that a good thing?” “Still figuring that out.” Two light raps on wood startle you both. You watch Lydia part the door and creep inside carrying a plate with a slice of oatmeal pie, and a small white cup of steaming hot tea. “Here’re those treats I was talkin’ about,” she sweetly says, none the wiser to the suffocating atmosphere. “I know you don’t want me buttin’ in on whatever it is you’re being so hush-hush about… I’ll leave this right here and be on my way.” She gives a smile and sets the goodies on the counter by the door. When she leaves, Joey helps himself and scarfs it down like he’s starving. As you silently observe him, you're surprised to watch him save half of the pie and wrap it up in his bandana before tucking it away in his backpack. “How many of you are there?” you ask. “Four,” he answers while facing you again. He swipes crumbs off his face. “Just me and my… friends.” “And what do you guys want?” He appears to hesitate. “If any of what Frank told us is true, then… then we don’t need to be enemies. Those parts where you’re trying to get the hell out of here? The part where you’re some self-proclaimed hero?” He scoffs and lowers his voice. “We could all use one of those, even if we won’t admit it.” “I know, right?” you bitterly reply. “Just sucks that it has to be me…” “Why you?” Joey asks. “Why aren’t the others trying?” “They can’t.” You shake your head. “There’s a lot to unpack here, and I’m not unpacking it with you right now, no offense.” Joey grunts in disappointment. But, “Alright,” he says. After a moment of silence, your chuckle surprises Joey. You fold your arms and sigh as he tilts his head at you. “You’re the third killer I’ve brought into Lydia’s house…” He frowns. “You’ve invited others?” “Well, I wouldn’t say they were invited…” Your humor subsides and leaves you bitter again. “What now?” you ask. Joey shakes his head. “I don’t know… I just wanted to see.” He paces the room. “Didn’t come here with anything else in mind… There’s nothing else to be said.” You quirk your brow. “Really? I sorta thought this was the part where you’d propose a pact, or maybe some sort of truce—” Joey interrupts you, scoffing. “If the others aren’t on board, then it doesn’t matter what I think. And I can tell you now that the jury’s out. Frank’s still messed up after what happened, and Julie’s pissed.” “Julie?” “Blonde-haired chick with a sour attitude and a resting bitch-face. You could say she’s closest to Frank… and not too happy after hearing everything he told her.” Joey flashes you a warning look. “I’d watch out for her.” “Great,” you say. “Creepy monsters, cryptic robed men in the woods, and now I’ve got a killer’s pissed-off girlfriend gunning for me.” Joey grunts and heads toward the door. Looks like someone's in a hurry... “I’ll try talking to them,” he says. “You’ll either hear back from me, or you won’t.” “Alright," you utter. Before he's gone, you quickly request, “Don’t... Don't tell your friends about this place, please… The last thing I need is the rest of them breaking down Lydia’s door.” “I won’t.” Joey steps into the hall. With one last glance, he tells you, “Don’t expect me to go easy on you if we run a trial together. We all have to play by the rules.” He leaves with that. You wait and listen for his footfalls down the stairs, across the floor, then you hear the front door slam shut. You’re relieved knowing he’s gone. You carry yourself to bed and flop into the sheets with a heavy sigh. Your aching body screams for rest, and you're more than happy to oblige. All you want to do is shut your eyes and drift off to sleep... You'll wake up the worse for wear, but you hardly give a damn. At least some sleep will dull your pain for a few hours...  You're dozing off when a noisy caw startles you half to death. You jolt upright and watch Poe flutter onto the windowsill. The locket from before hangs from his beak. He tips his head at you in a manner you interpret as saying, 'Proud of me?' “You’re a problem child, Poe,” you say with a sigh as you reach out to take it from him. As soon as you grasp the chain, you’re reminded why you lost it in the first place-that same jolt you felt before zaps through you, followed by waves of pain that set your nerves on fire. You scream and seize up, crashing right off the side of the bed and onto the floor in a fetal, writhing heap, with the locket clenched in your fist. A hazy white screens your vision, then you see a crowd… Shrouded figures standing in a tight circle around you. Your head hangs and you find yourself on your knees upon a stone floor. On the floor, a crude carving laid out beneath you… A rune? You observe it for only seconds before you notice the flames—furious, lashing hot flames that engulf your form and devour you alive. You snap back to reality with a gasp. The locket falls from your grasp, clattering open in front of you. You regard it fearfully before leaning closer to peer at the image inside… A ruined photo. It’s scorched black. Puzzled, you pull away. What was all that? And that rune—? No, no, now’s not the time to rack your brain for those answers. You’ll sketch it out and save it for later… Now you just want to get some rest.     Harsh winds whip past, and the biting cold turns his bones to ice. Joey trudges through the deep snow with his fists buried in his pockets, and his head downcast. He’s coming up on the cabin now, relieved to be out of the fog and back someplace familiar. As he steps inside through the shredded hole in the wall, warmth settles his core and elicits a deep sigh from his parted lips. He marches straight to the fireplace, rubbing his hands together and searching out Susie. She’s not here… but he does find the frosted remains of a dead finch lying on the hearth, with its innards oozing from an open cavity slashed across its chest. Hm. Upstairs he goes, hearing the old cabin creak and groan—the silence unnerves him. It’s so quiet, he fears he’s in a trial and doesn’t realize it yet. He checks the empty rooms, then parts open an old storage closet in the hall. Found her. Tucked into the corner beneath an old coat rack, with her knees drawn to her chest, her hood pulled down over her face, and her headphones plugged into the Walkman that sits at her side. Joey taps his foot to get her attention. She looks up, and her dull blue eyes shimmer in the shadow concealing most of her face. But he notices red specks spattered across her cheek and jaw, then clear streaks that run down through them… “Brought you something,” Joey murmurs softly. He presents the gift folded up in his bandana. Susie’s face flickers with confusion, but she reaches out and accepts his offer. When she reveals the treat inside, her eyes light up. “Where did you—?” Her voice croaks harshly. “Found it,” Joey answers. Susie doesn’t ask anymore questions. She picks apart the slice of pie and digs in. Joey leaves her to it. He heads down the hall and into the room he’s claimed for himself. Just his little corner of their small world… Used to be cluttered with old junk and scraps left behind when the resort had been abandoned. He cleared it out, pushed a ratty couch into the corner, and set up an old television against the wall. Used to be homey; but now it’s all fucked, just like everything else around here. The TV no longer works, the couch is tattered and cold, and there’s a gaping hole in the ceiling letting all the elements in. Joey throws off his backpack, then his hoodie, and he slumps into the sofa with a deep sigh. He lies back and folds his arms across his chest. Then he shuts his eyes and welcomes the tiredness pulling him under. Three minutes pass, and he’s just drifting off when he hears the floorboards creak. Then, a cold voice. “Where were you?” Joey opens his eyes and turns to see Julie standing in the doorway. Bitterness spoils his expression. The same bitterness he feels every time he sees her face, now. Didn't used to be this way—she used to be pretty, with sparkling eyes and a contagious smile, just like Frank’s. Now, her eyes are hollow and dark, and her skin pale and always spattered with dirt or blood. Her blonde hair falls in unkempt, oily tresses over her shoulders. She looks like an animal and behaves even worse… Joey tries not to stoop so low. “Out,” he answers reluctantly. “Where?” Julie persists. Joey doesn’t respond. He notices she grips her knife in one hand, the blade crimson with blood. Her other fist holds her mask, and it’s smeared red, just the same. She just finished a hunt—or a game, as she would call it—and she’s still vicious, like it wasn’t enough to sate her hunger. Joey doesn’t want to deal with her. “Go bother Frank,” he tells her. “He’s playing,” she replies, keeping her voice low. Then she walks slowly into the room with a dangerous gait. “Susie’s eating something in the closet.” “She’s not a dog,” Joey bitterly replies. “She’s not chewing something she shouldn’t have.” “What is it?” “Food.” “From where?” Silence smothers the atmosphere. Joey shifts. “I found it in the fog.” “Did you find anything else?” she asks in a demanding voice. Joey scoffs—he knows what she’s really asking. So he releases a hissing sigh, then sits up to face her more clearly. “I found Frank’s klutz,” he says. “That’s what you want to hear, right?” Julie perks up, just like a dog... “Where? Couldn’t have been in camp…” “Didn’t find her around camp.” Joey knows from Julie’s agitated, waiting gaze that she wants more information. He doesn’t disclose it. “I’m not telling you where,” he firmly says. Julie’s eyes narrow. “Why not?” “So you can go hunt her down?” Julie scoffs at him. As she moves closer, she waggles her knife in his face like a finger. “After what she did to Frank? It’s deserved.” “Frank tried to kill her.” “He’s supposed to.” Joey glares and steps away from the couch. He meets her halfway, stopping paces from her to have a standoff. He squares his shoulders to make himself look big; the only way to get her to back down, sometimes. Nothing scares her. Not anymore. “You’re forgetting what else Frank told us about her," he says. "About her being different from the rest of those pricks around the fire. About her knowing these things she shouldn’t—” “It doesn’t mean anything,” Julie angrily interrupts. “It means someone’s trying,” Joey asserts. “Means someone’s out there trying to figure all this shit out. So who the hell are we to get in the way?” Julie glowers. She lowers her head and darkens her face. “We’re playing our parts. Doing what we have to if we want to survive—” “We don’t have a choice. How much longer are you willing to play your role while something ELSE pulls the strings?” “You know what happens if we don’t,” Julie warns. “I do,” Joey replies. “Which is why I want this to end.” Julie scoffs, then she lets out a cackle that almost makes Joey jump. Bitterness weaves her brows and puts a twisted smirk on her lips. “You really think this is ever going to end? And what if it does? What happens to us?” “We get out of here.” “And THEN what?” Julie barks. “Go back to the lives we ruined? It’s over for us in the real world… After what we did—” “I’d rather go back and face the consequences than be here!” Joey heatedly interrupts, his voice raising. Julie doesn’t even flinch. She steps forward and pokes him in the chest with a blood-encrusted nail. “You’d rather live life behind bars than relish in the freedom we have here?” “This isn’t freedom. Not for anyone.” Joey lowers his voice and snatches her wrist in his fist. She tries to wrench away, but he keeps his grip. “We made a mistake, Jules,” he insists, holding her mean gaze. “Who knows if we’ll ever stop paying for it? Maybe this doesn’t end.” Julie stares back intensely. “Maybe we belong here,” she whispers. Joey goes quiet. Julie snatches her hand free and backs off slowly. “I don’t think it was a mistake,” she murmurs. “I think it was a blessing. An awakening… And I think this is where we should be.” The mad spark in her eyes sends chills scurrying down Joey’s spine. Julie slowly tilts her head to the side, her wide eyes unblinking. “We still have each other,” she says. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “We’re suffering,” Joey replies. “I haven’t suffered a day.” Julie turns her back on him and stomps to the door. She glances over her shoulder. “Are you going to point the way, or do I need to hunt her down myself?” Joey glares at her silently. That’s his answer. Julie scoffs, dismisses him with a wave of her hand, and she steps out into the shadowed hall. Then she stops. “Do you really think she’ll find anything?” Joey again returns her query with silence. Julie leaves. When he’s sure she’s gone, he slumps back into the sofa and allows his head to fall forward into his hands. He lets out a heavy sigh. No, he thinks to himself. That clueless klutz in the woods, climbing trees and falling out of the branches like a little bird? He doesn’t believe Birdie will find a damn thing. But they all need something to believe in… Someone, rather... So he’s placing his bet on her. Only time will tell if it's a gamble worth the risks.     “I didn’t expect you to show up out of the blue like this.” You step onto the landing at the bottom of the stairs and come to a full stop to address your guests. Felix sits comfortably in one of the rocking chairs dragged in front of the fireplace, and Elodie hangs close to the wall at the opposite end of the room, with her arms folded and an impassive expression on her face. “I mean, most people would knock, y’know?” you also say. “Lydia let us in,” Elodie replies. She gives you a once-over, quirks a brow, then scoffs. “Didn’t realize we’d be interrupting your beauty sleep…” “You’re just here way sooner than I expected,” you reply while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Ahh,” you yawn. “—But the sooner the better, right? I’m not complaining…” You stumble into the room, trying to hide your stiff gait. Since your mishap in the woods, your body has ached like hell, and you’ve found it difficult to even get out of bed. But when you heard the muffled voices and footsteps downstairs, you figured it was time to suck it up and investigate… Sure, you’re relieved to know they’ve accepted your proposal. But did they have to accept it so soon? The front door swings open and Lydia shuffles past you. “Hope you don’t mind that I let your friends in,” she says. “I know you’ve been on bedrest, but I thought they’d like to see how you were doin’.” Lydia enters the kitchen. Elodie’s sharp eyes jump toward you. “Bedrest?” “Not important,” you say quickly. “Let’s get straight to business… Whatever business is…” “You tell us,” Felix says. He steps away from the chair and turns to face you. His brow furrows. “Where do we start?” “I think we should go over everything you’ve found,” Elodie says. “We know things you may need to hear, too.” “That’s starting somewhere,” you say. You bend around the stairs and head for the study. “I’ll grab my things and we can have a look at everything together. Give me a minute.” When you enter the study, you shut the door and rummage through the desk. You gather the journal you found in the caverns, some notes you’ve thrown together, and the burned-up book you retrieved from the chapel. You carefully handle that one… After turning around, you startle and gasp at the sight of Bastion’s rigid, tall form lurking behind you. You clasp your heart. “Bastion,” you warningly say. “You have company,” he says, more of a question than a statement. “Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah… and maybe you should go.” He tips his head. You add, “You creep them out. And there’s absolutely no reason you need to be in there looming over their shoulders like a reaper.” “I’m offended, Wanderer.” “You should be,” you snort, “because you’re offensive.” An uncomfortable silence drags on longer than you’d like as he stares at you. You shuffle your feet, scratch your nose, then sigh. “Fine. You can lurk, but ONLY if you keep quiet and stand in the corner… And… you better put some clothes on.” “You’re joking.” “I’m not. Go magic up some clothes or something! Anything, just as long as you’re covered up. Why do you walk everywhere like that, anyway?” “Because I’ve nothing to hide,” Bastion replies with a perky grin. “Besides… I’m a sight for sore eyes.” “You’re vile, is what you are.” “We’re name-calling now? I might have a few for you,” he rumbles teasingly. “—And none of that,” you command. “No flirting with my house guests.” “Only the house guests?” As you furrow your brows, you give him a pointed look. He’s not pleased with your seriousness. His grin drops as you brush past him with your books in your arms. “Clothes,” you reassert before throwing open the door and stepping out of the study. When you re-enter the main room, you lead into the kitchen with Felix and Elodie on your tail. Lydia stands at the stove with her back to you. You ask, “Is it okay if we do some brainstorming in here?” “By all means,” she replies. She wipes her hands on her apron and shuffles around you toward the living room. “Just let me know when those biscuits start burnin’.” As soon as she’s gone, you lay out your findings on the table. “It’s not much, but we can pick through these for anything I might’ve missed.” After carefully placing down the burnt book, you add, “You’ve gotta be careful with this one… Had a little mishap.” Elodie picks the leather-bound journal in favor of the scorched one. Felix flips through your notes and personal pages. You stand by quietly, patiently awaiting their conclusions. As you wait, Bastion appears suddenly to your left. You jump at the sight of him, then you gawk. Seems he’s caved and complied with your request… He’s come dressed in a form-fitting garb comprising a black waistcoat buttoned over a collared grey shirt, black slacks, and a pair of spotless black dress shoes to match. More class than expected from your devilish companion. You double-take. Bastion chuckles at you, amused. He straightens up his collar and folds his arms behind his back while giving his trademark grin. Elodie draws your attention again. “Where did you find this?” she asks while glancing up from the journal. She just notices Bastion. She flinches at the sight of him, then eyeballs his attire before jerking her gaze away, as if offended. Felix peers at your companion before giving off a funny look. You clear your throat. “That’s the journal I found in the cave I told you about,” you answer. “Like I said, I’ve been through it already. Haven’t picked out anything groundbreaking… Just some guy’s diary and footnotes.” “These entries are signed off by a Harry,” Elodie murmurs while skimming the pages. She raises an eyebrow. You shrug at her. “That one might be more promising,” you say, while motioning at the burnt book. “Don’t be put off by the way it looks…” Elodie scoffs at the sight of the wretched thing. She gingerly takes the book in her hands and flips through the black pages. One crumbles to ash in her fingers. She sighs. While she explores its contents—or lack of—you ask the two, “What do you guys know?” “So far?” Elodie says. “Next to nothing. But I’ll start at the beginning… Felix and I knew each other before all of this. Our parents were… acquainted.” You make a face, prompting her to clarify, “Not like that. They were part of a group — a group that knew of the Entity’s existence.” She scoffs. “They used to tell us these stories that we thought were only fables. Something that made us think twice about the boogeyman before going to sleep at night… We never believed any of it. Not until it was too late.” “They’d travel the world and meet up with other members of the group,” Felix pipes up. “They brought us along… And we frequented a location called Dyer Island.” “We formed a little group of our own,” Elodie adds. “Earned a name for ourselves… ‘The Pariahs.’ We were just the rich brats of these strange men and women who would go to faraway places and dig up artifacts and tell these tall tales… The outcasts of the Im…per…” She trails off and a hard look shadows her brow. She narrows her eyes at the page in front of her. “Imperiatti,” she murmurs. Wide eyes meet yours. “Where did you find this book?” “That old chapel I told you about,” you reply. “Got it off one of those robed men I mentioned—” Elodie skims quickly through the following pages, murmuring and shaking her head as she does so. “That was the name of our parents’ group. The Imperiatti.” She exchanges a look with Felix. “Wait, wait, what’s that mean?” you say, lost. Elodie scoffs. “Wish I knew, but—” She sighs in frustration while tossing the pages, “—there’s nothing else here! What the hell happened to this thing?” “That cloaked asshole tossed it into a furnace,” you answer, sharing her frustration. “He was trying to keep it from me, and it beats me why.” Elodie kicks the foot of the table with an angry huff. Felix sighs. “Our parents were… They were taken years ago,” he says. “When we were still young. We had found a ruined underground lab on Dyer Island, but something came and attacked us. Our parents defended us, and-and…” He trails off, hesitant. “We hunted for answers, but nothing ever came up. We called off the search—” “You called off the search,” Elodie bitterly interrupts, glaring at him. “You and all the others…” Felix hangs his head in shame. Elodie turns to you. “I kept looking. I found breadcrumbs, sometimes, but nothing concrete. It was never enough.” “What did you find?” you ask. “I discovered that there was another group out there, one called The Black Vale. It was always rumored they worshipped something dark, something evil. I heard they had their hand in everything…” She scoffs. “Fanatics in dark robes and cowls… Sound familiar?” “Too familiar.” “I thought so,” she replies. “I humored the idea that those men you told us about could be loosely connected. But what are the odds? And why would the cultists be here?” “What better place to worship your dark lord than in its own backyard?” Elodie narrows her eyes at your quippy remark, unimpressed. You scratch your nape sheepishly until she continues. “And whoever wrote this journal—” She waves around the charred book. “—knows something about the Imperiatti. But who wrote it, and where are they?” “And could our parents be here, too?” Felix asks, sounding too hopeful for his own good. Bastion startles them both when he appears behind them. He leans down to rest his hands on their shoulders. “Now, I’m sure you both miss your mommy and daddy, but they aren’t priority. Don’t lose sight of what’s most important…” He tops off his fuckery with a forced grin. Elodie wrenches away from him, slapping his hand off her shoulder. She glares with the wrath of at least ten burning suns. Felix doesn’t look too happy about his comment, either. When Bastion chuckles and draws away, Elodie gives you a very pointed look. “There’s also mention of a tower here,” she says, holding up the book. “A mention’s all it is,” you reply. “I haven’t found anything solid on it yet.” She sighs, not bothering to disguise her disappointment. “More conjecture…” She’s about to close the book, but you stop her. “There was a page in there,” you say. “Some kid’s drawing… Found it tucked inside, untouched by the flames.” Prompted to, Elodie flips through the book. But she finds nothing. She gives you a tilted look. You frown. “It should still be in there… I didn’t move it.” When nothing comes up, still, you take the book from her and seek the page. “It’s still in here—” It isn’t. The page is gone. Elodie rolls her eyes as you frown. “It’s no wonder you’ve got nothing to show,” she says. “You lose all of your evidence.” You drop the book on the table, disappointed. Then you fish that locket out of your pocket and set it down. “Found this cursed thing a little while ago,” you say. “It gave me a fright and a horrible vision. Saw what looked like a rune etched beneath me…” Bastion perks up like a dog at the sight of it. He reaches out, but Elodie beats him to the punch. She grabs and eyes the trinket curiously. After flipping it open and examining the scorched photo, she asks, “What did that rune look like?” You grab a pen and paper, then scribble it out for her. She and Felix have a close look. Elodie hums. “Not what I expected… But—” She drops the locket—Bastion sneakily grabs it and creeps away—and she takes your pen. Elodie etches on the paper a circle with a line drawn straight through it. She jabs it with her index. “That’s what brought me here, I'm certain of it. I’d been caught by those cloaked bastards, then stabbed when I tried to get away. Then I just had this… this feeling. Something deep inside that took control… I etched that on the ground at my feet. Then I woke up in the fog.” It’s an interesting tidbit, but you don’t know what to make of it. You shrug. Elodie sighs. “It’s going up on the drawing board…” She folds her arms. “So, we have a cult, a missing group of people, soiled evidence, and a hero that doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.” “Sounds about right.” She scoffs. Felix clears his throat. “What are we thinking now?” he asks.  “I’m thinking I should’ve come to you two sooner,” you reply. “All the shit you know? I’ve gathered more info in the last ten minutes than I have on my own out here. Might’ve gotten on the fast track if I hadn’t been so covert…” “We could’ve told you that,” Elodie wryly says. “We’re in this together now,” Felix tacks on. “You don’t need to hide anything else from us.” Sure, you think. But maybe I should keep my pact with Danny a secret… Elodie motions abruptly at Bastion. He grins when she sets her eyes on him, an expression she returns with a glare before turning your way. “Will we be receiving the same protection from him as you are?” Bastion responds. He’s behind her again, resting his hand on her head of hair to stroke and ruffle her coily tresses. “I can’t traverse the many realms within the fog without the Wanderer… She acts as my… anchor. Something that tethers me to each plane.” Elodie slaps away his hand. Bastion chuckles. “But if you should ever find yourselves playing together, I’ll extend my good graces to you as well.” He returns to your side. Elodie swiftly changes the subject with more questions. “And what about that thing you did to the Trapper?” she asks. “How you made him so... so meek? What was that?” “I don’t know,” you say. “Something about me throws everything out of whack. Makes killers go haywire… Or, in his case, tame.” “You can control the killers?” Felix asks, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think control is the right word… And it’s not something I’ve got a handle on, either. But I think some of these killers are forced to play the role. Just a few I’ve seen already fit that mold…” You recall Frank and Joey. Especially the Trapper, being the most notable case of this; the most heart-wrenching. “It snaps them out of it, briefly. And maybe down the road, we can help them too,” you suggest hopefully. Elodie dismisses the idea with an apathetic scoff. “Let’s focus on helping ourselves first.” She scoops up your books and notes, then marches out of the kitchen. You and Felix follow her into the living room. “We need to put up an evidence board,” she says. “Organize everything we have so far, start connecting some dots… Won’t find a damn thing if you shut everything away in that desk to collect dust.” “You sound experienced,” you compliment. “Like you’ve done it all before…” “I have.” She clears the framed photos and paintings off the walls. Felix lends her a hand. While they busy themselves with tearing down Lydia’s decor, you step back and watch. Bastion appears beside you, quiet. You glance him up and down, then snort. It’s odd seeing him all dressed up… Jarring, even, after all the times you’ve seen him nude. “I didn’t think you’d do it, honestly,” you comment. “Who knew you could be so prim and proper?” “Does it surprise you?” “Yeah. Almost can’t tell you’re an eldritch fiend with a talent for tearing people apart…” He chuckles and twirls his tie around his finger, flattered. That’s one way to make a cryptid blush. Then a thought comes to a mind, followed by an important question, one that’s sure to ruin his mood. You snag Bastion’s sleeve and tug him away from your new partners. He follows compliantly, and when you’ve put some distance between you and them, you whisper up at him, “We should tell them about your little… problem.” As expected, his contented grin turns into a sneer. He draws his arm behind his back. “You want them to know?” “I think it’d be negligent not to tell them,” you reply. “You can be very…“ You trail off while carefully considering your next word. “Dangerous,” you say. “You can be very dangerous, Bastion, and not just to me anymore.” “I don’t appreciate you demeaning me, Wanderer.” “Shouldn’t they know? Doesn’t it have to be said?” His lips curl into an even nastier scowl. It’s a look that very much says no. But he knows you’re right. He knows, and he makes it clear when he lets up with a heavy sigh. “It’s up to you,” he mutters, sounding bitter. He’s gone without another word. His absence has you thinking twice. You wouldn’t be doing it to spite him. Hell, maybe you shouldn’t do it at all. What good would come of it? Elodie and Felix don’t trust him as it is, and you can only imagine that ice would get thinner if you told them your close ally has a homicidal doppelgänger. Having been a killer in the past is one thing, but still being one is quite another. If you want their continued cooperation, maybe… maybe you should hold off. Bastion might appreciate it too, for what that’s worth. “Do you fuck that thing?” Elodie’s brash question draws your attention. You turn toward her. “The Lovecraftian asshole,” she clarifies. “I hate it that you’re the second person to ask me that,” you reply. She wrinkles her brow. “Who was the first?” “D—” You catch yourself. “Doesn’t matter.” Elodie grunts. She’s finished assembling your findings into something presentable: she removed the painting from a large frame, hammered the frame to the wall, then lined up your pages and notes on top. She tore out the only readable page from that scorched book and tacked it carefully to the board, near the upper-left corner. The middle remains empty. Felix nods at their finished work. Elodie turns to you with her hands on her hips. “That spot in the center? That’s where the last piece of this puzzle will go.” “Looks good.” She nods. Then, “So, when are we doing this?” You look at her funny. She sighs. “When are we going out there? Won’t find anything, just speculating around here.” “Uh… Not right now,” you answer hesitantly. “I took a pretty bad spill recently.” “What happened?” Felix asks. “Oh, y’know… I climbed a tree, lost my footing, fell about thirty feet…” “You’re joking,” Elodie snaps. “Wish I was. You guys can’t see it, but my ribcage looks like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It’s just not as pretty…” Elodie scoffs. Felix, more sympathetic, asks, “Are you okay?” “Still recovering,” you answer. “But I’ll be out in the field as soon as possible.” “We don’t have time to mess around,” Elodie gripes. “So what if you have a few boo-boos? We need to be out there figuring all this out, not moping around here while you feel sorry for yourself.” Ouch. Big ouch. You don’t know how to respond. When nothing comes, Elodie dismisses you with a shake of her head. She swivels toward her evidence board while Felix awkwardly scratches his nape. “Maybe there’s more we can go over in the meantime,” he suggests. “Yeah,” you agree. “I mean, those Black Vale assholes you mentioned? If those are the same guys I’ve been seeing around, then what the hell does it mean? And why would they be harassing me?” Elodie’s quiet. She looks over her shoulder and shrugs. “I don’t know… And everything we come up with will only be speculation until we find something solid out there.” She stares at you pointedly. You sigh. “Hey, there’s nothing stopping you from getting out there on your own. I’ll even send Bastion along to babysit.” “There would be no point,” Elodie replies. “You’re the one with the ‘all-seeing eye’. Not to mention I wouldn’t go anywhere with that thing without you around holding its leash.” “Sorry, alright? But I can’t do it today.” Disappointment riddles Elodie’s face. She shakes her head. Felix touches her shoulder and pulls her aside. He murmurs to her. She whispers back. You don’t know what they’re talking about, but you can guess you’re the subject of their rapidly heating argument. It’s like watching your parents fight over something you did—feels bad. You hang back by the wall, quiet. Their hushed argument becomes background noise that you tune out. It becomes muted… A low, humming drone fills the silence. It grows louder, then howling wind assaults your ears. You palm your temples agitatedly. The rushing air makes your head feel light and heavy at the same time—you sway off-balance, blinking as your sight fogs up. Through the bleary white film, you notice moving shadows. Those same shades from before, with their piercing, golden eyes. They linger at the edge of your vision, staying just within view as you stagger and sway. The world tilts from left to right. You fall backward into a wall. You feel something warm running from your nose, across your lips, and down your chin. The taste is hot and rotten on your tongue. When you touch the substance with your fingers, it’s all black. You feel a hand roughly take your shoulder. You leap away, swinging wildly. The white becomes black and fuzzy. Then something grabs your arm, curling its fingers tightly. You yank out of its grasp, tripping over your feet and crashing to the floor. When you turn over, those shadows fill the swirling void. They circle you and peer down at your wretched sight. When they speak, they speak all at once. A cacophony of grating voices. “Wanderer?….. She’s… Told you… Lost it. This is—” “I told you… Didn’t I?” “—Their hero?” “The Witnesses are watching—” “This is their hero?” “Watching—” “—Her?” You slap your hands over your ears, desperate to block it all out. Acrid smoke stings your nostrils. Nausea makes you moan—a horrible knot in your stomach works its way up to your throat until you’re gagging on it. You turn over and retch onto the floor. Bile burns your throat. Feeling weak, you collapse. The shadows pull you into a deep, dark sleep…   ✱ ✱ ✱   You wake up to the calming aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. When you open your eyes, you blink twice, slowly processing your surroundings. You’re in bed, upstairs. Candles flicker in the room. Despite the darkness, your vision adjusts enough that you notice your two guests standing beside the bed. Felix appears concerned, with his brows knitted and his mouth down-turned. Elodie scowls at you. You barely even spot Bastion, standing in the shadowed corner by the door. Even though your body aches, you sit up. A wet towel falls off your forehead and into your lap. You realize you’ve been stripped down to your undergarments, leaving your battered body exposed. Your soiled clothes sit in a crumpled heap on the floor. The silence is broken by Elodie. “Is there something you forgot to mention?” She speaks quietly, with a bitter undertone. You wet your lips. “As far as… as…?” “As far as what just happened,” Elodie snaps. “No one just blacks out like that.” “Ah. It’s… It’s happened before,” you confess. “I don’t know why. Started a while ago. Just these… flashes that-that make me dizzy and sick.” The two glance toward Bastion for an explanation. He provides, “Being in the fog for so long can take a toll.” It’s a cryptic answer. Elodie scoffs at him, and then she turns to face you. You notice her eyes flitting up and down your bruised body. “Yeah, you’re in no condition to go out there… We’ll call it a day and try some other time.” She heads for the door. “I hope you don’t mind me taking your journals. I’ll go over everything by myself.” She leaves. Felix follows after her, but falters and stops. He looks at you and extends his condolences. “You just… rest,” he says. “We’ll figure this out when we’re ready.” You nod, he returns the gesture, then he’s gone. As soon as you hear the front door shut downstairs, Bastion steps out of the shadows and stops at the bedside. He folds his arms behind his back, then tips his head down at you. “How do you feel?” “Like shit,” you reply. “Is that really what it is, Bastion? The fog? If so, why isn’t it having the same effect on everyone else? Why is it kicking my ass?” “You’re different, Wanderer.” You’ve heard that one about a thousand times already… So you keep quiet, hoping he’ll tack on another half-truth, or to elaborate his answer, but he doesn’t. You’re different, is all he offers. It’s not something you want to hear, not now, while your body aches and your mouth still tastes like vomit. You lie down and turn on your side with your back to him. Maybe he’s still there… Maybe he’s already left. There’s no way to tell. You shut your eyes.     On the surface of a shimmering, black mirror, a man observes a girl drifting off to sleep… He observed, just moments ago, as she spoke clearly to herself. On the surface, she’s alone in the room. Beneath it, he knows better. He knows she speaks to an unseen presence… The Host, if he had to guess. Though he couldn’t see it for himself, he knows. As the girl slumbers, he loses sight of her. The image fades away until he’s left staring at his own shadowed reflection in the glass. He drapes a dark sheet over the mirror and backs away. The candlelight flickering behind him grows dimmer, and the room grows darker. A voice startles him. “This is their hero?” Harsh. Bitter. The man turns around to face a person clad in heavy, black robes. Their cowl shadows their face, and he can only see their lips drawn into a thin, tight line. “It’s happening too soon,” he replies. “Should we act now?” The man hesitates. He wants to say yes. He knows he should, but… “No,” he answers, from the bottom of his heart. “Isn’t she trying? Doesn’t she deserve a chance?” “You know what might happen if we give her that chance.” “You know what will happen if we don’t,” he snaps back. “We’ll give her more time. Something might come of her search.” “The Witnesses got to her first,” the other responds, “and we don’t know how deeply they’ve already influenced her. Is this a risk we should take?” “Maybe it’s time we take risks.” Ignoring the way his company’s lips sneer at him, he grabs a torch from a sconce on the wall and he makes his way across the room. “We can’t watch this cycle continue forever,” he affirms. When he comes to the door, he reaches for the handle. However, his company speaks again, causing him to stop. “I know why you make this decision.” He glances over his shoulder slightly. The robed person dips their head. “Don’t let it cloud your judgment, Richter.” The silence that fills the room is deafening. Richter turns away. A solid lump in his throat makes a retort impossible. Not that he has one—he doesn’t know what to say, or how to react… He squeezes the rusted door handle, his knuckles white and his fist quaking. When he finally musters his voice, it comes out hoarse and barely above a whisper. “It won’t.”     When you awoke to Lydia’s muffled shouts outside, you almost rolled over and went back to sleep. You desperately hoped that maybe she’d found a mouse in her cupboards, or that she spilled a cup of flour, or even that she harmlessly stubbed her toe on a corner. Anything, just as long as you could drift off again and ignore whatever trouble was brewing. Even so, you got up anyway, put on some clothes, and went downstairs to see what was going on.   It’s just comical and sad what you find outside on the porch. Sad because you got out of bed for this. Lydia’s hollering and swearing while swinging a broom wildly at Danny. Reeling just out of reach, he puts his hands up and laughs. Though he’s fully garbed and wearing the ghostly mask, you can just imagine the shit-eating grin on his face as he tries to calm the mad woman. “Hey, hey,” he coaxes her, as if he’s trying to tame a wild animal. “You remember me, right? You let me in a little while ago to have a little chat with my pal.” “You get the hell off my front lawn,” Lydia snaps. As she takes another blind swing at him, she swears like a sailor. “I wouldn’t have let your sneaky ass in if I had any fucking idea what you were.” Danny laughs. He catches a glimpse of you in the doorway as he peers over the old woman’s shoulder. “How about you peel Granny off my back, Spunky?” You step between them to keep Lydia from getting hurt. Or, rather, to keep her from hurting Danny—her swings look like they could take the head off a man’s shoulders… She almost clips you when you step around her. “It’s okay, Lydia,” you coax, while resting your warm hand on her arm. She jumps at the sound of your voice, and her lips draw into a tight line. “What the hell’s going on? What’s that man doing here?” “It’s… complicated,” you hesitantly reply. “I’m just paying my pal a visit,” Danny interjects. “I have an invitation.” Lydia jerks. “You invited this man here?” she exclaims, sounding both concerned and angry. “The same man who broke in and hassled you?” “Now, now, I wasn’t hassling anyone,” Danny insists with a chuckle. Lydia glares off in his general direction. “I don’t want this man in my house,” “Lydia—” “Nuh-uh! Killer’s got no right walkin’ up in my house, ‘specially after what he did t’ you.” “I need to talk to him,” you reply carefully. Resting a hand on her back between her shoulders, you add, “Can we just—Can we talk on the porch? I’ll make sure the asshole doesn’t step foot inside your home.” Lydia goes silent. She wrinkles her brow and squeezes the broom handle so hard that her knuckles turn white. “Fine,” she says in a huff. She disarms herself, leaning her weapon against the wall. “It’s none a’ business what you’re up to… But I hope you know what you’re doing.” She looks pointedly toward you. Her clear disappointment puts a knot in your stomach. She shambles through the door, muttering, “Those biscuits are prolly’ burning…” The door shuts behind her. You face Danny. “What the hell do you want?” “Maybe I just wanted to see you, Spunky. Did’ja think of that?” He strolls up the steps and throws an arm around your shoulders in an excessively friendly gesture. “We’re pals now. What, I’m not allowed to drop by to say hello?” You push him off and jab him in the chest with your finger. “I don’t want you showing up out of the blue like this. I told you I would come to you, Danny.” He chuckles maddeningly. “Why? Are you afraid your new friends will see us together? Afraid what they’ll think if they see you arm-in-arm with a killer?” You draw your brows. “Wha… How do you—?” Danny reaches up his sleeve, pulls out a thin piece of film, and presses it into your breast. You look down as you flinch. It’s a photograph. You snatch it from him to get a look at it. Then you scoff. It's a distant shot of Élodie and Felix in the woods, with you sitting at the base of the tree before them. Your lips draw into a thin line. Danny hands you another picture. Élodie, Felix, and you standing on the front porch, right where you stand now. Your bemused expression turns into anger. “You’ve been watching me?” “Just keeping tabs on you, Spunky,” Danny replies flippantly. “Making sure you don’t get yourself into any trouble. Speaking of trouble… Isn’t it risky, going to your friends around that campfire?” “Yeah,” you reply, scoffing. “But you saw firsthand that they didn’t give me a choice.” “You’re too easy to bag and grab,” Danny says with a chuckle. You glare at him. He pushes forward another picture. “Getting friendly with the other big dogs?” You look at the photo and see yourself carried in Joey’s arms. Another photo snapped by the ghostly stalker while he watched you in the woods. To his credit, he’s good at it… Frighteningly so. “He seemed friendly enough,” you mutter bitterly. “Sure, sure,” Danny replies. Putting a hand on your shoulder, he rubs your collarbone beneath his leather-clad hand. “But those Legion brats are feral,” he adds. “They bite.” “If they’re feral, then what does that make you?” “I’m the most sane man here,” Danny says with confidence and a shit-eating grin (you can’t see it, but you know it’s there.) You swipe his hand away and fold your arms crossly. “Let’s cut to the chase. Are you only here to show off your creep-collection?” Danny chuckles. “Yes, and no… I wanted to see you, Spunky. You really grew on me during our last escapade together. Thought I’d pay you a surprise visit—” “Don’t pay me any more,” you command, “or I’ll have Bastion pay you one.” Danny sucks his teeth. “Careful. You’re threatening me with a good time.” He reaches up his sleeve once more, withdrawing another photo pinched between his two fingers. “Here’s another one you might need to see.” You take it from him. He breathes down your neck, “Isn’t that something?” You don’t catch it at first—all you see is a dimly lit photo of the woods and the fog, gray and eery and uninteresting. You’re in the shot, strolling alone and appearing lost. But you look closer. In the distance, almost out of focus, the dark silhouette of a person. They’re barely distinguishable from the foggy backdrop, blending almost perfectly amongst the gangly trees and the spindly brush. Your eyebrows knit together. “When did you take this?” “Just the other night,” Danny answers over your shoulder. “Before you took that nasty spill… You’ve got watchers.” “More witnesses?” you murmur. You don’t pick out anything else of importance from the photo. You sigh. “I’m being toyed with.” “Seems like it,” Danny replies. He takes your shoulder again, squeezing. “But I have an idea… Let’s say we go out there and catch one of these peeping toms. Then we work ‘em over until we get some answers.” He punches his palm for emphasis. “How’s that sound, Spunks?” You hesitate. “I don’t know…” “Come on,” Danny urges. “If we catch one of these cloaked pricks, we strike gold. They know shit, shit we need to know.” He clasps his hands together in a faux pleading gesture. Even though you don’t want to agree with Danny, he might be right. The robed people in the fog may have the answers you seek. To what? You don’t know yet... But it’s sure to be valuable information. “Fine,” you say. Turning around, you head for the door. “Gimme a second to get ready… And keep your ass outside!”   Satchel? Check. Jacket? Check. Flashlight? Let’s see— You click it on. The beam buzzes and flickers… But it’ll have to do. Check. You pocket the beamer and shoulder your bag, then you turn around to leave the bedroom. Of course, you bump right into Bastion, who’s made yet another spontaneous appearance. You hiss at him. “Bas—” “There’s a shady little man on the front lawn,” he informs you, sounding bitter. You look him up and down—he’s stiff, angry, and his usual unsettling grin is an unsettling sneer. “I know,” you reply, sighing as you step around him. “We’re going out.” “Where to?” Bastion questions. You spin around and show him the photo. He tilts his head at it. “We’re hoping to catch one of those robed freaks this time around,” you say. “If what Felix and Élodie speculated is true, then this guy’s a part of the Black Vale, and he could have some answers for me.” You tuck the photo away. “It’s good that you’re here. You can help us drag ‘im in. If we actually find one, I mean…” “It’s a lead,” Bastion says, not sounding entirely convinced. “And as good as any,” you reply. You leave the room and go downstairs.   ✱ ✱ ✱   Two live wires over a pool of water—that’s how you’d describe Danny and Bastion together. And you’re the poor idiot swimming beneath them. One wrong move, and you’re getting fried… That’s why you hope and pray that neither does anything to trigger the other. But Danny’s already making quick work getting under Bastion’s skin. He’s on your left, and Bastion strides on your right with a tense gait. “Come on, Scoob, what’s your favorite position? I know you have one…” Sex talk; the subject of the heated discussion you’re about to find yourself caught in between… “Quiet,” Bastion commands. “Cowgirl? Sixty-nine? Missionary?” “Don’t speak to me.” “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” Danny reaches past you to poke Bastion on the side. You want to slap his hand away and knock some sense into him. ‘Don’t poke the bear’, you’d say, if you had any faith that he’d actually heed your warnings… Danny pokes. Bastion snarls. On the one hand, Danny’s peskiness is sufficient for redirecting and curbing Bastion’s own nuisance behavior. On the other hand, he’s pushing all of his little buttons and nudging him that much closer to the edge… If it gets too bad, you’ll turn this party around and head back to Lydia’s cabin to call it an early day. In the meantime, you quicken your pace to put them behind you, and you do your best to tune them out. Danny may lose his head, but so be it. You just don’t want to get caught in the splash zone. It takes Lydia days to scrub all the blood from your jacket… “Wait, wait,” the costumed man chuckles over your shoulder, unwisely and unconcerned. “Let me guess… Doggy style?” Retaliation comes swiftly—you hear something like a whip striking leather. Danny yips. You’re afraid to look over your shoulder, so you don’t. “Bastion,” you say warningly. “Mind yourself, Wanderer,” he warns you in return. Danny makes a choking sound from behind you. You really don’t want to turn around. You want to ignore all those strangled sounds and just keep forward. But it’s getting harder to… You curse under your breath and spin on your heels. “Bastion—” He’s got Danny by the throat, suspended off the ground and flailing like a battered pinata, as he violently wrings his neck. “Bastion!” you snap. Expectantly, he ignores you. “I’m not a stickler when I fuck,” tells Danny, his toothy, mean grin broadening. “Just as long as I have easy access to their throat.” Danny’s head is about to pop off like a cork. He must be purple underneath the mask. You dash forward and snatch Bastion by a claw—it twitches in your hand and swats you off. You stumble, then throw your arms around his waist. “Down!” you command. “Put him down!” His claws try to peel you off his back. They pluck and tug on your articles of clothing, but you hold tight. When he can’t detach you, he lets out a long hiss and surrenders. Danny falls from his grasp and lands on his feet, gasping for breath and massaging his neck. Bastion roughly pancakes his hand on your head and shoves you away. “He won’t learn until he’s punished,” he growls. “You can’t just strangle people you don’t like!” you snap. “He’s a little freak.” “And you’re the bigger freak!” You rub your temples and back away from him. “Coming out here with you two was a mistake,” you mutter. “Should’ve rolled over and gone back to sleep…” Bastion grunts indifferently. You turn your back on him and walk away. Danny dusts himself off and joins your side with a skip in his step, way too flippant for someone who was nearly strangled to death… He slaps your spine and leans close to you. “You got a light, Spunky?” he whispers. “What for?” “I wanna light a smoke,” he replies. He rifles a cigarette carton from his robe and rattles the contents. “Just to take the edge off.” Because you think it’ll get him to shut up and fuck off, you comply. As soon as you pull your lighter out of your pocket and hand it over, Danny gives you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. “Thanks a bunch, Spunks.” It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, the way he says it. He falls behind. You sigh and keep moving. “You two just need to keep away from each other and—” Bastion’s on fire. It’s his ear-splitting shriek that makes you jump and spin back around. His blazing orange silhouette brightens the surrounding area like a beacon. You stay clear of his frenzy, dodging and ducking when flaming tendrils whip past your head. He wails and crashes to the ground before vanishing. The woods return to a cold, deathly silence. Wide-eyed, you stare at the soot left in his wake. Danny comes up behind you and pushes your lighter into your hand. He nonchalantly swipes some ashy flakes off your shoulder. “You asshole!” you bark, snapping around and grabbing fistfuls of his robe. “You proud of yourself?” “A great deal,” Danny replies, chuckling, with not an ounce of remorse. You glare at him. “He’s going to come back and take your head off your shoulders, and I won’t do a damn thing about it.” “Now, don’t be like that,” Danny coos. He lays a hand over one of your balled fists. “I just wanted some alone time with you, Spunks.” You slap him off. “Rule number one,” you firmly remind him. And, “Who’s going to enforce it?” he wryly reminds you. Danny’s good at creeping under your skin, but you won’t let him. You try to walk away, but only get two feet before he grabs your arm. “Are you mad I toasted Buddy?” “Hands off,” you command. He doesn’t let go. Leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrist. It figures he’d act up with the warden away. You should’ve let Bastion strangle him—the asphyxia might’ve made him stupid and manageable… Better yet, it might’ve killed him. But you saved his life at the consequence of being stuck with him. His noncompliance makes you itch. You pull your arm free, narrowing your eyes. “You better watch yourself.” He snickers at your threat. You expect a quippy retort any second now. But the seconds race into a minute, and he says nothing, does nothing… You’ve seen this before, this… rigidness. It’s the same pause you’ve seen in the Wraith, Frank, Bastion, and in the Trapper. Does Danny hear the whispers? Do they tell him to break and attack? Apprehensive, you slowly back down. You wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. You can only wonder what goes through his head as you anxiously retreat. ‘Hear me and obey’?, ‘Hurt her’?, ‘Kill her’? In the midst of your dread, you hear a squeal. You freeze completely, eyes darting back over your shoulder. Another one, louder, higher-pitched… A pig? The squealing in the distance is joined by a buzzing in your ears. You shuffle around and glance back and forth between the trees with your eyebrows deeply furrowed. A squealing animal in distress… It’s an omen you don’t want to heed. Turn back. Go home, the small voice in your head urges. Nothing good will come of this. You feel that, don’t you? Another voice speaks up, The pull? Find out where it leads… The noise in your ears intensifies. An awful shiver treads the length of your spine. Decidedly, you turn away, determined to head back home, away from the squealing and the noise and the pull. Not today. A hand grabs your shoulder and scares you silly. Danny reanimates out of the blue as you snap around to face him. “Shouldn’t we check that out, Spunky?” He doesn’t acknowledge his paralyzed state just moments ago. Neither do you. “Why should we?” you reply, shrugging his hand off. “It’s not what we came out here for.” “Could be,” Danny says. He tilts his head. “You look nervous, Spunks… Getting cold feet already?” You scoff. “No. But… Fine,” you concede. “Fine. We’ll go check it out.” But only because you know you can’t let Danny see you waver. You can’t let anyone see it. Wavering heroes don’t find their answers. And wavering heroes make easy targets. You whip around and head toward the squealing. Danny ghosts beside you and reaches for your hand. You pointedly slap him away.   ✱ ✱ ✱   A dusky farm surrounded by tall, dead grass. A ruined picket fence borders the yard of the two-story house, and it bends around the side toward the back. Left of the home, across the yard, is a decrepit barn with a half-collapsed roof. There’s a tall silo behind it, a rusty color, slanted at an angle and threatening to spill over. Heavy dark clouds hang overhead. —This is what you find when you pass through the foggy barrier in the woods. You halt at the start of the gravel road that cuts through the field toward the house. It’s all very reminiscent of the hillbilly bastard’s farmstead. But to your relief, it’s far from it. You don’t worry about him running you down with a chainsaw, but you’re on edge nonetheless. All the squealing and the noise have since stopped, and you’re left with an itch beneath your skin and an urge to end it. You know the only way to do that is to find what drew you out here, whether it be an Echo or a Mark. Danny’s beside you still, and though you hate to admit it, you’re glad for his company. You wouldn’t dare step foot on a haunted ranch alone… “Pig’s gone quiet,” Danny murmurs. “Let’s hope it was only a pig,” you say, mostly under your breath. Then you move down the road. As you near the two structures, Danny suddenly peels away from you and heads toward the house. You want to reach out and grab him so you’re not left alone, but you’re too proud. You watch him skulk up the creaky porch steps of the house, then you keep toward the barn. You rule out that this place is an echo—there’s no dark fog emanating from the property, and you don’t spot any voids… It’s a relief knowing you don’t have to worry about the ground falling out from under you. But the apprehension returns full force as you near the barn. The building is an old, weathered brown structure with peeling wood, and cracks and vines running up its walls. It looks as though it’s been untended for some time—the whole thing’s falling apart, made most clear by the collapsed roof near the back end. As you draw closer, an awful stench offends your nostrils. You rear away, wafting at the thick odor in front of you—like rotted meat and death. It’s horribly reminiscent of the barn you crashed into in that village… You glance back over your shoulder before continuing forward. You’re in front of the old sliding door now. You withdraw your flashlight and click it on. The beam buzzes and goes out; you tap it on your knee and it flickers back on. Ready. You grab the rusty handle on one door and slide it open. It groans and stops. A gust of putrid air hits you. Flies swarm through the open door. You gag and cover your mouth and nose. Then you shine the beam into the darkness. Most of the barn is empty. On the left is a row of wooden stalls, where horses or other animals might have once been kept. The moldy floor is strewn with dirty hay, dark stains, and muck. Your beam reaches further. Directly ahead, you see what looks like a tall pile of dirt at first glance. But you squint at it and startle at the actuality—a large, portly hog with blistery, charred skin. It has a fat, wrinkly face, with two beady eyes crusted over with blood and pus. Sagging teats judder when your beam hones in on it. The hog storms deeper into the dark, squealing. There’s the pig… but where’s my Mark? You trepidly creep further in. You turn on your heels and shine the light at a wooden table that hugs the wall on the right. It’s about waist-high, and there’s plastic sheeting draped over the surface, which is covered in maggoty viscera. A cleaver hangs from a hook above it. The blade shines wet with blood… It’s fresh. Too fresh—that alone is enough to send you backpedaling for the door. But when you step outside again, you hear a deafening blast close by, like thunder. Similarly, a gunshot. You startle and jump, eyes going wide. “Danny?” you call out, panicked. No response. You dash across the yard for the house, then slow your roll when you reach the rickety porch steps. You climb the first step, again calling, “Danny!” Another shot is fired. As the door frame explodes, splinters of wood fly everywhere. You throw yourself against the wall, behind cover and clear of the open door. Your body trembles in fright. A male voice calls out, “Stay the hell where you are!” Unfamiliar, coarse, and ringing with a southern drawl. Fear paralyzes you. But you snap out of it, returning, “Who are you?!” You risk a glance through the door. In the dark, you spot a shimmering pool of blood on wood-paneled flooring. You snap back out of sight. “Did you shoot my friend?!” “That costumed asshole who came creepin’ in?” the stranger replies. “Yeah, him!” “Seems like it.” You release a shuddering breath. “Danny!” you call again, to receive no reply. You hiss. “Is he dead?!” “Seems like it,” the man repeats, indifferent. On cue, you hear a rattling sigh. Danny. “Still kickin’, Spunks,” he says. Then you hear his hacking, wet cough, followed by a groan. You exhale a sigh of relief. Not for Danny’s well-being—but because you’re not facing an armed stranger alone. Inside, the stranger scoffs. “You must be one’a the hunters,” he says, presumably to Danny. “Only way yer still breathin’, what with all the holes I jus’ put in ya. But then, what the hell are you?” he asks, directed at you. “Or do I got two a’ yous on my doorstep?” “I-I’m not a killer,” you reply shakily. You peer through the door again, trying to spot the gunman. But another warning shot blows a hole in the porch to your right. You quickly duck back behind cover. “Stop blasting that fucking gun!” you shout, rattled. It’s loud, booming, and destructive—you guess he’s armed with a shotgun. “You two sneaky pricks came on’a my property!” the man shouts. “‘Oughta turn your skull to paste! Count yerself lucky I’m bein’ so kind.” Speaking of skulls; you still feel that itch in your head, intense and maddening. Be it Echo or Mark, it’s here, and it’s close. You need to find it. “L-listen,” you say. “If you’ll just put down the gun and let me come inside—” “I’ll give ya ten seconds to drag your pal off my floor, then you two better git’ off my goddamn property.” “I can’t go yet—” “Nine! Eight! Seven—” “H-Hold, hold on,” you implore. “Just give me a minute to talk!” “SIX! F—” “Look at that… The simpleton can count.” Bastion’s voice is a startling, but very welcome, surprise. Though you’re sure it comes as a nasty surprise to the armed redneck. You hear a shout, then another blast ring out. You duck, tense in waiting, before you hear a groan, then a familiar husky laugh. With the threat neutralized, you get up and creep inside. The first thing you notice when you shine your beam across the room is Danny, laid out on the floor in the middle of the foyer, just in front of a tall wooden staircase. He lies in a growing pool of his own blood, his chest tattered with bloody holes. He’s still alive, which doesn’t surprise you… He raises an arm when you come close. “Wanna give me a hand, Spunks?” You step right over him. Although the house is furnished, it’s plain and sparse. Peeling floral wallpaper, a brown and moldy-green color. There’s a lousy leather chair in the left corner, facing a small fireplace at the other end of the room. Under your feet, a dirty olive rug, and directly above you, a fanciless chandelier. As you shine your beam to the right, you see an open doorway leading into another dark room. When you shine the beam toward the other far end, you see another one, shrouded all the same. You question where Bastion and your host are. “Bastion?” you call out. “Fucker’s upstairs with the prick that shot me,” Danny grumbles behind you. You hear him sigh heavily, then the shuffling of cloth. You head upstairs and find a light switch on the wall near the top. You flip it on, and the hall floods with dim, flickering fluorescence. Bastion’s looming, dark sight doesn’t spook you—it’s the man he pins to the wall by the throat, that does. You recoil, blurting, “Holy shit—” He pins a scrawny, gangly man with pallid yellow skin, hollow brown eyes, and a disturbing face. One half shows the horrific fusion of swine and man. His nose resembles a mushed snout, and half of his face is covered in coarse brown hairs. His dark hair is composed of only a few thin pathetic strands swept back over his head and he has beady small eyes. The man wears a greasy white tank top, a pair of messed-up blue jeans, and worn-out work boots. Both lack laces and one has a hole where his big toe should be. While also being the unholy cross of man and pig, he looks like he kisses his sister on the lips, then comes home to chew dirt and shower in sweat. There’s a pump-action shotgun resting on the floor at his feet. The pig-man squirms in Bastion’s grip, spitting and kicking. “Agh, what the… the hell is this thing?” he seethes. “I could ask the same about you,” you reply. The man scoffs at your comment. “Oh, good one, ya lil’ shit. I ‘avent heard that one b’fore.” “No, seriously, what the hell are you?” You move closer for a better look. It’s a worse sight up close. “How’s ‘bout you tell your tall, dark, ‘n handsome friend here to put me down? Then I’ll tell you my whole life story, kid.” “You’ll tell us anyway, piggy,” Bastion grinningly insists, “or I’ll slice you into thin, even strips and make a meal of your greasy pork.” He emphasizes his cruel threat by dragging his slimy tongue across the pig-man’s face. The dirty man cringes and squirms harder. “Call off yer fuckin’ mutt, kid! I’ll talk!” You give a nod. “Bastion.” Bastion drops the man, then backs away to regain his poise. You step aside and motion for the stairs. “We’ll talk downstairs.”   You follow the pig-man back down to the foyer, with Bastion at your back. When you reach the bottom landing, you notice Danny’s up and leaning against the wall near the open front door. He has his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other. Blood oozes down his robes and collects at his feet. “You couldn’t have popped in sooner, Scooby?” he asks, sounding bitter. Bastion smirks at him. “I was still cooling off, Danny.” Danny scoffs. You step over all the blood on the floor and nod toward the leather chair. The hog man takes a hint and seats himself. Bastion stops beside you. “First,” you begin, “Who the hell are you?” “Hodgson,” the man snorts derisively. “Just Hodgson.” “And your…?” you make a funny gesture with your hands. Hodgson grunts. “Now, you should know how we all came t’ be here, right? Some fuckin’ thing takes us outta the real world and drops us in this glorified pen… Some come through more fucked up than others.” You motion him to continue. He does. “I used t’ farm pigs,” he says. “Had a couple of ‘em… I came out late one night when I heard my sow squealin’ up a storm. She was birthin’ a litter of lil’ porklings. Been fat for ‘bout three months, so I guess it was time. I was helpin’ her out, see, an’ I had my arms full of those babes when I saw this lurkin’ dark smoke creep into the barn. Didn’t know what t’ think of it at the time, so I didn’t think at all. Next thing I knew, I was wrapped up in some prickly dark claws—” He glances at Bastion. Specifically, he looks at the spidery claws that twitch and curl at his back. He shudders before continuing. “—and then I was here. ‘Face felt somethin’ awful when I gathered myself… And those babes I held in my arms? They were gone.” The implications put a nasty knot in your stomach. You awkwardly shuffle your feet. “Well… I guess that explains that… But why haven’t we seen you around camp? Do you take part in the trials?” “Those silly lil’ games the wolf makes y’all play? Nah… And I count myself lucky.” Hodgson leans forward and spits a dark glob on the floor near his feet. He drags his tongue over his teeth and tilts his head at you. “Now who the hell are you?” he questions. “And who’re these two bastards you dragged along with ya?” “Doesn’t matter who I am,” you reply. “We’re asking the questions here.” “Lil’ prick,” Hodgson scoffs at you. “I bet you’re the same bastards that raided my stash.” You quirk a brow at him. “Your stash? What the hell are… you…” You trail off, narrowing your eyes. “A stash… Shed full of junk and stolen goods?” Hodgson slaps his knee, startling you. “So it was you! Broke my damn lock and picked through everythin’ I own!” You scoff loudly. “You’re the asshole who was sneaking into camp stealing things!” “I’m just gettin’ by out ‘ere,” Hodgson indifferently replies. “I’m a scavenger.” “You’re a thief,” you retort angrily. “Not to mention a hoarder.” You step forward and point a finger at him. “Those people around the fire don’t have shit as it is, and you tried taking the few possessions that bring them comfort.” “Cry me a fuckin’ river, kid,” Hodgson replies. “You took it all back, din’t ya? Took some a’ my other shit while you was at it.” He spits again, then leans back and folds one leg over the other. “If I see somethin’ free for the takin’, it’s mine. All y’all around that fire make it too easy…” You glare at him. “If you value your stolen goods so much, then why the hell did you stash it way out there in the fog?” “I din’t,” Hodgson replies. “The damn shed’s out back right now. But sometimes the fuckin’ thing vanishes… It likes to jump around like a traveling circus… Here one night, gone the next, and it fuckin’ beats me why. Always comes back, though. You shits just happened t’ find it when it left my yard one night.” He scoffs. “Lucky sons a’ bitches…” It’s a revelation, but not a topic you’re willing to stand here and argue with the stranger about. You move on. “What’s with that table in the barn? The one covered in blood and guts?” “It’s where I butcher the pigs,” Hodgson answers. “I still gotta eat.” “And where do you get your supply?” Hodgson lets out a croaking laugh. “You should already know by now,” he says. “I kill those damn things and they just pop right back up… Never-endin’ supply a’ fresh meat. Just finished slaughterin’ one of ‘em b’fore you broke down my front door…” He gives you a nasty, toothy grin. You grimace at him—it explains all that squealing you heard… Bastion startles you when he rests a hand on your shoulder. He leans down toward you. “Haven’t we come on more important business?” he asks. Good point. Moving on. “You’re not who we were hoping to find out here,” you say. “Unless you have a dark robe stashed in your closet…?” “Nope,” Hodgson snorts. “If we’re done ‘ere, you can get the hell outta my house.” It’s more of a demand than a suggestion. You shake your head. “It’s actually a bit more complicated than that,” you uneasily reply. “See, something else drew me here… And I think you might have something I need. I call them Marks, but—” “I don’t ‘ave shit for you,” Hodgson sharply interrupts. He spits again, this time on his boot. “You do,” you pointedly reply. “There’s something here, something I’m supposed to find, I can feel it. If you don’t know what it is, then we’ll look around until we find it.” The pig-man scoffs. “I’m ‘sposed to sit back and let you turn my place inside out just ‘cuz you got a feelin’? Get the hell outta here!” he barks. Bastion responds to his aggression with aggression of his own. “You’re in no position to make demands, swine,” he growls. “We aren’t leaving until Spunks finds what we came for,” Danny pipes up. He tips his head. “You get that, Hogson?” His mean pun doesn’t go over Hodgson’s head. He sneers back and forth between you all. “What the hell’s in it for me?” You quirk your brow. “You’re willing to haggle?” “Maybe,” Hodgson replies. He leans back. He sucks his teeth for a moment and doesn’t say anything else. Then you notice his eyes flitting up and down your person, slowly and lecherously, until he meets your hard gaze again. “Gets lonely out ‘ere,” he says, smirking. He snorts and spits another wad on the floor. You don’t get a word out before your white knight interjects for you. Bastion loses his position behind you and reappears, standing behind Hodgson. He leans over the back of the chair to rest a hand on the man’s shoulder. "Well, if you’re looking for someone to give you a good time, I will gladly oblige.” He flashes his teeth and digs his talons into Hodgson’s sweaty shoulder. He chuckles. “Though I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it…” And, in case his first threat doesn’t get his point across, he leans back while losing the wry grin, to further add, “Look at her like that again and I’ll pop your eyes like grapes.” Hodgson shakes like a leaf. Danny clicks his tongue. “Sex isn’t on the menu, piggy.” “We’re not bartering with you,” you decidedly say, sneering. “You’ll hand over what we came for, or else.” It’s an empty threat, admittedly, and one that Hodgson reads clear as day. “Or else what, kid?” he retorts, snickering. “You gon’ sic one’a these queer freaks on me? You scoff and throw your arm out wide. “You have a demon standing over your shoulder who just threatened to take your eyes out! And there’s that asshole right over there!” You motion to Danny—who slaps his hands over his heart in feigned offense to the statement—then you add, “You don’t have a choice.” Hodgson startles you with a laugh. “And?” he says, to your dismay. “Your pals kill me, and I’ll just come right on back. We all know how this game works, kid. What’s dead don’t stay dead. So go on ‘head, stamp me out. I could use a good power nap…” He spits another wet glob near your feet, then he grins toothily. He has a point. And it so badly confounds you, that you just stand like an idiot, blinking in thought while trying to gather a good retort in your head. One doesn’t come quick enough and Hodgson cackles again, well and truly amused at your inept display. “You’re cute, kid. Now, how’s ‘bout you fuck off?” You’re at a loss… But Danny isn’t. He leaves his spot near the door and stalks toward Hodgson with ill intent. You warn him, “Danny—” “Shh,” he hushes you, with a finger to the mouth of his mask. Stopping in front of the pig-man, he slowly leans forward and braces his hands on both armrests to force Hodgson further back. Hodgson’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows out of nervousness. Danny tilts his head. “You’re right about that, Hog’,” he says. “But we don’t have to make it quick. We could take our time, work you over nice and slow until you give us exactly what we want…” “Danny,” you sternly repeat. He shushes you again. “Cushy life out here on the farm, piggy? I would wager you don’t get too much trouble, not like those poor bastards at the campfire… So I’m betting you’ve never felt a knife sliding beneath your fingernails. And I’d bet double you’ve never had the skin flayed off your back.” His threats put a gruesome image in your mind. Hodgson grimaces. Danny continues, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “We’ll play tic-tac-toe on your carcass while the fog puts you back together, Hog. Then we’ll do it all again.” “Danny!” you snap at him. He looks at you. After a short pause, he backs away from Hodgson and joins your side. He throws his arm around your shoulders and leans in close. “Come on, Spunks,” he whispers. “It’s just a little roleplay. Good cop, bad cop sorta thing. You know how to play, doncha?” You know the game. But there’s something about his tone that tells you he’s not just playing the part. You narrow your eyes. “We’re not going to hurt him,” you sternly say. Danny pats your shoulder. “Let me work.” He pulls away from you and returns to Hodgson. You look to Bastion to back you up, but he says nothing. “I think yer bluffin’,” Hodgson unwisely says as Danny approaches him. He glances at you and comments, “Face as sweet as yers? I doubt you’ll let the two goons whip me up, huh?” “Don’t be stubborn,” you warn him. “Just give us what we came for, whatever it is, and we’ll leave you alone.” “Ain’t givin’ you shit,” Hodgson declares. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” Danny says. “But we’re not all bark. We bite, too.” He looks at Bastion. “What do you say, bud? You wanna spit-roast some pig?” “Not a bad idea,” Bastion replies with a naughty chuckle. “Bastion!” you snap, exasperated. “Don’t encourage him.” He falls back with a grumble. Finally, he loses his spot behind the chair and returns to your side. Danny, however, persists. “Hogs,” he singsongs. “I don’t want to get rough with you, but it sounds like you’re not giving us a choice here.” “Y’all can go fuck yerselves,” Hodgson replies. He spits on the toe of Danny’s boot. It’s unclear whether it was intentional. What’s worse, you don’t know how Danny will react. He’s silent in the following moments, leaving you tense in wait. You fidget and murmur, “Danny—” He catches you off guard when he swiftly brandishes a knife from within his robe, and he buries it in Hodgson’s thigh. The man lets out an awful, high-pitched wail, like a pig’s scream in a slaughterhouse. You jump in fright, shouting, “Danny!” He ignores you. He leans closer to Hodgson, putting more weight on the hilt of his blade and forcing it deeper into the flesh. You make a move to stop him, but a claw wraps tightly around your midsection, stopping you. Bastion earns himself a sharp look. He warningly says, “Wanderer…” Hodgson whimpers and cries. Danny says, “I didn’t cut any arteries… It’s a mostly harmless wound, just as long as it’s treated properly… And there are lots just like it, Hogs. Lots a’ spots all over your body where I can jam my knife to make you squirm and bleed.” He chuckles and twists the blade, making the man wail again. “You’re not like me,” He further adds. “I can shrug off just about anything that doesn’t take my head off my shoulders. But you’re going to feel this for as long as I want you to.” He twists again, hissing. Hodgson digs his grimy nails into the armrests. This is going too far. Way too far. You break away from Bastion and storm behind Danny. “We’re not torturing him!” you bark, as you snag his arm and yank him off. “Keep in line, Danny,” you command. Danny faces you and says coolly, “We won’t get anything outta him the easy way, Spunks.” “It’s not happening,” you assert. “We can’t keep playing by the rules,” Danny replies. “You’ll play by whatever rules I set!” you shout back. Danny throws you off and jabs you painfully in the ribs with a pointed finger. “You can’t be a goody-goody and expect to get everything you want,” he says forcefully. “You’re a brat who thinks she’s running the show, but I’ve got stakes in this shit too, Spunky, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes if I’m going to come out on top.” Bastion snaps at him, “Keep your hands to yourself, Danny.” Danny directs his next verbal attack on him. “Heel, dog,” he commands. “I’m trying to have a little chat with your master.” Bastion’s temper reaches a boiling point—he snarls and grabs Danny by the throat. You’re struck in his warpath and sent tumbling to the floor with an oof. “I’ll take your head off!” Bastion growls. Danny swiftly draws a knife from a hidden sheath beneath his robe, and he stabs the furious colossus in the face. A vertical gash splits Bastion’s head in two, and a clutch of slimy tentacles spills out in a seeping cloud of dark fog. The tendrils dislodge the knife and seize Danny’s arm. “Neat party trick,” Danny comments, too coolly for someone ensnared in the clutches of an angry eldritch man. “I bet you’re a real freak in bed, Bullet!” “Hey, HEY!” you snap at them. Neither acknowledges you. You growl in frustration and try to pull them apart, but Bastion’s claws swat you away. You stumble backward, hissing. You pause before moving forward again. That itch that’s been perpetually irritating on the inside of your cranium? It’s stopped. Why has it stopped? You ponder only for a moment before you turn around and realize, to your utter despair, that Hodgson is gone. The leather chair sits empty, and you find a trail of blood leading across the room and out the open door. “No, no, no—” you murmur. “The pig’s gone!” you shout, taking after the trail. You don’t wait around for your two brawling partners to follow. You track the blood outside, across the vast field, and straight to the thick black fog barrier separating this realm from the rest. You stagger to a halt, huffing and shaking your head. “Ah,” you pant. “Ah… shit!” You stamp your foot. The fog shifts too often. It’s a winding maze. Going out there and hoping to find Hodgson’s trail is a no-go. The swine got away. You startle at Bastion’s appearance beside you. He peers at the fog wall before turning his head toward you. He says nothing—you can tell he’s feeling pretty culpable right about now. Folding his arms behind his back, he resumes his poise. You give him a very sharp look and head down the gravel road.   As you return to the farmhouse with Bastion at your back, you find Danny flinging thick strings of slime off of his arm. He looks up at you. “Where's our pig?” “He got away,” you bitterly answer as you step through the front door. “Wonder why,” Danny pointedly replies, slightly turning his mask toward Bastion. Bastion growls at him. You narrow your eyes and throw an arm out. “You’re BOTH to blame. If you weren’t at each other’s throats, he wouldn’t have snuck off! The asshole got away, and whatever drew me out here went with him.” You scoff and mutter, “He must’ve had it on him…” Both of them say nothing. You shake your head. “Have your dick-measuring contest when we’re not looking for leads.” You cross the room and head for the stairs. Bastion murmurs behind you, “Mine are bigger.”   ✱ ✱ ✱   You spend the following hour searching throughout Hodgson’s home and the barn, checking every nook and cranny for anything else you might find useful. In the meantime, you hope he’ll return. He has nowhere else to go, right? That’s what you’re counting on. But the hour becomes three, and the pig-man is a no-show. As there isn’t much else you can do, and no reason to stick around any longer, you call it off. You snag his gun and a carton of shells from a cupboard upstairs. Then you swiftly depart with Danny and Bastion at your back.     They both have enough sense to keep quiet on the way back to Lydia’s cabin. When you arrive, your temper’s lingering. You stop in the front yard and turn to face your company. Honestly, you’re surprised they’ve stuck around… “We’re done here,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “Why are you still glued to my back?” Bastion, being the bigger man—literally and figuratively—offers you an apology. “I apologize, Wanderer,” he says. “But it’s a problem we could’ve avoided if we hadn’t had a little weasel following us around…” He leaves his last comment with a sneer and an off glance at Danny. “Hey, who attacked who first?” Danny retorts. He slaps your shoulder. “You wanna play it back for us, Spunks?” They’re about to get into it again. But you’re not having it, no, no, no… One way to solve this problem is to—   Dismiss Danny (❤) Dismiss Bastion (❤) Dismiss them both.     You dismiss Danny. “Bye, Danny.” After all, you only need to get rid of one of them to handle this problem, and Danny is the main instigator, not to mention a complete asshole. He takes his time leaving, backing away slowly while resting his hands flat over his heart. “I think someone’s playing favorites,” he says, with an adopted hurt tone. Bastion doesn’t tolerate his lingering presence. “Leave,” he growls. Danny twirls around and pockets his hands. “Be seeing you, Spunks,” he mutters. And then he’s gone. You turn to Bastion. He softens up noticeably. His square shoulders go slack and his nasty sneer curls into an impish grin. “That’s a breath of fresh air.” “Are you okay?” you ask him. “After earlier, when…?” “Fine, fine,” Bastion replies. He places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you?” You need to think about it. “Well,” you start off, “you knocked me on my ass today while you strangled Danny—” “I could kiss it better,” Bastion flirts. “—And a potential lead got away,” you finish crossly. “Hm.” Bastion falls silent, either in shame or simply because he doesn’t know what to say… You bet on the former, and he confirms it when he says, “I’ll be on my best behavior from here on, Wanderer,” he promises with a sheepish grin. “I hope so,” you mutter. Bastion chuckles and pinches your ear. “You haven’t answered my question,” he points out. “Are you okay?” “Fine. Still frustrated, tired…” You drop your voice and mutter, “And a gross mutant freak leered at me today, but what’s new? Gotten so used to it from you…” Bastion visibly bristles at your playful jab. His grin wanes and he withdraws his hand. “Ah… I only tease, Wanderer. I never intended to make you uncomfortable.” “You don’t!” you say quickly. “It’s fine coming from you, I-I mean—” You stop. A red glow dusts your cheeks as you rummage for an appropriate response. You dip your head to hide it. “It’s fine,” you say, while scratching your nape. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. In-In fact, I’d say you make me very comfortable! I-I like being around you, and the jokes are fine, a-and cute, and—” Bastion pinches your chin between his fingers. He tilts your head upward and lets out a husky laugh. “Wanderer,” he purrs, warm enough to make you melt. “I like you too.” You work down a lump in your throat. “Mm,” you manage. Before you melt into a puddle at his feet, you break away and walk to the porch. You sit down with a huff and fan your face before patting the spot beside you. Bastion accepts the invitation promptly, appearing at your side with a pleasant hum. Your waist is encircled by a claw that pulls you closer to him. You lean against his shoulder, sighing. “So,” you murmur, followed by a pause. “Do you have a favorite position?” You ask mostly as a joke, hoping for a funny reaction from him. With a gravelly purr and a seductively low tone, he delivers it. “I could show you.” You desperately try to keep a plain face, but you burst into laughter after he snaps his jaws. He chuckles and cups your face in his hands. “Wanderer…” he teasingly begins. “I know, I know,” you reply, laughing. “I,”—you fall into your best impression of him,—“make it too easy.” He reaches his arms around you and pulls you in, tucking you into his larger frame. You nestle your face contentedly into the crook of his neck, and he props his chin atop your head. It’s snug. It’s so snug you’re fluttering your eyes and drifting off to sleep in minutes. You could stay like this all night, but you’re bound to catch a cold lingering in the fog for too long. You stir and pat Bastion’s back. “I want to get to bed, Bas’,” you say with a deep yawn. He grumbles in reluctance. You pat him until he loosens his arms and lets you pull away. When you get up, you take his hand. “Come upstairs,” you invite him. He tips his head. “To… bed?” Bastion, puzzled?… It’s cute. “Yes.” You pull him to his feet and drag him up the steps. “I’m not throwing you out just ‘cuz I’m sleepy… We can climb into bed together, catch some winks, maybe… maybe cuddle.” When you get him through the door, he stops entirely. You halt and turn back. “It’s just an idea,” you quickly say, flushed. “We can just go to sleep—” “I can’t stay too long, Wanderer,” Bastion informs you. It gives you pause. You furrow your brows. “Why, uh… Why not?” He audibly hesitates. “It’s no good,” he says. Despite wanting to ask why, you know better than to badger him with questions. While attempting to conceal your disappointment, you slacken your grip on his hand and draw away from him. “All right…” You turn around and approach the stairs, not knowing what else to say. A spiny claw, however, catches your waist and pulls you backward. You don’t resist any when you’re spun around, and when he encases your face in his hands. He stoops low enough to bump his forehead to yours. “Don’t walk away from me without saying goodnight,” he says with a playful growl. The butterflies return in force. With a smile, you stretch tall to wrap your arms around his neck. “Goodnight.” Bastion purrs. He fondly mashes his face against your cheek. “You make me soft,” he says. Then, with a chuckle, he adds, “And hard, occasionally…” “Stop,” you laughingly reply. He chuckles and kisses your nose. He then showers your face in more feathery affection, leading kisses along your jaw and to your ear as your face becomes increasingly hot. He leaves one final kiss on the corner of your eye, softer than cotton. “I adore you, Wanderer.” This statement is so sincere that it makes your heart flutter. Being the first time he’s said something of the sort, you find yourself rosy-faced and swooning. You make a silly noise and press your face into his shoulder. As you find your voice over your knotted tongue, you murmur, “I adore you, too.” His arms fold around you and he draws you in as close as he can while you cling needily to him like a sloth. You could, again, stay like this contentedly for minutes or even hours, but it’s not a luxury accorded to you. Disappointment engulfs your face as Bastion withdraws too soon. He backs away with a gleaming grin. “Goodnight, Wanderer,” he says, tipping his head to one side. “I’ll see you soon.” You unenthusiastically wave him off. Then he’s gone. Deciding that the best way to stop missing him is to get yourself to bed, you spin around and climb the stairs. When you trudge into the bedroom and tuck beneath the sheets, you’re certain you’ll have good dreams tonight. But, most certainly, they’d be sweeter if he hadn’t left so soon…   Continue       You dismiss Bastion with a wave. “Bye, Bastion.” After all, you only need to get rid of one of them to handle this problem, and Bastion is the bigger threat. He doesn’t immediately comply. He looks at you as if you’ve gone completely mad. “Wanderer,” he says, in a tone of warning. “Danny won’t stab me to death as soon as you leave,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “He’s an asshole, but he can at least control himself.” It’s a hit below the belt, in honesty. And one Bastion doesn’t take too kindly. However, for the first time today, he shows restraint. “Ah,” he replies, twisting his lips into a forced grin. It’s a bitter look, much like his next response. “I understand, Wanderer.” He understands, but you know he isn’t happy about it. He curls his lips at Danny and vanishes just like that. Danny gives a slow clap. “Gotta hand it to you,” he says with a chuckle. “You know how to reel it in.” You give him a dirty look. In all honesty, you don’t know why you aren’t kicking his ass to the curb, too. But he’s more manageable alone than Bastion is. Sighing, you skulk toward the house and slump onto the porch steps. Danny joins you without an invitation. He sits at your side, too close for your liking. You worry how Lydia might react if she finds out he’s back. What’s worse, you can’t imagine what Felix or Elodie would do if they found you like this. It’s those worries, and Danny’s proximity, that make you feel so nervous. Danny breaks the silence. “I could’ve made that pig squeal,” he says. “We might’ve come back with something to show for it…” “I don’t like your methods, Danny,” you tell him bluntly. “And I don’t like you.” “Hey,” he complains. “We don’t go out there to hurt anyone,” you continue. “We can find the right answers without turning to the dark side.” You shake your head. “But I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a homicidal freak.” Danny chuckles. “Easy with all the slander, Spunks.” You scoff at him. “Even all this? Sitting on the porch with a serial killer? It’s going too far, isn’t it?” “I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Silence falls. You expect another quip or retort, but Danny surprises you when he drops his hood and suddenly nudges his mask up. He grabs the seam of the black spandex beneath it, and he pushes it up to reveal the bottom half of his face. White skin, unkempt stubble on a fine jaw, and a small scar cut from the spot where his jaw connects to his neck, down to his nape. He rifles a cigarette from that carton he waved around earlier and he perches it between his lips. He turns to you, smirking. “Got a light?” You’re still peeved after that stunt he pulled before… But figuring ‘why not?’, you hand over your lighter. Danny lights his smoke and hands it back to you. After taking a long drag, he leans back and blows a dark cloud. Then he plucks it between his fingers and offers you a puff. You decline. “Hmph… What do you do for fun?” he asks. It’s a strange question. You wonder why you’re still humoring his company. “Fun? Here?” Danny chuckles. “Comes easier to some of us,” he says, puffing smoke. “Nothing,” you say, without a second thought. “I’m not here for fun. I’m trying to find the answers, which is the only reason I tolerate you.” Danny snickers. “You’re a—” “—Heartbreaker?” you cut him off. He smirks again, nodding. After another puff, he murmurs, “I’m not so terrible, Spunks…” “Is that what you told all the people you killed?” “Only those I didn’t.” You quirk an eyebrow. “Catch and release,” he says. “Those often make for great stories… Y’know, the hopeful ones? Type that might put a tear in your eye, or make the old ladies preach, ‘God is good.’ Gives everyone a bit of hope… Better yet—” He turns toward you and blows smoke in your face. “Better when the poor bastards try to bargain… And the look on their face when I wave them off. There’s no greater thrill than holding someone’s life in your hands, Spunks. That’s about as fun as it gets.” You’d scoff in disgust if you couldn’t see right through him. He’s just trying to get under your skin again, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. “I don’t see the appeal,” you tell him plainly. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he returns. And, “I don’t care to,” you reply. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he thinks up another retort. ‘Should I poke harder?’, you’re sure he’s asking himself. ‘Dig a little deeper? Say something darker?’ It doesn’t matter what he says, you won’t buckle. He must realize that, because he changes the subject completely. You win. “I snapped at ya’ earlier, Spunks,” he says. He lays a hand on your shoulder and gives you a squeeze, accompanied by a charming smile, composed of two even rows of white teeth. “I’m sorry,” he husks. His smile rubs you the wrong way. You’d wager it’s the same smile he’s used to charm his way past people’s defenses. The same one he must’ve utilized to secure himself a cozy job at a gazette, or to get close to his potential victims. It’s insincere. Furthermore, you don’t like the way it puts butterflies in your stomach. After shrugging his hand off, you stand and ascend the steps. “Get off Lydia’s porch,” you demand, effectively ending the discussion. Danny clicks his tongue. He gets up and stamps out his cigarette beneath his heel. “Same time next week, Spunky?” he says, smiling at you. You don’t answer. He gives a little wave and backs away. “Be seeing you,” he says, as he lowers his spandex mask and draws his cowl over his head. He stalks off into the fog. Relieved in his absence, you climb the porch and head inside.   Continue     “Fuck off, both of you.” Your command and sharpness of your voice give them pause. Danny moves his hand over his heart like he’s offended. Bastion tips his head dumbly, like a puzzled dog. You sternly repeat yourself. “Fuck off. I’m not putting up with this shit, not tonight.” You’ve had enough of them, well and truly. You just want to get inside, have a cup of warm tea to quell your headache, then climb into bed— “Not even going to invite me in for a drink?” Danny obnoxiously says. “Shut up. Leave.” You glance at Bastion. “You too, get outta here.” Bastion grumbles like a disgruntled old man. Neither of them makes a move to go. You snap, “Do I need Lydia to chase you off her lawn? Because I’ll go grab her.” After Danny’s personal run-in with her earlier, he’s smart enough to concede. “Alright, Spunks,” he says with a chuckle. He puts his hands up defensively as he backs away. “Nighty-night." Bastion waits until he’s skulked off into the woods and out of sight. Then he finally vanishes. As soon as you’re left alone, you head inside and march up to the bedroom. After a long day of wrangling two stubborn killers, you could go for a very long nap.   Continue     The last time you found yourself in this place, in the dark and standing ankle-deep in icy tar, you had the child’s company. Now, as you gaze about the blackness, you don’t see their glowing aura, nor do you hear the scratching of pencil on paper… What you find instead is a single white sheet resting on the surface of the black pool. You wade determinedly through the dense waters until you can reach down and grasp the soaked page. Many shadowy figures scrawled across the paper, huddled together and embracing. They rest beneath a dark shape in the sky… A horrible, whirling blackness, with claws and teeth and an impossible amount of eyes. You gaze upon the image in silence, trying to find some meaning in the doodles and dots, and the figures and the black mass. But you understand nothing. Then you startle at the sensation of a hand on your nape, which reaches past your shoulder and points at the page. You’re paralyzed. A single breath escapes your lips as a small voice whispers in your ear, “That’s you.”   ✱ ✱ ✱   Someone, please say something. Only one hour. One hour since Felix and Élodie’s impromptu visit on Lydia’s porch, badgering you to crawl out of bed to get something done… An hour you’ve marched through the fog in their silent company. Neither of them has had anything to say to you, which comes as a shocking surprise, given how verbal they’ve been toward you in the past… But now, while you’re desperate for someone to shatter the silence and ease all the tension that hangs thickly in the air, they have nothing to say. It feels like you’re marching alongside two cold, silent sentries… But it’s better than being stuck between Danny and Bastion. Anyone? Anyone at all? When you side-eye Felix, he carefully avoids your gaze, tipping his head up and away… So you glance at Élodie, and her eyes flicker in the opposite direction. Finally, you break the silence. “Is there, uh… any reason you’re both giving me the silent treatment?” They exchange glances. Felix then clears his throat. “We, er… We wonder about that gun.” Ah. In addition to the satchel on your hip, Hodgson’s shotgun hangs over your shoulder like a backpack. It’s a dangerous weapon, and one too valuable to leave behind while you venture into the wayward fog… At least, that’s what you told yourself while you deliberated bringing it or not. “What about it?” you ask. “Where the hell did it come from?” Élodie joins. “Found it.” “Do you know how to use it?” “Sure. Just aim and shoot. Easy.” “Is it loaded?” Felix asks. You sigh. “Gee, you two were so quiet a minute ago… Are you going to keep double-teaming me? We’re partners, now. You don’t need to interrogate me twenty-four seven…” “It’s a dangerous weapon,” Élodie replies pointedly. “We’re just making sure you don’t accidentally blow our heads off…” Poe pokes his head out of your hood. He cranes his neck and coos at Élodie. You stroke his ruffled feathers. “He’s offended you would say that about me. And, frankly, I am too.” Felix makes a face as he scratches his neck. “It’s a precaution,” he says. “We don’t mean to offend you—” “I’m not an idiot, alright? I know how dangerous guns are, but that’s the point. Because everything we run into out here is WAY more dangerous than us, and I just feel safer having something on hand that’s capable of protecting us.” “That’s what your tall friend is for,” Élodie points out crossly. She looks over her shoulder, then to her left and right before huffing. “Where is the creepy bastard, anyway?” “Probably sleeping in,” you murmur. But you haven’t seen him since that last escapade in the fog, and you also wonder about his whereabouts… “So if it’s not you slacking off, it’s him?” Élodie says. “More or less.” She makes an annoyed face. Felix grips the lapels of his nice jacket with a sigh. “Ah, well… We’ll be fine without him, I hope… And should we find trouble—” “—He’ll be there,” you assure them. “Relax. He can be a bit… erratic, but he’s competent.” “Sure,” Élodie replies, sounding skeptical. “And do you know where we’re going?” “Not really, no… I gave you guys the rundown already. I wander until my head hurts, and my skin crawls, then I follow my internal compass until I find something. Which is usually junk or an even bigger headache, but no one ever said being the hero was any fun…” You look over your shoulder at Élodie. “And I guess it’s not everything you hoped for, right?” “It doesn’t sound ideal,” Élodie mutters. “But we can’t complain. You’re the only one capable of finding something in this labyrinth, so we’ll follow your lead.” You give a nod. Then you ask, “So, what did you do before all this? When you weren’t tomb raiding, I mean…” “I was never not tomb raiding,” she replies. “There were so many things out there with a connection to all of this, and if it wasn’t me finding it, it was someone else… I was determined to find it first.” “Cool, cool… And Felix?” You turn toward him. “Socials,” he replies. “When I wasn’t mulling over blueprints, I spent much of that time planning events with my fiance.” “Just got on with your life, huh?” Élodie interjects bitterly. “After what we went through? After our parents vanished? You just moved on like it never even happened…” Felix creases his brows and sighs like he’s heard this all before. “I couldn’t hang my head over that forever, Élodie. We searched,” he insists. “I was there with you, all of us were. But we spent years coming up with nothing. We had to call it quits.” “You didn’t have to,” Élodie bites back. “You spent your parents’ fortune doodling high-rises for rich assholes to gawk at. How would they feel to know how quickly you gave up on them?” “I know they wouldn’t want me throwing my life away chasing after worthless leads,” he retorts. “You wasted away your life hunting relics. And look where that got you.” “I didn’t waste shit,” Élodie angrily replies. “I found solid leads, and I got so much closer than anyone else did.” “Close indeed,” Felix mutters. “Which is exactly why we’re stranded in the same boat now.” Élodie scoffs. “You gave up, plain and simple. Our parents gave their lives to save us, and you all just gave up on them. If you had followed me—” “We decided we wouldn’t follow your lead anymore, Élodie,” Felix sharply interrupts, while coming to an abrupt stop. “Because we found nothing to make it worthwhile, and because it was YOU who led us into those ruins in the first place!” It gets real quiet, real fast. Élodie recoils as if struck. Her stiff features waver and wilt. Several emotions flicker across her face—hurt, anger, remorse—all of which you just barely pick out before they’re gone as fast as they came. She narrows her eyes and clenches her fists. Through gritted teeth on a shaken breath, she says, “If I had known what was down there, I wouldn’t have led us… But I made a mistake, and I know I messed up, Felix, but I’ve spent years trying to rectify that. Years of scrambling for clues while you turned a blind eye and threw galas on private estates.” She turns her nose up and stalks past him. Felix sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair as his shoulders go slack. But he has nothing to say to her. He fluffs the lapels of his jacket, straightens his collar, then he keeps walking. You… probably should’ve stepped in at some point. But then, it’s not a subject worth your two cents. If they have beef, you’ll let them sort it on their own. It’s their history, and that history comes with discrepancies. Besides, the last time you intervened between two snappy comrades, you almost lost your head… In the aftermath, however, dark clouds hang overhead. Élodie fumes and Felix walks with his head down. You won’t bother them. Best you let this silence run its course… ‘Let them both simmer and cool down on their own time. “Funny how everything degenerates around you.” The familiar murmuring voice in your ear startles you. You try hard to ignore the way your hair stands on end, and the way your skin prickles in fear. You know the voice, and you know it’s not real. It’s just the fog playing tricks on you again… “You’re lost, aren’t you?” comes the voice again, from Poe’s clicking beak. You side-eye him where he’s perched on your shoulder. He cocks his head and you meet his glinting blue eyes. “You don’t know where you’re going,” he says. “You’re no pathfinder. You’re just a lost soul grasping at straws…” Each gravelly utterance sends tingling jolts cascading up and down your spine. Dissonant whispers tickle the hairs on your neck and rise in volume. Pressure builds up in your skull… “Following these random, winding paths and hoping to find something?” Poe hushes in your ear. “But you have no drive, Wanderer. No initiative. You’re a blindfolded pawn, walking a thin line between the knowing and unknowing.” The world spins as the whispers and your headache intensify. You desperately try to hang onto the image of Élodie and Felix walking in front of you, but it grows dim and hazy. Fog swirls with the colors of a shimmering blue night sky. A wave of nausea almost makes you buckle. But you keep forward with an unsteady gait, determined and desperate to shun the voices. “I could watch you stumble around in the dark for hours,” Poe chuckles. “I’ll throw you a bone,” he says. “But only if you can pass a test.” Dark shapes ballet across your skewed vision. You blink, and they’re gone. “A test?” you murmur. “A test,” Poe affirms. “Take that gun… and shoot one of your friends in the back.” A scream makes you jump. It fades out and joins the chorus of whispers and cries… You swivel your head wildly as sweat collects on your brow. “Why?” you whisper. “Prove your worth,” Poe replies. “Prove you’re deserving of these answers… Show me how far you’re willing to go to have them.” He reads your reluctance and chuckles. “Come on, Wanderer. Just shoot one. They’ll be back… What do you have to lose?” “Their trust,” you return sharply. “You stand to lose much more if you don’t,” Poe replies. Sweat spills down your face, dabbed up by your sleeve. You were hot a moment ago, now you’re ice cold. You expel a misty breath. “Take the gun,” Poe commands, “and shoot.” Do it, the voices sing. Take the gun and shoot. Take the gun and shoot— Go for blondie, one voice whispers to your right. Pop the pretty lady, comes another. A cold sensation crawls up your legs to your arms, then to the twitching tips of your fingers. You reach back and drag your palm over the barrel of the gun. Then you grasp it and swing it around to grip at the ready, with the butt firmly against your shoulder, and your finger hovering over the trigger. “Either or,” Poe whispers in your ear. “Take one out.” The barrel sways toward Élodie’s blurred shape, then back to Felix, while you tap the trigger lightly. Do it, the inner voices scream. Please, please, please, they beg. And, “Prove your fucking worth,” Poe repeats. You swallow thickly and hold your breath. The whispers grow louder and more frenzied. Something sharp drags across your nape and your throat and your jaw. Then you feel a sensation like a kiss on your brow… “Do it.” You pressure the trigger beneath your finger. You can’t even make out whose shape is down the barrel, as your vision is such a hazy, dark mess. Pressure… Like a weight sinking lower and lower on your chest, compressing your lungs and trapping your breath… Pressure… Pressure— “N-No.” You will yourself to lower the gun. A bead of sweat drips from your brow as your form shudders. “No,” you repeat firmly. “No.” Poe hisses in your ear. “Worthless,” he rebukes. You sling the gun over your shoulder and hope he’ll go away, and that he’ll take all the noise with him. But the whispers jump in volume and intensity, becoming harsh, blood-curdling screams of fury. The pain wracking your skull intensifies to a crippling point, making you cry out and stagger. The world spins and vertigo takes you to your knees as the light suddenly goes out. In total darkness, you crash against a hard surface with a painful yelp. Felix and Élodie exclaim in fright close by. The pain and the whispers trickle away until you can catch your bearings. You brace against a wall, blindly feeling over the surface to gauge its form. Your fingers dip into cold grooves, and you trace fine lines carved into stone… Bricks. And you’re standing on solid ground. “What… What is this?” comes Élodie’s voice in front of you. You can’t see her… You can’t see anything. “Where are we?” asks Felix to your right. “R… Relax,” you tell them in a shuddering breath. “This sorta thing’s happened before…” You fumble for your flashlight and click it on. The beam catches Élodie’s startled face. You shine the light over at Felix. “Can you elaborate?” he says. “Uh… If I had to guess—” You turn around while using the light to discern bits and pieces of your surroundings: Two close stone-bricked walls, a high stone ceiling, and a dark corridor straight ahead. “This is an Echo, I think.” The air is stale and dusty. You cough and guide the light toward a dark spot on the wall, where wispy tethers of dark fog swirl over the surface of crumbling stone. “Weird black smoke eating away at the structure… Echo,” you confirm. You face your two allies. “The fog’s weird, y’know? It’s always moving around and changing, and sometimes I… intercept these things.” “Is this normal?” Élodie asks. “I think so, considering…” “And how do we get out of here?” says Felix. “Beats me,” you reply. Élodie narrows her eyes. You shrug. “We’re in the same boat,” you say. “I don’t have every strange place in the fog mapped out, alright? But if this is an Echo, then we might find a hole to squeeze through, and it might take us back out into the fog…” “Are you sure?” Felix asks skeptically. “Just… follow my lead,” you say with a sigh. After peering up and down the corridor, you randomly pick a side and march, with Felix and Élodie at your back. “Until we find the door, we might as well look around… Something might’ve brought me here, which means something might be worth finding…” “And what sort of something are we looking for?” Élodie asks. “Could be anything,” you reply. “Could even be worthless. But we came out here hoping to find a lead, and this one’s as good as any, right?” “We’ll see,” Élodie mutters.   You lead the way with your jittery cohorts at your side. Your burnt-out, flickering torch does very little to uncover the darkness before you, so, as always when navigating a fading Echo, you’re careful where you place your feet. Occasionally, Felix or Élodie will murmur or cough, but nothing beyond that, and nothing to lift the dark clouds settling thickly overhead. Unsettled and anxious, you break the silence with an inviting cue for conversation. “Felix!” you blurt, startling your comrades. “You’re the architect… What the hell is this place?” He scoffs beside you. You look over and watch him drag his hand along the stone bricks. “I can’t even begin to guess without seeing more,” he murmurs. “Guess anyway,” you reply. “Ah… Uh… A fortress?” he reckons. “Or a bunker, or… I don’t know.” “Mm.” “How long is this damn corridor?” Élodie pipes up. “This could be a maze for all we know…” “Glass half empty, huh?” you say. “I’m being realistic.” “Yeah, and making us nervous while you’re at it.” “You brought us here,” she snaps. “Not deliberately!” You palm your temple and sigh. “You two badgered me to come out here, alright? And at the first sign of… something, you get cold feet—” “We aren’t—” “Hush,” you interrupt her. “It’s not easy, I know. It’s unnatural, and it’s bizarre, and it’s a bit spooky, but it comes with the gig. Which, I might add, we all signed up for.” “We don’t have to argue,” Felix interjects. “We understand.” He side-eyes Élodie while she crossly rolls her eyes. “I’m on edge,” she concedes. “I’m not trying to start a fight.” Silence befalls your party, and you’re content to let it play out. Further along, your torch flickers out again, and you’re beating it against your palm when you walk face-first into a solid surface. You stagger away, grunting while grasping your aching nose. Felix and Élodie hit the brakes behind you. “What’s wrong?” Felix says, voice rising in apprehension. You feel out in front of you and contact a smooth surface. It’s not brick, but… wood? Your torch jolts back to life. You shine the beam at the face of a tall wooden door, which stands at twice your height. Rusty studs jut out from every angle, and darker horizontal slabs of wood line it from top to bottom. Felix steps forward to admire the door. You step aside to let him. “Oak,” he murmurs, as he traces his fingers along the vertical planks. “Shoddy craftsmanship… Iron hinges, rusted nails…” He draws his hand to his chin. “They don’t make them like this anymore.” “And that means…?” “Let’s get this door open and find out,” Élodie interrupts as she shoulders past you. She pushes against the door. You grab her wrist to stop her. “Hey, we don’t know what’s on the other side.” “And we won’t if we just stand here talking about it,” she replies pointedly. “You were just saying a minute ago how we signed up for this shit. Besides,” she flicks her chin over your shoulder, “you have that boomstick at your side. What are you so afraid of?” “I’m afraid of running into something that the boomstick can’t stop,” you reply. “The gun is a last resort, not plot armor.” “Plot armor?” Élodie snaps. “You’re treating this all like it’s a game—” “It is a game,” you retort. “A game of literal life or death, and I’m not about to put all bets on this gun just because you’re in a hurry to see what’s on the other side of this door. Let’s just take a minute to understand what—” “What do you want to do, exactly? Discourse it for an hour before we do any real work?” “I say we part the door a bit, then peer out and—” Élodie startles you and Felix when she suddenly slams her fist against the wood. The booming knock echoes on the other side and fades out. Then it’s silent. Élodie folds her arms and raises one eyebrow. “I think we’re alone,” she says. “Can we move on?” You want to call her a hardass. But you step back and motion at the door in defeat. “Be my guest.” She shoves through the door. It swings open with a weighty whine and rusted squeal, stopping when it hits the wall and groans to a stop. Élodie marches past the doorway, with her chin up and her fists curled. Felix looks empathetically at you. “Old habits die hard,” he murmurs.   You follow your comrades through the door into a cold, grand hall. The high ceiling, some ten to twelve meters up, gaped with crumbling holes that allow you to gaze out into the world outside — a starry night sky illuminated by the moon. You’re grateful for its lunar rays, which usurp the darkness threatening to shroud the hall. You slow your roll as you near the center of the lengthy room, turning slowly on your heels to gauge the lofty stone walls adorned with silk black banners and tresses of golden ribbon. There’s not a window in sight, to your dismay, but tall wooden columns banded with iron that reach the ceiling, and run from one end of the room to the other in two uniform rows on the left and right, with a mere meter between each one. You gaze about in wonder before locating Felix behind a column. “Anything?” you ask. “Medieval,” he murmurs. “Very… Very old.” “Is it a castle?” Élodie asks from across the room. She’s on her knees picking apart a pile of rubble near the wall. “Not fit for a king,” Felix replies. “A fort, maybe… Tough, impenetrable walls, with space enough to hold a battalion of soldiers.” He pinches his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. “Had we followed that corridor to the other end, we might’ve found a tower. And from the outside, I’d wager ramparts. But I can only guess without seeing its entirety.” He ends on that note, and you can’t blame him. You’re all out of your element… You follow the hall to the shadowed end and bring out your flashlight. Up a short flight of stone stairs, you stop before a large, barren space. You guess that a throne might have sat in this spot at some point, or a table or an alter… You guide the torch higher and gaze upon a golden mural on the wall. It’s much like the ones you beheld in that chapel, in the dark village under a stormy sky… But this one reads clear as day, untouched by ruin or time. Its golden strokes depict a spidery-legged shape descending from a furious, dark sky. A flock of golden figures reaches upward, with their arms outstretched and palms open, as if praising a god. You could spend hours picking it apart and trying to discern a meaning from it all. But for now, you can only speculate and burn the image into your mind to bring back to the cabin. You reach out to touch the flaking gold paint. Then the earth tremors. You freeze solidly, your arm still outstretched in front of you, and a hard look knitting your brows together. Another tremor shakes loose stone from the ceiling, which crashes loudly to the floor. You look over your shoulder at Felix and Élodie, who share anxious glances. And that’s the last you see of them before the floor beneath their feet crumbles and gives way. Their screams rip through the air as they vanish into a black void. Your heart leaps to your throat, and you call their names as you race off the landing to the edge of the hole. A dark fog dances over the surface of the dense stone, and a rotten smell emanates from the void below. You call for them again, but your call’s met by silence. Then it’s to your horror that you realize the deterioration spreads, and the fog swallows up the bricks you rest upon. You scramble to your feet and try to outrun the collapse, but you’re not quick enough. You’re on solid ground one moment, and plummeting into the dark the next. You scream and flail helplessly in the air for what feels longer than the mere seconds it actually is. Icy cold water breaks your fall and swallows you whole. You plunge into its black depths, dazed, disoriented, and unable to tell which way is up. It’s so black that you can’t see, and so cold the shock paralyzes your limbs. You panic. Then you struggle. Then you choke. And when you feel hands wrapping around your arms, your panic intensifies. You think it’s some figment of your imagination again, those dark shades come to wreak more havoc upon your fragile psyche. So you fight them with everything you’ve got, surprised, and relieved, when you’re tugged out of the water and pulled onto solid land. “Calm down!” Felix shouts. “You’re okay.” You feel his hand on your back, rubbing slow circles as you lurch forward onto your knees. You hack up bitter-tasting water. “Fe… Felix,” you sputter. “This… pool broke our fall,” he says. You lift your head to watch him get to his feet. It’s mostly dark, save for the moonlight that floods through the ruined ceiling above you, ten or so meters up. Some loose bricks fall and crash into the water. You stand and stagger away to keep out of the hazard zone. Then you startle when you bump into Élodie. She lays a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “The medieval fortress comes with a dungeon and a kiddie pool,” she mutters. Her hair’s plastered over her neck and shoulders. She grips two fistfuls of it and wrings it out. “Lucky it does,” Felix replies. “That fall might’ve killed us otherwise…” Poe’s gone, you notice. Then you check the damage on your gear. Your flashlight’s missing, your satchel and presumably everything inside is waterlogged, and your lighter sloshes when you give it a shake… You hope it’s just the fuel. You pray and flick the wheel until it lights up. It’s a welcome morsel of light, which you utilize to navigate the border of the pool. “It could’ve been worse,” you comment. “We could’ve fallen through a void patch…” “Void patch?” Comes Felix’s voice over your shoulder. “Filled you in on Echoes already,” you say. “A void patch is what I’m calling those dark holes or fissures that form when something… deteriorates. I, uh… haven’t coined a better term for them yet… ‘Haven’t figured out where they lead, either. Honestly, I’m probably better off not knowing…” You make it to the other end of the pool and stop. It’s a perfect circle, about six meters across. When you keep moving, your foot catches. You stagger and stop, then look down and puzzle at a deep groove carved in the stone, extending out from the border of the pool about arm’s length… Just another clue that you’ll take home. You back away and encroach on the darkness with your lighter, deeper into the shadowed parts of the vast room. Élodie and Felix’s faint murmurings over your shoulder bring you comfort in knowing you’re not alone. But soon, you don’t hear them at all. Rather, you hear a… a scratching sound. Then something wet, and a… a chattering noise? Hesitantly, you move forward, step by step. The scratching and the chattering sounds stop. And they stop directly in front of you. A small voice at the back of your head tells you to turn back. But your curiosity trumps your fear, and you push forward before the light reveals a rather obscene sight. A large, bulbous form comes into view. Something pink and fleshy, slimy and egg-shaped. A clear membrane coats the surface, and it’s about half your size. You stop dead before you get too close, your face twisting in disgust. Whatever it is, it throbs. It throbs and sways and shudders like a beating heart. The chattering picks up again, clearly coming from the contents of the unsightly oddity. You hear the telltale signs of another very close by. Lifting your lighter to peer deeper into the dark becomes a gut-wrenching mistake, as you lay your eyes upon clutches of these pink, throbbing eggs. You fast decide that you’ve seen enough, and swiftly put distance between you and the trilling brood. When you race back toward Élodie and Felix, they startle at the sight of you and raise their brows. You come to a halt. “Hey,” you breathe. “So, uh… I think we should get the hell outta here.” “You’re telling me,” Élodie replies. “Have you found a way out?” “Ah, no,” you say. You tap your foot and scratch your nape. “But I did find, uh… trouble. I-I think it’s trouble—” “Trouble?” Felix says. Your lighter casts shadows over his anxious features. “Yeah. Yeah, uh… Ah, fuck… So listen—” “Spit it out,” Élodie snaps. “What’s out there?” You struggle to find the right words. “We might be in a… nest. A freezing, damp, and very dark nest. You-You can’t see it, but there are lots of eggs over there, maybe all around us.” Felix looks terrified. “A nest?” “Eggs?” Élodie says “Eggs,” you confirm. “Huge, slimy fuckin’ eggs. So I say we find an exit, and quickly—” Élodie’s gasp startles you. You jump like a scared cat and spin around, shouting, “What? What?!” Something touches your leg. You shriek. When you look down, you lay eyes on a slimy little beast, part human, part arachnid. The upper body is small, pudgy, grey and covered in coarse black hairs. It has a face full of beady black eyes, and two large fangs jutting out between clicking mandibles. The lower body is a bigger nightmare—a spidery abdomen with six twitching, spidery legs dragging behind it. The little beast is swathed in a clear membrane and glistening slime. It clutches your leg with two tiny hands, and it blinks its horrible eyes up at you. You gag at the mere sight of it. Felix mutters something Germanic under his breath. “Holy shit,” Élodie hisses. You try to nudge the grabby little abomination off with your foot, but it’s holding on tightly. “Off,” you command while maintaining your cool. “C’mon little guy, let go—” “Stomp the damn thing,” Élodie whispers. “It’s a baby,” you reply, appalled. “It’s a little monster,” Élodie retorts. “I don’t think I can kick a baby—” “You obviously haven’t met Victor yet!” she hisses. The little grabber clicks its mandibles and squeals. You try shushing it, but its cries persist. You hesitate before you lean down to grab it. “What are you doing?” Felix whispers behind you. “Y’know?” you say, while lifting the horrible little baby and holding it out in front of you. “It’s cute, in a fucked-up sorta way… I-I mean, it’s definitely going to haunt my dreams, but—” “Put the fucking thing down so we can get the hell out of here!” Élodie snaps. Another little abomination comes crawling out of the shadows… Then another, and another… You place down the baby and back away. A shrill cry escapes its nasty maw. “Good idea,” you say, coupled with a nervous laugh. “It’s, uh… It’s a good thing these little guys are harmless, right? When I saw those eggs, I expected something so much worse. Could’ve been—” A blood-curdling shriek cuts through the dark. The entire chamber shudders with a tremor that throws you off balance. You stagger and hit the floor, grasping your head to block out the horrible cry. You witness the abominations retreating into the darkness. And what comes in their stead turns the blood in your veins to ice. Under the moon glow, as faint as it might be, you watch a massive, arachnid beast emerge from the black. At first glance, a giant obsidian spider, well over six meters tall. But upon further scrutiny under the light, you realize a female form merged with the arachnid abdomen. A scraggly body, grey, nude, and jagged with black spines and ungodly talons. It possesses human legs still, which splay outward at awkward angles, useless and terrible. Long black tresses veil the pretender’s face, suddenly drawn back so that it may gaze upon you with a dozen beady, red eyes. Its ghastly maw twitches and clicks. You’re paralyzed in absolute fear. “Mommy?” you whisper. The monster attacks. You try to flee, but you’re caught around the middle by a spidery leg and hoisted right off the ground with a shout. It catches Élodie and Felix too. The beast draws you closer until it can reach out and touch you with its human hands. It caresses your face, your collar, and your throat. Her claws leave stinging abrasions on your skin. She pinches your flesh between her fingers and tugs on your clothes. Her mandibles click vigorously. You watch in horror as the woman’s maw expands to unleash a clutch of writhing black tendrils. “Shoot this fucking thing!” Elodie shouts. You would if your arms weren’t trapped to your sides. But you can only squirm and shout and kick and scream. Your assailant grasps your shoulders to hold you still. Desperate and out of options, you call, “Bastion! BASTION!” She ensnares your head in her tendrils. They wrap around the base of your skull and the nape of your neck while you scream bloody murder. Then the hall tremors. The horrible beast screeches and lurches forward. You’re flung from her grasp and you hit the floor far away. Felix and Élodie land close by with grunts and cries, though you can’t see them. You roll to a stop and lift your head just in time to watch the beast vanish from the light, dragged into the blackness by an unseen force. It howls and wails as you hear the horrible sounds of bones snapping and flesh ripping and tearing… It lasts only a minute before a deathly quiet takes its place. No one says a word. You can’t get out a peep past the lump lodged in your throat. You rise slowly to your feet. The beast is gone, surely, and yet… your heart still races and your skin still crawls with dread. You shuffle forward into the darkness, slowly, prompting Élodie to whisper behind you, “What was that?” “It’s… It’s Bastion,” you whisper in reply, though sounding unsure. You keep forward, putting your allies behind you while moving deeper into the dark. After rifling your lighter from your pocket, you use its flame to guide yourself along. With each step you take, your chest grows tighter, your breath shorter. It’s when you finally lay eyes on Him you realize what you’ve done. Bastion stands there before the twisted carcass of the spidery beast, unmoving and silent and with his back to you. He stands so very still… You recognize that pause. And you recognize the way your heart stutters, and the way your spine tickles with absolute dread… You invited the monster.   Burn him. “Bastion?” (❤)     You don’t know how far gone he is, and you’re not inclined to ask. You vividly recall the first time he came to you in such a hostile state, and you decidedly won’t take any chances with him now. You know you can’t, and you won’t. He’s not just a threat to you, but to Felix and Élodie, too... You hate to do it to him, really. He did just save your life, but you know he’ll snuff it in an instant if you give him the chance. You’ll apologize later. Y’know, when he’s not a hazard to your health… Slowly and steadily, you creep just a tad closer to get within range to take him out. There are only a couple meters between you now, and he’s none the wiser… Makes this a whole lot easier. You raise your lighter, line it up, and you wind back your arm to throw. But you blink, and he’s gone. You puzzle. Then you feel a frigid breath ghosting your nape… “Naughty,” a gravelly voice purrs in your ear. You’re struck and thrown back by an unseen force. You crash to the ground with a grunt, losing your lighter during the fall. It clatters nearby, and the flame goes out. You hear Elodie and Felix’s alarmed clamor around you. “What’s happened?” Felix asks, unwise to the new threat you face. “We need to go,” you tell them, as you scramble to your feet. You swing the shotgun around and grip it at the ready. ‘Course, you don’t know what good it’ll do you against an untamed eldritch beast, but you don’t have other options. “We need to go,” you repeat. “Bastion’s—” A sound, like a whip striking through the air, then you hear a body hit the floor and Felix’s shout as he’s dragged away, deeper into the looming darkness. Élodie startles close by, and you freeze solidly as Felix’s horrible scream curdles your blood. It sends tremors along your spine before it cuts abruptly. “Bastion!” you scream at the void. And then, “F-Felix?” Élodie calls. “Felix!” Her voice rises in panic. You hear her shuffling behind you, a startled gasp, and then her scream. Bones pop and crack, something splashes the stone floor, then you hear a thud… And it falls silent again, save for your quick, short breaths. Sweat drips from your brow. “Bastion!” you snap. He sighs to your right. “You tried to burn me, Wanderer,” he says, with feigned hurt. “Won’t ever be on good terms, will we?” “We have our moments, Bas,” you murmur, eyes darting wildly about the darkness. “But you’re out of control.” “That’s where you’re wrong,” he returns. “I’ve never been more in control… You only know a fraction of me, Wanderer. A fraction that I have suppressed.” “Can you bring him to the phone?” you nervously reply. “Not sure that I’m a fan of this new you…” “You’re cute, Wanderer.” You’re feeling awfully vulnerable in the dark, knowing that he’s out there watching you… You slowly get down on one knee and sweep the floor for your lighter. “Felix and Elodie trusted you, Bastion. They trusted you, and-and you just—” “They trusted you.” You can’t find the damn thing. You can’t find it… But you won’t just lie in wait like a sitting duck. You rise and creep toward the moonlit spot in the center of the dark hall. Along the way, your foot catches and sends you staggering forward. You crash to the ground and land in a warm puddle, pulling the trigger by accident and blasting a hole in the floor. The gunshot scares you half to death, and the barrel knocks you upside the head. You hiss and scramble to your feet to recollect yourself. Bastion laughs close by. You sigh. “What do you want?” you call out, shaken. “There’s a reason you haven’t killed me yet, right?” “Maybe I like to play with my food…” You keep toward the light until you reach the border of the deep black pool. The water ripples. “You only came because I called you, Bastion… So that you could protect me—” “I came to kill, and to throw your squirming body on a vein… But there are no veins here.” You raise your brow in questioning. “Veins?” “You don’t know?… Ah... I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t elaborate. And you only have a moment to chew it over before an intense pain rockets through your abdomen. You stagger forward, gasping, to find a bloody claw protruding from your stomach. You’re hefted off the ground and brought facing Bastion’s vertical, toothy maw. A cluster of writhing black tentacles spills from the foggy void behind his jaws, mere inches from your face. He snatches you by the throat, and he rips his claw from your gut. You let out a garbled cry of pain. “You poor souls,” he taunts. “Cannon fodder, all of you… How many more will it throw to the void’s hungry maw?” “Wh-What are you saying?” you struggle and choke. When you claw at his hand and try to loosen his grip, it tightens. “I could tell you everything,” he says, “but I won’t.” He laughs cruelly. “You have all the answers right in front of you, Wanderer. You tread the right path, but you’re facing the wrong direction, just like the many that came before you. You share those desperate and infeasible dreams.” “Why-Why won’t you tell me?” you stammer over a strained breath. “Because,” he replies, “the road ends someplace I can’t tread… But if you’re so inclined after this, I invite you to ask the fraction for the answers… We have them.” His grip’s getting tighter. You lash out and kick him in the chest, choking out, “B-Bastion—” “That’s not my name,” he growls, while squeezing your throat so tightly that your head might pop off. “You beckoned me like a dog… You wanted a killer, and that’s what you got.” Your scream is muffled as those wet, snapping tendrils ensnare your head. They wrap tightly, snaking around the base of your skull and your neck. You buck like a wild bull and squirm relentlessly, but it’s an effort for naught. Pain flares in your neck, as flesh and bone rip and break, and before you know it, it’s lights out.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You haven’t moved in at least an hour. Though, there’s no sure way of knowing. You’re on your back in the woods amid a clearing of looming, dead trees. It’s where death placed you when your restoration was complete, when it stitched back together your broken neck, and mended the bloody hole in your gut… You gaze up at gnarled branches, outstretched like spidery legs against the moonlit sky. You feel angry, just looking at them. It’s when you finally look away that you notice him standing there, beside a tall, black tree, almost indistinguishable from it and the others. He looms like a dark cloud, and when you turn your gaze to him fully, he steps forward, cautiously, as though he approaches a ticking bomb. You might as well be, as furious as you are.  “Wanderer,” he says, quietly. You bristle at the sight of him. Then you’re seething. You jerk to your feet, pointing an accusing finger at him and holding nothing back. “You bastard,” you say through gritted teeth. “Wanderer—” “Shut up!” you snap. “You-You… You… AGH!” You scream in frustration, then you rave. “Are you good, Bastion? Or do you want to take my head off again?” You shake your head like an agitated animal. “You have been on thin ice for a long time. Sometimes you’re there when I need you, and sometimes you’re not. And sometimes when you do show, it’s so you can kill me.” You hang your head and unconsciously touch your neck. “Not to mention, your fun counterpart tells me that I still can’t trust you. It told me all about how you’re still hiding some deep, dark secrets… And I bet you won’t tell me what those are if I ask.” Bastion says nothing when you look at him. You scoff. “And after what you did to Felix and Elodie? You just fucked me over, Bastion, big time. How can I trust you?” He remains silent. You fume quietly for a solid two minutes, giving him the opportunity to say something or to defend himself, but he doesn’t. You want to scream and throw a book at him. But you give him one last chance. “What’s your name, Bastion?” you question. “You have one, right?” He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, like a stubborn kid refusing to fess up to an accusing parent… More comparably, a dog that’s hiding something in its mouth. And it pisses you off to no end. After the trouble he’s caused you, and the mess you’re left to clean up in his wake, you aren’t in the mood. So, “Leave,” you command, with a scowl. And of course, he does. Good riddance, you think, as you kick a stone and slump against a tree. And then you toss two ‘fuck’s around, and a few ‘shit’s and a sharp ‘damn,’ here and there… Because it dawns on you that you’re six feet under a heaping pile of shit, and the consequences weigh on you like an anvil. You can’t imagine Felix or Elodie will be too happy with you, should you find the courage to face them after this… Worse, you just put Bastion in a timeout. You sigh and hang your head—no one said being the hero was any fun, and that becomes clearer by the day… Fuck.   Continue     You know what you need to do. Every ounce of gut-feeling tells you to light him up. ‘Do it’, the voice inside urges. ‘You know what’ll happen if you don’t.’ Indeed, you know what terrible consequences might befall you if you don’t. You vividly recall his first attack, and you know the right course of action to avoid a bloody repeat… But you can’t bring yourself to burn him. Louder than the anxious voices, another voice speaks, and it challenges that your bond with Bastion is stronger than the monster sheltered in his shadow. If you can break through to him now, then you can do it as many times as need be, and you can keep Felix and Élodie from seeing his twisted truth. Bastion deserves dignity. You won’t rob him of it. In love and perhaps poor judgement, you dispose of your lighter, so as not to startle him. Then you call his name on a shaky breath, greatly suppressing the fear in your voice. “Bastion?” Even amid the deafening silence, you can barely hear your own voice. And in the dark, you can’t see how he reacts, if he reacts at all. You anxiously await a response when you hear something dragging across the stone — uneven and unsteady footfalls… “Bastion?” you say again, while taking a tentative step forward, careful in your approach. You’ll meet him halfway, you decide. And you keep forward, despite the cold shiver treading the length of your spine… “You came because I called for you, right, Bas?” He says nothing. The dragging stops. You wonder why until you feel his touch ghosting your cheek. Though startled, you reach out blindly until you grasp his arm, then his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his while working down a lump in your throat. Overwhelming fear puts your hairs on end… Bastion stands before you, but you can’t see his dark form, and you can’t begin to guess what he’s feeling or thinking. But still, you persist. “You’re okay, Bas,” you murmur, while tugging lightly on him and trying to draw him closer. He moves, and you determine that he’s on his knees, as you reach out and feel his shoulder directly in front of you. He’s about level now. You feel over the rough exterior of his protruding rib cage, tracing the prickly claws that cage his chest before you find a flat spot to place your hand. It’s where his heart might be, if he had one. The tremors racing along your spine intensify. Touching him feels like touching static, and your heart races so fast it might explode, but still you persist. You’re getting through to him, aren’t you? Surely he would’ve killed you already if you weren’t, surely. You locate his head with your other hand, and you cup his jaw and hold him as dearly as he would you. “You’re okay, Bas,” you soothingly say. “You’re okay… Let’s go home, yeah? Just… say anything, and we can go home. Let me know you’re okay.” He doesn’t say a word. Rather, he purrs deeply, and he presses his head into your hand. Your heart gives a nervous jolt, and it shows no signs of slowing down. Then… you feel wetness on your palm, and something fleshy and cold and slimy, dragging between your fingers and having a taste… You snatch your hand quickly away, startled and disgusted. Something snaps in front of you… Then you hear an awful squelch, like tearing flesh. “I-I’m going to pull out my lighter, Bastion,” you stammer, fumbling for it. “But-But only so I can see you, okay?” He doesn’t reply. You fumble with the damn thing before flicking it open and catching a small flame. The horrible sight in front of you drives a wedge in your throat, and it turns your blood to ice. You gaze at Bastion, as he’s illuminated by the dim, flickering light. His face is split down the middle, carved into a deep cavity with sharp, mangled teeth along the edges, and a cluster of squirming black tentacles flowing from the maw. The horrible mess is only inches from your own face. Bastion expels a cloud of dark smoke from his twisted jaws. “You’re adorable,” he husks, with a wry chuckle. A tendril lunges forward and lashes your cheek, leaving a thick trail of slime from your mouth to your ear. You grimace and recoil, but he snatches both your wrists in vice-like grips, and he squeezes so tightly until you cry and drop the lighter. It clatters and the flame goes out. He rises to his full height while trapping you still. “And much too easy,” he playfully taunts. He lets you go, only to push and send you stumbling backwards and crashing to the floor. You lose sight of him as you land near Felix and Élodie in the dark, and though you can’t see them, you can hear their alarmed clamor around you. “What’s happened?” Felix asks, unwise to the threat you’ve unleashed. “We-We need to go,” you say as you scramble to your feet. “We need to go. Bastion’s—” A sound, like a whip striking through the air, then you hear a body hit the floor and Felix’s shout as he’s dragged away, deeper into the looming darkness. Élodie startles close by, and you freeze solidly as Felix’s horrible scream curdles your blood. It sends tremors along your spine before it cuts abruptly. “Bastion!” you scream at the void. And then, “F-Felix?” Élodie calls. “Felix!” Her voice rises in panic. You hear her shuffling behind you, a startled gasp, and then her scream. Bones pop and crack, something splashes the stone floor, then you hear a thud… And it falls silent again, save for your quick, short breaths. Sweat drips from your brow. “B-Bastion,” you whisper. He laughs somewhere out there; a cold, husky laugh. “Forgive me,” he purrs sweetly. “I wanted to be alone with you.” “Bastion,” you murmur. “What-What… What did you do to them?” The answer’s obvious, and you know it’s a stupid question. He laughs again, then sighs. You can’t place his location. He sounds so close, yet so far. You sweep the ground with shaky hands, desperately seeking the lighter you lost. “They trusted you, Bastion,” you say carefully. “They trusted you, and-and you just—” “They trusted you.” You can’t find the damn thing. You can’t find it… But you won’t sit in the dark while he’s out there watching. You rise and creep toward the moonlit spot in the center of the dark hall. Along the way, your foot catches and sends you staggering forward. You crash to your hands and knees in a warm puddle. You don’t need to see it to know what it is. You scramble to your feet and wipe your hands on your legs. “What is it you want?” “You think I want something from you?” “You would’ve killed me otherwise, r-right?” “I still might.” You keep toward the light until you reach the border of the deep black pool. The water ripples. “You only came because I called you, Bastion… So that you could protect me—” “I came to kill, and to throw your squirming body on a vein… But there are no veins here.” You raise your brow in questioning. “Veins?” “You don’t know? Poor thing…” He doesn’t elaborate. And you only have a moment to chew it over before something seizes your leg. You’re tripped up, and you don’t catch yourself in time before you smash your face on the ground with a cry. Then you’re dragged out of the light and drawn into the darkness with a scream. You’re pulled to a stop. You roll over and meekly touch the blood running from your nose. Something snaps above you. You catch your breath. “Aw… Did I hurt you?” Spoken with not an ounce of sincerity. Cold fingers ghost your cheek. “You’re-You’re scaring me, Bastion,” you whisper. You can’t see him as he cups your face in his hands. “You won’t find compassion in me… You speak to a mere fraction of a soul that I have suppressed within this shell…” He drags his thumb to the corner of your lips. “And you won’t get through, no matter how sweetly you might beg.” His frigid breath fans your throat. You shudder. “But I won’t lie,” Bastion murmurs against your skin, as he drags his teeth along your tenderness. “Something deep down cares for you… And it screams, ‘Don’t touch her… Don’t hurt her, please.’” He sighs into the crook of your neck. “You poor souls… Cannon fodder, all of you. How many more will it throw to the void’s hungry maw?” “What… What are you saying, Bastion?” you ask on a quivering breath. “I could tell you everything… But I won’t.” He laughs and squeezes your jaw in his hand, pinching your cheeks and pursing your lips. “You have all the answers right in front of you, Wanderer. You tread the right path, but you’re facing the wrong direction, just like the many that came before you. You share those desperate and infeasible dreams… Had I a heart, it would feel for you.” You lay your hand over his wrist. “Why won’t you tell me? Why?” He comes close again until you feel his head beside yours. He puffs a cold breath on your ear. “The road ends someplace I can’t follow you… And if you’re so inclined after this, ask the fraction for the answers… We have them. Ask, and test the limits of your bond.” Then he draws away from you, chuckling. “We’ve chatted long enough, haven’t we? I can’t stay too long, Wanderer. I can feel the shade scratching to get out…” “Bastion—AH!” You cut off with a sharp cry as he gores your gut with a prickly claw. He rises to his feet and draws you in very close until he can seize your throat in his hand. You beat on his arm and try to pry free. It’s no use, and you know it. “Do you care for me?” he asks. “All of me?” You choke and gasp for breath. It’s not him, not the Bastion you adore… His shell is a mere host of some despicable thing that’s dug its way up and out of his dark past. Something that’s using his voice to spew its terrible words… But you know he’s in there somewhere, and you know he’s watching. And it’s the spectator that you care so deeply for, not the intruder. And it’s the spectator that you direct your answer to. “I… I love you, Bastion,” you rasp. “I love you.” A declaration met by silence. Does it mean anything to him? Is Bastion close enough to the surface that you might have gotten through? You still can’t see him in this dark… And you just hardly hear his breath shuddering past his jaws. He reaches out and you feel his hand cupping your cheek before he pinches your chin between his fingers, gently, as Bastion would. Relief calms your stuttering heart, and your cheeks flush with warmth. “Bastion—” He traces his talon along your bottom lip to cut you off. “You love the lies,” he murmurs. “It’s a glass facade… And it only fools the blind.” He laughs in your face, pressuring your lip with the point of his talon until he draws blood. He smears it over your chin, and then he sighs. “And you, Wanderer? You’re blinded by love.” Your lips tremble as you struggle to work past the lump in your throat. Dread rolls through the pit of your stomach, and your mouth runs drier than a desert. Were you capable of speaking, you wouldn’t even know what to say. What more could you preach to get through to him? Would anything at all work to break down the monster’s walls? Is Bastion even close enough to hear from you? You don’t have even a moment to reckon it. ✱ Whipping tentacles attack from the dark, and they envelop your head and muffle your startled cries. You thrash and squirm under the assault, and it’s to your utter horror that you feel one creeping much too close to your eye. You fight like a mad bull as the slimy tendril applies a horrible pressure to your closed eye. You grip the appendage and desperately try to pry it away, but it slips easily from your grasp like a wet eel. The pressure increases, like a thumb pressing into your eye. Your panic rises, and you kick and scream and beat on Bastion’s arm, but it’s all for naught, as your eye pops like a grape. Words can’t explain the agonizing pain, or the dreadful scream that rips from your throat, which becomes a rattled cry and a hoarse moan. The intruder licks and scrapes the inside of your socket, sopping up blood and gore while you scream bloody murder in his face. When it finally withdraws with a wet pop, blood and other horrible matter ooze down your face. The tendrils unwrap and recede, and you hear Bastion seethe through his teeth. “You taste like poison… But there’s a light inside your shell,” he says. “And I’ll have it however I can.” You don’t know what the fuck he’s rambling about. You don’t care, can’t possibly, while in such terrible pain. “B-Bastion,” you weep over choking sobs. “Wanderer,” he purrs sickeningly in reply. “Where did your spirit go? Have I broken you already? But I’m not through with you yet.” He cups your face to caress you lovingly. “I could slice you open, reach inside, then close my fist around your shining light… But there are better ways to snuff a flame. Better ways to get inside…” He rips his claw out of your gut, eliciting another cry from your lips. For a moment, a mere second, you think he’s afforded you just an ounce of clemency. But how quickly you discover otherwise, when you hear the unbecoming sounds of cracking bone and peeling flesh. Then, forth from the darkness, a cluster of additional wriggling tentacles. They’re a nuisance at first, snaking around your legs, tugging and pulling on your clothes. But one hugs your waist and curls around your abdomen before locating the gushing wound in your gut. It’s about then you realize what happens next, and it’s then that your struggle increases tenfold. You kick him, and beat and claw on his arm. And you bow and you beg, but all for nothing. The squirming tendril finds its way inside, and you scream over the contented sigh Bastion releases. The slimy intruder wreaks havoc on your insides, its only intent to rip and tear and brutalize your bleeding cavity. You writhe in agony and choke over the terrible cries catching in your throat. Were your mind not fuzzy with signals sent from your screaming nerves, you’d wonder what sick satisfaction he derives from this. But in your frenzy, you can’t wonder a thing, much less form a coherent thought. You hardly even process Bastion’s cruel joke. “Always wanted to play in your guts,” he purrs, sweet like honey. Blood surges up your throat, garbling your cries and threatening to choke you. You sputter until Bastion brings you into an embrace. You try to buck off, but he holds you firmly, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He pats you on the back. “Don’t choke, now,” he says, with artificial concern. You try to push away from him, but you feel twitching claws curl around you and trap you. You spill blood on his shoulder. He chuckles and sighs, and he rubs slow circles over your back. “How I wish we had more time… I hate to ruin you so quickly.” The tendril slips out of your wound, and the others unwind and recede. ✱ Bastion drops you carelessly on the ground, where you twist and writhe like a mortally wounded animal. You don’t know happens next, and you’ve never been more terrified. When you try to swallow all the blood, it comes right back up. You sputter and choke on it. “B… Bas—” “That’s not my name,” comes his bitter voice from the dark. The quiet that follows is deafening. You whimper for him again, only to be met by silence. Has he left? Are you to suffer through the agony, alone in the dark, until your body finally quits? It feels like you lay here forever in a growing pool of blood, quivering and struggling to breathe over each gasping cry. Gradually, your breaths become shallower, your skin colder and clammier, and your twitching fingers stop. The transition from living to dead is hard to tell, as you’re taken from one chilling void to another, to be repaired and deposited again into the fog…   ✱ ✱ ✱   You haven’t moved in at least an hour. Though, there’s no sure way of knowing. You’re on your back in the woods amid a clearing of looming, dead trees. It’s where death placed you when your restoration was complete, when every piece placed back where it belonged, and every laceration and bleeding wound stitched up as if it had never been… You gaze up at gnarled branches, outstretched like spidery legs against the moonlit sky. Intense nausea racks your gut at just the sight of them. Your stomach lurches. And for the third time this hour, you flip over onto your knees and vomit. Bile burns coming up, and you retch and choke until the tank runs dry and you can only dry heave. Your eyes well with tears as a breath shudders past your lips—a breath becoming a wretched cry that you’ve held back for an hour. You dig your nails into the dirt before clenching your fists tightly. You grasp your head in your hands and fold, weeping and moaning in absolute anguish. And you lay curled up in a quivering ball while gasping over each sob that wracks your body. It’s when you finally look up, some five to six minutes later, that you notice him standing there, beside a tall, black tree, almost indistinguishable from it and the others. He looms like a dark cloud, and when you upturn your gaze to him fully, he steps forward, carefully, as though he approaches a cornered animal. You might as well be, as much as you feel like prey. “Wanderer,” he says, barely above a whisper. You bristle and recoil at the sight of him, and when he keeps forward, you jerk to your feet and try to run. It’s only instinct, after what he did. But you don’t get far before you’re caught around the waist by a spindly claw and tugged into an unwanted embrace. You spin around and beat wildly at him with your fists. “Let go,” you command shakily. “Let-Let me—” He drops willfully to his knees, and he holds you tight. His arms keep firmly around you, despite your struggle. He props his chin on the top of your head to tuck you safely beneath him. A cold breath ghosts your scalp and stands your hairs up. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” Tears run down your cheeks. You quit fighting, only to wrap yourself around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You stifle a shuddering sob against his charcoal skin, constantly fighting the urge to break away from him and run. Another pathetic sound escapes your lips until what remains of your meager resolve entirely trickles away… When the floodgates open, you weep and ball your fists at the nape of his neck to hold him closer and tighter. You feel his hand on the back of your head, and his fingers tenderly treading your scalp. “Why didn’t you burn me?” “I-I… I didn’t want to hurt you, Bastion. And-And I… And I-I thought…” You hiccup and fall silent. You need not say more. He pulls back slightly, and he touches his forehead to yours. You feel his icy breath on your lips. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, while cupping your face in his hands. He tenderly drags his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe away your tears as they fall. Then he presses a soft kiss to your eye. You flinch away at the contact. He murmurs another apology and kisses the bridge of your nose, then he kisses your brow, and then your ear, as if each of his affections is a band-aid placed on top… As if it makes it all better. You grasp his face in your hands, which he allows, and you study him in silence… But there’s nothing there. Nothing to scrutinize or to judge, and nothing human; not at all. Truly, he’s just a shell, in the shape of a man with something dark and twisted on the inside… Your mouth runs dry. You could search his face, or lack thereof, forever, and you’ll never find an ounce of something even remotely human. He’s a pretender. And you met a part of him tonight that told you it was all a lie and a ruse. You can’t help what you say next. It comes out without a thought. “You’re horrible, Bastion.” Like taking a shot through the heart, he flinches. When he lifts a hand to touch one of yours, you withdraw. “I’ve been trying to overlook it all… All-all the killing, and the brutalizing, and the lying, but I can’t anymore…” “Wanderer—” “That thing inside of you is-is so vile and horrible, Bastion. And that monster tells me I can’t trust you, even after all this time.” He shakes his head. “Don’t say that, Wanderer,” he whispers. When he reaches out for you, you slap his hand away. “I wanted to come into this blind… I didn’t want to see the skeletons in your closet. And I-I didn’t… I didn’t want to see you like that.” You didn’t know the monster inside him would be so terrible… But then, there’s much you don’t know about Bastion, if his shadow spoke even an ounce of truth. You don’t know him; you don’t know him at all. Has everything he told you been a lie? Were his affections all lies? Is he using you? Your old festering doubts resurface. You don’t want to believe any of them, but it’s hard not to, after what’s happened, after what he did. You hang your head and work down the lump in your throat. “Maybe… Maybe this was all a mistake,” you murmur. “Or maybe I just need some time to-to think, but… I can’t do this with you.” He reaches for your hand. “Don’t say that,” he implores again. “Don’t say that, Wanderer.” He speaks carefully and keeps his voice low, as he tries to close his hand around yours. “I’m sorry—” “That doesn’t fix anything, Bastion,” you reply, while trying to pull away. He keeps a hold. “Let me go,” you command. But he doesn’t. He pulls you into his arms, despite your increasing struggle. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, like a broken record. “I won’t hurt you, Wanderer.” “You already did,” you snap, panic rising. “Let go.” He rests his head beside yours, and he puffs a cold, shuddering breath on your skin. “I’ll take you home, Wanderer,” he says, “and we can talk.” You feel his hand on your back, and he rubs slow circles… And everything you desperately try to keep pent up just explodes out of you. You scream and thrash, and you swipe at his face before breaking away as hard as you can. You stumble backwards and hit the ground as tears flood your eyes. Sobs wrack your body and you do your best to stifle them, to no avail. “I-I don’t want you touching me, Bastion. And I don’t want you here… Not now.” Through a blur, you notice fog bleeding from the gashes you needlessly tore across his face, and you watch in terror as slimy tendrils emerge from the fissures. Bastion clasps his hand over the damage, trying in vain to contain it all. He hangs his head very low, and he flinches at each gasping sob that escapes your throat. Then he cages his head in his arms as though trying to block out the sounds. He just sits there, silent, like he doesn’t know what more to say… Or maybe he finally understands that there isn’t more to say. It hurts seeing him this way. Pangs of guilt roll over you in waves. There’s a part of you that wants to hold him again, and to be held by him, but it’s trumped by fear. You blame yourself… You should’ve burned him the moment you’d realized he turned… If you had, maybe you’d still be blissfully ignorant to the monster inside him, and all the secrets he still hides… You could’ve gone home to find him by your bedside, waiting to wish you a good night and sweet dreams. It’s without another word that Bastion vanishes. Promptly in his absence, you release a long, shuddering sigh. You could pick yourself up and trudge to Lydia’s cabin, but you just sit and stare at the spot where he sat moments ago. Tears fall down your face, and your chest grows tighter. You’re exhausted, sad, and conflicted. You’ll get up and go eventually… But not now. What a mess... What a mess.   Continue     The bed has been your cradle since the incident in the ruins. For the past nights, you’ve refused to leave the security and solitude of Lydia’s cabin. You won’t venture through the fog without your guardian, and you haven’t mustered the courage to seek Felix or Élodie and explain what happened. They haven’t come to you either, which speaks volumes of their sentiment. They must think you’re as incompetent as they come, to throw your lot in with a killer you can’t even trust—to lead them into those ruins, and to lead their deaths at the hands of what you convinced them was your ally. But is he really? You haven’t even seen Bastion, not since then. Not a single glimpse of the shadowy specter… Did you scare him away too? Is the deal off? The uncertainty puts a pit in your stomach. It makes you nauseous thinking that you’re to walk the rest of this road alone, with no guidance or protection… But a part of you is glad to be away from him and his vicious counterpart. Now you can only wonder what he’s hiding, and why he’s kept you in the dark for so long. His other half only imparted bits and pieces. Mumbo jumbo about veins and other poor souls, and… and you don’t understand any of it. All you’re left with are more questions without answers, and the inability to solve them by yourself. Of course, you could always slink back to Danny and enlist his help, but you’d rather scrape the rust off an old barn door with your teeth than work with him alone. It’d be asking for trouble, and you’re so sick and tired of trouble. No… No, you’re staying right here, at least until you can figure something out. Poe’s arrival startles you, as he swoops through the open window. He perches on the headboard and looks down with a copper coin pinched between his beak. He waits expectantly until you extend a hand for him to drop his gift in your open palm. A smile graces your drawn lips. “Thank you, Poe.” He flutters his wings and crows. You turn the coin over and scrutinize its botched faces—it’s just another piece of junk he probably picked up off the ground and brought to you like a doting toddler. Nothing you can use… But it’s the thought that counts. “I’ll add it to my collection,” you murmur while pocketing it. It’s then you notice the creepy-crawly sensation on your ankle. You kick your foot and sit up, catching wispy dark threads treading the tips of your fingers up your arm… What’s at first confusion becomes full-blown panic as you realize what’s happening. “No, no—” you sputter as you desperately swipe at the growing ebony tendrils that climb up your arms and legs. Your plea goes unheard as the tethers swathe your body and whisk you away.   You stagger as you’re re-formed on solid ground. A medical cart catches you before you crash to the floor. Those dark tendrils creep off and vanish at your feet. ‘First thing you notice is the flickering lights above you, and the buzzing of their neglected bulbs. Léry’s Memorial Institute. It’s as cold and drawl as you remember it. A mighty shiver races along your spine—if Bastion upholds his absence, then this will be your first trial alone in a long time. There’ll be no all-powerful entity coming to your rescue, no shining white knight or guardian angel. You’re on your own, just like everyone else. Now you have no choice but to readjust to the role of prey and to play accordingly. But you’ve become too complacent, always having something watching your back, and you wonder how ready you actually are to face the horrors of a trial. Well, there’s only one way to find out.   You navigate the halls until you find a generator in the showers. While tense and on edge, you work painstakingly to repair the machine; you can’t make mistakes. You can’t risk drawing the killer to you. The seconds tick by and become minutes, which carry into unbroken silence. Silence, until you hear a rippling blast in the distance. Electrical currents zap the puddles underfoot, and they race through your body in an instant, ripping a scream from your throat. You crash backward with a cry as your body tingles and jolts. Dread rolls through the pit of your stomach and cold sweat films your brow. Tonight, The Doctor is your host; the madman you haven’t seen since… since the day you struck the deal with Bastion. He was the first demonstration of Bastion’s abilities, and the first killer you’ve pissed off. Oh, you can only imagine the punishment he’ll inflict upon you if he catches you… So you won’t let him catch you. As soon as the initial shock passes, you scramble to your feet and stagger out of the showers. You race down the corridors, getting as far as you can away from approaching doom. He’ll want payback, won’t he? Like The Clown did! Or like Danny or that Legion chick that Joey told you about! Bastion pissed off these killers, and now it’s your ass. So you’ll run and you’ll hide, and you won’t come out unless someone gets the damn gates open. You come staggering to a stop amid the atrium only to catch your breath. Your heart hammers thunderously, and your breaths come out short and quick. While buckling over and panting like a dog, you feel a creeping sensation along your spine. Slight, at first, before it intensifies and feels like fingers tap-tapping up and down your back. You snap around, wide-eyed and mouth agape in question. A dark shape dodges your vision. You swivel to the left and just barely spot another darting away. Ah, no, no, no… You know what this is, but you won’t entertain it, not now. It’s an amalgam of The Doctor’s madness and your own wretched delirium. As always, it’s joined by those harsh whispers, which tickle the hairs on your neck and arms. You can hardly discern the voices from one another, or the jumble of words they assault you with. But you notice the shadows closing in, sneaking up on your sides and back… Before they get too close, you break away, and you tear down the halls, mad and terrified. You’re only stopped when a loose tile catches your foot and sends you crashing to your hands and knees. Beads of sweat drip off your forehead as you recollect yourself. When you get on your feet, you grasp your head in both hands, trying desperately and in vain to block out the noise and the ceaseless whispers. The walls close in and the darkness grows heavier. You can’t see even two feet in front of you. Something touches your arm—an icy hand, which treads on the surface of your skin. You scramble away, gasping. “St-Stop…” you stammer, afraid. “Get back… Get back!” Fingers brush your spine. You whip around. “Back!” you snap. “Stay back!” The whispers come louder, and the buzzing static noise is almost deafening. Wasting not another moment, you spin and take off running again, careless of the dark. And the panic and the noise only cease the moment you run head-on into a wall, as the impact knocks you out cold.   ✱ ✱ ✱   “—ere you are….” Your head pounds. A harsh, grating voice close by puts goosebumps on your arms. You peel open your eyes, slowly and carefully, grimacing against the pain that jolts through your skull. While your senses return gradually, you make out hazy colors and warmth around you. There’s a tall, dark shape looming straight ahead, unmoving. You blink once and then twice before setting your wide eyes upon The Doctor. Foremost, you notice he lacks the odd metal headpiece, though his glinting red eyes are still as large and as crazed as ever, and he still wears that terrible, toothy grin. He’s changed, wearing a black waistcoat over a red button-up, with smooth black slacks and a pair of shiny dress shoes. If one can look past his malevolent face, he looks presentable. But only for an occasion, you presume. This occasion. He’s dragged you to his office, the nice room by the atrium with the shelves stacked high with books, the antiquated desk and chairs, and the nice rug underfoot. You’re strapped securely to the chair in the corner, both ankles and wrists bound to the armrests and legs—an all too familiar experience. You can guess he got rid of the others by now. And what with the collapse being absent, you assume they’re all dead. If even one got the gates open, it’d be here… But they’re all gone, and you know you’re cornered and trapped with The Doctor. Terrified, you can hardly muster your voice to speak. “What’s up, Doc?” you drawl nervously with a grimace. The corner of the mad doctor’s lips twitches. He strolls behind your seat, just out of sight before you feel his icy hand rest upon your shoulder. As soon as he touches you, you feel a jolt.   Papers, scattered over the surface of a mahogany desk, lit dimly by a flickering table lamp to your right. Shadows shroud the far corners of the office you’re in, and there’s a door straight ahead. It cracks open, and a shadowed man’s face peers inside. You can’t make him out. “You get anything out of that last one, Carter?” he asks, his voice low and stern. Carter? You glimpse a name scrawled over the top of a page: Herman Carter… The Doctor? A voice leaves your throat—it’s not yours. It’s familiar, harsh, and grating. “Everything.” Another jolt whips along your spine. The room spins and transitions to a small cell, with mucked cement floors, stained by pools of blood, some old and some fresh. A light bulb swings back and forth overhead. You stand before a lever on the wall. You grip the handle with a dark hand and yank it down. A man’s blood-curdling scream rips through the air. Something sizzles and pops. You grimace—   —And then you’re back. The Doctor chuckles above you as he strokes an aching spot on your skull. “Are you still with me?” he asks. “Can’t have you going too soon…” He leaves your side and returns to his desk. You shake your head to clear the pounding headache. “Long time no see,” you mutter. “I haven’t seen you in… In how long?” “Too long,” The Doctor replies. He grins at you. While he bends over to scrub through some papers on his desk, you shift and swallow. “H-Hey… Why am I here?” “Your checkup is long overdue,” he replies wryly, glancing over his shoulder. “Funny,” you say, “I never scheduled an appointment.” The Doctor chuckles. He collects a pen and a notepad from his desk. You test the strength of the restraints, feeling your chest tighten more, as they don’t give at all. You swallow again, nervous. “Why are you doing this?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “What do you get from all this? Are you happy here to play your part and not ask questions?” “I have everything I could ever want here,” he answers. “What better place to experiment? With subjects that never die, and the endless possibilities laid out before me?” “You’re mad,” you reply. “Aren’t we all?” he says with a broadening grin. He withdraws behind his desk, and he has a seat, with one leg folded over the other. His eyes gleam with malice. Yours flash with terror. “What’s your name?” he asks quietly. You blink. “Why?” “For the record.” You prick the leather armrests with your nails. “How about I tell you yours?” The Doctor tilts his head to the side. “Herman Carter,” you say slowly. “That’s your name, right? Herman Carter. What were you? A… An interrogator? Did you torture people? I thought doctors helped people—” “We’re masters of the mind and body,” he interrupts you, beaming. You can tell you’ve piqued his interest in the way he leans forward and props his hands on his knees. “And I found ways to twist and to poke at them to get the reactions I wanted. Or, in the case of Project Awakening, the answers I wanted.” He leans back again, chuckling. “How do you know all of this?” “I… I can’t exactly say,” you murmur. “Indulge me.” You peel back strips of leather from the armrest. “I’m different,” you say. “I’m… I’m the one, alright? I-I have the all-seeing eye, and the guidance and the abilities to navigate this place, so-so I can find answers. And I have a… a connection to the fog, I think. And I can connect to everything within.” You lean forward, speaking more quickly. “It’s why I’m trying to figure everything out, because I’m supposed to be the hero, and-and I—” “You sound so sure,” Herman replies. “But your demeanor betrays you.” “I’m not—I know I… can…” You trail off and look at your feet, unknowing of how to respond. Herman chuckles. “Ah,” he says. “But that doesn’t explain why our gracious host would protect you.” “It wasn’t the Entity,” you mutter. “But it turns out I’m not the only one who wants out.” You lift your head to face him again. “This all goes beyond the trials,” you say. “It goes beyond all the torture and the killing.” “How so?” “No one’s here forever,” you reply quickly. “This place, the-the thing in charge, I think it’s… I think it’s doing something to us. It’s destroying us, and I don’t know why, but unless someone finds the answers and stops it for good, then we’re all screwed. Maybe not now, maybe not a year from now, but we will be.” Silence. Herman taps his foot while non-stop grinning at you. He tips his head from side to side and he rubs his chin before finally speaking again. “Why are you telling me all of this?” “Because I don’t know if you have me here because of some personal vendetta or-or what, but you don’t have to kill anymore. You don’t have to listen to the voices in your head telling you to play along. In-In fact, if you help me, then we’re only one step closer to escaping this nightmare. I-I’ve already convinced a few others—” “Now, why would I want to escape?” Immediately, your blood runs colder, and your jaw goes slack. You babble cluelessly for ten seconds while Herman chuckles and stands from his seat. He slowly approaches your chair. “I have everything I need here,” he says. “Experimentation as vast as my imagination, with no restrictions or red tape… And if my trials kill a patient, they’ll be back for me to do it all over again… Trial and error without the consequences.” He moves behind you, and his hand comes around to cup your chin. You feel him lean forward to breathe down your neck. “This place is my playground. I don’t want to go anywhere.” “H-Herman—” Electricity crackles from his fingertips and the searing currents jolt through your skull. You shudder and scream. Herman chuckles and squeezes your jaw. “I want to pick you apart and see what you’re made of,” he murmurs. “Let’s see what makes a hero.” He rests his other hand on your shoulder. “Begin by telling me your name.” You can’t keep your voice from trembling as the aftershocks run through your veins. “It-It depends on who you ask,” you murmur. “Wanderer, Honey, Sp—” “—Spunky?” he interrupts, grinning. The face you make elicits a laugh from him. He sighs. “I don’t want your silly monikers. Tell me your name,” he commands firmly. You tell him. He hums over your shoulder. “Good, good… Now tell me your deepest fears.” “Why?” you demand. “Why the hell do you want to know? And why the hell don’t you just kill me and get it over with?!” “You’re the latest subject of an ongoing experiment,” Herman replies while tenderly stroking your chin. “If I kill you, I won’t see results.” “What experiment are you running? Why in the hell are you asking so many questions?” “Because you’ll give me the answers, and you’ll give them to me willingly.” Herman moves to your front side. He clasps his hands behind his back while his lips perk into a broader grin. “I had one goal, before all of this… I aspire to control the human mind, and I intend to do just that.” You guffaw. “Mind control? You—I-I mean, I know you’re insane, but mind control? You sound like a Bond villain.” “You laugh, but I’ve already made great strides,” Herman replies cooly. He bends down before resting his hands flat on top of yours. “In fact,” he says while leaning toward your face. “I’m confident it’s already working on you.” “I don’t think so,” you reply carefully. “Then have a demonstration.” Herman makes you jump when he suddenly undoes your restraints. First your ankles, then your wrists. He takes two steps back, still grinning maliciously. “It would seem you’re free.” It would seem so. You don’t waste a second before springing to your feet to run. You break into the hall like a flaming bat out of hell. But then, over your shoulder, you hear faintly, “Kneel," and it’s like you’ve collided with a brick wall—you come to an immediate stop, grimacing. Your skin tingles and burns, and it… it feels like there’s something physically holding you back. Your gut screams for you to run, but your mind commands that you bend. Terror sows a pit in your stomach. “N… No,” you murmur. You try to take another step, but it’s like walking on hot coals with an anvil on each shoulder. An unbearable itch assaults your cranium, and your legs feel like jelly until you buckle and crash to your knees with a groan. You hear Herman’s footsteps coming up the hall behind you, slowly. His cold laugh stands up the hairs on your nape. “The wonders of the mind are mine to exploit,” he says. “And they’re mine to command. I couldn’t have that in the real world… But here?” He stops directly in front of you, and he plucks your chin with the tip of his finger to angle your face upward. “Here, I can have whatever I want.” With a wry grin, he tilts his head to the side. “You can feel it, can’t you? My therapy on the surface of your mind, sending all the right signals that make you buckle and bend? There’s no fighting it.” Through gritted teeth, you seethe, “Herman—” “Shhh,” he toys. “You fight a battle on the losing side… Is it worth the struggle?” Your body shudders with more jolts and tingles. You swallow. “Yes.” “Oh?” He pinches your chin. “Do you have nightmares?” You want to keep quiet, but your willpower escapes you. “Yes.” Herman chuckles. “And do you think those will just go away? Should you find your answers and your escape, you’ll take those horrors with you. They’ll rend your soul apart and eat away at your sanity until there’s nothing left.” He releases your chin as he draws behind you. “You think that seeing daylight again will make everything better… They all think that. They believe that it means an end to the horror and the suffering, but it will live on in you. This also goes for my old… patients. If they had gotten away, they would’ve escaped with nothing but shreds of their past selves. I tore them down, broke them. So I know the look of a broken woman.” “I-I’m not—” “Not yet,” he interrupts you. “But you will be. I can see your fractures expanding and digging deeper… It’s only a matter of time until something shatters you completely.” He comes around again, grinning. “And when that day comes, you won’t want to escape with your horrors in tow. You’ll be begging this place to end you for good.” He lays his hand on your shoulder, and he shocks you again. Currents of sizzling electricity jolt through your body as you scream. “Stand up,” Herman commands. So you do, spasming with each shock. And, “Run,” he commands. And so you do. You run endlessly without purpose or guidance, and never even slowing to catch your breath as your lungs scream for air. And surely you’d run yourself to death if not for the shocks that sting your nerves and paralyze you. When you stumble, you throw your arms out to catch yourself against a medical trolley. It spins out and rolls away from you, leaving you to crash to the floor. Your entire body tingles and burns… Static dances on the surface of your mind. You swivel your head back and forth, murmuring, “No… No, no, no—” A scream in the distance makes you jump. You clench your jaws. When you look over your shoulder, you expect to find The Doctor in tow, but there’s nothing. Nothing but the encroaching darkness, which grows denser and closer… It’s coming. You get on your feet and stagger aimlessly down the corridor. There’s still a chance you’ll find the hatch, and you can get out, and— A distinctly female scream pierces the hall. You slap your hands over your ears. “Stop,” you growl. “Stop.” You feel weak… Your legs give out like wet noodles, and you fall to your knees and stay that way, murmuring and shaking your head back and forth. Your vision becomes a blur, obscured by a static film and dancing dark specks. The screams get closer. Your skin itches. Then you freeze entirely when you hear a dark and familiar voice. “Oh, Wanderer… Look where you are without me.” Despite your mouth running dry, you murmur, “Bastion?” You crane your neck and look upon a foggy dark shape that stoops low beneath the frame of a shadowed room. Bastion’s broad grin grows broader by the second. His terrible claws twitch behind him, and ropes of uncontained, squirming tendrils hang like intestines from the parted cavity in his chest. He approaches you with slow, long strides. “You’re waiting for me to come and rescue you, is that it?” The reek of acrid smoke offends your nostrils. You reel away, grimacing, and realizing that it’s not actually him, not the right one. You retreat, but a claw catches your leg. Upon hitting the floor and crying out, Bastion chuckles. “And now you flee at the sight of me? Am I so terrible?” You flip over and crawl backward while gluing your eyes to him. “B-Bastion—” “You know that’s not my name,” he replies. A scream cuts across the hospital. You shut your eyes and breathe slowly. Oh, none of this is real, is it? The voices, the screams, Bastion. It’s not real, it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. It’s The Doctor’s therapy at work. “You’re not here,” you murmur. “You’re not here.” “No,” the thing that isn’t Bastion confirms, as he takes to one knee above you. “You never called, Wanderer… Don’t you want to scream for your shining white knight to come to your rescue? Go on,” he coaxes. “Summon me like a fucking mutt. See what happens.” No. No, after the last time, you refuse. You don’t need him. You don’t want him. He laughs. “Oh… You fear me. You don’t trust me… And you shouldn’t. Who knows what I’m hiding from you? And who knows my true intentions? Do you think I’m your ally? You couldn’t be more wrong… You’re being strung along like a puppet, and maybe I hold the strings.” “No… No, you’re lying.” “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Another shock makes you jolt and groan. Your vision buzzes, and then Bastion’s gone. You scramble upright, but only make it two steps before spotting a sight down the hall that makes you freeze. It’s something—no, someone, just standing there, and… and she looks like you. She is you. Frightened, you back away from the shocking double. She keeps forward with an unsteady gait, with her head down and her arms slack at her sides. Somehow, without moving her lips, she whispers hoarsely, “Take it off.” The double raises her head. She has a lifeless gaze and a slack jaw. You swallow nervously. “Take it off,” she repeats while encasing her face in her hands. You wonder why until she claws at herself, stripping away at the flesh like it’s wet paper. You watch in terror. “S-Stop,” you murmur. “Take it off,” she repeats. She digs her nails deeper beneath the surface of her skin, and she peels and peels… “Stop!” you scream. “Stop!” An itching sensation works its way up your arms. You look down and you’re horrified to find many small lumps forming beneath your skin. Worse, they move. A knot in your throat chokes the scream threatening to escape. You fiercely scratch at the moving lumps, doing very little to hinder them. So you claw and you break the skin, and you can only gag at the sight of hundreds of little spiders escaping your bleeding cuts. You scream and crash to the floor, writhing in panic and revulsion. The double comes closer, and you notice she’s peeled so much of her skin away, revealing something truly dark and twisted underneath—something inhuman, and hardly resembling you any longer. It grows taller, and spiny, obsidian claws sprout from its back and its chest, and a terrible maw splits its face in two. Its dark form is constantly changing, twisting and peeling, and squirming as if it struggles to maintain a single shape. The horrible thing stops directly above you, and its awful shadow encases your form. Your breath shudders as it bends forward to halt its stinking jaws in front of your face. “You can feel it, can’t you?” it inquires, its voice belonging to no one and many. You sputter. “Wh-Wha…What… What are you?” “You know. You know .” “I-I don’t—” It expels a dark, toxic cloud in your face. You get a whiff, and it sends you reeling backward, choking, and struggling to breathe. Something crawls inside your throat, scratching your esophagus on its way down. The madness intensifies, the whispers become screams, and the static becomes blinding white light. Everything itches and hurts, and you can’t breathe. Incomprehensible babble escapes your lips as you hack and choke. Whatever’s inside of you reaches deeper and it tears you apart. When you try to scream, nothing comes out. Panicked, you claw at your neck and your chest, desperately trying to terminate the ill feeling, but it rages on. Tears streak your cheeks as blood surges up your throat. You flip over and choke on it. Everything feels hot and fuzzy… You wheeze for breath and sputter and cry, all while it becomes colder and darker, and the light finally fades away…     Herman Carter watches in delight as his patient writhes and moans, and then finally expires on the floor, bled out from her self-inflicted wounds. She tore herself apart… He had followed closely in tow with her as she raced down the halls at his command, and he watched with intrigue as she babbled and cowered before sights he couldn’t see. He wanted to witness her descent into madness, and he witnessed it indeed. He takes to one knee above her still body, and he peels back her eyelid; glazed over, devoid… He chuckles and then sighs, wishing he had seen the mania he induced upon her, and to see what wonderful terror had short-circuited her brain at last… What a shame. He stands up and walks away with his arms folded behind his back. And he wonders if she truly believes she’ll ever find the answers she seeks here. Probably not… He knows they’re all cogs in a wheel, and they each serve a purpose. The purpose she aspires to isn’t feasible… Insane, and infeasible… How mad must she be?   ✱ ✱ ✱   Lydia's cabin is your refuge away from hell, as always. Your cradle, and your retreat.    You splash your face with cold water, then you prop your elbows upon the sink bowl and sigh heavily. Your head hangs low, heavy and pounding, and your fingers tenderly tread the skin of your neck. Faint echoes of pain make you grimace. When you finally muster the strength to raise your head, you gaze through the dimness of the flickering candlelight to peer upon your reflection in the mirror in front of you. She gazes back with weary eyes ringed with dark circles. And all you can think about is how that terrible mirror image had torn her own face off to reveal a monster underneath… You can’t stand looking at her, or whoever she is. But you can’t tear your eyes away, and she doesn’t break contact either. Fear and fury course through your blood, and you throw your fist into the glass, shattering it. But you don’t stop, and you lay into the mirror with punch after punch, screaming at the pieces as they shatter and fall into tiny, crystalline shards. Finally, you only quit when your fist burns and bleeds, and you face your reflection no more. You scream at the remnants again and stagger away, choking back a cry as searing pain runs up your arm. You crumple against the bathtub and catch your head in your hands, sobbing. Over the sounds of your grief, you hear fluttering wing beats. When you look up, you spot Poe perched on the windowsill with a golden ribbon in his beak. He pushes through the shutters and lands on your shoulder. You extend your damaged hand, and he drops his gift in your open palm. Your throat burns so bad that you can’t manage the voice to thank him, so you only clench your fist around the ribbon and drop your head again. Poe tiptoes back and forth across your shoulders before he stops beside your head. You feel him poking the lobe of your ear before a guttural voice murmurs, “You seem lost.” You freeze up. Poe continues speaking. “If you want your answers, you’ll have to dirty your hands,” he whispers. “This place will hand you nothing.” You swallow and wet your lips. “Dirty them how?” Poe chuckles. “With blood, sweat, and tears, Wanderer… Are you prepared to do that? Are you prepared to become that?” “I… I don’t know.” “Better figure it out soon,” he replies. “Tick-tock… Tick-tock…” “Quiet, please,” you implore. “Tick-tock,” he echoes. And, “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” he continues, like a warbling, broken record. Tears wet your eyes and your lips quiver. “Poe, please—” “Tick-tock—” “Shut up!” you scream, interrupting him. You snatch the crow from your shoulder as he squawks and tries to take flight. Then you wrap your hands around his little neck and squeeze harder and harder, while seething through your teeth, “Shut the fuck up! SHUT UP!” He soon stops fighting, and you loosen your grip and drop him to the floor. But when the rage subsides and you realize what you’ve done, you gasp and choke. Poe crows in absolute distress, and he flops around uselessly with broken wings and a twisted neck. He flails about for a good minute before he stops and goes completely still. Your heart breaks, and a terrible pit sinks in your stomach. “P… Poe?” You reach for the dead crow and take his battered body into your hands. Then you hear that same gritty chuckle over your shoulder, untethered now. “You chase away all your allies, Wanderer,” it says. “Can you beat this all on your own?” Tears spill down your cheeks, shed by horror, and remorse, and fear. “I can’t.”   A blood-splattered blade gleams in the light of a flickering flame. A man stands before you, dressed in business attire, with his face filled with malice and nothing more. A moment ago, when he hacked off your arm and leg, you caught a glimpse of sorrow in his eyes. But it only lasted for a moment. And it’s lacking, still, as he drives your face through a glass partition and sends you crashing to the bottom floor. The scream that rips from your throat as you land in a heap of shards is female and unfamiliar. Black tresses hang over your weeping eyes, clinging to the blood on your face. Through your tears, you can see your killer’s shadowed form hovering above you at the edge of the overlook. He’s watching the blood drain from your body and the light fade from your eyes. And he’s the last thing you see before darkness comes; before you’re wrested from this horrible memory and brought back into your own body in the real world…   And the real world is just as cruel. You’re on your knees, trembling in pain, in the middle of a traditional Japanese home. Your right arm is severed below the elbow, and you bleed from various slashes across your back and chest. The Spirit hovers above you, with a face contorted by agony and woe. Her lips curl in rage, then quiver and wilt. She fights an inner battle–the same one you’ve seen whirling within other killers, when they try to hold on to a trace of control as the Entity whispers its dark influence in their ears, commanding them to obey. Through the mind-numbing pain, you find your voice. “R-Rin,” you rasp. Her name–it’s the name that echoed throughout the memories you saw, and you can only assume it’s hers. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I-I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And you sincerely are. You saw her profound torment, and you felt her pain. Your heart breaks for her, as it does for the other killers ensnared in the Entity’s claws and forced to play its games. You’re sorry you’re the only one who can help them, but haven’t figured out how. Candlelight emanating from the nearby shrine flickers across Rin’s face. You catch another glimpse of her for a moment: a glimpse of the innocent woman behind the killer’s mask. But it’s gone as quickly as it came… The Spirit’s brow wrinkles and she seethes foreign dialect through her teeth. Every ounce of her struggle and her woe and her remorse is lost in an instant, evicted by fury. As she brandishes her sword high above her head, her fingers curl around its hilt. You recognize that the Entity’s won this battle–Rin lost, and so have you. The blade comes down, and you’re swiftly dispatched.   ✱ ✱ ✱   The bonfire is an unwelcome sight when you’re sewn back together and deposited in its closeness. Where you used to feel comfort and warmth, and respite from the fog and its troubles, now, you only feel apprehensive and out of place. It’s not a refuge or a home—it’s a pen, laden with unpleasantness and expectations that weigh heavily on your shoulders. The warmth from the fire prickles your skin in a dreadful way. You shrug off the weighty feeling in your chest, and you turn away to depart. You pause before you get five feet. “Don’t you wanna sit down?” A sweet voice tickles your ears. You spot Kate sitting on a log beside the flames, with her guitar on her lap, and worry written all over her face. Her eyes greet yours. “You look tired,” she says softly. “And we ‘aven’t seen you in a while…” We? The faces of the others gathered around the campfire catch your attention as you swivel on your heels. David and Zarina sit side by side on a log, Dwight stands close to Nea, and Jake is seated in the shadow of a tall tree. You didn’t even see them there… Or were you blocking them out? “Have a seat, lamb,” David invites. He insistently pats the spot on the log beside him. You wrinkle your brows. “I’m not–” “C’mon,” says Nea. “You can sulk off into the woods later. It’s been a minute since you showed your face around camp…” They watch you in waiting. Jake’s studying eyes burn holes in the side of your head. After chewing your lip and weighing your options, you sit beside David, between him and Zarina. David gives you a friendly pat on the back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Kate teases with a welcoming smile. She readjusts her guitar and plucks the strings. “You have us worried sometimes,” she murmurs. “Always creepin’ off into the fog with this heavy look on your face…” You don’t reply. The camp falls into serene quiet, complimented by a warm, acoustic song. Shifting eyes fall on you every few seconds, but no words are spoken. Their silence speaks volumes. Under their intense scrutiny, you nervously pluck the ribbon around your wrist—a blood-stained, golden ribbon… A memento of recent troubles. David’s curiosity gets the best of him. “What’ve you got there?” he asks. “Nothing,” you say. A frown wrinkles his face. Nea grunts across from you. “So,” she starts off. “How are we doing?” It’s a question directed at no one in particular, but you meet about a dozen telling eyes and sidelong looks. No one says a thing, not until Nea elbows Dwight, who loudly clears his throat and says, “I think it’s, uh… the same ol’, same ol.” “Right?” Nea replies, in a thinly veiled effort to keep the conversation flowing. “Why don’t we… Why don’t we do something for once? Maybe unpack that old deck of cards and play a game or two,” she suggests. “Ah, Ace has ‘em,” Kate says. “But in the meantime, we can just sit and chat.” She puts on her friendliest smile. “Y’all have any song recommendations? I might try my hand at playin’ it for you.” “Can we quit beating around the bush?” Zarina asks. A hush falls over the gathering. Zarina ignores the others’ sharp looks before focusing on you. The look on her face tells you what’s to come. Should’ve walked away, says the voice in your head. And you agree. “Where have you been?” Zarina asks. “What do you do out there in the fog?” “I’ve told you,” you answer. “Yeah, you’ve vaguely told us about your little goose chase, but that doesn’t answer our questions or concerns.” “You’re concerned?” “Why wouldn’t we be?” Nea’s up to bat. She looks at you, worriedly. “We don’t know what you’re up to, but… maybe you should take a break.” Telltale glances and partial nods suggest this sentiment is shared by the rest. You look between them and raise an eyebrow. “Was this planned? This-this intervention?” “No,” says Kate. “I-I mean, shoot, you’re never here! We can’t plan a damn thing around you. But while we’ve got you here now—” “You’re taking advantage. Got it,” you say bitterly. Kate shares a troubled look with Dwight. He says nothing, but dips his head and chews his fingernails. You sigh at them. “What I’m doing here is important,” you say. “And, what, you think I’m just going out there for shits and giggles?” “We think you’re killing yourself out there,” Zarina says. She sighs. “You disappear for… for nights at a time, and when we rarely see you, you look more hollow than before. Whatever it is you’re doing out there, stop and ask yourself if it’s really worth it. Because we don’t think it is.” You scoff. As you meet everyone’s concerned gazes, they remain silent in anticipation of your response. In your frustration and bitterness, you give them one, loudly. “Who are you to tell me to throw in the towel?” You shoot upright and flourish your arm dismissively. “What the hell have any of you done, except sit around on your ass and die?” “We’re not saying—” “It’s exactly what you’re saying. You’d rather me join your pity party? Waste my time, or what’s left of it, moping around camp with the rest of you? You want me to give up and-and—” “We’re worried,” Kate says. Her pleasant features are stricken by a deeply saddened look. Glancing at the others, you realize it’s a look shared by them all. “You won’t even tell us what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Kate goes on. “If you’d share that with us, maybe we could help.” You swivel your head. “Don’t worry about me,” you insist. “I-I… I know what I’m doing. And I know there’s a way out, and I won’t stop until I find the answers, wherever they are. They’re out there, somewhere, and-and… I…” “How do you know?” asks Dwight. “What have you found?” “N… Nothing, yet, but—” “Nothing?” says Nea. “Then what good are you?” The sharpness of her tone makes you pause. You frown and meet her bitter gaze. A moment ago, she wore concern, but now she wears spite and anger. It’s jarring how quickly she switches. Her venomous words sting. “How can we trust you?” she asks. “When we barely know you?” “You… You do know me. I-I mean, not very well, but—” “You’re a stranger around here,” says Kate, sneering. “And we think you’re hiding something,” replies Jake. “I-I’m not hiding anything! I’m just… I’m—” “You’re lying,” asserts David. “And you’ve been lying out your arse since day one.” “David—?” “Where do you go?” asks Nea, bitterly. “While we freeze and starve out here in camp?” “What have you found?” demands Dwight. Sweat films your brow as your stomach flips. You babble and choke up, and when nothing coherent comes out of it, you stand up and turn away. “I’ll just go,” you say. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” “Look at her trying to run and hide,” spits Nea. “She’d rather face the fog than tell us the truth,” says Kate. David startles you when he catches your arm in a vice grip. “We want to know what you’re hiding.” “D-David—!” Turning around to face him, you reel in terror. His features are twisted, bloody, bruised, and black ooze spills from his void eyes and runs down his face. His breath has a terrible, deathly odor. His teeth clench as he grips your wrist tightly. “Tell us,” he says. “Tell us what you’re hiding.” Gasping and clawing at his hand, you manage to free yourself from him. You stumble backwards and collide with Jake. He rests his hand on your shoulder, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s the same way. His vile breath lingers on your nape. “What are you afraid of?” You break away from him and gawk at the others. Everything’s a blur, but you can still make out their horrible faces. Your stomach clenches at the sight. They spit and sneer, and they stalk nearer to you with wicked intent. A storm of accusations and threats assails you as you run away, and the voices sound less and less like your old friends, and more like monsters. “Freak!” they scream. “Liar!” they hiss. The terrible cries fade, and the campfire and its light are obscured by the dark fog as you finally get away…   Moving quickly through the woods, you aim for your home away from home, where you’ll bury yourself and your troubles beneath quilts and pillows, and forget it all. You hate that you let it happen again—that you let your terrors chase you away from camp… What was real? What wasn’t? There’s no sure way to know… You just want to get home. While you may hang your head along the way, you occasionally turn your gaze upward to the webs of spindly tree branches. You haven’t seen your avian companion ever since the… accident. You may never see him again. Has he abandoned you, too? Did a momentary lapse in your judgment and control cost you a friend? If he were here now, you’d hold him and kiss his feathery head, and apologize for snapping his wings and twisting his neck… It wasn’t you. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself. It wasn’t you. You would never hurt Poe, not consciously. But something took over, and you just…. No, it wasn’t you. You did nothing. It was something else. It was— “It was you.” Your blood runs cold as you hear a familiar, gritty voice over your shoulder. You come to a staggering stop and swivel your head left and right. But you know better. Ignore it, says the voice in your head, and so you do. You keep walking. But the malicious entity follows you. “It begins with fear,” it says. “It creeps in and breaks her down… Then she will doubt herself and her capabilities… And once she realizes she’s not enough, she will dig into the crevices of her weary soul, and she will grasp the only shreds of fortitude that remain. That fortitude manifests itself as something terrible. But that terrible thing is much more powerful than she could ever hope to be on her own…” You try not to listen. But the voice is in your head, and impossible to ignore. “She will lose herself to the temptation of deliverance, and she will turn over her reins to the dormant power within…” “Quiet,” you say. “She will become stronger.” “Be quiet,” you command. “She will shed blood.” “Stop!” you snap, sounding panicked. “And she will survive.” You halt and scan the woods, wild-eyed. “What… What are you?” you call out. “Are-are you even really here? Or… or am I losing my mind? Am I talking to myself?” “Oh, we’re real,” your unseen company replies. “And we’re with you now, watching, always.” “And what the hell do you want from me?” “We want you to succeed as much as you do,” replies the malignant voice. “But you’re not ready yet… It’s as we told you, Wanderer. Salvation comes at a price. It will cost you everything. And if you’re too weak to have it… you will fade.” You wrinkle your brows. “Who’s we?” No response comes. You spin around and examine your surroundings, but find nothing and no one. A crow takes flight above you and disappears in the midnight sky. Your spine tingles with shivers. After collecting yourself, you turn around and continue walking.     When you arrive at the cozy little cabin in the woods, you find Lydia knocked out in her rocking chair. She doesn’t stir to greet you when you creep past the porch and the front door. When you pass the evidence board tacked to the wall in the main room, you falter. Firelight flickers across its many pages rife with speculation and doubt. Sorrow and frustration compress your chest. It’s a reminder that you don’t know what you’re doing… Not since what happened in the ruins, or following the Doctor’s twisted therapy. It was enough to sow a sense of uncertainty within you. And every night since then, you’ve wondered if it’s really worth it. Maybe he was right. Maybe it’s all in vain. There have surely been others who have given their blood, sweat, and tears in pursuit of answers. But where are they now? What did their suffering afford them, but more misery, and a pitiful fate at the end of a grueling road? Nothing, that’s it. Carter was right, wasn’t he? And as was Bastion, and Poe, and the others back at the campfire! You have NOTHING to show for any of this! Those sorry scraps on the wall won’t find you the answers if there are even answers to be had. Is there any path that leads to the end of this nightmare? Or will they all lead you astray, deeper into madness? You’re coming to terms with the fact that you may never know. Upstairs, you trudge into your bedroom and kick off your shoes. When you approach the bed, your foot catches on a loose board, and you crash heavily to the floor. Your chin takes the brunt of the impact. You hiss in frustration. Weariness makes it difficult to get back up. As you lazily scoot backwards, a shadowy object beneath the bed catches your eye. Your hand reaches out to grasp it. Taking a look at it, you raise an eyebrow. It’s a skimpy rope bracelet with four letters scrawled across the band. F J S J You aren’t sure what it means, but you assume it’s Lydia’s. After tossing it on the vanity, you climb into bed with a huff. Just sleep, you tell yourself, despite knowing what awaits you when you close your eyes. Sleep anyway, endure those terrors, and spare yourself the very real threats that beckon you from the fog. Within minutes of closing your eyes, you hear a crash downstairs and Lydia’s urgent screams. Not wasting a moment, you shoot upright and scramble out of bed for Hodgson’s shotgun, where it’s propped haphazardly against the far wall. After stuffing on your shoes and racing downstairs, you throw open the front door, shouting, “Lydia?!” You startle at someone wearing a dark leather jacket and an all-too-familiar blood-smeared mask. The familiar sight tightens your stomach and prickles the back of your neck. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes as you freeze solidly. “Frank?” you murmur. The masked attacker, gripping a fistful of the old woman’s mane, turns sharply toward you. Long, wispy blonde hair spills from their hood, and you realize stupidly that it’s not Frank; merely a person of similar height, style, and vocation. If you had to guess… this must be Julie. “You!” the intruder snaps. She relinquishes Lydia and sends her crashing to the porch with a hoarse cry. You have a hundred questions. Ninety-nine of them are various iterations of: How the hell did she find me? Julie takes a menacing step forward, but you don’t let her get any closer. You raise the gun and squeeze the trigger. A deafening boom rings out as buckshot sprays a hole in your unwanted visitor’s chest. She’s thrown off the porch as if struck by a cannon, and she lands limply in the grass. Lydia whimpers behind you and waves her arms frantically. “What was that?” she calls out. “Was that a gun?” Kneeling down, you assist her to her feet. “Get inside, Lydia,” you say. “I’ll—ACK!” Your collar pulls taut against your throat, and you’re yanked backwards. You fall in a heap after tripping backwards down the steps. You stare up at your furious assailant. Her chest is a mess of blood and mangled flesh, but she seems unaffected. She brandishes a hunting knife and shakes her fist. “He didn’t say you’d have a gun!” she growls. You take aim at her head and pull the trigger, but nothing happens. You squeeze it twice more, and the gun clicks uselessly both times. You swallow a lump. Julie scoffs. As she lunges for your throat, you retreat. “You came here for me, right? C’mon then,” you taunt her. “Come on!” And you spin around and break into the fog with Julie hot on your heels. You weave through brush and trees along worn paths, and Julie’s gaining on you fast. It doesn’t matter if she catches up. It’s imminent. Your only goal is to get her as far away from the cabin as soon as possible. Her beef is with you, not Lydia. You glance over your shoulder just as Julie is within striking distance. You duck and stumble as she goes for your head. Then she’s on you again in seconds, furiously slashing her blade. You dance around as best you’re able, dodging and ducking each strike as your life fully depends on it. Your skin is ghosted by cold steel as she misses your throat by a hair. You jab her in the ribs, and she delivers a swift punch to your noggin. You stagger and strike her again. But despite her grievous injuries, she’s as powerful as any killer. She shrugs off each glancing blow and retaliates ten times harder. One good swing connects to your jaw and knocks your lights out. You crash on your face, dazed, and Julie’s right on top of you. She steps on the back of your knee and twists her heel with crushing force, eliciting a scream from your throat. After that, she kicks you over and straddles your waist to strike you repeatedly in the face. You catch her wrist to falter her assault, but she sinks her blade into your shoulder. Withdrawing it swiftly, she stabs you in the lower abdomen, growling as she pressures the hilt and seethes through her teeth. “Where’s your mutt?” she spits. “Where is the fucker, huh?! The big guy isn’t here to protect you, is he?” She cracks her fist across your face before roughly squeezing your jaw in her bloody hand. “You little bitch… Cocky little fucker!” You eat another punch that dislodges a tooth. Julie leans forward. “You remember what you did to Frank? How you sicced your fucking dog on him? How you had him killed?” Pain racks your body, and a headache pounds your skull. You swallow a tooth and tongue the hole in your gums while gazing at her through a swollen eye. “I-I had a feeling I’d be seeing you,” you mutter. “Yeah,” she says with a scoff, before lowering her voice. “It was his first time. The first time he’s… that he’s died." She spits out the last word with venom while applying more pressure to your aching jaw. “He still talks about it, you know. He wakes up in cold sweat, with these large, fearful eyes, and the most harrowing look on his face… Frank isn’t afraid of anything, but you left your dirty fucking mark on him.” She comes closer, with the face of her mask mere inches from yours. “You ruined him.” You gasp in pain as she rips her knife from your abdomen. “I’m going to watch you bleed,” she says. “And when you die, I’ll be here to fuck you up and do it again, and again, until I’m satisfied.” Something tells you she means it. Despite such grim retribution, you can’t help but laugh. A snicker at first, then full-on, hearty laughter. Julie tilts her head, puzzled, and you laugh and laugh until she snarls. “You think this is funny?” “Julie,” you say, sighing. “I’ve been through worse. There’s nothing you can do to me that this place hasn’t already done. I’ve been stabbed, clobbered, shot at, punched, gouged, and set on fire. This? This is just another Tuesday.” She punches you again. You shake your head and blink at her through a blurry haze. “You might wanna… hit the part of my face that isn’t completely numb…” “Aren’t you going to fight back?!” Julie snaps, clutching two fistfuls of your collar. You swallow blood. “What’s the point?” you rasp. “Fighting never got me anywhere.” Julie pulls you closer and lowers her voice. “Joey said you were a hero… But some fucking hero you are. You’re pathetic,” she spits. “What are you even trying to accomplish? Besides taking everything from me?” It’s difficult to focus on her words. You turn your head and grimace. “Wh… What?” “You want to get out of here, is that it? You want to find all the answers… But you do that, and you’re ruining everything we’ve built here. You’d be taking my friends from me. You’d be damning us.” Your tongue drags over your teeth. “We’re already damned,” you reply hoarsely. “All of us.” “We’re in control,” Julie asserts. “Julie—” “—and we’re together—” “Y-You’re not—” “—and we’re where we belong.” Her grip on you turns her knuckles white as her voice trembles and her fists quake with rage. This is a touchy subject. You choose your next response carefully. “This place is hell, Julie,” you whisper. “Do you really belong here? Does Joey?… Does Frank?” Despite your sincere intentions, your words have a negative impact. You struck a nerve. Julie’s fists tighten tenfold before she relinquishes your collar to punch you in the eye. “Shut up!” she barks. “You don’t know us! You don’t know Frank!” She raises her knife high, ready to plunge it into your chest. “Your mutt’s not here,” she growls. “No one’s coming to save the fucking d—!” The dark woods are shattered by a boom. Blood and brains splatter your face, and Julie lurches forward. Then another shot strikes her in the back of her head, and then a third, and you flinch with each one. Julie collapses on top of you, dead. Her mask slides off, and you can only gaze at her glossy, green eyes, as you’re too weak to push her away. Fear runs through your body in droves. You frantically scan the woods until your eyes fall on a man emerging from the fog with a smoking handgun. He’s a shockingly familiar face. Realization hits you like a truck. Your voice is hoarse as you whisper in disbelief, “Bryce?”     As he holsters his handgun and rushes to your side, you gawk at him. He bends down to haul Julie’s body off of you, his face filled with concern. “Shit,” he swears while tossing her limp corpse to the side. He considers the bloody mask lying in the dirt before he meets your gaze with wide, olive eyes. “She was one of 'em?” he asks, sounding worried. “A killer? Ah didn’t just—?” His accent is jarring. And nothing comes out when you part your lips—you’re too stunned by the reality that he’s standing before you as real as the first time you laid eyes upon him. You recall him from the very first vision you saw; the vision that kindled your endeavor and started it all. He’s the unknown man with the stubbly jaw and unkempt chestnut brown hair, and olive-green eyes shadowed by fatigue and uncertainty. But… he’s taller in person. Still, nothing comes out. You can only give a partial nod. Bryce sighs heavily in relief. “Shit,” he mutters. He rakes a hand through his hair before taking a knee beside you. “And you?” he says, as he rifles through a messenger bag on his hip. “Are ye a Resident?” “A… A resident?” “A Fog Resident?” Bryce reiterates as he raises an eyebrow. “You don’t play in the trials, right? I 'aven’t seen ye around camp.” He flicks his chin toward Julie, uttering, “An' she must be a new killer…” Completely and utterly confounded, you don’t know what to say. Only one explanation comes to mind: he must be an Echo. He’s an Echo and hasn’t realized it yet. But of all the Echoes you’ve encountered here in the fog, why him? And why now? You have so many questions, and… and now’s the time to answer them, isn’t it? He should have some answers. He’s a time capsule — a living record of the path you’re trying to follow! But as with all Echoes, you know he’s only temporary. You have a thousand questions, but no time for them all. In light of the opportunities he represents, you feel a surge of hope and resolve that you haven’t felt in a while. You weakly lift yourself up, saying, “Bryce—” He presses his hand on your chest and forces you flat again. “Hold on,” he says, as he fishes bandages and gauze from his bag. “If ah don’t patch you up, ye’ll—” He stops. A funny look crosses his face—something of bewilderment, then realization. He creases his brows. “You know my name.” “It’s hard to explain, Bryce,” you say. You lick your lips and swallow. “But-but…” You trail off under his intense, studying gaze. He narrows his eyes, flits his gaze up and down your form, and then he suddenly draws back the flaps of your jacket and peels up your shirt. He immediately looks surprised. A look shared by you as you glance at your abdomen and witness your knife wound emanating a creepy, dark fog. Inky black threads crawl over your bleeding wound, slowly knitting together your muscle and flesh. You boggle at the sight. “Yer like me,” Bryce murmurs above you, Many more questions assail your mind, but you need to pick and choose. You sit up slowly, wincing, as you carefully consider your words. “Bryce,” you start. “You’re… You’re an Echo.” His eyes flicker with recognition. As the color drains from his face, it’s made utterly clear that he recognizes the meaning of the word and its implications. He leans back on his haunches, tipping his head and shadowing his brow. “I-I’m not—No, this… It’s—” He fumbles his words and falls into silence. His expressions range between grief and uncertainty and dread. You wish you knew what else to say, but it’s hard to find the right words amid the overwhelming whirlwind of questions raging in your head. “An Echo,” you repeat slowly. “You know what those are, right? If you’re like me, or-or were, then you must know. Crude copies—” “—of things consumed by the fog,” Bryce utters. He swivels his head. “An Echo?” he says. “That would mean… No,” he mutters to himself. “Maybe… Maybe yer the Echo,” he bargains. “Or maybe it’s just the fog getting in my head again, making me see an' hear shit that’s not really here!” “Bryce—” He stands up and walks away without another word. You shoot to your feet, briefly swaying off balance before you wrap your arm around your midsection and hobble after him on your bad knee. “Bryce!” you call. “Please, hear me out!” He ignores you. You hiss. “Where are you even going?” “Back to camp,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Because ah hate to break it to ye, but maybe yer the damned Echo.” He’s gaining too much distance. “Bryce!” you shout after him. Desperation kicks in. If you lose him in the fog, you may never find him again. You weigh your options and make a brash decision. After mustering your waning strength, you charge and throw yourself at him full force, in a poorly conceived effort to tackle him and stop him dead in his tracks. And he does stop—but by his own accord. Because, as you collide with him, it’s like ramming a brick wall. He doesn’t budge an inch. The air’s expelled from your lungs, and you let out a rasping sigh while clinging to him and desperately trying to drag him off his feet. “Ah,” you breathe. “You’re… you’re so solid—” Bryce looks at you, unamused. He pancakes his hand on your head and shoves you off. Unsteady and weak, you stumble and hit the ground. “Yer pretty solid yourself, for an illusion,” Bryce says. He looks you up and down, knits his brows, then turns right back around. You throw your hand out. “Wait!” you call. “The… The hole in the wall.” Bryce falters. “The hole in the wall,” you repeat after picking yourself up. “That’s where you hide your bag. That’s where I found it. It was my first Mark.” Bryce turns to you again with narrowed eyes. “What did ye find exactly?” “Nothing,” you say, sighing. “There was nothing there… I-I don’t know how long you’ve been gone, Bryce, but everything faded — everything you had found and collected is just gone.” He still looks skeptical. But behind the wavering expression, you glimpse the part of him that believes. It’s why he hasn’t put your ass in the rearview yet. “I’ve been following in your footsteps all this time,” you go on while approaching him steadily, “just hoping that I’d find something that would make sure that your efforts, and everyone else’s, weren’t in vain. Something to make all the suffering worth it.” You stop in front of him, glad when he doesn’t turn away and go. “Now that you’re here, we can get one step closer to figuring this all out. You can help me.” Bryce slowly shakes his head. He’s holding on to traces of doubt, which become more meager by the second, and it’s too obvious. “A'm still here,” he says. “Just a minute ago, ah was coming… from…” He trails off with a heavy sigh. “And the others?” he says, lifting his sorry gaze to you. “The others at the campfire?” “They’re all gone,” you say. “We’re the new batch.” Bryce’s eyes waver from yours, and his Adam’s apple bobs as a rush of emotions threaten to pour out. You know he needs a moment, but you’re unsure that you have the time to spare. You’re too desperate for the answers he can provide. Taking a step forward, you say slowly, “I’m sorry, Bryce, I really am, but I don’t know how long you’ll be here, and we need to use this time while you still are.” He ignores you with his head hung low. You reach for his arm. “Bryce—” He swiftly catches your wrist, startling you. His intense expression meets your wide-eyed gaze, and he stares at you silently for a few moments, blankly, as if not fully there. You wait, as still as a statue and quiet as a mouse as the seconds pass… and then he’s back. You catch a flicker in his eyes before he blinks at you and his face softens. “Yer telling the truth,” he murmurs. “Well… yeah,” you say, puzzled. Bryce releases your wrist. He takes two steps back as a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “Shit,” he mutters. He rakes his fingers through his hair, then drags both hands down his face. “Just… Just give me a second, alright? Ah didnae climb out a' bed tonight ready to 'ave a feckin' existential crisis.” “I-I understand that, but—” “Ye got a name?” Bryce interrupts. He doesn’t even give you a chance to answer before he slaps his forehead with his palm and mutters, “Stupid, stupid question… Everyone 'as a name… Uh… You want to tell me yer name? Ye just ruined my day, so ah think it’s only fair.” You turn over your name. Bryce repeats it under his breath and nods his head. “Pretty name for a pretty lass,” he says while forcing a smile onto his iron expression. “Bryce,” you say quietly. “Are you okay?” “Is it yer turn to ask stupid questions?” “Hey, now—” Bryce flourishes his arm dismissively. “Sorry,” he says while sighing and hanging his head. “No, a'm not okay. It’s not every day someone comes out of the fog telling you to fuck off and choke.” “I didn’t say that.” “Ye might as well 'ave,” Bryce mutters. He finds a seat on a nearby tree stump and slumps forward, frowning. “A'm not okay,” he repeats. “Ah want to lie down and cry and maybe hug someone—” “My arms are wide open,” you say invitingly. “We can skip all that horseshit,” Bryce says. He flicks his chin over your shoulder. “That lass ah shot back there—who was she? It seemed personal…” “It was,” you reply, scoffing. “I’ve made a couple of enemies here, poking my nose where I shouldn’t.” You scratch your nape and glance off. “And I might’ve, uh… gotten her boyfriend killed. N-not intentionally, but things happen, and-and things escalated, and… uh…” You trail off. Your lips form a tight line. “Y’know.” “Uh-huh.” It gets quiet. Bryce doesn’t say or do a thing, but he’s not getting up and trying to walk away, at least. Finding relief in his cooperation, you plant yourself against a tree and lift your shirt to discern your wound. It’s healing, albeit slowly. But the surrounding skin is completely unmarred by the bruises from Julie’s feral beating. Bryce’s voice draws your attention. “Is that the first time?” You lift your head and catch a glimmer of concern in his eyes. You hesitate. “Not exactly,” you answer. “There was this one time — a burn. I-I thought my mind was playing tricks on me then, but now I see that it wasn’t.” You scoff. “How—Why is this happening to me?” “Perk of being the fog’s champions,” he mutters. “This place will beat us down as much as it wants, but our bodies won’t quit so easily…” “Why us?” you ask. Bryce shrugs lazily. “A've been askin' the same question for years… Haven’t found the answer yet.” Your eyes widen. “Years?” “It wouldn’t be a limbo without the extended stay.” “Damn,” you murmur. “So… So how old are you?” “Thirty-two,” he answers, sounding unsure. “Or, ah was; time doesn’t work the same way here that it does in the real world. But ye’ve probably already figured that out.” “And after all these years… What have you found?” Bryce’s expression changes to suggest uncertainty. He considers his answer for a minute, as his brows stitch together, and his lips draw into a fine line. Eventually, he stands up and takes a step forward. “A-a lot,” he says. “Too much to explain, but… can ah show you?” He extends his hand to you. You hesitate. What will he show you, and where? How far are you willing to follow a stranger through the fog? And can you trust him, even? Take the leap, urges the small voice in the back of your head. He offers you the answers you desire, doesn't he? Even in the face of uncertainty, how can you hesitate now? You've been at rock bottom for far too long...  You take Bryce’s hand. Instantly, the woods and the fog are swept away, and you’re suddenly in a gulch, surrounded by tall, stone walls that stretch up toward a sky dotted with stars and splashed with vibrant colors of purple and blue—it’s as if you’re staring up at a galaxy through a rocky scar. Water trickles nearby. You spin around to see a creek running through the gulch, which curves downhill and disappears behind another crag. You face Bryce again, blinking in surprise. He pats your shoulder. “What?” he says. “Ye haven’t done this before?” “It-It’s happened, but I’ve never controlled it,” you reply. “How?” “We’re the pathfinders, aren’t we? It comes with the job.” Bryce points at a rocky wall straight ahead. “Ye see that?” You follow his gesture, and you spot deep lines carved into the wall’s surface. Upon further inspection, you realize it depicts a spidery beast that preys upon a wolf. You approach it with your mouth agape. “I’ve seen something like this before,” you murmur, as you reach out to trace the grooves. “As crude as it is, a mural’s a mural,” Bryce voices over your shoulder, “and there are more like it.” He gives you a minute to take it in before he grasps your shoulder. Then everything shifts again, and the gulch is gone, and you’re in pitch black. Crisp, rotten air thick with dust makes you gag and choke. When you throw your arms out, you can’t even see your own hands in front of you. Frightened, you stagger and call out, “Bryce—!” “A'm still here,” he says beside you. He clicks on a flashlight, and he shines the beam across the room, allowing you to make out rows upon rows of stone caskets. An ancient tomb that reeks of cold death. Bryce hones the light on a wall at the far end of the crypt. Marring the surface is a massive black mural with imagery depicting some horrid monster with spidery legs and oozing tendrils that hang from its dripping maw. It nests in a web scrawled across the stone. You gaze thoughtfully at it. Bryce says, “You seein' a pattern yet?” “I’m seeing one,” you murmur. “But I don’t understand.” “Ye’ll understand in a minute.” Bryce extends to you his hand. You accept, and you’re swept away once again. The crypt is gone, replaced by an open field of grass amid a storm that rages in the dark sky above. Thunder booms in the distance, and a streak of lightning splits the sky. Hard rain pelts your head and back. You turn around slowly, gauging your surroundings before Bryce grabs your arm and harshly yanks you down beside him. He hushes you and points straight ahead. You crane your neck to peer over the tall grass. In the distance, you see a bloom of furious light. It’s a bonfire. Oh, but you realize it’s more than that—a spider-like effigy made of sticks and bones and stones, with long, spindly limbs outstretched, and claws that extend toward the sky. It’s erected high above the licking flames, and at its base, you make out a dozen shadowy figures, dancing and twirling around it, while singing a glorious song in a language you don’t recognize. You squint your eyes at the sight in the distance. Bryce whispers beside you. “Ye know what that is, right?” “I don’t,” you reply quietly. “Well, ah have a hunch it’s our Entity. Same as those murals we’ve seen… They all depict this terrible thing that resembles a spider… An' you see that? They’re worshipin' it.” You face Bryce with a puzzled expression. “Why?” “People do that,” Bryce utters. “They worship their gods.” Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the barren field in a flash. Suddenly, you hear a shout. The voice carries through the storm and draws your attention toward the bonfire, where you notice the song and dance have ceased, and you’ve garnered the locals’ attention. Your eyes go wide. “Bryce,” you whisper. “Do they see us?” “There’s no way they see,” Bryce replies. “I think they see us.” “Relax,” Bryce calms you. “They don’t—” A local raises something in the air, and he hollers and chucks a dark shape straight at you. Bryce snatches your hood and yanks you clear of a spear that strikes the ground where you were just a second ago. You swallow down a lump in your throat. Bryce scrambles to his feet, hoisting you up and shouting, “Uh, aye! Aye, they see us!” The locals erupt in a clamor of shouts and screams. They brandish weapons and stones and race through the field. Bryce takes your hand, and he sweeps you away. The world shifts again, and you’re relieved to return to the fog, though not exactly in the same place you left. The night sky hangs above you through a film of hazy clouds and spindly tree branches. Your wet clothes are plastered to your skin, made icy-cold as the fog brushes past. You shiver and hug yourself. “Th-That was an experience,” you mutter through chattering teeth. Bryce staggers and catches himself against a tree. A thin black line oozes from his nose and trickles down his chin. He drags his sleeve across his face to smear it away. “R-Right?” he replies casually. “It’s a thrill though, isn’t it?” He doesn’t sound too thrilled. He steadies himself and dips his head. “Those places ah showed you, they’re… they’re reflections of the real world. Echoes. And-And you know what that means?” You keep quiet, inviting him to go on. “It means this thing exists in the real world,” he says. “And it means it’s existed for a long time.” His nose continues to ooze, and the sclera of his right eye turns black. He blinks, causing a murky tear to spill down his cheek. He’s quick to swipe it away. “And that, uh… it means there’s hard evidence out there. ‘Gotta be a shit ton of records throughout the ages…” “And that tells us—?” “—We know what we’re dealing with, and we know what we’re looking for. This might be some eons-old, hungry God, and ah think we’re trapped in its feeding dish. But if we can find those old places of worship, we can scrounge up some solid information on this thing. Now, a’ve already scoured every centimeter of those places ah showed ye, but—” He breaks off with a nasty cough that shudders his whole frame, and he catches himself against a tree to keep from toppling over. He retches and vomits a thick black substance at his feet. You hesitate before approaching him. “Bryce—?” He waves his hand dismissively as he takes his arm across his mouth. “A-A’m fine,” he says. After recollecting himself, he faces you again, sighing. “If this thing’s been around for as long as ah think it has, then we’ve got our work cut out for us.” He coughs, then mutters, “It makes sense no one’s found all the answers yet… There’s too much out there.” He falls silent. You gaze at him worriedly for a second before questioning, “What are we? How can we do these things?” Bryce slumps his shoulders. “Ah dinnae ken,” he says. “If I 'ad everythin' figured out, ah wouldn’t be here. I’m just tellin' ye what I know so that maybe ye’ll be the one to put two and two together…” He slides down against the tree to sit at its base, with one knee bent and his head hung. You know he’s tired. If he needs a moment, you’ll give it to him. As you have a seat against a tree opposite him, you observe him wiping away the strange substance that oozes from his eye and nose. Maybe you should address the elephant in the room. “Bryce,” you say. “What’s happening to you?” “The same thing that’s happening t' you.” He barely lifts his head with a studying gleam in his eyes. “Aye?” You don’t know what to say. He shrugs his shoulders and mutters, “I think it’s the fog. It’s poison. And we’re always out here, wanderin' and searchin' for the answers… It’s taking its toll.” “Do you avoid the campfire as much as I do?” “Ah did,” Bryce replies bitterly. “Ah visited once in a blue moon. And they always chased me away like a stray dog. No one wanted to hear me preachin' about ‘the way out.'” He scoffs. “That’s fair,” he mutters. “Ah preached it about a thousand times and had nothin' to show for it.” That sounds familiar… It’s something you understand too well. “Was there no one who believed you?” you ask. “Or anyone you…?” Bryce thinks about it. “Will,” he murmurs. “William, he…” A sorrowful look crosses his face as he trails off. He rifles something from his pocket—a familiar metal band that gleams in the moonlight. He flicks it in his palm before muttering, “He was to be married before all this shit happened… Yapped about it non-stop, like some young lad talking about his first crush… But he got real quiet over time…” He tosses the ring at you. As you catch it in your palm, your mind jolts.   The memory is foggy. You walk down a beaten path through the woods with a man of short stature and darker skin, although you can’t make out his finer details. He’s a blur of colors moving in front of you, amid the gloom and gray of the woods and fog. He keeps his head bowed and one hand stuffed in his jean pocket. He rolls something between the fingers of his other—a ring. When he lifts his head and turns to you, his eyes are just blurry, dark spots on his hazy face. When he speaks, his voice is distant and warbled. “You’re a dreamer,” he says. You open your mouth and reply, but it’s Bryce’s voice you recognize. “Will—” The man, Will, shakes his head. He tosses the ring over his shoulder and leaves it in the dirt as he keeps forward. “I bet they’ve called the wedding off… And I bet they’ve moved on.” You bend down to collect the ring, and you catch up to him. “Ah bet they’re waiting for ye,” says Bryce. “I would. You should hold on to this. When we get out of here—” You’re interrupted when Will looks sharply over his shoulder. He stops walking to face you. “Keep it,” he says. “And you can hand it back to me the day we get out.” You pocket the ring. “Ye’ll be getting it back soon.” “We’ll see.”   You rejoin reality as the memory fades. When you blink to clear your hazy vision, you meet Bryce’s sad expression. “Everyone loses hope,” he says. “Some hang on for a while, but eventually, they all just lay down and die. This place drains us. And when there’s nothin' left, we…” He trails off and visibly swallows down a lump in his throat. “We’re not immune to it, either, the-the… the hopelessness. Or that dull ache in the back of our head, and the feeling of concrete blocks weighin' on our shoulders, making it hard to stand up and keep going… As special as we might be, we fade like all the rest.” He extends his hand, and you flick the ring back to him. He pockets it as a somber look overtakes his features. “A'm a testament to that,” he mutters. Such a heavy revelation sows an awful pit in your stomach. It’s something to consider, but you don’t have the time to sit around and dwell on it. “Bryce, I hate to push, but we don’t have a lot of time. I need to get you back to the cabin, where you can copy down everything you know, so then at least I’ll have something when you’re—” You considerately stop yourself. The look on your face says enough. Bryce meets your gaze before startling you with a chuckle. “No rest for the wicked…” He helps himself up. You go to his side and offer him a hand. “Do you need help?” “Dae you?” Bryce teasingly retorts. “Ye’ve got a bum leg an' a hole in yer gut.” “It’s healing,” you reply. “Not fast enough,” Bryce says. Without warning, he scoops you off your feet and into his arms. You immediately bristle. “You shouldn’t push yourself,” you warn. “Being an—” “A’m not a porcelain doll,” he interrupts, sighing. “If there’s anythin' ye should be worried about, it’s yerself. An' besides… I like to push.” “You’ll be pushing up daisies if you aren’t careful.” “Hey, Debbie Downer? Clam up an' let me carry ye. We’ll get there quicker.” “Do you even know where we’re going?” “The cabin… Lydia’s place, right?” “The one and only.” Bryce’s face lights up. He murmurs, “Ah can’t believe the old hen's still kicking… It’ll be good t' see a familiar face. One’s better than none…” He fixes his hold on you and starts walking. “Ah know the way.”   ✱ ✱ ✱   Ten minutes into your walk, you’re questioning the validity of Bryce’s previous statement. Does he know where he’s going? Or is it that returning from your magical trip through the fog ended up displacing you more than you thought? You hope it’s the latter. You want to get home and rest because your healing factor does nothing for the pain. And it’s no use in easing the nervous tension of being carried bridal-style through the fog by a stranger, either… But Bryce is doing better at the very least. On the outside, anyway. His nose has stopped dripping, and his eye has cleared up. As far as how he’s doing mentally, you can’t even begin to guess… He hides it well. And, as it was bound to happen, Bryce catches one of your off glances. He breaks the silence you’ve grown fond of. “Something on your mind?” “A lot,” you reply. “But I’m mostly stunned… Honestly, of all the strange things I’ve encountered in the fog, I never imagined I’d meet you.” “I’m sure ye’ve met plenty of ghosts from the past,” Bryce replies. “None so significant,” you say. “And what you did before, the… the transporting? You controlled where the fog took us… Can you take us anywhere else?” “Only places a've been,” Bryce answers. “It’s like marking a spot on a map; ah usually leave anchors everywhere ah go to make 'em easier to find again. But there are some exceptions to this rule, and sometimes anchoring isn’t enough…” “Right. So… If you can just ‘poof’ us anywhere you want to go, why are we walking to Lydia’s place?” “It gives us more time together, obviously.” You quirk an eyebrow. He chuckles. “The cabin’s one of those exceptions ah was talking about,” he clears up. “Ah can find my way back from anywhere, but ah can’t get to it from the metaphorical map.” “Ah.” Bryce nudges you and switches topics. “I noticed we’re matching.” “Matching…?” You tilt your head before realizing what he means. “Oh,” you say, while plucking the lapel of your jacket. “I found it in the cabin, and it was just so comfy, and… sorry. Do you want it back?” “It’s no good to me now, is it?" He replies, snickering. "Keep it. Besides; 'looks good on ye…” He puts on a friendly smile. As much as you want to believe its sincerity, you have a hunch deep down that it’s a charade—a smokescreen. You’re used to the cordial facade Bastion so frequently wore, and you’re able to see right through it now. Behind it all, you know what he’s hiding. It’s a lot to swallow, isn’t it? Being told you’re an Echo; that everything you strove to accomplish was lost, and that you failed. If you can ease even an ounce of his grief, you’ll try. “I know how this all must make you feel, Bryce, but you didn’t fail. Even though you’re… gone, there’s a part of you still here, and he’s still searching.” The smile on his face wavers, as it’s replaced with a puzzling look. “You’re like… a shadow of yourself now,” you further tell him. “But that part of you has stuck around, and he’s been helping me. Protecting me, and guiding me, and—and—” “Like Nasha,” Bryce interrupts, whispering. “Nasha?” you say. “That name’s familiar…” Bryce throws two quick glances over his shoulder before meeting your confused expression. “Natasha, she’s—she was—the lass who came before me. A’ve seen a couple of her memories, but ah hardly know a thing about her. What yer saying sounds a lot like what happened t' her…” You raise an eyebrow. “What did she become?” “Miss tall, dark, 'n—” “—Handsome?” you interrupt curiously. Bryce laughs. “Well, ah wouldn’t say handsome… She has some scary chompers; all teeth and claws, that one. Nightmarish is more fitting. And her attitude can use some work… But where was yer guardian angel when that blonde lass was beating your ass?” “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since—” You clamp your mouth shut as you recall the grisly details of Bastion’s last visit. Hesitantly, you say, “He comes around.” “Uh-huh… And what’s this new me like? Did he keep my dazzlin' personality?” You consider your answer.     "He's shady." "We're close." (❤)     “We’re… close,” you say hesitantly. “Close?” “Yeah.” “Close. Close, like…?” “Mm-hmm.” “Oh… Oh.” Bryce’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding. You can see the gears moving in his head. “Close,” he repeats, blinking. “Ah gotcha. But… that doesn’t exactly answer my question.” You flush. “Right! Uh… He’s”—You twiddle your thumbs while trying to find the right words to describe him—“nice,” you decide on. “He’s funny, too. And-and sometimes flirty and sarcastic, and he does this thing where… he…” You trail off, noticing the funny look on Bryce’s face—a smile edging his mouth, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Suppressed laughter, and at your expense, no doubt. “Be straight with me,” he says. “Are ye fecking a demon?” Your face grows hot. “I-I’m not—! Gah, why does everyone ask me that?!” “Hey, it’s none o’ my business,” Bryce laughingly replies. But after a brief pause, he says, “Well, actually—” You punch him in the shoulder before he can finish. “Ah,” he hisses. “Someone’s getting defensive.” “I’m all healed up,” you declare, exasperated. “You can put me down now.” “Maybe ah want t’ carry my future darling,” Bryce playfully argues. You pinch your brow and sigh. He’s insufferable… And you’re beginning to see where Bastion gets it from. “Well,” you murmur, switching topics. “When he’s not going rogue, he’s useful, even if he has his flaws.” “At least a’m still good for somethin’,” Bryce mutters. You grunt in agreement. The silence returns, and you allow it to remain, as you don’t know what else to say. Bryce is handling his existential crisis well on the surface. And although you recognize the ruse, there’s little else you can say or do to make him feel any better about it. He can dwell for a while. During the lingering silence, you consider your own grievances. You reflected on your shortcomings just an hour ago and wondered if you’d ever find the answers. Now, it seems they’re right in front of you. Who could have imagined they would come as an Echo; as a forgotten memory? Bryce feels real though, as does the hope he brings with him. It feels good in knowing that, for now at least, there’s someone else like you, and that your burden is shared.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You must’ve snoozed off during the walk because you reawaken to the harsh sounds of pounding wood. As you stir, blinking, you take note you’re still in Bryce’s arms, and you’re on the front porch of Lydia’s cabin. Bryce pulls back his leg to kick the door again, but he pauses when he notices you’re with him. “Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” he teases. “Ye get a good night’s sleep?” “Stop beating the door,” you say with a heavy yawn. “Lydia’s blind, not deaf.” “Go back t’ sleep and wake up without the attitude next time, huh?” Bryce kicks the door again, much to your disapproval. “I thought ye’d be glad to find that ah didn’t shrivel up and turn to dust while ye slept…” “I am,” you say. “But Lydia already had one fright tonight, and she doesn’t need another.” You tap Bryce’s shoulder to signal him to set you down. When he does, you promptly push him clear of the door and lightly knock on its surface. “Lydia?” you call. “It’s me.” Shuffling footsteps cross the main room before the door flies open. Lydia greets you with a heavy sigh while also wielding a broom. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back, after that… harpy chased you into the woods,” she says shakily. She tosses her weapon aside and reaches out to cup your face. “Did she hurt you?” “I’m fine, Lydia,” you say. “There’s someone—” “Hmph,” she grunts, cutting you off as she runs her hands over your cheeks and brows. “You’re all covered in dirt. You need to run you a bath.” She lifts the hem of her apron and licks the fabric before dabbing at your face. You grimace, complaining, “Lydia! I brought someone you… might…” You trail off when you notice the shushing motion Bryce makes. After a brief pause, you rewind and slowly say, “Lydia, you… you should go relax. After the, uh… rough morning you had, I think you could use a little break.” You place your hand on her shoulder and guide her out the front door, right past Bryce and toward her rocking chair. She argues, “I was gonna put some tea on—” “Later,” you tell her. “For now, get some rest. If you see—uh, hear, anything, just call. I’ll come running.” You pat her on the shoulder as Bryce sneaks inside. Lydia, none the wiser, grunts and reaches for her knitting basket. “I hope that young lady doesn’t come back,” she mutters. You head inside and shut the door. Bryce does a circle on his heels before turning to you with a smile. “She’s adorable, isn’t she? Reminds me of my nan’…” “What the hell?” you reply, wrinkling your brow. “She hasn’t seen you in… in forever, right? Would it hurt to say hello?” “Are ye forgetting that ‘m on borrowed time?” Bryce retorts. “A’m sure Lyds’ would love t’ see me again! But in a couple hours or less, a‘m”—he makes an exploding motion with his hands—“poof! Gone; just like that.” He waves his arm dismissively, muttering, “Ah love the old hen, but ah can’t do that t’ her; not again.” “Oh,” you murmur, as your expression changes to show understanding. “I… guess that makes sense.” Bryce walks past you. “Well, let’s get straight t’ business!” he says. You follow him into the study, and you stop by the door as he yanks open the desk drawers to gauge their contents. Disappointment riddles his face. “Ye weren’t lying,” he mutters. “All my shit’s gone, isn’t it?” “I told you,” you say. “All you left behind was this jacket.” You rifle some blank papers and a pen from the desk before handing it forward. “Jot down anything you think I can use—anything.” “Aye,” Bryce says. He peels off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair before he takes a seat. You move around the room lighting candles on the surface tops while he mutters, “Where t’ start?”   ✱ ✱ ✱   It’s been about twenty minutes, and Bryce has already filled out half of the stack of pages you handed him, and he’s still going. You’ve stood by the door and haven’t said a word. You don’t want to distract him. But occasionally, you peer over his shoulder to get a peek at his work. Doing it for the umpteenth time, you notice a rough sketch of a tower, with a paragraph of notes scrawled beneath it. You can’t make them out. As you’re pulling away, you draw Bryce’s attention. “We dinnae ‘ave to sit here in silence, ye know,” he says. “I don’t want to distract you,” you reply, as you retake your post by the door. Bryce scoffs. “Yer distractin’ me as is, perched there like a gargoyle.” You head for the door. Bryce stops you, sighing. “A’m not telling ye to—Ah, just… sit down, let’s talk. A’ve sat in this study alone plenty a’ times before, but I’d appreciate the company now.” As stubborn as you are, you yield to his request with a sigh, and you prop yourself against the wall. “What did you do before all this, Bryce?” you ask. “Ah was a bit of a… troublemaker,” he surrenders with a pause. You quirk an eyebrow. “Trouble?” “Oh, ye know.” He scratches his chin while considering his response. “I did the odd job ‘ere and there while ah went in an’ out o' the slam for some petty misdemeanors.” “Wait, jail? You went to jail? What the hell did you—?” Bryce cuts you off, quickly waving his hands and asserting, “Nothin’ terrible, a’right? Ah never hurt anyone, ah just—People make dumb decisions, and ah made plenty o’ those.” He scoffs, muttering, “It’s crazy the sort o’ people ye meet here, right?” You stare at him uneasily. “What did you do?” “Stupid shit, like ah said — honestly! Ah got rubbered sometimes and got myself int’ trouble. Chuggin’ in the wrong place at the wrong time, ah pissed on lampposts, an’ sometimes hurled swears at swine. Petty shit, aye?” “I don’t understand half of what you just said, but… sure. Petty shit.” Bryce scoffs dismissively. “Yer cute, lass. But ah wouldn’t believe it if ye told me ye’d done no wrong… Everyone ‘as.” His bold statement brings about a bitter silence. Dirty laundry’s a heavy subject, and one you’re not too keen to discuss with a stranger. But he’s no stranger, you remind yourself. He’s the man that made Bastion. Bastion, whom, despite your latest troubles, you can’t help but love. You love him, and yet you barely know him. You could change that now. Seek answers from his past that he could never provide himself. You break the silence. “Have you ever had to make hard choices?” you ask. “Here, I mean?” Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed. “Too many,” he murmurs. “An’ it doesn’t get easier…” “Can you name a few?” For a minute, you don’t receive an answer. You reconsider such a weighty question. “You don’t have to tell me if—” “I killed a man.” His confession gives you pause. You open your mouth to reply, but he meets your eyes with a grave expression that silences you. “Not a killer, but… It was a while ago. All this time, a’ve been tellin’ myself that it was only self-defense, that ah had no choice but to do it. But ah look back at it all the time, and ah know. I had a choice,” he says. “But something came over me, then. Something—” He clenches his fist and squeezes the pen tightly in his white-knuckled grasp. “It was those whispers… Ye hear them too sometimes, right? It’s not just me?” You nod reluctantly. Bryce grunts. “They come around and ah just… I lose myself. Ah’ll admit my record wasn’t the shiniest b’fore all this, but this place ruined me. The fog makes monsters of men.” He swallows thickly and bows his head. You can see the shame and the guilt hanging over him like a dark cloud, and you want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s no killer or monster… But he is. He became Bastion, and Bastion is a monstrous killer, no matter how you’ve tried convincing yourself otherwise. You won’t tell him he’s wrong, but you can’t tell him he’s right. You reach out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. As soon as you contact him, your mind rips you away.   Thunder booms overhead like cannon fire, and hard rain pelts your back. Pain surges through your body, but it’s stifled by unbridled fury. You seethe through your teeth and glare through a red haze at a man squirming in the mud beneath you, fighting for his life as your hands squeeze his throat. He’s weaker than you, thinner, with a sallow face plastered with wet black hair. He claws your wrists and arms, but you don’t let up. His objections are strangled and hoarse. You’re killing him, and you don’t know why. You want to stop. You need to stop, because you’ll kill him if you don’t st— “Don’t stop.” —The whisper reaches your ears through the raging storm, and it sends chills racing down your spine, like a thousand icy pinpricks. “Don’t stop,” it repeats, commanding. And you don’t—you squeeze tighter and tighter. The man’s turning blue in the face. His strength wanes. Stop, begs a tiny voice in the back of your head . Stop. But you can’t. No matter how desperately you try to take control, you can’t. The light fades from the stranger’s eyes. He wheezes for breath, then he spasms twice. But even when he’s gone cold and limp, you don’t quit. You have to be sure he’s dead. You have to kill him. You--   You snap back to reality with a gasp. Bryce is staring at you, silently, waiting. When you blink, he shrugs your hand off his shoulder. “What’d ye see?” He’s like me, you remind yourself. And he knows you saw something. But you won’t tell. Rather, you bury the dark memory in a deep recess of your mind, and you hesitate to plant your hand on his shoulder again, before giving a comforting squeeze. “I-I get it, Bryce,” you offer. “I know what you mean… But those whispers, they’re… They’re not you. They’re not us.” He grunts skeptically. You catch a flicker in his eyes that breaks your heart; a flicker of remorse and anguish… And then you wonder if these are Bastion’s eyes. For the first time, it feels like you’re seeing him eye to eye. And you remember the horrible things he did to you, and the horrible things you said to him, and you can hardly hold back the emotions threatening to pour out. Bryce lifts a hand to touch yours. You shudder at his touch, pausing when he murmurs, “It got the best of me in the end, didn’t it?” It did, you’d tell him, if you were being honest. You became a monster, you’d say. One who hurts and kills so many people without an ounce of remorse. But Bryce doesn’t deserve the hard truth. And you don’t want the reminder yourself. Instead, you offer a smile, as meager as it is, and you say, “You’re okay.” You pat his shoulder and awkwardly withdraw your hand. Bryce lightens up as a smile tugs at his lips, and his eyes gleam with amusement. “Always a good day when a cute lass smiles at me.” He turns around in his chair and retakes his pen. “If a’m still kickin’ after this, we should grab a bevvy.” You scoff, amused by the notion. “Do you know a place?” “Aye; Lydia’s got a bounty in ‘er cellar.” You double-take. “Wait… there’s a cellar? Here?” Bryce smirks. Without a word, he stands up and crosses the room, flicking his chin in motion for you to follow. He leads you through the kitchen to that old storage closet. After opening the door and wafting at the dust that falls, he kicks aside a mop bucket and a stack of rusted pots, and he taps the toe of his boot against a large metal ring on the floor. It’s a hatch opening. You get down on your knees and yank the hatch door up and open. You’re immediately struck by a bitter, cold draft that sends you staggering. “Huh,” you comment.   Bryce drops a wooden crate of assorted spirits onto the small table in the main room. The bottles clank and settle, and Bryce flourishes his arms with a dazzling grin. “Pick yer poison!” You don’t know what to grab. Bryce snickers. “Ah’ll save ye the trouble,” he says while opting for a dusty bottle of scotch with a tarnished label. Watching him chew the wrapping off, you frown. “Should you really be drinking?” you ask. “Y’know, being a recovered alcoholic?” Bryce smiles cheekily and jests, “Ah never recovered.” He pops the cork and raises the bottle high. “Slàinte mhath!” he cheers, and he takes a big swig. He draws back, hissing, and he offers the bottle to you. You have a small sip and hand it back, grimacing at the fruity, bitter taste. Bryce casually posts up against the wall. “Ah’ll get clean when ah get out o’ here,” he says. “But ah might as well enjoy myself b’fore then, aye?” You don’t know what to say—but realization becomes clear on Bryce’s face, and you’ve never seen a smile waver and fall so quickly before, as it’s replaced by sheer gloom. His mouth opens and closes, and when he gets something out, he stammers. “Ah-Ah mean, that was the plan, b’fore…” He trails off and dips his head for a moment. After combing his fingers through his hair, he directs his forlorn gaze at the fireplace and the flames within. He watches them in shared silence, sipping his scotch and scratching his jaw before his eyes wander around the room. His sights land on the evidence board, and curiosity flickers across his expression. He approaches the board and takes a random page off the wall. “Huh,” he murmurs. “The Black Vale…” “Are you familiar?” you ask. “Too familiar,” Bryce replies scoffingly. He pins the page back up. “Nasty bunch o’ occult freaks. If ye see a creeper in dark robes, ah’d advise you to spin right around and go the other way.” You raise an eyebrow. “But shouldn’t we go after them? If they worship this thing, they’d know more than anybody.” “Yeah, but ye’d have better odds o’ finding a unicorn than gettin’ yer hands on one o’ these eerie pricks. They play with dark magic we don’t know shit about. And ah know they pull a lot o’ strings. They won’t be found if they don’t want to be found.” He scoffs. “And good riddance—because trust me when ah say they’re more trouble than they’re worth.” “I guess that means you haven’t gotten any leads from them?” “Mm, nope. Whatever they’re hidin’ is under lock and key.” “And the Imperiatti?” you question. “Do you know anything about them?” “The Imperi-wha’ now?” “They’re… Nevermind.” Bryce frowns at the dejected look that overtakes your features. He scratches his nape and sighs. “A’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Ah know Nasha would’ve been more useful to ye. A’ve seen some of her memories, and she had troves o’ shit stacked up here, from floor t’ ceiling!” He gestures broadly with his bottle, then adds, “And a’ve only found her crumbs… If she left anything behind, it’s all gone now…” He sets his bottle on the table and makes a motion at you. “Someone has t’ figure this shit out eventually… If not me or you—” “—It’ll be another,” you finish grimly. Bryce grunts. “Good little soldiers,” he mutters. You’re unwilling to let another grim silence smother you. “I’ll do my best, Bryce,” you assure him. “I’ll find everything I can, and if I do find the answers, it’ll be thanks to you and Bastion.” The shift in mood is immediate. The silence you tried to keep at bay comes crashing down—you could hear a pin drop, suddenly. Bryce whispers the name on his breath. “Bastion?” he says. “Is that… Is that what a’m calling myself now?” “Yeah, I mean… Bastion. That’s what he—That’s what the new you goes by.” Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed in thought. “It’s familiar, it’s… Ah think that’s what the lass called her pal,” he says. “Nasha, she… She called ‘er own pal by that name.” “That could just be a coincidence, right?” you say, frowning. “Because I-I don’t know where you’re going with this…” “Neither dae I,” Bryce replies, scoffing. “Ah spotted the name a couple o' times in ‘er old journal, but it could be a coincidence, ah dinnae ken. But why’s he not going by my name anymore?” “He didn’t have one,” you answer. “He let me choose, and Bastion just… it came to mind.” More silence fills the space between you. After a few moments of pause, Bryce waves dismissively. “Well, it reminds me,” he says. “There’s another place ah should show ye b’fore—” He cuts off. Hot blood splatters your face, and you blink through a misty red haze at a spiny black claw protruding from his chest. You shout, startled, as Bryce staggers forward with a rasping gasp. And with wide eyes, you watch Bastion emerge from the shadows of the corner, lacking his grinning visage and airing an aura of hostility. “Bastion!” you scream. He doesn’t respond. Swiftly, he rips loose his claw from Bryce’s chest and grabs him by the throat before slamming him against the wall. Bryce fumbles for his holstered gun, but Bastion catches his wrist and grips him firmly. A toothy maw splits his face apart, and he seethes. “What dark crevice did you crawl up out of?” “Bastion!” you scream at him. He doesn’t even look your way. Has he switched again? Terrified and paralyzed, you can’t move. But Bryce struggles and squirms, seemingly unhurt by the gaping wound in his chest. “L-Lass—!” He’s muted when Bastion grips his throat tighter. “Quiet,” he commands. He’s going to kill him. Panic overtakes you—you take a step forward, just as Bryce’s pained scream cuts the air, and you watch, horrified, as claws alike the Entity’s burst from his chest, ripping muscle and flesh and bone on their way out. They shoot out and impale Bastion’s torso and neck, and he releases a dreadful shriek before flinging Bryce from his grasp. Bastion staggers away as Bryce crashes to the floor, groaning painfully. You gag at the sight of him, and the spidery legs that extend, twitching, from his chest. You recover from the momentary fright to run to his aid. “We-We need to go—” Bastion snarls. You look at him, wide-eyed, as a dozen writhing tendrils squirm from his wounds and thrash erratically. You help Bryce to his feet and drag him through the kitchen and out the back door. Bastion shambles after you in tow, with wicked intent.   You race into the fog as fast as you can with Bryce on your arm, struggling to keep upright. But you don’t get very far; not before obsidian claws burst from the earth and catch your leg. You stagger and crash forward with a shout. Bryce falls away from you and lands unsteadily on his hands and knees. When you try to stand, more claws catch your arms and legs and yank you to the ground. You pry and beat on them, but it’s no use. A tall shadow falls over you. Your breath catches, and your blood runs icy cold as Bastion crosses your path. You tremble under the off glance he gives you, but he heads straight for Bryce. You can only watch. “B… Bastion,” you call. “Bastion!” Bryce is on his feet, swaying unsteadily. He barely gets two steps before Bastion seizes him by the neck. He’s lifted off the ground to squirm and kick at the air as Bastion draws him in close. Tendrils barbed with black spines squirm from his maw, and they coil tightly around Bryce’s neck. “Bastion, don’t!” you scream at him, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. “Bastion!” The tendrils coil tighter, and they rip and tear. Bryce chokes on blood. “BASTION!” you scream desperately. “STOP—!” Bones twist and snap, and Bryce’s head comes off with a ghastly squelch. You look away, gagging. A body hits the ground, and when you look back, you see the tendrils, with Bryce’s decapitated head in their grasp, receding into Bastion’s maw. He swallows it whole and shuts his jaws. Following the gruesome execution, his claws retract, his chest seals up, and everything snaps back into place to re-form a vague shape of a man. And then, finally, you have his full attention. You freeze when he snaps his blank gaze to you. And your struggle intensifies when he approaches. The claws trapping you to the ground withdraw into the earth, and you shoot straight to your feet and try to run. You’re caught around the waist by a claw and hoisted off the ground, then spun around to face him. Terror takes hold; you kick and punch at him, believing you’re next on the chopping block. And so overwhelmed with emotion, you scream and cry, and choke on the fear babbling from your lips. But his words surprise you. “Wanderer… It’s me .” Your struggle stops. You blink at him. When you find your voice, it comes out hoarsely. “Wh… Why did you—? Bastion, why-why did you kill him?” He warmly cups one side of your face without answering. You lean away from his touch. “B-Bastion,” you say, your voice shaking with anger. “Bastion, why did you kill him? Why did you kill him, Bastion?!” You ball your fists and beat on his shoulders while screaming in his face. “Why did you KILL HIM?!” He was HELPING me, Bastion, and-and you just—!” You cut off when he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger. A hard lump traps your voice in your throat. Bastion tilts his head. “He was an Echo, Wanderer,” he says. “And you know how dangerous those can be…” You swallow thickly, nervous. “He was you, Bastion. And he didn’t hurt me. He wasn’t going to hurt me. So why did you—” He startles you when he suddenly hacks up some rancid orange substance that splatters your chest. You grimace in disgust as he turns his head to conclude his coughing fit with a wheezing sigh. “Forgive me,” he mutters, facing you again. “I’m coming down with something…” “You caught a cold?” you say indifferently. “I don’t care.” Bastion sighs heavily. And despite your protests, he leans in close to press his forehead to yours. A putrid reek comes off his breath, which mingles with the stench of death, and it’s so sickening it almost makes you gag. He takes his unwanted affections further when he tries to kiss you. You thwart his first attempt by turning your head to the side. And you thwart his second with a firm, “No.” He grasps your chin and forces you to face him. “Don’t do this to me.” You can’t tell if it’s a request or a demand. You sneer at him. “You came here to kill an innocent man, and now you want to talk?” “I’m only protecting you, Wanderer.” “Are you?” you retort bitterly. “So where were you when the Doctor tortured me? And-And when Julie showed up to beat my ass? Where was your protection then?” “Wanderer—” You cut him off, scoffing. “You WEREN’T there. But you conveniently show up to kill someone who hadn’t even HURT ME! What are you protecting me from, Bastion? Because I think it’s just another lie.” He squeezes your chin much too rough for your liking. “Everything I do, I do in your best interest.” He tilts his head. “You don’t believe me?” “You’ve made it really hard to, Bastion.” He huffs. And when he knocks foreheads again, with his lips barely brushing yours, you recognize what he wants: he wants you to accept his lies, and let him kiss you and pretend everything’s okay again, but you won’t. You remain firm. “What are you hiding?” you whisper. You taste the poison in his frigid breath when he sighs deeply, and you wait and wait, but he doesn’t give you an answer. He sets you down and backs up. “Play your part, Wanderer, and I’ll play mine.” As he turns away, you hear him faintly murmur, “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten attached. Oh, you cunning little things… You’re dangerous.” He says nothing more, and then he’s gone. It’s silent following his departure, but you can breathe again. You look toward Bryce’s body, seeing as it fades away in smoke and embers, and you release a shuddering breath. The claws protruding from his chest remain, and they twitch and move as if alive. It’s a horrible sight, and it brings about a thousand more questions. You go to his side, hesitantly, and you collapse to your knees. Staying clear of the twitching claws, you rifle the ring from his pocket to hold it in your palm. It’s fading, just like him. A stark frown ruins your features. Bryce was your most significant lead yet, and he’s gone. And with him, the morsels of hope he brought along. You’re on your own again… And if you don’t figure this out, then it will be you approached by another wayless soul from the fog, telling you you’ve failed. You don’t want to become a memory, a missing piece in someone else’s puzzle… But you very well believe that’s the path you’re headed down, and you feel powerless to change it. Before what’s left of the ring vanishes entirely, you place it in Bryce’s hand and close his fingers around it. And then you stand up and you turn away, and you leave.   Continue.     “He’s… shady,” you answer hesitantly. “Shady?” “Yeah,” you say. “And that’s not just a play on words… He’s been useful for the most part, but sometimes he’s there, and sometimes he’s not. And sometimes he’s going completely off-the-rails rogue. I know he’s hiding something from me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what, or why.” Disappointment becomes clear on Bryce’s face. “Ah sound more trouble than a’m worth,” he mutters. “That’s a shame… ‘Was hopin’ a’d still be good for somethin’.” “He has his good days,” you reply. Bryce grunts. Then the silence returns, and you allow it to remain, as you don’t know what else to say. Bryce is handling his existential crisis well on the surface. And although you recognize the ruse, there’s little else you can say or do to make him feel any better about it. He can dwell for a while. During the lingering silence, you consider your own grievances. You reflected on your shortcomings just an hour ago and wondered if you’d ever find the answers. Now, it seems they’re right in front of you. Who could have imagined they would come as an Echo; as a forgotten memory? Bryce feels real though, as does the hope he brings with him. It feels good in knowing that, for now at least, there’s someone else like you, and that your burden is shared.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You must’ve snoozed off during the walk because you reawaken to the harsh sounds of pounding wood. As you stir, blinking, you take note you’re still in Bryce’s arms, and you’re on the front porch of Lydia’s cabin. Bryce pulls back his leg to kick the door again, but he pauses when he notices you’re with him. “Mornin’,” he says, amused. “Ye get a good night’s sleep?” “Stop beating the door,” you say with a heavy yawn. “Lydia’s blind, not deaf.” “Go back t’ sleep and wake up without the attitude next time, huh?” Bryce kicks the door again, much to your disapproval. “I thought ye’d be glad to find that ah didn’t shrivel up and turn to dust while ye slept…” “I am,” you say. “But Lydia already had one fright tonight, and she doesn’t need another.” You tap Bryce’s shoulder to signal him to set you down. When he does, you promptly push him clear of the door and lightly knock on its surface. “Lydia?” you call. “It’s me.” Shuffling footsteps cross the main room before the door flies open. Lydia greets you with a heavy sigh while also wielding a broom. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back, after that… harpy chased you into the woods,” she says shakily. She tosses her weapon aside and reaches out to cup your face. “Did she hurt you?” “I’m fine, Lydia,” you say. “There’s someone—” “Hmph,” she grunts, cutting you off as she runs her hands over your cheeks and brows. “You’re all covered in dirt. You need to run you a bath.” She lifts the hem of her apron and licks the fabric before dabbing at your face. You grimace, complaining, “Lydia! I brought someone you… might…” You trail off when you notice the shushing motion Bryce makes. After a brief pause, you rewind and slowly say, “Lydia, you… you should go relax. After the, uh… rough morning you had, I think you could use a little break.” You place your hand on her shoulder and guide her out the front door, right past Bryce and toward her rocking chair. She argues, “I was gonna put some tea on—” “Later,” you tell her. “For now, get some rest. If you see—uh, hear, anything, just call. I’ll come running.” You pat her on the shoulder as Bryce sneaks inside. Lydia, none the wiser, grunts and reaches for her knitting basket. “I hope that young lady doesn’t come back,” she mutters. You head inside and shut the door. Bryce does a circle on his heels before turning to you with a smile. “She’s adorable, isn’t she? Reminds me of my nan’…” “What the hell?” you reply, wrinkling your brow. “She hasn’t seen you in… in forever, right? Would it hurt to say hello?” “Are ye forgetting that ‘m on borrowed time?” Bryce retorts. “A’m sure Lyds’ would love t’ see me again! But in a couple hours or less, a‘m”—he makes an exploding motion with his hands—“poof! Gone; just like that.” He waves his arm dismissively, muttering, “Ah love the old hen, but ah can’t do that t’ her; not again.” “Oh,” you murmur, as your expression changes to show understanding. “I… guess that makes sense.” Bryce walks past you. “Well, let’s get straight t’ business!” he says. You follow him into the study, and you stop by the door as he yanks open the desk drawers to gauge their contents. Disappointment riddles his face. “Ye weren’t lying,” he mutters. “All my shit’s gone, isn’t it?” “I told you,” you say. “All you left behind was this jacket.” You rifle some blank papers and a pen from the desk before handing it forward. “Jot down anything you think I can use—anything.” “Aye,” Bryce says. He peels off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair before he takes a seat. You move around the room lighting candles on the surface tops while he mutters, “Where t’ start?”   ✱ ✱ ✱   It’s been about twenty minutes, and Bryce has already filled out half of the stack of pages you handed him, and he’s still going. You’ve stood by the door and haven’t said a word. You don’t want to distract him. But occasionally, you peer over his shoulder to get a peek at his work. Doing it for the umpteenth time, you notice a rough sketch of a tower, with a paragraph of notes scrawled beneath it. You can’t make them out. As you’re pulling away, you draw Bryce’s attention. “We dinnae ‘ave to sit here in silence, ye know,” he says. “I don’t want to distract you,” you reply, as you retake your post by the door. Bryce scoffs. “Yer distractin’ me as is, perched there like a gargoyle.” You head for the door. Bryce stops you, sighing. “A’m not telling ye to—Ah, just… sit down, let’s talk. A’ve sat in this study alone plenty a’ times before, but I’d appreciate the company now.” As stubborn as you are, you yield to his request with a sigh, and you prop yourself against the wall. “What did you do before all this, Bryce?” you ask. “Ah was a bit of a… troublemaker,” he surrenders with a pause. You quirk an eyebrow. “Trouble?” “Oh, ye know.” He scratches his chin while considering his response. “I did the odd job ‘ere and there while ah went in an’ out o’ the slam for some petty misdemeanors.” “Wait, jail? You went to jail? What the hell did you—?” Bryce cuts you off, quickly waving his hands and asserting, “Nothin’ terrible, a’right? Ah never hurt anyone, ah just—People make dumb decisions, and ah made plenty o’ those.” He scoffs, muttering, “It’s crazy the sort o’ people ye meet here, right?” You stare at him uneasily. “What did you do?” “Stupid shit, like ah said — honestly! Ah got rubbered sometimes and got myself int’ trouble. Chuggin’ in the wrong place at the wrong time, ah pissed on lampposts, an’ sometimes hurled swears at swine. Petty shit, aye?” “I don’t understand half of what you just said, but… sure. Petty shit.” Bryce scoffs dismissively. “Yer cute, lass. But ah wouldn’t believe it if ye told me ye’d done no wrong… Everyone ‘as.” His bold statement brings about a bitter silence. Dirty laundry’s a heavy subject, and one you’re not too keen to discuss with a stranger. But he’s no stranger, you remind yourself. He’s the man that made Bastion. Bastion, whom, despite your latest troubles, has become one of your very few companions, and yet you barely know him. You could change that now. Seek answers from his past that he could never provide himself. You break the silence. “Have you ever had to make hard choices?” you ask. “Here, I mean?” Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed. “Too many,” he murmurs. “An’ it doesn’t get easier…” “Can you name a few?” For a minute, you don’t receive an answer. You reconsider such a weighty question. “You don’t have to tell me if—” “I killed a man.” His confession gives you pause. You open your mouth to reply, but he meets your eyes with a grave expression that silences you. “Not a killer, but… It was a while ago. All this time, a’ve been tellin’ myself that it was only self-defense, that ah had no choice but to do it. But ah look back at it all the time, and ah know. I had a choice,” he says. “But something came over me, then. Something—” He clenches his fist and squeezes the pen tightly in his white-knuckled grasp. “It was those whispers… Ye hear them too sometimes, right? It’s not just me?” You nod reluctantly. Bryce grunts. “They come around and ah just… I lose myself. Ah’ll admit my record wasn’t the shiniest b’fore all this, but this place ruined me. The fog makes monsters of men.” He swallows thickly and bows his head. You can see the shame and the guilt hanging over him like a dark cloud, and you want to tell him he’s wrong, that he’s no killer or monster… But he is. He became Bastion, and Bastion is a monstrous killer, no matter how you’ve tried convincing yourself otherwise. You won’t tell him he’s wrong, but you can’t tell him he’s right. You reach out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. As soon as you contact him, your mind rips you away.   Thunder booms overhead like cannon fire, and hard rain pelts your back. Pain surges through your body, but it’s stifled by unbridled fury. You seethe through your teeth and glare through a red haze at a man squirming in the mud beneath you, fighting for his life as your hands squeeze his throat. He’s weaker than you, thinner, with a sallow face plastered with wet black hair. He claws your wrists and arms, but you don’t let up. His objections are strangled and hoarse. You’re killing him, and you don’t know why. You want to stop. You need to stop, because you’ll kill him if you don’t st— “Don’t stop.” —The whisper reaches your ears through the raging storm, and it sends chills racing down your spine, like a thousand icy pinpricks. “Don’t stop,” it repeats, commanding. And you don’t—you squeeze tighter and tighter. The man’s turning blue in the face. His strength wanes. Stop, begs a tiny voice in the back of your head. Stop. But you can’t. No matter how desperately you try to take control, you can’t . The light fades from the stranger’s eyes. He wheezes for breath, then he spasms twice. But even when he’s gone cold and limp, you don’t quit. You have to be sure he’s dead. You have to kill him. You—   You snap back to reality with a gasp. Bryce is staring at you, silently, waiting. When you blink, he shrugs your hand off his shoulder. “What’d ye see?” He’s like me, you remind yourself. And he knows you saw something. But you won’t tell. Rather, you bury the dark memory in a deep recess of your mind, and you hesitate to plant your hand on his shoulder again, before giving a comforting squeeze. “I-I get it, Bryce,” you offer. “I know what you mean… But those whispers, they’re… They’re not you. They’re not us.” He grunts skeptically. You catch a flicker in his eyes that breaks your heart; a flicker of remorse and anguish… He regrets the damage he’s done… Even if Bastion doesn’t, Bryce does. “It got the best of me in the end, didn’t it?” he murmurs. It did, you’d tell him, if you were being honest. You became a monster, you’d say. One who hurts and kills so many people without an ounce of remorse. But Bryce doesn’t deserve the hard truth. And you don’t want the reminder yourself. Instead, you offer a smile, as meager as it is, and you say, “You made it through.” You pat his shoulder and awkwardly withdraw your hand. Bryce lightens up. “Ah don’t mean t’ be such a feckin downer,” he says. Turning around in his chair and retaking his pen, he adds, “If a’m still kickin’ after this, we should grab a bevvy.” You scoff, amused by the notion. “Do you know a place?” “Aye; Lydia’s got a bounty in ‘er cellar.” You double-take. “Wait… there’s a cellar? Here?” Bryce smirks. Without a word, he stands up and crosses the room, flicking his chin in motion for you to follow. He leads you through the kitchen to that old storage closet. After opening the door and wafting at the dust that falls, he kicks aside a mop bucket and a stack of rusted pots, and he taps the toe of his boot against a large metal ring on the floor. It’s a hatch opening. You get down on your knees and yank the hatch door up and open. You’re immediately struck by a bitter, cold draft that sends you staggering. “Huh,” you comment.   Bryce drops a wooden crate of assorted spirits onto the small table in the main room. The bottles clank and settle, and Bryce flourishes his arms with a dazzling grin. “Pick yer poison!” You don’t know what to grab. Bryce snickers. “Ah’ll save ye the trouble,” he says while opting for a dusty bottle of scotch with a tarnished label. Watching him chew the wrapping off, you frown. “Should you really be drinking?” you ask. “Y’know, being a recovered alcoholic?” Bryce smiles cheekily and jests, “Ah never recovered.” He pops the cork and raises the bottle high. “Slàinte mhath!” he cheers, and he takes a big swig. He draws back, hissing, and he offers the bottle to you. You have a small sip and hand it back, grimacing at the fruity, bitter taste. Bryce casually posts up against the wall. “Ah’ll get clean when ah get out o’ here,” he says. “But ah might as well enjoy myself b’fore then, aye?” You don’t know what to say—but realization becomes clear on Bryce’s face, and you’ve never seen a smile waver and fall so quickly before, as it’s replaced by sheer gloom. His mouth opens and closes, and when he gets something out, he stammers. “Ah-Ah mean, that was the plan, b’fore…” He trails off and dips his head for a moment. After combing his fingers through his hair, he directs his forlorn gaze at the fireplace and the flames within. He watches them in shared silence, sipping his scotch and scratching his jaw before his eyes wander around the room. His sights land on the evidence board, and curiosity flickers across his expression. He approaches the board and takes a random page off the wall. “Huh,” he murmurs. “The Black Vale…” “Are you familiar?” you ask. “Too familiar,” Bryce replies scoffingly. He pins the page back up. “Nasty bunch o’ occult freaks. If ye see a creeper in dark robes, ah’d advise you to spin right around and go the other way.” You raise an eyebrow. “But shouldn’t we go after them? If they worship this thing, they’d know more than anybody.” “Yeah, but ye’d have better odds o’ finding a unicorn than gettin’ yer hands on one o’ these eerie pricks. They play with dark magic we don’t know shit about. And ah know they pull a lot o’ strings. They won’t be found if they don’t want to be found.” He scoffs. “And good riddance—because trust me when ah say they’re more trouble than they’re worth.” “I guess that means you haven’t gotten any leads from them?” “Mm, nope. Whatever they’re hidin’ is under lock and key.” “And the Imperiatti?” you question. “Do you know anything about them?” “The Imperi-wha’ now?” “They’re… Nevermind.” Bryce frowns at the dejected look that overtakes your features. He scratches his nape and sighs. “A’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Ah know Nasha would’ve been more useful to ye. A’ve seen some of her memories, and she had troves o’ shit stacked up here, from floor t’ ceiling!” He gestures broadly with his bottle, then adds, “And a’ve only found her crumbs… If she left anything behind, it’s all gone now…” He sets his bottle on the table and makes a motion at you. “Someone has t’ figure this shit out eventually… If not me or you—” “—It’ll be another,” you finish grimly. Bryce grunts. “Good little soldiers,” he mutters. You’re unwilling to let another grim silence smother you. “I’ll do my best, Bryce,” you assure him. “I’ll find everything I can, and if I do find the answers, it’ll be thanks to you and Bastion.” The shift in mood is immediate. The silence you tried to keep at bay comes crashing down—you could hear a pin drop, suddenly. Bryce whispers the name on his breath. “Bastion?” he says. “Is that… Is that what a’m calling myself now?” “Yeah, I mean… Bastion. That’s what he—That’s what the new you goes by.” Bryce’s brow becomes shadowed in thought. “It’s familiar, it’s… Ah think that’s what the lass called her pal,” he says. “Nasha, she… She called ‘er own pal by that name.” “That could just be a coincidence, right?” you say, frowning. “Because I-I don’t know where you’re going with this…” “Neither dae I,” Bryce replies, scoffing. “Ah spotted the name a couple o’ times in ‘er old journal, but it could be a coincidence, ah dinnae ken. But why’s he not going by my name anymore?” “He didn’t have one,” you answer. “He let me choose, and Bastion just… it came to mind.” More silence fills the space between you. After a few moments of pause, Bryce waves dismissively. “Well, it reminds me,” he says. “There’s another place ah should show ye b’fore—” He cuts off. Hot blood splatters your face, and you blink through a misty red haze at a spiny black claw protruding from his chest. You shout, startled, as Bryce staggers forward with a rasping gasp. And with wide eyes, you watch Bastion emerge from the shadows of the corner, lacking his grinning visage and airing an aura of hostility. “Bastion!” you scream. He doesn’t respond. Swiftly, he rips loose his claw from Bryce’s chest and grabs him by the throat before slamming him against the wall. Bryce fumbles for his holstered gun, but Bastion catches his wrist and grips him firmly. A toothy maw splits his face apart, and he seethes. “What dark crevice did you crawl up out of?” “Bastion!” you scream at him. He doesn’t even look your way. Has he switched again? Terrified and paralyzed, you can’t move. But Bryce struggles and squirms, seemingly unhurt by the gaping wound in his chest. “L-Lass—!” He’s muted when Bastion grips his throat tighter. “Quiet,” he commands. He’s going to kill him. Panic overtakes you—you take a step forward, just as Bryce’s pained scream cuts the air, and you watch, horrified, as claws alike the Entity’s burst from his chest, ripping muscle and flesh and bone on their way out. They shoot out and impale Bastion’s torso and neck, and he releases a dreadful shriek before flinging Bryce from his grasp. Bastion staggers away as Bryce crashes to the floor, groaning painfully. You gag at the sight of him, and the spidery legs that extend, twitching, from his chest. You recover from the momentary fright to run to his aid. “We-We need to go—” Bastion snarls. You look at him, wide-eyed, as a dozen writhing tendrils squirm from his wounds and thrash erratically. You help Bryce to his feet and drag him through the kitchen and out the back door. Bastion shambles after you in tow, with wicked intent.   You race into the fog as fast as you can with Bryce on your arm, struggling to keep upright. But you don’t get very far; not before obsidian claws burst from the earth and catch your leg. You stagger and crash forward with a shout. Bryce falls away from you and lands unsteadily on his hands and knees. When you try to stand, more claws catch your arms and legs and yank you to the ground. You pry and beat on them, but it’s no use. A tall shadow falls over you. Your breath catches, and your blood runs icy cold as Bastion crosses your path. You tremble under the off glance he gives you, but he heads straight for Bryce. You can only watch. “B… Bastion,” you call. “Bastion!” Bryce is on his feet, swaying unsteadily. He barely gets two steps before Bastion seizes him by the neck. He’s lifted off the ground to squirm and kick at the air as Bastion draws him in close. Tendrils barbed with black spines squirm from his maw, and they coil tightly around Bryce’s neck. “Bastion, don’t!” you scream at him, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. “Bastion!” The tendrils coil tighter, and they rip and tear. Bryce chokes on blood. “BASTION!” you scream desperately. “STOP—!” Bones twist and snap, and Bryce’s head comes off with a ghastly squelch. You look away, gagging. A body hits the ground, and when you look back, you see the tendrils, with Bryce’s decapitated head in their grasp, receding into Bastion’s maw. He swallows it whole and shuts his jaws. Following the gruesome execution, his claws retract, his chest seals up, and everything snaps back into place to re-form a vague shape of a man. And then, finally, you have his full attention. You freeze when he snaps his blank gaze to you. And your struggle intensifies when he approaches. The claws trapping you to the ground withdraw into the earth, and you shoot straight to your feet and try to run. You’re caught around the waist by a claw and hoisted off the ground, then spun around to face him. Terror takes hold; you kick and punch at him, believing you’re next on the chopping block. But his words surprise you. “Are you done, Wanderer?” He sounds unlike his feral other half. Your struggle stops. You blink at him. When you find your voice, it comes out hoarsely. “Wh… Why did you—? Bastion, why-why did you kill him?” He doesn’t answer. “B-Bastion,” you say, your voice shaking with anger. “Bastion, why did you kill him? Why did you kill him, Bastion?!” You ball your fists and beat on his shoulders while screaming in his face. “Why did you KILL HIM?!” He was HELPING me, Bastion, and-and you just—!” He cuts you off. “He was an Echo, Wanderer,” he says calmly. “And you know how dangerous those can be…” You swallow thickly, nervous. “He was you, Bastion. And he didn’t hurt me. He wasn’t going to hurt me. So why did you—” He startles you when he suddenly hacks up some rancid orange substance that splatters your chest. You grimace in disgust as he turns his head to conclude his coughing fit with a wheezing sigh. “Forgive me,” he mutters, facing you again. “I’m coming down with something…” “You caught a cold?” you say indifferently. “I don’t care.” Bastion sighs heavily. “I’m only protecting you, Wanderer.” “Are you?” you retort bitterly. “So where were you when the Doctor tortured me? And-And when Julie showed up to beat my ass? Where was your protection, then?” “Wanderer—” You cut him off, scoffing. “You WEREN’T there. But you conveniently show up to kill someone who hadn’t even HURT ME! What are you protecting me from, Bastion? Because I think it’s just another lie.” He growls at you, responding bitterly to your attitude. “Everything I do, I do in your best interest… You don’t believe me?” “You’ve made it really hard to.” His sneering lips suddenly flip into a forced grin. It’s a look that sends a shiver cascading down your spine. “Don’t make me your enemy, Wanderer. Play your part, and I’ll play mine.” He drops you on your feet and turns away. And without another word, he’s gone. It’s silent following his departure, but you can breathe again. You look toward Bryce’s body, seeing as it fades away in smoke and embers, and you release a shuddering breath. The claws protruding from his chest remain, and they twitch and move as if alive. It’s a horrible sight, and it brings about a thousand more questions. You go to his side, hesitantly, and you collapse to your knees. Staying clear of the twitching claws, you rifle the ring from his pocket to hold it in your palm. It’s fading, just like him. A stark frown ruins your features. Bryce was your most significant lead yet, and he’s gone. And with him, the morsels of hope he brought along. You’re on your own again… And if you don’t figure this out, then it will be you approached by another wayless soul from the fog, telling you you’ve failed. You don’t want to become a memory, a missing piece in someone else’s puzzle… But you very well believe that’s the path you’re headed down, and you feel powerless to change it. Before what’s left of the ring vanishes entirely, you place it in Bryce’s hand and close his fingers around it. And then you stand up and you turn away, and you leave.   Continue.     You’re alone again, rested on your knees in the black pool. The child isn’t here; it’s just you and the incorporeal whispers all around. Your chest feels tight, accompanied by a scratchy sensation that creeps up your throat. It makes breathing difficult. You swallow repeatedly to keep it—whatever it may be—down. A charcoal drawing sits on your lap, its parchment splattered with ink and its edges burnt black. The same drawing that vanished from the journal scavenged from the village depicts a shade enclosed in an iron-bar cage. You’ve stared silently at it for what feels like hours, but you’ve given up trying to derive meaning from it. You stare with half-lidded eyes, not a thought in your mind. It’s all static and whispers, none of which you can pick apart to understand. Through the bluster, a woman’s voice breaks through the darkness. She sounds familiar… but you don’t listen. Even as she calls for you again and again, you ignore her. The noise drowns her out, and you welcome it. You won’t heed the voices from the dark—not today. Maybe not ever again.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You spent the greater part of these restless nights fixing the back door after Bastion tore it off the hinges during his rampage. And you spent an even greater deal of time explaining to Lydia how it was your imaginary friend who was to thank for it. Of course, she didn’t believe it. She thought someone or something broke in—“another killer,” she surmised—someone else gunning for your head. And, while untrue, you can’t fault her for believing it. Hours prior to Bastion’s visit, you had just fended off Julie, who came for blood. Since then, Lydia’s only been on edge. She tries to hide it, but you can tell she’s weary and afraid of being in her own home. She worries about who will break down her door next, what weapons they’ll bring, and their intentions… It makes you feel terrible. You’ve only brought trouble to Lydia’s doorstep, and you know that won’t be the last of it. For that reason, you’ve spent less and less time in the cabin, and more time in the fog. Now, most nights, when you awake, you shake off the vestiges of an unsatisfactory night’s sleep, and you lurk into the fog with your journals and notes, and a lantern to light your way. Tonight is no exception to your new norm; you leave the cabin and venture into the woods, this time bringing along an addition of oats and crackers so that you might share them with Poe if he ever comes back to you. Maybe then you won’t be so alone.   You walk for an hour before finding a clearing nearby, amid a bustle of tall trees and dense brush, beside a trickling creek. It’s secluded and quiet; hopefully, nobody will find you here. Your notes lay scattered around you while you chew oats and peruse Bryce’s unfinished journal. You’ve learned much from what little he wrote down, but it’s not quite enough… He scrawled images of unknown places with murals on the walls, and he jotted down notes beneath each one describing the things he had seen there. In some of these places, he found odd, cryptic symbols… He called them Wards, and he claimed they each served unique purposes, but that he was yet to discover what their purpose was. It seems Bryce saw it all, and he wrote for you what he could; he described the Echoes he’s seen, the places he’s been, and the people he’s met… But it’s not enough. Nothing he left you was exceptional… Bryce could’ve been so useful. He could’ve held your hand and guided you for longer. He honed the abilities he adopted here in the fog, and he could’ve taught you how to! But… then there’s that thing he did when Bastion attacked… He wrote notes on that too… He called it a “defense mechanism” — something vicious residing deep inside his chest. It made him nauseous and ill, and that feeling had been there for a long time, slowly crawling its way up and out until… until it showed itself one night. During a trial gone awry, when he had no sentry to guard him, it tore out of his chest and defended him against a killer, in a way described much like what you witnessed firsthand. But he didn’t know what it was… He couldn’t control it. Beneath the entry, he scratched a note: "It hurt like hell… I hope it’s something you never have to deal with." You fear you already are. Besides those rabbles, there was another note that piqued your interest—you find the page and quickly read it again—an entry regarding a tower. The “Observer’s Tower,” Bryce labeled it. Beneath the messy sketch of a tall, dark structure, he describes a man within as, “Hears all, sees all,” and that if anyone would know anything or everything about the fog, it’d be him. You got excited reading that entry for the first time, but only briefly—at the bottom of the page, Bryce broke your heart. "Saw it in a dream," he wrote, "—haven’t actually found the damn place yet. ‘Would’ve taken you there if I had. Sorry lass :(" You thumb over the sad face he scrawled at the end of the note, and your chest tightens unbearably. Bryce never found it, and he never will… It’s up to you now, but you’re shattered by his loss. He was supposed to be your golden goose. And now that he’s gone, there’s no guarantee you’ll ever find another Echo of him. Since the incident, you’ve racked your brain for answers; why did Bastion do it? Why did he really do it? You don’t buy his lousy excuses, not anymore; Bryce was harmless… But did he know something that Bastion didn’t want you to know? And if he did… then what? More questions without answers. Great; just what you needed… You haven’t had a clue what to do since then. You’ve gone over these notes a thousand times, as if you’ll magically find all the answers hidden in some fine print. But you won’t, and you won’t find them in the fog either, as you have no protection and no guide. Bastion’s gone rogue, Bryce is gone, and you just feel so damn helpless. And that thing Bryce described? The horrible creepy-crawly sensation inside him? It’s been with you since day one. Those symptoms affirm your deepest fear; that there’s something inside you that you can’t control… You thought you imagined it all before, those dizzying waves of nausea and crippling pain in your chest, but now you’re not so sure, and… and you’re terrified. Overwhelmed, you palm your heart with deeply-creased brows. Tightness restricts your breast. You stand up and collect your things to depart. But as you retake your lamp, a scream ruptures the air, making you startle and jump. Your breath catches in your throat as your blood runs cold, and a thousand thoughts race through your head. But smothering them comes recognition. And with recognition, dread. You recognize that piercing cry. It’s—   —Jake (❤) —Claudette (❤) —Dwight (❤) —Kate (❤) —David (❤) —Yui (❤) —Zarina     —Jake. It’s Jake’s screams and shouts. It’s a chilling sound that causes your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. But you don’t even think; you run. You bolt toward the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear escalating. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling and getting caught on low-hanging branches, but you keep going with one goal in mind: finding him. Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes grow bigger. A horrible, dark tree has, seemingly, come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Jake, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags him toward a gaping hole in its trunk, that emanates a black fog reeking of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out, with twitching, grabbing fingers, and moaning voices attending them. You gawk in terror, but when you snap out of it, you jump into action. You race forward and drop to your knees, grasping Jake’s arms and pulling with all your might. Your arrival startles him; his wide eyes meet yours. His mouth opens as if to speak, but anything he has to say is silenced by his painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!” “Hell if—nngh—I know!” Jake strains. “The-The damn thing came to life and—agh!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred through his sleeves. Bloody patches blossom on his garments. “Kill this fucking tree!” he shouts. You crease your brows. “Kill the tree? How?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto him becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Jake. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Jake and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Jake are freed from its clutches, so you drag him away as the tree wails. When he’s on his feet beside you, swaying unsteadily, he scoffs. “Fuck,” he says. “That’s… a first,” you say breathlessly. “I didn’t think anything out here could surprise you,” Jake mutters. You lock eyes—a grateful glimmer crosses his expression before he turns away, limping off and beckoning you to follow. “Let’s get the hell away from this thing.”   You follow Jake through the woods until the howling stops and the firelight fades behind you. Jake eventually stops in a small clearing with a creek running through it. He collapses against a tree with an exhausted sigh. You sit beside him and rifle through your bag. “I’ll treat your wounds,” you offer. “I’m fine,” Jake rasps. “Fine? That thing tore the hell out of you. How’s your arm feeling?” You grab his arm and tug up his bloody sleeve. He snaps at you. “I’m fine,” he repeats. You furrow your brows. “Jake,” you insist. You hold his stubborn gaze until he clenches his jaw and concedes. He breaks eye contact, and says with a heavy sigh, “You’re more stubborn than me.” You work up the rest of his sleeve and scrutinize the damage. Those thorns shredded his arm, but it’s not severe. Just surface damage; scrapes and bruises… You gather your disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work. Jake avoids your eyes. “What are you doing out here?” you ask. “I thought you did all your brooding around camp…” “Could be asking you the same thing,” Jake retorts. He winces when you dab his wounds. Hesitating, he quietly surrenders, “I came out here looking for you.” You pause. “You—? Jake,” you sigh. “Why?” He doesn’t answer. He shifts his eyes and grunts. “Where’s your little friend?” “Poe? He’s… He’s avoiding me,” you murmur. Jake raises an eyebrow. “Why?” “I hurt him. I didn’t mean to, but—” You trail off, frowning. “He’s, uh… lost trust in me. He left.” You scoff. “I’ve been trying to lure him with oats and crackers, but… he may never come back.” “Just give the little guy some time,” Jake suggests. “Let him come to you. And if that connection’s real, he’ll come back. He only needs time.” Following a short pause, he adds, “Now, me, on the other hand…” “Did I do something to get on your bad side…?” Jake scoffs. “I took you home and you slunk off in the middle of the night. ‘Left my door wide open, too…” The corner of your lip twitches in amusement, but it’s gone in a flash when you realize the more serious expression on Jake’s face. You lower your head and sigh. “I’m sorry, Jake. But I’ve been going through some things lately…” “I can tell. You’ve been acting flaky since I first laid eyes on you… All the murmuring, the off looks over your shoulder, and your freak-outs around camp? Yeah, I know.” His skepticism puts a knot in your throat. You scour for an answer or excuse, but you know there’s no excuse good enough to get past Jake. His hard gaze pierces you. Hesitantly, you say, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m a mess. And I don’t know what else to tell you.” You set his bandages and move to put away your supplies, but Jake catches your wrist. As he scrutinizes the damage that travels up your arm, his features soften considerably, and his eyes shine with traces of concern. “You’ve got people worried,” he says while taking a roll of bandages and getting to work. “You’ve got me worried, and I don’t say that to just anyone.” “Almost sounds like you care,” you snark. His brows wrinkle. After a minute of silence, he murmurs, “I know you won’t tell me what’s up, so I’ll quit asking. I won’t waste my energy barking at a brick wall… But tell me you’re okay. Tell me I don’t have to worry because it’s been so damn hard not to.” A pang in your heart makes you frown. You murmur, “Jake, I… I honestly didn’t know you cared so much.” “Wish I could say I didn’t,” he mutters. “Everyone tries getting close, but they all throw in the towel eventually… But you? You just don’t quit… It’s annoying.” He says it with a hint of amusement lacing his tone, conveying that it’s a friendly jab. You smile. “I have my eye on the prize.” Jake scoffs, amused. “I’m a prize?” “Mm-hmm.” You wiggle your brows. Jake laughs warmly, causing a warm flush to fan your cheeks. He sets your bandages and tosses the scraps on your lap. “Fuck, you’re annoying.” You snort. After a moment of silence, you lean back on your haunches and sigh. “I’m okay, Jake,” you say. “Really.” He looks skeptical. You know he doesn’t believe you—you don’t believe it, yourself. But you won’t sit here and argue with him. You change the subject. “Damn,” you say. “I know you’re a tough-love kinda guy, but would it hurt to give me some TLC once in a while?” “I’m not a sappy bastard,” Jake says with a chuckle. “That’s your thing, Cornball.” “C’mon,” you laugh. “Share the love. I could use a little after everything I’ve been through.” “I’ll give you anything you want if you get me a razor,” Jake replies, rubbing his beard. It’s filled out since you last saw him; thicker, darker… Although he’s looking a bit rough around the edges. But it’s not a bad look. “Oh, we’re bartering now?” you reply. Jake’s smirk says yes. You suck your teeth and give a slanted smile. “I don’t know… I kinda like it… Fits your whole ‘survivor-man’ persona.” You reach out and touch his bearded jaw. He doesn’t flinch away or stop you — in fact, he somewhat leans into your open palm, and his features soften at your touch. “It sounds like you’re making excuses.” “I’m serious,” you reply laughingly. “It’s a good look.” “Hm.” Jake gingerly raises a hand to lay over yours. “I might keep it.” A dark flush steals across your face, and a warm, fuzzy feeling makes you weak. Cold and distant as Jake might be, you’re getting through to him. And he’s warm behind the facade, and he’s comforting and security, and… and he’s… a friend. Someone you feel that you can be vulnerable with; someone you want to be vulnerable with. You swallow thickly and drop your gaze. “I’ve… I’ve been so overwhelmed lately,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.” Jake says nothing, but his hand seeks yours and your fingers intertwine. His silence invites you to continue. So, you do. “I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.” Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Jake’s hand as your eyebrows furrow. “I-I know you don’t want to hear me complain, but I needed to tell someone, and you’re—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to freak everyone out around camp. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—” You cut off mid-sentence when you feel his arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Jake’s voice is soft when he says, “That’s okay.” Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for his comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around him and hold him close. You lean into his embrace and rest your chin on his shoulder, savoring his warmth as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in his arms and holding him, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Jake, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you. The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Jake’s arms, gripping fistfuls of his jacket and holding on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tanks. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Jake rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into him and close your eyes. But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke. When you try pushing away from Jake, he holds on tightly. He won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “Jake,” you gasp, pressing on him and trying to wrest free. But he clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Jake!” The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Jake’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling him. You scream in agony as he cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from his eyes and the color seeps from his skin. Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—   —you snap back to reality. You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Jake’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Jake, startling him as you scramble to your feet. He gazes at you with a puzzled expression. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. Jake stands, looking over his shoulder twice before facing you again, brows wrinkled. “What?” “I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—” “Hey, it’s okay,” Jake reassures while reaching out for you. Concern overtakes his features. “We’re safe here.” When he takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.” Jake opens his mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become reality. You hear Jake shouting after you, and his footfalls fast in tow. But soon, his calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Jake’s arms around you. But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt him… You won’t risk it. But now he’s gone. He’s safe, but he’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.   Continue     —Claudette. It’s Claudette screams and shouts. It’s a chilling sound that causes your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. But you don’t even think; you run. You bolt toward the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear escalating. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling and getting caught on low-hanging branches, but you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her. Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes grow bigger. A horrible, dark tree has, seemingly, come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Claudette, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her toward a gaping hole in its trunk, that emanates a black fog reeking of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out, with twitching, grabbing fingers, and moaning voices attending them. You gawk in terror, but when you snap out of it, you jump into action. You race forward and drop to your knees, grasping Claudette’s arms and pulling with all your might. Your arrival startles her; she pips like a mouse and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but anything she has to say is silenced by her painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!” “I-I don’t—nngh—know!” Claudette whines. “I was walking past and it—ah!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred through her sleeves. Bloody patches blossom on her garments. “Help me, please!” she cries. You crease your brows. “I will, but… how?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Claudette. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Claudette and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Claudette are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails. When she’s on her feet beside you, swaying unsteadily, she gazes at you with doe-like eyes and grasps your hand with both of hers. “Th-thank you,” she says shakily. "You alright?" you ask, concerned.  “Yes,” Claudette says, swiftly nodding her head. She gapes at the burning tree before taking a tentative step away and collecting her basket from the ground. She retakes your hand and tugs you after her. “We should get out of here,” she suggests. “I’m right behind you.”   The howling and the firelight fade behind you as you follow Claudette through the woods. Soon, Claudette stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing. When she becomes aware of how tightly she still grasps your hand, she releases her grip as a deep blush spans her face. As she collapses against a tree and draws her knees to her chest, she lets out an exhausted sigh. Sitting beside her, you rifle through your bag. “I’ll treat your wounds,” you offer. “Oh, I’m okay,” Claudette quickly declines. “Claud, that tree tore the hell out of your arm.” “Well-well, yes, but—” She swallows her words and sighs. “I-I don’t want to inconvenience you.” “You’re not inconveniencing anybody,” you reassure her while gently working up her sleeve. “Besides, I’ve missed your company…” Claudette’s eyes widen. “Oh-oh?” she pips. She bows her head and plays with a loose loc’ hanging in front of her face. Meanwhile, you scrutinize the damage. Those thorns shredded her arm, but it’s not severe. Just surface damage; scrapes, and bruises… You gather disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work. “What are you doing out here on your own?” you ask. “Foraging?” “No, I… I came looking for you,” Claudette hesitantly submits. You pause with a frown on your face. “Claudette—” “I-I got worried,” she interrupts. “When I heard about what happened in camp — your panic attack? I had to find you and make sure you were okay.” You wrinkle your brow, but you don’t know what to say. Claudette lays a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “It happens. But I wanted to be here to help you through it if I could.” Her genuine concern paints a smile on your face. “You’re sweet, but you shouldn’t be putting your life in danger for me.” “It’s the only way,” she replies, frowning. “I-I can never find you around camp; not anymore. And as-as dangerous as the fog is, it’s a wonder you come out here s… so often.” You sigh heavily. “You know why—” “I know, but…” Claudette trails off and bites her cheek. After a pause, she murmurs, “I get worried.” “You shouldn’t; I’m fine, Claud,” you reassure her. “And I’ll be even better when I know you’re not hounding me into the fog and putting your life on the line.” “I should be saying the same for you,” she replies pointedly. You grunt dismissively to deflect an argument. When you finish tending her arm, you move to put away your supplies, but she grasps your wrist. “You got hurt too,” she says softly, gathering your bandages. You silently watch as she tends to the damage traveling up your arm. Occasionally her eyes flicker toward yours, but she never holds your gaze for long. She clears her throat. “The l-last time we… we spoke, you-you were having trouble sleeping. Are you… you doing better now?” “Sure,” you say. But it’s far from the truth. Claudette grunts softly. “Um… I-I collected lavender from a clearing close to camp a-and I prepared lavender oil for you. It’s in my… my basket.” She sets your bandages and sets aside the scraps before gathering her basket. She digs through its contents before presenting a small, corked vial of oil. You blink in surprise. “You made oil?” “It wasn’t easy,” Claudette replies, sighing. “I had to find sunflowers first, and-and then I had to squeeze the oil out of their seeds, and …” She shakes the tiny vial and smiles sheepishly. “It took a… a long time for such a teeny amount, but it was worth it. This should help you sleep.” “Claud, you… You didn’t have to do all this for me,” you say, scoffing in disbelief. “I wanted to!” Claudette says quickly. Blush darkens her face. She lowers her head and says, “I wanted to. I want you to be able to get a good night’s sleep. A-And… And I made you something else, too.” She places the vial in your hand before digging through her basket again and withdrawing a wreath woven of daisies and wild roses, and violets. A beautiful creation only sullied by the wilted flowers that have lost their color. Claudette thumbs over a crackly leaf and frowns. “It looked a lot better when I first made it, but… Ah, I’ll make another.” She moves to put away the crown, but you stop her, placing a hand on her wrist. “Claud,” you say, smiling. “I think it’s perfect.” A gentle smile graces her lips. She hesitates before leaning forward to place the wreath on your crown. A flush darkens her face. You regard the vial in your hand and ask, “So, the lavender oil… How do I—? Should I, uh… drink it?” Claudette laughs softly. “No, no,” she corrects. “You don’t ingest it. You apply it topically—to the skin,”she clarifies. “Here—” She takes the bottle and applies a small dot of oil to her fingertip. “I hear it works best on the temples, or behind the ears.” She grasps your jaw tenderly in one hand before dabbing the oil to your temple. She gently rubs small circles in your skin before pulling back. “Like that.” Dark flush steals across your face. You say nothing but nod. Claudette bows her head and plays with a loose loc. “Or-or you can even apply a few drops to your pillow before bed,” she says. “But I-I can’t vouch for the results myself. You’ll have t… to tell me if it works.” Her hands capture yours and she gives you a light squeeze. “I hope it does,” she says with a smile. A warm, fuzzy feeling makes you weak. Claudette’s sweetness is contagious, because you want to hold her hands all night and weave flower crowns and sit and talk and… and tell her everything. You consider her a… a friend. Someone you feel that you can be vulnerable with; someone you want to be vulnerable with. You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “Sleep doesn’t come easy because I’ve… I’ve been so overwhelmed lately,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.” Claudette nods her head to show she’s listening. Her silence invites you to continue. So, you do. “I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.” Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Claudette’s hands as your eyebrows furrow. “I-I hate to put all this on you, Claud, but I needed to tell someone, and you’re—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—” You cut off mid-sentence when you feel her arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Claudette’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” she says. Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for her comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around her and hold her close. You lean into her embrace and rest your chin on her shoulder, savoring her warmth as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in her arms and holding her, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Claudette, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you. The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Claudette’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tanks. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Claudette rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into her and close your eyes. But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke. When you try pushing away from Claudette, she holds on tightly. She won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “Claudette,” you gasp, pressing on her and trying to wrest free. But she clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Claudette!” The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Claudette’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling her. You scream in agony as she cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from her eyes and the color seeps from her skin. Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—   —you snap back to reality. You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Claudette’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Claudette, startling her as you scramble to your feet. She gazes at you with big, puzzled eyes. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. Claudette stands, looking fearfully over her shoulder twice before facing you again, brows wrinkled. “Wh-what?” “I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—” “You’re okay,” Claudette reassures while reaching out for you. Concern overtakes her features. “We’re safe.” When she takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.” Claudette opens her mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become reality. You hear Claudette shouting after you, and her footfalls fast in tow. But soon, her calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Claudette’s arms around you. But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You won’t risk it. But now she’s gone. She’s safe, but she’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.   Continue     —Dwight. It’s Dwight’s screams and shouts. It’s a chilling sound that causes your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. But you don’t even think; you run. You bolt toward the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear escalating. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling and getting caught on low-hanging branches, but you keep going with one goal in mind: finding him. Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes grow bigger. A horrible, dark tree has, seemingly, come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Dwight, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags him toward a gaping hole in its trunk, that emanates a black fog reeking of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out, with twitching, grabbing fingers, and moaning voices attending them. You gawk in terror, but when you snap out of it, you jump into action. You race forward and drop to your knees, grasping Dwight’s arms and pulling with all your might. Your arrival startles him; he jerks and his wide eyes meet yours. His mouth opens as if to speak, but anything he has to say is silenced by his painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!” “Evil tree!” Dwight shouts. “Evil—nngh—tree! Get me out of this—agh!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred his arm. Blood smears his skin. “Get it off me!” he shouts. You crease your brows. “I will, but… how?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto him becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Dwight. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Dwight and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Dwight are freed from its clutches, so you drag him away as the tree wails. When he’s on his feet beside you, swaying unsteadily, he huffs and readjusts his frames with trembling hands. “Thanks,” he says shakily. “You’re alright?” “Yeah,” Dwight answers, although the shaken look on his face says otherwise. He straightens his crooked tie and fixes his messed hair. Gaping at the burning tree, he visibly swallows. “Let’s get away from this thing before more trouble shows up,” he suggests. “I’m right behind you.”   The howling and the firelight fade behind you as you follow Dwight through the woods. Soon, Dwight stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing. He collapses against a tree with an exhausted sigh. Sitting beside him, you rifle through your bag. “I’ll treat your wounds,” you offer. “I’m good,” Dwight declines with a dismissive wave. “You don’t look so good,” you argue. He’s slick with sweat and still shaking—you furrow your brows. “I’ll take care of you, Dwight.” His face turns cherry red. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment before shutting up and nodding. You reach for his arm and scrutinize the damage. Those thorns shredded his arm, but it’s not severe. Just surface damage; scrapes, and bruises… You gather disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work. “What are you doing out here on your own?” you ask. “I never thought I’d find you wandering the fog…” “I didn’t come out here for kicks and giggles,” Dwight says, scoffing. He avoids your eyes and nervously scratches his nape. “I, uh… I came looking for you,” he hesitantly submits. You pause, frowning. “Dwight—” “I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupts, sighing. “It’s stupid. I told myself the same thing before coming out here… It took me an hour to actually man up and do it. Even now, a part of me wishes I hadn’t, but… after you ran off from camp the other night, I had to.” He lowers his head and messes with his tie. “It, uh… It freaked everyone out, your… nervous breakdown. ‘Freaked me out, too, and I just had to make sure you were doing all right.” His eyes flit toward yours. “Are you?” You meet his gaze and hesitate. “I’m… I’m good,” you say. “Fine. But you shouldn’t be putting your life on the line for me, Dwight. You don’t owe me anything.” “W-well, no, but—” He swallows his words and scratches his neck. “You remember that talk we had about trust, right? When you fixed my tie, and… y’know?” “I remember,” you reply. “Yeah, we, uh… we talked about trust, and I think maybe there was mention of us, erm… being… being friends.” He’s red in the face and still fumbling with his tie. You smile at him. “I remember,” you say. When you’ve finished tending his wounds, you move to put away your supplies, but Dwight grasps your wrist. “I’ll, uh… return the favor,” he says, reaching for the bandages. He examines the damage traveling up your arm before getting to work patching you up. “—A-And being friends,” he continues from his last point, “means it’s my job to get worried when you disappear into the fog like that. No one’s seen you, so I figured the least I could do was come out here on my own and make sure you were, uh… doing okay.” He smiles sheepishly while briefly meeting your eyes. “Besides, you never took me up on any more of those private lessons… Did you change your mind?” You furrow your brows. “I’ve… had a lot on my mind, lately. The trials are the least of my worries now.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Dwight asks quietly. “I-I’ll understand if you don’t, but I-I… I think you might need it.” You wave dismissively. “I’m fine, Dwight,” you reassure him. “Really.” Dwight frowns. He sets your bandages and puts away the excess. Then he plucks his notepad from his breast pocket and thumbs through its pages. “Well, while you were… away, I was elected camp leader, and—” “Nuh-huh,” you say, snorting. “You, camp leader? Did I miss something?” Dwight nods. “Just a bit,” he says. “We’ve been talking about it, and we put it to a vote… and…” He trails off when he reads the look on your face. His lips perk up with a sheepish smile. “Are you saying I’m not leader material?” “I’m not saying that, it’s just… Are you pulling my leg?” You snicker. “What’s a camp leader even do?” “A—A lot,” Dwight says quickly. “I’m keeping us organized, and setting up gathering trips, and building up around camp—” He flips through his notepad at an increasingly agitated pace, uttering, “I’ve even got David on laundry duty…” When it dawns on you that he’s not joking, you scoff. “Huh… So you’re serious?” Dwight sighs. “With spirits so low lately, and everyone feeling more hopeless than ever before, I thought it’d help to get up and make some change. It’s nothing like what you’re doing out here, but it’s something, right?” Your features soften. “Yeah,” you say. “It’s something… I, uh… I think you’ll make a great leader, Dwight. You’ve definitely got the ambition.” Letting out a small laugh, you add, “And if you can make David do his own laundry for once, then I’d say you can make just about anything happen.” Dwight’s lips quirk into a smile. He finds the right page in his notepad and clears his throat. “You’re on my list of to-do’s,” he says. “I didn’t know you wanted to do me, Dwight,” you flirt. “I might’ve brought candles and a blanket.” He chokes as his face grows ten shades redder. Quickly averting his eyes, he lets out a laugh and messes with his tie. “No, no, I-I mean”—he clears his throat again and loosens his collar—“Drag Y/N back to camp,” he reads off his notepad. “It’s at the top of the list, giving it the highest priority.” When he meets your gaze again, his features soften with a nervous smile. “You’ve missed a couple of seminars already. And attendance is mandatory, so…” “I’ll try to make the next one,” you reply, smirking. Dwight sucks his teeth. “Mandatory,” he repeats. “Gotta free up my schedule first,” you tease. Dwight concedes defeat with a not-so-serious sigh. He puts away his notepad and says, “It was worth a try.” “I’ll drop by eventually,” you reply. “For you.” “For me?” Dwight smiles sheepishly and takes your hand. He’s a bit clammy, but you don’t mind. “I hope so,” he says. “Means I won’t have to come out here in search of you again.” When he becomes conscious of how sweaty his hand is, he quickly withdraws and swipes it on his pants, stammering, “Ah, I need to carry around a rag or-or something—” He hushes up when you retake his hand with both of yours. “You’re fine, Dwight,” you reassure him, smiling. His face brightens. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. A warm, fuzzy feeling makes you weak. Dwight’s sincerity rubs off on you—he’s a good man with good intentions and an endearing awkwardness that makes your heart flutter. You could sit and watch him stammer over his words for hours. And you’d sit and talk and share a laugh, and… and tell him everything. Because, after all, you consider Dwight a friend. Someone you feel that you can be vulnerable with; someone you want to be vulnerable with. You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “I’ll drop by, Dwight, but… I can’t promise I will anytime soon. I’ve just… I’ve been so overwhelmed lately,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.” Dwight nods slowly. His silence invites you to continue. So, you do. “I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.” Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Dwight’s hand as your eyebrows furrow. “I know you don’t want to hear all this… You have enough on your plate already, but you’re—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—” You cut off mid-sentence when you feel his arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Dwight’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” he says. Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for his comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around him and hold him close. You lean into his embrace and rest your chin on his shoulder, savoring his warmth as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in his arms and holding him, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Dwight, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you. The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Dwight’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tank. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Dwight rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into him and close your eyes. But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke. When you try pushing away from Dwight, he holds on tightly. He won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “Dwight,” you gasp, pressing on him and trying to wrest free. But he clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Dwight!” The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Dwight’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling him. You scream in agony as he cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from his eyes and the color seeps from his skin. Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—   —you snap back to reality. You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Dwight’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Dwight, startling him as you scramble to your feet. He looks puzzled. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. Dwight stands, looking nervously over his shoulder before facing you again with a furrowed brow.“You need to—? What?” “I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—” “H-hey, you’re okay,” Dwight reassures while reaching out for you. Concern overtakes his features. “We’re safe here.” When he takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.” Dwight opens his mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become reality. You hear Dwight shouting after you, and his footfalls fast in tow. But soon, his calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Dwight’s arms around you. But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt him… You won’t risk it. But now he’s gone. He’s safe, but he’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.   Continue     —Kate. Kate’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Without even thinking, you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her. Soon, you halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Kate, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices. As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab Kate’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles her; she gasps and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but any words she has to say are silenced by her painful cry as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God, what the hell is this thing?!” “Been wondering that myself!” Kate shouts. “But it’s—nngh—it’s got me good!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred her arm. Blood smears her skin. “Get it the hell off me!” she shrieks. You crease your brows. “I will, but… how?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Kate. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Kate and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Kate are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails. When she’s on her feet, she sighs heavily and grasps your arm to steady herself. “That’s the second time a tree’s come to life and attacked me.” You have questions… But those can wait. You rest a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” you ask. “I’m fine now,” Kate replies, managing a smile. “Just a-a bit shook,” she says. “But I’m fine.” She turns to gaze upon the burning tree with a flicker of fear shining in her ears. Backpedaling, she suggests, “Let’s get the hell away from this thing.” “I’m right behind you.”   The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow Kate through the dense woods. Soon, she stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, collapsing against a tree with an exhausted sigh. You sit down beside her, rummaging through your bag. “I can treat your wounds,” you offer. “You’re a sweetheart,” Kate replies, smiling. “But I’m alright. Just a bit scraped up—” “Kate,” you interrupt, “I thought I was the stubborn one?” Kate’s lips form a sheepish smile, and she concedes with a sigh. “We can both be a little stubborn… Go ahead.” With her permission, you gently grasp her arm and assess the damage. The thorns shredded her skin, leaving some cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but fortunately, it’s not too severe. You gather disinfectant and some bandages before getting to work. As you clean and bandage her wounds, you try to keep the mood light. “So,” you begin with a cheesy southern drawl, “what’s a southern belle like you doing way out here on her lonesome?” Kate chuckles. “Lookin’ for a runaway,” she replies. “Have you seen her around by any chance?” “Care to describe her?” you ask. “Oh, y’know… Easy on the eyes, wears a ratty ol’ jacket, stubborn as all hell—does that ring any bells?” You both laugh, the tension of the earlier incident dissipating. Sucking your teeth, you say, “I don’t know… Might’ve missed ‘er myself.” Kate’s eyes glimmer with amusement. “Uh-huh?” she says. You smile at her. Following a pause, you dip your head and drop the act. “You, uh… You didn’t seriously come out here looking for me, right?” When you meet Kate’s eyes again, she furrows her brow. “Of course I did,” she says. “After that episode in camp, with you all bug-eyed and runnin’ off panicked, I had it in mind to find you.” You sigh. “Kate—” “Now, don’t ‘Kate’ me,” she interrupts. “You come runnin’ through the woods anytime you please, so who’s to say I can’t do the same thing?” She turns her nose up and huffs. “That tree that snagged me can’t be the worst of it. I can’t even imagine what nightmares you’ve run into out here, all on your own… It’s no wonder you’ve been tense lately.” “Kate, please—” “Uh!” she tuts. “You’re just one woman,” she says. “And you’re human, and you need a shoulder to cry on, same as everyone else. You won’t find that out here alone, no matter how hard you look.” You fall silent for a moment, waiting to see if Kate has any further words for you. When she remains quiet, you let out a heavy sigh. “Kate,” you start, “I get it. I get it, and I agree, and… Man, I know it’s stupid. But I’m good; alright? I’m fine, just… I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.” After finishing tending to Kate’s arm, you begin to pack away your supplies, but she stops you by grasping your wrist. Without a word, she pulls up your sleeve to inspect the damage traveling up your arm. She starts patching you up. “That’s what I mean,” she says. “You need to get some of that out. Won’t do you any good keeping it all pent up inside like that… You’ll just explode like you did in camp the other night…” Her eyes flicker toward yours with a glimmer of concern. “You’ve got us worried,” she says. “You’ve got me worried, and I don’t think that’s fair.” You frown. “It-it’s not. I’m sorry,” you murmur. “And I know you’re just trying to help, Kate, but I don’t want to talk about this; not right now.” After a brief moment of silence, Kate nods in agreement. She sets your bandages and puts away the excess supplies. Letting out a sigh, she murmurs, “Wish I’d brought my guitar… I’d have played us a tune to get your mind off things…” “Your company’s about all I need,” you reply, smiling. “You’re a light as bright as day…” Kate chuckles. “You come up with that all on your own?” You make a sheepish face that gets a smile out of her. “You’re too sweet, B.W,” she says. “But don’t think you can flatter your way out of trouble.” “Not for a lack of trying,” you reply playfully. The smile she imparts upon you makes your heart flutter. Your mouth gapes open and closed as you consider your next words, but Kate’s faster on the draw. Kate’s smile grows bigger. “If I’m not mistaken,” she says, suddenly extending a hand, “I think you owe me a dance.” “A dance?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. Kate chuckles. “Yeah,” she replies. “You remember how we sat at the campfire together and I showed you how t’ play my guitar? I do recall you saying we’d share a dance…” You suck your teeth. “That’s not ringin’ any bells, Katie…” She laughs and smiles. “C’mon, B.W. Dance with me.” Her eyes glimmer invitingly, and her smile makes you weak. Conceding, you take her hand and stand with her. “I gotta warn you,” you say, sighing. “I might step on your toes.” Kate chuckles. “We’ll start nice and slow,” she says while guiding your other hand to her hip. Your face flushes. “When you say dance—” “Don’t get all flustered on me,” Kate says with a soft smile. “It’s just a waltz; I think you can manage.” You blow a playful raspberry. “Yeah, I mean… why not?” Kate raises your joined hands and nods before taking a step forward. You stumble and sway as you try to follow her movements, swinging to the right, then back, left, and forward. Despite keeping your eyes glued to your feet, you somehow misstep and ding her toes. You murmur your apologies and Kate chuckles. “Eyes up,” she says. “You’ll get the hang of it.” You let out a sigh and lift your head, meeting her gaze. Suddenly, you’re breathless. Amusement and joy dance in Kate’s eyes, and her radiant smile makes your heart skip a beat. Your focus shifts from the fog, dark clouds, and biting cold to the warmth of Kate’s expression. She notices your awe and brightens even more, gently squeezing your hand, sending tingles up your arm. “You’re getting better,” she says, laughing softly. A warm and fuzzy feeling washes over you, leaving you weak in the knees. When you abruptly pause and gaze at her in silence, a look of concern writes over Kate’s lovely features. “You okay, B.W.?” She raises her hand to gently cup your chin and cheek, and you press into her touch. “Fine,” you’d say if you had the gall to lie to her. But you won’t—can’t. She’s always so sincere and warm, and you want to share everything with her, including the truth. Even as ugly as it is, she deserves to know, because… Because she’s a friend. You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “I’m, ehm… I’m not so okay lately, Kate. I’ve been so overwhelmed,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.” Kate’s features soften, and her hands encase your face. Her silence invites you to continue. So, you do. “I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.” Your voice cracks on the final word. You lift your hands to grasp Kate’s as your eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t something you need to hear. It’s not something you should, but—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be such a downer, Kate, and I hate to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… Not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—” You cut off mid-sentence when you feel her arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Kate’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” she says. Your chest tightens and your throat feels like sandpaper. You have so much to say, yet no words come out. So you settle for her comfort and silence, and you wind your arms around her and hold her close. You lean into her embrace and rest your chin on her shoulder, savoring her warmth as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Tears slip down your cheeks; everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in her arms and holding her, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Kate, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you. The thought of losing everything weighs heavy on your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Kate’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. And you both remain this way for five minutes, and you only quit crying when there’s nothing left in the tank. And so you sit in silence, sniveling while Kate rubs warm circles on your back. You lean into her and close your eyes. But the peace is shattered by a tightness in your chest. Pressure. Pressure so painfully tight that it becomes hard to breathe. Accompanying it is a prickly sensation that crawls up your throat. You wheeze around it, then choke. When you try pushing away from Kate, she holds on tightly. She won’t let go. Your panic increases. You squirm and fight, and gasp for breath, as the pressure becomes sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “Kate,” you gasp, pressing on her and trying to wrest free. But she clings to you. Fear screws up your face. “Kate!” The pain shoots to a ten as that prickly sensation suddenly explodes from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, similar to the Entity’s protrude from your mangled cavity, and they pierce Kate’s torso, stabbing through flesh and bone and impaling her. You scream in agony as she cries out, and you watch, horrified, as the light fades from her eyes and the color seeps from her skin. Your screams become hoarse and gargled as blood rushes up your throat. You gasp and choke, and you scream and scream until—   —you snap back to reality. You reopen your eyes, gasping, and still held safely in Kate’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. But you become aware of a dull sensation in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Kate, startling her as you stumble away. She looks puzzled. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. Kate looks nervously over her shoulder before facing you again, brows wrinkled. “Go where?” “I need to go,” you repeat. “I need to go—” “You’re okay,” Kate reassures while reaching for you. Concern overtakes her features. “We’re safe, B.W. It’s just you and me.” When she takes a step forward, you take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.” Kate opens her mouth to speak. But you swiftly turn tail and run. You won’t let your waking dream become a reality. You hear Kate shouting after you, and her footfalls fast in tow. But soon, her calls are smothered by the distance you put between you both. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing and crash to your knees. The cold freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, making you shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Kate’s arms around you. But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You won’t risk it. But now she’s gone. She’s safe, but she’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.   Continue     —David. David’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Without even thinking, you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding him. Soon, you come to a halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare David, trapping him like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags him towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices. As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab David’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles him; he barks with surprise, and his wide eyes meet yours. His mouth opens as if to speak, but any words he has to say are silenced by his painful groan as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God; what the hell is this thing?!” “Bloody fuckin’ hell if I know!” David barks. “But it’s—nngh—it’s got me good!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred his arm. Blood smears his skin. “Chop this fuckin’ tree, lamb!” You crease your brows. “Chop it?! Chop it how?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto him becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of David. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on David and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and David are freed from its clutches, so you drag him away as the tree wails. When he’s on his feet, he huffs and wipes a sheen of sweat off his brow. “Fuckin’ hell,” he swears. “Bloody fuckin’ hell…” He’s worse for wear, and that’s saying something, for David. “Are you okay?” you ask. “Better now that I’m free of that damned thing,” David replies, chuckling. “Almost took my bloody arm off.” He turns his head to gaze at the burning tree with a furrowed brow. Nudging you, he suggests, “Let’s get the fucking hell away from this thing.” “I’m right behind you.”   The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow David through the dense woods. Soon, he stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, his weary frame collapsing against the support of a sturdy tree with a gruff sigh. You sit beside him, rummaging through your bag. “I can treat your wounds,” you offer. “Aye, I’m sure you can,” David replies. “But I’m fine. Just a bit knackered is all…” “David,” you say firmly, “you’re bleeding all over the place.” Amusement dances in his eyes as he lets out a hearty chuckle. “I swear I’ve been through worse! This is nothin’.” Your gaze hardens, determined not to let his bravado overshadow the need for proper care. His resistance crumbles, punctuated by a weary sigh. “Ah, fine, fine,” he relents with a rattling breath, his tone tinged with resignation. “Go ahead and patch me up then, lamb.” With his reluctant permission granted, you tenderly grasp his arm, gently assessing the extent of his injuries. The thorny vines left a trail of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but luckily, the damage isn’t too severe. Gathering disinfectant and a supply of bandages, you set to work patching him up. You try to lighten the mood. “I’m surprised those vines even broke the skin,” you comment. “I thought you’d deflect all the damage by the sheer power of will…” David chuckles, a hint of pride in his voice. “I deflected most of it! These are just petty scrapes and bruises, lamb.” You playfully roll your eyes. “Petty? Sure, sure… But I thought you spent most of your time in the ring, David. What brings you way out here?” “I’ve been tasked with bringing you in, back to camp,” David answers, showing a toothy grin. “I’m the bounty hunter.” Your eyebrow arches. “Oh, really? And what’s my bounty?” David laughs heartily. “It’s a big one, lamb!” “And who’s paying out?” “Dwight.” Your raised brow is met with another round of laughter. “Aye, I thought the same thing! But the lad’s been stepping up.” “And you’re just the muscle, right?” A mischievous grin breaks across David’s face, revealing his chiseled jawline and sparkling eyes. “Who else?” You snort. “So, you plan on dragging me back to camp in chains and cuffs?” “Wouldn’t mind goin’ easy on you if you cooperate.” “Sorry,” you say with a laugh, defiance gleaming in your eyes. “But it’s not in the cards, David.” A playful expression shows on his face. “Are you challenging me? Because I promise you, this is a challenge you won’t win…” “David, you have absolutely no idea who you’re messing with,” you tease. You set his bandages and go about putting away the excess supplies, but he stops you. After working up your sleeve and assessing the damage traveling up your arm, he begins patching you up. His eyes flit toward yours with an impish gleam. “I’m startin’ to get a pretty good idea, lamb,” he says. “You seem a lot better now, anyway, when you’re not racing away from camp…” Your smile falters, and you hesitate before you speak. “I’m fine now… I’ve… I’ve just had a lot on my mind recently, David.” He grunts softly. “I’m sure you ‘ave… We all do, don’t we? But there are better ways of handling it than comin’ out here on your own, lamb. We’ve talked about this before—” “Yeah, we have, and we don’t need to go over it again,” you say firmly. David’s brow furrows, a hint of frustration becoming evident on his face. He finishes setting your bandages, discarding the remaining supplies. After a moment, he stands up, stretching his back and cracking his neck. “So,” he begins, cracking his knuckles in a playful manner. “Are you coming in willingly, or do I hav’ta rough you up a little?” The corner of his lips quirks up. Rising to your feet, you match his energy, a smirk playing on your lips. “All my time spent out here has hardened me, David. I won’t go easy.” You put ‘em up and assume a fighting stance. “Try me,” you dare. David’s smirk widens, mischief dancing in his gaze. He feints a quick jab, causing you to jump in response, before swiftly rushing forward and effortlessly scooping you up and over his shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp. “Hey!” you protest. “Is this your idea of a fair fight?!” His laughter rings through the air as he carries you on his shoulder. “Fair? Who said anything about fair, lamb? And I didn’t want to bruise up your tidy face!” He gives you a playful wink and a broad grin that grows at the sight of your frustrated pout. “David,” you snap, punching him on the back. “Put me down!” “Nah,” he replies, his grip unwavering. “I’ve got a bounty to collect!” “David!” He ignores your protests. You bite your cheek, pondering your next move. When an idea comes to mind, you smirk deviously and reach down to pinch his rear end. He jumps, hissing sharply in surprise. “Oi!” he exclaims. “Down!” you bark, “or there’s more where that came from!” David knickers. “Don’t try my patience, lamb,” he warns. Undeterred, you pinch him again, amused when he does a little skip in his step. You catch a playful glint in his eyes when he declares, “Well, if that’s how it is—!” You pip in surprise when he effortlessly tosses you off his shoulder and wrestles you on the ground. He’s rough, but in a playful manner. “I wanted to take you in easy!” he barks, amused. Laughter bursts from your lips, and you combat him as best you’re able. You roll around, grappling in a spirited wrestling match. The minutes slip away, and, eventually, the physical strain catches up to both of you, and you find yourselves winded, pausing for a brief respite, chests heaving. David, predictably, has the upper hand, winding up on top and pinning your hands to the ground with a gentle, but firm grip. He huffs, a mix of triumph and weariness painting his expression. “I wear you out yet, lamb?” he playfully taunts. Between breaths, you manage to muster a response. “I-I… I still have a lot of fight left in me… Just… Just give me a minute—” David chuckles, his breath ragged. Shaking his head, he admits, “Well, I’m knackered,” he pants. He rolls off of you and gets to get his feet. Extending a helping hand, he pulls you upright and brushes off the dirt from your shoulders. He smirks proudly. “You gave me a proper run for my money, lamb! Color me impressed.” Lifting the bottom of his shirt, he wipes away the film of dirt and sweat from his brow. You smile. “People have a habit of underestimating me.” David guffaws. Following a moment’s reprieve, the amused look on his face gives way to a stark frown. He sighs heavily and slumps against a tree. “I’m sorry, lamb,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I can’t drag you back to camp if you don’t want to go. I’m just fuckin’ worried is all, after that shite in camp the other night. It’s got me out here being a proper cunt.” Your smile softens. “I understand, David,” you say. But I’m… I’m fine. I’ve just been going through some things, and… and I can’t be around the rest of you, not like this. I appreciate your concern; really.” David chuckles, planting a reassuring hand on your shoulder and giving you a firm squeeze. “But you’re a scrapper, lamb! And you saved my arse, didn’t you? Maybe I can rest a little easier tonight in knowing that…” He guides his hand to your chin, then uses his thumb to wipe away a smear of dirt from your cheek. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart leap. David’s rare, soft smile accompanies the action, revealing a side of him you rarely see—the gentle giant behind the rugged exterior. “Still,” he continues, his voice filled with a mixture of fondness and concern, “I’d feel a hell of a lot better having you back at camp, where I can keep a proper eye on you, lamb. It boils my blood, knowing you’re out here on your own.” A warm and fuzzy feeling washes over you, leaving you weak in the knees. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. David’s weathered hands cradle your face, and you instinctively lean into his touch. Your expression wavers, and he notices the change, his brow furrowing with worry. “You okay, lamb?” he asks, his eyes flickering with concern and care. It’s heart-stopping. David’s usually so overwhelming and bold, but he offers you his comfort and warmth in a manner so unlike his usual self, and you crave it and more. “No,” you’d say, if you could muster your voice. But you can’t—when you open your mouth, your quivering lips only produce silence. Frustration turns your blood hot. He’s strong and enduring, with a strength you can’t even dream to possess, and you usually feel so strong in his company, but, yet… you feel weak now. Weak, but not vulnerable—safe. Safe with him, and it’s because… because he’s a friend, and if anyone can protect you—if anyone deserves to see your weakness—it’s him. You swallow thickly and lower your gaze. “I’m… I’m not so okay lately, David. I’ve been so overwhelmed,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.” A frown tugs at David’s lips. His silence invites you to continue. So, you do. “I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.” Your voice cracks on the final word. You lift your hands to grasp David’s as your eyebrows furrow. “I-I like to pretend that everything’s okay and that I’m stronger than this, but—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I’m not as strong as you might think, David… And I hate to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… Not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—” You cut off mid-sentence when you feel his arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. David’s voice is soft in your ear. “You’re stronger than you know, lamb. But it’s okay to feel small,” he says. Your chest tightens, and your throat feels parched. Though you have so much to say, no words escape your lips. Instead, you settle for his comfort and the solace of silence. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, and lean into his embrace, cherishing his warmth as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tears stream down your cheeks, as everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in his arms and holding him, you recognize there are people here that care about you. David, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like him, these people will soon fade, and so will you. The thought of losing everything burdens your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in David’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. For five long minutes, you remain in this embrace until there are no tears left to shed. And in the ensuing silence, you sniffle while David tenderly rubs warm circles on your back. But the peace is abruptly shattered by a tightening sensation in your chest, constricting with relentless pressure that makes it difficult to draw a breath. Alongside it, a prickly sensation crawls up your throat, causing you to wheeze and choke. When you attempt to push away from David, he holds on tightly, refusing to let go. Panic surges within you, intensifying as you squirm, fight, and gasp for air. The pressure transforms into a sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “David,” you gasp, pressing against him in a desperate attempt to break free. But he clings to you, and fear twists your face. “David!” The pain escalates to an unbearable level as the prickly sensation suddenly erupts from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, reminiscent of the Entity’s, protrude from your mangled cavity and impale David’s torso, piercing through flesh and bone. Agonizing screams escape your lips as he cries out, and you watch in horror as the light fades from his eyes and the color drains from his skin. Your screams turn hoarse and gurgled as blood rushes up your throat, causing you to gasp, choke, and scream until— —you snap back to reality. Gasping, you reopen your eyes, still cradled safely in David’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. However, a dull sensation lingers in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from David, startling him as you stumble backward. Confusion clouds his expression. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. David’s brow furrows. “Go where, lamb?” “I need to go,” you repeat urgently. “I need to go—” “You’re okay,” David reassures, reaching out for you. Concern etches his features. “You’re safe here with me, lamb. Just take a moment to breathe.” As he takes a step forward, you instinctively take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.” David opens his mouth to speak, but you swiftly turn away and run. You refuse to let your waking dream become a horrifying reality. You hear David’s shouts and his footfalls fast in tow, but soon, his calls are smothered by the growing distance between you. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing, collapsing to your knees. The cold air freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, causing you to shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like David’s arms around you. But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt him… You won’t risk it. But now he’s gone. He’s safe, but he’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.   Continue     —Yui. Yui’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Without even thinking, you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her. Soon, you come to a halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Yui, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices. As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab Yui’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles her; she gasps with surprise, and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but any words she has to say are silenced by her painful moan as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God; what the hell is this thing?!” “I don’t know!” Yui screams. “But it’s—nngh—it’s holding on tight!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred her arm. Blood smears her skin. “Get me out of here!” You crease your brows. “I-I will, but… how?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Yui. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Yui and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Yui are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails. When she’s on her feet, she lets out a sharp string of what you safely assume are Japanese swear words. “Ah,” she hisses when she’s finished blasting her profanity. “Of all the— Hm.” She looks like absolute hell. “Are you okay?” you ask. “Fine, now,” Yui replies, sweeping her hair out of her face. “Thanks, Trouble. You saved my ass.” She turns her gaze to the burning tree with narrow eyes. Whipping her head, she suggests, “Let’s get out of here before more trouble shows up.” “I’m right behind you.”   The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow Yui through the dense woods. Soon, she stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, and she collapses against a sturdy tree with a breathless sigh. You sit beside her, rummaging through your bag. “I can treat your wounds,” you offer. “I won’t stop you,” Yui replies. You tenderly grasp her arm, gently assessing the extent of her injuries. The thorny vines left a trail of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but luckily, the damage isn’t too severe. Gathering disinfectant and a supply of bandages, you set to work patching her up. Occasionally, your eyes flit upward and meet her steely gaze. You clear your throat. “So, I’m guessing you didn’t come out here on a joyride…” “My bike hasn’t worked in ages,” Yui replies pointedly. “You know why I’m here.” A sigh escapes your lips. “Yep…” “And you know what I’m going to say.” “Mm-hmm.” “Good; so we can skip all that and get straight to the point.” Yui narrows her eyes. “I think you’re insane coming out here, especially after what happened at the campfire. If you’re suffering panic attacks like that, you need to be around people who can help you get through it. You shouldn’t be storming off into the fog where we can’t find you—” “Yui—” “I’m not done,” Yui interrupts. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s not something you should feel the need to hide. Running out here isn’t the answer. I thought you knew that.” “Yeah, well, coming out here after me isn’t the answer either, Yui. You could’ve gotten killed.” “Well, it’s a good thing my shining knight came to my rescue,” she replies. You catch a flicker of amusement in her eyes, but it’s gone in an instant, washed away by concern. “We worry about you, Trouble. I worry about you. We’ll never ride off into the sunset at this rate…” “There won’t be any joyriding unless someone finds the answers,” you retort. “And that someone has to be me.” You set her bandages and move to put away the excess supplies, but she stops you. Grasping your wrist, she works up your sleeve and gauges the damage traveling up your arm. With a sigh, she begins patching you up. “No one says it has to be you,” she says. “And I don’t think it should be.” “Then who else?” you ask. Yui falls silent. Following a brief pause, she shakes her head. “Not you.” You wish you could tell her how wrong she is—that it can be no one else BUT you, but something tells you she won’t be hearing it… It’s refreshing actually, knowing someone just as, if not more so, stubborn than you. “I can’t stand it,” Yui mutters, barely above a whisper. “You think the weight of the world is your burden to carry…” “Just doing my part,” you murmur. “You can do your part around camp,” Yui retorts. “We’re becoming organized,” she says. “We’re building up, making changes—” “It’s not good enough,” you argue, frowning. “There’s real work to be done out here, and I won’t quit until it’s finished.” Yui’s sharp look silences you. Shaking her head, she sets your bandages and returns the excess supplies into your bag. “Do you think I came out here to argue with you? I came because I’m worried,” she says. “I came because you never come around camp, and I worry that you never will—that whatever trouble you’re getting yourself into out here will take the ultimate toll.” Frustration wrinkles her brow. “I don’t know why you’re so—so brave,” she says. “Why you’d kill yourself on this wild goose chase—” “Yui—” “You think it all falls on you, but I think it’s selfish. I think if you’d just—” “Yui!” you sharply interrupt. She falls into silence, her lips pursed. You release a heavy sigh and take her off guard when you grasp her wrist. With care, you guide your other hand to the pink band wrapped meaningly around her arm, and your eyes meet hers, softening her expression. “Unity, right?” you say. “That’s what this band represents? You should know all too well why I do this, Yui. I do this for us—ALL of us. I’m not trying to make you, or anyone else worry about me, but… I’m trying to make a difference that counts.” You clasp her hand and hang your head. “I remember the talk we had… I know we have a date planned. I’m looking forward to riding off into the sunset, too, y’know. And I’m doing everything in my power to ensure we see that day.” Yui’s breath catches. When you look up again, her lips tremble, only stifled when she bites her bottom lip and averts her gaze. For a minute, nothing goes said between you, before she finds your eyes again and releases a shaky breath. “Unity,” she whispers. “It means we act together. It doesn’t mean you have to shoulder all this alone.” Her fingers intertwine with yours, and she squeezes you almost painfully. “Tokyo,” she breathes. “It’s breathtaking in the autumn… I can take you to a circuit I used to race. And Hida, my hometown, we should visit there, too.” “We will,” you say, smiling. “Tell me more about it.” A smile tugs at the corner of Yui’s mouth. “It’s very homey,” she says. “Because it was home. Narrow streets, traditional dwellings on every corner… There are festivals sometimes, and a gorgeous view of the mountains; we can see both.” You nod, encouraging her to go on. “And my garage,” she adds, her eyes lighting up as she reminisces about distant memories. “We’ll go there and meet my gang—friends, family, supporters—” You chuckle softly. “You might need to slow down, Yui. My schedule’s starting to look a bit packed…” “I live life fast,” Yui replies. “And we should make plans now,” she says, her smile bright. “It will give us more to look forward to, and more reason to push forward.” She squeezes your hand again, amusement gleaming in her eyes. “I think we can both stand to be dumb optimists.” She leans forward, grasping both your hands in hers. “I just need you to promise me that you’ll be there for it,” she says. “I know I can’t change your mind, but I need you to be okay. I can shoulder the burden with you if you’d only let me, Trouble.” A warm and fuzzy feeling washes over you, leaving you weak. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Yui’s hands are warm in yours, and when she squeezes your fingers, your heart stutters. You have no doubt Yui would shoulder the burden with you; she’s strong, clear-headed, and more determined than you know. But it’s a horrible burden you wouldn’t share with anyone, much less her, because… because she’s a friend. Someone you treasure, and care about, and wouldn’t even dream of putting through the torment you suffer on a daily basis. So, “No,” you say, your voice cracking. Yui’s taken aback, her expression wavering, and her smile falling away. “No,” you echo, shaking your head and letting your gaze fall. Swallowing thickly, you go on, “I-I can’t do that to you, Yui, and I can’t be okay, because… Because I’ve been so overwhelmed,” you surrender. “—With everything. And it’s gotten so bad to the point that I come out here and I don’t even know why.” A frown tugs at Yui’s lips. Her silence invites you to continue. So, you do. “I wish I could, but I don’t have the energy to do anything but mope,” you say. “I… I think I’m losing my way… If I ever even found it. I’m trying to be everyone’s hero, but it’s so hard.” Your voice cracks on the final word. You squeeze Yui’s hands tighter as your eyebrows furrow. “This is my burden to carry, and mine alone, and-and—” You stop yourself when your voice wavers. You desperately try to keep it all pent up, but it gets harder and harder to contain the flood of emotions; anxiety, fear, and loneliness paint a sad expression on your face, and your eyes water. You shut your eyes tightly and take a deep breath. “I can’t ask you to share it with me. And I hate to make you worry. But lately, I haven’t known a damn thing… Not even myself, and it’s killing me. It’s killing me that I can’t—” You cut off mid-sentence when you feel her arms wrap around you. Surprised, you open your eyes as you’re pulled into a warm hug. It’s probably the warmest hug you’ve had in what feels like years. Yui’s voice is soft in your ear. “That’s okay,” she says. Your chest tightens, and your throat feels parched. Though you have so much to say, no words escape your lips. Instead, you settle for her comfort and the solace of silence. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, and lean into her embrace, cherishing her warmth as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. Tears stream down your cheeks, as everything you’ve contained for so long comes pouring out. And while you cry, held in her arms and holding her, you recognize there are people here that care about you. Yui, Lydia, the others around camp—and then, with a heavy heart, you recall Bryce. Bryce, who never stood a chance. Much like her, these people will soon fade, and so will you. The thought of losing everything burdens your shoulders. Your emotions overwhelm and suffocate you. You sob in Yui’s arms and hold on as tightly as you can, unable and unwilling to let go. For five long minutes, you remain in this embrace until there are no tears left to shed. And in the ensuing silence, you sniffle while Yui tenderly rubs warm circles on your back. But the peace is abruptly shattered by a tightening sensation in your chest, constricting with relentless pressure that makes it difficult to draw a breath. Alongside it, a prickly sensation crawls up your throat, causing you to wheeze and choke. When you attempt to push away from Yui, she holds on tightly, refusing to let go. Panic surges within you, intensifying as you squirm, fight, and gasp for air. The pressure transforms into a sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “Yui,” you gasp, pressing against her in a desperate attempt to break free. But she clings to you, and fear twists your face. “Yui!” The pain escalates to an unbearable level as the prickly sensation suddenly erupts from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, reminiscent of the Entity’s, protrude from your mangled cavity and impale Yui’s torso, piercing through flesh and bone. Agonizing screams escape your lips as she cries out, and you watch in horror as the light fades from her eyes and the color drains from her skin. Your screams turn hoarse and gurgled as blood rushes up your throat, causing you to gasp, choke, and scream until— —you snap back to reality. Gasping, you reopen your eyes, still cradled safely in Yui’s arms. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. However, a dull sensation lingers in your chest. Terrified, you wrest away from Yui, startling her as you stumble backward. Confusion clouds her expression. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. Yui’s brow furrows. “You don’t need to go,” she says. “I need to go,” you repeat urgently. “I need to go—” “You’re okay,” Yui reassures, reaching out for you. Concern etches her features. “Come with me, back to camp—” As she takes a step forward, reaching out, you instinctively take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away from you. I need to get away.” Yui opens her mouth to speak, but you swiftly turn away and run. You refuse to let your waking dream become a horrifying reality. You hear Yui’s shouts and her footfalls fast in tow, but soon, her calls are smothered by the growing distance between you. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing, collapsing to your knees. The cold air freezes the tear tracks on your cheeks, causing you to shiver. You hug yourself tightly, but it’s little to no relief; not like Yui’s arms around you. But it was dangerous, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You won’t risk it. But now she’s gone. she’s safe, but she’s gone, and… it’s cold. You’re so cold.   Continue     —Zarina. Zarina’s screams are chilling, causing your hair to stand on end and your eyes to widen in fear. Impulsively, you take a step backward in the opposite direction, refusing to go. But your good nature gets the better of you, and you run towards the unknown danger, with your heart pounding and your fear growing. You tear through the woods like a furious bat out of hell, tripping and stumbling, and getting caught on low-hanging branches. But you keep going with one goal in mind: finding her. Soon, you come to a halt at the opening of a foggy clearing, and your eyes widen in horror. A dark, twisted tree appears to have come to life. Its spindly, black branches and crawling tendrils ensnare Zarina, trapping her like a fly in a spider’s web. The predatory tree drags her towards a gaping hole in its trunk, emanating a black fog that reeks of death. Out of the darkness, pale hands reach out with twitching, grabbing fingers, accompanied by moaning voices. As you gaze in terror, you quickly snap out of it and spring into action. Rushing forward, you drop to your knees and grab Zarina’s arms, pulling with all your might. Your sudden arrival startles her; she exclaims with surprise, and her wide eyes meet yours. Her mouth opens as if to speak, but any words she has to say are silenced by her painful moan as the roots and branches squeeze tighter. “I’ve got you,” you say, grunting with effort. “God; what the hell is this thing?!” “Evil tree with a lot of arms!” Zarina screams. “And it’s—nngh—it’s not letting go!” Thorny roots tighten tenfold and shred her arm. Blood smears her skin. “Help me!” You crease your brows. “I-I will, but… how?! You desperately rack your brain for an answer as holding onto her becomes more strenuous—your muscles scream and sweat spills from your brow. You’ll lose this game of tug of war if you don’t think fast. “I-I’ll… Fuck!” you swear. “Give me a minute!” You don’t have a minute. Startlingly, a root catches your wrist and tightens painfully before crawling up your arm. Targeted, you do your damn best to shake off the assailing threat while keeping a firm hold of Zarina. “Shit, shit, shit—” you curse. A flickering light out the corner of your eye catches your attention—your lantern! Out of options and answers, you relinquish one hand on Zarina and seize the lantern before chucking it at the gnarled tree. The glass shatters, and the tank explodes. Fire engulfs the tree, and an unearthly howl cuts through the air. The moans turn to screams, and their pale hands retreat into the void. You and Zarina are freed from its clutches, so you drag her away as the tree wails. When she’s on her feet, she buckles over, propping her hands on her knees and panting in exertion. “Damn,” she swears, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?” you ask. “Fine, fine,” Zarina replies, standing upright and waving dismissively. “Thank you.” She turns her gaze to the burning tree, her brows wrinkling in fear. “We should get out of here,” she suggests. “I’m right behind you.”   The howling of the wind and the flickering firelight fade behind you as you follow Zarina through the dense woods. Soon, she stops beside a creek that runs through a small clearing, and she collapses against a sturdy tree with a breathless sigh. You sit beside her, rummaging through your bag. “I can treat your wounds,” you offer. “Go ahead,” Zarina replies. You tenderly grasp her arm, gently assessing the extent of her injuries. The thorny vines left a trail of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, but luckily, the damage isn’t too severe. Gathering disinfectant and a supply of bandages, you set to work patching her up. It’s quiet between you until Zarina breaks the silence with a soft grunt. “You’re probably wondering why I’m out here,” she murmurs. Your eyes flit upward and briefly meet hers. “I am.” “I… I came looking for you,” she surrenders. “To apologize for what happened. I’m sorry for jumping you at the campfire. We dogpiled you, overwhelmed you, and… I’m sorry. But old habits die hard, you know. I made a living crawling beneath people’s skin to get answers… I shouldn’t have done that to you. And I know it’s probably what made you run off like that—” “It’s fine,” you interrupt. But Zarina persists. “No, it isn’t,” she says, sighing. “But I meant everything I said then: I’m worried about you; everyone is.” “I’m having a hard time believing that,” you mutter. “Well, you shouldn’t. Believe me, please.” You soundlessly set her bandages and move to put away the excess supplies. Zarina gestures towards them while glancing at your injured arm. “Want me to…?” she starts to ask. “No,” you respond, shaking your head as you rise to your feet. “You can walk, right? Go back to camp.” Zarina staggers upright, sighing. Before you walk away, she reaches out and grasps your arm, halting your movement. “You need to hear me out, because what you’re doing now is the reason I came out all this way!” You pivot to face her with a frown on your face. “And what am I doing? Huh? What made you think you had to put your life on the line to come out here after me?” “You’re going out there all willy-nilly!” Zarina gestures emphatically, her voice rising in frustration. “It’s dangerous,” she says. “And I’m here because I’m worried. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not, and that means we’re in this together.” “If we’re in this together, then why am I the only one trying to make a difference here? Why am I the only one trying to get us out of here?!” You jab Zarina accusingly in the shoulder, glaring. “I meant what I said back at the campfire, Zarina. I won’t sit around there feeling sorry for myself like the rest of you. I come out here to get shit done, and I won’t let you or anyone else stop me. I—!” Your words catch in your throat, and you wince as pressure suddenly engulfs your chest. Grimacing, you take two unsteady steps backward, and Zarina’s expression etches with concern. She reaches out for you, seizing your arm. “Are you okay?” she asks. “F… Fine,” you respond. “Just—agh!” You grunt with pain, grasping your breast as your chest constricts with relentless pressure that makes it difficult to draw a breath. Alongside it, a prickly sensation crawls up your throat, causing you to wheeze and choke. When your legs buckle, Zarina catches you in her arms. “It-It’s okay!” she reassures you. “We need to get back to camp—” “No!” you bark, attempting to push away from her. But she holds on tightly, refusing to let go. Panic surges within you, intensifying as you squirm, fight, and gasp for air. The pressure transforms into a sharp, stabbing pain beneath your sternum. “Zarina,” you gasp, pressing against her in a desperate attempt to break free. But she clings to you, and fear twists your face. “Zarina!” The pain escalates to an unbearable level as the prickly sensation suddenly erupts from your chest. Thorny, dark claws, reminiscent of the Entity’s, protrude from your mangled cavity and impale Zarina’s torso, piercing through flesh and bone. Agonizing screams escape your lips as she cries out, and you watch in horror as the light fades from her eyes and the color drains from her skin. Your screams turn hoarse and gurgled as blood rushes up your throat, causing you to gasp, choke, and scream until— —you snap back to reality. Gasping, you reopen your eyes, standing before Zarina on wobbly legs, while she gazes at you with wide, perplexed eyes. A shuddering breath escapes your lips as the pain subsides. However, a dull sensation lingers in your chest. Terrified, you stumble backward. Confusion clouds her expression. “I-I… I need to go,” you say, backing away. Zarina’s brow furrows. “What?” she says. “What are you—?” “I need to go,” you repeat urgently. “I need to go—” “You’re okay,” Zarina reassures, reaching out for you. Concern etches her features. “We should get back to camp—” As she takes a step forward, reaching out, you instinctively take another step back. “I’m sorry,” you rasp. “I’m sorry… I need to get away. I need to get away.” Zarina opens her mouth to speak, but you swiftly turn away and run. You refuse to let your waking dream become a horrifying reality. You hear Zarina’s shouts and her footfalls fast in tow, but soon, her calls are smothered by the growing distance between you. And soon, it’s silent. You stagger to a halt amid a small clearing, collapsing to your knees. I couldn’t go back with her, you tell yourself. I’m dangerous. You don’t know what’s inside you, or if—when—it’ll come out. But you didn’t want to hurt her… You don’t want to hurt anyone. You won’t risk going back to camp, where you’ll present a danger to everyone else. So, you’ll stay out here, alone, and cold, and… and so… so cold.   Continue     You awake to a pounding hangover. After rolling out of bed, you wade through a sea of empty bottles and clinking glasses strewn about the floor, and you trudge downstairs into the kitchen, greeted by a hissing pot on the stove. Nearby, Lydia sweeps the floor, her movements faltering when she notices your arrival. As you take the tea off the burner, Lydia sets aside her broom with an air of concern. “How’ve you been?” she asks, her voice filled with genuine care. “Fine,” you mumble, slumping into a seat at the table, exhaustion etched into your every move. “Fine?” Lydia echoes, her tone laden with skepticism. She folds her arms. “You’ve been just ‘fine’ for what’s felt like weeks. Are you ever going to get back out there?” “I’ve tried,” you utter, voice carried barely above a whisper. “And now you’ve stopped trying?” With a heavy sigh, you hang your head, feeling the weight of her frustration mingling with your own. Lydia’s been irritable lately; you don’t know why. But then, you haven’t been in a very good mood either… Maybe it’s rubbing off on her. “I’ll get back out there eventually, Lydia,” you say. “Sooner than later, I hope,” she replies. “I don’t like seeing you mope around my house like this.” “You can’t see me at all,” you reply pointedly. Lydia purses her lips. The tension lingers for a moment before you clear your throat and stand up. “The fire’s low. I’ll go get some kindling.” Before swiftly departing, you swipe a whiskey bottle off the shelf.   You find yourself seated on a weathered tree stump around the back, sipping from your half-empty drink. A scattered heap of sticks and branches rests at your feet, collected absentmindedly as you sought solace in the quiet of the fog. The gloomy morning haze blankets the woods, shrouding everything in its eerie embrace. The frigid cold in the air is mitigated by the alcohol in your blood. You’ll head back inside soon. But not before you drain the remaining contents of this bottle and can’t count your toes. You’re already well on your way, what with your vision dim and hazy, and your mouth tasting unbearably bitter. Waves of nausea arise, but you stubbornly suppress them. Gazing through half-lidded eyes at the foggy expanse, you let your mind wander without a care. A single question gnaws at the corners of your consciousness: you wonder if you’ll ever summon the courage to go back out there on your own. You’ve resigned yourself to festering in the cabin, away from your fears, obligations, and the company of others… If they could see you now—a pitiful, sad drunk—they’d point their fingers and say, “We told you so.” And they did, didn’t they? They warned you not to come out here, but you refused to listen, clinging tightly to your denial. It’s what keeps you going… Or, at least, it did. Now, you spend your waking hours consumed by uncertainty, wondering if you’ll ever regain your footing. These nights blend together in a haze, as a growing pit of futility settles deep within your being. With a final gulp, you drain the last remnants of your cold comfort and impulsively hurl the empty bottle at a nearby tree. The sound reverberates through the stillness, shattering the eerie quiet. But as you take a faltering step forward, something catches your bleary gaze—a silhouette emerging from the mist, a cloaked figure—a mere speck—etched against the foreboding backdrop. Your breath catches in your throat. “Danny?” you whisper hoarsely. But then your eyes narrow as you dismiss the possibility. “When pigs fly,” you scoff silently, knowing full well that spotting the furtive killer is an unlikely feat—unless he wants to be seen, that is. No, you reason. Black Vale? Imperiatti, even? You have watchers… It could be anyone. But either or, they can be useful. Another stroke of luck, and you can’t possibly let it slip through your fingers, despite your drunk impairment. Suddenly, the dark form retreats and dissolves within the dense fog. With anticipation surging through your veins, and a rekindling spark of purpose, you set off in pursuit.   With a relentless fervor, you storm through the woods after the elusive figure, undeterred even as spindly branches claw your clothes, and your haze grows dimmer and dimmer. The chase stretches on, seemingly endless, as every step you take fails to bring you any closer to your quarry. The dense fog obscures your vision, and every step forward is a gamble. Yet, fueled by an unwavering fire within, you press forward, your determination making you reckless and clumsy. And, so, it’s hardly a surprise when the ground suddenly gives way underfoot. A startled shout escapes your lips as gravity takes hold, propelling you into a chaotic descent down a perilous ravine. The world spins in a disorienting whirl as you collide with jagged rocks and branches, pain searing through your battered form. Your attempts to catch yourself are futile until you roll to a sprawling stop on your back on an even patch of ground beside a murmuring creek, groaning in pain. Bright colors dance across your vision as you gaze upward at the web of looming trees. A small, shuddering breath escapes your lips. “Damn,” you mutter. “Damn.” Darkness encroaches, threatening to steal your consciousness. But in your fleeting moments of awareness, you hear leaves crunching nearby, followed by a gruff, and strangely familiar sigh. “Hopeless,” comes an oddly familiar voice. You strain to recall the identity of the voice, your mind grasping at chips of recognition, but it slips away like sand through your fingers. And then, as if swallowed by the void, your world dissolves into darkness, leaving your unanswered questions lingering in the air…   ✱ ✱ ✱   You awaken abruptly, seated upright in a weathered wooden chair. Blaring carnival music assails your ears, a jovial cacophony of screeching strings and discordant melodies. With bleary vision, you blink and squint at a dim light hanging overhead, struggling to make sense of where you are. Gradually, clarity seeps in, and recognition gives you goosebumps. The Clown’s caravan—specifically, the interior of his carriage. You’ve been here before, and it brings with it a familiar dread as you recall the torture and pain, Poe’s death, and the filter-fried porno. Your stomach churns, and your mouth goes dry. Swallowing thickly, you try to move but quickly recognize that rope binds your wrists behind your back. Desperation fuels your futile struggle as you twist and contort, but the knots hold firm. With a heavy breath, you resign yourself to your fate, hanging your head in defeat. Same old song and dance; when the Clown arrives, you know full well what awaits you—threats, pain, and the chilling possibility of a slow, agonizing death… These killers don’t care for anything else. If it’s not the whispers guiding them, it’s the festering darkness inside. Some were born with it; some relish this torment. And none can see what you’re trying to do here… None care for it. Same old song and dance. Outside, you hear a throaty cough and a nasty laugh. The carriage shudders under the weight of heavy footfalls ascending the steps, heralding the imminent arrival of the Clown. The door swings open, and your gaze instinctively swivels to meet his presence as he barges inside, forcefully slamming the door shut behind him. A malicious grin adorns his face as he deftly twirls a blade on his finger. Blood stains the edge and drips down the hilt. Someone had a bad time. “It’s about time you woke your ass up,” he grumbles. “I found you out cold in the chapel, layin’ on a pew like a cadaver.” He snorts and spits a loogie on the floor at your feet. “Caught a whiff of your breath while I hauled your ass back ‘ere. Reeked of booze.” He chuckles. “Where’d you get the poisons, kid? I never pegged you for a drunk…” This is a trial, that’s obvious. Did you sleep through the entire match? Were your friends killed while you lay unconscious on a pew? Your brow furrows deeply in frustration. The Clown snatches a tonic off the shelf and pops the cork. “Got somethin’ for you that’ll fix that right up.” He shoves it in your face. A pungent aroma assaults your nose. “Drink,” he commands. Your tongue darts across your dry lips. “What is it?” you say hoarsely, struggling to muster your voice. “Somethin’ that’ll sober you right up,” says the Clown, his tone laced with wickedness. “I want you here for this.” Here for what? you wonder. But deep down, you have an inkling; you and the Clown aren’t on the best of terms, after all… You reject the offer with a defiant turn of your head. The Clown snatches your jaw with a vice-like grip, forcing your mouth open. He crams the bottle down your throat, making you gag while a river of bitter-tasting drink flows down your gullet. You choke it down until he wrenches the bottle away and hurls it to the floor. Wheezing, you sputter, “What… What the hell is that?” “Like I said,” says the Clown, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure, “it should sober you up. Just give it a fuckin’ moment to work its magic.” He grins and pivots on his heels. You observe the portly man collect a random assortment of tonics from the shelves. If your memory serves you, then he’s cooking up a cocktail that’ll turn your guts into soup… Or, perhaps this time he has something more diabolical in mind. You don’t want to see the aftermath of whatever nasty concoction he cooks up for you. “I-I’m trying,” you rasp. “I’m trying, Kenneth. I’m just trying to figure it all out—” The Clown whirls around, sneering, exuding so much loathing that it shuts you up. “I don’t know how you got my fuckin’ name, but I’m tired of hearin’ it come outta your mouth!” “I only know these things because I’m special!” you declare. “And I can learn so much more if you’d all just give me a CHANCE!” The Clown scoffs. “Oh? You’re special, huh? Is that what Mommy and Daddy told you? I bet they called you their precious ‘little angel’! And their ‘sweet lil thing’, too!” He hawks and spits a glob on the floor. Dragging his arm across his mouth and smearing his face paint, he mutters, “You ain’t shit, kid.” He hauls a rusty pot across the counter and empties three bottles into it. His potion fizzles and pops. Beads of sweat form on your forehead and trickle down your face. “B… Bastion will come for me,” you bluff. “You remember him, right? The big, scary fucker with all the teeth? He’s coming to protect me.” The Clown glances back at you, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Big boy with those nasty claws?” A sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “I remember ‘im, alright… Got pretty close and personal a couple of times already…” He closes the distance between you with heavy strides, leaning down and stealing your jaw in his iron grasp. He grins toothily, showing two rows of crooked, yellow teeth. “But we both know he ain’t comin’.” Your eyes grow big. “You-You don’t know—” “Oh, I know,” says the Clown, chuckling. “I know…” He relinquishes his grip and turns right around. You release a shaky breath but cling to your bluff. What choice do you have? “He will!” you shout. “He’ll be here, and when he arrives, you’re—!” The Clown swings around and clocks you upside the head. Pain explodes in your head as you bite your tongue and swallow a broken tooth, reeling from the impact. Stars streak across your hazy vision, and the Clown’s big, bulky shape is nothing more than a colorful blur. “He ain’t comin’!” he laughs cruelly. “You’ve been the talk of the fuckin’ town, kid! And rumor has it, you’re on your own.” He uses a ladle to transfer his concoction from the pot to a clear bottle. The liquid’s a nasty brown hue, with fizzy air bubbles that rush to the top and pop. It reeks of pennies and chemicals. The Clown gives it a swirl. You shake your head, growing more panicked by the second. “H-He’s coming,” you echo, wresting against your restraints. “He’s coming, and-and when he does—!” The Clown silences you when he squeezes your jaw. “Open that pretty mouth a yers,” he sneers. You clamp your mouth shut, but he applies excruciating pressure, forcing your jaws apart. He shoves the bottle past your teeth, shattering the rim and forcing the nasty concoction down your throat. It’s hot and burns like acid going down. You sputter and choke until the last drop scalds your tongue. Stepping back, the Clown eagerly observes the effects of his potion. A searing heat engulfs your entire being, compressing your chest like a red-hot iron and boiling your organs. You scream, digging your nails into the flesh of your palms and tensing so hard your bones ache under the pressure. Colorful specks dance before your fading vision, and the pain bubbles up in your gut. It’s killing you, whatever it is, melting you from the inside. You have minutes left, you wager. Moments, if you’re lucky. But amidst the torment, a voice whispers in the depths of your mind. Though you struggle to comprehend its message, you gauge its significance. You should hurt him, shouldn’t you? Hurt him for all the pain he’s inflicted upon you. Yes, you will, the voice whispers coherently in your ears, urging you on. We will. Summoning your remaining strength, you seethe at the Clown through gritted teeth. “You fuckers never learn,” you hiss, a volatile mix of anger and pain coursing through your trembling form. “You can’t fuck with me.” The Clown smirks, amused by your defiance. With a swift swing of his blade, he slashes your face, carving a deep, crimson gash across your cheek. It oozes blood, but you hardly wince. A cackle arises in your throat. “You can’t fuck with me!” you scream. Growing pressure in your chest becomes unbearably painful, and you laugh through each gasping sob. “You-You can’t fuck with me!” Pain shoots like currents of electricity beneath your ribcage, igniting a growl as you sheer flesh from your palms with your nails. “You can’t FUCK WITH ME!” Something surges within you. A switch flips. The sound of breaking bones resonates in your ears, reminiscent of a colossal tree snapping in half. The pain escalates to an excruciating level as an eruption of spiny, black claws burst from your chest, tearing through flesh and shattering bone in their path. A scream erupts from your throat as the otherworldly talons impale the Clown. Choking and gazing through a crimson haze, your body convulses uncontrollably. Something hot gushes from your nose, ears, and eyes, coating your face and trembling lips with a taste of blood. Searing pain ripples through every inch of your body, setting your nerves ablaze. You wail in agony, recoiling with such force that you topple over in the chair, crashing onto the floor. The Clown’s lifeless body keels over in front of you, a mess of blood and gore. Writhing helplessly, you scream and moan in a cacophony of agony and terror. The claws continue to extend from your bloody chest cavity, twitching, and curling, grasping at your limbs. You can feel them inside, plucking at your nerves and trespassing upon the surface of your organs. Dimness and haze engulf your vision, accompanied by a roaring sound that drowns out your own screams. It becomes the last thing you perceive as the world dissolves into oblivion around you…   ✱ ✱ ✱   You’re in the dark place, sitting up to your waist in the black pool. Silence hangs heavy, broken only by your own heartbeat pounding rhythmically in your ears. Suddenly, a familiar male voice pierces the darkness from behind you. “You’re changing.” Startled, you swivel your head, your eyes widening as they meet the sight of a figure draped in a dark robe, holding a flickering torch. Struggling to gather yourself, you rise unsteadily to your feet, licking your dry lips before managing to speak in a hoarse voice. “Wh… What?” “You’re changing,” the stranger echoes. “Becoming like the last one.” Confusion etches across your face as you take a hesitant step forward, furrowing your brow. “The last one? The last what?” Your outstretched fingertips brush against an invisible barrier, puzzling you. You press both hands against its unseen surface. The stranger remains on the other side, unreachable. “What the hell is this?” you croak. The stranger imparts, “You’re becoming dangerous.” “Tell me what that means,” you demand. He doesn’t. You grow frustrated. “Hey!” you shout, slamming a fist on the barrier. To your surprise, it cracks like grass. The cracks—thin, twinkling lines on its surface—extend like fibers of a web. The stranger jumps as if startled. He takes two steps back, and you hear another faint voice behind him, a woman, presumably. “She’s breaking through?” You don’t know what’s going on, and they refuse to say. Frustration becomes anger. “Tell me!” you scream at him, pounding on the barrier. The cracks grow and multiply. Another voice urgently shouts, “Viel the mirror!” The robed stranger exhales shakily. You pound your fists on the surface with as much strength as you can muster. “Tell me! Tell me SOMETHING!” Amidst your rage, a sensation crawls up your throat. You gag and retch black ooze on the invisible barrier. Overwhelmed and weakened, your legs give way beneath you, and you collapse to your knees, your voice reduced to a rasping whisper. “Tell me,” you plead, your words barely audible. “Please…” The robed man brandishes a dark curtain. With a large flourish, he vanishes out of sight. You draw in a shuddering breath. When the whispers come, you slap your hands over your ears in a futile effort to block them out.   ✱ ✱ ✱   As consciousness returns, your gaze lifts to meet a muggy, dark sky. Against the backdrop of grey clouds, the silhouette of a chapel steeple emerges, while distant carnival music floats faintly in the air. The world quakes. The Collapse is upon you. You never left the trial. Swallowing thickly, you sit up, only to realize that your body has miraculously healed. The remnants of your previous agony are evident in your shredded garments and the bloodstains they bear. The claws are gone. But those claws, they… they were real. It’s what happened to Bryce, isn’t it? It’s that sickness he wrote about—the agonizing, growing pains in his chest that swelled up and tore out of him. And as he said, they came to your defense, didn’t they? The Clown almost had you, he did, even, but then they came. What’s happening to you? What IS it? Bryce didn’t even know, and he had more knowledge you. If you— A whisper in the recesses of your mind quells your frantic thoughts. And the whispers intensify, commanding you to rise. As the world trembles, you stagger to your feet. Walk, the voices command. So, you comply. You’re lulled into a hazy, mindless state as your legs carry you toward the shack in the distance. Enveloped in a haze, your mind grows numb. A deep rumble reverberates around you, and when you lose your balance, a claw erupts from the earth, catching you and nudging you closer to your destination, guiding you purposefully. With faltering steps, you stagger through the door and stumble down the steps as the whispers and the voices grow more frenzied and desperate. When you step foot on the basement floor, a jolt races up your spine. Collapsing to your knees at the base of the hooks, you grasp the beam to steady yourself. Head hung low, teeth gritted, your body tenses and your limbs become paralyzed. Each breath escaping your lips quickens, growing shallow. Amidst the chaotic chorus, a single word emerges, recurring like a haunting refrain. “Veins,” they murmur. You trace your fingers along the cold, metal grooves of the hook’s base, feeling a surge of power pulsating beneath your fingertips. “Our veins,” the voices echo, with growing fervor. “Veins?” you rasp. Embers flicker from the cracks in the floor as the world trembles and shakes. Your stomach churns, and you tightly shut your eyes. But instead of darkness, a brilliant light engulfs you, and you become weightless. As you open your eyes, you find yourself lying on a moonlit beach. Icy black sand slips through your fingers like cascading waves. Turning your head, you gaze at the choppy waters that crash upon the shore, and you blink at the dark crystalline sky. But suddenly, the sky ruptures, revealing a furious haze of red and orange, and menacing obsidian claws descend from the swirling clouds like a tempest. “Reborn,” the chorus sings. The sand burns hot beneath you, and a scream escapes your lips as you try to escape its scorching touch. But then, inexplicably, it begins to glow, and you’re abruptly swallowed by an unfathomable abyss, careening into darkness. It only lasts for a second, before you crash violently on the ground. Dazed and disoriented, you lift your pounding head, only to be assailed by a cacophony of screams and terror that fills the air around you. You find yourself standing in a dark city terrorized by giant spiders. Wide-eyed, you scramble to your feet, mouth agape in terror and awe. With two staggering steps backward, the world is swept away, and you’re someplace else: roaring flames besiege a medieval village ravaged by otherworldly monsters. A pungent stench of smoke, sulfur, and death overwhelms your senses. Fear clenches your heart as you struggle to regain your composure, spinning wildly in an attempt to make sense of your nightmarish surroundings. Before you can fully grasp the dire situation, searing pain erupts in your back, causing you to stagger and collapse to your knees. Your hand clutches the slender shaft of an arrow embedded between your shoulder blades. Gritting your teeth, you tear it out and toss it aside. Before you can even regain your footing, a colossal monster lands before you, its presence trembling the ground and knocking you down. It boasts outstretched, leathery wings, multiple eyes, sharp claws, and taut charcoal skin. An ominous aura emanates from the fleshy creature. Its slitted red eyes blink at you before it emits a chilling chuckle, tauntingly uttering the words, “You’re learning.” Fear courses through your veins, paralyzing you. And then it’s all gone. Abruptly, you’re hurtling through a stormy sky, surrounded by thunderous roars and dark tempestuous clouds. You plunge into the churning tides below before breaking the surface, gasping for air. The merciless waves thrash you about, their power overwhelming your every attempt to stay afloat. You’re dragged deeper and deeper into the inky black depths. Your body convulses. You’re choking, drowning—   And then you wake up. As quickly as it all came, it’s all gone. You gape at a moonlit sky through a web of spindly tree branches. You’re cold; everything’s cold. To your astonishment, you’re soaking wet, and searing pain lingers between your shoulder blades. It was all real, wasn’t it? You sit up, wincing, and startle to find a small, blue-eyed crow sitting at your side. Your heart leaps. “Poe?” you rasp. When you reach out for him, he takes flight and disappears. Dejection tugs at your lips. Sighing, you struggle to your feet, hugging a nearby tree for support. Your legs tremble unsteadily. What more to do now than to go home and speculate? As you turn around, you halt. A woman stands before you: she has bouncy red hair, a heavily freckled face, pursed lips, and round frames sitting on her nose. She also wears a very nice hat. You gawk at her. She stares right back, her lips curled up. Then, out of the blue, she pips. “Oh!” she exclaims, her brow wrinkling while a sheepish smile besets her expression. “I should, erm… probably introduce myself.” She thrusts out her hand, still smiling. “I’m Mikaela.” You stare dumbly. Mikaela clears her throat and retracts her hand. “I-I know this might all sound crazy, but… I KNOW you.”     You find yourself at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond. Mikaela’s expression flickers between sheepishness, awkwardness, and a twitchy, nervous smile before she clears her throat once more. “I-I know this probably doesn’t make any sense, considering this is our first actual meeting, but—” She pauses abruptly, scrunching her nose and swiftly shaking her head. “Let me start from the beginning.” She inhales and exhales, gathering her thoughts. “Okay, so, when I say I ‘know’ you, I mean that I’ve seen you before. In-in my dreams, mostly, before I was brought here. But I understand that you’re special. I-I don’t know the full extent of your, erm… specialness, though.” A sense of déjà vu washes over you. Who is she? You wrinkle your brow. Licking your lips, you say, “You sound… familiar.” Mikaela’s eyes light up. “Yes! As I said, I’ve seen you in my dreams. And I think you might have seen me, too. You called out to me once, but I couldn’t reach you.” She flourishes her arm, going on to say, “Anyway, I didn’t know what to think of it at first, because this was a WHILE ago—like, before I was taken. I didn’t know if it was just a weird dream, or maybe a distant memory, but… you’re real, and I know about everything you’ve been trying to do here.” “How?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know all this?” “Because I’m special too,” says Mikaela, smiling softly. “Before I came here, I had seen glimpses of this place in my dreams. I’ve witnessed the suffering, monsters, and-and the other survivors around the campfire! I’ve seen it all. So, maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that I wound up here.” Suddenly, her smile wilts, and her gaze becomes distant. “My… My friend was taken by the thing that takes everyone. I’m determined to find him. We can save everyone, and we can do it together.” She kneels in front of you, placing a hand on your shoulder. With a hopeful smile, she says, “We can work together. And I think the both of us can really make a difference here. If we—oh my GOSH! You’re bloody—you’re bleeding?!” She withdraws her hand, eyes widening as she discerns the blood on her palm and the gruesome stains on your jacket. “Eek! What happened?!” You wave away her concern dismissively. “It’s nothing,” you say. “It’ll heal.” “But— Your ears are bleeding too! Why are your ears bleeding?!” Mikaela assesses your injuries like a doting mother. You push away from her as you stand up. “I’m fine,” you insist. “You wanna talk? Let’s do it someplace where I can dry off and change into a fresh pair of clothes…” “The campfire’s back that—” “No,” you interrupt her. You won’t go back to the campfire; not in this current state.“I know a place,” you say.   ✱ ✱ ✱   You stride past the front porch, accompanied by your doe-eyed new companion. As you reach for the doorknob, Mikaela stirs up a commotion behind you. “I’ve seen this place, too!” she exclaims. “The ‘Fog Haven.’ It’s a refuge from the troubles that pervade the fog, and home to the hero of our story.” Her bright smile makes you nauseous. “Which is you, by the way, in case you couldn’t, uh… tell.” You’re given pause. “You think this is a story?” “It is, in a way. See, back in the real world, when I thought all this was just some weird dream, I used it as inspiration for the stories I told during open mic night at the café.” She brandishes a triumphant fist, grinning. “And in those stories, you were the daring hero! Someone who fearlessly navigated the fog to venture far and wide in search of answers! My audience loved you, by the way. You, and Poe, and Bastion—” The mere mention of his name sends a sharp pang through your chest. You grimace and dismiss the notion. “If you know anything about Bastion, then you know he can’t be trusted. I trusted him, and it’s turned out to be a mistake on more than one occasion…” You forcefully swing open the door and storm inside with Mikaela hot on your heels. “I-I know it’s probably a touchy subject, if everything I’ve seen is true, but… I mean, he’s helped out at least a little, right? And my listeners absolutely adored his charm—” “Mikaela,” you sharply interrupt her. She falls silent, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” Making your way toward the kitchen, you’re taken aback by Lydia’s absence. But it’s probably for the best; she doesn’t need to know you’ve brought another stranger into her home… Pulling out a chair at the table, you have a seat, wincing in pain. Your wound is healing, albeit slowly. Mikaela follows suit, settling across from you with an impish smile playing on her lips. “So,” she begins, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the surface, “where do we start?” “I’ll start by telling you this is a mistake,” you say. “You don’t want any part of this. Everything you’ve seen is very real, and you should know you’re trying to bite off more than you can chew. It’s not a daring adventure, and there’s no happy ending in sight. It’s just obstacle after obstacle, and I’m barely managing to get by as is.” “That’s why I think we need to work together!” Mikaela argues. “With my sight, and your… everything else, I think we can make this work!” She jabs the tabletop with a fingernail. “I can see things: people and places out there in the fog! And maybe I can help guide you to them! For instance, there’s this man—” “You really think it’s that simple?” you interject bitterly. “That you can just go out there and find the answers? Because it’s not. I’ve gone out there hundreds of times, and I still don’t have shit to show for it; just trauma and scars.” You slump back in your chair, frowning. “I’m trying to save you the trouble, Mikaela. You haven’t been here for nearly as long as I have. It’s not a walk in the park.” Mikaela sucks her teeth. “Actually… I’ve been here for a minute.” She adjusts her glasses, adding, “I’ve been popping in around camp for some time, just hoping I’d finally get a chance to meet you, but, erm… you never come around, I guess.” She chuckles lightly. “The others did say you were ‘elusive’…” “Right,” you mutter. “Not in a bad way!” Mikaela quickly clarifies. “It’s cute, the way they all described you: mysterious, sneaky, and you like to creep around camp sometimes to sit and chat… You’re like a cryptid.” Seeing your unamused expression, Mikaela clears her throat. “Anyway, since I couldn’t find you around camp, I finally decided to come out here in search of you on my own. We had to meet. In all my dreams, I saw you exploring the fog. And no matter how many times it knocked you down, you always rose to your feet, ready to face it again.” “I didn’t have a choice,” you reply, scowling. “But you do,” Mikaela insists. “You haven’t given up yet! You could be brooding around camp like everyone else, but you aren’t. And that’s why I’m here.” “You’re HERE because you think this is all some big fairy tale!” you snap, shooting out of your chair. “—That we’ll go out there together and it’ll be sunshine and rainbows! But it’s NOT!” You point accusingly at her. “I walk through Hell every night, facing off against people and monsters that want to fuck and kill me, and-and you think—!” You cut yourself off, the words choking in your throat. Tears well up in your eyes, but you shut them tight and shake your head. “You’re wrong, Mikaeala. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong.” Doubt seeps in once again, like shadows cast by a setting sun. The weight of your fear and uncertainty rests heavily on your shoulders, leaving your mouth dry and giving you cause to slump back in your chair with a furrowed brow. The silence stretches between you and Mikaela, neither knowing what more to say. You hang your head, surrendering to it. But Mikaela’s voice breaks the silence, cutting through the despair like a bolt of lightning. “No, YOU’RE wrong!” she exclaims, her eyes blazing with conviction. You jerk upright, startled, as she leans across the table to jab you pointedly in the shoulder. “I have seen EVERYTHING you’ve accomplished so far, and it’s no small feat, all right? What you’ve done here is amazing, and it’s all of that which inspired my stories!” She takes your hand gently and leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “Back home, people were rooting for you, and I still am,” she confides, her eyes shimmering with reverence. A long minute of silence comes to pass. Her words breathe life into your weary soul, reigniting the fading ember of hope within you. For a fleeting instant, the weight that burdens your shoulders starts to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. But just as quickly as it appears… …the embers fade, and the light extinguishes once again. You’ve been through this cycle before—brief moments of respite followed by crushing disappointment. There’s no real solace to be found here, no matter how desperately you try to hold on. Your expression hardens once more as you raise an eyebrow. “Why are you holding my hand?” Mikaela’s face flickers with embarrassment, and she hastily releases her grasp. “Ah! I, uh… I just sorta feel a connection to you, you know? I-I mean, we’ve been dream buddies for months! And I feel like I’ve been with you every step of your journey…” A blush tinges her cheeks as she looks away, clearing her throat before smiling and meeting your resolute gaze once again. “Please, just give it some thought,” she says. “I know you aren’t done here. You’re stronger than this, and you won’t quit anytime soon.” You want to believe her, but it’s become incredibly challenging. As you rise from your seat, intending to show Mikaela the door, a knock interrupts the silence. Both of you freeze, tension gripping your bodies as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Who could it be? Danny? Another killer, come to pay you a friendly visit? The possibilities make your stomach flip. You want to run and hide, but you find yourself paralyzed. Mikaela side-eyes you with a puzzled look on her face. “Are you expecting company? Does anyone else even know you’re out here?” You swallow. “I’ve had visitors before…” Steeling yourself, you collect a kitchen knife from the drawer, making Mikaela’s eyes widen. “Wait, could it be a…?” “There’s only one way to find out,” you reply, advancing towards the door. Mikaela follows closely behind, gripping a fire poker in her hand. You come to a halt, beads of sweat forming on your brow, and your fingers trembling around the knife’s hilt. Another forceful knock resonates through the door. Sharing an apprehensive glance with Mikaela, you take a deep breath and wrench the door open. And there, standing before you is—   Felix (❤) Élodie (❤) Felix and Élodie     It’s Felix. Your racing heart slows to a calm, and a deep sigh of relief escapes your parted lips. That is, until you recall your last venture together, and the way it had gone so horribly awry… Swallowing thickly, you elbow Mikaela and quickly say, “I don’t want company, sorry. Mikaela’s actually going now—” Mikaela pips. “Hey! At least think about what I’ve said, please? I’ll come by later and we can talk—” “Later, sure,” you say, ushering her out the door past Felix. “We’ll talk later!” You try to close the door, but Felix shoves his way inside. “We need to talk,” he says, huffing. You open your mouth to object, but he slams the door shut and fixes the lapels of his jacket, sighing. When he finally meets your eyes, you avoid his steely gaze, shifting your stare elsewhere but at him. He clears his throat. You swallow. “Felix,” you begin, sheepishly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t— We shouldn’t—” “I know,” he says, his features softening. “There’s a lot to discuss.” You drop your guard and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” you croak. “About before, when… When Bastion—” You cut off, grimacing. “I-I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d known what he’d do. I wouldn’t have led you down there if I’d known, I swear.” Felix silently walks past you toward the kitchen, beckoning you to follow. You join him at the kitchen table, having a seat and hanging your head. You can feel his gaze boring into you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. “So, you’ve met Mikaela,” he says. “I have,” you murmur. “Did you tell her everything you told us? About your guardian angel, and the way you’ll find all the answers?” “No, actually,” you reply hoarsely. “I… I tried to steer her away. I told her she doesn’t want any part of this… I can’t do to her what I’ve done to you and Élodie.” You scoff and cradle your head. “I’m sorry, Felix. I should’ve told you everything I know about Bastion, but the truth is, I hardly know a damn thing about him, myself. But he’s a killer. He may have broken his chains, but deep down, he’s just a killer, and there’s no changing that… He’s dangerous, and I should’ve warned you both. I never should’ve—” “It’s okay,” Felix interrupts. You glance upward, surprised by the softness of his tone. He shifts and leans over the table, propping his elbows and clasping his hands. His blue eyes are like calm waves. “You’re trying. I can—we both—can see that. What happened was… unfortunate, but we’re all just trying to find a foothold and figure this out.” You nod. Felix leans back, shrugging. “Your friend, Bastion, he’s… He is dangerous, but we can’t give up because of a little hiccup in the road. Élodie and I, we’re still in. But we need to know that you are.” “I-I am,” you stammer quickly. “I am, but…” Trailing off, you shake your head and wrinkle your brow. “It’s… I don’t know, Felix. I’ve fallen off the wagon… I don’t know what I’m doing.” “Happens to the best of us,” Felix says softly. It becomes quiet again. You sit in silence for a minute before sliding out of your seat and walking toward the stove to put some tea on. You can feel Felix’s eyes on your back while you rummage through the cupboards for a kettle. Maybe he sees the blood and your torn clothing and wonders what fresh Hell you’ve been through. You wonder if you should tell him everything you’ve discovered: your new abilities, Bryce, the claws… “Élodie and I have been too hard on you,” says Felix, interrupting your swirling thoughts. “We know it hasn’t been easy. And when we hear that you haven’t been around camp, we’ve grown worried…” “I’ve been getting that a lot,” you mutter. “For good reason,” replies Felix. You put the kettle on and retake your seat at the table. “I’m fine.” The look on your face says otherwise. Felix reads you clear as day. “If you need a break—” “I don’t.” “If you do, then have one,” he says. “Don’t kill yourself trying to figure everything out on your own.” “I’m not.” Felix’s brow furrows. His eyes wander around the room, faltering on the empty bottles and spirits on the shelves. A frown tugs at his lips, and he grimaces as if tasting something bitter. He lowers his head and grunts. “We all could use a break.” The tense atmosphere instills a pit in your stomach. You clear your throat and hastily change the subject. “I’d also like to apologize for… you know.” Felix raises an eyebrow. You make a motion with your hands. “You know, before, when I, uh… I-I guess I was hitting on you, but I had absolutely no idea you were married—” “Ah!” Felix sharply interrupts. “Oh, em… I—” “I mean, I should’ve known, because you’re just so—! Look at you! Right? And you’re smart, too!” You let out a nervous laugh. “You’re a catch, right?” Felix chuckles awkwardly. “I… Thank you.” “Yep,” you say, smiling like an idiot. “Mm-hmm. Your soon-to-be wife, or-or husband, or… partner, is so lucky.” Felix wears a sheepish smile. “Wife,” he says. “And I consider myself the lucky one.” You smile and knock on the table. “So, what are you looking forward to? Getting back home, getting married, building some cool shit?” “And starting a family,” Felix says, nodding. “My fiancé is pregnant.” “Wow!” you exclaim, surprised. “You’re daddy!” Felix’s eyes go wide. You catch yourself quickly, your face flushing a deep red. “I-I mean, you’re going to be a daddy! A father, right? Cool! Congrats!” Felix laughs. “Hopefully,” he says. Then, sighing, he adds, “But… I’ve been gone for so long, and sometimes I worry that she’s already moved on…” He frowns. “And… And I don’t know.” He falls silent, hanging his head and scratching the back of his neck. You offer him what little reassurance you can. “If she loves you, she’ll wait, Felix. She’ll wait for as long as she needs to.” And, in a bid to lighten the mood, you playfully add, “Because you’re just such a catch, you know? It’d be pretty crazy to let you go.” You exchange partial smiles. Felix nods and leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “What about you?” he asks. “Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?” “Me? Psshh—” You make a dismissive motion with your hand. “Nah… No one; nothing romantic, anyway…” “Really?” Felix says, sounding surprised. “But you’re a catch yourself. I think someone’s missing out.” You laugh. “You don’t need to flatter me. I don’t think anyone’ll want me when I get outta here… I’m a mess now. Got all this emotional baggage and trauma, and it’s too much for anyone to handle. This place has done a number on me, and it’s not a number anyone wants.” A smile tugs at Felix’s lips. “You’re too harsh on yourself.” “Hm…” “Really,” Felix says with a chuckle. “You’re charming, headstrong, kind; a catch. And if I wasn’t engaged—” He stops himself quickly, a troubling look crossing his expression. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by a sheepish smile. “If I wasn’t engaged, then…” Then he trails off, pausing. Suddenly, he raps his knuckles on the tabletop and shoots to his feet, changing the subject. “I should go,” he says, clearing his throat. “I was supposed to check in on you and report back to Élodie.” “You should stay for tea,” you invite. “Ah, but you know how she is,” Felix says. He turns around and swiftly retreats for the door. But before he can make his hasty departure, you make him pause when you exclaim, “Ah, wait! I’ve got some things for you and Élodie to have a look at—” You rush to the study and gather an armful of journals containing Bryce’s notes and findings. Handing them off to Felix, you say, “It’s a long story, but I met a guy out here, and he gave me some information that you and Élodie should look over.” “You met a guy?” Felix questions, raising an eyebrow. “Like I said; long story.” You fold your arms and prop up against the door frame. “Thank you for stopping by, Felix. It feels good to clear the air between us, after what happened—” “Was this guy handsome—?” “—because it’s something that’s been bugging me for a long time, and—” “When did you meet—” “—it’s a weight off my shoulders, y’know?” You smile. Felix pauses for a minute before slowly nodding his head. “Yes… Of course. I’m in a devoted relationship, and you’re free to do—SPEAK to whomever you want.” He smiles awkwardly. Then he clears his throat, messes with his collar, and spins around to walk out the door. But he stops, hesitating when he looks back over his shoulder. “It was good speaking with you,” he says. “I’ll return with Élodie soon, so we can discuss what comes next. We’re still in this together.” Your heart flutters. Felix walks away and disappears beyond the veil of fog. A hiss cuts through your swirling thoughts, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. It dawns on you that you haven’t had tea in a minute; it’s been alcohol and poison these past nights, to wash down your fear, and stifle your angst. You can use a hot cup of tea.   Continue     It’s Élodie. Your racing heart slows to a calm, and a deep sigh of relief escapes your parted lips. That is, until you recall your last venture together, and the way it had gone so horribly awry… Swallowing thickly, you elbow Mikaela and quickly say, “I don’t want company, sorry. Mikaela’s actually going now—” Mikaela pips. “Hey! At least think about what I’ve said, please? I’ll come by later and we can talk—” “Later, sure,” you say, ushering her out the door past Élodie. “We’ll talk later!” You try to close the door, but Élodie shoves her way inside. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she says, huffing. You open your mouth to object, but she slams the door shut and crossly folds her arms. When she finally meets your eyes, you avoid her steely gaze, shifting your stare everywhere but at her. She clears her throat. You swallow. “Élodie,” you begin, sheepishly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t— We shouldn’t—” “We shouldn’t, what? Talk?” she interrupts, her features softening. “But we need to.” You drop your guard and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” you croak. “About before, when… When Bastion—” You cut off, grimacing. “I-I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d known what he’d do. I wouldn’t have led you down there if I’d known, I swear.” Élodie silently walks past you toward the kitchen, beckoning you to follow. You join her at the kitchen table, having a seat and hanging your head. You can feel her gaze boring into you, but you refuse to meet her eyes. “I see you’ve met Mikaela,” she says. “I have,” you murmur. “Did you sell her the same pitch you sold us? About your guardian angel, and the way you’ll find all the answers?” “No, actually,” you reply hoarsely. “I… I tried to steer her away. I told her she doesn’t want any part of this… I can’t do to her what I’ve done to you and Felix.” You scoff and cradle your head. “I’m sorry, Élodie. I should’ve told you everything I know about Bastion, but the truth is, I hardly know a damn thing about him, myself. But he’s a killer. He may have broken his chains, but deep down, he’s just a killer, and there’s no changing that… He’s dangerous, and I should’ve warned you both. I never should’ve—” “I understand,” Élodie interrupts. You glance upward, surprised by the softness of her tone. She shakes her head and sighs, leaning over the table and propping her head on her hand. Her brown eyes are like glimmering orbs of amber in the sun. “I can see you’re trying… I can—we both—can see that. What happened was a mistake, but we all make those.” You nod. Élodie leans back, shrugging. “Your creepy pal, Bastion, he’s dangerous, but we can’t give up because of a little hiccup in the road. Felix and I, we’re still in. But we need to know that you are.” “I-I am,” you stammer quickly. “I am, but…” Trailing off, you shake your head and wrinkle your brow. “It’s… I don’t know, Élodie. I’ve fallen off the wagon… I don’t know what I’m doing.” “No one said you had to have all the answers,” Élodie says softly. It becomes quiet again. You sit in silence for a minute before sliding out of your seat and walking toward the stove to put some tea on. You can feel Élodie’s eyes on your back while you rummage through the cupboards for a kettle. Maybe she sees the blood and your torn clothing and wonders what fresh Hell you’ve been through. You wonder if you should tell her everything you’ve discovered: your new abilities, Bryce, the claws… “I’ve been too hard on you,” says Élodie, interrupting your swirling thoughts. “But we know it hasn’t been easy. And hearing that you haven’t been around camp is worrying…” “I’ve been getting that a lot,” you mutter. “For good reason,” replies Élodie. You put the kettle on and retake your seat at the table. “I’m fine.” The look on your face says otherwise. Élodie reads you clear as day. “You don’t need to pretend—” “I’m not.” “You are, but you don’t have to. If you need a break, have one,” she says. “Don’t kill yourself trying to figure everything out on your own.” “I’m not.” Élodie’s brow furrows. Her eyes wander around the room, faltering on the empty bottles and spirits on the shelves before meeting your gaze again. She shakes her head. “We can all use a break.” The tense atmosphere instills a pit in your stomach. Élodie breaks the silence, sighing. “I should be the one apologizing,” she murmurs, her eyes flitting toward yours. “For being so damn hard on you, and…” She trails off, frowning as she rubs her temples. “This shit hasn’t been easy on anyone, especially you. It was unfair of me to put so much blame on you.” “I understand,” you reply quietly. “I haven’t exactly lived up to my title…” “None of us have,” Élodie says, scoffing. “I’ve been beating myself up for so many years, and I jumped at the opportunity to take out all that frustration on someone else for a change.” “Hey, if you need a shoulder to cry on, or a punching bag, you can lay it all on me. I’ve endured worse…” A wavering smile graces Élodie’s lips. “I think I’ve laid into you enough.” She falls silent again, dipping her head and muttering. You reach across the table and rest a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think it was your fault, Élodie,” you begin quietly. “It was just a dumb mistake—” “That dumb mistake got my parents taken from me,” Élodie interrupts sharply. “It got all of them taken. I orphaned us all because I went poking my nose where I shouldn’t have.” “You were just a kid,” you argue. “A kid with a craving for adventure. Y’know, like Dora—” Élodie’s laugh cuts you off. “Dora?” she says incredulously. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but Dora?” “Or Tomb Raider,” you suggest, smiling. “Gals with a knack for adventure.” Élodie snorts. “Well, if I’m Dora, then who are you?” “I’m still trying to figure that out.” Élodie leans back, humming. You rap the table with your knuckles. “So, what are you most looking forward to when this is all said and done?” “You make it sound so conceivable,” Élodie says, snorting, “getting out of here. Do you really believe we’ll figure this out?” You hesitate. For her sake, you nod. “I have to. Now, don’t dodge the question.” Élodie hums in thought. “I suppose I’ll do the same thing I always have. I was good at it, and I see no reason to quit.” “—Besides it being extremely dangerous, right?” “I loved the thrill of it,” Élodie replies, smiling. “And you?” she asks. “Do you have any plans for when we inevitably escape?” “I’m going to sleep for a long-ass time,” you say with a hint of humor. Élodie laughs. “You? But you already have the comfiest bed in the fog. Why do you of all people need more sleep?” “Hey, I offered half that bed to you. It’s not my fault you haven’t taken me up on the offer, yet.” “Yet?” says Élodie, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah; I’m sure you’ll come around eventually…” Élodie lets out a laugh, and it’s music to your ears. “Maybe I will,” she says, smirking. “Not tonight, but… another time.” She abruptly stands up, startling you. “I should go,” she says. “I came to check in and see how you were doing… And I’ll be getting back to Felix and telling him we’re still a go.” “You don’t want to stay for tea?” you ask. Élodie snickers. “If I stick around any longer, I’m afraid I’ll end up in bed with you.” Blush spans your cheeks. “Wait—” Élodie cuts you off, chuckling. “It’s too soon for that, anyway.” She turns around and heads for the door. But before she can make her hasty departure, you make her pause when you exclaim, “Ah, wait! I’ve got some things for you and Felix to have a look at—” You rush to the study and gather an armful of journals containing Bryce’s notes and findings. Handing them off to Élodie, you say, “It’s a long story, but I met a guy out here, and he gave me some information that you and Felix should look over.” “You met a guy?” Élodie questions, raising an eyebrow. “Like I said; long story.” You fold your arms and prop up against the door frame. “Thank you for stopping by, Élodie. It feels good to clear the air between us, after what happened—” “Tell me more about this guy—” “—because it’s something that’s been bugging me for a long time, and—” “When did you meet—” “—it’s a weight off my shoulders, y’know? I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about you coming after me in the woods with a burlap sack and rope again.” You smile. Élodie pauses for a minute before scoffing. “Well, you’re not entirely off the hook yet.” She turns around and steps out the door, once again pausing to look back. “I’m… I’m glad we had this talk,” she says. “I’ll return with Felix soon, so we can discuss what comes next. We’re still in this together.” Your heart flutters. Élodie walks away and disappears beyond the veil of fog. A hiss cuts through your swirling thoughts, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. It dawns on you that you haven’t had tea in a minute; it’s been alcohol and poison these past nights, to wash down your fear, and stifle your angst. You can use a hot cup of tea.   Continue     It’s Felix and Elodié. Your racing heart slows to a calm, and a deep sigh of relief escapes your parted lips. That is, until you recall your last venture together, and the way it had gone so horribly awry… Swallowing thickly, you elbow Mikaela and quickly say, “I don’t want company, sorry. Mikaela’s actually going now—” Mikaela pips. “Hey! At least think about what I’ve said, please? I’ll come by later and we can talk—” “Later, sure,” you say, ushering her out the door past the two. “We’ll talk later!” You try to close the door, but Elodié shoves her way inside, followed closely by Felix. “You can’t get rid of us that easily,” Elodié says, huffing. You open your mouth to object, but she slams the door shut and crossly folds her arms. Felix posts up beside her, a slightly milder expression on his face. You take care to avoid their eyes like they’re wild animals. Finally, Elodié clears her throat, breaking the silence. You swallow. “Guys,” you begin, sheepishly, fidgeting. “I-I don’t— We shouldn’t—” “We shouldn’t, what? Talk?” Elodié interrupts, her features softening. “We need to,” says Felix. “There’s a lot to discuss.” You drop your guard and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” you croak. “About before, when… When Bastion—” You cut off, grimacing. “I-I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d known what he’d do. I wouldn’t have led you both down there if I’d known, I swear.” Elodié and Felix silently walk past you toward the kitchen, beckoning you to follow. You join them at the kitchen table, having a seat and hanging your head. You can feel their gazes boring into you, but you refuse to meet their eyes. “I see you’ve met Mikaela,” Elodié says. “I have,” you murmur. “Did you tell her everything you told us?” Felix asks. “About your guardian angel, and the way you’ll find all the answers?” “No, actually,” you reply hoarsely. “I… I tried to steer her away. I told her she doesn’t want any part of this… I can’t do to her what I’ve done to you.” You scoff and cradle your head. “I’m sorry… I should’ve told you everything I know about Bastion, but the truth is, I hardly know a damn thing about him, myself. But he’s a killer. He may have broken his chains, but deep down, he’s just a killer, and there’s no changing that… He’s dangerous, and I should’ve warned you both. I never should’ve—” “We understand,” Elodié interrupts. You glance upward, surprised by the softness of her tone. She shakes her head and sighs, leaning over the table and propping her head on her hand. “We can see you’re trying… We can see that, and… and what happened was a mistake, but we all make those.” You nod. Felix murmurs, “Your friend, Bastion, he’s… He is dangerous, but we can’t give up because of a little hiccup in the road. And we’re still in. But we need to know that you are.” “I-I am,” you stammer quickly. “I am, but…” Trailing off, you shake your head and wrinkle your brow. “It’s… I don’t know. I’ve fallen off the wagon… I don’t know what I’m doing.” “No one said you had to have all the answers,” Elodié says softly. It becomes quiet again. You sit in silence for a minute before sliding out of your seat and walking toward the stove to put some tea on. You can feel your company’s eyes on your back while you rummage through the cupboards for a kettle. Maybe they see the blood and your torn clothing and wonder what fresh Hell you’ve been through. You wonder if you should tell them everything you’ve discovered: your new abilities, Bryce, the claws… “We’ve been too hard on you,” says Elodié, interrupting your swirling thoughts. “But we know it hasn’t been easy. And hearing that you haven’t been around camp is worrying…” “I’ve been getting that a lot,” you mutter. “For good reason,” interjects Felix. You put the kettle on and retake your seat at the table. “I’m fine.” The look on your face says otherwise. They read you clear as day. Elodié says, “You don’t need to pretend—” “I’m not.” “You are, but you don’t have to. If you need a break, have one,” she says. “Don’t kill yourself trying to figure everything out on your own.” “I’m not.” Elodié’s brow furrows. Her eyes wander around the room, and she and Felix notice the empty bottles and spirits on the shelves before meeting your gaze again. A frown tugs at Felix’s lips, and he grimaces as if tasting something bitter. Elodié shakes her head. “We can all use a break,” she utters. The tense atmosphere instills a pit in your stomach. Felix breaks the silence, sighing. “We only thought we should come to see how you were doing,” he says. “Have you found anything else since…?” “Yeah, yeah, just… I’ll show you.” You walk to the study and gather an armful of journals containing Bryce’s notes and findings: Laying them out over the table, you say, “It’s a long story, but I met a guy out here, and he gave me some information that you both should look over. Maybe you’ll make something of it.” Felix, nodding, gathers your findings. Elodié peruses them with curious eyes. “We’ll head back to camp and go over everything,” she says. “This man you met”—Felix begins, making a motion with his hands—“Can we…?” “He’s gone,” you interrupt, dipping your head. “That’s all he left behind.” They share an uneasy look before heading for the door. “We’ll get out of your hair in the meantime,” says Elodié. “If you need a minute, we’ll give it to you. After all, the ball is in your court.” “Mm,” you grunt. Before they leave, you sigh heavily and sheepishly scratch your nape. “Thank you for stopping, both of you. It’s… it’s good that we cleared the air after everything that happened.” “It is,” says Felix, looking back. He gives a small nod, murmuring, “We’re still in this together, despite some obvious… setbacks.” “As long as you can keep your Eldritch friend on a leash, that is,” says Elodié. “He’s turning out more trouble than he’s worth…” “That he is,” you mutter. They share no more words with you. Felix pats you on the shoulder, and Elodié leads the way out the door and beyond the veil of fog. As soon as they vanish from sight, a hiss cuts through the air, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. It dawns on you that you haven’t had tea in a minute; it’s been alcohol and poison these past nights, to wash down your fear, and stifle your angst. You can use a hot cup of tea.   Continue     You’ve been taking things one small step at a time. While you’ve anxiously awaited Felix and Elodie’s return, you’ve been trying to take it easy. Well, as easy as you can, anyway, despite the occasional trial that comes around, and the nightmares that rob you of a decent night’s sleep… In the meantime, you’ve kept off the bottle and have carefully considered Mikaela’s offer, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, if she’s as special as she’s led you to believe, you’d be hard-pressed to pass up her support. On the other hand, it’s asking a lot of her, and you’re unsure if you’re willing to drag someone else into your sinking boat… But, well… you’re all slowly sinking anyway, aren’t you? It’s given you a lot to think about, but it’s not a choice you’ll make lightly.   You sit at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of tea and drumming your fingers along the edge of a bare plate. Lydia appears behind you, gliding across the floor with a broom in hand. She hums contentedly. “Lydia,” you say. “You go out there into the fog, don’t you? I’ve been missing you lately…” “I like my evening strolls,” she replies flippantly, a smile tugging at her lips. Her blind gaze seeks yours. “I’ve got nothin’ to worry about out there. Everything’s more afraid of me than I am of it.” You raise an eyebrow. “And why’s that?” “Because I’m an old lady with a temper and a broomstick,” she replies with a light chuckle. “Besides, I can’t be afraid of nothin’ if I can’t see it.” “Hmm. Ignorance is bliss…” “That it is,” says Lydia. She leans her broom against the wall and wipes her hands up and down her frock. “You seem to be in a better mood lately. Something happen?” “More like nothing’s happened,” you reply. “Haven’t had a killer beating down your door in a minute… Which is entirely too suspect.” “Be glad,” Lydia says with a hint of amusement. “I sure am…” She gathers an armful of ingredients and a large mixing bowl. “You sticking around for some breakfast?” You’d like to. But the fog has other plans for you. In an instant, you’re no longer sitting at the table in the warmth of Lydia’s cabin. Instead, you find yourself standing amid a freezing, snowy landscape. Creeping black tendrils snake down your legs and vanish. Fierce winds howl past, giving you cause to wrap your arms firmly around yourself to fend off the nipping cold. Through the blizzard, you see a large, wooden lodge, and supply sheds and snowplows. You scoff. Mount Ormond Resort—your least favorite of all the trial grounds. Not only because of the bone-chilling cold, or the icy-to-the-touch generators, but because it brings back haunting memories. You want out as soon as possible.   You enter the lodge and find a generator against the bottom stair landing. Kneeling beside it, you get fast to work. And for five minutes, you work uninterrupted, which… surprises you. Suddenly, you become aware of how unnervingly quiet it is. You lean away from the generator with a furrowed expression on your face. There’s been not one sighting of a camper, or killer. What’s going on? As you rise to your feet, a low, wooden groan resonates through the lodge, shaking loose dust from the ceiling. Your eyebrow raises in curiosity as you look up. Curiosity killed the cat, singsongs a tiny voice in the back of your head. —but satisfaction brought it back, chimes in another. You can’t help yourself; being nosy’s your whole gimmick! Cautiously, you climb the stairs and peek your head into each and every cluttered room and broom closet, until you happen upon a partially open door. Hesitating, you flatten your hand on its surface and push. The door swings wide open with a low groan, revealing a startling sight within. A teenage girl sits on the floor beneath a gaping hole in the ceiling. She wears a large, green hoodie with the hood pulled over her head, and her oily pink tresses cascading over her shoulders. Worn black leggings complete her attire. In one hand, she clutches a blood-stained, jagged ruler. In the other, she holds a fistful of feathers. Before her lay a lifeless jay, its body torn open from neck to tail, and its organs sprawled across the floorboards in front of it. The unknown girl keeps her head downcast. Your heart stutters at the sight of her. She can’t possibly be a killer, you think. She looks too young, and… and you’re not sure “innocent” is the right word for her, but… something’s not right. With concern etched on your face, you take a hesitant step forward. “Hello?” you say softly. You startle when her head snaps up, revealing a face marred by dirt, grime, and dried blood. Her pale complexion contrasts sharply with the dark stains on her skin. As her icy blue eyes meet yours, they widen in disbelief. A smile breaks across her face, revealing two rows of colorful braces. “It worked,” she murmurs softly, sounding surprised. You puzzle at her and take a step forward. “I’ve never seen someone so young here… Are you…?” You trail off, your eyes flickering toward the dead bird. Your stomach flips at the sight. This is all wrong, you think. Everything about this is wrong, and yet… You just don’t know what the hell to make of it. You extend a hand. “You should come with me,” you say. “We’ll finish up those last generators and get out of here, somewhere safer.” The girl slowly rises to her feet, a small laugh rising in her throat. Tucking stray strands of pink hair behind her ear, she whispers, “I’m safe here… but you’re not.” Your lips tighten into a thin line. In the ensuing silence, a low, wooden groan reaches your ears. Pivoting, you startle to find Joey in the doorway, his head tipped down, and his hands clasped in front of him. “Hey, little bird.” Your heart skips a beat, and your throat runs dry. When you try to speak, nothing comes out. Then, startlingly, another figure follows him into the room—Julie. She’s without her mask, wearing a hostile expression in its place. Her green eyes glare daggers through you. “You already have a cute nickname for your new crush, Joey? How cute,” she taunts, sneering as she takes a post by the door. “But you shouldn’t get too attached.” Joey narrows his eyes, but his gaze never leaves yours. You choke on your words, your eyes darting wildly between the three of them. When you backpedal out of fear, you collide with the other girl. She shoves you forward, causing you to stumble and hit the floor, where you catch yourself on your hands and knees. Looking back, you see she’s put on a mask with a jagged, metallic grin. She clasps her hands behind her and fidgets uneasily. Facing Joey again, you scoff. “What is this, Joey? What are you…? How—?” The words catch in your throat as, suddenly, a fourth figure enters the room. Your eyes grow big. Frank takes his position front and center, bringing with him a suffocating aura. He lacks his familiar grinning visage and wears a scowl on his face. His eyes are shadowed, his lips drawn into a line, and his hair has grown out a bit since last you’ve seen him, now rough, spiky, and unkempt. Seeing you on your hands and knees, Frank’s lips curl into a surly grin. There’s something dark and indiscernible in his eyes. “Hey, klutz.” A wedge traps your words in your throat. Memories rush back to you, causing your heart to ache. Frank has haunted you ever since…   —you held his hand. —you stabbed him.   Ever since you held his hand, the encounter has remained etched in your mind. No matter how desperately you’ve tried to bury it, it constantly resurfaces. You remember every second of the vulnerable moment you shared—when your hands touched, and your breakthrough with him. At that moment, he felt—no, he WAS human, and you got past the Entity’s walls and saw Frank, and his inner turmoil, and his grief, and his suffering. You saw him, and you recognized the thin divide between predator and prey. You knew then, that Frank, and many others, was just another victim to the madness that plagues these realms, and these wicked games. You recall what Julie had said to you when she attacked you in a blood-fueled rage; how Frank hadn’t quit thinking about it, either. How he’s been unable to. It’s followed him for as long as it has you, it seems. Remorse washes over you as you vividly recall the moment Frank met his demise. You see the fear that flashed in his eyes, you hear his screams and his cry as he was rent apart by those ghastly claws, and— You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to suppress it all. Staggering to your feet, you let out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Frank,” you murmur, taking a step forward. “I’m sorry for—” Before you can finish your sentence, Julie lunges forward like a feral dog and sucker punches you, sending you crashing right back to the floor. Reeling in pain, you gather your senses enough to make her out when she seethes, “Stay the hell away from him.” You blink at her through a haze of stars. She busted your lip; you taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, and feel it trickling down your chin. Joey takes an imposing step toward her. “Hey!” he barks, his voice sharp. “We agreed not to hurt her—” “I didn’t agree to shit,” Julie sneers. Frank grabs her shoulder and guides her back to his side like a handler and his beast. “Play nice, Jules,” he says, his voice firm. “You know why we brought her here.” The look on Julie’s face could kill. She shoots a menacing glance at you before withdrawing to her position by the door. Frank shifts his attention to you, stepping forward and kneeling in front of you. He tilts his head to the side, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and a disarming smile tugging at his lips. He extends a hand. “I enjoyed the last talk we had, klutz. I thought we’d have another.” Uncertainty crosses your expressions, as you’re unsure if Frank’s friendliness is genuine or a clever facade. The silence stretches uncomfortably, but reluctantly, you take his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull you back to your feet. Meeting him eye to eye, he reaches out and tenderly thumbs the blood on your lip, smearing a red smile across your cheek in a strangely intimate gesture. “I know how this all might look, but we didn’t bring you here to beat your ass,” he says. A sour expression crosses Julie’s face, her disapproval evident. “How did you do this?” you ask. “This is a trial, right? Where’s everyone else? How are you all here?” “Offerings,” Joey chimes in, gesturing with his chin over your shoulder. “And it was Susie’s idea.” You glance back at the quiet girl, Susie, who shyly dips her head and meekly taps the floor with the toe of her shoe. Turning back around, you scoff. “Okay,” you croak. “So, what happens now?” Frank’s grin grows wider. “We talk,” he says. He motions towards a worn-out sofa positioned against the far wall. You hesitate for a moment until Susie takes hold of your arm and guides you to sit beside her. Joey perches himself on the armrest at the other end of the sofa, and Julie props herself against the doorframe. Frank retrieves a rickety wooden chair from the corner and situates himself directly in front of you. His legs are spread wide, arms folded across his chest, and a mischievous smirk adorns his lips. His eyes radiate a silent intensity. And then, an eerie silence falls upon the room. No one moves or utters a word. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead. Susie, despite her size, maintains a vice-like grip on your arm. Joey, to your right, bores a hard gaze on the side of your head. The atmosphere is suffocating. You lick your lips. “So… you don’t want to kill me, right?” “Nah,” says Frank, casually. “He doesn’t speak for all of us,” Julie mutters. Susie pipes up on your left. “Joey told us about you,” she says softly. “Only good things, I hope,” you reply. Joey scoffs. Amusement dances across Frank’s face. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He told us all about how you ate shit trying to climb a fuckin’ tree… Some things never change, huh, klutz?” Hmph. “Get to the point, Frank,” you retort, with more gall than you should possess. “I’m freezing my ass off here.” Frank chuckles and grins. “You wanna wear my jacket?” “We’ve all thought about what you said,” Julie loudly interjects. “I don’t agree with this shit, but they—” “We want to team up,” says Joey. Surprise riddles your face. You didn’t think anything would actually come of Joey’s previous visit that night, but… this is big. “You do?” you utter, facing Frank. Frank leans back, shrugging. “It’s a solid pitch. And there’s not shit else to do here but play the boss’s games…” “We want to get out—all of us,” Joey says. You catch the sidelong look he shares with Julie, who sneers in response. “So…?” you slowly draw, sounding unsure. “So, you’re the fucking hero, aren’t you?” says Frank. “You know left from right, and which way is up.” He leans forward, smirking. “We could sit here and kill each other forever, but it won’t change a fucking thing. If we ever wanna get the hell outta here, we can use you.” He reaches out and cups your chin in a surprising gesture, tilting your face upward toward his. He lowers his voice to a murmur. “We can use each other.” Julie interrupts sharply, capturing your attention. “I don’t know why you’ve put so much goddamn faith in her, and I think it’s a mistake. But I’ll follow your lead, Frank, and yours alone.” A smile graces Frank’s lips as he withdraws his hand. “The gang’s all in, klutz… Are you?” They await your response patiently, their presence looming like wolves. A shiver snakes up your spine, reminiscent of the unease you felt when recruiting Danny. It feels like you’re making a terrible mistake you can’t undo. But for the same reasons you didn’t turn him away, you can’t turn them away. You need all the help you can get, and four more killers can surely help to put a dent in what you’re trying to do here. And, thankfully, adding more killers to your roster saves you the mental gymnastics of feeling bad about it—they’ve all done terrible things leading up to now, and this can be their chance to make reparations. Breaking the tense silence, you nod and say, “Yes.” Julie’s face flickers with loathing. Joey looks relieved, and Susie’s grip on your bicep tightens. Frank smiles—that damn, disarming smile. “Glad to hear it, klutz.” In a swift motion, he springs to his feet and swiftly turns towards the door. “Let’s go find the fucking hatch.” “She can find it on her own,” Julie argues. Frank silences her with a piercing gaze. He meets your gaze again, this time beckoning you with a flick of his chin. Reluctantly, Susie unleashes your arm, allowing you to rise to your feet. You step carefully past Joey and Julie and follow Frank out the door. When you approach the stairs, Frank calls playfully over his shoulder, “Watch your step, klutz.”   Outside, Frank leads the way across the snowy yard, and you trail behind, tension hanging in the air. After mustering up your courage, you finally speak. “Frank,” you say, catching his attention. He looks back at you. You can’t bear to hold his gaze. Lowering your head, you murmur, “I-I meant it, what I said back in the lodge. I’m sorry, for… for before, when—” “Keep your fucking apology,” Frank sharply interrupts. You lift your head, frowning. It’s clearly something he doesn’t want to talk about, and neither do you. But it has to be said; a part of you feels that it has to be said. “I haven’t been able to forget it either,” you murmur. “It’s haunted me since then, and I’ve wondered all this time if I’d ever get the chance to—” Frank cuts you off again, this time when he suddenly halts and whirls around to face you. You hit the brakes before slamming right into him. He wears a snide smile on his face. “Get the chance to, what? Kiss and make-up?” He steps forward, making your breath hitch. Then he tilts his head to the side and pats himself on the cheek. “If you want to plant one right here, I won’t stop you. But we’re already even, klutz. And we need to put that shit behind us so we can move forward. Right?” Heat creeps up the back of your neck. You dip your head. “Yeah.” “Good,” says Frank, and he swiftly spins back around, resuming his stride. With nothing else to add, you follow along in silence.   When you arrive at the hatch, Frank stops halts, turning to you. Surprisingly, he peels his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders. Giving you a pat on the back, he says, “We’ll be seeing you real soon, klutz.” A smile warms his face. Your stomach teems with butterflies. When you open your mouth to speak, Frank, without warning, pushes you forcefully over the hatch opening, making you shout with surprise as you stumble into darkness.   ✱ ✱ ✱   In a blur, you respawn at camp and waste no time putting distance between it as you disappear into the woods and the enveloping fog, making a beeline for the cabin. On the way there, you reflect. It feels like a burden’s been lifted from your shoulders. All this time, you’ve beat yourself up over your first meeting with the punk killer, wondering what went wrong and what you should’ve done differently. And now, having formalized an alliance with the shady bunch, you feel… relieved. Albeit this alliance doesn’t guarantee the answers will come any easier, maybe you can sleep just a little better at night. But there’s the increasingly difficult task of having to keep your new killer allies a secret from your not-so-killer allies. You can imagine it wouldn’t go over so well if the others learned of your pact with so many killers… How many are there now? Bastion, Danny, Joey, Julie, Susie, Frank… That’s a lotta dogs to keep on a leash. You’re walking a very delicate tightrope; one wrong move, and you risk shattering the fragile trust between you and your companions. Taking a deep breath, you tightly grasp the lapels of Frank’s jacket. It’s clear that he intended for the jacket to serve as an Anchor, but the gesture still leaves you with a mix of emotions. When will he and the gang be stopping by? It could be hours, days, months… If… it’s… Your thoughts trail off as you traverse the foggy veil, crossing from the woods into Lydia’s yard. Startlingly, your eyes find Julie, propped against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest and a bitter look fixed on her face. When she sees your big-eyed gaze, she sneers. “Took you long enough.” You puzzle at her. Then, to your surprise, you hear a ruckus coming from inside the house. Panic courses through your veins, urging you to race up the porch steps and swing open the door. With a sense of urgency, you stride towards the kitchen, your voice echoing through the house as you call out, “Lydia—?!” However, the sight that greets you freezes you in your tracks, leaving you speechless. There, in the center of the kitchen, stand the other three—Joey, Susie, and Frank—donned in matching pink aprons. Lydia carries a sheet of raw dough to the oven. The three young punks look toward you. You blink in response and stammer over your words. “What, uh… What’s…?” Lydia perks up and smiles. “Hey, honey. Your friends let themselves inside a little while ago. It’s that nice boy Joey and his pals,” she says, chuckling. “Since they thought they’d storm inside all willy-nilly, I thought I’d put ‘em to work, helping me bake up some party favors.” She tucks the tray into the oven and smiles. “They’re better company than that last one you had over. Especially Ms. Susie; she’s a sweetheart.” Wiping her hands up and down her apron, Lydia moves past you to the door. “Those biscuits are your responsibility now! Don’t let them burn, y’hear me?” “Yes, ma’am,” responds Joey. The front door shuts, leaving you with your three unexpected guests. A mix of amusement and surprise flickers across your face. Just as you open your mouth, Frank cuts you off. “Don’t start,” he warns, tossing his apron off over his head. He messes his hair while Susie helps herself to a jar of strawberry preserves, and Joey lounges at the table. Clearing your throat, you gather your thoughts and carefully begin, “So… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d be stopping by so soon.” “Is that a problem?” Frank challenges, raising an eyebrow. “No, it’s just— Wow. Okay… Y’know, you could’ve waited at least a while.” “The longer we wait, the longer we’re trapped in this hellhole.” “Right,” you utter. You take a seat at the table, prompting Frank to perch on the edge, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you had it so cushy out here, klutz. I might stop by more often…” “It hardly makes up for all the shit I go through,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you ask, “How the hell did you get here?” “Well, Jules’ guts are still splattered in the front yard after that little incident she told us about.” He motions towards you. “I’ll be having that back now.” You shed his jacket and hand it over. Frank slips it back on, winking. “It keep you warm?” You don’t have an answer for him. Susie settles into a seat at the opposite end of the table, swinging her legs. “What now?” she asks. “I… I don’t know,” you admit, your voice tinged with hesitation. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Joey sighs. Frank grunts. “Let’s just get out there and fucking wing it. We oughta find something.” “Maybe, but…” you trail off. Uncertainty flickers across your face. Joey raises an eyebrow. “What?” You hesitantly say, “I haven’t been out there in a minute. It’s gotten a bit… complicated, and—” Frank clicks his tongue. “Don’t tell us you’ve got cold feet.” There’s an edge to his voice that makes you nervous. You shake your head. “I don’t. But—” You pause again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s not as simple as just going out there and finding something. Most times, I come back here bloody and bruised, and with nothing to show for it.” “We still have to try,” Susie quietly says. “We’re not guaranteed to find shit just waiting around,” says Joey. You lower your head. “I know.” Heavy silence hangs overhead. After a moment, Frank leans forward and lowers his voice. “Where’d all that annoying optimism go, huh? You aren’t the same positive girl I met at the resort…” You slump your shoulders and give him an honest answer, your tone tinged with bitterness. “Shit happened, Frank. Being a hero comes at a cost, and it’s no small price.” Frank falls quiet, his gaze locked on you with those intense, scrutinizing eyes. You can’t get a read on him, no matter how hard you try. He’s a pretender, and a damn good one, at that. It’s how he got so close before so that he could stab you in the back. You get a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall the moment he turned on you. He lured you in with a false sense of security, acted like an ally, and a friend, even, and he-he just— “You okay?” Frank’s soft voice interrupts your thoughts. You blink at him, puzzled, and wondering if your ears are playing tricks on you. He gazes at you with concern-filled eyes. You want to believe it’s genuine, but knowing Frank and his whole gimmick, you doubt his sincerity. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Eventually, Frank leans back, grunting. “We’re going to sit down, have some biscuits ‘n jam, then take our asses out there and get some shit done.” He slides off the table, saying, “You’re rolling with the Legion now, klutz. If you’re too pussy to go out there on your own, we’ll hold your hand.” He winks at you over his shoulder. “You need to keep your chin up. All that moping and shit, it’s not leader material.” “Frank—” He cuts you off. “How long’s this shit need to be in the oven for?” he asks, pulling his apron back on. You sigh. Joey folds his arms, and you feel Susie’s cold blue eyes boring holes in the side of your head. When you can’t stand their company any longer, you stand up and head for the door. “I’ll be upstairs. I need to grab some things…”   You slam shut the bedroom door and sigh heavily. “What the hell am I doing?” you wonder aloud. You’re not ready to go back out there, not yet. But… But you need to, and… agh! It’ll be like roaming with a pack of wolves! If the Entity breaks them while you’re out there, you’re fucked. They’ll have themselves a little Ceaser-fest, taking turns stabbing you to death. Oh, who knows? Maybe they’ll be able to resist the Entity’s influence… But who’s to say how long you’ll be out there with them? Dread washes over you, but there’s no point in dwelling on it, is there? You’ve gotta roll with the punches. You shake your head, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. Then you gather your things and collect your satchel. As you’re headed for the door, something catches your eye and gives you pause—that skimpy rope bracelet you carelessly discarded on the vanity, the one you’ve since forgotten. You pick it up and examine it closely. As you turn it over in your hand, your eyes widen. F J S J… Huh.   ✱ ✱ ✱   Twenty minutes later, you descend the stairs fully equipped and prepared to embark. As you enter the kitchen, you find the trio of punks indulging in biscuits, jam, and the contents of Lydia’s secret cellar. Frank sits on the edge of the table, a biscuit in one hand and a whiskey in the other. Joey and Susie share a bottle of red wine and a plate of pastries between them. All eyes turn to you as you enter the room. Frank looks you up and down, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Cute,” he comments, amusement dancing in his eyes. “This your hero getup?” “Why do you have a lamp?” Susie asks, eyeing the oil lamp on your hip. “For light.” “Flashlight ain’t good enough?” Joey pipes up. “I never said that,” you reply, “I just prefer the lamp—” “Is that a gun?” Susie interrupts, her eyes growing big. Hodgson’s shotgun is slung over your shoulder. Joey scoffs. “Jules did say you blasted the hell out of her.” “—In self-defense,” you interject. “Not that it mattered; it barely fazed her.” “She’s tough,” says Frank, chuckling. “You know how to use that damn thing?” “Aim and shoot; easy.” “Can I try?” asks Susie. “Let me have a go at it,” says Joey. You fend them off like wild dogs when they close in. “We’re not playing with the gun, all right? Can we— Can we get out there already? Please?” “What’s the sudden rush?” asks Frank, eyeing you with a smirk. “I just want to get this over with,” you say, exasperated. “So, c’mon, let’s go.” Joey and Susie exchange glances, awaiting Frank’s response. He slides off the table, facing his companions. “All right,” he says, with a grin that grows wider by the second. His mischievous eyes meet yours, and from the confines of his jacket, he brandishes his mask. As he slides it over his face, Joey and Susie follow suit, equipping their own masks. Your blood chills at the sight of them. Frank tilts his head to the side. “Let’s go.”     Ever since you stabbed him, the encounter has remained etched in your mind. No matter how desperately you’ve tried to bury it, it constantly resurfaces. You remember every second of the vulnerable moment you had briefly shared with him before you took advantage of his weakness and buried his knife in his chest. And then, after, when he said you were just like him. But you weren’t—you’re NOT. Frank’s a killer, and you only did what you thought you had to, and, yet… it weighs heavily upon you. You recall what Julie had said to you when she attacked you in a blood-fueled rage; how Frank hadn’t quit thinking about it, either. How he’s been unable to. It’s followed him for as long as it has you, it seems. Remorse washes over you as you vividly recall the moment Frank met his demise. You see the fear that flashed in his eyes, you hear his screams and his cry as he was rent apart by those ghastly claws, and— You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to suppress it all. Staggering to your feet, you feel like a cornered animal. Your eyes dart between the four of them, then you nervously lick your lips and croak, “Okay… So, am I in some deep shit, or what?” “Take a guess,” says Julie. Before you can react, she lunges forward and sucker punches you, sending you crashing right back to the floor. Reeling in pain, you gather your senses enough to make her out when she seethes, “This is as deep as it gets.” You blink at her through a haze of stars. She busted your lip; you taste the metallic tang of blood on your tongue, and feel it trickling down your chin. Joey takes an imposing step toward her. “Hey!” he barks, his voice sharp. “We agreed not to hurt her—” “I didn’t agree to shit,” Julie sneers. Frank grabs her shoulder and guides her back to his side like a handler and his beast. “Play nice, Jules,” he says, his voice firm. “You know why we brought her here.” The look on Julie’s face could kill. She shoots a menacing glance at you before withdrawing to her position by the door. Frank shifts his attention to you, stepping forward and kneeling in front of you. He tilts his head to the side, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “It’s been a minute, huh? I’ve been thinking about that talk we had before… And I thought we’d have another.” Uncertainty crosses your expressions, as you’re unsure of his true intentions. The silence stretches uncomfortably, but reluctantly, you get back to your feet. He stands to meet you eye to eye. “I know how this all might look, but we didn’t bring you here to beat your ass,” he says. “How did you do this?” you ask. “This is a trial, right? Where’s everyone else? How are you all here?” “Offerings,” Joey chimes in, gesturing with his chin over your shoulder. “And it was Susie’s idea.” You glance back at the quiet girl, Susie, who shyly dips her head and meekly taps the floor with the toe of her shoe. Turning back around, you scoff. “Okay,” you croak. “So, what happens now?” Frank’s grin grows wider. “We talk,” he says. He motions towards a worn-out sofa positioned against the far wall. You hesitate for a moment until Susie pushes you harshly toward the couch. You reluctantly have a seat. Joey perches himself on the armrest at the other end of the sofa, and Julie props herself against the doorframe. Frank retrieves a rickety wooden chair from the corner and situates himself directly in front of you. His legs are spread wide, arms folded across his chest, and a mischievous smirk adorns his lips. His eyes radiate a silent intensity. And then, an eerie silence falls upon the room. No one moves or utters a word. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead. Susie lingers to your left like a sentry. Joey, to your right, bores a hard gaze on the side of your head. The atmosphere is suffocating. You lick your lips. “So… you don’t want to kill me, right?” “Nah,” says Frank, casually. “He doesn’t speak for all of us,” Julie mutters. Susie pipes up on your left. “Joey told us about you,” she says softly. “Only good things, I hope,” you reply. Joey scoffs. Amusement dances across Frank’s face. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “He told us all about how you ate shit trying to climb a fuckin’ tree… Some things never change, huh?” Hmph. “Get to the point, Frank,” you retort, with more gall than you should possess. “I’m freezing my ass off here.” “You’re not in any position to make demands,” he warns you, grinningly. “We’ve all thought about what you said,” Julie interjects. “I don’t agree with this shit, but they—” “We want to team up,” says Joey. Surprise riddles your face. You didn’t think anything would actually come of Joey’s previous visit that night, but… this is big. “You do?” you utter, facing Frank. Frank leans back, shrugging. “It’s a solid pitch. And there’s not shit else to do here but play the boss’s games…” “We want to get out—all of us,” Joey says. You catch the sidelong look he shares with Julie, who sneers in response. “So…?” you slowly draw, sounding unsure. “So, you’re the fucking hero, aren’t you?” says Frank. “You know left from right, and which way is up.” He leans forward, smirking. “We could sit here and kill each other forever, but it won’t change a fucking thing. If we ever wanna get the hell outta here, we can use you.” Julie interrupts, capturing your attention. “After what she did to you, I don’t know why you’ve put so much goddamn faith in her. And I think it’s a mistake. But I’ll follow your lead, Frank, and yours alone.” A smile graces Frank’s lips. “The gang’s all in… Are you?” They await your response patiently, their presence looming like wolves. A shiver snakes up your spine, reminiscent of the unease you felt when recruiting Danny. It feels like you’re making a terrible mistake you can’t undo. But for the same reasons you didn’t turn him away, you can’t turn them away. You need all the help you can get, and four more killers can surely help to put a dent in what you’re trying to do here. And, thankfully, adding more killers to your roster saves you the mental gymnastics of feeling bad about it—they’ve all done terrible things leading up to now, and this can be their chance to make reparations. Breaking the tense silence, you nod and say, “Yes.” Julie’s face flickers with loathing. Joey looks relieved, and Frank smiles. “Glad to hear it.” He flicks his chin in a gesture toward the door. “Get the hell out; go find the fucking hatch.” You think you’re scot-free… That is, until Julie abruptly steps forward, brandishing a blade. “There’s a quicker way to get rid of her,” she says. Before you or anyone can react, she lunges forward and buries her knife in your gut. Agonizing pain courses through your body as she twists the blade and pulls it out, allowing you to crumple to the floor, clutching your midsection. You gasp for breath, your vision blurring. Above you, Frank lets out a heavy sigh, and Joey swears. “Dammit, Jules! Frank, get a fucking leash on her!” “I’m just doing her a favor,” Julie snaps. “That damn hatch could be anywhere. And like she said; she’s freezing her ass off.” You drown out their ensuing argument as your senses become a foggy haze. In your waning consciousness, you see Susie kneel at your side. She pushes you onto your back and equips her jagged blade. “We’ll see you soon,” she murmurs, raising her weapon high above your chest. When she swiftly brings it down and plunges it into your heart, darkness engulfs your world.   ✱ ✱ ✱   In a blur, you respawn at camp and waste no time putting distance between it as you disappear into the woods and the enveloping fog, making a beeline for the cabin. On the way there, you reflect. All this time, you’ve beat yourself up over your first meeting with the punk killer, wondering what went wrong and what you should’ve done differently. And now, having formalized an alliance with the shady bunch, you feel… nervous. Frank said you were like him… And now, here you are, striking a deal with him and his friends. Not to mention there’s the increasingly difficult task of having to keep your new killer allies a secret from your not-so-killer allies. You can imagine it wouldn’t go over so well if the others learned of your pact with so many killers… How many are there now? Bastion, Danny, Joey, Julie, Susie, Frank… That’s a lotta dogs to keep on a leash. You’re walking a very delicate tightrope; one wrong move, and you risk shattering the fragile trust between you and your companions. Taking a deep breath, you try to relax. Who knows how long it’ll be until he and the gang decide to show up? It could be hours, days, months… If… it’s… Your thoughts trail off as you traverse the foggy veil, crossing from the woods into Lydia’s yard. Startlingly, your eyes find Julie, propped against a tree with her arms crossed over her chest and a bitter look fixed on her face. When she sees your big-eyed gaze, she sneers. “Took you long enough.” You puzzle at her. Then, to your surprise, you hear a ruckus coming from inside the house. Panic courses through your veins, urging you to race up the porch steps and swing open the door. With a sense of urgency, you stride towards the kitchen, your voice echoing through the house as you call out, “Lydia—?!” However, the sight that greets you freezes you in your tracks, leaving you speechless. There, in the center of the kitchen, stand the other three—Joey, Susie, and Frank—donned in matching pink aprons. Lydia carries a sheet of raw dough to the oven. The three young punks look toward you. You blink in response and stammer over your words. “What, uh… What’s…?” Lydia perks up and smiles. “Hey, honey. Your friends let themselves inside a little while ago. It’s that nice boy Joey and his pals,” she says, chuckling. “Since they thought they’d storm inside all willy-nilly, I thought I’d put ‘em to work, helping me bake up some party favors.” She tucks the tray into the oven and smiles. “They’re better company than that last one you had over. Especially Ms. Susie; she’s a sweetheart.” Wiping her hands up and down her apron, Lydia moves past you to the door. “Those biscuits are your responsibility now! Don’t let them burn, y’hear me?” “Yes, ma’am,” responds Joey. The front door shuts, leaving you with your three unexpected guests. A mix of amusement and surprise flickers across your face. Just as you open your mouth, Frank cuts you off. “Don’t start,” he warns, tossing his apron off over his head. He messes his hair while Susie helps herself to a jar of strawberry preserves, and Joey lounges at the table. Clearing your throat, you gather your thoughts and carefully begin, “So… I, uh… I didn’t think you’d be stopping by so soon.” “Is that a problem?” Frank challenges, raising an eyebrow. “No, it’s just— Wow. Okay… Y’know, you could’ve waited at least a while.” “The longer we wait, the longer we’re trapped in this hellhole.” “Right,” you utter. You take a seat at the table, prompting Frank to perch on the edge, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “I didn’t know you had it so cushy out here…” “It hardly makes up for all the shit I go through,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you ask, “How the hell did you get here?” “Well, Jules’ guts are still splattered in the front yard after that little incident she told us about.” Susie settles into a seat at the opposite end of the table, swinging her legs. “What now?” she asks. “I… I don’t know,” you admit, your voice tinged with hesitation. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Joey sighs. Frank grunts. “Let’s just get out there and fucking wing it. We oughta find something.” “Maybe, but…” you trail off. Uncertainty flickers across your face. Joey raises an eyebrow. “What?” You hesitantly say, “I haven’t been out there in a minute. It’s gotten a bit… complicated, and—” Frank clicks his tongue. “Don’t tell us you’ve got cold feet.” There’s an edge to his voice that makes you nervous. You shake your head. “I don’t. But—” You pause again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s not as simple as just going out there and finding something. Most times, I come back here bloody and bruised, and with nothing to show for it.” “We still have to try,” Susie quietly says. “We’re not guaranteed to find shit just waiting around,” says Joey. You lower your head. “I know.” Heavy silence hangs overhead. After a moment, Frank leans forward and lowers his voice. “Where’d all that annoying optimism go, huh? You aren’t the same positive girl I met at the resort…” You slump your shoulders and give him an honest answer, your tone tinged with bitterness. “Shit happened, Frank. Being a hero comes at a cost, and it’s no small price.” Frank falls quiet, his gaze locked on you with those intense, scrutinizing eyes. You can’t get a read on him, no matter how hard you try. He’s a pretender, and a damn good one, at that. It’s how he got so close before so that he could stab you in the back. You get a bitter taste in your mouth as you recall the moment he turned on you. Frank simply smirks. “I bet,” he says with indifference. Eventually, he leans back, grunting. “We’re going to sit down, have some biscuits ‘n jam, then take our asses out there and get some shit done.” He slides off the table, saying, “You’re rolling with the Legion now. If you’re too pussy to go out there on your own, we’ll hold your hand. But you need to keep your chin up. All that moping and shit, it’s not leader material.” “Frank—” He cuts you off. “How long’s this shit need to be in the oven for?” he asks, pulling his apron back on. You sigh. Joey folds his arms, and you feel Susie’s cold blue eyes boring holes in the side of your head. When you can’t stand their company any longer, you stand up and head for the door. “I’ll be upstairs. I need to grab some things…”   You slam shut the bedroom door and sigh heavily. “What the hell am I doing?” you wonder aloud. You’re not ready to go back out there, not yet. But… But you need to, and… agh! It’ll be like roaming with a pack of wolves! If the Entity breaks them while you’re out there, you’re fucked. They’ll have themselves a little Ceaser-fest, taking turns stabbing you to death. Oh, who knows? Maybe they’ll be able to resist the Entity’s influence… But who’s to say how long you’ll be out there with them? Dread washes over you, but there’s no point in dwelling on it, is there? You’ve gotta roll with the punches. You shake your head, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. Then you gather your things and collect your satchel. As you’re headed for the door, something catches your eye and gives you pause—that skimpy rope bracelet you carelessly discarded on the vanity, the one you’ve since forgotten. You pick it up and examine it closely. As you turn it over in your hand, your eyes widen. F J S J… Huh.   ✱ ✱ ✱   Twenty minutes later, you descend the stairs fully equipped and prepared to embark. As you enter the kitchen, you find the trio of punks indulging in biscuits, jam, and the contents of Lydia’s secret cellar. Frank sits on the edge of the table, a biscuit in one hand and a whiskey in the other. Joey and Susie share a bottle of red wine and a plate of pastries between them. All eyes turn to you as you enter the room. Frank looks you up and down, amusement dancing in his eyes. “This your hero getup?” “Why do you have a lamp?” Susie asks, eyeing the oil lamp on your hip. “For light.” “Flashlight ain’t good enough?” Joey pipes up. “I never said that,” you reply, “I just prefer the lamp—” “Is that a gun?” Susie interrupts, her eyes growing big. Hodgson’s shotgun is slung over your shoulder. Joey scoffs. “Jules did say you blasted the hell out of her.” “—In self-defense,” you interject. “Not that it mattered; it barely fazed her.” “She’s tough,” says Frank, chuckling. “You know how to use that damn thing?” “Aim and shoot; easy.” “Can I try?” asks Susie. “Let me have a go at it,” says Joey. You fend them off like wild dogs when they close in. “We’re not playing with the gun, all right? Can we— Can we get out there already? Please?” “What’s the sudden rush?” asks Frank, eyeing you with a smirk. “I just want to get this over with,” you say, exasperated. “So, c’mon, let’s go.” Joey and Susie exchange glances, awaiting Frank’s response. He slides off the table, facing his companions. “All right,” he says, with a grin that grows wider by the second. His mischievous eyes meet yours, and from the confines of his jacket, he brandishes his mask. As he slides it over his face, Joey and Susie follow suit, equipping their own masks. Your blood chills at the sight of them. Frank tilts his head to the side. “Let’s go.”  

Tricky Magic It had only been three days since she decided to start her prank. Of course, that first time was an accident. She had been so certain that Adrien was out of the video call that she hadn't bothered to cover the camera when she spun around to drink from her water glass, only to discover it on the other side of the room. "Ugh," she mumbled. Tikki giggled and picked it up, carrying it over to her. Marinette grabbed it once it was within reach and was about to thank her kwami when a choking sound from the phone caught her attention. She turned back around to discover Adrien staring at her, wide-eyed and mouth gaping open like a fish. "Adrien!" she shrieked, frantic that her crush had witnessed her kwami floating on screen. "Uh, hahaha you're back!" "What was that?" Adrien gasped. "What was what?" she asked as her mind whirled for an excuse on how to explain away her kwami without revealing her secret identity. "You know what!" he shrieked at her, face ghost-white and pointing with a shaking hand. "I don't know what you're talking about," she began. "Uh, oh no, my signal's fading. See you in class tomorrow, bye!" She cut the feed right in the middle of his "Wait, Marine-." "Oh, Tikki, this is awful," she moaned, spinning around in her chair with her head tilted back. "What am I going to do?" "I'm sorry, Marinette." Tikki floated back into view and tried to console her charge. "I had no idea Adrien had come back so quickly." "How can I explain your existence without telling him I'm Ladybug?" Tikki tilted her bulbous head in puzzlement. "What are you talking about?" "You. Adrien had to have seen you. You saw how he reacted. How on earth am I going to explain you away? He's going to ask about you tomorrow." Tikki's confusion remained. "No, he won't." "Why not?" Marinette sat up. "Do you have special mind-erasing powers? Ooh! Can you go in and change what he thinks he saw? Can you cast amnesia? Can you alter reality?" "Technically yes on the last one," Tikki answered with a laugh. "But remember Marinette, kwamis can't be photographed or recorded on video." "Oh. Oh! Right!" Marinette beamed for a second as understanding sank in. Almost immediately, she deflated. "But then why did Adrien act so weird?" "Because to him, it looked like your glass of water floated across the room to your hand," Tikki explained. "He probably thinks you have special telekinetic powers or something." Marinette flopped her head down on her desk. "That's just as hard to explain away!" Tikki settled down beside her on the desk. "I think I may have spent too much time with Plagg," she began, and Marinette twisted her head to stare at her kwami, "but I think we can turn this around into a fun prank to play on your friends." The devious smile on the sprite would not have looked out of place on Hawkmoth, so it was a bit jarring to see it on her sweet kwami. "What did you have in mind?" Marinette asked, a bit curious to see what mischief she could get away with. The next day, as expected, Adrien bombarded her with a dozen questions. She brushed them all off and handled him with an aloofness she never had around him. But this was all part of Tikki's plan. Keep him hooked and in the dark while toying with him. With a wink at him at the end of the day, she headed back to the bakery. Sure enough, Adrien phoned that evening, through video chat. And Marinette started putting her plan in motion. When Adrien not-so-subtly pretended to turn his head, Tikki lifted a pencil up to Marinette's open palm. As expected, the model instantly whirled around and pointed at it. "What was that?" "What was what?" "That!" "What?" "Marinette!" The whine from the blond at the other end of her phone brought a satisfied smile to Marinette's face. She twirled the pencil around her fingers as Adrien pointed at it as best he could through his phone's camera. "That! Right there. What was that?" Marinette feigned an expression of innocent surprise, turning to look at the pencil. "This? It's a unique writing utensil humans invented to convey ideas." "Ha ha," Adrien deadpanned. "And why did it suddenly float into your hand?" "I dropped it. Gravity took hold. I would explain the concept of gravity to you but you scored higher than me on our last physics exam." "Then why did it float up into your hand instead of down if gravity affected it?" She fixed him with a funny look. "Adrien," she began slowly, as if explaining a difficult concept to a young child. "I dropped it. When I felt it slide through my fingers, I reacted on instinct to grab it. I mean, I guess it could appear like it floated, but it was just my reflexes catching it." "Argh!" the model all but screamed out in frustration, running his hands through his locks and pulling on his hair. "Fine, be that way. I know you have magic, Marinette, no matter how much you deny it. I'll see you in school tomorrow." With that, he reached forward and the screen went black. After she was absolutely certain he had disconnected the call, she allowed a devious smile to appear. She turned to Tikki, floating over her shoulder. "This is more fun that I thought it would be." The red sprite giggled with her. "It certainly is! I can't wait to tell Plagg all of the details! I'm sure he would love it." "One day, Tikki." "I know, Marinette." The kwami floated over to Marinette's bed and curled up on a pillow. Marinette crawled in beside her. "Good night, Tikki." "Night, Marinette." With a smile of anticipation for the coming days, Marinette clicked off the lights and fell asleep. If there was one thing the class of Ms. Bustier could depend upon, it was Marinette Dupain-Cheng running late. The students frequently set bets on it. So naturally, today Marinette walked in early. Today. The day Adrien decided to confide in Alya and Nino his suspicions of Marinette and her magical abilities. So of course Marinette entered just in time to catch him huddled together with the two. The three of them sprang apart like a live wire electrocuted them. "Ahaha yeah so that's how magnets work," Adrien finished lamely, topping it off with a weak laugh. Alya briefly flickered her gaze to Nino. "Uh, right. Thanks for the explanation, Adrien." Marinette hid a smile. She snagged two more into her web of lies. So when Alya decided to video call her that afternoon while babysitting and left the screen for a moment to "grab a drink", Marinette pointed at a piece of popcorn in a bowl, which then floated up and into her open mouth. She ignored Alya's squeak of amazement, which was hastily explained by the blogger stubbing her toe. The next day, the three of them crowded around Alya's phone while Marinette watched quietly from the window of the classroom before entering and causing them to scatter once more in a flurry of awe and panic. "Hey guys, want to come over to my place to study?" The announcement from Adrien of all people surprised her. "What about your father?" she asked. Even Alya and Nino appeared wary of the sudden good kind heart of Gabriel Agreste. Adrien waved a hand. "He'll be fine with it. I told him we needed a big space to work on our project or we might get a bad grade. I think he had the staff transform the entire dining room to my requirements. So, what do you say?" "Of course!" Alya answered, snatching Marinette's hand and raising them both high. "We're both in!" "Same, dude." "Perfect!" With that, Adrien turned back around, but not before Marinette caught the satisfied smug grin on his face. What was he up to? That afternoon after school, she discovered what. Adrien unceremoniously dumped her in his father's atelier while the other three vomited out pathetic excuses to leave her alone. Or something like that. She didn't really pay attention. As soon as Adrien had suggested that maybe she would like to see his father's mannequins with the latest designs, she surmised his plan. After all, that was one of the few rooms in the house with cameras trained in it. Corporate espionage was rampant in the fashion community, and Gabriel Agreste had his designing room on lockdown. She knew this, of course, from her time in there as Ladybug when she had watched the camera angles on his monitor. Not that Adrien knew that, of course. She couldn't even remember what lame reasons the other three had for leaving. They practically tripped over each other in their eagerness to leave her alone in the room. Adrien had also conveniently carried in a plate of cookies and snacks – light enough to use her "powers" on. Knowing the three were watching diligently from elsewhere in the house, she resisted the urge to crack her neck in anticipation. This was going to be fun. Upstairs, hunched over Gabriel's monitor, the three teenagers watched with baited breath, not taking their eyes off the screen in front of them. "Come on, I know she's going to do it," Adrien muttered. "I can't be losing my mind, right?" He looked to the others for validation. "No, I saw it, too. I showed Nino the video," Alya reassured him. "Wait! There!" Adrien pointed to the screen just in time to see a cookie floating in the air and Marinette's hand outstretched. "I knew it!" "What is going on here?" The three jumped up in surprise at the new voice. They were so absorbed in the action on the screen that they didn't even hear the door open and someone walk in. Gabriel Agreste stood there, glaring in anger at them. Nathalie and their bodyguard stood next to him. Instead of being intimidated by the fearsome scowl his father leveled at him, Adrien frantically waved his hand. "Father! Come here! Quick! You have to see this!" Releasing a sound somewhat in between a growl and a sigh of vexation, Gabriel stepped around the desk. "Okay, Adrien, what is it I'm supposed to be seeing?" Nathalie and the Gorilla followed, and the six of them huddled around the monitor. "Watch!" They watched for a moment – three in breathless anticipation and three in confused exasperation. At last, Gabriel straightened with a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Adrien, it's not polite to leave your guest alone for so long. If she's interested in my designs, you can always invite her over another time when you're not working on a project." The five simultaneous gasps of surprise snapped his eyes back to the monitor. On screen, Marinette had been wandering around the room, staring at each outfit on the mannequin. She bent over, hands behind her back, peering as close to each design as she dared without touching it. The awe on her face was unmistakable. And then the unthinkable happened. She tripped, which had elicited the gasps of the others and redirected Gabriel's attention back to the screen. Her arms flailed out and knocked against the table. A vase wobbled at the edge. Gabriel visibly whitened. The wobbling intensified. Everyone collectively sucked in a breath. It fell. But didn't reach the ground. With her hands still outstretched as if she held the vase, Marinette steadied herself. Taking a deep breath, she raised her palms. The vase rose gently through the air, hovering over the table before settling back on the table. She sagged in relief. Which broke the spell upon the six upstairs, all of whom whooshed out their breaths together. "I knew it!" Adrien crowed, pumping a fist high in the air. "Adrien, what was that?" Gabriel asked, his voice as shaky as his trembling hands. "You saw it, too, Father, right?" Adrien turned to the taller man, his face flushed with excitement to counter the paleness of his father. "Marinette said she didn't have magic powers, but I know I saw that pencil float up to her hand!" "That's impossible," Gabriel continued to mutter. Nathalie looked just as troubled. Even the Gorilla had his face furrowed into concern. "It has to be some kind of trick," Gabriel insisted. Alya shook her head. "We thought of that, too, Mr. Agreste. But Marinette denies that she has powers. We might believe a trick if she claimed she could move objects without touching them, but she refuses to even admit it!" "I confronted her about it several times," Adrien said. "And she not only denied it, but she got really upset when I brought it up. It's like she wants to hide it!" "So why go through the trouble of setting up a trick only to perform when no one watches?" Nathalie mused. "Exactly," three teen voices chorused. Gabriel sat heavily upon his chair, running a hand through his hair and ruffling the strands in the process. "This... this is unbelievable. I can't... I..." He snapped out of his stupor and rolled up to the computer. "It has to be a trick." He tapped a few buttons and brought up the video again. Once again, six pairs of eyes watched the screen as Marinette examined the dresses and suits. And once again, six pairs of eyes witnessed her stumble, the vase wobbling, and her telekinetic save and recovery. "Impossible," Gabriel muttered again. But now his eyes narrowed in calculation as he studied the film in front of him. "My girl is amazing, that's for sure!" Alya crowed, beaming like it was her daughter who just won a prestigious award. The buzzing of the teenagers' phones startled them all. Where did you guys go? "It's Marinette!" Nino hissed. "No kidding," Alya said, rolling her eyes. "She sent it in the group chat." "We should probably get back down there," Adrien said. "Yes," Gabriel said, absently shooing at them with one hand while he tapped at the screen with his other. "Best you all be getting back to your project." Downstairs, Marinette had to refrain from laughing as Tikki balanced the vase in her arms, comically waving it around under Marinette's "command". She didn't know if the cameras had sound, and didn't want to risk appearing crazy by talking to Tikki, so she hid her excitement and glee under a mask of worried fretting as she fluttered around the room. For good measure, she also dropped her notebook and "lifted" it to her hands, just in case Adrien, Alya, and Nino missed the vase display. Footsteps sounded outside the door and Marinette whirled around, startled. Tikki flew into her purse. The notebook dropped again halfway to her hand and landed with a loud thwack. Marinette bent down to retrieve it just as the door opened. "Oh, hi guys!" she greeted with a smile. "Uh, hey Marinette. Sorry we took so long. Father decided to give us the third degree about our project before deeming it worthy enough to continue in his house," Adrien explained, his smile turning sheepish. Alya blinked once in surprise before nodding along with Adrien. Nino folded his arms and tapped his cap back a bit. Marinette knew that he was still wary around the elder Agreste. "No problem, I was just worried you forgot about me," she said with a giggle, she stood up with the notebook safely in her hands, not missing at all the way all of her friends' eyes followed the notebook up in the air. "So, shall we continue with the project?" And she grabbed the plate of snacks and waltzed out of the atelier over to the dining room. If Alya knew, then it wouldn't be long before Alix, Rose, Juleka, and Mylène knew. Marinette saw them crowded around Alya's phone a couple of mornings later. She smiled and quietly made her way to her seat, ignoring the gasps of astonishment and the inevitable five pairs of eyes turning to her. And if Mylène knew, then Ivan also was told. And it might have stopped there, too, since Ivan wasn't much for gossip, except Kim overheard him. And Kim was prone to gossip. By the end of the day, everyone in the class knew about Marinette's telekinetic powers. Chloé (and Sabrina) initially scoffed at the ridiculousness of such childish thinking until Adrien pointed out that his father, father's assistant, and bodyguard had all witnessed Marinette's powers in action. And it turned out Gabriel Agreste added the much needed validity to convince not only skeptics Chloé and Sabrina, but also levied weight to Adrien's claim with their teachers and Mr. Damocles. Honestly, she didn't know what stroke of luck got her to hoodwink her idol, but she was eternally grateful for it. She just hope he didn't hold a grudge when she revealed the truth. Suddenly, her dreams of being a fashion designer spiraled down the drain as she imagined her role model blacklisting her from fashion houses around Europe. Maybe she could explain before he felt like he embarrassed himself too much? Or maybe she could put her final plan into motion, since it seemed the entire school kept staring at her with baited breath, waiting to see what other magic she would conjure or hoping to catch a glimpse of her famous telekinesis in action. And no matter how much she tried to dissuade the rumors: joking, making light of everything, outright denial – it only seemed to fuel the fire of mystery surrounding her. After a week of this, she was sick of the prank. It was time to end it. So she went to Mr. Damocles and asked for permission to use his office privately to film something for the entire school. He could stand outside, but she asked that he kindly not be in the room when she made her announcement. It took a few well placed "class representative"s dropped into her argument before the principal relented. And now, it was her time to shine. She clicked the button to send it to the entire school, then sat back and waved to the camera. "Hi everyone," she said with a smile. "I have permission to make this announcement to everyone. I'm sure everyone here has heard the rumors that I have some kind of magical powers. Telekinesis, right?" She giggled. "Well, you may be right..." She pointed at a pencil on the desk and it floated up and over to her hand. She twirled it with a shrug. "Or you may be wrong." She winked. "I'll give you a hint." She leaned forward and stage-whispered. "It's the latter." She straightened back up and flicked the pencil back over to the desk. Tikki caught it mid-air and guided it to the holder, where the sprite positioned it gently into the tall holder like it had never been out of place at all. "Honestly, this all seems very magical and mystical. I mean, telekinesis, right? That's amazing!" She whisked a tissue out of the box on the desk and it floated over to her, dabbing at her forehead before another flick of the fingers sent it to the rubbish bin. "But... did any of you wonder why I did all of these amazing magical abilities on camera?" She shrugged. "Or why I was only able to make one thing move at a time?" Marinette walked over to the calendar and tapped the date. "Today is a day for tricks. And guys... you certainly have been tricked." She giggled, then sobered. "Ah, but no hard feelings? I mean, I did try to tell you I didn't have magical abilities, but no one believed me. Anyway, thanks for listening! I hope you guys have a trick-tastic day! Oh, and... try not to get tricked anymore, okay?" She pointed at the camera just as Tikki flew up and disabled it. She gave her tiny kwami a small fist bump before the sprite flew back into her purse. "Adrien!" Gabriel Agreste greeted his son as he came home that day. The older man craned his neck to see around Adrien. "You didn't bring Marinette over again?" "Ah, well, she made this video today..." Adrien pulled out his phone and showed his father the footage from earlier that afternoon. "It turns out it was all a trick." "But what an ingenious one at that," Gabriel muttered, watching intently as the confession played out for all of them to hear. With a sigh of defeat, he handed the phone back to his son after the video ended and retreated to his office. On screen, the footage from Marinette walking around the atelier played on loop. Gabriel pressed a couple of buttons, preparing to erase the video of the girl's trick from the hard drive when his fingers paused while hovering over the keys. He frowned and peered at the screen. "What the...?" he muttered, bypassing the keyboard and tapping on the screen directly. He rewound the footage, zooming in on a small section of the screen. There in the corner, a chocolate chip cookie hovered in the air. A bite disappeared off it. Then another. And another. A final bite, and the entire cookie vanished. "Wow," he breathed in awe, "they were right, that girl is amazing." The end Omake: "Plagg, I can't believe Marinette was so talented to devise a trick like that! It was amazing how she could get those different things to float on camera without any visible effort." "Pfft," his kwami scoffed, floating on his back beside his chosen. "You could do that if you wanted." "What do you mean?" Adrien said, intrigued. "Well, it's not like kwamis appear on recording devices. All you would have to do is point at something and I would just move it around for you." "Haha that would be great! We should do that one day!" "Nah, I don't want to repeat the same trick." Plagg yawned. "It was clever, though." "Repeat...? What do you mean by repeat?" "Nothing, kid. Give me some cheese and let's get to bed." "...Oh my gosh, Plagg... Marinette must have a kwami of her own!" "Oh, now you catch on? I was just about to sleep." "I HAVE TO SEE HER! PLAGG, CLAWS OUT!"

  “His philosophy was a mixture of three famous schools -- the Cynics, the Stoics and the Epicureans -- and summed up all three of them in his famous phrase, 'You can't trust any bugger further than you can throw him, and there's nothing you can do about it, so let's have a drink.” ― Terry Pratchett, Small Gods One hot chocolate, a cup of tea, coffee, and two muffins later Buffy was satisfied with the contract and so was Willow. She signed the bottom document and initialed the few paragraphs throughout that required initialing. She flicked briefly through the document again. “The deposit was $3000 right?” Clem nodded and Buffy reached into her purse and pulled out a signed but otherwise blank check, entered in the amount and filled in Clem's company name. “Here you are. All signed and everything.” Clem took the check, looked it over carefully and satisfied clipped it to the top of the signed contract. “I'll get Adele to make a copy while I give you guys the tour.” He stood and the girls followed him out of his office and back to reception.   Adele was just putting her headset back on and settling back into her desk from her lunch break as they arrived in reception. “Adele, could you make a copy of this contract and take care of this check please? - Oh, can you please add Miss Rosenberg to the contacts on this job? Miss Summers is going to be away for a little while during the dig.” Adele smiled and took the paperwork. “Of course. Miss Rosenberg do you have a number I can contact you on?” Willow gave Adele her home number and she diligently wrote it down on the front of the contract, then removed the clip and check to start photocopying the paperwork. She gave the girls a small smile and waved as they walked away.   Clem stopped the trio in front of a serious looking door with an ‘Employees Only’ sign on the front. “Miss Summers, I just need to warn you- and please let me finish before you say anything- that I have two vampires in my employ.” Willow gasped and Buffy elbowed her gently and nodded for Clem to continue. “Both of whom are black ribboners, have been in my employ for years. You and your little red friend have nothing to fear from them. They are completely safe and can socialize freely with humans without getting all fang-happy. They get tested once a week for human blood in their system, it's a condition of working here, see?”  He searched Buffy's face for a negative reaction, seeing none he continued, “I also have a Fyral demon; he was the runt of his litter and apparently it's customary for their clans to remove the antlers of the smallest and weakest and turn them out into the wilds to die. He found us, as weak as a kitten and Mr Klopp took pity on him and looked after him. He's about as intelligent as a normal Fyral - which is to say not at all - but is about as aggressive as a fly. So, ah... any problems girls?” Clem scratched his head nervously and shuffled his feet.   Buffy shrugged and Willow nodded but scuttled behind Buffy just in case. “Lead on Clem, sounds interesting.” She flashed him a smile and he visibly relaxed.   Clem unlocked the door and ushered them into a small-ish break room. Well, it was in fact a rather large room, but the great hulking figures of what Buffy assumed must have been Mr Klopp and another, unknown golem made the space feel positively cramped. None of the room's inhabitants seemed unhappy about the arrangement though, so she followed Clem into the center of the small-but-big space, Willow as ever scurrying behind. “Guys, guys, gather around. These are the clients for the dig I've been pricing up for the last two days; Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg, this is the team that will be working your dig.” Buffy waved, and Willow stepped out slightly from behind Buffy to wave meekly too. “I'll let you guys introduce yourselves if that's ok? Pizza should be here in about 10 minutes.”   A lanky, brown haired man cautiously approached the pair. He had a pleasant face with wide brown eyes and an unfortunately prominent nose. Buffy smiled at him comfortingly, and all the tension fell away as a goofy smile spread across his face. “Hi, Miss,” he made a gesture as though he was going to tip his hat, despite the fact he wasn't wearing one. “I'm Buck. Please excuse me for sayin’ so, but you two are mighty pretty.” Willow blushed and stepped a little further out from behind Buffy. “I'm right glad to have met you both. I'm a pretty easy going guy, please don't hesitate to ask any questions that might be botherin’ ya.” He put out his hand and shook Buffy and Willow's hands.   “If you don't mind me asking, Buck, when were you turned?” Willow ‘eeped’ and dove back behind Buffy. Buffy rolled her eyes, Willow should really know better by now. “In the 1950’s, Miss,” he said without any trace of annoyance.   “Is your sire anyone I would know? Or should be worried about finding you and causing trouble?” she said, all business now.   “He pops by every now and again to check on me, see how unlife is treating me. He doesn’t usually cause any trouble, don’t drink from the tap no more. Says it tastes just as bad as from a bottle, so why bother? Drinks black market at Willy’s or from Viola at the dump. Name of Lawson, Sam Lawson. Lookin for a mission he says, disappears for years at a time.”   Buffy’s eyebrows shot all the way to her hairline. “You’re from The Master’s line? Your sire was Sam Lawson, was a submariner in the 40’s?”   Buck looked surprised. “Well, dunno about the rest but that sounds like my sire, he was a bilge rat from way back. A straight up and down sorta guy, said he turned me because he was lonely.”   Buffy smiled. “And one final question if you don't mind,” - Buck nodded genially - “what's your reasoning for giving up the long white pig?”   He snorted and then grew serious for a moment. “When I was just a fledge I was keepin' in contact with my sister, see, because she was all I had left in the world besides Sam. We'd both been orphans fore long as I can remember. Lawson had me drinking human from a bottle; it made it really hard to be round her but I still tried. I was walking her home from a movie and we got spotted by a bunch of feral vamps, though I didn't know it at the time. They followed her home and the next day convinced her I was in trouble. She followed them out to my place and.. they...killed her, in my apartment. It was awful….and no matter how much I scrubbed I could still smell her blood and it made me so hungry. Lawson an’ I massacred the entire pack and I ain't never touched human again. ‘Coz Lucy wouldn't want it.”   Buffy briefly gripped his hand. “I’m sorry about your sister, and for bringing up something painful like that.”   Buck smiled at her sadly “That’s mighty kind of you miss, but it was a long time ago now. It's nice to know someone else ‘sides me's gonna remember her. ‘Sides, she's not dead while her name is still spoken* and all that.”   “Thanks, Buck, it was nice meeting you.” Buffy smiled and Buck wandered over to the table and sat down.   A bespectacled face with scared yellow eyes picked his way carefully through the rabble of supernatural individuals in the break room.   Buffy eyed him carefully- he seemed familiar. “H-h-hello Miss S-s-summers, M-m-miss R-rosenberg. P-pleased to m-meet y-you b-both.” He stood a little taller. “I-I'm D-dalton, I'm th-the n-night f-foreman that w-will be overs-seeing your p-project. F- feel free to a-ask me anything.” He frowned and then nodded decisively, like he hadn't made up his mind on whether the last thing he said was true until after he'd said it.   “Dalton, I think I've heard of you before. I had no idea you were a black ribboner though.” She smiled at him, and Dalton visibly deflated in relief. “Y-es miss. Only good things I h-hope.”   “Well, I've heard that you're very intelligent, you know lots of languages and stuff. And er-” Buffy floundered for a moment “Lots of smart things.” she finished lamely.   “Th-thank you miss. Was there anything else?” He shifted nervously, like he was fighting the instinct to run away.   “Can I ask about your sire and why you've given up human?”   “I-I, er” he scratched his head and scrunched his eyebrows. “My s-sire is dead, I uh, believe it was you who slew him actually, Miss Summers, I was only ever a researcher so had no part in the- ah- attack that had you burn down the highschool g-gym at Hemery, I was just a translator.”   “Huh?” echoed Willow from behind Buffy. “Who turned him?” she whispered.   Buffy sighed, “Willow he has like, super bat hearing, he can hear you. He’s saying that Lothos is his sire.” She turned to address Dalton again, “Can you do that flying thing then? That was way creepy.”   “Ah, no Miss, that was a- ah, skill that was only passed down to a few select members o-of the clan, I was not fortunate enough to be endowed with that skill. Lothos turned me in the 1940’s when his previous researcher was killed.” He looked at her fearfully, like he was expecting her to stake him.   “Can’t help family huh?” Dalton shook his head tightly. “My demon has never really been interested in humans before, it’s no hardship for me not to drink- er- from the tap as it were. I also am sometimes hired as a researcher- because of my ability to do- as you said ‘lots of smart things’ ”   Buffy snorted, “Did you just make fun of me Dalton?” He looked fearful for a moment and Buffy winked at him. “I think you and I might get along just fine. No matter my grasp of the English language.” She had to stop herself from poking out her tongue at him and smiled playfully instead.   Dalton breathed a sigh of relief. “Was that all, Miss?”   Buffy nodded, “Thank you for being honest with me, Dalton, I know that must have been really scary.”   Dalton nodded, turned, sat next to Buck at the table and began rifling through paperwork that was scattered on the table.   Buffy turned to Willow “This hasn't been so bad so far has it? Just because it's a bit unknown doesn’t mean it’s automatically scary. And hey, no one’s tried to eat you yet, that's always a plus in my book.”   Willow let out a small snort and came to stand beside her. “You really need to rethink your expectations if ‘not having anything try to eat you yet’ is your basis for having a good day.”   “Slayer remember silly? I’m a nummy treat for lots of nasties.”   Willow looked thoughtful for a moment, “Well I suppose in your book that would probably be considered a good thing then I guess.”   Buffy turned a brilliant smile onto Willow, “That's the spirit!”   *Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

—- “wil? dad and tech are gonna be home tomorrow, right?” tommy asked with his thumb in his mouth. wilbur had hoped tommy wouldn’t ask, but it was inevitable that he would. wilbur hated that he didn’t know how to answer tommy, that he couldn’t say ‘of course, dad and tech will be home for your birthday tom!’ but he wasn’t so sure they would be home now. they head been gone for almost two weeks on some trip for phils work, obviously, phil took techno with him. not caring or thinking about tommy and wilbur. it’s not like this was unusual, phil would leave about once a month, mostly with techno, and would be gone from three days to three weeks. this meant wilbur was usually left to take care of four year old tommy, almost five. despite wilbur practically raising tommy by himself, he still wanted the rest of there ‘family’ to be there for tommy’s birthday. he knew tom would be devastated when- if, if they didn’t show up. wilbur just wants tommy to be and live a happy life. so, wilbur smiles and says, “they’ll be home tomorrow tom.” wilbur goes to scoop tommy up and take him to bed. tommy rapped his arms around wilburs neck and snuggled closer to him, he was excited to see his family for his birthday, but right now he was tired. —- tommy wake up super early the next morning, buzzing with energy. he grabbed his cow plush and jumped out of bed and went to wake wilbur up, since neither of them usually were awake so early, but when tommy passed the kitchen, wilbur was already awake and making breakfast. wilbur spotted his brother and smiled, “tommy! look, i made your favourite~” he say tommy’s eyes widen, “waffles!?” he screamed as he run over to the kitchen island. tommy climbed the long chair, clutching henry to his chest. wilbur was just finishing up breakfast, humming a tune. tommy was so excited, today was going to be the best day ever, tubbo was coming over and his dad and techie were coming home. wilbur finished up the plates and passed some waffles to tommy. he happily started digging in, kicking his feet. wilbur set his own plate down and starts eating as well. after about five minutes tommy asked, “when is tubbo coming over?” his mouth full of food. “tommy, don’t talk with food in your mouth.” tommy started chewing with his mouth open. “and, i’d say around 8, it’s half past 7 now so let’s finish eating- tom! stop chewing with your mouth open!” this went on for about five more minutes until they both were done. wilbur took their plates and put then in the sink, he’d clean them later. clapping his hands wilbur turned to tommy, “okay! we have a bit until tubbo is here. want to watch a show tommy?” “can we watch paw patrol?” “of course tommy, it’s your birthday silly” wil said as they went to the living room. —- in the middle of their show, the doorbell rang. tommy jumped up and ran to the door screaming ‘tubbo!’. wilbur paused the show and looked to the door. it was open, tommy grabbing tubbos hand and pulling him inside. the boys went down the hall, wilbur assumed for tommy to show tubbo his room. schlatt was just standing in the doorway looking a bit out of place. “come on in schlatt!” wil called, “stop acting like your meeting your girlfriends parents for the first time.” schlatt scoffed and walked in, heading to the couch and sat across from wilbur. tommy and tubbo came back from the hall, talking a mile a minute. they sat on the middle of the couch. tommy asked to put paw patrol back on. they sat well tubbo and tommy spoke, watching the show for awhile. until, about halfway through season one, tommy asked when phil and techno were coming home. it was noon by now, so tommy thought they’d be here, you know since they’d be doing cake and presents soon. the light atmosphere was gone when tommy asked, wilbur was seething with rage towards his brother and father. tommy looked so hopeful and wilbur knew he had to break that, he hated making tommy sad. wilbur sighed, “i don’t think they’ll be here for cake and presents tom.” wil saw tommy clutch tubbos hand, making tubbo look over, “oh.. okay.” he said looking away. —- “schlatt.” “dad!” “wake up, idiot.” “it’s time for presents!” schlatt had fallen asleep almost right after they got to wils house. he barely got any sleep the night before, tubbo was way to excited to see tommy’s house to go to sleep at a good time. honestly, he would’ve rather stayed sleeping, but cake calls, well the kids more like it, they were practically yelling in his ears. “i’m up, i’m up.” he grunted, stretching as wilbur brought the three presents for tommy to open.   once they were all comfortable, wil gave tommy the go to start opening the gifts. wilbur already had his camera out. tommy ripped there the wrapping paper on wilburs gift like it was nothing, to pent up in waiting. it was two music discs with the names cat and mellohi etched into it. they were slightly worn, clearly having been used before. tommy’s mouth was open, he was just staring at them. “for me?” he asked wilbur, “yeah kid, whenever i play my discs you always ask for me to play them, so i thought, since you like them so much that you should have them.” wilbur said, “happy birthday tom.” wilbur ruffled tommy’s hair. tommy’s gently placed the discs on the coffee table. “me next! me next!” tubbo yelled excitedly, bouncing in his seat. tubbo handed tommy a crudely wrapped gift. tommy opened this one and gasped, “really tubbo!” tommy smiled, “you know i wanted a pet moth.” tommy hug thé plushie and hugged tubbo, “this is the best! i’m naming it clementine.” “okay kids, cake time!” —- after over half the cake, tubbo and schlatt went home. tommy and tubbo hugging before they left. they had tried to bribe wilbur and schlatt to let them have a sleep over, they said no but promised they could soon. tommy and wilbur were now finishing dinner and going to get ready for bed. wilbur knew tommy was extra tired today, which he was glad for, since tommy didn’t put up much of a fight to brush his teeth. “so how does it feel to be five?” wilbur asked as he tucked tommy in. tommy grinned, “i’m a big man like you wilby!” wilbur chuckled, stopping when he noticed tommy’s face drop. “are tech and dad coming home ever wil? cause i know they were supposed to be home a little bit ago, but they aren’t. is it cause i’m loud? i can be quiet wilby, promise. i-i just wanted dad and techie to open presents and eat cake with me.. why weren’t they here?” tommy whimpered almost crying. this just made wils heart break, the angry just grew. how dare his dad and brother make his baby brother feel like this. “no tommy, it’s not because your loud. phi-dad is just really busy a lot. i’m sure he didn’t mean to miss you birthday tom.” wilbur said through gritted teeth. tommy curled around the moth and cow plush in his hands, “okay wilby, g’night, love you.” “love you too” —- when phil did get home, it was hours after tommy head gone to bed. wilbur haded been able to sleep, so he was in the living room watching tv. wilbur grumbled when he heard them come inside. he heard techno say he was going to bed and heard his father come into the living room. “oh wil!” wilbur grumbled he didn’t want to talk to phil. “so sorry we’re late today, we got caught up and missed our flight.” phil apologized. wilbur was doing his best to ignore him, “wil?” phil asked, “you alright?” that was it, “am i alright? no! of fucking course not! you messed up for the last time. you missed tommy’s birthday! do you know you upset he was!?” “wil-“ “no! you can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be fine. you can’t keep doing this. you can’t keep ignoring tommy and ignoring me!” “wilbur! i do not ignore you! i have a very important job-“ “uh huh, so why do you take techno with you everywhere! what about us? you leave us here for weeks without so much as a call!” wilbur yelled, “i-i i’m still pretty much a kid phil, i shouldn’t have to take care of a toddler. and- and tommy shouldn’t have to worry that you’ll never come back, he shouldn’t be used to you leaving in the first place!” “i- wilbur-“ “no i’m sick of this! either start being a father or- or” —- tommy woke up to a shouting from the hall. he heard wilbur and his dads voice. at first he was happy because his dad was home, but he started getting scared as they kept getting louder and they sounded so angry. he didn’t know why they were fighting. he clutched his two stuffies, remembering that since dads home the techie must be home to. he got the idea to go to techno’s room to sleep. he was always nice to cuddle with. tommy always knew techno wouldn’t let anything hurt him. he got up, feet landing softly on the floor boards. he pitter-pattered to techno’s room. he didn’t bother knocking. “techie?” he asked into the darkness. techno shuffled, “heh?” he was super jet-lagged from the long flight. he squinted at the bright light of the doorway, his little brothers silhouette standing. “t-techie, wilby and dad are fighting and i can’t sleep.” tommy mumbled. techno just grunted and lifted the blankets, tommy closed the door and ran under the covers, snuggling close to his other older brother. “i’m sorry we missed your party kid.” techno slurred. tommy just snuggled closer, “it’s fine, i just want dad and wil to stop yelling.” tommy just wanted his family to be there. —-

  It starts with Sasha and Jon.   She’s fresh off three months in Artefact Storage, shell-shocked and stand-offish. Jon starts a few months later and they learn the ropes together. She warms up, divulges little tidbits of her time in the other department that Jon devours. He’s young, hungry for answers and Sasha’s already jaded by her few years in academia. This is just a transitional job, she assures him. It pays better than most research gigs and allows her to keep up a certain lifestyle.    “I’m looking at other places, putting out feelers,” she confides in him one day over coffee. It’s become their daily ritual, a mid-morning break where they can commiserate on the staid academics that ask too much of them and the fanciful statements that end up on their desk. “Whatever you do, don’t get stuck here.” She leans back in her chair, gives a cynical little smile. “Or maybe you should. It’ll be different for you, you’re a man.” He starts a protest but she cuts him off. “It’s an old boys club and you know it. Besides, I know all about your extra meetings with Bouchard. He’s never done that with anyone else. Who knows - in a few years you might be my boss!”   He scoffs at that. Jon feels like he’s treading water. He’s a great researcher, sure, but he hasn’t exactly made himself popular among the others. He’s quick to bite, dismissive, blunt. It’s why he and Sasha get along so well, tucked away in their own little world. Of course she would notice the attention from Elias; Jon’s flattered by it, even if he stammers his way through every interaction. Elias seems to find this amusing, but Jon wants to impress him.    Though not at the cost of his friendship with Sasha. “I always mention your work to him. I’m rubbish with technology, but you-” She rolls her eyes.   “Don’t, he’ll see right through that. Manipulation’s not your strong suit.” Jon stares down at his rapidly cooling drink, an embarrassed flush spreading across his features. But her hand reaches out to grasp his and a fond smile lights her features. “Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”   Jon likes Sasha. Their personalities occasionally clash, but never for too long. Jon’s quick to forgive and Sasha’s too fond to hold a grudge, though she’s loath to admit it. So when her roommate suddenly moves out and she’s left in a bind, it’s only natural for Jon to take her place. He’s been rent-poor, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty studio that’s still an hour’s commute. Sasha’s closer and her flat’s substantially nicer; she offers and he accepts, easy as that. It’s a practical move, and Jon has to admit his lonely little flat is starting to feel suffocating.    They fit together easily, like pieces of puzzle slotting in place. Sasha’s brutally efficient in her personal matters; bills and maintenance that Jon finds overwhelming and confounding she takes care of with ease. He’s heard her on the phone in that light, practiced tone of hers as she casually threatens the landlord for necessary repairs. Jon finds himself relaxing bit by bit, feeling comfortable in his own skin as she snarks at the dinner table over a dish he’s made. He used to cook for Georgie like this. Now he cooks for Sasha.   “You’re good at this,” she comments one night over chana masala. “Loads better than the frozen meals I’m used to.”   “It’s nice, having someone to cook for. Harder to do it for one.” He feels a bit uncomfortable with the admission, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is what it’s like, when you love someone.   He’s never said that to her, of course. He gets attached too easily but never knows quite how to show it. And it’s not his usual sort of love, he doesn’t want to date her. She’s more than a friend, and Jon’s never had many of those; he has no metric to measure this against. He thinks he could stay in this flat with her forever, so long as he could see her smile every morning and yawn every night.    On a Saturday morning she stumbles out of bed and makes her way over to the kitchen. “Morning,” she grumbles, as she reaches for the coffee pot and kisses his forehead. Jon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.   On a Wednesday night Jon drinks too much.    “Sasha,” he slurs, her arm the only thing keeping him from falling off his stool. “I want you t’ know…”   She smiles indulgently, takes a sip of her drink. “Yes, dear?”   “I-I love you.” She pauses and Jon’s heart drops. “N-Not like that, but like friends. Good friends. Very good friends. But m-maybe not.” She’s still smiling, that’s got to be a good sign, right? “I-I just love you, okay?”   And then she laughs, puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “I love you too. Stay with me forever, okay?”   He takes her hand between his and promises, with all the solemnity a drunken man can muster, that he’ll stay with her forever and then some. The next morning, while they’re both nursing massive hangovers, Jon broaches the subject again.   “Did you mean it?” he asks tentatively, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What you said last night. Do- do you want me to stay forever?” She turns to look at him, bleary eyes suddenly alert.   “Yes.” There’s no tease in her words as she leans into his side, a warm weight on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.”   Jon stays.     Two years later, Tim joins the Institute.   He’s handsome; charming, but subdued. He’s been assigned a desk near theirs, invading the quiet little corner that had become their world. Tim greets them both with a smile and a perfunctory handshake before settling down at his desk and powering up his laptop. He doesn’t speak to them again.   Jon watches as he goes back and forth between circulation and his desk, building an impressive stack of books- The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi, The Congress of Clowns and Other Russian Circus Acts. Sasha told him he worked in publishing, Jon knows she got that information through her usual nefarious means. Perhaps he’s writing a book, Jon says. Sasha thinks otherwise.   “He’s one of those,” she says over sandwiches and tea. She invited Tim, but had been turned down with an apologetic smile.    “Hmm?”   “Like you.” She sets her drink down, eyes him with her steady gaze. “He’s got a reason.”   Mr. Spider doesn’t like it.   Jon shivers at the reminder. Sasha never brought it up after he initially confided in her one vulnerable night last year; she just held him through the shaking and the tears. He’s only told the story twice; once at eight, again at twenty five. It never gets easier.   “No one believed me,” he whispered, tucking his face into her shoulder as his body itched from phantom legs skittering across skin. She squeezed him back.   “I do.”   They’re friendly enough to Tim, giving him his distance while still trying to be helpful. Jon points him in the direction of texts and scholars who might be useful, Sasha teaches him a few of her more invasive tricks that Jon refused to learn. Slowly, bit by bit, he opens up. Never shares his story, no- but he smiles, jokes around with them, accompanies them on their lunch breaks and eventually entices them to after work drinks.    He’s handsome when he smiles, Jon thinks to himself as Tim regales them with stories of dates gone wrong. Sasha catches his eye and winks. He wonders if she’ll tire of Jon now that Tim’s around. He’s everything Jon’s not; good-looking, confident, secure in his intelligence. Sasha laughs so freely around him. He could ground her where Jon cannot- they can be a chaotic force, the two of them. It’s why they keep to themselves.   But at the end of the night it’s Jon’s hand she takes, swinging it gently with hers. “Stay with me forever?”   He smiles. “Forever.”   They invite him over to their flat one night in spring, when the trees are blossoming and Jon’s allergies are acting up. He’s sniffling miserably on the couch, Tim sprawled next to him as Sasha pours some wine. Despite his misery, Jon’s content.   Tim nudges him with his foot. “So what’s your deal?” he asks in a wheedling tone, though his smirk betrays an almost imperceptible anxiety. It’s strange. “You and Sash. Dating, roomies…?”   It’s Sasha who answers, handing Jon a glass of wine and standing before Tim, tall and proud. “Jon’s my partner.” It’s matter of fact, and Jon can’t help the warmth that floods him. “We’re not dating. I’m not interested in that.” She hands him his glass with a smirk. “But if you want to romance Jon, feel free.”   Jon sputters as she laughs- he’s transparent, as usual. They’d talked about it briefly- Sasha’s fine with him dating other people, but Jon’s never felt the need to. Sasha’s enough. She still is, but he can’t deny the way his heart swoops whenever Tim aims that smile in his direction. Sasha likes him too, in her own way.   Tim’s still gaping at them and Jon can’t help but join in on the laughter, as embarrassed as he feels. “Is the great Timothy Stoker nervous?” Sasha says in between giggles. “Guess we know how to shut him up now.”   “L-Look, can you blame me?” Tim says, a smile growing on his face. “You two can be very intimidating, not to mention gorgeous-”   Jon kicks at his leg. “Don’t joke.”   “No, we are.” Sasha interrupts, daring him to disagree. She turns that deadly smile back on Tim, delighting in his falter. “So what’ll it be, Stoker?”   There’s silence, Jon can feel his heart racing. They’ve got this all wrong, Tim doesn’t want him, Tim’s going to leave, Tim doesn’t understand-   “Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”   Jon blinks. “Uh, yes?”   “He likes Thai!” Sasha calls as she walks over to her bedroom, leaving the two of them on the couch, laughing nervously.    “So you’re bi, then?” Tim asks, scooting closer to Jon and throwing a blanket over their legs and an arm around his shoulder. It’s warm in all the right ways and Jon leans closer, the awkwardness dissipating at the touch of his hand.    “I prefer pan,” he replies. It’s the first term that felt right to him. Georgie used to make some stupid joke about a ‘gender buffet’ and him ‘having one of everything.’ It still makes him smile. “And- and you should know I’m also ace. So there’s some things I won’t be able to do for you.” He looks for disappointment in Tim’s eyes and finds none. “I hope that’s alright.”   “Of course.” Tim smiles like he means the words and Jon feels light, almost dizzy. “Are kisses alright?”   He nods shyly, and Tim takes this as his cue to pepper him in obnoxiously loud smooches- one in his hair, another on his nose. Jon manages to bat him away after Tim almost gets him in the eye.    So Tim and Jon are dating. Tim takes him out to dinner, the movies, one memorable night of karaoke. Sasha joins in when she wants; they go to museums and lectures. One night she laces her fingers through Tim’s, smiling at his wide eyes.   “What?” she says innocently, doing the same with Jon. “I’ve got two hands.”   On Wednesday nights Tim goes to the gym. Jon sits at the table, passes Sasha a bowl of reheated spaghetti before settling down in his chair. He fidgets, not touching his fork.   “What is it?” Sasha asks, setting her own fork down. “You’ve got that look on your face.”   “I-” he stutters, sighing as the words won’t come. Just tell her like you practiced. “I’m not trying to, well- hmm. I don’t want to insinuate anything-”   “You would never.”   “But, I’ve noticed- I’m not- Tim is very handsome.”   Sasha smiles indulgently. “Mhm. Go on.”   “And I’ve noticed. I don’t- if you wanted to-” Goddamnit. Pull yourself together. “I wouldn’t mind it, if you were to - that is, if you’d like to engage in-” He closes his eyes, purses his lips in frustration. “Please stop me.”   “Why Jon,” she replies, her voice coy and teasing. “Are you giving me your blessing?”   Jon sighs, his face warming as he opens one eye- she’s grinning, just as he expected. “...Yes?”   Six months later, Tim moves in.     “Jon wants to bring a boy home!”   Jon smacks him in the arm and scowls. “Tim, don’t-”   “What, it’s true!” He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Jon wants to knock the smile off his face and maybe onto the floor, if he can get a good kick in. “I don’t blame you and in fact, I encourage it. Martin’s a catch-”   “Martin?” Sasha perks up. “Finally!”   “Not you too-”   “Jon, he’s a very sweet boy-”   “-good-looking, too!”   “And if you want to bring him over, please do.” She reaches across the table to give his hand an encouraging, if condescending, squeeze. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”   “But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”   “Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”   “I don’t think I’ll need to go into that much detail just yet,” Jon cuts her off, ignoring Tim’s snicker. “It’s just...what if he thinks it's weird?”   “Weird can be good. And if he doesn’t agree, well - he’s not worth your time.”   If only it were that simple.   It’s been about three months since he first ran into Martin in the break room. He’d seen him around plenty of times, but despite his hulking form, the man can make himself very, very small. It wasn’t until he quite literally ran into him, causing him to drop his newly organized files, that Jon got a good look at his face.   It was a nice face. Soft, kind, with big blue eyes and curly red hair that fell across his forehead. He wanted to touch it, tuck it behind Martin’s ear and he almost did, despite the man’s rambling apologies and meek demeanor. He stood there, frozen, even as Martin handed back the file with a bashful smile.   “Sorry, I’m pretty clumsy. Are you alright?”   Jon was fine. He should probably say that.   “Y-Yes. I’m Jon.” Wow. Smooth.   “I know.” Martin put a hand behind his neck, nervously chuckling. “You’re quite known around these parts.” His eyes widened and his face turned red. A nice red. “N-Not in a bad way, of course! You’re- you’re just very smart and- and direct- and oh Lord, that’s not a compliment, is it-”   “Thank you for my file,” Jon replied robotically, his eyes trained somewhere over Martin’s shoulder and not on his very, very blue eyes. “I have to take my leave now.” Why are you talking like this?   Their next few encounters were similarly stunted and awkward. Martin made tea at ten every morning, coincidentally when Jon got his yogurt from the fridge. He started making Jon a cup as well; he wasn’t sure if Martin was particularly excellent at making tea, or if it just mattered that he was the one making it. Jon tried not to dwell on the sentimentality of it all.    He shouldn’t want another partner. He’s got Sasha, who he loves, and Tim, who he also loves, albeit in a different way. They should be enough for him. They are enough. But Martin makes him tea and asks him how his day is going and smiles at him and people don’t do that. He tells himself he just wants a friend, but he finds his mind wandering- Martin’s hand in his while they walk down the street, Jon nestled into his side on a movie night and Tim’s there too, because Martin is very comfy and handsome and warm. Sasha’s in her armchair reading a book because tonight they’re watching a romantic comedy and she hates those. Jon hates them too but Martin likes them, of course Martin likes them-   No. He’s getting distracted. And he’s standing in front of Martin like an idiot, saying nothing. This is going terribly. Why did he ever think this would not go terribly-   “Jon? Are you alright? You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”   “I’m not having a stroke,” Jon responds on auto-pilot. “I’m trying to think of a clever way to ask you out but you are very distracting.”   Shit. Martin stares at him, mouth open in shock. He’s got nice teeth. Very straight.   “Um- I-I thought you were with Tim?” Martin squeaks out. Oh God, I’ve scared him. Do I keep going?  “Or- or Sasha, oh! I’m not accusing you of -”   “No, you’re correct,” Jon grinds out, willing himself to be calm. He doesn’t want Martin to think his frustration is aimed at him. “Sasha’s my partner and I’m dating Tim, and sometimes Sasha and Tim-” No! Abort! “-sorry. We’re together. But, um, I-I also like you, and I think Tim likes you but he hasn’t said- I’m sorry, this is going all wrong.” He looks down at the floor, clenching his jaw. “I understand if you say no.”   “I’m not saying no,” Martin’s voice is lower now and Jon feels a hope rise in his chest. He’s not? “So it’s, it’s like an open thing? You’re accepting applications?” Jon would laugh at the joke if he weren’t so paralyzed with fear.   “Not really? It’s, we aren’t dating around or anything, but I suppose it is open, in a way.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Open for you.”   Martin’s smiling like he can’t believe his luck, and it confuses Jon because who wouldn’t want him? Kind, handsome Martin who makes him tea and doesn’t laugh at his stupid jokes but rolls his eyes affectionately and tells his own in turn. Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever understand his humor but it makes him smile and that’s important. And now Martin’s taking his hand and he- oh fuck Martin’s taking his hand Martin’s got his hand and it’s warm, just like he knew it would be-   “I-I think I’d like that.” A squeeze. Jon dies but only a little. “Wow, this is sort of crazy for me, y’know? You’re all so, so intimidating and good-looking-”   “Yes, we are,” Jon agrees, squeezing his hand back. “But we’d like to buy you dinner, if you’re amenable.” Martin laughs and says yes, he’s very, very amenable. It feels right holding Martin’s hand. It feels right to see him with Tim and Sasha, smiling and joking. It feels right to lean into him at the end of the day, to nudge his side in the night and apologize in the morning.   Martin’s lease expires in seven months. They start looking for a new apartment after three.  

    Sylvanas hesitated at the threshold as if the floor turned to tar and glued her in place, threatening to pull her under. The last time she was here flickered through her mind, and she clenched her hands, ears pressing flat against her head as doubt tried to claw to the forefront, urged her to step back, to turn around and leave this foolish endeavour in better hands. The Spire loomed against a dreary grey sky, a forlorn shadow of high elven architecture, once so proud and majestic, now macabre and deteriorated, so much like its former caretaker. Warm fingers circled her wrist. “Breathe,” said Jaina, leaning into her side, “remember to breathe, darling.” Slowly, Sylvanas forced herself to do just that, dragging in one breath after another until she felt steady enough to unclench her hands and step over that invisible line into her ruined home. The only real change was the lack of lingering Scourge. None remained in the Ghostlands, finally purged in their entirety with the aid of Helya and Kul Tiras. The ziggurats were gone, and Deatholme was in the process of being broken down into rubble. There was talk of rebuilding it into a grand memorial plaza, though that was years down the line. There was so much talk of rebuilding, reclamation, and remembrance that despite all her self-defeating thoughts, it burrowed into her. Sylvanas would have resisted the pull of it for longer if not for Lor’themar reaching out to her, his long and detailed letter asserting that the Spire still belonged to her. A small, despairing part of her briefly considered telling him to tear it down, but that wouldn’t have been right. She had to come back. For what, exactly, eluded Sylvanas, as looking around the main room did not fill her with any sort of hope or motivation. All she saw were ghosts, faraway nights spent with family, filled with teasing, laughter, and stories, nights that dwindled over the years until it was only her, sitting alone at the table, staring at empty chairs. She drifted around the room, vaguely aware of Jaina already cataloguing items. Her wife came prepared, more than enough for both of them, because Jaina knew she would be different here, not quite present. There were crates to put everything in, arrangements made for transport, storage, and repair work, and they came to the Spire in plain clothes for working in. Among all the ruined ones, the painting of her parents remained untouched, a frozen, happy moment Sylvanas couldn’t stand to look at for long, so she continued to circle the room until two spots of colour caught her eye, red and green. Sylvanas approached the cabinet that used to hold ann’da’s wines, and an ugly, twisting sensation pulled at her heart—the necklaces were still there. She scowled, half-expecting the damned things to burn when she picked them up and slid them into her pocket. It didn’t matter. Sending letters wouldn’t matter. Even if her sisters responded positively, which they wouldn’t, she sincerely doubted they would want to be involved, not while she was at any rate. How much easier it would be for them had she remained dead. Her ears flicked at the sound of Jaina moving around behind her, and she shook the thought from her head. Easier for her sisters—but they were not the ones who mattered now. If they wanted to discard her and keep their distance, so be it, she would not get her hopes up for lost causes. No matter how much it continued to sting. Sylvanas crouched and opened the cabinet, surprised to find a few intact bottles in the bottom rack. She carefully removed them and stood to read the labels. Jaina approached, brushing a loose strand of pale hair from her eyes. The rest of it she kept away from her neck in a coiled braid. She eyed the bottle. “What have you found?” “Ann’da had a love for wine that minn’da lacked,” she said, “It didn’t suit her as well as strong liquor. But she kept his favourites after he died and would drink one on the date in his honour.” Lireesa was never a melancholic drinker, however. Sylvanas clearly remembered her mother making a little joke of it, that she hoped Zadanis was enjoying her ‘suffering’ through his precious wine. Sylvanas remembered drinking the wine herself on the same date for both of them. She wasn’t nearly as light-hearted about it as Lireesa. There was a knowing look in Jaina’s eyes as she finally connected dots Sylvanas tried to avoid revealing for the longest time because of how tragic and pathetic it all was, but Jaina did not comment on that. She did not judge or disparage or scoff. She only asked if the bottles were to be put aside for safekeeping. Sylvanas stared at the bottles a moment as the thought of flinging them off the overlook and into the sea crossed her mind. She wasn’t exactly sure where that impulse came from, frustration, spite, resentment, but she nodded nonetheless. Once the bottles were safely secured inside one of the many crates they brought with them, they slowly worked through the first floor, finding everything that wasn’t yet broken or ruined to put away. Anything broken, Jaina asked if Sylvanas wanted to have it repaired or thrown, and she waited patiently for the answer. More than once, Jaina said, “it’s okay if you want to keep it, but don’t feel as if you have to. This is your home.” Sylvanas wasn’t sure about that when it felt as if a dozen eyes are on her, judging and expectant, but she knew Jaina was right. She was the one who actually had to exist here, eventually, when they restored it. It should be a space she wanted to exist in. Much of it she decided to have repaired. Only the things that held no real affection or, conversely, held memories that were too heavy to bear were cast aside. She was under no illusion that she could have everything in its proper place or that it would resemble the home she remembered, and Sylvanas wasn’t sure she wanted that anyway. Broken things could not be unbroken, they could be mended, reforged, repaired, but the breaking itself and its impact could not be unwritten. Maybe the Spire would never come close to what it was, but she would at least try to find out what it could be. Jaina quietly reminded her to breathe throughout and didn’t ask for justifications. She did coax out stories, however, and Sylvanas found herself strangely willing to share. Someone else should know these things. Someone should know what her family was like before it all fell apart, gradually, piece by piece until there was nothing left but remnants laid to rest, and her, trapped by duty, in a home that was no longer a home, just a pretty tomb to a family once so vibrant and valiant. Time passed strangely, minutes dragging out into hours, hours compressed to minutes, lost between rooms and stories. They made astonishingly good progress considering her disparate state of mind, and it was entirely thanks to Jaina. Jaina catalogued everything, Sylvanas moved the heavy objects, and all the items meant to be kept or repaired were whisked back to Silvermoon with a wave of Jaina’s hand. The boxes would arrive, be sorted, and handed off for storage or taken to the appropriate craftspeople, then taken to storage. When the sun touched the horizon, they began to wrap up. They set the unused crates inside the now empty lounge that took up most of the central spire’s first floor. Jaina’s voice called to her, “Sylvanas?” Sylvanas tore her eyes away from the empty boxes to see Jaina standing in front of the fireplace, a grand thing that had seen many nights of laughter. It didn’t seem damaged at first pass, and she walked over, only to find Jaina’s eyes fixed on the empty bow rack above it. Her stomach clenched. Jaina looked at her. “Do you still want this here?” The rack was in good condition, sturdy dark wood carved with elaborate, swirling patterns that resembled feathers and fire. It was built to hold only one bow. She clasped her hands behind her back, forcing herself to stand straighter. “Yes.” “This is for Thas’dorah, isn’t it?” “Yes. It was a weapon of wartime, unnecessary for hunting or simple patrols, so minn’da left it here when she was not using it.” Lireesa allowed each of her children to hold it on occasion, usually a request made when they were very young and easily enamoured, to feel the thrumming power of the Sunwell coursing through it and know the responsibility their family carried. It was the duty of their family to protect Quel’thalas. Sylvanas swallowed hard. “I wish to be done for today,” she murmured. Jaina did not argue or linger. She made one last sweep for any unsecured boxes and spun open the portal back to Lordaeron, back to the welcoming familiarity of their quarters, the rumble of a thunderstorm, and a nice, long bath.     Sylvanas hissed a curse between her teeth and dropped her pen, sinking her head into her hands—it should not have been difficult. Either she wrote something, or she did not. It would be wiser not to, she had been down this road before, and all it brought her was pain and disappointment. And yet, when it came to her family, she was helplessly drawn to sticking her hand in the bear trap. It would be lovely if the bait were real. If there was a possibility for reconciliation, that maybe if she just said the right thing or mended the right bridge that her sisters would see her as something more than a monster, a disappointment, or trash to be discarded. It was folly, every single time. They kept wide berths during the campaign against N’Zoth, and despite the presence of various Alliance officials, they were not present at the wedding. Not that Sylvanas tried to invite them in the first place. All evidence pointed to neither of her sisters wanting anything to do with her. In all likelihood, Alleria and Vereesa would have just sneered at the sight of her in her dress uniform, and she did not need the memory of her wedding day tarnished by such things. Jaina had thought her ‘stunningly handsome,’ and that was all that mattered. Sylvanas briefly allowed herself the blissful distraction of those memories, of the dance she shared with Jaina and how heart-achingly beautiful her wife was in a gown—Jaina had put her imagination to shame that day. The wedding night ran through her like someone stoking a fire in her belly, and she cleared her throat, trying not to get caught up in the memory of her teeth sinking into that perfect spot between Jaina’s neck and shoulder, finally marking her. A familiar restlessness itched under her skin, and Sylvanas forcefully sighed. She returned her attention to the unwritten letters, eyes flicking briefly to the coiled necklaces sitting on the corner of her desk. Her ears twitched at the scuff of slippers on the wood floor of their private study until Jaina walked into view, the blue glow of her eyes piercing the darkness Sylvanas chose to sit in. “Forcing it won’t make the words come any faster,” Jaina murmured, coming to stand behind her and wrapping warm arms around her shoulders. “You can try again tomorrow.” Sylvanas took a deep breath, savouring the smell of heather and the hint of her own cologne lingering on Jaina, and let it out slowly. She wanted to get it out of the way, send off these accursed letters, receive rejection through words or silence, and move on from this childish idea that there was anything positive to be salvaged. She breathed in and out once more and set her pen down. Jaina was right, and she knew that. It simply didn’t sit well with her nerves. Jaina kissed her cheek. “Come back to bed.” Sylvanas rose from her desk and turned, catching her wife in a firm hug that Jaina readily relaxed into, fitting neatly under her chin. A happy sigh escaped Jaina, relishing the strength and broadness of Sylvanas’s frame and the security it provided. It had taken a while for her to accept just how much Jaina appreciated her body, but not as long to accept that it was a source of comfort in the first place. The warmth Jaina radiated sank through her thin pyjamas, and a low purr started up in her chest. Jaina laughed fondly and tried to shuffle them towards the door. “Come on,” she coaxed. “Thank you,” Sylvanas murmured, causing Jaina to pause and look up at her curiously. “For being patient. For planning further ahead than I can bear to think. For understanding, just… for all of this.” A gentle smile turned Jaina’s lips. “You don’t have to thank me for any of that,” she said, pressing a finger to Sylvanas’s lips when she opened her mouth. “But! I appreciate it. And I would do it all again.” Sylvanas ducked her chin, ears falling in a shy droop. Rather than linger on the warmth bubbling in her chest, she effortlessly scooped Jaina into her arms. An undignified squeak of surprise escaped her wife, and Sylvanas smirked, breaking into a grin at the playful swat on her shoulder. “You invited me back to bed, did you not?” she teased. Jaina rolled her eyes with a barely suppressed smile as she conceded, “I suppose I did.”     They cleared most of the central Spire on the second day set aside for this endeavour, a weekly thing rather than a block of consecutive days. Sylvanas had little doubt she would run herself ragged and go half-mad with the weight of it if she tried to deal with it all at once. Doubtless, their schedules would not appreciate that either. The only rooms left were a grand bedroom, a study, and a solarium at the very top, all of which Sylvanas did not feel remotely ready to confront, and Jaina did not push. Her wife understood those rooms would almost certainly come last if she could bring herself to step foot inside them at all. Jaina had the rest of the main tower swept clean and wiped down with the aid of little constructs, arcane creatures scuttling back and forth to clear away the cobwebs, grime, and mark problem areas with chalk. Beyond surface wear and tear, the building was remarkably undamaged, with a few cracks, some windows that needed replacing, doors to repair, cuts from blade or claw to fill in. It could have been much worse, collapsed floors and walls, extensive wood rot and the like. It was strange to see it cleared and clean. The gold details and blue tiling faded. The latter would need to be changed—blue had not been the colour of her people for over a decade now. Regardless, the sight loosened something in her chest, like a long infected wound finally being cleaned. It would bleed anew, and the pain would be more than enough to drown in, but wounds seldom healed best without outside help. Thoughts of the past clamoured for attention, nipping at her heels as the hours passed until she was too tired from pushing away the melancholic ones to put up a fight against the insidious ones, memories of the Fall, of fighting him, and afterwards. Malicious whispers that she didn’t deserve this, that once the restoration was done, the Spire should be handed over to her sisters to make it a real home again. It wasn’t meant for her. She was meant to be in the ground with Lirath and ann’da. At another point in her unlife, she would have endured it out of guilt, believing the pain itself deserved for failing. She still felt that impulse, believed that to some degree, and it was with great effort that she marched herself outside where the sun was barely beginning to set. Jaina stood at the edge of the Spire’s main balcony, the overlook, taking a break to drink some water and watch the sea. The day was overcast, and sunlight glittered on the waves in patches, the rest of it miserable and grey. A little bit of light breaking through the darkness. Sylvanas approached Jaina from behind and slipped her arms around her wife’s waist. “Hello, darling,” Jaina said with a smile in her voice. She set her canteen on a sealed crate and pulled Sylvanas’s arms tighter around her. Sylvanas hummed and sank her face into Jaina’s neck, eyes falling half-shut as she focused on the sound of her wife’s breathing and heartbeat, to the waves far below, and the sound of val’kyr wings beating faintly overhead, keeping watch on the Spire. The smell of heather made her nuzzle, grounding her in the present. Jaina lifted a hand into her hair. “How are you doing?” Better than she could have imagined, far from what would be ideal. Sylvanas did not feel at peace in this ruined space, but she could feel the faint promise of it flickering like a lone candle in a storm. One day at a time. She swallowed, but no words came to mind. She opened her mouth as if that would prompt them, and that didn’t work either. Her mind felt numb, not stuck so much as thick with fog, free to wander yet without clear direction. She frowned, clenching her jaw. Jaina turned around in her arms, brow pinched in concern. “Sylvanas?” she asked gently. Sylvanas tried again, casting a net in empty water over and over only to find nothing. Recognition flickered in Jaina’s dimly glowing eyes. Carefully, Jaina took hold of her chin and asked in thalassian, “Do you want to go home?” Home, that was much easier—she nodded. Jaina kissed her cheek and opened the portal home.     Vereesa, As you may have heard, I have begun the process of restoring our home. I could not abide leaving it to ruin while the land around it is reclaimed. You will find your necklace enclosed. Do with it as you will. Know that I do not expect anything of you, but if you wish to see our home restored to a more fitting state, you know the way. -Sylvanas     Alleria, I am once more taking responsibility for the Spire. It will be restored alongside the rest of our lands. Your necklace was still present during the initial sweep and has been enclosed. -Sylvanas     The third day saw them working on the rightmost or northern tower, clearing a parlour and a small library before reaching the bedrooms. Sylvanas hesitated at the first door, hand hovering over the handle as if it would burn her to touch it, reject her presence. Jaina waited by her side, checking notes and making sure she had enough pens to create the illusion of being busy and not impatient or bored with her inability to just get on with it. Taking a deep breath, Sylvanas sighed and opened the door to Lirath’s room. The smell of damp touched her nose, not pervasive but lingering. One of the windows was broken, letting in weather and creatures, judging by the old bird’s nest on his desk, which she quickly removed. It was quite clear where Lirath’s interests lay. The room was lined with shelves containing a wide variety of books on magic, components for spells, endless notebooks for his own theorising, and of course, songbooks. He’d had such a lovely voice for singing. She ground her teeth and began picking through her little brother’s room, trying not to linger as she found everything that wasn’t damaged and set it aside for Jaina to catalogue, store, and teleport away. “What was he like?” Jaina asked. It was better to talk than let herself sink into memories. “Creative, driven, kind-hearted,” Sylvanas said, “the baby of the group, so of course we teased him relentlessly, but Belore help anyone who looked at him wrong.” She finished cleaning a small pan flute and handed it over, watching Jaina dutifully wrap it. “Was he planning to become a bard?” Sylvanas turned away to search the nearby bookshelf. “No, but he enjoyed playing for us and others.” A familiar spine caught her eye, and she pulled out a tome, carefully wiping the cover. It was a book on advanced arcane theory, dog-earned and filled with notes in the margins of Lirath’s familiar but incomprehensible shorthand. Sylvanas pursed her lips. “He wanted to be a magister; he was soon to be an apprentice when he died.” They were all out on patrol when it happened. Amani forces snuck deep into their territory and struck the village, killing twenty-three people before they were driven back. He protected many more than they killed and took more with him, but Lirath still died with an axe in his chest, just like ann’da. She remembered the howl minn’da made when they finally saw his body, how raw and bottomless the pain of that sound was. They had lost aunts, uncles, and cousins in the attack, and all of it Lireesa took with the stoicism of an experienced general, even though she wept for them just the same in private.   It was Lirath’s death that cracked her. Lirath was the easiest to target—the trolls thought they would weaken the Ranger-General by killing one of her children. They found out the hard way how wrong they were. Sylvanas shook off the memory of her mother kneeling over Lirath’s crumpled form. “I would prefer silence,” she murmured, “for a while.” Jaina nodded. “I’m right here,” she said and continued labelling items.     They often spent time sitting up in bed, discussing the day’s events, what tomorrow would bring, and upcoming dates or appointments. Or rather, Jaina would sit propped up by pillows and going over notes while Sylvanas curled her much taller body into Jaina’s side, offering opinions and suggestions from a very comfortable vantage. Tonight was no different, except for the topic of discussion. “My constructs have swept outside and cleared all the rooms we’ve done so far, everything that needs fixing has been marked, and I know who we can contact to get it done when you’re ready,” said Jaina, gesturing to the list she held of said rooms. Sylvanas hummed. Jaina peered down at her. “Did you have a colour scheme in mind, or do you want it to be congruent with Silvermoon?” She gestured broadly at their room, a mix of burgundy, sea green, and dark wood panelling. A low laugh escaped Jaina. “Are you sure?” “Both of us will be there, no?” “I know, I just… it’s your home. It should be yours.” She appreciated what Jaina meant, but the thought of having the Spire all to herself made something squirm in her gut and brought up all manner of melancholic feelings and bad memories. She never wanted to be alone in that place ever again, so it was going to be a home for Jaina too. Cuddling further into her wife’s side, Sylvanas murmured, “You are my home.” Jaina blushed at that and curled to kiss her head. “As you wish, anything else?” Sylvanas shook her head, content to lay there and purr like an overgrown lynx, as Jaina absently stroked her hair.     On the fourth day, they moved on to Vereesa’s room. It was mostly intact, with only a little bit of water damage around the cracked window, and it was emptier than Lirath’s room, as Vereesa took most of her personal possessions when she left to live with Rhonin. Sylvanas approached the cracked window and the desk pushed under it, a desk Vereesa spent countless hours sketching at. She used to sequester herself there after a busy day and draw until all her frustrations were out on the page. Vereesa seldom showed those drawings to anyone. Only Sylvanas ever had that privilege. Her heart twisted like an animal caught in a trap. “It was foolish to send those letters,” she muttered, “They want nothing to do with me.” “I know that Vereesa regrets what happened,” Jaina said, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “She’s just afraid to face it.” Sylvanas flattened her ears. Vereesa still spoke with Jaina, though it was rare now, and the topic of her always made her sister flighty, so Jaina tried not to push too hard. Rubbing slow circles into her back, Jaina continued, “She doesn’t know how to bridge the space between you.” “Neither do I. I cannot change what I am or what happened, I know she would rather everything go back to the way it was, but I am not Nozdormu. I cannot give her what she wants.” “She thinks you hate her.” Sylvanas couldn’t say with honesty that she didn’t, for a time, but a much larger part of her still craved what remained of her family, and she couldn’t bring herself to humour it. They abandoned her to begin with. Alleria shoved all responsibility on her after minn’da died and vanished through the Dark Portal. Vereesa distanced herself and moved away with Rhonin, leaving Sylvanas alone with an empty House full of ghosts and memories. She often wondered if Vereesa blamed her for minn’da’s death too. She never said as much, she wasn’t as blunt as Alleria, but the close relationship they had fractured after that day. Perhaps she was the one meant to die on that patrol, taking a spear meant for her mother, dying to protect the Ranger-General—perhaps Alleria would have felt something resembling pride for her instead of contempt and exasperation. What a heroic example she would have set. What noble purpose her life would have served. If she had just been on that patrol, Lireesa would have still been Ranger-General when he came, and she would have surely discovered Drathir’s treachery in time. They would have beaten Arthas and his wretched Scourge back. Their home and their people would still be whole. Lireesa wouldn’t have allowed Alleria to charge off to some unknown fate, and she would have convinced Vereesa to bring Rhonin to Quel’thalas instead of listlessly watching her move away. Her family would have gone on without her, easily, if only she had died then. They could have avoided so much pain and misery if not for her. Warm hands cupped her face, coaxing her head to turn so she would meet Jaina’s worried stare. “You don’t know that,” she said fiercely, “none of it was your fault, Sylvanas.” She blinked, a cold, dreadful chill settling in her gut as she realised she’d been thinking aloud, bitterly muttering every shred of self-loathing as the thoughts drowned out everything else, including her awareness. Her throat caught around a pitiful, shuddering gasp, and the instinct to flee nearly took possession of her legs, but she strangled it. She pressed closer to the safety of her wife and buried her face in Jaina’s neck. Sylvanas choked out, “home.” Jaina spun open the portal and shuffled them through it without a word.     “Ah, there you are.” Sylvanas opened her eyes to see Nathanos crossing the courtyard. She’d taken a moment to enjoy the sun as it sat high in the sky, choosing the smaller courtyard the back of Lordaeron Keep as there was rarely anyone else there. He joined her on the bench. “Your wife snitched,” he explained flatly. “How terrible of her,” she drawled, “I’ll need to think of a suitable punishment.” Nathanos rolled his eyes. Sitting up straighter, she sent him a questioning look. “You needed me for something?” “Honestly? Just checking on you.” “And here I hoped you would be too busy with your own little project to worry about mine.” He grunted, crossing his arms. “My old homestead is a shack compared to the Spire,” he said, looking at her seriously, “You know the lot of us would help in the blink of an eye.” It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the offer, she did, immensely, but there were few she could stand to see her in such a raw and disparate state and her rangers each had their tolerances for being home. As it was, most of them were scattered throughout the Eastern Plaguelands, working with sin’dorei forces and Kul Tiran druids to cull the remaining Scourge from the region. It was easier than coming to the Spire, than remembering, but productive all the same. As for Nathanos, he had his hands full reclaiming the land around his old home and sorting out plans to settle there with Cedric, and that was before the demands of his regular duties came into it. For people who mostly didn’t sleep, there was still only so much time in a day. She shook her head. “I know,” she said. He eyed her. “Is it going well, at least?” She sighed and leaned on her knees, staring at the courtyard’s burbling fountain. “I… I feel like a polluted lake someone is dredging all the debris out of, churning up the lakebed and disturbing all the sediment until it’s nothing but murky water and darkness,” she said haltingly. Just trying to articulate her thoughts made her feel like everything would fall out of her mouth in a wet tangle of barbs and venom. “But sediment settles eventually, and once the toxic elements are removed, the lake can become a thriving, healthy place again.” Nathanos nodded slowly. “You know, most of our people go through this,” he said at length, “but I suppose you’ve spent so long holding them all up on your shoulders that you never dared take the kind of time needed to do it for yourself.” A quiet, bitter laugh escaped her. “Are you suggesting the Dark Lady is not impervious, tireless?” she muttered. Nathanos snorted. “Oh, blight take me for such slander,” he deadpanned. The clock tower sounded in the distance, ringing out five times, which made Nathanos curse and jump to his feet. Sylvanas raised a brow. “Late?” Nathanos grumbled, “yes, I should hurry off before Cedric has my head.” She waved dismissively. “Go then before he sharpens his axe.” He made to leave, only to hastily backtrack and reach into his satchel. “Before I forget,” he said, handing her a bottle. Pandaren plum wine, thirty years old, a rare cultivar grown only by the Goldclaw family in Kun-Lai summit—their wines had an exquisite reputation even among the most discerning palettes in Pandaria. Zihan positively beamed when she informed him ahead of time, insisting he knew just what to cook to complement it. Sylvanas took it with a nod. “Thank you.” Nathanos smirked dryly. “I do hope she enjoys it. It was a pain in the arse to get.” Waiting until he was out of sight, Sylvanas took a long, deep breath, rose to her feet, and began making her way to the kitchens. She hoped Jaina liked it too.     The fifth day found them working on the left, southern tower. The lower levels consisted of another parlour, a study, and a sparring room where she and her sisters used to test each other. Sylvanas was always the physically strongest and tallest, but Vereesa was quick, and Alleria was good at using her shorter stature as leverage. None of them were weak by any measure. She was reluctant to move on, the ghostly sensation of cold, stabbing pain in the centre of her chest growing stronger the closer they came to the two bedrooms in the upper levels. But it couldn’t be avoided. The day was good, and they had momentum. Surely she could handle her own room. “This was mine,” she said flatly as she opened the door and stepped inside. It was just as she left it, the curtains drawn, and her bed unmade for months as so many other more important things crowded for attention at the time. What did her bed matter? In contrast, her shelves were meticulous, with books on plant and animal life, alchemy, and military theory. Small hunting trophies dotted the walls, alongside racks for the bows she used throughout the centuries. There was a time her room didn’t feel like a place to disappear and forget she existed for a few scant hours, but she could barely remember it. She swallowed thickly, tracing the edge of an open desk drawer. “The last time I was in this room, I was retrieving a hunting knife gifted to me by minn’da before I left for the front lines.” The handle was carved from the antlers of the first stag she ever killed and the blade forged from the finest truesilver. The cold built behind her breastbone, and she reflexively drove the heel of her palm into it, clenching her jaw. The mark was gone; she had to remind herself it was gone. Sylvanas strangled the tremor out of her voice. “I was holding it when I died,” she murmured. “It was not there when I… returned.” The knife was all that stood between her and him after her bow was shattered and her sword knocked from her grasp through sheer force, her hands slick with blood, sweat, and grime. She remembered her legs giving out, blood loss making her vision swim as the bastard approached, slowly, casually, all his bluster and urgency simmering down to a cold, malicious rage. Pride and defiance forced her back to her feet, one last spit in the face of the butcher who slaughtered her people and defiled her home, a few seconds more to distract him, make him linger, so another handful of survivors could escape, no matter what happened to her. She was the Ranger-General—it was her duty to die for her people. “I deserve a clean death!” The memory of it swallowed her like lake ice breaking underfoot, the unearthly cold of the blade sinking into her chest, the bone-deep agony of her soul being torn out, the way his voice forced itself into her mind and smothered her yet left her aware of everything he made her do. So many of her people fell to her by wail, claw, or tendril. He took pleasure in making her do it by hand, knowing how much it hurt her to watch herself crush the life out of civilians and soldiers alike, lingering on the limp, broken body in her grasp before moving her to the next target. The worst part was when they tried to get through to her, when they recognised her and tried to talk, or came closer in a futile attempt to snap her out of it, and she could do nothing but scream in her mind, beg them to flee before she reached them. Most were too slow, and they died with terror and heartbreak in their eyes. Sylvanas wasn’t sure when or how Jaina moved her, only that she was suddenly lying down on her bed, curled on her side with Jaina’s arms around her head, hands stroking through her hair. It wasn’t enough to completely negate the hideousness that bore down on her like miles of water, lost in the depths of a frozen lake, but it was enough to keep from drowning. It was enough to see a glimmer of light from the surface and reach for it. A warm hand slipped down her arm and began tracing her Ashbringer scars, platinum lines that cut through her silvery skin like shattered pottery, wordlessly reminding her that she won, in the end. She destroyed him in his place of power, and she was still here, surviving, slowly discovering how to heal and rebuild. Sylvanas closed her eyes and breathed deeply of heather.     On the sixth day, a month and a half into the restoration efforts, someone else awaited them at the Spire, and as the portal shut behind them, Sylvanas froze. Vereesa turned, ears shooting up and pinning back just as quick, visibly swallowing. She wore a simple blue shirt, leather vest, and dark breeches, and the necklace. It shined as if fastidiously cleaned—Sylvanas had not done that. She had sent the necklaces as she found them. There was no point in cleaning something that would just be tossed away. Taking a deep breath, Sylvanas forced her shoulders to drop. She glanced at Jaina to find her wife looking at her with concern and a silent question. “I can handle it,” Sylvanas assured. “I won’t be far,” said Jaina before she walked past Vereesa and into the main Spire. A discomforting silence fell over them. Vereesa fidgeted and cleared her throat. “It’s strange seeing it cleaned up,” she ventured. Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back. “It is.” Shifting her weight, Vereesa only just managed to meet her stare, ears drooping. “I hadn’t heard, you know, I don’t… I don’t sneak on you. I wish I’d known sooner. If there’d been more time, we could’ve done this together.” A hot flash of anger rolled through her body, and Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “I distinctly recall all responsibility for the Spire and the Village falling squarely on my shoulders because neither you nor Alleria wanted to deal with it. And considering the last time we saw each other, I did not think either of you would care enough to bother, certainly not if I were still involved with it all.” She gestured at her necklace, then the tower. “This was another remnant laid to rest, after all, dead and buried like me.” “We never buried you.” “You may as well have!” Vereesa flinched, and Sylvanas winced, looking away. That discomforting silence came back, crawling under her skin like so many worms. Sighing, Sylvanas took another deep breath and hesitantly said, “I am glad that you came at all.” Vereesa perked up a little. Sylvanas walked up to stand next to her sister, though she remained at arm’s length. “I am not yet sure what I want from this place,” she said. Turning to face the Spire as well, Vereesa peered at each of the towers, ears lifting. “Perhaps the Windrunner family could live here again,” she said, “whatever form that takes.” Alleria’s absence fell between them as heavy as a log. Bitterness soured her heart—Sylvanas wasn’t sure what she expected. Vereesa glanced at her. “We talked about it before I came. She’s scared of acting rashly again.” Her stomach clenched. “Did you tell her the truth?” Sylvanas muttered. Colour drained from Vereesa’s face. “I… I did,” she said, frowning in confusion, “you were there.” Ah. That was what Vereesa said during their ill-fated venture. Sylvanas looked at her. “No, I was not,” she said hollowly. A guilty look crossed Vereesa’s face. “That’s… when we were arguing, that’s what I told her.” Sighing, Sylvanas peered up at the southern tower. “We were going to do Alleria’s room today,” she said, “if you wish to help.” Vereesa brightened at the invitation as if a great weight lifted off her shoulders. “Of course,” she paused, chewing her lip. “Could we… can we wait for Alleria to do their room?” Arching a brow, Sylvanas looked at her sister sidelong. “I thought you said you did not spy on me?” Vereesa smiled sadly. “Lucky guess.” Uncertainty wriggled in her gut like a basket of eels, forcing Sylvanas to turn and face Vereesa straight on as the words tumbled out of her. “Did you blame me for it?” “What?” “Did you blame me for mother’s death?” Vereesa startled, her whole face falling in a look of confused horror. “No! No, of course not! Why would you think that?” “You and I were always closer than either of us were with Alleria. That changed after she died.” “I… I’m sorry.” Vereesa’s shoulders dropped, and she wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the ground. “I’m sorry that’s what it felt like. I was just trying to be stronger than that. I was trying not to rely on you so much because that’s how it always was. Lirath and I were the babies, and I always went to you first.” She hunched her shoulders helplessly. “But after mother died, you had to take care of everything, you were going to be Ranger-General and head of the House, it felt selfish and unfair to rely on you like I used to. I didn’t realise what that looked like to you, but no, I never blamed you, Sylvanas, never.” The words all but rendered her numb, staring down at her sister in mute shock she didn’t dare show on her face—it just didn’t seem real. Vereesa frowned, ears cocking at an uncertain angle. “Why did you think I would blame you?” she asked slowly. When she didn’t answer, Vereesa stepped closer. “Did Alleria blame you?” Her ears flattened, and she swallowed hard, trying not to remember the sting of Alleria’s palm across her face or the rage in her sister’s eyes. Shock and revulsion swept over Vereesa’s face. She remembered Jaina looking that way too when she first told her but rationalised that Jaina was her wife and never knew Lireesa, so it wasn’t a loss for her. Jaina was biased in her favour. Yet, Vereesa loved minn’da dearly, and she still looked aghast. Slowly, Vereesa reached out to touch her, and Sylvanas did not move. She watched, half-expecting Vereesa to stab her as a last-second feint. But all Vereesa did was carefully pull her into a hug. She did not resist it, haltingly lifting her arms and wrapping them around her little sister. A sweet, citrusy scent greeted her—Vereesa still smelled of magnolias. Vereesa murmured, “It wasn’t your fault, Sylvanas.” She clenched her teeth. “I knew damn well I was on patrol the next day,” she hissed, “I should have been more careful the night before, but I was careless and broke my ankle, falling over myself with whatever frivolous love affair I had at the time.” She spat the words, barbed and foreign, not her own. It wasn’t important—it never was. Vereesa was quiet for a moment and hugged her tighter. “Her name was Loradel,” she said, “Loradel Stardancer.” Because it hadn’t been frivolous at all, not one of her usual flights of fancy or a playful game, Loradel was the longest she had ever been with anyone. But she broke it off after minn’da’s death and didn’t pursue anyone else after. Mercifully, Vereesa left the question unasked, if she couldn’t bring herself to indulge that part of her life because of guilt. She could still hear Alleria berating her clear as day, venting every frustration she ever had with the way her younger sister behaved and tying it all up in her grief and anger over minn’da. She hated the trolls for it, but Sylvanas was easier to reach. The utter shame and humiliation of it was unbearable under the weight of the sorrow she already felt, so she changed, she pushed away old and new lovers alike, convinced she deserved none of the intimacy she so often enjoyed because look what happened. She was selfish, and her mother died. Vereesa pulled away to look up at her. “Sylvanas, it wasn’t your fault,” she said firmly, “and it wasn’t fair for Alleria to make you feel like it was.” Sylvanas hummed noncommittally. She tried to pull free only for Vereesa to hold her arms, forcing her to meet her little sister’s stare. Vereesa frowned. “Did she apologise?” She nearly laughed, bitter and tired. “I never asked her to.” Vereesa’s ears drooped, and she pulled Sylvanas down into a tighter hug. “I’m sorry, Sylvanas, for everything. For not being there, for not trying harder to reconnect or to understand, and I’m sorry most of all for hurting you. I’m sorry for lying and being a coward about it all. But I swear I want to know you, I want to know who you are now because I know we can’t go back, and I’m sorry I couldn’t accept that for so long. But I want to try again if you’ll have me.” A messy tangle of feelings loosened in her chest, awkward and painful, smothering the shard of hope Sylvanas still harboured for her family. She grasped that shard tight in her hands and held it to her heart, as frightened by what it represented as she was of letting it go again. Slowly, Sylvanas sank her head to Vereesa’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you terribly, Little Moon.” It was strange being in the Spire with Vereesa present, old memories and recent pains mixing together and hounding her thoughts. Some days were easier, and they talked, reminisced. Others Sylvanas only wanted to get on with the work in silence rather than risk snapping at her sister over nothing. They handled Lireesa’s study on one of those days, silently sweeping and dusting, relieved that the room remained practically untouched. Memories of sitting with their mother and reading, or being read to, loosened the tension, and they managed to talk over a collection of dog-eared adventure novels. They were supposed to be moving on, after all. It would just take time. Vereesa was sincerely trying. She used the better days to ask questions about her week and about her in general. If she still drank wine, if she still liked honey bread as some Forsaken could partake in regular food—she was disappointed by the revelation that Sylvanas couldn’t. “I suppose I’ll have to eat enough for both of us then.” Vereesa had said it with a smile, earnest and disarming, a little joke. Sylvanas rewarded the effort with a half-smile, which seemed to delight Vereesa. She always did have ‘loud’ ears. Sylvanas asked questions in return despite her unease, learning more about her little sister’s life since the Trial. Despite Rhonin’s death still weighing on her, Vereesa confessed she was doing much better lately and attributed that to not having to worry about a new war breaking out between the Horde and Alliance. She admitted to feeling torn in two by the prospect, angry and vengeful one moment, desiring nothing more than to fight the ones who took Rhonin from her, only to despair that she wished the same agony on someone else’s loved ones, their spouse, their children, and the fact that she had delivered that very same grief in her fury after Theramore. That painful, mourning part of her rankled at the treaty, but if it meant her boys could enjoy their childhood in peace, she would do everything she could to defend it. Without their sour relationship hanging over everything, Vereesa was far more at ease talking with Jaina too, and Sylvanas was pleased to see them chatting away. It was good to see Jaina with a friend when work and circumstances so often left her without. She found it easier to listen to them talk as they all worked on one room or another, moving new or repaired furniture where it needed to be, particularly when she wasn’t feeling all that verbal. Sylvanas was busying herself with filling a bookshelf when they broke into laughter, and she paused, smiling to herself. It was a good sound, an echo of the Spire’s better years, and perhaps a promise of its future. “I meant to ask, how are the boys doing lately?” Jaina asked. “They’re doing well! You wouldn’t believe how tall they’re getting,” said Vereesa, the proud smile evident in her tone. It was clear whenever Vereesa talked about her children how much she loved them. Briefly, the thought of a family crossed her mind, and Sylvanas dismissed it just as quickly, her ears pressing flat at the intrusion. There was a time, decades ago, when she liked the idea, longed for it even, but not now. Even without the complications of her undeath and Jaina’s sterility, Sylvanas was under no illusion that someone like her had any business being a mother. She shook the thought away in time to overhear Vereesa mention a guest she was having over tomorrow for the boys and stumble on the name. An awkward pause followed that Vereesa quickly moved past, but Sylvanas knew immediately. It stung, she couldn’t help that, but she wasn’t going to demand Vereesa stop speaking to Alleria. She didn’t begrudge Vereesa trying to hold on to both of them. Alleria was never going to come back to the Spire, at least not while she was present. If Alleria ever did skulk about to see what was being done with their old home, a resentful part of Sylvanas hoped the new décor disappointed her. It took her a moment to realise Vereesa was addressing her. “Pardon?” she said, turning on her heel to see Vereesa and Jaina both looking at her. “I was just wondering if I could bring them here to meet you,” said Vereesa, slowly wringing her hands. “They should know their family.” Sylvanas blinked, unsure how to parse what she was feeling. She felt at once as if her chest were filling with warmth, and her ribs cracked open to expose everything soft and vulnerable, violently pulling her in two directions. She wondered if the boys would even want to know her, if they wouldn’t find her terrifying. Then again, it wasn’t as if children weren’t inquisitive things, and if they did find her scary, they tended not to after only a few minutes, judging by her experiences during Children’s Week. Speaking to war orphans was one of the few duties she actually appreciated as Warchief, and she made sure Orgrimmar’s orphanage had the resources it needed during her tenure. But Giramar and Galadin were not children of the Horde, raised to look up to the Warchief as a leader and protector no matter who was filling the role. The Horde killed their father and nearly took their mother through grief—she wondered if they thought her a monster more likely to eat them than show affection. It felt like bait, terrifyingly appealing in its promise, but she reminded herself that Vereesa was trying. Swallowing, Sylvanas cleared the tangle of barbs in her throat. “If you wish,” she said mildly. Vereesa smiled.     The next time they went to the Spire, it was through an anchored portal Jaina set up, connecting it to Lordaeron Keep. Sylvanas still didn’t want to be there on her own. She was at least more comfortable with the idea of just existing in the space, which was why they were walking along the beach as the late afternoon sun hung overhead, holding hands and just enjoying each other’s company after a busy day. The air of the Ghostlands had shifted recently, a little warmer, a little more alive. The slow work of exhuming the Dead Scar began earlier that morning. It would take months, if not years, and there was no way they could possibly identify all the remains. Those that could be were to be given to any remaining family members, while the vast majority would be laid to rest elsewhere. What to do with the Dead Scar after it was empty and the ground cleared of taint was a subject of much debate. Some wanted to let it return to a natural state and let the forest reclaim it. Others wanted to mark it, build memorials dedicated to each stage of the invasion, and the displays heroism that came with them. Then someone suggested building a road of sanctified stone over it, a path of remembrance from Silvermoon right to the memorial plaza. Sylvanas wasn’t sure which idea she liked more, which was exactly why she stayed out of the discussion even as Lor’themar repeatedly tried to get her opinion. She wasn’t convinced it was her place—she failed them. However, she was meant to be unwinding, so she pushed those thoughts from her mind and just focused on the warmth of Jaina’s hand as they walked.     With a stable portal in place, it became frightfully easy to just slip away to the Spire. If they were needed, Kalira would let them know, but otherwise. “I’m still questioning the logic of this,” Sylvanas drawled, eyeing the ingredients Vereesa was unpacking onto the kitchen counter. Cinnamon, vanilla beans, honey, oranges and lemons, flour, eggs, milk, and everything else one would need to make honey bread. It wasn’t really a ‘bread’ so much as a sticky, moist cake favoured mostly by children and children who never grew up. Sylvanas quietly cursed herself again for suggesting getting some for Vereesa’s boys. She hadn’t expected her sister to turn around with a bright look in her eyes and recall how delicious Sylvanas used to make it. She protested, of course, that she couldn’t because how would she know if it tasted right without eating it? Vereesa and Jaina promptly volunteered to do it for her. “I’m very serious about honey bread,” said Vereesa, “and you were always best at making it.” “It’ll be fine, darling,” Jaina assured, leaning on the counter with a smile. Sylvanas sighed and rolled up her sleeves. It took a little bit for her to get into the motions again, working slowly at first as she remembered the order of ingredients and what to do. Jaina and Vereesa were encouraging, which certainly helped, and Vereesa recounted that Sylvanas would often cook for her siblings. Her sister was half-convinced that if Sylvanas hadn’t been a ranger, she would have been a chef of some high standing, probably in Dalaran. The praise, assurance, and talk of better times in such a relaxed atmosphere admittedly left Sylvanas feeling a little soft, which she duly concealed behind impassivity because she wasn’t alone with Jaina. She doubted she would ever feel comfortable being completely at ease with anyone but her wife, but she didn’t feel like fleeing the situation outright, so she would take that as progress. With the honey bread baking, Sylvanas finished washing her hands and turned to find Jaina offering her a glass of mead. She took it with a raised brow and asked, “Is that what you disappeared for when I was putting it in the oven?” Jaina smiled disarmingly. “If we’re going to have some delicious honey cake, you should get some delicious honey wine.” The thoughtfulness of it made her smile helplessly, and Sylvanas kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Kim’dal.” A chime rang through the Spire, soft and lilting, so it wasn’t harsh on the ears but certainly loud enough to be noticed. Someone was at the door. Vereesa slid out of her chair at the counter. “I’ll check!” If it was Kalira or Nathanos, they would have entered through the portal at the rear of the building, and Lor’themar would at least send a note in advance. He was being very considerate of her space, and she still wasn’t sure how to feel about that. They weren’t expecting any craftspeople or deliveries. It left very few options, none of which she really wanted to deal with, and one she absolutely did not feel ready for. All the tentative cheer she felt throughout the day turned to icy eels in her belly, and Sylvanas flattened her ears, worrying the glass between her hands. Jaina stepped into her space, brow pinched. “Hey,” she murmured. Warm hands fell on hers, and Sylvanas tore her eyes away from the kitchen door to Jaina. “Whoever it is, this is your home,” Jaina said firmly, “if you don’t want them here, you know I can ‘escort’ them off the premises.” Teleporting unwelcome guests into the nearest lake was only a joke the first time Jaina said it, but her tone was so serious that Sylvanas had no doubt Jaina would do it if she asked. It loosened some of the tension in her shoulders, and she sighed, propping her brow against Jaina’s for a moment. Jaina slowly stroked circles into the back of her hands. “You’re incredible,” she murmured, “I hope you know that.” “It is difficult to believe that, but I am trying.” “I know, and I so proud of you, darling.” She relaxed a little more at that. Her ears twitched at hurried footfalls, and she looked up to see Vereesa at the door. The worried look on Vereesa’s face immediately put her on edge again. Jaina turned to look at her. “What is it?” Vereesa sighed, folding her arms. “It’s Alleria.” The eels froze into a solid lead weight in her gut. Jaina immediately turned back to her, frowning deeply, but Sylvanas shook her head. “No,” she muttered, “I will deal with it.” She could tell her wife didn’t like that, but Jaina did not push and simply squeezed her wrists before letting go. Sylvanas set her glass aside, briefly cursing her inability to be affected by alcohol anymore as she would have downed the thing otherwise. Maybe it was better that way—better that she dealt with this as clear-minded as she could be. Stepping outside, she found Alleria standing on the road with her back turned and arms crossed. That uncomfortable feeling of wrongness washed over her, and Sylvanas refrained from baring her fangs at the sensation. She walked down the stairs and cleared her throat, prompting Alleria to turn. “I was not expecting you,” she said flatly. “No, I imagine you weren’t,” said Alleria, pensive. “But avoiding it serves neither of us.” Alleria held herself with restless discomfort, her shoulders taut and her jaw clenched—she looked as uncomfortable as Sylvanas felt. Sighing, Sylvanas gestured to the road. “Would you care for a walk? The village is coming along well.” Alleria nodded quickly, and they began making their way down. She was curious about what was being done, and it was easier than addressing why she actually came, an avoidance Sylvanas was not eager to call her on. The work in the village was slow but steady, spirits and shambling ghouls long since put to rest, allowing labourers to see what could be done for the buildings that remained. Uncorrupted vegetation was returning at the behest of thornspeakers from Kul Tiras, able to navigate the deathly taint of the Ghostlands with far greater ease than conventional druids. Eventually, their walk brought them to the graveyard on the far side of the village, and their conversation died down, smothered by the discomforting stillness of the place. The graves of their family were undisturbed since the last time Sylvanas checked. She never allowed them to become overgrown, visiting as often as she could handle to tend to them throughout the years, as was her responsibility. With a long, quiet sigh, Alleria knelt in front of Lireesa’s grave. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. Sylvanas paid it no mind. After all, she had lost count of the times she knelt in that very same spot and apologised, wept, begged forgiveness—all of it for nothing but a momentary venting of grief and guilt that would only build again until she had to release it somehow. It was a wonder Lireesa never rose from the grave to strangle her. Alleria spoke again, firmer, “I’m sorry, Sylvanas.” She blinked at her sister, the words hitting her ears like a maple switch. Swallowing around something difficult, Alleria turned her head in her direction. “Vereesa and I spoke recently, at length,” she said slowly, frowning, “about the past.” Words failed her. Sylvanas only stared, standing rigid and silent as Alleria tried again. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” she said, “I was angry and grieving, and I felt helpless to do anything about it. I couldn’t wipe out every troll, and doing that wouldn’t have brought our mother back, nor would it have made me feel better. All it would have done was make me a monster.” Her skin rippled and flaked, momentarily revealing infinite starry darkness beneath. “Not that I avoided becoming one anyway,” she muttered. Her true form reasserted itself, and Sylvanas felt her skin crawl. Alleria continued. “For what it’s worth, I’ve regretted that day for a long time. But I didn’t know how to fix it. If I even could fix it, because I know the wounds I caused you went deep. I watched you change, even the face you showed in public changed, and everyone could tell.” She was still herself when she was on duty, driven, practical, charismatic, but there was an edge to it, a macabre tinge to her humour, a subtle but insistent distance between her and her subordinates, even her closest rangers, and the smile that so easily fooled everyone else but not her sisters. When it became known that she and Loradel were no longer involved, there was much incessant gossip, wondering what happened, if Sylvanas had finally grown bored and moved on, and whose heart she would capture next—until there wasn’t another heart. Until old lovers and new hopefuls alike found themselves rejected without the slightest bit of warmth. The gossip circles nearly went feral trying to dissect her life from afar, and she endured their vulturous rumour mongering, for it was what she deserved. She had spent her life chasing her own desires, leaving a long string of broken hearts in her wake—what did hers matter? Alleria sent her a forlorn look. “I remember you being so full of zeal and mischief in private too, but it all fell away. You became so quiet and withdrawn, always working on improvements for our military, new tactics, better defences, better training. You cut out almost everything that didn’t directly connect to your duties.” A weak, sad smile pulled at Alleria’s lips. “Even mother kept hobbies and friends.” Sylvanas flattened her ears and kept her eyes fixed on her mother’s gravestone. “Such things were inconsequential,” she muttered, “frivolous distractions.” Alleria rose abruptly, and Sylvanas tensed, only for her sister to just stare at her with open regret. “I never should have said those words, any of them,” she insisted, “I’m sorry for hurting you like that, for making you feel like you didn’t deserve the love and happiness that Loradel so clearly brought you.” Silence filled the space between them as Sylvanas struggled to process the acknowledgement, that Alleria really was trying to apologise and that perhaps she didn’t, in fact, deserve any of the wretchedness that came before her death. That was almost worse, in a way, to have it confirmed that none of it was necessary or deserved, that all the pain was needless. But she knew that, truthfully, that there was no point to suffering. It didn’t teach her anything. It didn’t make her stronger—it was just pain And it very nearly buried her. Alleria looked away. “It relieves me that Lady Proudmoore is a part of your life.” Sylvanas swallowed thickly. “Would you have come?” she asked, regretting it as soon as the words escaped. A weak smile turned Alleria’s lips. “I don’t think I would have deserved to be there even if I was wanted, all things considered.” “I did want you, both of you.” “Yet you did not extend an invitation to either of us.” A beat of silence passed, and a low, sad laugh escaped Alleria. “For all our bravery in the face of monsters, we sisters are terribly afraid of each other.” “Mother’s death broke each of us differently. It was all downhill from there.” “True enough.” Silence stretched between them again, festering in her guts like bubbling tar. She couldn’t help but ask, “Why did you leave? You knew that mission had every chance of leaving you stranded with no way home. It almost did.” Alleria grimaced. “Would that have been so terrible after what I did?” she murmured, “would you have really lost anything?” The idea that Alleria threw herself into that accursed portal seeking an end thudded into her chest like a hammer. It slipped out of her unbidden. “My sister.” Alleria flinched, looking at her for a second of shock before she looked away again, swallowing something difficult. Shaking her head, Alleria took a deep breath and drew herself up, facing Sylvanas properly. “I understand if this is insurmountable,” she started, “but I sincerely wish to mend this bridge with you. I was cruel, I blamed you for something that was never your fault, and I took advantage of your guilt. Thas’dorah should have remained with you. It was meant to protect Quel’Thalas, not enact vengeance abroad. I never should have placed so much on you when it was my mantle to bear, and I made that burden so much heavier than it ever needed to be. I am so sorry, Sylvanas.” Part of her wanted to reject it and oust Alleria from her life, and from the look of her, Sylvanas knew Alleria would accept that. Alleria dared not show a sliver of hope on her face; she stood resolute and regretful, waiting for the axe to drop. But the thought of never seeing Alleria again, of letting go of the possibility that she could, in fact, have both of her sisters back because of fear? That felt infinitely worse. Sylvanas took a deep breath and hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. “I do not believe it insurmountable.” Alleria nearly jolted as if struck, opening her mouth in surprise and quickly closing it. She looked away. “Thank you,” she said tightly. A breeze rustled the grass around them, and Sylvanas glanced out towards the coast, where a thick bank of storm clouds was moving in from the sea. Eager to escape the heaviness of the graveyard, Sylvanas cleared her throat and gestured at the sky. “We should return to the Spire before we’re drenched.” Alleria’s ears perked. “You… would have me return with you?” Sylvanas began walking. “And why not?” she drawled, “Last I recall, you’re absolutely miserable company in the rain.” Alleria hurried to keep pace, relaxing a bit at her tone. “How far have you gotten?” She explained most of the rooms were done, but they had yet to actually do Alleria’s room because Vereesa pointed out the Spire grounds were a mess, so they were side-tracked by gutting and refilling the beds, pulling weeds, and tearing down some very prolific climbers. Alleria seemed apprehensive at the thought of seeing her old room again but equally curious about what was left. Cautiously, she asked, “what about our parents’ room and the solarium?” Sylvanas canted her head. “Untouched, as of yet, I was leaving it to last, and Vereesa wanted to wait and see if you would join us.” She kept her voice even as she added, “she wanted us to do it together, as a family.” A soft, wistful noise escaped Alleria. “I’d like that,” she said, “I’d really like that.” Thankfully, Vereesa remembered how long honey bread was meant to bake for and took it out in time to avoid a disaster. It was still slightly warm when she and Alleria walked into the central spire, only just avoiding the downpour. It took considerable effort to try and relax enough to make the syrup that went with the bread, but she managed. Jaina’s supportive presence at her side made it far easier than it would have been otherwise, silently reminding her that the Spire was hers and she had the final say or who was or wasn’t allowed to be there. Watching her sisters and her wife enjoy the honey bread, complimenting the sticky sweetness, spice, and citrus notes, a familiar comfort to Vereesa and Alleria, and a new delight to Jaina, Sylvanas felt the last of her unease give way to tentative happiness.     Sylvanas generally did not visit markets run by the living. She always felt out of place and couldn’t shake the feeling that the merchants were far more interested in getting her to move along than sell anything to her, either out of disgust, fear, or both. Not that anyone had ever been foolish enough to make such feelings known to her face. But it was for those reasons that she was reluctant to join Jaina and her sisters. She always tried to avoid Silvermoon after her death, and if she had to be there, she did her best to avoid everyone she did not explicitly need to talk to The first time she could stand to be in the city, she half expected to be strung up by her ankles. But no, it wasn’t a trap to cut down one more monster—Lor’themar really did want to speak with her. There were still so many who remembered what she did. That it was by her hands their loved ones died, and her wails that echoed off the city streets, wrenching life from those too slow to run. Perhaps it was easier to forget that when she looked different from the spectral horror they remembered, it was just enough for it to matter. Her skin silvery grey instead of lavender, her eyes glowing seafoam instead of burning crimson, her hair white instead of ash blonde—she wasn’t a faded memory but something new. Such thoughts were more self-assurance than anything, she was certain, distancing herself from the thing he made her into. She still didn’t know how to feel about their yearly tribute to the fallen, to everyone who suffered, to her. It didn’t feel right to be honoured for failure. Regardless, Jaina, Alleria, and Vereesa all had their reasons to feel uncomfortable in the city too; she was the only one out of them who had always been welcome, no matter how much that fact bewildered her. If they could endure a simple shopping trip without trying to hide, she supposed she could too. Quel’Danas was still strictly off-limits for Alleria and her followers, but she was permitted to walk in Silvermoon if she was supervised, and the treaty allowed Vereesa and Jaina to roam freely, eased by the aid Kul Tiras supplied in talking back the Ghostlands much faster than they would have been otherwise. It wasn’t nearly as terrible an experience as Sylvanas feared. The afternoon was warm and sunny, red canopies fluttering in the cool breeze while visitors from all over Azeroth milled from stall to stall, and while some merchants were somewhat intimidated by the four of them, none tried to move them along before they were finished perusing. Sylvanas made sure they picked up everything they needed, which really meant everything she knew Jaina liked, much to the amusement of her sisters and Jaina’s pleased little grin. It all felt far more normal than it had any right to be, but Sylvanas refused to draw attention to that, instead just enjoying the delight with which Vereesa found a stall selling mooncakes as if she were suddenly a child all over again. She ended up with a bag of the things. Even Alleria came away with a satchel full of treats, tastes of home she’d sorely missed. As they began to leave through the arcade, Jaina pointedly leaned into her side, arms linked. “Hm?” Sylvanas questioned, quirking a brow at her wife. “I’m proud of you,” Jaina murmured, smiling and looking up at her in a way that made her heart melt a little. She was about to respond when she all but crashed into Vereesa’s back, her little sister having abruptly stopped as if frozen. “Vereesa?” Her stomach dropped to her feet, and her head snapped to the surprised, questioning voice that was so painfully familiar. Once elaborate and flowing, strawberry blonde hair was sternly tied back from Loradel’s delicate features, her frame bulky with muscle and armour fit for a spellbreaker, a far cry from the slender seamstress Sylvanas remembered. She peered at Vereesa with golden eyes, looking bewildered more than anything and very alive. Sylvanas had not checked, too afraid, too ashamed, too convinced it wasn’t her place to care—but the fact that Loradel survived the Fall hit her like a brick to the stomach, and she had no idea what to do with that. “H-Hi!” Vereesa struggled, clearing her throat. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? I almost didn’t recognise you.” “Ah, you must have frozen like a rabbit for some other reason then.” “I just didn’t expect to see you is all!” Her throat closed when Loradel’s eyes swept over Alleria, then Jaina, and finally fixed on her with some indefinable flicker of emotion quickly hidden. Sylvanas wanted the ground to split open and swallow her, shame burning in her belly like boiled vinegar, but she stood as tall as she could and politely canted her head. She would have understood it if Loradel just sneered at her and left. That would’ve been deserved, earned, but she didn’t. Instead, Loradel lightly remarked, “I’d heard you were restoring the Spire. Is that going well?” Sylvanas swallowed the thickness in her throat to offer a neutral, “yes.” Gold eyes flicked back to Jaina and gave her a brief once over, though Loradel’s expression gave away nothing, if she resented, scorned, approved, Sylvanas could not tell and that only worsened the icy knot in her stomach. Uncertainty was such fertile ground for racing thoughts. For her part, Jaina did not appear in the least bit worried, setting her jaw and squaring her shoulders in silent challenge to the scrutiny, as if daring Loradel to voice her opinion, whatever it may be. Vereesa cleared her throat. “We were just heading home, actually.” Loradel hummed thoughtfully and returned her attention to Vereesa. “I just needed to pick up a few things before I headed home myself,” she said, “but my wife will worry if I linger, so I won’t keep you.” Wife—somehow, knowing Loradel had moved on settled some of her nerves. Then Loradel smiled warmly as if she didn’t want Sylvanas to combust on the spot. “It’s good seeing you all together after everything. I hope you can make a true home of the Spire again,” she said, “safe travels, all of you.” Sylvanas barely had the wherewithal to nod, though Alleria and Vereesa thankfully offered verbal responses, and they finally parted ways. She had not expected that to be so calm, amicable even. Loradel hadn’t looked at her with hate or disdain, just a distant sense of sadness, a brief flicker quickly hidden behind propriety and seemingly genuine well wishes. She didn’t know how to feel. Jaina leaned into her side again, grounding her. “Who was that?” she asked gently. Vereesa and Alleria shared a nervous glance. Sighing, Sylvanas murmured, “Loradel Stardancer. She and I were together until minn’da’s death.” She saw the dots connect instantly in Jaina’s head with a quiet, “Oh,” and a small part of Sylvanas nearly expected Jaina to pull away in disgust and judgement, only to fall quiet when Jaina squeezed their arms together tighter and kept walking. Understanding—always understanding.     Alleria’s room was easier to do with the four of them. Her sisters did most of the talking as they eagerly shared stories with Jaina while she occasionally interjected. As the eldest, Alleria was inevitably the one her siblings ran to for nightmares, especially when they were very young. “I remember we ended up in a pile one night,” she said, “it was monsoon season, and the storm was awful.” “Oh, I remember this,” Vereesa groaned, dragging her hands down her face. Alleria smirked. “Lirath had a nightmare that spooked him so badly it scared Vereesa too.” “And I took him to Sylvanas.” “But you were both so worked up that she brought you up to me.” Vereesa shook her head, ears lax with embarrassment. “It was really for his sake. I wasn’t that bad!” “You were both terrified,” Sylvanas said as she brought a stack of books over to the crate Jaina was sorting through. “And what did you do with all these frightened siblings?” Jaina inquired, clearly amused. Alleria made a show of wrapping her cloak around herself. “What else? We settled down in a cuddle pile until the babies of the group calmed down.” Vereesa rolled her eyes. “Lirath was the only baby there. He was ten.” Sylvanas smirked. “And you were eighty.” At Vereesa’s exasperated sigh, she chuckled and found Alleria joining her. She paused, ears pricked, and Alleria just nodded at her and turned away to retrieve more books.     Late one afternoon, Sylvanas invited her sisters to walk with her and help tend to the family graves. She led the process, as it had been her responsibility since Lireesa’s death, and together they removed burgeoning weeds, cleaned the stones, and lit blocks of incense for each. Once the smell of peacebloom sweetened the air, they sat the edge of the yard, where the land dipped abruptly to meet the coast and Windrunner Village. It almost looked normal again, surrounded by a slowly spreading patch of healthy vegetation that seemed to grow by the day and alive with activity as elven labourers worked alongside drust thornspeakers. Sylvanas easily picked out Jaina among them, talking with the druid leader, an elderly drust woman named Svala, with whom Sylvanas had spoken a handful of times. Stern and practical, but warm in a way that reminded her of Lireesa. “I don’t think I could thank her enough,” Vereesa commented. Sylvanas glanced to her right to see Vereesa also watching Jaina and immediately knew what her sister meant. She doubted she would have had the strength for any of this alone, but verbalising that felt like opening herself up to attack so she refrained, instead humming in agreement. Vereesa looked at her, smiling. “I’m glad you found happiness with each other,” she said, a touch of melancholy hiding under her words. “You will find that happiness again, Little Moon,” Sylvanas said. A brief laugh escaped Vereesa. “Maybe, but I want to focus on raising my boys before I even consider such things again,” she said, leaning back on her hands. “One day, when it isn’t so ragged, and it’s getting better.” Silence fell over them, not awkward nor tense, but strangely peaceful despite everything. Sylvanas eyed her older sister, sitting quietly on Vereesa’s right and slowly toying with a braid of grass. Alleria’s eyes were not present. Vereesa looked at her too, ears perking. “What about you, Lady Sun?” “What?” Alleria asked, blinking out of her reverie. Vereesa shook her head. “How are things with Turalyon and Arator?” A discomforting look of evasion passed over Alleria’s face, ears tilting back and jaw clenching as she averted her eyes. It stirred a wave of low, burning anger in Sylvanas that she hadn’t felt since Garrosh’s trial. It was the kind of fury one only felt when their loved ones were hurt—that she could still feel it for Alleria would have made her laugh helplessly if not for the sudden shift their conversation was taking. Vereesa’s ears drooped. “Alleria?” she inquired gently. A long breath slid out of their older sister, her shoulders dropping with it. “You know,” she murmured, “when I realised Turalyon and I could no longer touch each other without inflicting agony, the biggest thing I felt at the time was relief. There was an excuse to avoid it, to keep my distance.” Sylvanas frowned deeply, her stomach tightening. “He hurt you before?” “Not physically. But he changed. I cannot pinpoint exactly when, only that his desire to serve the Light and cleanse all corruption from the cosmos began to bleed into everything he was. It eroded anything soft and loving until there was only a facsimile pulled thin and taut over single-minded zealotry. And there was nowhere else to go. We were tied to the Army of the Light. I took my chances with the void because even though I knew it could kill me, consume me, or turn me into a monster, at least it offered freedom, of a kind.” Alleria huffed a bitter laugh, smiling sourly. “He finally realised I was no longer his during our campaign against N’Zoth. I couldn’t pretend anymore, not when he kept trying to touch, not when he insisted that if I just allowed it, he could fix me and we could be together again, as we were meant to be.” Vereesa sat up straight, ears pinned back. “It’s been that long? Where have you been staying? Why didn’t you say anything when I asked?” A familiar look of shame flicked across Alleria’s face, and she sighed, slowly tearing the grass braid. “I am not without places to go,” she said mildly, “and I didn’t know what to say. It was easier to just talk about Arator and gloss over everything else.” “Does Arator know?” “He does. When I finally made my feelings clear, Turalyon cursed me as void sent and tried to convince Arator that I was beyond saving. He refused to abandon me, and I asked him not to say anything until I could tell you myself.” Alleria turned a sad smile on Vereesa. “Thank you for raising him. I know I’ve said it before, but I deeply appreciated the kindness you instilled in that moment. He is a wonderful young man.” Trying to ignore the itching rage under her skin, Sylvanas asked, “Where is he now?” Alleria sighed. “As far as I know, he spends much of his time in Stormwind now, as neither the Conclave nor the Silver Hand wants anything to do with him.” That made sense, Turalyon was one of the remaining hardliners against the peace treaty, and the Pact was doing everything in its considerable power to support it. Alleria had at least come to accept the practicality of it. If Turalyon had his way, he would have turned the Silver Hand into a strictly Alliance order again and trampled over the progress made throughout the Legion campaign, common ground and peace be damned when there was ‘cleansing’ to be done. She filed the information away for later. Vereesa made an abortive motion, halfway reaching for Alleria before she snatched her hands back. “Can I hug you? Have I been hurting you before?” Alleria blinked, ears pricked, and chuckled. “No, you haven’t,” she said, lifting her arms. “It’s only particularly Light-touched individuals who cause pain, so you are invited to hug me whenever you wish, Little Moon.” A high-pitched purr spilt out of Vereesa, and she practically jumped on Alleria, fiercely hugging her. “You are coming to stay in Dalaran,” she said in a mothering tone, which only made Alleria laugh again. Sylvanas looked away from them and fixed her attention on the village, trying to ignore the way her heart twinged. She felt out of place with an abruptness that would have choked her had she needed to breathe. Alleria cleared her throat, “Lady Moon.” Sylvanas turned her head to see her older sister holding an arm out for her, and Alleria smiled meaningfully. “The same goes for you.” It took her a moment to process what Alleria said and another to act on it, but she did. She moved closer to her sisters and allowed them to pull her into a group hug, Vereesa purring loudly and the rumble in Alleria’s chest quiet but deep. It did not take long before her own low purr joined them.     It was an overcast day when they decided to deal with the solarium, clearing out the beds, pots, and anything that needed to be thrown away or repaired. Nothing had survived being left alone for years without care, which was to be expected. Zadanis loved to grow herbs and flowers and tried to impart the care of those plants to all his children, though Sylvanas was the only one who took an interest. She remembered helping him find a rare variety of fire lily that bloomed a brilliant carmine because Lireesa loved the things, and he wanted to see if he could grow them at home for her. “We should try to find it again, if you remember where they grew,” Alleria suggested, “if any survived, we could bring some for her.” The area was in the mountains of eastern Eversong. There was every chance it did survive. Sylvanas couldn’t help agree.     It was the only room left. She reassured Jaina she would be fine with her sisters, and after a long hug and whisper of good luck, Jaina left them alone. The bedroom was as untouched as Lireesa’s study, draped in blue and black, the beautifully carved furniture pristine, not a pillow or book out of place—the stillness of it was smothering. A faint and smoky smell of sandalwood and cinnamon clung to the room, slowly saturated from years of cologne and perfume, then incense. First by Lireesa, burning cinnamon because it was Zadanis’s favourite, then by Sylvanas, burning sticks of both on their wedding anniversary. All the little rituals she kept up as if it would ease the hollowness of this place. “Come, the room will not sort itself,” she muttered, turning on her heel. That broke the spell over Alleria and Vereesa, lingering outside. They entered with crates, and the three of them slowly began to pack away what remained of their parents. Vereesa couldn’t help but fill the silence, stifling as it was, recalling how their parents met. They were much younger at the time, when Lireesa wasn’t yet Ranger-General, and she found some ‘hapless green thumb’ hiding up a tree from murlocs. Zadanis was not a ranger, mage, or soldier of any kind, but a horticulturalist, an alchemist. Not the most flattering circumstances to meet someone, but Lireesa found him charming and kind, and by the time they walked back to Silvermoon, they were already smitten. They loved their children deeply, and where Zadanis was gentle, Lireesa was fierce. She was the heart of their family, the furnace that kept everyone going. To Sylvanas, it felt like the sun went out when she died. Their father’s death was a crack in Lireesa’s armour, felled by trolls only two days before Lirath’s birth, and Lireesa focused so much attention on Lirath because of it, the last thing she would ever get from the man she loved for millennia. When Lirath died, again to the trolls, that crack became a break, and Lireesa was never quite the same. She fought harder, more ferociously than ever, and she loved them all just as much, but there was just something hanging over her, a sense of exhaustion that went deeper than simply not getting enough sleep, though Lireesa struggled to do that. Sylvanas never expected to know that feeling so intimately, but she kept the dour recollections to herself and simply listened to her sisters talk about better memories.     The orange light of the setting sun spilt through the living room, warming everything it touched, from the dark wood of the new furniture and the sea-green upholstery to the burgundy drapes and the fresh cream paint of the walls. Barring a few small finishing touches, the Spire was fully restored, and it did not look as it once did, but none of them expected it to. There were echoes of what came before, memories that swelled and collapsed at the sight of familiar rooms and the grand image of the towers standing stark against the sky—but that was all. Something new was growing from the death and misery that haunted it for so long, and Sylvanas couldn’t quite shake how surreal it felt to sit across from her sisters, the hearth crackling away, a glass of mead in one hand and her arm draped around Jaina’s shoulders. She half expected to be jolted awake, wrenched away from this strange and happy reality where her family looked at her with smiles and laughter. Absently, she squeezed Jaina’s shoulder, appreciative, thankful. Jaina sent her a smile. “I’ve been speaking with the Conclave, actually,” said Alleria, slowly swirling her glass of bourbon. “Not to drag us into unpleasant topics, but they’re in agreement with the Ebon Blade.” Sylvanas frowned and pointedly focused on her drink, silently cursing Tirion for the nth time. For all the Horde and Alliance’s progress, there would always be threats to Azeroth’s safety, and the one in Northrend was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. The signs were growing in frequency, missing patrols with signs of Scourge where they vanished, empty gravesites of soldiers and adventurers, the ground acidic and dead from necromancy, disparate incidents spaced out by months. She scornfully wondered if they should start checking grain supplies. “Then we should discuss it at our next meeting with the Pact,” Jaina said, sighing. The doorbell chimed. They all shared a questioning look, and as Vereesa got up to answer it, Sylvanas noticed a nervous expression on Jaina’s face. “What is it?” she asked. Jaina cleared her throat. “It could be nothing,” she started, “but I had a surprise for you, all three of you really.” Sylvanas arched a brow at her. “A surprise?” Jaina shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t bring it up until now because I didn’t know if it was a sure thing or not,” she said, eyeing the living room door. “But if this is who I think it is… well.” Hooves clicked against the flagstones, and they all rose to see Vereesa return with Huntmaster Suloh in tow. The towering draenei woman was as impressive as usual in her well-worn chainmail, and she carried a large bundle under her arm. Sylvanas politely canted her head. “Huntmaster, to what do we owe the pleasure?” she asked. She eyed the bundle suspiciously. Something about it tingled the back of her neck, emanating familiar energy. Alleria stared at it too, her ears cocked at an uncertain angle. “I’ve come to return what belongs to your family, Lady Windrunner,” Suloh explained with a respectful bow. She set the bundle down on the coffee table and began to loosen the leather ties keeping it wrapped. “When the Pact expended our arsenal neutralising Gorribal, most of our weapons shattered or crumbled to dust. Only a scant few survived the ordeal,” she said. “This one was the most resilient of the lot. Something about it didn’t want to give in, like it had a mind of its own and wasn’t ready to let go.” Suloh pulled away the cloth, and the air left the room. It was Thas’dorah, restored to its prime as if freshly returned from the Sunwell. Sylvanas was thankful she didn’t need to breathe. Instead of presenting it, the Huntmaster stepped back, giving them all a pointed look to decide who would hold it first. Vereesa did not move, and neither did Alleria. It took Sylvanas a moment to realise they were both looking at her, expectantly. She blinked, glancing at Jaina as if to check she was still awake, and Jaina just smiled that lovely, comforting smile she’d worn so often through all of this. Swallowing thickly, Sylvanas approached the table and reached out, hesitating a moment before she picked up the bow. An immediate sense of reassurance washed over her, as if it wanted to be held by her, and that all but knocked the air out of her lungs. Gathering her wits, Sylvanas turned to face the Huntmaster. “Thank you for returning this to us,” she said, somehow keeping her voice steady. Suloh smiled proudly, the expression lopsided from her scars. “It was my greatest honour to wield it in service to Azeroth. It is only right it got to come home after such an ordeal.” She bowed once more. “Light keep you, Windrunners,” she said and turned to make her own way out of the Spire. Sylvanas blinked slowly, staring at the bow in her hand. She wasn’t the Ranger-General, but it was still the weapon of her family. It was meant to protect Quel’Thalas. It belonged here. The sound of Jaina gasping drew her out of her thoughts. She looked to see Jaina staring at something over her shoulder and spun on her heel, almost missing the stricken looks her sisters wore, but as she turned to look at the fireplace, she froze, all thoughts fleeing in an instant. Standing before the fire was the translucent figure of a quel’dorei woman, head tilted to stare at the empty bow rack above it. She wore the armour of the Ranger-General with her hood down, exposing her silvery hair. Sylvanas nearly dropped the bow. “M-Minn’da?” Vereesa stammered out, her voice tight. Lireesa turned towards them with a warm, proud smile, hands clasped behind her back. She stepped to the side and tilted her head expectantly, staring at Sylvanas. With a hard swallow, Sylvanas slowly approached until she stood before her mother with the bow in hand and found herself trembling, abruptly confronted with the possibility of being judged for all her failures. Despite the terror that induced, sliding through her guts like so much icy brine, she couldn’t help but long for one more embrace, just one before the axe dropped. It tumbled out of her in a stumbling rush. “I’m so sorry, mother. Please forgive me.” Lireesa’s brow furrowed in a gentle look of regret and sympathy, and she shook her head, lifting her hand to reach out. Sylvanas tensed as her mother’s incorporeal hand touched her heart, a strange and buzzing sensation akin to pins and needles, and nearly fell to her knees as a flood of raw and unconditional love slammed into her. She choked, releasing a shaky breath as she took in Lireesa’s expression, kind, loving, and deeply apologetic, but proud, somehow, so very, very proud. She could feel everything her mother felt for them, and she struggled to keep a sob from escaping. Lireesa pulled back and looked at Alleria and Vereesa, beckoning them closer. The two quickly closed the distance, staring at their mother with mixed expressions of grief and wonder, too stunned for words. She touched their hearts too, smiling sadly when they tried to hold her only for their hands to pass through her. It wasn’t a full manifestation, just a fragment, the last lingering thread of their mother’s spirit holding onto the bow that defined her life for thousands of years. But it was something. She could still show them she loved them one last time, that she was proud of them for coming home, for mending what was broken, and for overcoming so much pain and hardship. Sylvanas quietly noted Jaina’s absence. She must have ducked out of the room at some point to give them privacy. Lireesa looked at her and motioned to the rack. With utmost care, Sylvanas lifted Thas’dorah and placed it above the hearth, returning it to its rightful home. A sense of external relief ran through her, and Lireesa smiled, gesturing for her to stand close with her sisters. She quickly obeyed, and they huddled together, close enough for Lireesa to circle her arms around them and impart that same feeling of love and pride. Even if she couldn’t actually touch them again, it was enough, and Sylvanas found strength in it so that when Lireesa began to fade, she pulled Vereesa and Alleria into her arms and cradled them herself. They both clung to her, each taking a shoulder as they shook through tears of joy and grief equally. A welcoming sense of peace settled inside her, and Sylvanas held her sisters tighter, their mother’s love burning anew in her heart.

It’s not like Stolas isn’t a hot piece of ass, because he is. And it’s not like Blitzo’s blind or anything, because he isn’t. It’s just that there’s pleasure, and then there’s business, and never the twain shall meet. (Unless he finally gets Moxx on board with that threeway, in which case, Blitzo fully intends to christen every damn surface of the office except his precious Loony’s desk.) In an ideal world, where Blitzo and Stolas met at a party (yeah, right, as if Blitzo got invited to the sort of parties Stolas attended. Or any parties, really.), Blitzo tapped that feathery ass until Stolas tapped out or passed out, then excused himself out the door, having sufficiently gotten bird brain out of his system. They don’t live in an ideal world. They live in this world, this literally god-forsaken place, where Stolas has something Blitzo needs, and Blitzo has something Stolas needs- namely, attention that doesn’t come with the kind of insults that actually hurt. Oh, Blitzo is full of harsh words for Stolas, but Stolas likes the sort of things Blitzo says. He likes to be called a dirty slut and a little bitch, and he even likes it when Blitzo gets too overwhelmed by his interest and flat out tells him off. Blitzo is so unused to being someone’s sole source of comfort that it chafes a little at the edges. It feels like something he’s gonna fuck up. It feels like something he should fuck up, and sooner, rather than later, so Stolas learns not to depend on him. Blitzo is not dependable. He’s coarse and crude and selfish, and he likes himself that way. He has no desire to change for any man, no matter how good they are with their mouths. Stolas has never asked him to change, though, and that’s the tricky part. Stolas, for reasons unknown, seems to think Blitzo’s greedy self-centered ass is the sexiest thing since lust itself. They don’t fit together in every way—Stolas absolutely refuses to call him Daddy, for one, no matter what sort of temptation Blitzo offers in return—but they fit together in enough ways that matter. And that’s the real predicament, isn’t it? That this works. It’s supposed to be a once a month booty call, but Blitzo sees Stolas weekly, at least. Stolas calls sometimes, just to chat, usually when Blitzo is already busy with his job or fighting with Loona or playing with his horses. He’s met Stolas’s kid, and Stolas has started making noise about meeting Blitzo’s, properly and not just in passing as a work function, and wouldn’t that be a sight? Blitzo loves Loony more than anything on God’s green earth or Lucifer’s red hell, but she’d handle meeting literal royalty with the same grace and beauty she handled everything else. (Blitzo is, of course, of the opinion that Loony is the epitome of grace and beauty, but he’s aware that other people see her somewhat differently. Those people are wrong and he has shot better men for less, but it’s still probably best not to test it) The thing is—well, there are several ‘things’, obviously, but the big, huge, impossible to ignore thing is—Stolas might just be in love with him. Not just infatuation, not just lustful awe for anyone who can Dom the shit out of his bratty little ass, but actual, genuine love. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, Blitzo recognizes a look on Stolas’s face as one Moxxie sometimes gives Millie, and that’s just… It’s too much to think about. Blitzo has been in love before. More than once, too. Whatever he thinks about Verosika now, she’d been a hell of a woman when they were young. And before that had been Brendyn, trendy-named motherfucker, and then there’d been Fizz—no, nope, absolutely not, he was not gonna think about that mistake. Anyway, he’s not a love virgin, he knows what it feels like. He doesn’t think he feels it for Stolas, not… not really. It would be ridiculous, to love Stolas. Ridiculous, to want a prince of hell to move in and play house. So Blitzo simply… doesn’t. He tucks that thought away in a little box, and puts that box in a bigger box, and puts that box in the back of a closet in the basement of a creepy abandoned house in the back of the neighboorhood of his mind, so he doesn’t have to think about it. Stolas makes it hard, though, looking at him like that. Like Blitzo hung the moon and the stars and the pentagram above the sinner’s city. “Don’t,” he says, the next time Stolas does it. They’re in bed, Stolas with his wrists bound to the headboard, Blitzo’s underwear shoved into his mouth, and Blitzo so deep inside him there are tears brimming at the corners of all four of his eyes. Stolas freezes, because as insufferable as he is, he’s still a good boy when it comes to these things. He makes a noise, though, soft and inquisitive, because of course, he doesn’t know what Blitzo’s talking about. He can’t see himself, how desperate he looks with his legs spread wide, how his eyes are wide and red and wanting. Don’t, Blitzo wants to say again. He bites it back, holds his tongue. He can’t expect Stolas to know, to understand. Instead, he moves, presses Stolas’s thigh back against his chest, fucks into him hard and slow, pries those mewling cries from Stolas’s mouth. Muffled, but still enough to make Blitzo hungry. They’ve done so much, now, that Blitzo can predict exactly how Stolas will react. He gets meek when blindfolded, still and soft and malleable under Blitzo’s hands. He moans like a cheap hooker when he’s gagged, as if making up for all the words he can’t say. He cries when he’s spanked and got offended the one time Blitzo panicked and stopped. Blitzo knows him, inside and out, and isn’t that just great? He is absolutely, totally, completely fucked. He makes Stolas come, and then he makes him come again, working out his frustration in cries and squirms of a willing body. After, he has to hold Stolas, because he gets a little bit clingy in the afterglow and Blitzo is a good Dom, damnit, who doesn’t leave dropping subs to fend for themselves. “You were an animal tonight, Blitzy,” Stolas coos. Blitzo stares up at the ceiling and counts his own breaths. There’s an easy solution to this all, of course, but it means losing the book he needs to do his job. He says it anyway, the words twisted and clumsy, forced out between his teeth. “Don’t fall in love with me.” Stolas blinks up at him, once, twice. Something shutters in his eyes, and Blitzo reaches for the sharp, barbed tongue he wields like a sword. Before he can say anything else, Stolas rolls all four of his eyes. “Well of course not, Blitzy,” he says, as flamboyant as if Blitzo hadn’t just driven an ice pick through the skull of their… relationship. “What a thing to say. Our relationship is purely transactional, I assure you.” “Yeah,” Blitzo says, elegant as ever. “Transactional.” Later, he’ll stare up at his bedroom ceiling—cracked and inelegant and as far from Stolas’ as one can imagine—and think to himself, We are so fucked.

    ---xxx--- Grimmjow Coaxing Kurosaki back to Hueco Mundo was relatively easy, but dealing with the implications of that was proving to be a challenge.    The hybrid stood on white sands like the desert would swallow him whole. It wasn’t fear, but quiet horror, that kept him rooted in place. Whatever plagued him, Grimmjow wasn’t privy to, but he knew it wasn’t nothing. Kurosaki wasn’t the type to overreact, and he’d seen this behavior before.   Minutes passed, and it was clear Kurosaki’s focus was miles away, and likely not going to return without a nudge. Taking a risk, Grimmjow stepped into his space and reached for his face, very slowly and very carefully. The instant he touched skin, Kurosaki’s hand was around his wrist, startling them both. “Grimmjow.” He said it like he’d forgotten he was there, which was somewhat alarming, but at least he had his attention.   “You good?” Grimmjow asked. His bones creaked under a vice grip, but he kept a straight face.   Realizing how tightly he held him, Kurosaki slowly uncurled his fingers from his wrist and swallowed. “Sorry. Fine.”   Not good, but at least he was in the moment. Grimmjow said, “Talk to me, Kurosaki."   Kurosaki’s eyes traveled along the expanse of sand, then turned skyward. “I haven’t been here since...”   He wouldn’t say it, and frankly, Grimmjow didn’t want to either. Since he was dead .   Kurosaki closed his eyes with a shudder, and all the sand for a mile shivered with him. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “Shinigami wants to devour. It’s been a while since I gave it anything… I don’t think I can refuse.”    Fear coiled his nerves taut, bracing himself at the sound of that name. He didn't like Shinigami before, but now the word held a different meaning. One he never wanted to revisit. Without intending to, Grimmjow took a step back, his pride glad that Kurosaki was too distracted to notice. He asked, “What should I do?”   Kurosaki seemed to be weighing his options, but he settled on the simplest. "Stand very still."   Grimmjow interpreted that to mean, 'stand very still and brace yourself.'    Turning his attention back to the desert, Kurosaki crouched, hand to the sand. It filled in around clawed fingers, Kurosaki's expression caught between disgust and apology. Whatever he was doing, the sand began to vanish, a dark hole opening up beneath them both. Grimmjow stood on a platform of reishi, finding it shockingly weak beneath his feet. The reishi disappeared, but before he could fall, instinct had him calling on la sangre to pull him elsewhere, anywhere else. He jumped far, far away, Kurosaki’s silhouette out of sight.    Despite the massive distance, he could still sense the disquieting lack of la sangre, the sudden void from the desert before him. He knew that void, he’d felt it before. Fear was one thing, but this was a dread and panic that his conscious mind wasn’t ready to fight. This was the monster that killed him, that ravaged his soul until there was nothing left but scraps and pain. It was right there. It was inside Kurosaki, it was right. There . Skirting the edge of his soul.   He gagged, his legs giving out and his knees striking the sand. Shaking hands clenched into fists and Grimmjow pulled la sangre in close, a shield against a nightmare. As much as la sangre made his skin crawl before, now it felt like home, it felt safe, and he was afraid. He didn’t want to be, but there was no ignoring fear like that.   As all-consuming as it was, he didn’t fail to notice the slathering need buried in la sangre. It wanted to tear Shinigami to shreds, it wanted it gone. It was wrong. It shouldn’t be.   Someone touched him and he lashed out, la sangre ripping through Kurosaki and leaving him unharmed. The hybrid’s eyes were wide with concern, and the instant he saw recognition in Grimmjow, he reached out. His hands framed Grimmjow’s face, holding his attention. “It’s gone.”    Grimmjow’s pride cringed at the tone, like he was some frightened animal to be calmed. He was still shaking, damn everything, and Kurosaki’s hands felt good, but the second he wasn’t panting and his heartbeat was stable, he pulled away. Staggering to his feet, the hybrid’s unblinking stare burned into his back when he turned away.    He needed a minute. He felt like prey; he loathed that feeling, but in this case it was true. He’d never felt this kind of fear as an adjuchas. Never .   Now he stood trembling like a fucking mouse. Pathetic pathetic pathetic –   “Grimmjow?”   His answer died in his throat. He’d seen Kurosaki at his worst, this was nothing he should be ashamed of, and yet… After all that shit, after Kurosaki dragged him from the fucking grave, he still wasn’t strong enough. He broke down as a bystander and Kurosaki was living with Shinigami.    Grimmjow wasn’t sure how the hybrid hadn’t gone mad. Then again, he hadn’t seen him for months, maybe he had. It would explain why he’d distanced himself from his body as much as possible.   And Grimmjow knew he was the one to drag him back into the thick of it.    What needed to be done hadn’t changed, but his perception had.    Softer. “Grimmjow, I’m sorry.”   The stupid fuck thought he was upset with him . And why wouldn’t he? Grimmjow ran. The thing caught up in Kurosaki’s soul revolted him so much he couldn’t even look at him.    Turning to look in the direction they’d fled, Grimmjow tightened his hands into fists, claws scoring his own palms, and stepped through la sangre. The same ghostly nothing was as ‘present’ as the shinigami it had killed, except the sand was completely gone. No reishi, no nothing. The dark yawned before him, a shiver racing up his spine. It was wrong.   Noting Kurosaki’s presence behind him, Grimmjow said, “That thing can’t exist here. This isn’t right.”   “If you can figure out how to get it out of me, I’m listening.”    From the flat tone of Kurosaki’s voice, it wasn’t a tired subject, but a worn and weary road wrought with failure. Grimmjow turned to look at him in question, and the hybrid reluctantly elaborated. “It’s...sticky. It’s caught up in my soul and my body enough that the Gods can’t purge it without killing me, and if I kill myself, the Gods will bring me back.”   The question was out before Grimmjow could stop himself. “Could I kill you?”   Surprise flashed across Kurosaki’s face, followed by uncertainty, maybe even hope. “I don’t know.”   They both stood apart, watching, considering. Grimmjow imagined it in all its gruesome detail; slicing open Kurosaki’s throat, the resistance of a weapon cutting through cartilage and bone. Raising a weapon to and destroying someone he loved. He would have to watch him die. He would have to step into a reality where he would never come back, and it would be his fault.    His throat tightened, chest aching in a shadow of the pain he knew that loss would bring. Kurosaki was suffering, he was, it might even be a mercy to try, to succeed.    But...he couldn’t do it, he knew he couldn’t. Kurosaki could fall to his knees and beg and he wouldn’t be able to do it.   It only took a second, and he understood why Kurosaki had been so single minded in his desperation to get him back. That kind of loneliness would eat him alive. Given the choice, he wouldn’t face the future alone either.   Reaching out for the hybrid, Grimmjow tangled his hand in dark hair and tugged him forward into a kiss. It wasn't gentle and it wasn't kind. It was possessive and thick with frustration and self loathing.   He was real, he was there under his hands and he refused to let him go. The hybrid reacted, showing more initiative to fight back control than Grimmjow expected, given how unwilling Kurosaki was at keeping it. Neither backed down, and he got a glimpse of the monster he knew and loved. It was such a familiar thing, despite the fact it was a kiss.    Pulling back, Grimmjow wasn’t quite sure if he was going to reassure him or let him down. “I’m not giving up on you. I’m too selfish to kill you.”   Kurosaki scoffed in dark humor. "Selfish people don't do what you did." They both knew he was talking about protecting his sisters. Those few precious seconds might have saved their lives, but it had all but guaranteed he would lose his.    "Gross," Grimmjow grumbled, "I ain't special. Besides, I think if I had any real inclination to kill you, yer hollow would be at my throat." Kurosaki tripped into a laugh. "Yeah that's what I thought."   Satisfied he'd at least begun to heal that misunderstanding, Grimmjow turned back to the void beside them. "You said you couldn't stop it. What do you mean?"   "I could have, if I really wanted to, but I'd have to trade the power in me instead." Kurosaki's tone was carefully devoid of emotion. "Why do you think I killed so many shinigami to bring you back?"   Grimmjow looked at him for some kind of explanation. He hadn’t known the actual reason, only that he’d needed to do it. “Wait...break that down.”   “Shinigami halts the progress of the gods in my soul because it’s devouring them.” He held up a blackened hand. “This happened because I traded away my soul for power, like Mictlan. It wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t fed Shinigami a substitute.”   “You fed it so you could stockpile power? So right now it had the choice between eating your soul and eating this? ” Grimmjow gestured around them at the blackened void in the sand.   “Yes.”   That seemed relatively simple, but he realized he didn’t know why. He wasn’t dead anymore, but that was just the result of whatever Kurosaki had done. “Why keep it from eating the Gods in your soul?”   Kurosaki seemed surprised by the question, blinking at him in bewilderment. For a split second, Grimmjow felt stupid for asking at all, and then Kurosaki’s expression faltered into uncertainty. “At first I  needed it to cross time, but now...I just want it. I don’t want Shinigami to have it.”   Grimmjow didn’t blame him, but he had to ask. “Why?”   The demigod looked away, and Grimmjow realized there were still so many secrets he was keeping from him. He was only like this when he was lying, or keeping the truth from him, and no amount of complaining about that was going to get the hybrid to change his mind.    Eyes still firmly on the desert around them, Kurosaki said, “Remember before I found Sunyata, there was nothing. It seemed like there was nothing? Then I became the host for Sunyata and I saw everything I’d been missing. I was careful to give you the part of my soul that was only tainted by Alteza, so you can’t sense the others, not the same way."   Kurosaki looked back at him, somewhat fearful. “I don’t know where this power is going. Shinigami keeps taking, but I don’t feel it. This kind of power can’t just disappear. I’m missing something.” He glanced skyward and said, “This is all fragile, a dream that could easily shatter. The Gods can’t even fathom our existence without a host, and they...hate this thing.”    He made a face, frustrated with his own choice of words. “Hate isn’t the right word. I know you feel it now too. The Gods need it obliterated, but it’s out of reach.”   Grimmjow asked, “How did it get trapped the first time?” This all started when Kurosaki killed the shades. One moment of mercy and 2 years later Kurosaki had taken huge leaps backwards.    Annoyance leaked into Kurosaki’s voice. “I don’t know, it isn’t like it’ll tell me.”   Well, that made sense, but it was no less annoying. “You went back in time, you brought me back. Do it again, stop yourself from freeing him.”   Kurosaki flung his arms out, a spark of that old rage in his voice. “Look at me! I gave up most of my soul to Alteza for power, even if that would work, I’d be trading Shinigami for madness.”  Aware his anger was misplaced, he let out a haggard breath and spoke deliberately. “You’ve been to the outer world, time is different there, time is different for me . If I waste my time going back, Shinigami will still be in my soul. I can’t erase that any more than I can erase the moment I touched the Hogyoku.”   Even running it over and over in his head didn’t make it any more clear. “This is some confusing shit,” Grimmjow spat.   “I’m aware,” Ichigo answered.   Grimmjow frowned, and after a long moment of no solutions, Kurosaki sighed. “The world won’t collapse in on itself in the next few hours. We’ll circle back to it.”   “Hell of a thing to bookmark.”   Shooting Grimmjow a glare that genuinely sent a chill up his spine, Kurosaki snarked, “Well I don’t  see either of us coming up with a plan.”   The hybrid wasn’t wrong, but leaving things unresolved nagged him. Grimmjow swallowed the urge to  needle the problem and said, “Fine. Later. Right now you need to go to Las Noches.” Brows furrowed, Kurosaki looked to him for a concrete reason. “The city is fucked, a lot of it doesn’t make sense  anymore.”   That startled the hybrid, eyes flicking towards the horizon, unfocused as he shifted his attention. “I wasn’t here...I thought…”   ...things were better off without him? He was an absent God, but he was still their God. Grimmjow reached for his arm and said, “Fix it.” It was a gentle order, and from the sudden and severe look Kurosaki turned on him, it surprised him, but it wasn’t unwanted. Amber eyes slipped to his hand, perhaps still uncertain about where they stood.   Feeling remarkably bold in the wake of something so terrorizing, Grimmjow’s fingers mapped a path along the back of his bicep, over the swell of muscle to the sharpened edge of his sword. The reiatsu thick in the blade responded to his touch; aggressive in its invitation. His fingers hit the hilt and returned to Kurosaki’s shoulder, finally sliding along skin, so wonderfully smooth beneath the calloused pads of his fingers. He reached  Kurosaki’s throat, and both of them held their breath. Grimmjow felt the bob of his throat as he swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away from the pale stripe of his throat, marred by thick black markings. Dangerous , and he held his life in his hand.   It was nothing but touch, gentle and deliberate, but it felt right. After such a severe dip in control, it felt  good to know Kurosaki would bend to his demands. The hybrid, this demigod , was waiting on him. Finally meeting Kurosaki’s eyes, Grimmjow realized the hybrid really was ready to do anything for him. Those weren’t hollow words.   So much power, right  beneath his fingertips. He could tell him anything, Kurosaki was expecting him to...so he did nothing. Drawing his hand away, Kurosaki finally breathed, watching him with that unnerving, unblinking stare, but he thought he might be disappointed. “Fix it,” Grimmjow repeated, voice thick.   Kurosaki disappeared through la sangre, but this time, Grimmjow was perfectly capable of following. He trailed after him, finding Kurosaki had stuck himself dead in the center of  Las Noches. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he felt the pull in his gut as strongly as he sensed Alteza in the ground they stood on.   For the moment, they were alone in that prison of white walls. The being that stood before him was different than the man whose neck he’d just held beneath his claws. Kurosaki stood differently, behaved differently; It wasn’t remotely submissive. To know the hybrid behaved differently towards him was completely different than seeing it firsthand. He was just as terrifying as he remembered, if not more so. That madness shone a little brighter, just beneath the surface of amber eyes.   Raising a clawed hand, Kurosaki snapped, the sound echoing in the silence off of smooth, cold walls. Outwardly, nothing seemed to change, but Grimmjow felt the massive shift in la sangre in his blood. He wasn’t good enough yet to feel the nuance, but he knew what Kurosaki had done was complicated. Rearranging walls and ceilings while leaving the beings inside alive seemed almost impossible.    A thin black line of darkness shot from Kurosaki’s feet to a wall, and out raced out of sight. “What’s that?” Grimmjow asked.   “If Harribel wants to talk, there it is, she can come to me.”   “That’s going to piss her off.”   A smile broke Kurosaki’s face. “She’s probably already pissed, but I can give her the option to ignore me.”   That was a decent point, but Grimmjow wasn’t sure either of them knew enough to predict what she’d make of this. Kurosaki wasn’t some hollow she could command, that was clear from the beginning. He wasn’t exactly a threat either.   “Did she take the bait?” Grimmjow asked.   Kurosaki frowned at him. “It’s not a trap.”   “Did she?”   Kurosaki blinked, distracted by realization. “You don’t sense her?”   “Nah, it’s a blur, especially after you did...that.” He waved his hand vaguely at the walls and Kurosaki frowned deeper, not following. “Mushes it all together. I was never shitty at finding people, but this is weird and different. I don’t adapt like you do.”   Amber eyes flicked to the ceiling and he muttered,  “Fooled me.”    It was a compliment spoken as an insult and Grimmjow didn’t know what to make of it, so he pretended not to hear it.     Long moments passed in companionable silence before the sound of Harribel’s boots filled the hall. It wasn’t long before she was close enough to speak, the arrancar keeping her distance not so much out of fear as to make them come to her. She spoke softly, but the edge was unmistakable. “I’m not a dog for you to beckon as you please.”   “If I thought you were a dog, I wouldn’t have given you a choice.”   “And you,” her glare settled on Grimmjow, a controlled simmer. “You ran from me.”   Teeth gritted together in annoyance at how accurate that insult was, Grimmjow could only agree. “Yeah. Didn’t wanna see anyone, didn’t wanna be here, didn’t have anywhere to go.”   “That’s not true, is it? You went back to him.” Her eyes snapped back to Kurosaki, accusatory, yet cautious.   Grimmjow couldn’t say she was wrong. It didn’t much matter to him where he was, so long as Kurosaki was there. “Don’t pretend to be surprised,” Grimmjow growled.   “Perhaps I’m disappointed,” she drawled. “He got you killed, he abandoned Hueco Mundo, and still you return to him.”   Grimmjow felt the itch to kill her, but he knew that was simply his knee-jerk reaction to the truth. “What of it?”   She suddenly seemed to lose interest, pissing him off even more. “Why did you come back, Ichigo?”   Kurosaki’s answer was simple. “For him.”   Harribel stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “That doesn’t explain why you’re here, in my city.”   “It does. Grimmjow wanted me here.”   It seemed for a moment that Harribel believed she was being lied to. “Since when do you defer to another’s judgement?”  She asked.   Grimmjow’s eyes settled on Kurosaki, just as interested in his answer as Harribel. Outwardly, the hybrid didn’t react, but contained in that stillness, his hackles rose, defensive That defense wasn’t because of him, but Harribel. He was a secretive person by nature, and he didn’t want her to know. A moment passed, and his shoulders fell. “You want the truth?” Harribel didn’t answer, and he took it to be a yes. “Since I gave up.”   Whatever Harribel had been expecting, that wasn’t it. Genuine shock crossed her face, and Kurosaki finished. “Every move I make plays into their will. I’m done.”   “You can’t be done,” Harribel argued. “You can’t abandon what you started.”   A laugh rolled from Kurosaki’s chest, deep enough to be no more than a growl. “Who’s going to make me? You? ” The mocking in his tone was different, it wasn’t the Kurosaki he knew, and it set a chill in his bones. The maliciousness drained from his voice with a lazy smile, and his eyes flicked to Grimmjow. “He can.”   Harribel’s eyes narrowed, clearly unsure if he meant that literally or not.   Sudden disinterest crept into the hybrid’s voice and he looked away, eyes flicking elsewhere. “You want something? Ask him.”   Harribel’s focus narrowed to Grimmjow. “This is acceptable to you?”   Reluctant to tell the truth, Grimmjow thought it might help to give her some context. “You’re lucky he’s talking to you at all.”   Kurosaki left, damn him, disappearing into la sangre. He didn’t go far, but his patience had clearly waned. Grimmjow couldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t be happy with people discussing his mental stability when he was standing right there either.    “Shinigami won. I was a casualty, Kurosaki was the prize.”   “Elaborate,” she demanded.   “That wasn’t some kinda code. He lost. Shinigami possessed me, burned me out like a road flare, then  jumped into Kurosaki. Fucker’s hiding out in his soul like it's a goddamn field trip, picking up snacks along the way.”   Thankfully, that meant something to Harribel. “The thing that possessed him is the reason Kurosaki has  been killing the shinigami?”   “Yeah.”   “How is this different than the Gods?”   “Seems like this hitchhiker has active plans.”   Harribel folded her arms. “So it’s a problem.”   She wasn’t directly asking if they were handling it,  but the implication was there. “One thing at a time, right? At least he’s outta his head.”   She took his words metaphorically and let them pass by unquestioned. “Will he really listen to you?”   That Harribel feared Kurosaki kind of pissed him off. “You think I can’t handle him?”   “He’s never listened to you before.”   Grimmjow bared his teeth in a flash of aggression that actually made Harribel widen her stance. He kept forgetting he was stronger. “ Before, his soul wasn’t in me, I didn’t have his power.” That felt like oversharing, he didn’t want Harribel to know just how tightly Kurosaki was wrapped around his finger.    “That doesn’t explain why he would listen.”   The steady acceptance in Kurosaki’s eyes clouded his memory. “He listens too much, that isn’t the  issue.”   “Then what, Jaegerjaquez,” Harribel drawled, “Is?”   “I only had that thing in me for a few hours…” Grimmjow knew what he  wanted to say, but the words didn’t come. “Kurosaki’s had it for over a year. I think...I think I’m the last thing keeping him sane.”   “Is it wise to bring him back, to get you involved?”   “Is there another option? If you have another demigod hidden up your sleeve, I’d love to see.”   “Don’t get smart with me, Grimmjow. What  happens if Kurosaki turns on us like he did to the shinigami?  We’d be fish in a barrel.”   Grimmjow snarled, “I won’t let it happen.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t even sure he believed it.   “Can you promise that with certainty?” Harribel asked. Teeth clenched, Grimmjow knew what point she was trying to make.  “How much control do you have over him?”   It took a moment to properly condense his feelings into a single, frustrated breath. “If I wanted to kill him, he’d stand there and let me do it.”   Harribel called his bluff. “That means little if you can’t follow through.”   Maybe it was the suggestion he might need to kill him, or that she thought she had the right to compel him to, but fury nearly spurred him to action. Grimmjow’s anger spiked with his reiatsu, roiling around her at a level she could actually feel.    She struggled to stand, every ounce as defiant as she had been when she first walked in. “Have we traded a wounded animal for a tyrant? How will you wield power, Grimmjow?”   He could kill her, he could do whatever he wanted, and there would be no struggle, no satisfaction. He thought  this was what he’d wanted, but now his sights were higher. Now he sought to conquer broken amber eyes.   Jaw tightening, Grimmjow let up his reiatsu before her knees could hit the ground, turning away with a snarl. “I’m not a tyrant.”   She didn’t look convinced, and to her credit, he hadn’t been very convincing. "So said Kurosaki."   Grimmjow snarled, "You have no idea what he is."   Inclining her head, Harribel relented. "I suppose that's true." She could have pressed it, but she changed the subject instead. “What did you do to Szayel?” she asked.   Grimmjow hissed, “Szayel, Szayel, Szayel ...I gave him less than he deserved.” It took effort not to lift his hand to the ghostly memory of pain crawling through his skin. That wasn’t his pain, but it certainly felt like it was.    “Poetic,” she said flatly, “but it doesn’t answer my question.”   Scoffing, Grimmjow brushed her off. “What Kurosaki did to Ulquiorra. I tied him to la sangre. He’s getting the slow death he deserves.”   Her eyes narrowed, “You made him a conduit?”   Grimmjow’s lip curled in disgust. “He would never deserve that. Noooo, I made him a fuse. He deserves nothing, he gets nothing. Nothing but the privilege of wearing down to dust in Kurosaki’s place.”   The expression that crossed Harribel’s face was calculating. “And how long did you leave our dear scientist to live, Grimmjow?”   “A decade? More, less? Fuck if I know. That’s up to Kurosaki.”   “Do you care to find a replacement? I needed him, and he wasn’t yours to take.”   “He wasn’t!” Grimmjow roared. “He was Kurosaki’s, but the fuck won’t do it!”   Without raising her voice, Harribel braved stepping into his bubble to assert,  “Ichigo had his chance to kill Szayel. He had many, and he always stopped. I don’t claim to know him better than you, but did you ever ask him why?”   He hadn’t. Grimmjow grit his teeth, scouring his thoughts. He’d never seriously asked. He’d sneered and  scoffed at the scientist, but he’d never truly felt the depth of Kurosaki’s hatred, not until then. Why hold  back? Why, when it was so easy to end it...like snapping his fingers.   He’d been so caught up in memories and pain, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. How could he have overlooked something so obvious? It couldn’t be as simple as needing Szayel’s talents.   Instead of waiting out his little breakthrough, Harribel turned to leave. “It’s clear I can’t stop either of you, and these are problems I’m simply not equipped to deal with. Don’t forget where you came from, Grimmjow.”   A snarl twisted his lips. “You think I could?”   “Then you should pay your old fraccion a visit. I think they're at least owed a farewell.”   Grimmjow opened his mouth to argue, but she’d already turned away, leaving him with a mountain of  guilt he didn’t ask for. He muttered, “Fucking bitch,” into an empty room. Follow Kurosaki, or face his old fraccion? Neither was appealing, and in the end he decided on principle. He’d dogged Kurosaki’s steps through every waking moment, some fucking space wasn’t going to kill them.    He cast out his senses through Las Noches, trying to ignore the ever present storm of Kurosaki’s presence. He wasn’t right next to him, but he was never far with an aura like that.   It was relatively easy to find his fraccion, they were more than familiar to him. Were they friends? That felt like a stretch. Comrades and allies, more like; they had always been loyal. They were...something. Enough to cast doubt into his heart. It wasn’t fear that forced Grimmjow to hesitate, he simply didn’t want to see them.   It took a long moment to unpack why. Kurosaki’s reluctance to see his friends came to mind, but this was different. Was he jealous? That emotion landed closer. He couldn’t curse the power he had without remembering a simpler time. Things were so simple; Evolve or die.   No Gods whispering in his thoughts, possessing and killing him. Survive, or suffer the alternative. Perhaps it wasn’t so different now, but there was more in his life than baring his teeth and flexing his claws.   Rather than pussyfoot around, Grimmjow picked an espada and stepped through la sangre. It put him  just behind Yylfordt, a little too close for comfort. Yylfordt yelped, startled, and drew his sword, eyes widening in recognition before his sword ever left the sheathe. “Grimmjow?”   “Yeah, me . Still getting used to this shit.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was a little embarrassing to drop his ass close enough to braid the fucker’s hair.   Yylfordt threw his sword back into the sheathe, letting out a huff in relief.   "Expecting a threat?" Grimmjow mocked.   "Fuck you, you're like a ghost."   Edrad spoke up from his left. "Neliel said your reiatsu was gone. Didn't think she was a liar but...weird to see it myself."   Yylfordt folded his arms and barked, "It's invisible, dipshit."   "You know what I mean!"   Grimmjow interrupted them both with a growl. "So what did I miss when I was dead?"   "You're still dead,” Yylfordt deadpanned.   "Fuck! You know what I mean."   Yylfordt cut him off with a blurted question. "Were you really dead? Dead -dead?"   "Yes!" Grimmjow snapped. "What do you think all this is about?" He held up blackened claws, but it only inspired a new round of questions.   "Oh shit, what a scar,” Yylfordt blurted, “is that what killed you?"   "No!" He was regretting showing up at all, and the last thing he was going to talk about was dying for real. "If you won’t tell me I'll go find someone who will."   Yylfirdt settled back against the wall to think, eyes rolling skyward. "Huh...well Ulquiirra fucked off somewhere, no one's seen him."   Edrad added, "The desert feels weird, there’s that.”   “Weird how?”   “Lots of new hollows showin’ up, hoping to run into Kurosaki, heard some rumors. They can still slip, they ain’t arrancar, so we’ve been keepin’ em in one part of las noches, letting em group up and kill each other. Still won’t go back into the desert tho.”   “Despite all that, Ulquiorra still went out there.”   “Harribel didn’t say anything about that.”   “Yylfordt’s brows shot up. “You spoke to her?”   If she was operating under the assumption she was on her own, and Kurosaki was a threat, it was no  wonder she kept that to herself. If she directed him to go speak with his fraccion, she probably knew he’d find out too. So he had a choice to make. “Thanks for the heads up.” He looked in Kurosaki’s direction,  and Edrad asked, “When are you coming back?”   Grimmjow frowned at that, still unsure what to say. "About that...I'm not coming back."   Yylfordt sighed. “Thought you’d say that.” Grimmjow looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Yer really runnin with the big dogs now, got no reason to stay, do ya?”   “You’re pretty weak,” Grimmjow agreed.   Yylfordt winced. “Ouch, I’ll take that to my grave.”   “Better not be an early grave.”   Snorting, Edrad snapped, “He’s too obnoxious to die.”   Grimmjow didn’t know how to say goodbye. It wasn’t forever, but he just wasn’t a part of that world anymore. Kurosaki dragged him to hell and it was clear there was no going back. He gave them a mock salute. “Be seeing you.” ---xxx---   Kurosaki Ichigo   It was strange being back in Hueco Mundo. It was just as familiar, but it was like visiting an old haunting ground, years divorced from the last time he’d been there. Everything felt familiar, but it had changed in subtle ways he didn’t fully comprehend. What was different?   Cold wind tugging at his hair as he struggled for the answer.    Closing his eyes to sprawling white sands, he sensed Grimmjow not far off within las Noches. Close, so close, and yet, the fear he might disappear still clung to him.    Letting those fears sink to the backdrop of his thoughts, he focused on Hueco Mundo, on everything he could and couldn’t comprehend. Flickers of life were strewn about like stars, some burning bright, others small, barely recognizable. He ignored them, thoughts settling into murky whispers and timeless sand. It churned in quiet, chaotic solitude, but beneath that, there was more.   There should be nothing more, yet instinct warned him of the abyss. It wasn't empty...this was different than grasping hands and searching eyes. Nothing more than ghostly sentries, bleeding power and protecting their host.   This was    Aware   ....and it was   It was-   Ichigo's eyes snapped open, chest heaving, amber eyes locked on blue. Grimmjow was within arms reach and looked like he was bracing himself for the worst. Ichigo knew his fear was palpable, so that’s wasn’t so shocking. What was shocking was that Grimmjow’s presence had gone completely unnoticed.   “You were under for a long time,” Grimmjow said.   “How long?”   “Couple hours at least,” he answered carefully. “What happened?”   A simple question, and he wasn't so sure he could answer. Something stirred outside his awareness, but his instincts cringed back in fear.   “I didn’t do this,” Ichigo said plainly.   Despite knowing the answer, Grimmjow asked him anyway. “Do what?”   Eyes swept the landscape and Ichigo reiterated. “ This ; changing everything. Not all of it anyway. When I sleep the Gods have more influence than I do, and Shinigami limits my contact.”   Fear started to settle onto Grimjow’s face, a look Ichigo didn’t like seeing. A tiny, chaotic corner of his soul rejoiced in that look, it wanted to be the cause, to revel in his fear and pain, but Ichigo refused to let that urge bloom.   "You're telling me Alteza did this?" Grimmjow asked. "Why now?"   Shinigami whispered, "The world you know is disappearing, godling."   Ichigo struggled to ignore it, trying to narrow his focus to Grimmjow. "I don't know."   "Liar," it purred. "Lies from a liar. You know. You feel it quake in your bones and claw through your brain."   "Shut up."   "Your reality trembles on a precipice. I have no more desire to see it shatter than you."   "SHUT UP!"   He felt Grimmjow's eyes on him, alert in his concern, but Ichigo was too distracted to reassure him or lie.   "You feel it as well as I do."   Ichigo closed his eyes, fingers clenching into fists, claws biting his palms.   "Say it, Godling. Denial changes nothing."   It was a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone burden Grimmjow with. The arrancar used his name like a plea. “Ichigo.”   Ichigo looked up, studying the concern darkening Grimmjow’s face. He looked tired, and as unfair as it felt burdening him with problems he couldn’t solve, he didn’t want to lie to him. He didn’t want to face it alone. "The Gods are waking up," he whispered.    " What?" Grimmjow demanded. "Why?"   Ichigo's eyes left the sand to lock on blue. He didn't know. Just because you swam in the ocean didn't mean you knew all its secrets.   "Would you like to know?" Shinigami asked.   Ichigo ignored it, sensing Zangetsu in the back of his thoughts, a subtle and persistent urge to do violence against an enemy his claws couldn't catch. "Would you like to know?" Shinigami asked again, insistent.   "Why should I trust you?"   "Mutually assured destruction, godling. If your world crumbles, I starve."   It wasn't wrong, if he could trust anything it was its nature. He was reminded of the first conversation they ever had. It had spoken to him like a partner. Why would it do that?   Unless it had known from the beginning.    Its words rang familiar, settling into his soul in a chill. "I have been watching you, Kurosaki Ichigo."     Without warning, Ichigo sat, falling into his inner world. He opened his eyes and met his reflection, fury and concern dripping from Zangetsu’s snarl. He understood, he felt his frustration as deeply as his own, but there was so little to be done. Calling out at the desert, Ichigo roared, “Show yourself!”   Zangetsu fell silent, hovering and watching with wary tension.   “Now you wish to speak?”     The voice crawled over his skin, coming from everywhere and nowhere. His throat tightened in disgust, but he beat it back, shouting, “Stop hiding!”   The voice came from just behind him, a strangled whisper raking bony fingers up his spine. “I have been patient.”   Ichigo refused to turn; he knew Shinigami was baiting his instincts. There would be nothing. It wasn’t fool enough to make itself vulnerable.   “I have waited.”   “Waited for what?” Ichigo asked, his voice betraying his fear.   “For you to see.” Its voice hissed over his skin like the scrape of steel and it kept talking, digging the blade deeper. “For a host strong enough to resist entropy.”   Swallowing thickly, Ichigo whispered, “Have I though?”   It’s laugher hissed like shifting sands. “You are a survivor, tearing down the hosts that came before, gathering sacrifices to preserve your sanity. You have endured.”   Shinigami wasn’t lying, he had done all of these things. He’d gathered conduits intentionally and  unintentionally, holding his place at the perilous edge of power and insanity. Maybe that was arrogant.  Maybe he was already insane? Would he even know?   This entity was proposing a partnership with him, one he had no desire to take. His desire to rend this monster didn’t come from the Gods, that was all him.. “You killed Grimmjow.”    Zangetsu stood even closer, unsure what it was he was protecting him from.    “A fragile soul,” Shinigami hissed, “You should understand better than anything.”   Any... thing . “What sort of tool did you expect me to be?”   “What you’ve always been. A weapon,” the voice purred. Bony, lifeless fingers traced lines over the backs of his arms, the voice even softer, closer, when its hands reached his shoulders. “A shield.”   Panic clenched his throat and Ichigo hissed, “Fuck off.”   The fingers disappeared, the voice softer, distant. “Then we all perish, Kurosaki Ichigo.”   “Liar,” Ichigo whispered.   A hollow chuckle rang in his thoughts in a sea of whispers and howls. “Death does not lie.”   Ichigo closed his eyes, brows drawn tight. As much as he hated the slippery voice coiled around his thoughts, it had yet to lie.    A hand touched his cheek. Warm, and just as calloused as his own.    "Don't shut me out," Zangetsu demanded.    He wasn’t alone, as much as he wished it. He opened his eyes and met amber, narrowed in anger and concern. Physically, he didn’t see himself in Zangetsu anymore. In the past, he’d seen a warning of what he could become, then he’d seen him as a mirror of who he was, and now he saw…   Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the pain in Zangetsu’s eyes, narrowed and flashing with aimless violence. His hollow had given him everything, expecting nothing, all in the name of protecting  him. Now he was a bystander as monsters carved him up from the inside out. He wouldn’t be surprised if the strain and frustration was driving his hollow mad. He could barely watch Shinigami tear into Grimmjow for hours, he couldn’t imagine being a bystander for that for years .   Reaching for Zangetsu’s face, Ichigo leaned in fast, tilting his head and forced their lips together. Zangetsu bit him, hot and wet between their mouths, and pulled away to snarl. “ Distractions .” His blood was smeared over ivory skin, bright and distinct in his crumbling world. His hollow’s hands tightened around his neck, clawed thumbs digging into his larynx. .    Leaving a small breadth of space between them, Ichigo licked his lip, tongue throbbing from where he’d  been bitten. “I think it’s selfish,” he said.    Teeth bared in a feral and toothy smile, Zangetsu huffed, “Taught you that, didn’t I. Taught you too well.” Zangetsu wasn’t one for regrets, Ichigo wasn’t even sure the hollow knew how to regret, but he could see the impact of that lesson, feel it in his heart, every day.    Zangetsu heaved back on his throat to gain an advantage, and Ichigo dug in his heels. He was tired, he wanted the fighting to cease, but perhaps it was too selfish to leave that particular burden with Zangetsu.   Jerking back from Zangetsu’s claws scored his throat, but not deep enough to cause damage. That it hurt at all was proof of the conflict in them both. Dodging his claws and a quick flurry of blows, Ichigo caught  his wrist, throwing him into a crumbling building hard enough to shatter what windows were left in it in a screech of glass. A flicker of sonido put his hand around his throat, pinning him flat.    “Guess you’re king again.” Zangetsu smiled.   Ichigo tightened his grip and shouted, “NO!” His hollow stared up at him, waiting for more. “No, I’m tired of the struggle. I don’t want to be a burden and I don’t want this. We’ve been more than king and pawn for too long, don’t lie to me. Not you.”   Zangetsu’s expression softened, chastising, “You were never a burden, aibou.”   The sheer weight of losing the title none of them ever wanted clawed open his heart. His eyes blurred with the threat of tears he wouldn’t let fall. This is what he’d wanted, and Zangetsu had given it a name. Partners, together and apart, he needed Zangetsu, and he knew Zangetsu needed him; A symbiotic relationship that didn’t stop at love or obsession.    Zangetsu sat up, his grip on his hollow’s throat loosening, hands smoothing to his shoulders. His hollow’s eyes were striking. His eyes, and not. The Gods had forced a rift between them that tore them apart, but it finally let him see. He couldn’t be grateful for something that caused them both so much pain, but the distance inspired the truth that they were both inexplicably changed, they were no longer the same. He had his face, his eyes, his lips, but Ichigo knew he was no longer his reflection. They shared a soul, Zangetsu would never have a solid form of his own, but he had grown apart, he was different.   Coppery lips found Ichigo’s, crushed against his with desperate, instinctive fervor. Teeth overshadowing  their kiss with pain was expected. Ichigo knew this wasn’t a kiss fueled by lust, he didn’t have a word for what he felt. A pit in his stomach yawned with a need to fill it, to devour his hollow and take him back. It was an insane, twisted thing and he knew it as clearly as what he felt.   It was Zangetsu that put a stop to it, fisting his hand in his hair to pull back, keeping Ichigo from leaning in. His hollow was breathing hard, blood smeared along his cheek and lips like a wild dog. “You started something dangerous, aibou. It’s too easy to get caught up in instinct.”   “It’s tempting, isn’t it?” Ichigo said. Zangetsu waited for him to say it, eyes thoughtfully narrowed. “To eat each other alive, neither dying and losing nothing, to fix what we had.”    Zangetsu’s eyes glazed over, fingers loosening in his hair. “It is tempting to try.”   Breath leaving him in a sigh, Ichigo killed the thought with a single word. “Grimmjow.”    That was all he needed for Zangetsu to let go of the fantasy. His hollow leaned back a fraction and rumbled, “You love too hard.”   “I know.” Ichigo couldn’t deny it, and they both knew it, but it was a new source of frustration for his hollow.    They sat in comfortable silence until Zangetsu finally pried. “This didn’t come from nothing. What did it say to you?”   Ichigo’s expression collapsed into turmoil, knowing his decision was made for him. Once again the illusion of freedom trapped him at the beck and call of someone else’s judgement. Some thing . “If I have to take a partner against my will, I’m not doing it without taking one I want by choice.” He didn’t have to hope Zangetsu would understand, he knew he would. The illusion of choice haunted his every decision, and it pissed him off to be herded and manipulated.    “You’ve already made up your mind,” Zangetsu said. He spoke it as an unwavering fact, and Ichigo realized that he had.   He’d lost this one, he felt it in his gut. Shinigami had him right where it wanted him, pinned like a mouse in the jaws of something bigger and stronger. For all his hatred, Shinigami was right. Their struggle wouldn’t much matter if both of them burned alive.   He didn’t have many choices left to him, but that was one they couldn’t take from him...not yet. It wouldn’t erase the revulsion, but it could make it tolerable. He wasn’t alone with monsters. Zangetsu at his back and Grimmjow at his front and he had a chance. Zangetsu reached for him, dragging him in by the back of the neck. He pressed his forehead to his and said nothing. There was nothing left to say, they knew this was reactionary at best, and didn’t care to imagine what it meant at its worst.    Zangetsu whispered, “He’s out there waiting for you. Don’t deny him answers.”   Guilt seeped into his heart deeply enough for Zangetsu to notice, claws pricking his skin as he drew him closer. His hollow knew what it was like to be ignorant of his pain, and Ichigo knew now it was a mistake to cut him out. “I’ll talk to him,” Ichigo promised.   He should have left, but he didn’t want to leave. He knew he had to, but the peace was nice while it lasted. ---xxx---   Grimmjow   It was an hour before Kurosaki stirred. The hybrid’s head canted, horns angled sharply towards him. He couldn’t catch his eye from the angle and the dark, but the got the impression he was deeply sad. Freezing in the middle of his anxious pacing, Grimmjow turned to face him. “Ichigo…”   The hybrid leaned his weight on his knee and stood, looking as tired as he’d been back on pitch black sands in an empty world. The wind tugged dark hair over his shoulder, and he looked alone . Surrounded by sand and darkness, moonlight glinted off the exposed edges of his weapons and his horns, and he stood, a silent monolith. Even now he refused to reach out for help, watching him as if he were a stray cat he couldn’t approach.    The distance between them no longer felt insurmountable. Grimmjow clenched his jaw and crossed over to him without fear. Kurosaki didn’t outwardly react, but Grimmjow felt the ache in his heart, and he was loathe to leave that call unanswered. Wrapping his arms around him from behind, he held him tight, breath wetly humid against his neck. Somehow that closeness unwound the hybrid, enough to lean his  head back on his shoulder and sigh.    Grimmjow spoke softly, “Don’t you dare shut me out.”   Baring his throat further gave Kurosaki the opportunity to rest his cheek against his head without cutting him with a wayward horn. He rested his head there and said, “I don’t want to disappoint you.”   Grimmjow didn’t think Kurosaki would lie, but he thought about that, his hand smoothing over clothed, hardened muscle, his fingers slipping beneath folds to tease the edge of his hollow hole. “You can’t,”  he concluded. It might be brash to so wholeheartedly decided, but with Kurosaki in his arms, he found the future didn’t look so bleak. “I have you.” It was a simple statement, but he could feel the tension drain out of his shoulders.   Kurosaki started to talk, slow and careful, as if he were testing unsteady ground. "Killing Shinigami isn't going to happen. We need it."   Grimmjow had come to that conclusion on his own, but his grip on Kurosaki still tightened. "What does that entail?"   "Right now Shinigami is possessing my body, but it isn't as deep in my soul as the Gods. I've kept it out, but it wont leave either. I have to let it in."   The revulsion in his voice echoed in his gut so deeply he wondered if it wasn't bleeding over from Kurosaki. He didn't like it, for too many reasons to count. Kurosaki didn't want it, and he didn't want that monster inside the one person he actually loved. "Fuck," he hissed.   "I'm sorry."   Grimmjow pulled back just to spin him around. "Fuck you, dont apologize."    Kurosaki didn’t look happy to face him, he couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “I don’t think I have a choice.”   Grimmjow snarled, “So stop being guilty.”   “But you hate it.”   “Yeah,” Grimmjow couldn’t pretend to disagree. He reached for him, dark hair clenched in his hand. "Ain't I the one that told you to stop hiding? What kinda hypocrite would I be if I fought you on this?"   A smile split Kurosaki's face. "A hypocrite like me."   It figured the self depricating fuck would flip that around on him. He snarled, "I don't know if I want to punch you in the face or kiss you."    Kurosaki chuckled, a real laugh that rumbled in his chest and made his heart ache. It curbed his desire to break his nose, but just by a hair.    “It pisses me off that I can’t do anything. I gotta stand here and watch .” Grimmjow said, “I gotta listen to you lie .”   That word struck Kurosaki like he had actually hit him, brows drawing together in pain. He didn't mean it, but he wanted to hurt him, no matter how terrible it felt to see him flinch.   Kurosaki didn't passively take it, defending himself. “Yeah, I’m gonna brush it off, I’m gonna act like it’s fine. If I think about it, I’m never going to be fine.” His voice fell, reaching up to take hold of his wrist. “I’m not lying.” His fingers slid up to cover the back of his hand, markedly gentle. “I don’t wanna think about all the time I lost. I don’t wanna share my time with unwanted intruders. I’m here for you .”   Grimmjow felt his annoyance collapse in on itself, his grip on his hair loosening. “Asshole… let me argue.”   Kurosaki’s expression was soft. It wasn’t as broken as it had been before, but any frustration or anger he had was smoothed out by acceptance. “I know you feel helpless.”   “ Do you? ” Grimmjow snapped. Why couldn't he let it lie? He wanted a fight and Kurosaki wouldn't give it to him. He couldn't tell him no. It was agonizing knowing the decision was already made.   There was only understanding on Kurosaki's face. His voice broke. “I watched you die. I helped kill you.”   Shit . He got what he wanted, didn't he? He wanted to needle Kurosaki until he hurt him and he'd done it.   "I get it," Kurosaki said. He knew that, and it didn't make it any better. Kurosaki lifted his hand to his mask, something he hadn't done in awhile, something he’d missed. "At least if I go crazy, you'll know it’s still me."   Fight still not drained out of him, he snapped, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"   "It makes me feel better."    He really couldn't argue with that. Grimmjow lifted his hand to cover Kurosaki’s, stepping in close to his personal space. “How do we know it's telling the truth? What if it possesses you like it did to me." He was proud his words didn’t waver, because his heart did.   Empathy drew Kurosaki's lips down into a frown, nearly a grimace. "I don't know for sure, but I don't think the Gods would stand for it. They're already fighting it."   "If it eats the Gods presence right outta you, then what?"   "I think I'd die," Kurosaki guessed.   "So what's to stop it?"   "It needs a host."   Grimmjow bared his teeth. "Seemed to be doing just fine when it was fucking around, looking to posess you before.”   Kurosaki said, “It was vulnerable, I don’t think it would willingly put itself in that position.”   There was no argument there, not one he could win. “You’ve made up your mind.” He nodded mostly to himself, eyes on las Noches, not having forgotten the conflict he’d left behind.    Kurosaki said, “If you really wanted me to do nothing, I would.”   Closing his eyes, Grimmjow swore. “I’m not letting the world fall apart. I don’t think you would either.”   “If you were adamant...I’d run.”   “You’re not a coward,” Grimmjow hissed.   “Then I guess the decision is made,” Kurosaki whispered.    Grimmjow looked at him, brows furrowed. “Before you do that, you need to see your family.”   “I know…” Kurosaki looked away, never comfortable with the topic.    As much as he wanted to throw Kurosaki back at the people who loved him most, he could stand to let him procrastinate that uncomfortable meeting. “Are you still willing to make hollows into arrancar?” ---xxx---   Urahara Kisuke   "You don't know the ramifications of what you're asking me to do,” Kisuke said.   "Then explain them to me."   That was a dismissive statement, it was clear Kyoraku had made up his mind before he’d even begun to consider calling him. Kisuke deflected. "Everyone agrees to this?"   "Rukia doesn’t know.”   Some truth to deflect a lie he’d rather not tell. Kisuke frowned, his eyes slipping to the far wall in thought. It was telling when the soutaichou wouldn't involve those that loved Kurosaki. He had to know his own love for the hybrid was tempered by his thrice-damned intellect. “This is dangerous; you’re banking on the Gods being predictable.”   “Kurosaki said it himself, didn’t he? There can only be one host. The Gods make sure of it.” Kyoraku sounded so sure. When Kisuke didn’t comment, he carried on, his tone carefully factual. “He hasn’t stopped killing. We don’t know where he goes when he isn’t killing, but the bodies he leaves in his wake are proof he hasn’t disappeared.”   Kisuke knew where he went, he knew where he hid; a world outside of time, arguably the real world.   “There are places in Soul Society that have disappeared. People, trees, houses. Urahara-san…”   Kisuke stiffened and looked back. “No. You want to put down a monster, but the odds of failure are too high. You could be trading the monster you know for one you do not. I can’t stop you, but I won’t have a part in it. I’m not a gambling man. I didn’t think you were either.”   The soutaichou sighed through his nose, his shoulders sagging. “You weren’t there, Urahara-san. Grimmjow’s death broke him. He’s a mad dog without a leash.”   “It still isn’t a decision I’ll make,” Kisuke said. He didn’t leave room for argument, reaching for the laptop. “Good luck, soutaichou. For all of our sakes.” He disconnected the call, pitching the room into darkness. The screen cast a blue glow over his face, casting deep shadows and blinding him to the darkest corners. Yoruichi surprised him, a furry head bumping his hand and crawling into his lap.   She got comfortable, her voice shattering the silence. “You knew this would happen.”   He grunted in tired affirmation, idly rubbing her ears.   “Do you want them to fail?”   “I don’t want to be a part of it,” Kisuke answered nearly before she finished speaking. “The world is shifting in ways I don’t understand. I’m not going to meddle when I don’t have the answers, and  Kyoraku isn’t going to listen to a counter-argument.”   Things were odd in the world of the living as well. Reports of people coming back from the dead, the feeling of being watched. It hung over the world like an oppressive blanket. People looked up expecting to see something, but there was nothing they could see. Something was deeply wrong, and Kisuke wasn’t so sure it was Kurosaki. ---xxx--- Shunsui Kyoraku “You’re sure he won’t notice?”   Mayuri flipped switches and barked orders, pausing to try to smooth over his tone. “I’m sure. He isn’t here, he hasn’t been here in months.  We’re beneath his notice.” He spat the words like they were some deep insult, and honestly, Kyoraku could understand.   It felt that way, but the thread that bound his soul to Kurosaki had to mean something. He was sure if the hybrid was looking, he would take notice. As of late he’d done nothing but drop corpses on their front step. It was difficult to understand why. He’d spoken to no one about his plans. If there even was a plan.   Kyoraku was uncomfortable surrounded by technology Mayuri was a part of, and even less comfortable being a part of it. “If he notices?”   “I guess we die a little faster,” Mayuri said flippantly.    “You sure this won’t kill me?”   “Questions, questions, questions ,” Mayuri muttered, “You’re merely acting as a beacon, you don’t need to do anything but exist.” He paused in the middle of tapping away at a console and looked back at him. “If you’re so worried, why go through this yourself, soutaichou?”   A frown settled on Kyoraku’s face. He didn’t appreciate Mayuri’s lack of concern for authority or rules, but in this case, his penchant for secrecy and lack of morality was what he needed. “It was my suggestion, I should be responsible if anything goes wrong." That was a part of it, but what they were doing wasn't pleasant, and there was no debate to be had on testing the boundaries of their technology.   Mayuri gave him a bored look and went back to what he was doing.    Only captains knew what he was doing, all except for Rukia. Her judgement was...clouded, when it came to Kurosaki. She still saw a young boy, much as Ukitake had. That was a mistake.    Kyoraku pitied him, he really did, but Kurosaki wasn’t a boy, he was a monster. One growing increasingly divorced from empathy and his own humanity. How long until he ran out of criminals to devour? How long until he set his sights on more innocent people?   Another few minutes of work and Mayuri turned to him and  asked, “Ready?”   Kyoraku nodded, eyeing the circles on the ground with skepticism. This seemed less like technology and more like some kind of dark ritual. They had their sets of rituals, but the markings played over the ground in blood were deeply unsettling. Blood was  reishi dense, or so Mayuri said. But it still made his skin crawl.   One large circle connected to the one Kyoraku stood in, and yet another one extending out the opposite  direction, small with a single symbol inside it.The ritual went ahead without further preamble, that same slippery darkness he’d come to associate with  Kurosaki licking over the floor and creeping towards his feet. He resisted the instinctual urge to run, and held very still. The darkness seemed to lose interest, sticking to the bloody marks drawn on the floor.   The room grew darker, monitors flickering, and even Mayuri looked unsettled, a sheen of sweat noticeable even under all that makeup. The dark spun, writhing in shape in the center of that circle, and a smoky, but familiar silhouette took form. Kurosaki was there, and yet he wasn’t. Shadows flickered through and around him, a mirage in a shadow barely held together by their circle. Yellow eyes traced the circle at his feet in casual interest. “Curious,” he said.  His voice sounded distant and hollow, like an afterthought.   This version of Kurosaki looked the same as the last time he’d seen him; Dark hair and horns, and that manic edge. “Can you hear me, Kurosaki?”   Yellow eyes snapped to his own, and despite knowing the hybrid wasn’t truly present, it was enough for his stomach to clench in fear. Kurosaki drawled, “What do you want?”   “Help.”   Something like hope flickered across his face, but it could have just been a trick of the shadows. The hybrid said, “You’re very, very far away, shinigami.” He chuckled, eyes raking over the room. “You must  be truly desperate.” He asked, “Where is this?”   “My lab, “Mayuri deadpanned.   Kurosaki roared, “WHERE?!”   The darkness shivered with his rage, and Kyoraku swallowed, recalling what Kisuke said. Trading one  monster for another...He answered, “Another dimension, not far from our own. Things are likely almost identical to the way they are here.”   “What do you want?” Kurosaki asked again.   Kyoraku had no reason to lie. “I want you to kill our Kurosaki.”   The hybrid snorted. “How do you think I’m gonna do that? This is a window, not a portal.”   “We can bring you through it; you made me a conduit.”   Kurosaki’s expression fell flat, sealing off his emotions. It seemed he understood what that meant,  but Kyoraku wasn’t sure what that meant for them.   Kyoraku asked, “Is Grimmjow dead in your world?” His expression caved in on itself, unable to wall off his pain. That was all the answer he needed. “How did he die?”   The pain in Kurosaki’s eyes made his heart clench in sympathy, but he was practiced in holding it back. The hybrid turned a sharp circle, as if searching for a way to run. He was quickly realizing he couldn’t. That circle kept him there for as long as they could feed it energy“How did he die?” Kyouraku pressed. “I killed him!”  Kurosaki snarled. His voice broke and he repeated more quietly, “I killed him...”His voice betrayed his tears, but his image was too distorted to see. His head whipped around and he faced Kyoraku, eyes wild. “You want me there? Do it.”   “Who else did you kill?”   Confusion crept onto Kurosaki’s face, and he repeated, “Do it.”   He had a decision to make, and he wasn't so sure this Kursaki was lying. Granted, the Kurosaki he knew  was a terrible liar, and they had no reason to believe his character would be so different. He looked past  and through him to Mayuri and nodded.The scientist knelt near the smaller circle and drew a line in blood through the symbol. The reaction was instantaneous. Darkness shocked the room in a wave, nearly knocking him from the circle. It swirled and spun, dark sand whipping over the ground and piling up around the edges of the circles, stopped by some unseen barrier. It was violent, and heavy, but it somehow didn’t seem to be real. It disappeared like a mirage, fading as quickly as it came. The  figure in the circle was very solid, Kurosaki’s silhouette as real as he was, but he was different. His eyes were pure black, as was his skin. He coughed up black and sticky tar, and Kyoraku realized he was trying to speak. He saw the movement of his lips, but heard no sound. Thank you . Kurosaki’s knees struck the ground and before he could fall, he fell to pieces, shattering into trails of darkness. His gut twisted in realization, a quiet horror clawing up his throat. “He knew he wouldn’t survive.” Mayuri scoffed, voice icy, “I didn’t go to all this trouble for assisted suicide.” He glared at Kyoraku. “Next  time if he sounds suicidal we’ll move on, our resources aren’t unlimited.”   It was a cold reaction, but one that spurred him to action. This was his choice, he’d known this was a  possibility all along. Knowing it and facing it was very different. Would Ukitake be ashamed of him, or would he understand?    He watched the darkness fade away, Kurosaki’s soul completely devoured, as if he never even was. He  ordered, “Try again.” ---xxx---  

Caleb is rapidly learning that he knows fuck-all about tieflings. He’d thought he was fine before, but with all the horn-clicking and tail-related shenanigans, he is thinking he must be missing something. It’s like there’s a body language Mollymauk and Jester use for the rest of them, and then one that’s just tiefling-to-tiefling. He’s tried to look for a book about it, but most of them are for kinky things and reading them really just makes him uncomfortable. He’s pretty sure Jester isn’t indicating her desire to have deeply dangerous if not anatomically impossible sex with Mollymauk when she uses her tail to swat his hand out of her food, and he can be entirely certain Mollymauk isn’t expressing a hidden wish to dance in her entrails when he gently headbutts her on his way past. And, well, it isn’t his business and he doesn’t really care about what they’re saying as long as it doesn’t pertain to him or Nott, but Caleb Widogast is not a man accustomed to missing things. Especially things that are apparently painfully obvious. They’ve encountered a tiefling-heavy district—unusual, but not unheard of, more of a slum than anything—but while people of all manner of bright color and shaped horns walk by, with the intermittent half-orc, drow, kenku, or tabaxi, and even some skittering shapes that do not appear to be any of those things; nearly all of them stop to stare at the party. No, not at the party. At Mollymauk. Humans, Caleb can understand. Mollymauk is very loud and very different. Likewise, elves, dwarves, and gnomes have all been startled by the party’s various unique members. Even he and Beau attract dirty looks in some neighborhoods. But here, in this slum full of ‘monster’ races, why does Mollymauk not fit in? His color is unusual for a tiefling, Caleb is pretty sure, but so is Jester’s, and she wasn’t attracting looks until she moved decisively between Mollymauk and the street. He’d swatted her knee with the flat of his tail and muttered something in Infernal, but she’d hissed back and he’d given up. Caleb isn’t certain if it was a hiss that meant something in Infernal or just a hiss. He’s considering a spell to let him understand what’s being whispered as they walk through, though. A little tiefling boy is louder than most and Mollymauk holds his head up high and adopts a more graceful, sashaying walk, refusing to let go of his neutral smile. The little boy’s companion—brother?—shouts something in Infernal, and Jester bristles while Mollymauk calls back, light and lilting as Infernal gets. Both boys’ eyes widen and they scurry back into their home. “There gonna be an issue?” Fjord asks in an undertone. Beau’s staff smacks against her palm as she flips it back and forth, and Jester’s tail tangles at Mollymauk’s ankles. “No problem,” Molly sings, “they’re just stunned by my beauty, I think. Or maybe they’re wondering if they can eat Frumpkin!” His scars, maybe? He certainly makes no effort to hide them, but a great deal more residents of this area have disfiguring scars than in most places they visit. What on earth could it be? Caleb does vanish Frumpkin for the time being, though. Just in case. Molly smirks. A little kenku stumbles onto the street in front of them; pushed, it seems, from a nearby alleyway. The child scrambles backwards, staring. Mollymauk saunters closer and the little one remains frozen as he crouches in front of them. Caleb catches a glint of metal as he slips some coin into their pocket first thing, because Molly is a bleeding heart. “Something you needed?” Molly asks casually. The little kenku shuffles, shifts. “I don’t bite,” Molly promises. “Well, certainly not someone your age.” “Don’t bite,” repeats the kenku, and in a different voice, “Something wrong with him? Think he did it to himself? Maybe they chained him!” This one is another young voice, with the morbid fascination of a child encountering violence to strangers, or practicing fire cantrips on ants. Caleb hates those kinds of people, now. Molly seems to immediately know what they’re talking about, because he sits back on his heels and adopts a storytelling demeanor. Whatever he’s about to say is a load of shit. “’fraid it’s nothing so exciting,” Molly says, though his tail lashes once and curls in close to him, “see, I got like this when I was hunting a lich! It was a dark night, and stormy, too. And I had just set up my camp…” The child leans in, and there’s a rustle as more small figures hide in nearby alleyways and homes—some larger figures, too. Mollymauk preens, perfectly at home with an audience, while Jester fumes next to Fjord. Caleb taps her horn in an imitation of what Mollymauk does when she’s feeling helpless, and she glances over to him, startled. It must have been the right thing to do, though, because she nods firmly and clasps her holy symbol. “And it went on for days. The worst thing you’d ever felt, but C—but my partner was cleverer than me, see, and she’d had a plan!” Two more children steal out from the alleyway and sit with the kenku, and Beau leans against a building, outwardly bored but with a hand constantly on her staff. Caleb isn’t sure a group of children warrant that kind of force, but he keeps an eye on the adults he sees through mostly-shuttered windows and partially closed doors and fingers his diamond, just in case. Nott keeps close to his side. Mollymauk reaches the climax of action and springs to his feet, drawing frost around his bare hand with a flourish. Caleb can’t see the wound, but the glimmer remains as Mollymauk mimes an attack with an imaginary weapon. “And Sammaster let out a horrible scream, but it was too late! My partner had destroyed his altar and the whole cult was lost as I smashed his phylactery—it had been the very drill he had used! So you see, you and I each owe our safety to these, as there is one less undead cult in the world!” Mollymauk lets the frost over his arm fade as the children clamor and tussle amongst themselves. “Another! Tell another!” says one young boy—the same one who had shouted earlier, it seems. Molly laughs and shakes his head. “I am always happy to please a fan, but it seems you are being missed,” and he hisses something that sounds threatening to Caleb, but the child brightens and hugs him around the waist. “Thank you, mister! Sorry about your horns!” he says, and grabs his companions, dashing off. Caleb can hear as they leave the debate over who will play the lich and who will be the hunter and his partner. Horns, though? Could all this be about his horns? They look like normal tiefling horns to Caleb—glittering and decorated as any other part of Molly. Maybe the shape, or the coloring? “Nice story,” Fjord says as Molly hops to his feet. “Any of it true?” “Not a word,” Molly says, sauntering onward. Caleb notes that his tail is still very still and his shoulders tense, though he puts on a good show of being unaffected. “They are being very rude,” Jester huffs, and something in Infernal. Caleb is getting very tired of missing half of this conversation. “Ah, kids are kids,” says Mollymauk. “Rude is what they are. Isn’t this our stop?” He indicates a house apparently at random, but on closer inspection it might be a storefront. There’s a sign out front in—how very unexpected—Infernal. Isn’t any of this going to be in Undercommon, so they can at least all be confused? Caleb does cast comprehend languages on himself at this point, because this is getting ridiculous. He is lucky he thought to prepare it this morning. The sign says Faith’s Fragrances in Infernal script. Caleb reminds himself that Mollymauk and Jester are constantly surrounded by humans doing human things that they are equally ill-equipped to understand and summons his cat again to sit with Nott. He is not going to be frustrated just because he doesn’t know as much as he thought he did about two of his companions’ culture. Or language. Or apparent disfigurement that is obvious to everyone but him. What the hell could be wrong with Mollymauk’s horns? The curl is maybe a little unusual, but Caleb hadn’t thought there was any difference in status for different shapes…is it related to his infernal ancestor? Maybe? Jester beats Mollymauk to the door of the shop and strolls in. “We’re here for your ille—” “We’re here to browse for some things,” Caleb interrupts before she can get them kicked out. “I have some need for incenses? And I had been interested in some more…exotic things.” The storekeep looks up from the ledger she was writing on. “I have—by the nine hells.” She is looking, of course, directly at Mollymauk. “Hello to you too, gorgeous,” he says in Infernal. “Like what you see?” The storekeep—Faith, probably—nods and smiles. “Of course I’d be happy to assist you,” she assures Caleb, and keeping her even tone and polite smile, she hisses, “Did these people do this to you? Are you hurt?” “Nothing to worry about, dear, I was born like this,” Mollymauk assures. “There is nothing wrong with him! Don’t be mean to my—!” Jester insists. The last word is…blurred, for a moment. Not a sound but a concept—clashing steel and an inhuman battle cry, a crackling fire, staying up until morning. Bloodbond eventually filters into Caleb’s mind, and brother. The spell is…imperfect, with regards to cultural differences. Perhaps there simply isn’t a word for it in Common. Faith keeps smiling. She brushes by Mollymauk and whispers, “I understand. I can help you. If you need to escape, ask for diamond dust.” Diamond dust, of course, being one thing they need to buy. Fantastic. Perhaps they’ll look less suspicious if they ask for that before Mollymauk says anything that could be interpreted as a coded message. “We are searching for diamond dust,” Caleb says. “Do you have any?” Molly and Jester wince in unison as Faith pins him with an intense look. Nott materializes from where she was almost certainly looking for something to steal to glare back. “One-who-has-created-us,” she says politely, “Monster. Dangerous human.” And another word that has no translation, but carries with it fury built of pain and betrayal, an accusation of hypocrisy, a thousand silenced screams given voice. Culler, he hears, once the spell has filtered it into something he can understand. This one he cannot keep a straight face for. He can’t help it. He flinches. Immediately, Nott demands, “What did you say to him! Jester, what is she saying!” And Jester says, “Caleb is our –! I won’t let you say that! Take it back!” And Caleb hears one-who-is-harmed, man-turned-tool, will-rise-again, one-who-is-injured-but-will-not-be-put-down. A protectiveness, like a wolf with a lame leg—a vulnerability or a vicious fighter, but either way one that is part of the pack and under its care. A survivor for now, a formidable ally later. Mollymauk puts his hands up and steps between Faith and Caleb, keeping a low hiss going. “I am —,” he says—and Caleb hears no equivalent words, but gets the illusion of an electric wrongness that goes beyond pain and freezes the bones, like something scraping against the inside of his skull, paralyzing and awful and permanent, “but I have been for a long time. This man is not at fault. Those who are responsible are vengeance-is-served. I do not expect payment from him.” Infernal is too damned different to come across right. If this is ever going to happen again, Caleb needs to start learning the language properly. Jester nods along like this is making sense, and adds, “I will die battling by his side, too! He’s okay, he really is. We don’t want to fight. We’re just here to buy some things.” Faith takes a step back and relaxes her stance somewhat, and Beau’s breath is barely audible but much closer than it was before while Fjord has his hands out and ready. “If he had done this to me, wouldn’t I still be –?” that awful feeling from before, but subtly different, restrained, caged, trapped. “Instead, I’ve got all these glitteries in ‘em. Aren’t they nice?” Mollymauk tilts his head and the decorations on his horns chime against each other. Is that what this is about? Caleb has never seen another tiefling with piercings on their horns before…but he’s never seen a tiefling quite like Mollymauk Tealeaf, either. He’d assumed it was an individual choice. If that awful feeling is what tiefling piercings are like, he thinks he can understand the reactions they’ve been getting. Mollymauk has a lot of them. “Look, see,” Molly says. Molly does take a careful step back, without taking his eyes off Faith, and carefully nudges Nott to Caleb’s other side with his tail. “Play along, bend down a bit, and tilt your head towards me subtly,” he murmurs in—where the fuck did he learn Sylvan? Caleb refuses to believe he just so happens to know those three phrases. Caleb does hunch forward a little, though, and braces himself for whatever Molly is trying to pull—but he just nudges Caleb’s forehead with one of his horns, jingling a little as he does so. He’s unexpectedly tense for such a simple action. Faith’s eyes follow his tail guiding Nott aside and his gentle headbutt to Caleb and she nods. “This is true? And the rest of them, they are your allies, too?” she asks, relaxing her stance but giving each of them in turn a hard look. “To a one,” Molly agrees. “Me, too!” says Jester, regaining her usual zeal and hugging Beau around the arm. Beau nearly clocks her, only to be dodged and headbutted, too. Faith smiles faintly, perhaps a touch embarrassed, but unapologetic. “I see. Ladies, gentlemen, it seems I’ve misjudged you. One can never be too cautious, with circumstances like these,” she says in Common. Caleb nods evenly, having understood about 60% of that conversation. “What exactly would these circumstances be?” asks Fjord, who presumably understood none of it. Faith shuffles. “You have…ah, two young, scarred-up tieflings with a group of rough-looking strangers, one makes certain assumptions. I’d—” “We’ll talk later. It’s fine for now,” Molly assures them, breaking in smoothly. “Faith is gonna get us that incense and everything else and we’ll head back to the inn, first. Less open.” He stands close to Jester, who clicks horns with him and hooks her tail around his ankle briefly before beginning to switch things behind Faith’s back. Caleb makes a note when she changes Frumpkin’s preferred incense with a cheaper variety—maybe he’ll be getting a bargain, if he plays his cards right. And Nott can go for the five-finger discount, if there’s anything they really can’t afford. “Probably best that way. In the meantime—diamond dust is on the house, with my apologies. What else will you be needing?”

In retrospect, Shiro realized he’d made a mistake. It was a simple scouting mission, nothing extreme. Allura wanted to go down to the nearby planet and find the weaknesses in the Galra defenses, and Shiro refused to let her go alone. Keith, of course, stated the obvious. “You remember the last time you two went on a mission by yourselves? Allura was tortured by Zarkon. We almost lost the Black Lion, and then we were all scattered about the universe.” “Are you saying we can’t be trusted?” Shiro asked with a furled eyebrow, amusement brightening his features. Keith scowled. “I’m saying a chaperon isn’t a bad idea.” Shiro laughed, but Keith just crossed his arms and huffed. Coran voiced his displeasure as well, but ultimately, Shiro decided the small gathering would be the best course of action. “At least take the Black Lion,” Keith suggested. “And let it get into Zarkon’s hands?” Shiro rebuffed. “Not to mention, we’re trying to sneak onto the planet, not announce to the Galra Empire we’re here. We’re going to be fine, kiddo. Don’t worry.” But Keith worried, and Shiro let out an exhausted sigh. After all, he’d given Keith a reason to worry, and he’d do anything to get that look of utter panic out of his little brother’s eyes. But taking Keith down to an unknown planet where the kid would attack the first Galra solider would only give Shiro a panic attack and end up blowing their cover, and they needed to remain unseen for now. Keith was desperate, though, and pulled out his trump card. “What did Black have to say about your strategy?” Oooh. The kid was good, and Shiro hated that. He narrowed his eyes and waited for Keith to look away, but he kept firm until Shiro gave in. Of course Black was not happy with his plan. In fact, his lion snarled when he said he’d be going to the planet with just Allura, and Black had never snarled at him before. Ultimately, Black had no choice but to listen to reason, too – and turn his back on Shiro. At first it had unnerved Shiro just how alive robotic lions could be, but now, he adored his partner and his strong albeit frustrating personality. Didn’t Black know he was supposed to be on Shiro’s side, not Keith’s? Too many memories flashed through his mind as he entered the small craft to leave for the mission. Keith stood just beyond the hanger door, arms still crossed, face set in a critical frown. It was not unlike the one he wore the day Shiro left for Kerberos, but Shiro was determined not to let this mission end like the one on the Galra ship or the one to Kerberos. And it didn’t. He and Allura sneaked onto the planet, and while she blended into the forces, Shiro weaved his way through the grounds, helping to gather intel for Pidge to decrypt. They returned to the Castle of Lions within five hours, exhausted but euphoric from their successful mission. Keith was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Lance. Hunk pulled him aside while Pidge rambled to the Princess and Coran about the information they’d stolen. “You’re the team leader, so what you say, goes, but you can’t leave Keith home when you’re on a mission. It’s not fair to him.” Shiro sighed and wrung the back of his neck. “I know he’s concerned, and I get that he –” “You don’t see it, Shiro. Keith prowls around the halls, snarling at anyone who comes within ten feet of him. We drew straws, and Lance lost. He called us from the training deck to save him from Keith. And then Keith still went through two gladiators.” Hunk put a comforting hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “I know you and Keith were close from before all this happened, but that year you were gone must have messed him up pretty badly. My advice? Don’t put him through more than you have to.” Right. Shiro accepted the emotional punch to the gut he deserved and patted Hunk on his shoulder as he passed. Perhaps out of all of them, he and Keith were the luckiest. Both of them had no other family, so while he missed Earth and many of the comforts of home, Shiro only needed Keith for his world to be alright – and likewise, Keith just needed him. Shiro sighed and retreated to his quarters for a quick shower and a change of clothes – a T-shirt and sweatpants. As soon as he was presentable again, he headed out to find Keith. It took longer to find Keith than he would have liked – he wasn’t in his usual haunts, the training deck, the living room, the bridge – and it allowed Shiro to feel the tiniest bit of fear that Keith felt during their year apart. While a captive of the Galra, Shiro longed for his brother’s gentle smile – the one he hid from the world – but he’d known Keith was safe on Earth, albeit frantic over his disappearance. And Shiro had been struggling the entire time to get back to Keith, but even the physical torture he endured by the Galra and in the games was nothing compared to the devastating fear and emotional turmoil he would have felt if the roles had been reversed. A part of him ached at the thought of how those dark months affected Keith, and though they’d been close since that first Christmas – Keith never going a day without finding Shiro in some way – Keith had never looked at him with that transparent fear like he did now. Every time he stepped out of the room, Keith’s eyes followed him, wondering, fearing if it would be the last time they’d see each other. He’d woken up quite a few nights to Keith palming open his door, and Keith rarely spoke. He grunted, waited until Shiro moved over, and then fell promptly asleep with some part of his body draped over Shiro’s warmth. Hunk was right. He was a fool to leave Keith here, but they weren’t alone anymore, just the two of them against the world. Now, they had a team, a pride. Shiro warmed at the thought of Pidge, Lance, Hunk, and Coran discussing ways to help Keith cope, and though Shiro was sure Keith found enjoyment in besting Lance, it obviously hadn’t been enough to calm his nerves. Shiro could relate. If anything ever happened to Keith, he was sure he’d crumble immediately. His little brother had become an irreplaceable part of his life, and though he’d lived a year without Keith, he couldn’t imagine a life without Keith in it. But Shiro wasn’t sure what lay ahead of him, and as leader of the team, it was his job to protect his crew. As leader of the team, it was his job to die for his crew. Where would that leave Keith? Perhaps out of everything – even falling to the Galra Empire – that was what Shiro feared the most. What would happen to his little brother when he was no longer around? Shiro laughed at his ambivalence. After searching years for a family, he’d finally found one in a punk pilot who dared to take on the emperor of the universe for him, and all he wanted was for that the kid who looked up at him with so much affection and fear wouldn’t love him enough to die after him. Or for him. And Shiro didn’t know how to stop him. He finally decided to ask Red if he’d seen Keith, but Red wasn’t in her hanger. Keith didn’t go out, did he? Coran or Allura would have noticed and said something, but panic still raced through Shiro – until he heard a soft but insistent growl. Black? What was he—? Come, he beckoned. When Black called, Shiro listened, and when he entered his hanger, he found Red lying before Black’s paws, head down to protect the bottom half of Black’s body. Black, himself, sat with his legs folded underneath him, too, though his head lifted to glower at Shiro with a dark, disapproving scowl. “I’m sorry,” Shiro said, and he’d meant it. He was wrong to leave Keith behind. He was wrong, maybe, to even go to Kerberos without his little brother, but he refused to put Keith into a dangerous situation he couldn’t control. He wanted to protect Keith, but Keith was growing up so fast and making his own decisions. And Red chose Keith had to be a Defender of the Universe. Shiro couldn’t just dismiss that. Keith had become literally – and always had been metaphorically – Shiro’s right arm, so perhaps he needed to start listening to him more. After all, it had been harder than Allura and he had thought to get off the planet. He should have taken Black – or maybe asked Pidge to drive them with Green and its cloaking device. Though he was the leader, apparently he still had a lot to learn. It wasn’t just him and Keith anymore. They had a family, a pride, and that was when Red raised her head to reveal Keith, asleep upon Black’s paw. When Shiro was gone, Keith had gone to his lion for comfort. That was the second metaphorical punch he received today, and it hurt. Walking up, he lifted a hand to Red, and despite her initial hesitation, Keith’s lion lowered her head to allow Shiro to pet her. Then, Black lowered his head, too, and Shiro pressed his forehead against the cool metal surface. “You’ll watch after him, won’t you, Black? If something were to happen to me—” Black and Red growled, almost simultaneously, and Shiro glanced back at Red. “Yes, I know he’s your Paladin, Red, and he needs you. But he’ll need everyone if—if—” If he were to die. Black snarled. He refused to let that happen. Shiro smiled, enjoying the surge of affection from Black, and then he reclined back on Black’s paw, right next to Keith. As soon as he closed his eyes, Keith inhaled sharply, and his head pressed against Shiro’s shoulder. “You came back.” “You had doubts?” Shiro waited a moment for a reply that never came and then without opening his eyes, wrapped an arm about Keith’s shoulders to draw him close. “Yeah, me, too, kid. But I’m back, and we’re here. Together. Let’s rinse and repeat tomorrow, shall we?” Black and Red agreed, once more dropped their heads to protect their Paladins. On the verge of sleep, Keith mumbled, “Take me with you next time.” It wasn’t a request. Shiro pressed a tender kiss to the top of his head but didn’t reply. “I’m coming with you next time,” Keith asserted. “I’m eighteen. I’m a Paladin and a Defender of the Universe. You need to trust me.” Shiro took a deep, cleansing breath, and even though it sickened him, he resolved, “Okay.” Keith froze. “Yeah?” “Yes. You’re older now. You’re trained, and you’ve proven yourself time and time again in battles. But you’ll have to listen to me when we’re on small missions like this. You’ll have to be patient, and—and you have to not die.” That came out more like a plea than Shiro would have liked, but he meant it. Keith sighed and relaxed against Shiro’s shoulder again. “Okay.” Shiro hmph-ed. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” “You said you’d come back from Kerberos, and then –” “I did,” Shiro insisted, playing with the edges of Keith’s hair. “I was just fashionably late. So all in all, promise kept.” Keith punched him – really punched him – in the side. And Shiro thought metaphorical punches hurt. The End

“Y’know, I think I want to go to work Friday.” Ray had left. Michael and Gavin had had a light dinner of takeout from Super Bowl (thank God they deliver) around an hour prior, and presently the two of them were relaxing in Michael’s bed, made drowsy by warm pork fried rice and egg rolls. Gavin rolled to his side and propped himself up with an elbow. “Yeah?” he smiled. “The Gents’ll be happy to see you.” Michael laughed and mirrored Gavin’s position. “Maybe, until I kick their asses at something.” Gavin snorted. They chatted offhandedly for a while until the cicadas began their song in the world beyond their haven, summoning a warm Texan night. Gavin hadn’t realized just how tired he was until he caught himself yawning. He stretched like a cat. “Well,” he sighed, “I am knackered as hell. Care for a kip?” Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I could go for some sleep. Jeez, fucking speak American.” “Can’t make me.” Grinning, Gavin rolled off the bed and stood. He was glad to have what appeared to be a semi-normal night’s sleep ahead of him, unobligated to keep an eye on an insomniatic Michael. His nearly-fixed Michael seemed eager for an ordinary night as well. They brushed their teeth and took their respective leaks. Gavin’s normal routine prompted him to take off his shirt, but he hesitated, unsure of how his state of undress would make Michael feel. He reasoned he was probably overthinking things, but just to be sure… He looked to Michael. “Do… do you mind?” The brunette gave him a funny look. “’Course not.” Gavin suppressed his smile. Of course he doesn’t. My boi can handle anything. He yanked off his shirt and tossed it to the ground, earning a glare from Michael, who was in the process of changing his bandages. “Hey,” he snapped. “Does the floor look like a fucking hamper to you?” “But Michael, your clothes are on the floor—” “And my name’s on the fucking lease, so pick it up, bitch.” A smirk flashed across Gavin’s face as he plucked up his shirt and threw it into the neglected laundry basket in the corner. Michael’s vinegar was playful, but it was vinegar nonetheless, and Gavin was glad Michael’s words had their familiar bite back. He jumped into Michael’s inviting bed, and Michael himself soon joined him, pulling off his glasses and placing them safely to the side. He scooted close to Gavin, who left an arm outstretched for Michael to pillow his head on, and wrapped an arm around his chest for a quick, awkward hug. “Thanks, Gav,” he whispered. Gavin smiled and pet Michael’s curly hair. “Anytime.” When Michael let go, Gavin stretched his free arm over to the light switch and after a struggle managed to get the lights off. After a few minutes of pre-sleep silence, Gavin felt Michael’s arm tentatively snake across his fuzzy chest again, and he grinned and pulled him close. Maybe I could get used to this. -- Tuesday morning found Michael perhaps a little warmer than he deemed comfortable in terms of sleeping conditions, but undeniably content. He was still curled around Gavin, who snored gently in his ear. He realized just how chick-flick-ish they must look right now, tangled in each other’s arms, but he was too cozy to care. And for a while, he let his mind wander. It was something he’d been hesitant to do lately, with what happened and for fear of the ghosts that still may cling to his mind, but at this point, he felt strong enough to face anything that could pop up in his head. People from outside his new world crossed his mind. Geoff and Ray, Ryan and Jack and Burnie and Gus and Kerry. Lindsay, too, made an appearance, but Michael carefully pushed that particular image away. There’s another thing I’ll have to deal with. He wondered what videos the others had recorded without he and Gavin. Geoff had a list of four-player games stashed away just in case, and they had well-over three months’ worth of content, but there were a few games he’d expressed wanting to be a part of. He was sure Geoff would’ve kept that in mind. Then his mother’s face came up. Denise. Michael wondered what she’d say if she knew what happened. She’d probably demand he come back to Jersey and go back to the glamorous life of an electrician. Michael quickly removed that thought as well. It was a little before eight. Michael was proud of himself for sticking through a whole night with a somewhat-normal sleeping arrangement. He decided it was still too early to start the day, but a full bladder goaded him to get up. As he wriggled from the arms around him, he heard Gavin stirring. “Wot… wot’re you doin’…?” he mumbled, his accent made thicker from sleep. He sounded like a proper idiot. “Gotta piss,” Michael whispered, finally freeing himself and standing. “Don’t worry, I’m not ready to get up yet. And you should brush your teeth. Your breath smells like shit.” Gavin groaned but obeyed, and after Michael used the toilet, both of them brushed their teeth and got back into bed. Again, Michael laid his head on Gavin’s shoulder, his nose nearly brushing the other’s neck, and settled an arm around his chest. Gavin rolled a little to the side and placed his hand on Michael’s side. Comfy once more, both men closed their eyes. “Hey, Gav?” Michael murmured after a few minutes. “Mmm…” “Don’t you think this is a bit gay?” Gavin furrowed his brow. “Do… do you want to stop?” he inquired. “No, no, I was just saying…” Michael wasn’t sure where he was going with that. He decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. “It just, like… makes me feel safe, y’know? If that doesn’t make me sound like a total pussy.” Gavin opened his eyes and looked down at Michael, who looked up at him in turn. “I don’t think you’re a pussy, Michael,” he said with a small smile. “You’re one of the toughest people I know, especially considering what you’ve been though. I’d be in utter shambles.” “So you, uhh, don’t really mind this?” “Nah. As long as it’ll help you, I’d do anything.” “Do you… like it?” Michael tried to keep the butterflies from messing with his voice. “Well…” Gavin looked away sheepishly. “Um… I rather do, I guess… It’s different than with a girl, that’s for certain. I never pegged you as the close-contact type, though.” “I make exceptions for my boi.” Michael grinned. He was happy that they were able to have a conversation like this that only felt a little awkward to him. “I really can’t thank you enough, Gav. For everything you’ve done in the past few days.” Gavin blushed a little. “Aw, Michael, it’s really no trouble…” “No, really.” Michael shifted onto his elbow so he was eye-level with Gavin. “You, like, put your life on hold for my stupid ass. That’s a big fucking deal.” “Stop it, Michael,” Gavin groaned. “You make me sound saintly.” “I’m serious! This means so much to me.” Michael felt a familiar lump in his throat. Too many emotions, too fast. “I’m glad I’m able to help you this much, then,” Gavin said with a smile. “You’re my best friend—I want to make you better.” Michael tightened his hold around Gavin’s middle. The intimacy of the moment was fueling his courage. Now felt right. I guess this is as good a time as any. “Thank you,” Michael whispered again, and his hand left Gavin’s side to rest on his cheek. The roughness of his stubble was a new sensation. Gavin didn’t as much as flinch. Their eyes were locked, misted blue and warm brown. Michael could feel his heart pounding and from the part of his palm pressed to Gavin’s neck, he could feel Gain’s rapid pulse as well. “Thank you…” Surging with adrenaline, Michael leaned forward and connected their lips. Gavin’s hand slid to the small of his back and pulled him closer, driving Michael to deepen their kiss, and in the intensity of that instant a tear escaped his eye. Gavin reciprocated with as much enthusiasm, but kept it gentle. His lips fit well with Michaels’, and goddamn did this feel fucking right. But then… Michael felt a change over Gavin, tenseness and release of grip. He felt him start pulling away. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I don’t think you’re…” Gavin trailed off, pained. And then Michael realized why.

Blue and Stretch couldn’t get into an agreement before night came and decided to leave the decision to their morning selfs. Unfortunately they’ll have to postpone that talk for some time, everyone but Papyrus got sick with what he tells you is the equivalent of the flu for monsters, which meant they were a little low on magic and needed to recharge. He reassured you it was nothing serious, they’ll be fine as long as they had some rest.   Both of you were currently in the kitchen you were teaching Papyrus how to cook chicken soup, perfect for the sick and comfortingly warm on this rainy day. It was a slow process, you had to stop him from adding oranges and sardines to make it extra nutritive. “I know you want to experiment dear but you should follow the recipe the first times until you get the hang of the it.” You said gently as you protect the pot from the mango in Papyrus hand. “IS THAT ANOTHER SECRET HUMAN TECHNIQUE FOR THE CULINARY ARTS?” You nod your head taking the smelly fruit from his hands and putting it aside. “Indeed, it’s a very important technique, one that chefs must dutifully follow until they have the hang of the original recipe, once you have mastered this you can make alterations.” Papyrus makes an ahh sound his eyes wide open. “THAT...MAKES SENSE BUT THEN… IT MEANS… I HAVE BEEN DOING IT WRONG ALL THIS TIME?!” He says with dawning horror, his eyes popping in a cartoonish way, you pat his back comfortingly. “Don’t worry too much about it dear, you are learning and that’s what matters, it’s hard to learn a new skill when you don’t have a teacher.” Papyrus starts to fidget with his hands nervously. “BUT I HAD A TEACHER! HER NAME IS UNDYNE, I LEARNED EVERYTHING I KNOW OF COOKING WITH HER!” You stare at him blankly smile still in place, a slight dark aura emanating from you as you process this information. “I see…”   You reign in your dark aura smiling kindly at the freaked out skeleton. “Well I would recommend to review the basics you couldn’t have learned all of those wrong, right?” A sudden thunder strikes outside, loud screams echo around the house and then everything is swallowed in darkness.   ...was that an omen?   You blink repeatedly in the darkness, your eyes adjusting easily to the lack of light after some seconds, the kitchen is barely illuminated by the glow of the small flame on the stove, your eyes focus on the trembling form of the tall skeleton on the floor. “Papyrus! Dear are you alright?!” You hurry to his side gently checking for any injuries. “I-I’M OKAY, DON’T W-WORRY HUMAN FRIEND.” He answers in a lower voice than usual but still loud. You sigh in relief hugging him as his tremors subsided. “Was it the thunder?” You ask softly, he nods in response taking a slow deep breath. “YES, WE DIDN’T HAVE THOSE IN THE UNDERGROUND… THE MOST SIMILAR THING THERE WAS WERE ROCKSLIDES… THOSE WERE VERY SCARY TOO...” He takes another deep breath and gets up lifting you with him easily.   “THE OTHERS MUST BE DISTRESSED BY THE THUNDER AS WELL I MUST GO AND FIX THE LIGHTS AND CHECK IF THE GENERATOR IS STILL WORKING, IF IT’S NOT THEN THE MACHINE...” He mutters off worriedly. “Machine?” He looks at you his eyes wide and shifting in panic. “I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT A MACHINE! NO! NOTHING AT ALL! YOU MUST HAVE HEARD ME WRONG HUMAN FRIEND! THE THUNDER MUST HAVE AFFECTED YOUR HEARING! EH NYEH HEH HEH…” He trails off in a nervous laugh, you hum suspicious, your hearing is the worse of your senses so maybe you didn’t heard him well but even if not it’s not your business so you won’t go sticking her snout were it doesn’t belong. You sigh moving to turn off the soup, it had finished simmering, let’s not make our own lights with a burning kitchen...even if that is a normal situation in this house.  “Will you be okay by yourself?” He puffs up proudly. “OF COURSE NOTHING SHALL SCARE THE GREAT PA-.” Another thunder lights up the sky rumbling in the distance, Papyrus tenses up his mouth letting out a terrified eep. “Maybe I should go with you.” He shakes his head vehemently, his bones shaking making a rattling noise but his eyes were resolute. “YOU GO AND CHECK ON MY BROTHER AND THE OTHERS THEY’LL NEED YOU MORE, I WILL BE ALRIGHT HUMAN FRIEND, DON’T WORRY.” With that he walks shakily away, you watch him go in concern but he is right.   With him out of the kitchen, you concentrate and add a bit of your magic to the soup, three drops of liquid golden magic make it shine momentarily, the glow fades, it looks like a simple chicken soup but now it has the properties of an elixir. Nodding satisfied you grab some candles from the laundry room and a lighter you make your way up the stairs. First you go to Blue room his being the one nearest. You knock on the door. “Blue? Sugar can I come in?” A mumbled shaking yes answers you from inside, carefully of your things you enter the dark room, the only light comes from a window with partially open curtains and adorable glow in the dark stars around the ceiling, if you were human you would have been more than a bit blind even with those illuminating the place. Making your way to the white spaceship shaped bed you sit on the corner watching the lump under the sheets tremble. “It’s okay Sugar, everything’s fine no need to be scared.” “M-MISS N-ANA, THOSE T-THUNDERS, THE LIGHTS.” Another thunders rumble making Blue scream in terror, suddenly arms wrap around you, his face burying half on your sternum half on your boobs, you let out a little gasp of surprise but wrap your hands around him afters some seconds. You make small shushing sounds as you rock him slowly, after some minutes his tremors stop and he looks at you his smile watery and his eyes letting out stray glowing tears color cyan. “I’M OKAY NOW, SORRY ABOUT THAT MISS NANA.” “Any time Sugar.” You smile at him and hug him closer before letting him go his face glows with a bright blush and a small whimper escapes his mouth as he reluctantly retract his arms. “I need to go and check on the others, will you be alright on your own?” Blue nods at you giving you a smile. “I’LL BE FINE MISS NANA GO CHECK ON THE OTHERS, PAPY MUST BE CONCERNED ABOUT ME, UMMM BUT MAYBE… CAN YOU PASS ME MY HEADPHONES? THEY HELP ME A LOT WHEN THERE’S THUNDERSTORMS, I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM MYSELF BUT.” “Sure thing Sugar.” You take a look around, it’s an unsurprisingly tidy room, the walls are painted in baby blue with white, a large part of the floor is covered with a white fluffy rug in pristine condition. A big bookcase against a wall filled with what seems to be a very complete collection of Marvel and DC comics with some other books of fiction for variety, a big poster decorates the wall besides it depicting a beautiful blue and pink nebula. The doors to the closet and what seems to be the door to the bathroom, seems like Blue has a private one. There are two desks one has lots of different action figurines on it like knights, ninjas and superheroes.The other one has a silver laptop with some fancy looking headphones in silver and bluish chrome. “There they are.” You get up from the bed and grab them handing them over to the blushing skeleton. He connects them to his phone and puts it over his head after some shuffling on it he lets out a sigh and relaxes in his bed. You untangle his sheets and cover him with them, he snuggles into them giving you a grateful smile. You light up one of your candles and set it carefully on one of the desks. It’s small light brightening the room considerably, giving him a wave you exit the room to check on the other skeletons, the last thing you see before closing the door is this silly look on his face as he rubs his cheeks.   Next is Edge, you knock on his door to announce your prescience. “Captain? It’s me Nana. May I come in?” A groan answers you leaving you confused. “Was that a yes?” Seconds pass without another sound until thunder strikes again a terrified screech following it. “I’ll take that as a yes. Sorry for intruding.” You open the door into a pitch dark room, the walls are painted black and the floor seems to be a beautiful mahogany red partially covered in a soft looking black silk rug with a marble like design, the black curtains on the window are closed. You spot two red eyes glaring at you from the floor, it seems like Edge got tangled in his sheets and tumbled out of the bed, the red hue from the skeleton skull further illuminating the room.   “Oh my.” You hurry to his side, carefully trying to free him from his clingy bedding. “L-Leave me servant! I can get out of this myself! I don’t need your help!” The normal levels of decibels in his voice surprises you, he must be really sick if that is him yelling. You doubt he will get out of the sheets if he is so weak he can’t yell at you properly, however that doesn’t stop you from enjoying his dark masculine voice. “Indulge me then Captain it would make me feel better if I helped you get out of there.” He growls and complains all the way with occasional whimpers and screams when thunders roll. Finally after ten minutes you get him out. “That wasn’t so bad, right? He glares at you hatefully from his sprawled place on the floor. Scoffing he slowly and awkwardly climbs on his bed. “Do you need hel-.” “No!” He snaps at you cutting you off. “Okay, okay.” You turn away to spare him the shame of having you seeing his pitiful attempts at regaining his place on the bed.  Edge’s room is quite the elegant thing apart from the nice wood floor and gorgeous rug, his bed is big and the tangling sheets are shimmering black silk. Like in Blue’s room there are two desks and a bookcase. One of the desks has a sleek black laptop with fire decals and an ornate looking lamp in dark red, on the second... Huh? It seems like the terrible captain of the royal guard collects action figurines too, you smile at that finding it endearing. His bookcase is mostly filled with manuals and strategy books, with some historical books here and there, a really odd book about trees and finally almost hidden in a corner a small inconspicuous notebook labeled poetry, your eyebrow rises in surprise you turn to look at Edge who finally managed to climb on the bed and is puffing in exhaustion. He notices your expression and snaps an annoyed. “What?!” You smile at him sweetly, shaking your head, it seems there are lots of hidden sides of him you have yet to see. “Nothing at all Captain.” You light a candle for him taking care of its placing on his laptop desk, you spy a black cord under it and crouch to investigate. After some blind shuffling with your hands on the floor you find a pair of red earphones, exactly what you expected. You suspect Edge tried to get to his earphones when the first thunder struck, he couldn’t get up to fetch them so it’s quite possible he tried to use his already low reserves of magic to bring them closer and so, he fell in a tangle of limbs and sheets on the floor getting angry at his clumsiness and tangling himself more. After retrieving them you walk back to his side offering them to him. “What do I want those for?!” He looks at you with disdain then crosses his arms turning away, still his eyes dart nervously to the offered item in your hands. You take the liberty of connecting his earphones to his cellphone which lays discarded beside his pillow. “Hey! What do you think you are doing?! You don’t have permission to touch my things!” He yells in outrage, you nod at him but still continue to shuffle with his phone, it has a pattern unlock but you can see small smudges of magic residue on the screen in the shape of a P. You wonder what does it stand for? You find the music app and find an album already open labeled “Thunderstorm”. He tries to grab his phone from your hands, you dodge his feeble attempts and with a quick movement trap both of the sick skeleton wrists in on of your hands, with one knee on the bed you force him lay down, he looks at you, momentarily stunned into inaction, slowly his face changes into rage his red magic, low as it is, starts to act up. He opens his mouth but you shush him gently putting your finger to his mouth. “You can punish me later for overstepping my bounds, just for now until you get better please… let me take care of you Edge.” His eyes widen, he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move as you let his wrist go, you put the earphones on him with care and click play on the music, his posture relaxes noticeably. You get up and proceed to tuck him in, his eyes follow your movements intently not moving to stop your gentle fussing, slowly he starts to nod off despite his clear intention to remain vigilant, soon enough he’s sleeping soundly. You smile at him, bending you kiss his brow and whisper. “Get better soon sweetie.” A gentle smile blooms on his face catching you off guard, he looks so different when he smiles like this, it’s uncanny how much he resembles Papyrus at the moment. You leave him to rest and continue to the next room.   You knock on Sans room the usual light under his door giving a low glow to this part of the corridor. “Sans? Are you alright?” A groan followed by quiet mumbling answers you. “Uhh. Could you repeat that please?” After some seconds he repeats. “Said, I’m fine kid, no need to worry about me.” You hear an uncertain inflection in the last part of his sentence and take a guess. “Papyrus is alright Sans, he went to fix the lights.” “By himself?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice, you hear some shuffling. “I asked, if I should accompany him but he insisted I come and check on everyone. He was scared but also resolute… It was so brave of him to overcome his fear.” You muse with a gentle smile. The shuffling stops and a soft laugh reaches your ears. “Heh, heh, yeah, my bro is so cool…” Sans seems to be fine, or fine enough you guess still… “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you want a candle?” “No candles needed. Heh not lying to you kiddo, you’ll see right through me .” You snort a laugh at that. “Well okay then, I’ll go check on the others, but I’ll be back to check on you.” You smirk a bit before adding. “ I doubt you have the guts to do it but you better not have told me any fibulas. ” A loud laugh follows you as you make your way to Stretch room.   You knock on the next door. “Stretch hunny is everything alright?” A groan followed by a dry chuckle answers you. “Hey there honey, well you could say I’m in a sticky situation.” Curious you open the door his curtains are open so there’s a bit on light, you find him quickly near his closet sprawled on the floor. A jar of honey lay upturned beside him mostly of its contents on Stretch hoodie. You raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs at you with a unrepentant smile. “Was searching for something sweet when the storm came, made me trip and the jar landed on me.” “I see and why are you still on the floor?” He sighed. “Well to tell the truth I can’t get up.” You crouch beside him to analyze the situation. His hoodie is completely drenched in the sweet stuff a puddle of it spread underneath him, you grab him by the hand and pull him up, a squelching sound follows Stretch movement as you help him sit, suddenly a tearing noise makes you stop. Stretch and you look at each other then behind him to his hoodie who now sports a rather large gap between the shoulderblades. “I didn’t meant to do that.” “Eh don’t worry about it, got lots like this one.” You sigh relieved, eyeing the torn hoodie and the sticky skeleton. “Clothes off.” Stretch looks at you with a teasing smirk. “Want to jump my bones already? Didn’t even ask me out  for dinner.” You roll your eyes but a smile forms on your lips. “Oh yeah I just can’t help myself.” He laughs but comply to your order, he gets a bit stuck again, so you help him undress.   “Ok arm out, no, no the other arm, your left.” “My left or your left?” “Yours, ok right, now, the head.” “Careful there honey slowly.” “No, no, wait! No through that hole!” “Oh sorry.” “Ok now go on, ok, good job. Why did you stop?” “I’m stuck again, can’t get it out.” “If you use a bit more force maybe?” “I could rip it in half.” “You won’t, just a bit more come on you can do it.” “Ok just one big PUSH!” “AHHH.” A sudden crash sounds from the room across the hall at the same time you get Stretch out of his hoodie and end up under him. “Aghhh your making me all sticky.” “Heh sorry not sorry.” The door is suddenly opened by an exhausted yet furious Red his left eye flashing red and a row of bones floating behind him. “You bastard!”   You gasp in surprise, then glare at him in. “Red? What do you think you are doing?! Stop that magic now!” He tries to glare some more but stumbles a little the flare of red magic disappearing along with the bones. You manage to get out from under Stretch body, grabbing the tall skeleton by the shoulder you help him sit on his bed and then move to Red side. “You know you shouldn’t be using magic yet.” You scold him as you grab his arm and make him lean on you. “I thought…” He mutters glaring at the other skeleton, Stretch gives him a wink and a saucy smile. “We were just having some hot and sticky fun.” Red snarls at him then stops as he notices the thorn hoodie at his feet, he frowns and gives it a weak kick his face starting to turn red. “Whatever…” “I’m going to help Red back to his room. Stretch do you need help getting to the bathroom?” “No, but you could help with the-.” A deep growl from the red eyed skeleton stops him, Stretch laughs then shoos you away. “Heh, heh just kidding, go on honey I can get to the bathroom myself.” You nod at him with a smile. “Okay we’ll be going then.”   With that you and Red move slowly out of Stretch room and into Red’s, you help Red lay down on his bed and then light one of your candles. “Red handsome you’re very low on magic so please try not to overexert yourself.” “Yeah yeah whatever you say sweetheart.” He grumbles annoyed, you turn to him with a blank stare and a too kind smile making him freeze. “I don’t  think you are getting it.” He grips his sheets with his hands, body trying to sink into the mattress as your hair starts to sway in a nonexistent breeze. “Red my sweet sugary pudding, your health is something you should have always in mind, don’t do reckless things you could come to… regret. Don’t you think so?” You ask him in a sweetly, he nods rapidly as beads of sweat roll from his skull. “Excellent I knew you’d get it.”   You look at him some more seconds then sit at his bed border sighing and slumping a bit. “Red, I know I can’t forbid you from doing what you want but I really hope you listen to me… I really worry, you know? You’re pretty low on magic, it’s only exhaustion now, using a bit of magic won’t kill you… but what if does?” You look at him in concern your eyes slightly wet, his eyes widen then turn down in guilt. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking don’t worry I won’t dust anytime soon.” You give him a hug catching him by surprise. “No more recklessness okay?” He chuckles returning the hug wrapping one arm on your waist and the other petting your hair. “I’ll try, can’t give guarantees thought.” Your hold on his shirt tightens and your voice lowers into an uncertain whisper. “Promise me, please.” All his body tenses, he stays silent a long time then finally sighs. “I hate making promises, but… for you sweetheart… I promise.” “Thank you.” You give him another hug then let him go. “Are you hungry?” His face brightens. “Hell yeah, that’s the reason I was outside my room when I heard… weird things from the ashtray’s room.” Oh so that’s was why. You get up from his bed and give him a smile. “I’ll bring you something, try to rest okay?” “Don’t worry sweetheart, I can do it with my eyes closed.” You exit his room with a laugh.   You make a stop in Sans door before you go to the kitchen. “Sans? Do you want something from the kitchen? Papyrus and me made chicken soup if you want.” You wait some seconds but there is no response. “Sans?” Nothing, he probably fell asleep, you decide to let him rest and continue to the kitchen. Finally back in your domains you discover a blue jacket clad skeleton trying to scoop some soup into a bowl with shaking hands. “Need some help?” He jumps and drops his bowl, luckily it was plastic it bounced and sloshed the soup everywhere but didn’t break. “Kid! You startled me.” That’s what you feel everyday when they suddenly appear near, you think a bit wryly. “Sorry about that. Are you alright did you splash yourself?” “Bone dry kid.” “Good, I’ll serve you another bowl.” “Thanks.” You serve Sans some soup, while he eats you lit your last candle and start to mop the floor. “Woah! This soup is amazing, I can literally feel my magic returning…What does it contain?” He asks suspiciously, you sweatdrop a little damn skeleton is too perceptive. “Chicken, broth, garlic, onion, celery, some potatoes and carrots too, umm maybe a bit of magic?” You said uncertainty making Sans face you so fast a crack is heard, his eyelights gone. “Uh are you alright? That crack sounded quite strong.” “I’m fine, you said a bit of magic?” You nod at him busying yourself with the mop. “Well Papyrus helped me make it, so I think he infused the soup with some magic? I’m not really sure.” You shrug, Sans eyelights come back after some seconds of contemplation. “Uh, Papyrus made this?” He asks in wonderment apparently much more surprised by his brother making something tasty than by it having magical properties. “Yeah he put a lot of effort in it… almost put fresh mangoes and coffee in it too… but! It’s good isn’t it?” He nods at you still a bit gobsmacked. “Really good. Heh I always knew my bro had a lot of potential he’ll become quite a souperb. ” The silly soup pun makes you snort, you put the mop away and wash your hands. “Ain’t that the truth. Those words are not said ingest .” He has a spoonful of soup on his mouth the sudden laughter makes him choke on it. You pat his back. “G-good one.” Suddenly the lights come back on and a cry of “SUCCESS!” Can be heard from far away. You and Sans look at each other and laugh happy about Papyrus achievement. After that Papyrus came back and with his help both of you helped feed some chicken soup for the soul to the hungry and exhausted skeletons. Everyone felt much better by the next day.    

Anna felt bad doing this to her sister, but she knew it was for both their sake. She was coming back from her first fake date with Kristoff. It had actually been just a movie-night, because they had no one to impress, but it had also served as a training. Besides, Elsa knew she was there with him, and that was all that mattered. The elevator's doors opened and they stepped in the corridor. They stopped in front of Kris' door and she asked him. "So, how was our first date?" "Well... considering no one knew us there, and that we didn't really do anything else than watching a movie, I'm not sure we can call it a date." "Yeah, well, we never know, maybe someone saw us." "I doubt it. Still, the evening was nice, even if it wasn't a date." "Yep, that's true! So... let's skip the kiss and see you tomorrow?" "Sure! Good night." She came home and her smile vanished. Time to lie to Elsa now... it really didn't please her. The stunning blonde was waiting on the couch, watching TV. "So, how did it go?" she could hear the worry and envy in her voice. "Great!" Anna tried to look as happy as possible, despite the circumstances. "The movie was awesome, and Kris is really a nice guy." "Oh. Good then." Anna's heart clenched at the words. Elsa may have been good at hiding her emotions, but she knew her quite well and she could see how hurt she was. Gosh, why does it have to be so complicated? "Did you kiss...?" "Y...yeah. It was nice." She looked elsewhere, trying to avoid the pain in her sister's eyes. "Nice?" "Yeah... nice." When she looked back at her she almost broke. She wanted to tell her it was all fake, that she only loved her and that Kris wasn't even straight. But she would never have her if she did. Still, maybe she could ease the situation a little. "Do you want to go see it someday? I'm sure you'd love it." "Hum... it won't be the same if you already watched it." "Yeah... but still. It's ok, I can watch it again." "We'll see. I've been given a lot of work recently." Anna didn't know if it was completely true, but her sister had indeed spent a lot of time working and studying in the last days. "As you want." She lay on the couch next to her and smiled as she felt Elsa's arms embrace her. At least she's a bit more clingy now. That's a good start. "What are you watching?" "A documentary on quantum mechanics." "Hugh. Can we watch something else?" "Of course." Anna grabbed the remote and zapped through the channels. She stopped when she come upon a familiar movie. "The Hunger Games again?" She shrugged. "I like it." "I prefer warning you, I might fall asleep." The blonde rested her head on her shoulder and nuzzled against her neck. Stop teasing me and kiss me already! She leaned back against her to be as close as possible and Elsa slipped one of her hand under her top to stroke her stomach. It made a whole lot of feelings come up inside her. I want you so bad sis... They watched the movie in silence until Anna asked her something she asked her every time they watched it. "Would you have volunteered to save me?" "Of course, silly." She kissed her in the neck and Anna giggled. It does work really well to get some distance. When the movie was over, Anna saw that her sister had indeed fallen asleep. She didn't want to wake her up so she rose and grabbed a cover before turning off the lights and joining her on the couch. She lay on top of her, head on her ample bosom, and fell asleep quickly, feeling a bit sad but confident in her new plan.       It had been two weeks since Anna started dating their neighbor, and Elsa was becoming more and more desperate. She had thought the pain would ease with time, but it only increased as Anna spoke of their relationship and Elsa worried about how far they would go. She was currently doing the laundry of the week, taking their clothes out of the washing-machine, and she winced as she grabbed one of her sister's small thong. Having it in her hands and knowing that Anna had worn it was maddening and she immediately felt aroused. She continued getting the items out and gulped every time she came upon her sister's undies. Three thongs, two tangas, two lacy panties. And almost no bras. Gosh, my little sister is really becoming a sexy young woman. And she's Kristoff's...She briefly pictured the big boorish blond guy holding her sister in her underwear and tears almost went up to her eyes. She can't... she can't be like that with him... Then she thought about what her best-friend had told her. Don't wait too long, or you might regret what you've lost. Is is too late already? Have I already lost her? She finished putting the clothes on the clothes horse to dry and Anna came to her. "Hey sis, I invited some friends tonight. I hope it doesn't bother you?" "Huh, no, of course not. Who are they?" "Classmates. Everyone has been pestering me to organize a party since early September. I'm the only one with my own place." "I see." Elsa didn't really like it, but she couldn't complain. It was their mutual flat, after all, so Anna could decide to invite friends if she wanted. What truly bothered her was to see her sister with Kris as a couple. "What do you plan to do?" "Don't worry, there won't be any body shots." she answered with a laugh. "Pizza and beer night, with a bit of music. We're going to be around twenty though, so it might get a bit cramped." "As long as nobody goes into our room..." "Sure. I'll spread the rules."       Anna had to prepare for the party. The first guests would arrive in an hour and she wasn't even dressed properly. She glanced at her sister and considered how great it would be to be able to introduce her as her girlfriend to her classmates. They wouldn't even believe it. Elsa was casually dressed in a tight skirt and a blouse, but she looked stunning and sexy nonetheless. I hope tonight will finally bear fruit. Still, she herself wasn't lucky enough to be gorgeous and stunning in anything she wore, so she took some time to wonder about what the perfect outfit would be. She finally settled on the backless dress she had almost wore at the student's party, knowing that it would appeal to Elsa. She dressed after a quick shower and asked her sister to help her with her hair. "What do you want to do?" You? She made herself blush because of the thought. "I don't know. Maybe two braided pigtails?" "Sure." Anna was sitting in front of the mirror and Elsa was standing behind her, and the redhead smiled when she saw that her sister had difficulties not looking at her bare back. "How do I look?" she asked when Elsa had finished with her hair. "Really cute." Humpf. I should aim for sexy, not cute. "Maybe something else then?" "Na, it's great. I like it." She kissed her on the top of her head and Anna decided that if Elsa liked it, it would do. The blonde left the bathroom and Anna called Kristoff. "Hey! Are you ready?" she spoke in a low voice so that her sister couldn't hear. "Yeah, I guess." "This is the big night! People at school are already kinda believing it, but tonight is the real deal." The rumor had spread, but the biggest bullies hadn't stop their crap yet. "Does that mean your crush will be here?" "Yeah..." "Oh, I'm narrowing it down then!" Anna wasn't thrilled about that, but she hoped it wouldn't even come to his mind that her mysterious love interest could be her sister. "I think we might have to kiss. Is it okay with you?" "Yeah, no problem. I'm more worried about you. What are you gonna do if you completely fall under my charm?" Anna chuckled. "Don't worry, there's absolutely no risk of that happening." "Not nice!" "See ya later, loverboy!" She went back to the living room and went over everything again. Tables? Check. Music? Check. Pizzas? In the oven. Beers? In the fridge. Guests? On their way. Fake boyfriend? Ready. Sexy sister? In my loving arms soon. Aurora was the first to arrive and she greeted her warmly. "Come in!" Elsa was there too and she introduced them to each other. "Elsa, Aurora. She's in my art class. Aurora, this is Elsa, my big sister." "I totally recognized her! You're as beautiful as on her drawings!" Anna saw her sister's cheeks redden a little at the comment. "Huh, thanks. I didn't know she drew me so much." "Oh yes she does. And she never stops speaking about you, too. I'm glad to finally meet you." Anna didn't really like the big smile Aurora was addressing her, but her attention was required elsewhere as other guests arrived. Soon everyone was there, Kristoff included, and they started speaking and drinking in groups while listening to music. She was currently with Kris, Aurora and three guys from her class. "You sister is seriously hot." a guy said. "Yeah… is she single?" another added. "Do you think I might have a chance?" "Don't even dream about it. She's not even into guys." She looked him up. And there's now way she would date you even if she was straight. "Oh." It seemed to disappoint all of them. "Really? That's interesting..." it came from Aurora. Don't you dare flirt with her! She saw Aurora take off the top button of her blouse and she quickly led her away. No way this backfires on me! "What the fuck are you doing?!" "Hoho. Protective much?" she said with a smile. "Come on, tell me, do I have a chance with her?" "What? Aren't you straight?" "I've been a bit curious. And I'm definitely curious when I see her." Anna followed her friend's eyes and understood she was totally checking her out. Anger and jealousy rose in her. "No, there's no way she would date you. You're too young for her!" "Hum… what about a one-night stand? Would she be up to it? I'm sure she could teach me so many things." Anna wanted to pull her hair out in frustration. I should have known better. Of course people would try to flirt with her. But what were the odds of having a lesbian or a bi girl in the dozen friends she had invited? "No! She's not like that! Sorry, you won't experiment today." The idea of her sister losing her virginity in a one-night stand, with her friend, and because of her stupid idea was turning her stomach. What if I pushed her so much that she goes with it? She must have been super horny lately, and she thinks she needs to get over me. What if she just jump her because of me? I'll never forgive myself. "Hum… too bad. I think I'll try my luck anyway. To test the waters." I'll throw you out of the window before it happens. Kristoff came to her and put his arm around her. "Any problem sweetie? You look tense." It's not the time to play Kris! "Aurora wants to date my sister. Or just fuck with her." "Oh. Would that be such a terrible thing? I've never seen her with anyone since you came in here." "Yeah, of course it would! She's… she's..." Fuck, I can't let him understand. "I mean, she's too young. Elsa isn't interested in younger girls." He shrugged. "Well, she'll just turn her down then. Nothing to worry about." "Yeah… yeah you're right." She looked at Aurora more carefully. She was beautiful. Athletic figure, long blond hair, violet eyes. No way she's falling for her. She's nothing like me, so she wouldn't be her type, right? She tried to reassure herself but her initial plan slowly turned into a nightmare and she did all she could to prevent Aurora from speaking alone with Elsa.       Elsa only had eyes for her sister and her amazing bare back. Especially now that she new quite well what was, and wasn't, under the soft fabric. But every-time she looked at her, she could also see Kristoff in the corner of her eyes, and it drove her mad. She was eying them from afar when a girl came to her. "Hey! Remember me?" "Yeah, of course. Aurora, right?" She was a cute girl with long blond hair and beautiful eyes. "Yep! So, Anna mentioned you were a student. What's your field?" "Physics. It's only my first yeah, though." "Oh, really? I love physics! And science in general. Is Corona University good?" "They have high expectations, but I do like it." "Cool. I think I'll go there, if art doesn't work out." "Do you draw too?" "Yep. Well, the school is specialized in digital arts, but we draw too. Hey, could I draw you someday? I really need some beautiful models, and I think you'd be the perfect muse." "Oh? That's… nice. I… I don't know, I don't really like the attention." "Come one, you always pose for Anna. Just one time, please!" "Well… she mostly draws me when I'm not even aware of it. But, well, maybe we..." she stopped dead. Anna, who she had been catching glimpses of regularly, was currently kissing Kristoff. On the lips. He's her boyfriend, of course they kiss. Still, seeing it caused her stomach to fell. She could feel tears coming to her eyes and she quickly excused herself. "Sorry, I need to do something." She almost ran to the bathroom and tried to regain her composure. Conceal, don't feel. She repeated it several times and tried to convince herself that it was a good thing. She's moving on. She'll have a normal life. When she considered she didn't look too bad in the mirror, she retreated to her room. She wasn't going to witness anymore of it. She sat on her bed and tried to think about something else. Several minutes passed before she heard a knock on the door. She sighed. "Come in" The door opened but she was surprised to see that it wasn't Anna behind it but Aurora. She came in and sat next to her. "Are you ok? You kinda freaked me out, leaving like that." "Oh? Sorry. Yeah, it's ok." Find something. "I just… don't do well at parties. Socializing with people I don't know and everything." "Oh. I see. I'm not really into parties either. I just came here because the host was Anna. And I really wanted to see you." "Huh?" She's a bit weird. "Yeah… you looked so beautiful on her drawings… and you're even better in reality." Is she… flirting with me? Elsa was a bit surprised. How can she…? Her thoughts were interrupted as the girl next to her jumped toward her and planted her red lips on hers.

Clarke’s stomach is in knots as she stands stiffly on the sidelines with the brunette’s headpiece clenched desperately in her grasp. She can’t breathe. It’s been too long since Lexa had moved. “Get up.” She silently pleads to the grounder. She begs for Lexa to swing her body around, using her legs to overthrow her opponent as she had with Roan. The mass of shadowy figures closes in as Octavia steps forward from the group, towering over her lover’s limp body, a sword raised above Lexa’s chest. It’s already bloody, red liquid dripping down the blade. A puddle is quickly pooling around Lexa’s body as the group moves forward, and she catches the glimmer of green fading as Lexa’s eyes fall closed. And then the horn sounds, signifying the end of the battle. Victory drums pound in her chest. She’s lost. “Lexa.” She whimpers. “No.” The tears streak down her face as her knees grow weak, buckling under her as she collapses the ground. “Lexa!” She cries. It’s swept away amongst the cheering as the crowd rushes forward to congratulate the new commander. She’s unable to move as attendants approach to clear the spent body out of the arena. Clarke stays frozen. Why can’t she follow? She tries desperately to maneuver her legs, but she’s stuck. She finally finds her voice only after the men have carried the body off. “Lexa!” She calls out, louder and more desperate with each shattered cry until her vision closes in on a tunnel of white. She opens her eyes, waking with two strong arms holding her closely. “It’s okay.” Lexa soothes, smoothing down the blonde’s hair. “Clarke, I’m okay.” The brunette assures. “I am here, Clarke.” A pair of soft, yet concerned green eyes meet hers. “Lexa?” She blinks, clinging her hand around the grounder’s forearm like a vice. It had been a dream. No, a nightmare. “Don’t leave me.” Clarke requests, completely devastated. “I can’t…” Her voice cracks. “I can’t lose you again.” “You have not lost me, Clarke.” Lexa reassures, brushing her thumb against Clarke’s cheek. She caresses the rise of her cheekbone comfortingly. “But I must do this for my people.” The blonde purses her lips, pulling away from the brunette. The words hurt, even though she knows they’re true. Lexa sighs. “Come, we should eat. The competition will be stating soon.” “I’m not really hungry.” Clarke objects, lingering behind in the furs while Lexa moves to get dressed. She turns sadly, nodding, before going to the wardrobe to change. She opens the door, picking out a black tunic and dark pants that she tucks into her boots, lacing them skillfully. When she stands, her eyes meet Clarke’s in the mirror. “Will I see you at the arena?” Lexa asks the reflection. Clarke’s eyes water as she nods, turning before Lexa can see the tears fall. She probably knows, as it takes a moment for her to shut the doors of the wardrobe and even longer for the sound of footsteps to begin. Eventually they grow more distant until the latch of the bedroom door clicks open then closed again. The blonde sits alone, bringing the furs that Lexa had been lying under to her chest, wrapping herself in them. She buries her face in the soft material, allowing the wisps of hair to tickle her skin. They’re meant to keep her warm, yet she feels cold inside. Lexa, self-sacrificing person that she was, was going to fight, simply to prove to her people that Clarke was a source of strength. It’s so damn noble. Clarke knows not to expect anything less from the grounder, and despite her frustrations, she knows this is the right thing to do. This fight wasn’t for Lexa, the blonde realizes. It was for her. “Lexa!” She shouts, racing down the hall after the brunette. “Lexa, wait!” She cries catching up to the brunette who had since stopped in her tracks after hearing her name fall urgently from the blonde’s lips. Lexa’s jaw is clenched, eyes brewing. The rims are red and Clarke tumbles into her, arms circling around her waist. She doesn’t care what guards may be watching or who may see. “Have you changed your mind?” Lexa asks carefully. “Have you?” The blonde retorts, lifting her head from where her forehead rest against the brunette’s collarbones. She knows her efforts are useless. “Clarke,” Lexa says gently. “I…” She going to fend her choice, but Clarke cuts her off. “I know.” She pulls Lexa into her, squeezing tightly. She needs this. The brunette silently snakes her arms the blonde’s shoulder, face buried into the girl’s neck. “I know.” Clarke whispers again feeling the brunette hair against her face. She starts to tremble and Lexa pulls back so that she can get a good look at the Clarke, waiting until blue eyes meet hers. “I’ll be okay.” Lexa says as she rub Clarke’s back calmingly. “How can you be so sure?” The blonde bites back, though her voice is more distressed than intimidating. “I can’t, but it must be done.” Lexa says. “I will die with honor, trying to protect you.” She promises. The blonde nods solemnly. They eat breakfast at a quiet table, all in attendance highly distracted with the approach of the day’s events. Clarke’s mind is racing. Lexa sits beside her, chewing her food slowly, leaving the majority on the plate. “You’ll need your strength.” Clarke says, pushing aside her own uneasiness. She places a bit of bread and cheese from her own plate onto the grounder’s and Lexa nibbles it obediently. When they can no longer stomach the remainder of their breakfast, the group prepares to leave. Ontari places the red sash on her side and the shoulder guard rests in its place. Lexa eyes the status symbol carefully and swallows. Clarke knows it’s hard for her to take. The brunette averts her eyes, focusing on dressing herself in a thin coat of armor. “Wortat?” Lexa asks one of the handmaidens helping her prepare. The women disappears into the next room, returning with a small container of black war paint. She hands it to the brunette with a bow. “Mochof.” Lexa nods, turning her attention to Clarke. The blonde steps forward, taking the container from the brunette’s hands. She unscrews the cap, dipping her finger carefully into the dark liquid. Lexa adjusts her position to allow Clarke a better angle to help apply the makeup. Their faces are just inches apart and Clarke moves with precision as Lexa’s eyes flutter shut. She covers the girl’s eyelids first, moving outward to her hairline, finally streaking down her cheeks. “Done.” Clarke whispers a breath against the brunette’s plump lips. When emerald orbs are revealed again, contrasting dramatically against the darkness of her skin, it takes Clarke a great deal of effort to resist the temptation to kiss the brunette in front of the attendants and political leaders. All she wants is one last kiss. As the morning light rises into the sky, the pair journey to the arena with Titus and Ontari in the lead. Though they are surrounded by guards, the advisor still hands Clarke a gun for safety and the blonde takes it in her hand hesitantly. She’s pretty sure it was the gun he initially used on her and the whole thing seems ironic. Upon their arrival, Clarke can see that the contestants are beginning to line up as prospectors take their seats, gathering around the outer ring of the arena. “Ogud?” Ontari asks, turning to Lexa. “Ready.” The brunette confirms. “Be careful.” Clarke pleads as the brunette nods. “You undermine my abilities.” Lexa says. Her words are cocky, but her eyes are apprehensive. Clarke offers an encouraging smile, though she’s certain it doesn’t come across as such. The brunette gives her a nod anyway and leaves to join the others in the line-up of contenders, standing in place between two large men, one from  Sankru  and the other from the Azegeda, she can tell by the scars on his face. She counts the contenders as they wait in line. Only 13, including Lexa, one less than she had expected. When the crowd realizes just exactly who has joined the competition, the arena goes silent. Though her back is to them, Lexa still emanates a certain air about her. They know it’s her. Murmurs start to grow and Ontari takes it as her cue to begin with the opening remarks. “Citizens, families, and friends.” She greets from the raised stage on the side of the arena. “My people, today is the day in which my reign as Commander will end. It is for the benefit of our people and out of respect for you that I step down from my position as your leader to make way for another bruna Heda. This new successor must not only survive, but accelerate in all areas of the competition. This is more than just a test of strength. It is not for prestige or power.” Clarke takes a moment to survey the competitors. It’s clear who’s here for brawn alone and who is here for power. “This is a competition with a goal, and the reward is more than just a title, but a great responsibility and sacrifice.” Ontari continues. She watches the back of Lexa’s head rise and fall in a nod, her frame, petite compared to the muscular figures that flank her on both sides.  “The contenders you see before you were chosen as the most promising of their clans by the highest ranking officials of their own people.” The leader describes. “Fleimkepa,” she gestures to Titus and he approaches at her side to take over. “I have served many commanders in my time, some good and some great.” His eyes flicker to Lexa. “As such, it will be up to my discretion to choose who will become the next Commander. Heda must understand and embody three things; uf, noun, fiyane.”   Strength, wisdom, compassion. “The competition will begin with combat.” The man explains. “Each delegate will be randomly paired with one another and their match will end when one party is no longer able to fight. You may all begin with your weapon of choice. All matches following will utilize the weapon of the winning opponent’s choosing. Should there be two winners, the decision will come this.” He holds up two sticks of varying lengths. The rest of the rules are outlined briefly before the challengers are sent to take a seat at the area just adjacent to the side of the stage. It’s been allocated for the competitors, sectioned off and accompanied by a table filled with a variety of arranged weaponry. Clarke is relieved to find that the first two matches involve a man from the Ouskejonkru. The Blue Cliff clansman is tall and built. He is paired against an agile, much smaller but much quicker man from the Delfikru. The brute man takes a beating in the first round, falling under his own weight as a spear is plunged into his chest. She can hear the gush of blood as it spurs from his body. Clarke feels sick. The second man is from Trishanakru, who simply pins his fallen opponent to the ground, after ridding him of his arrows, trapping his throat between the sole of his shoe and the hard concrete. He leans his weight onto his rival and the squirming body stills within seconds, color draining from his sunken eyes. Two down, eleven to go. Clarke feels her stomach start to knot as the ground of the arena grows increasingly more red, painted with the splatter of the blood of the fallen. Octavia’s name is called next and Clarke’s footing wavers. She feels a hand steady her, turning in surprise to find Indra standing at her side, face unperturbed by the announcement. She’s paired with a man, large, but not as gigantic as the one from the Sankru. He’s clumsy on his feet built for strength and power, but not speed. The first few attacks are matched in terms of swiftness and ability, the clanking of metal echoing throughout the stadium. But Octavia is petite and he soon is able to knock her down. He bests her sword, bending when she should have dodged left, or catching her just before she’s able to spin her body away. He topples her repeatedly, seemingly amused by the brunette as she stands back up each time. She tries her best to dodge the majority of his blows, but he still manages some powerful hits to the point that Octavia’s left eye is bruised, and Clarke can see her friend is growing more exhausted as the match wears on. She continues to persist, consistently taking the punches, blocking the sword attacks with her sabre. He beats her around like a rag doll, toying with her for as long as he can, but Octavia refuses to concede. Eventually, the brunette’s challenger gives her small body a particularly harsh and Octavia falls on her hands and knees, eyes narrowed angrily at the man who stands smugly in front of her. “Get smacked down, get back up!” Lincoln shouts from the sidelines. The warrior nods in her supporter’s direction, using the distraction to her advantage. The desert man has momentarily turned to see where the voice had come from and Octavia takes her shot, striking the man’s leg with her sabre. Instead of finishing off the job with a swift slash across the throat, she kicks his weapon from his hand, strategically placing the edge of her own blade against his wrist, the other, under the weight of her boot. Any movement more than a breath from him would cause the man to slice his vein open until he bleeds himself dry. The victory horn sounds. “Lexa taught her that.” Indra comments. “I recognize the strategy.” The general notes. Clarke can only nod, relief washing over her. Octavia scurries off the center, settling back on the bench to attend to her wounds. Two more rounds pass, and two more competitors fall, a man from Podakru and a woman from Ingranronakru, accompanied with the sound of the clattering metal of their weapons colliding with the ground and the crack of a skull. The blonde resists the urge to cringe.   Then Lexa’s name is called and the weight in Clarke’s stomach suddenly grows from a small rock to a full-on boulder. Octavia catches her eye from where she’s watching on the bench. She offers her support with a small smile as Clarke swallows. Hard. Lexa surveys her opponent, then her weaponry options. She’s been paired with a delegate from the Ice Nation and Clarke’s eyes immediately seek out for Ontari’s. The leader’s expression is mute and unreadable; a sense of practiced of neutrality for the sake of the people. The horn sounds, signaling the beginning of the battle and Clarke’s heart rate increases exponentially. The Azgeda man has a pair of dual swords in both hands and does Lexa. Clarke realizes they must have the same combat strategy and swordsmanship skills. It makes her uneasy knowing that Lexa has no advantage over the man in terms of her weaponry or tricks. The brunette gives Clarke a quick glance, as if to assure her, before the Ice Nation delegate charges towards her. Lexa sidesteps him easily and he fumbles, trying to regain his balance. Clarke’s throat goes dry. They dance around one another, but eventually Lexa still proves herself to be victorious. The man surrenders with a blade to his neck. Clarke’s shoulders fall slightly, only to tense, back stiffened just a moment later when the brunette’s name is immediately drawn again. She looks over at Lexa with sapphire concern. She has had no time to rest in between matches while her opponent, on the other hand, has not fought up to this point. He glares venomously at Lexa, then at Clarke as he makes his way to the weaponry table. Clarke gets the sickest of feelings as the round begins. Lexa continues to use her swords as opposed to her competition, who swings his arms wildly thrusting an enormous hammer, with spikes littered across the surface, in a blinded fit of rage. He must be a member of Yujleda, Clarke decides. They, in particular, had not taken the news of the City very well. He’s strong and quick, definitely a much fairer match to Lexa, but he’s too unfocused due to his emotions. He lets his anger take over him as he makes a particularly forceful swing. Lexa dodges it, but one spoke still ends up attacking the brunette’s side. She hears the snag of the fabric tearing, freezing as red spills from Lexa’s stomach. It’s relatively close to her stitches and the brunette clenches her jaw, straightening as she resets herself to block the next blow. Clarke’s breath gets caught in her throat and the world starts spinning. To everyone’s surprise, instead of charging towards the brunette, the Broadleaf man veers in the complete opposite direction towards the crowd. It takes a minute for Clarke to process that he’s headed straight for her and she does her best to doge his advances, reaching for her gun. Unfortunately, she’s too slow to react, stunned by the initial shock of the attack. The crowd scatters as her body is pushed and trampled under the masses. She feels Indra and Lincoln pulling her up to her feet, tugging her away. Her mind goes blank. And then she catches a flash of wild brown braids and a piercing war cry powers through the air. The next thing she sees is Lexa, chest heaving and the man falls forward, duel swords plunged into his back and skull. The giant frame collapses at her feet, blood pooling from the wounds. His wide-eyed body is dragged away and Titus announces that the Yujleda clan has been disqualified, as if it wasn’t obvious. Clarke watches, unable to help, as Lexa hobbles off to the benches to await the next round. The crowd reassembles and the competition resumes. Instead of scrutinizing the matches, Clarke’s eyes are focused on Lexa and her friend. Octavia sits at the brunette’s side and is wrapping at Lexa’s wounds, despite her own injuries causing her pain. She winces when her wrist rotates a certain direction, but she doesn’t stop. The rest of the competitors look on, not bothering to come to the aid of their opponents. As much as it hurts, Clarke gets it. It makes sense and she understands not wanting to help your enemies. So when Octavia finishes wrapping Lexa’s torso, the blonde is evermore grateful that at least Octavia is there. Another handful of rounds pass by and the ground has become completely covered in blood. More delegates die, others concede, most likely preferring to be killed out of shame by their own people than in front of the masses. Octavia’s name is called again. She takes down a Shadow Valley man, who’d already been exhausted from three consecutive rounds. She strikes him down with precision and soon he falls to the ground. She’s lucky. Lexa, is not. Her lover is paired with the largest man there. He’s a warrior from Boudalankru, the Rock Line people, built like a rock too, both fit in agility and strength. To this point, he remains undefeated. “Go on, Heda.” He spits the word with dripping malice. “I’ll let you choose.” He says arrogantly, eyes narrowed bitterly. There’s a scar across his left eye, the pupil white and unfocused. There’s no way. Lexa is already wounded, making her extremely vulnerable. This man didn’t even have a scratch on him. Clarke should know not to doubt her lover’s fighting ability, but the odds weren’t looking very favorable. Lexa waits for a while, sizing up the haughty man before striding towards Clarke, holding out a hand. “Me?” Clarke’s eyes widen. She knows Lexa said she was her strength, but the blonde herself was in no way a weapon, nor able to fight. “No.” Lexa smirks, in spite of the pain in her side, before shaking her head as she eyes Clarke’s hips. It takes a moment before she processes exactly what the brunette is requesting. Clarke stiffens, realization dawning over her. “But Lexa…” Her jaw drops. Lexa was willing about to place the very weapon that had ended her life in her hands, allocating it as her weapon of choice, despite never having operated it, nor knowing the accuracy of her aim. Sure, Lexa was smart, but was she mentally ready to do something of this caliber? “Do you trust me?” The brunette cuts off, seeming to sense her hesitance. “Yes.” Clarke nods reluctantly. “And I trust you.” Lexa assures, green eyes filled with determination and drive. The blonde’s hand flicks the safety on the gun, passing it over to the grounder. Lexa brushes her fingers over Clarke’s as she takes the weapon, an attempt in physical assurance before she holds it over her head, displaying it for the crowd to see. The audience gasps. No grounder, to their knowledge, would ever touch the weapon of the Mountain Men and Skaikru. It was unheard of, the idea of it being plagued. But Lexa continues to hold the weapon in the air proudly. It’s a show of power. In grounder culture, the superstition was that guns cause horribly cursed deaths. But Clarke, Commander of Death, Wanheda, possessed a sense of power over that. Handing the gun to Lexa was the perfect exhibit of her sharing that strength. Nia’s strength is not endowed. Thanks to you, Lexa’s strength is. Clarke recalls Titus telling her. The blonde gives her a small nod of encouragement, fears temporarily set aside. “The weapon of our people is a weapon of our allies.” Lexa announces to the crowd. There’s a low mumble amongst the arena. The Rock Line man, conflicted, raises his own spear in defense but Lexa is quick to see that he has no idea what to do. It had been strategic. The brunette, knowing that she had been the weaker in terms of physical state had instead engaged in a tactful match of psychological warfare. She could fire at any moment, though Clarke knows Lexa wouldn’t unless it was completely necessary. Still, her opponent doesn’t know that and Clarke can see the beads of sweat collect at his brow and upper lip as the two competitors circle one another. They play chicken until the mental strain finally gets to him. He drops his daggers in surrender. The mighty continue to fall and the greatest of minds grow weary as the sun begins to slip over the horizon. Finally, the Louwoda Kliron is defeated and two opponents are left. Clarke watches the paired brunettes rise from their seats on bench, insides twisting nauseatingly. Octavia looks uneasily at Lexa, but the older girl’s face is stable and strong as she offers a nod in respect. “Good luck.” Octavia says, returning the gesture. “You too.” Lexa echoes. They draw straws to decide the final weapon. It goes to Octavia and Clarke is certain it will be the sabre. Octavia had been using it throughout the competition, and the two prepare their weapons. The horn sounds and Clarke does her best not to throw up right then. The two girls step cautiously towards one another, swords drawn in defensive stance. The clash of metal rings out against the sounds of their exertion. The match goes on for what seems like hours, the sun has completely cascaded the horizon and the stadium has since been dimly lit by a series of guards, torches in hand raised up to the sky. Across the arena, a few large fire pits have also been lit to provide warmth and light. It feels ever colder. Some spectators have cleared out to take their children home to retire for the evening, but the majority still remains captivated. More clanking. More dodging. More grunts and groans.  Clarke’s nerves and stomach have gone numb by this point, every attack blurring into the previous, fading into the next. Her focus is swimming as she tries to follow. It seems as though the fighting will never end, each girl allowing the other an equal effort, not wanting to overpower the other. She wonders if and when the crowd might catch on. Eventually the two stand nose to nose, swords locked in an even push and pull. The crowd begins to cheer. “Fight!” They shout enthusiastically. No. “Fight!” They root louder. It’s over. “Fight!” The crowd continues to pressure. Lexa’s eyes narrow and Octavia nods. The blonde reads both of the brunettes’ body language. She knows what’s going to happen. Within seconds they drop swords at the same time, taking a step away from each other. The audience goes insane. “Fight!” They scream. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” They persistently chant. The warriors continue to walk away from the arena, ignoring the uproar directed at them and instead walking to the edge of the stage, waiting expectantly for Titus to speak. He grimaces, raising a hand to silence the crowd. It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to get the people to quiet, and a few guards have to hold some audience members back from storming the arena themselves. “Both parties have proven their worth today,” The man addresses. “They have exhibited their understanding of wisdom, compassion, and strength.” He compliments, looking at both girls. Some members of the crowd make noises of protest, but he ceases them again with a gesture to the guards, who step forward in warning. The protestors silence again. “But only the greatest of all of those participating today should be given the honor of the role of the next commander.” Titus continues and the spectators buzz in excitement “My decision has been made.” He looks fondly at Lexa and the brunette raises her head with dignity. She glances sideways to Clarke with a proud smirk before returning her attention back to the advisor. Clarke lets her emotions get the best of her and flees; broken heart left shattered on the ground of the arena.