grabracadabra

[grabracadabra]

Nobody ever got this far. Finney kept shooting his questions and all the Grabber could do was watch him, eyes near unblinking behind the permanent twist of his smile. As confused as Finney felt, the Grabber felt that twice over-- what did you do when the very fundamentals of your world were challenged so thoroughly they felt untrue?

Once again, he heard his father hissing in his ear, calling Finney evil and devil-whisperer and just like you, Al, and you remember how evil you always were.

"Everything I do," he said, each word spoken clear and deliberate, "is for your own good.

"You're too young to know what's best for you, Finney. That's what grownups are for-- what I'm for."

The Grabber's elbows rested on his thighs, hands folding together to serve as a rest for his chin.

"I'm sure your parents..." Trailing off, the Grabber's eyelids shut briefly. When they opened again, he offered: "Parent. Yes?" He didn't wait for any proper confirmation. "I doubt they know the first thing about taking care of boys like you. Boys who say they hear creepy phones that aren't supposed to be working.

"I do, though. I used to sit down here like you all the time, after all. You could even say I was born here."

Finney was hesitant in reaching for the tray once more, especially with The Grabber so close to him again. And, truthfully, he was glad he didn't as the stranger went on to talk about his difficulty planning things.

He felt his hand twitch, fighting the instinct to reach for the rocket resting on the bed to his side.

"Plan? What is there to plan with me? Why do you need to predict what I'm going to do?"

He'd hoped his voice would sound more self-assured as the words came out, but fear trickled off of his tongue despite his best efforts. In his worry, there were plenty of questions he'd wanted to ask. Though the one question that kept coming up, ever since he was pulled off of the streets, is the only one that he can't work up the courage to ask.

Why me?

[grabracadabra]

The laugh that scraped its way out of his mouth held no real humour.

"'Feel me'." Oh, his claws were fucking pathetic. All of this monster shit and Quill didn't put any of it to use, not when he was too busy crying and eating and feeling miserable for his own fucking mistakes. "Jesus Christ, you're a shameless little whore."

Shaw's fingers tightened. It was enough to pull the hair tangled in them that much harder without the relief of getting torn out.

Sharp blue meeting red, Shaw's gaze bore into Quill's teary eyes with all the delicate attention of a knife.

"Fucking faggot." Growling, the roiling disgust he felt was clear. "This the only way you know how to say 'sorry'? Huh? Beggin' for Daddy's cock in your pussy?

He scoffed. "At least you know your place."

Then, with Quill's hair released as roughly as it'd been taken, Shaw wasted no time scooping the man up and throwing him over his shoulder. With his right arm clamping over the backs of Quill's legs, he held him fast, caring little for the way the vampire's own weight forced his round stomach to press into firm muscle.

"If you're gonna be sick, you better do it out here, boy." Rising to his full height, Shaw walked without difficulty towards the house. Samson, recognising his master's pose, trotted off to the dog bed in the living room, leaving the way to Thomas Shaw's bedroom (and all the masks within) unhindered. Any part of the house was usable for Naughty Boy-- Quill only got thrown into Daddy's bed when he needed to remember the only thing he was good for. "I swear to fuckin' God, you're getting the belt if you puke in my bed again."

Albert pushed him deeper, and Quill's fangs sank down until his gums rested on her skin. He choked out another sob, and then another — but the swift strike of Albert's hand on his rear combined with the snarl of his words soon silenced those. Still, Quill rocked with his grief, blubbering in silence about everything that had been taken from his prey ( and how terribly he felt cursing her for not having enough ).

By the time Albert declared him finished, Quill felt as though he might burst. His belly was swollen and tight to his shirt. Blood and saliva drooled out of his mouth and back down onto her. There was scarlet smeared across the lower half of his face. Quill's eyes were dull yet ; they would stay that way, glassed - over and dim, until his meal set in enough to satisfy him.

You ate too much, Albert accused, and Quill nodded. Fortunately, he was out of tears, otherwise he would have cried again. ❝I did,❞ he whimpered. One hand touched his stomach while the other reached for Albert, seeking comfort. ❝It hurts. Can you — can you ...❞ Quill's fingertips brushed against Albert's front, and his claws scraped the material. The vampire desperately wanted to be held, no matter which variation of his lover sat in front of him. ❝I want to feel you.❞

[grabracadabra]

Quite some time has passed- exactly how much, he couldn't be sure- since his abduction, but it was enough that he'd noticed changes in him. And as horrible as the first bit of it was, ever since he told the Grabber his name, it'd been actually kind of nice.

So much so that he'd been in his lap that day, watching him fill his balloons for his part-time magician's gig when, for whatever reason that was beyond him, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his masked mouth.

His lips lingered, and when he finally pulled away, he'd realized what he'd done.

Cheeks flushing violently, he ducked his head and offered a pathetic apology of, "Sorry about that."

— from @mintarmmed, unprompted.

Five years did peculiar things to people, Albert learned. The longer he kept Finney in his basement, the brighter he shined in the peripheries of his vision. Teenagers didn't often shine as brightly as Finney did, even less so at the age of eighteen, and yet in all the years they were together, Albert found it impossible to snuff that light out.

Finney never played the game, so the Grabber never got to beat him at it. He shone brighter and brighter the longer he stayed, and in the back of his mind he could hear Daddy's scolding: he's touched with evil, boy, and when he brings Satan to your home you'll know it's because you didn't cut the evil out of him.

How could he, though, when Finney was hardly a Naughty Boy?

Albert wanted to say that he kept the boy because it was better to keep a bomb under watch instead of letting it into the wild, dangerous world. But surveillance didn't explain the weight of Finney on his lap now, nor did it provide a suitable reason for Albert's inability to leave the kid alone. Finney had simply gotten attached to him in their prolonged companionship, and because Albert was a sick son of a bitch, he'd done nothing to prevent it from happening.

Usually when Max was home Albert spent less time in the basement, concerned by the shit his brother could pull. These days, though, Finney missed him if he was gone too long, and the kid had somehow figured out he could play with his heartstrings if he looked at him with big enough eyes for a long enough period.

It was fucked up. He was fucked up. Finney wasn't supposed to sway him like this. But he'd been so happy when Albert opted to stay with him for the afternoon, and he was happy now as he sat in his lap and stayed close (you're the only adult figure he has now, of course he wants to be close to you).

Even when his lips touched Albert's mask-- these days, it was only ever that grinning half that showed up in Finney's presence-- that happiness didn't wane. At worst, there was only some shyness and embarrassment when Albert flinched slightly and the kid ducked his head and apologised, and that was...

Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you.

(...it was nice.)

"Finney." He was trying for a tone that toed the line between stern and patient. Albert's brows furrowed slightly. "What was that, hm?"

[grabracadabra]

is this anything?

[grabracadabra]

freak in the sheets as well as in most other locations

[grabracadabra]

THE BLACK PHONE Ethan Hawke as The Grabber 2021, dir. Scott Derrickson

[grabracadabra]

"Oh."

Albert's throat dried, and the worst thing about that might be the fact he didn't notice it happening until swallowing brought a low clicking noise with it.

Damn, Quill had breathed, as if this was inconvenient but otherwise normal. As if the swell of white at the tip of his nipple was something that was always meant to happen.

But, thinking on it, maybe there was some truth to that. More often now Albert found himself staring in something close to disbelief at how round Quill had gotten. On the nights Daddy wasn't around (and even then, lately he'd only ever come around to check in on them instead of telling Albert to stand back), he even chanced placing his hand on Quill's stomach just to feel the way his body moved when he breathed.

This was real. Despite all the reservations Albert might have had about fatherhood, and all the fears he carried with him about becoming the monster he used to protect Max from, their pup was only getting bigger. And with her, so was Quill.

His swollen belly was expected. But, Christ, his tits...

"That's... that's cosmic, Quill."

Albert's eyes zeroed in on the milk that curved around the curve of Quill's finger, following its path down until he was reaching out to wipe it off the top of his belly with his own thumb. Quill's nipples had gotten so pink they almost looked like candy. Looked delicious, even.

In the same way he'd failed to notice his own dry throat, Albert only became aware he'd pulled his mask down and ducked his head seconds later. And as he came to himself, he sighed with pleasure as the taste of Quill's milk spread on his tongue.

Two hands curved over his big belly, and as Albert's eyes shut, he lapped at that leaking teat until milk was all he tasted.

from @grabracadabra —

[ office chair ] our muses have sex in an office chair, in the back of the hardware store al does closing shifts at. :')

❝Nothing's wrong,❞ Quill promised, lips pressing to the lower half of Al's mask. He turned, considered his options, and then unceremoniously hoisted himself onto the edge of the desk. It was a far less graceful motion that it had been in the past ; Quill's rather prominent condition meant that much of his eerie grace was temporarily taken from him. Not that he minded — as he leaned back on one arm to better look at Al in the office's only chair, black coat half - open across his belly, Quill thought again that he wouldn't wish away any of the inconveniences that came with the experience.

❝I missed you,❞ the vampire confessed, voice bordering on pouting. For a moment, his claws spread out over his stomach. ❝We missed you. Someone has been active all night, and ...❞ Quill ducked his head while he spoke in order to remove his hat. Doing so put a new inconvenience directly in his line of sight. He removed his accessories, including the colored glasses that protected his sensitive eyes from streetlights, and pulled aside his shirt. The buttons on the top half came open easily, revealing the expanse of pale skin that lead to his right breast.

Quill sighed at the swollen tissue. His discolored nipple, large and firm, stood out — and so did the chalk - white moisture beading on it. The vampire's red eyes flicked back to Albert. Quill's lips peeled back, revealing his fangs. ❝... and I do this now, apparently. I slept for a while after you left and woke up to it. We were too excited to wait for you to get home to see.❞ He chuckled, sheepish and fond and delighted all at once. ❝It's silly to celebrate, I know, but — this really means we're just about there, hm ? I've got everything she needs right here and ready.❞ Quill's fingers moved over, framed his areola, and squeezed. Even the gentle press made him hiss, and a generous amount dripped onto his knuckles. ❝Damn.❞

[grabracadabra]

"Your trumpet." The end of that 'T' was hard, emphasised in his repetition. The Grabber hummed.

"It's safe." He shrugged, less than interested in the subject. "Along with your other things, probably. I didn't bother to look in your bag-- privacy, you know."

And in the moment he'd picked the boy up, he'd been more concerned with making sure he couldn't escape the van than he was the contents of his backpack. The Grabber's fingers drummed along the handle of the door, pinky to index and back again, as his eyes looked over the boy's miserable little posture, he contemplated.

"You aren't allowed to have it," he said. "But if you teach me how to take care of it properly" -- the Grabber's hand smacked firmly atop his chest -- "then I'll do my very best to follow those instructions. Scout's honour!

"As long as you're good." He snickered. "Of course."

Nodding to acknowledge what the man had said, Jonny still struggled to find his voice.

Certainly, the man was cheery, but he also ripped him from his life without thought. Would he be quick to anger if Jonny said the wrong thing?

"When you..." he trailed off, uncertain if he was allowed to say anything along the lines of 'abducted me'. Though, he almost felt as though it was better to continue onto the question itself. "I had a few things with me, most notably my trumpet. Do you... Is it safe? I just- it was my from my grandfather. He knew I was training and he got it for me- he liked to listen to me practice. He's gone now, and I just-I just wanted to know if it's okay."

And not on the side of the road where you grabbed me.

The fear bubbled up in his gut and he felt tears brim his eyes again as he looked down at his knees pulled up against his chest.

"I'm sorry if I'm overstepping. I just... it means a lot to me."

[grabracadabra]

Albert had so many other things he could be doing besides fretting. Fretting was woman's work was what Daddy always said, and yet here he was, continuing to be a living fucking disappointment to him.

There were three of them, though, that made the noise in his head especially loud: two Asian kids (twins, Albert realised hopelessly), and a redheaded White kid. Each one of these children made the voices excited-- happy, even, insomuch as Albert could understand them-- and whenever he looked at them his heart ached in turn. They were going to grow up evil like him and there was nothing he could do about it, and as hopeless as the scenario was, he found himself returning everyday all the same.

Jesus, it was like watching a car crash. Albert's stomach hurt more and more the longer he lingered.

And when she approached, that pain turned into something terribly close to throwing up entirely. Albert quickly ducked his head down like he'd been caught doing something wrong (but was wishing someone dead out of mercy a sin? What would Daddy say when he wished Albert was dead all the time?).

"Oh, I..." There was something about this woman that made the voices sing, and somewhere in the back of his head he felt an itch that wasn't there before. "S-Sorry. I'm okay.

"You didn't have to come all the way here." His hand came up, covering the lower half of his face in shame. "I... I was just worried for some of them." And you aren't even related to any of them. Albert laughed, sounding pained. "That's probably weird, huh?"

Run, you dumb shit.

｡° ⸻ @grabracadabra.

Her goodbye's come in a few different languages as she waves to the kids piling out of the schoolyard fences. Some go directly into their parents arms, into their cars. Others go straight down the road side by side with friends. Serena might not have been one of the yard aids, but she liked seeing off her students at the end of the day anyhow. They were like a second family, every one of them very dear to her. It's that exact endearment that keeps her glued near the fences until the kids are well on their way, watching over them, eyes alert for threats beyond the physical and known. That alertness is drawn to  another  constant presence, or at least, a familiar enough one that  wasn't  from the other side lingering just across the way.

He didn't  seem  like a threat. From what she could glean, what she could  Shine  on him, Serena wasn't too worried about him being there every day the kids have gotten out from school. Still...   She couldn't leave it alone.

She's seen him frowning over the kids a few times now. Always a sort of look that she can't quite tell between alarming concern and downright poignancy.   Both, maybe?   Something was always just behind his eyes, too. Something familiar besides his general appearance after seeing him so often, and it had Serena gripped with a deathly curiosity. Today would hopefully end the speculation. Warm amber hues check both sides of the road before she's made her way to the man. A glide more than a walk, slow and quiet until she's wandered just a little beside him, hands still folded at her center.

       ❝ They're not so bad, you know, ❞   Serena starts, voice gentle and warm, the same way she might a student of her own. There's a smile that lingers politely at the corners of her lips, eyes flitting between him and the kids in the distance.   ❝ They can get rowdy, but they're good kids. ❞   She pauses. She's not sure how much more she wants to assume of the man before she comes off entirely rude. A clearing of her throat and she turns a little more towards him now.   ❝ .. You okay?   - You always look so..   troubled.. ❞   The sympathy in her expression is inviting, or at least, is meant to be.   ❝ Sorry if it's presumptuous..   Just thought I might lend an ear or a shoulder. ❞

[grabracadabra]

Kate Bush “Get Out of My House”

I will not let you in!  Don’t you bring back the reveries  I turn into a bird  Carry further than the word is heard 

[grabracadabra]

"There we fucking go."

Blunt nails dug into the back of Quill's neck in both claim and punishment. He listened to the messy gulps of blood, heard the swallows in his throat, and stayed in place as he watched this stupid creature deal with the consequences of his actions.

The crying earned a sharp slap to the vampire's bottom -- "Shut the fuck up," he hissed -- and as soon as his hand had lifted to swat at him, so too did it return to twist its fingers in all that long hair.

Quill didn't need to breathe, so Shaw shoved his face flush into the wounds his fangs created. "Hurry up, you dumb shit, we still gotta clean up after."

Regardless of how long it took for him to feed, however, Shaw stayed in place. A real daddy never left his boy behind, even when he was naughty, and Shaw was no exception.

When finally the body beneath him had turned pale enough to warrant satisfaction, Shaw's hand tugged up. The mess of blood and spit and venom on Quill's mouth disgusted him, and as his eyes flicked down to look at his belly, his tongue clicked in disappointment.

"Look at you." Shaw's voice came in a low growl. "Jesus. You ate too fucking much again."

As Quill gazed into Albert's changed eyes, the tears that were sitting in his own began to roll down his cheeks. His jaws clicked — once, twice — but he remained silent. This side of Albert, he had learned, was best listened to and not questioned. The creature let himself be handled thusly without protest, no matter how rough Albert became.

Quill hunkered back down over the corpse at the human's insistence. His shaggy hair slipped forward and brushed her skin. The tips of his pointed ears peeked out. He inhaled her, taking note of the stench of death that was starting to set in, and squeezed his eyes shut. Large droplets fell down into her wounds and puddled there.

Couldn't kill right — no, couldn't kill you.

Albert held him tighter, and Quill finally gasped in pain. His jaws parted instinctively. The vampire's fangs scraped against her, leaving shiny trails of pink spittle and venom behind. Quill shuddered. He sank his teeth into the top of her nearest breast, which was still unmarred. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, and he distantly heard his body take massive, needy slurps of it. Where Albert had rubbed his face against her flesh was strangely warm. Quill could feel his figure start to shake, and he issued a muffled, low sob as he fed.

[grabracadabra]

JENNY HOLZER / LIVING / 1980-82 [cast bronze plaque | 7 x 10″]

[grabracadabra]

"Mmhmm," the Grabber hummed, sing-song and sweet as if their discussion was the most innocent thing in the world.

"Funny. I can't seem" -- laughing, he took enough steps forward to stand a foot away from Finney's tray -- "to predict anything you do."

He crouched, knees close together and hands folded neatly atop them. The eyes behind his mask were glittering with attention.

"You can keep eating." The Grabber's head tilted, eyes not once leaving Finney's face. "I'm not gonna take your food away, not when you've been a good boy."

That was it, though, wasn't it? Not once had Finney been naughty, and it confounded him terribly. All boys had evil in them, Daddy said a long time ago; there was no way they grew to be good without a regular beating.

"I haven't ever met a boy like you before. You're making it real hard to plan anything."

Finney's brow furrowed as he watched the door, waiting a moment as if to see if it was a test of sorts. Truthfully, he wished he wasn't starving so he could hold off longer than a couple of minutes before getting up and bringing the tray back towards the bed, but his stomach was twisting in knots with hunger.

Then his kidnapper returned and his heart sank, and he was scared enough to set the tray down whilst swallowing the bits of egg he scooped into his mouth already. Maybe it was a test. Maybe he failed it.

He shouldn't have been so eager.

But then he speaks, and the confusion takes over his thoughts once more.

"Funny?" he repeated in a puzzled tone before shaking his head. Of all of the things he'd been called before, he couldn't really think of a time he was referred to as "funny".

[grabracadabra]

Shaw's tongue clicked, fingers tightening in their grip. Without hesitation, he wrenched until Quill was forced to face him again.

"Look at me when you answer, boy. Disrespectful little shit."

His gaze held for one beat, then two, then three: enough for it to mean something, enough for Quill to feel bad. Then, when Shaw deemed the contact satisfactory, his hand released him only to shove roughly at Quill's cheek to force his head low.

Now his palm curved around the back of his neck, pushing down until that bloody mouth was pressed to dead flesh once more. Shaw's hand curved to cradle the base of his skull as he held his neck, moving him slowly from side to side to rub Quill's lips into the mess he made.

"This is fucking disgusting," he hissed. "Fucking animal. Made a god damn mess in my yard just 'cause you couldn't kill right.

"Open your mouth, boy." Shaw's grip tightened, head dipping to snarl against the vampire's ear. "Eat."

Quill didn't flinch away fast enough, and Albert seized him. The vampire trembled at the look in those eyes. Those hard, hard eyes combined with the mask he wore told Quill everything. He resisted the urge to reach out and tuck back Albert's hair ; instead, his nails curled into the flesh of his meal.

Dull - eyed, gaunt, weak. Quill's stomach grumbled louder this time due to Albert's proximity. The smell of him made Quill feel starved, even if his abdomen was hard from overfeeding. He knew what was beneath them wasn't enough -- he needed Albert nowadays to feel any kind of satisfaction. This poor woman was little more than just a blood - filled meat snack. Empty, terrible energy.

Quill's gaze narrowed, and tears pooled in them again. The noise in his belly crawled up his throat and became a feeble burp. A thin stream of something dark red spelled out of the corners of his mouth. Quill opened his mouth wider, revealing his dirty fangs. Slowly, his eyes dropped to his meal, stating his silent desire to finish. He sniffed.

After all, why should he talk ? Filthy strays didn't, and he was far beneath even that. He was little better than the old dogs he used to toss scraps to when he was half - dead from drinking in the street.

[grabracadabra]

He should have known Samson would sniff him out, no matter how he had tried to hide himself in the depths of the backyard. The bushes rustled, Samson issued a curious bark, and Quill lifted his red face to reply with a bark of his own that the dog would understand. Even still, he recognized that Samson would get Albert ; no friendship would ever trump a canine's loyalty.

Quill lowered back down over the body, eyes unusually dull in the dark. The vampire's features were drawn, and he looked more like a corpse than a creature. Blood went greedily down his throat, followed by something more meaty. His prey's shoulder was open and spread across the earth. She had stopped twitching, finally -- given up the last shreds of life she once tried to scream with while he held her mouth closed.

He wanted to pick her up and tell her that he was sorry again. The marks from the tears on him shown every time he did before. Quill smelled Albert growing close. Suddenly, he shied away from her, strips of muscle hanging from his teeth. His stomach growled, and Quill did his best to ignore how terribly it hurt.

— from @mycursedcaptain, unprompted.

Standing behind the shut screen door, the Grabber's head cocked to the side as he took in the trembling of the bushes in his yard. Samson was restless at his side, pacing the same few feet back and forth; coupled with the way he had barked and whimpered to get his attention at all, what had transpired was no mystery at all.

With a smooth shift, the top half of his mask was discarded and set aside on the kitchen counter. A firm command kept Samson indoors, and Mr. Shaw stepped outside.

The scent of blood was sharp, and sharper still the closer he got to those shifting leaves. He walked through the bushes, looked over the mess on his grass, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

Under the moonlight, the blood looked almost black.

"Why did you stop?" came Shaw's voice, low and growling. He crouched by Quill's shameful form, and without hesitation grabbed the hair at the back of his head and tugged to force him to meet his eyes.

(They were cold and angry. Daddy never liked waste.)

"What'd I tell you about finishing your food, boy?"

[grabracadabra]

Oh, was the first thought the Grabber had then.

We're wearing the wrong mask, now.

The proper emotion might have been something on the edge of humility. Instead, the Grabber took a deep breath in and exhaled it slowly, then set the tray on the floor without a word. He nudged the tray forward with the toe of his boot before retreating and shutting the door behind him. For the next two minutes, that was all he did.

When he returned and stepped into the light, his mask was affixed on him in full. The bottom half grinned cheerfully in Finney's direction.

"Finney."

Stepping fully into the room, the Grabber pushed the door shut behind him. With his hands crossed one over the other, he leaned back against his palms, setting them solidly on the metal.

"...you're a funny boy, aren't you?"

"Finney," he answered, uncertain as to why he gave his actual name instead of lying. Every alarm in his head wailed at him to give a random name, but instead of the Taylor he had tucked away for when such a question arose, he gave his actual name.

At least he was smart enough to not give his own last name. Maybe @grabracadabra wouldn't figure out he's got a sister. If the Grabber didn't know anything more than his first name, maybe Gwen would be safe.

[grabracadabra]

It was embarrassing, having Melissa see him so clearly. She called him "sad" and the tips of his ears lit up with pink, masked face dipping to brush the tip of his nose against the nape of her neck. Men weren't supposed to feel so strongly to begin with-- God forbid he feel something as sissy as sadness. And yet Melissa pulled his arm around her all the more, wanting to stay close to his defective body in any way she could.

The contact broke him as much as it made his fingers dig into her stomach, pressing past cloth and flesh until all that was left was his blunt nails clawing into the wisps of Melissa's soul. Nobody ever understood him like she did, nor did anyone ever try. She was the only person in the whole world worth knowing. She was his world, and Albert exhaled softly against her shoulder as his other hand moved thoughtlessly to wrap around the column of her throat.

I just want you back, he thought, as if will alone would be enough to conjure flesh and blood. I need you back.

But what came out of his mouth was a soft, "You're lucky you're cute."

In place of pointing with his hand, his gaze went heavenward, and the palm on Melissa's neck drew up to hold her jaw with a grip as firm as it was tender. His thumb stroked the bone-- reassurance as much as it was possession-- and Albert spoke of Cygnus, and the story of Phaethon, and how the poor boy died and his lover's grief turned him into stars. All the while, Melissa was held and her head guided so that she might trace the stars of the constellation as Albert saw them. With her, Albert found it easy to be gentle-- in his words as much as in his touch, soft and sweet and ultimately simple.

"I'm going to run out of stories for you one day," he mused at the end, pressing his covered lips to the back of Melissa's neck as his hand found its place on her throat once more. Albert stroked her like a pet, and the arm around her waist pulled her closer. "I need to start reading again.

"I just wish... I wish I didn't have to leave you for it."

Leaving home, leaving Melissa-- it was all the same thing, in the end. Home wasn't home without her.

"I wish it didn't take so long to get your body back. I should've started ages ago..."

'You'll have to hold my hand, Mel.'

The fact that Albert said that as if it meant some sort of inconvenience had the woman smiling at him, reaching for his closest hand and sliding a palm against his with the ease of someone who had done that exact same gesture countless times before. By the time he had clarified that he merely didn't want to lose her, the man was rewarded with a gentle chuck and a squeeze to his limb, as real as the stars shining on the sky.

"I won't get lost," Melissa replied easily enough, moving after Albert and quiet as a mouse while they traversed the living room and then got outside, nighttime air making the girl inhale deeply and smile with something akin to nostalgia. There was just something more comforting about the cover of darkness and the quiet of the streets - and perhaps something to do with the fact that, many years ago, the abuse and the lethal pain her physical body had endured had been inflicted during daytime (even if a small window from the basement level was all they had to tell the hours).

The cross was easy - the street was peaceful and traffic limited. Melissa breathed in a sound of satisfaction once Albert made room for her, sitting on his lap and leaning back as if he offered the best throne on all of Earth to a queen - in many ways, that was true; she did feel like the ruler of an entire planet, blessed with such genuine and pure devotion and friendship. Albert didn't want to lose her, but the brunette didn't think she could move forward all alone in any shape or form.

(It was a terrifying thought.)

"I don't mind being at home with you," the woman murmured to the night, even though they were not face to face. One of her hands reached back, seeking his hand and bringing it around her waist, securing one of Albert's arm in place as if it was a seatbelt meant to keep her safe from a deadly crash, "Your brother isn't a bother anymore," she added - a bonus when Melissa remained invisible and just as a memory to Max.

"I just felt you needed the air, Al. You looked sad - you work too much and you do not get enough rest," the girl observed, not without a playful edge to that remark that sounded almost motherly. She knew most of his work was directed to her, at the end of the day - to the offerings in hoping to reverse the damage, to turn back the clock (or fast-forward it to a solution). "Let's do that thing again where you show me your favorite constellation and I take hours to find it," Melissa snickered, the dilemma of following someone's index pointed at the vastness of the universe having always been a challenge.

Comfortably nestled against him, however, Melissa had nothing but time - enough to pretend to miss his guidance several times on a row, until sunrise if necessary. Being outside like they used to do as kids after school (and homework) was a blessing on its own.