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concreteburialplot · 2 months

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Intertwined // 05

-> 05 - Girl Crush*

pairing; noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlist; here | crossposted; ao3 | word count; 10.3k 😅

warnings; sad lol, dumb boys, mutual masturbation, p0rn, alcohol, peer pressure, vomiting, college!omens, jolly intro, gay panic & very mild gender confusion??, denial is a river in egypt, 18+ MDNI

REMINDER: this is an au where everyone is around the same age, follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members.

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS-

It had been about a month since Noah moved out completely and was fully living with us. It wasn’t that difficult of a transition since he stayed with us most of the time anyway. He seemed to be finally settling in and getting comfortable, which I was happy about.

Him living in my house wasn’t the only thing that became comfortable - in fact maybe we’d gotten too comfortable.

That first night weeks ago, where we took care of our morning wood next to each other, wasn’t the last time. It started as that one time thing, then an occasional thing, then finally, a casual thing. Neither one of us seemed to take it seriously, maybe to play off the implications of it. Because what else are you supposed to do when you jack off next to your best friend regularly?

It became so casual, sometimes as if the other wasn’t there.

My half-asleep ears fill with the faint sounds of moans, accompanied by restrained groans I recognize. The more I wake I feel movement behind me.

I stir a bit before turning around finding Noah pumping himself under the covers while holding his phone in the other. He jumps a little when I catch him but doesn’t stop. His actions only halt temporarily.

“Sorry if I woke you up.” He says bashfully, baby pink tinting his cheeks.

“It’s fine.” I gulp, my eyes drifting to the obscene noises coming from his phone. “Whatcha watching?”

He shrugs, tilting his phone to me, revealing the most generic looking porn I’ve ever seen. But porn is porn and it makes my already semi-hard dick twitch. “You wanna… watch too?”

My cheeks grow warm at the offer, “Oh, um, I mean, I don’t wanna intrude…” Though, I can’t help my eyes from being glued to the screen.

He shifts a bit and reaches over, setting the phone down between us propped up in a divot of comforter. In the clumsy process, the duvet slides off his lap revealing his cock.

My eyes widen at the sight of him but I immediately divert my attention so that he doesn’t catch me and assume something else.

“Oh sorry.” He blushes and goes to cover himself again but pauses, “Actually, do you mind? I just don’t wanna deal with the mess and-“

“I don’t mind.” I reply faster than intended. I shake my head, “I just don’t wanna… do that. But I don’t care if you do.”

“Cool.” He nods and returns to his previous position with his eyes locked on the screen.

There’s a panicky heartbeat lingering in my chest but the throbbing in my cock takes precedence. I relax a bit beside him and life the duvet higher up on my body, trying to cover as much of myself as possible.

I spit into my hand before dipping it beneath the covers and down around my member, working it out from my shorts. A hiss leaves my mouth at the coldness of my palm but it doesn’t take long for that discomfort to fade.

My eyes begin on the phone, to the blonde woman with large unnaturally perky breasts being railed by some strong man with a big dick, something you’d find on the first page of any porn site. Not my usual cup of tea but whatever, it’s doing something for me right now.

Naturally, my eyes drift and happen to fall on Noah’s cock. His large hand works up and down his member – he’s duo-toned darker at the base and lighter towards the tip, kind of like me just much pinker. I glance between him and the man in the video. He’s smaller than the man, but he’s definitely not small. The video is obviously emphasizing the man’s large size, but he’s still smaller than me, not by much but he is. It makes me wonder if Noah would be impressed by my size.

Why would I think that? What do I care if Noah’s impressed by my dick?

Noah’s probably not even looking at him like that, I’m just weird I guess.

As if on cue, Noah comments.

“I wish my dick was that big.”

Not wanting to stay uncomfortably silent, I nervously chuckle, “Yeah me too.”

“Well, how big are you?” He asks casually.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Surely, he doesn’t actually wanna know.

“Oh – oh, I don’t know, but I don’t wanna take the covers off because-“

Noah proposes a solution, “I could feel?”

“I uh – what do you mean?”

“Like, feel it under the covers. So, I can’t see it. That’s what you’re insecure about isn’t it?”

“Um, I, well,” I stutter, trying to think of any sort of appropriate response. I should say no. I shouldn’t want him to do that. But something in me screams that this might be the only time this could happen – not sure why that’s even important. “Um, sure.”

I scooch a little closer to him so it’s easier for him to reach. Unexpectedly, he brings his free hand up to his mouth and spits into it. My eyebrows furrow at the action, not quite understanding why that’s necessary. But when his arm snakes itself under the covers and his hand replaces mine, I’m suddenly not as confused.

My eyes round at the feeling of his hand around me and every muscle in my body tenses when he starts moving.

“Jesus, you’re pretty big.” He says before his hand even reaches my tip.

Suddenly, all the nerves in my body seem to flood to cock and I feel so sensitive under his fingertips. I should be watching the video, but my eyes bounce between his still working on himself and on his other one bobbing under the covers. I can’t tell fully, but it seems like he’s pumping himself faster than before.

His palm reaches the head then slowly slides back down. “You’re so much bigger than me.” His voice seeming casual, but there’s a hint of strain beneath it.

His words and his even faster movements on both of us only worsens the buzzing in my cock.

“Is this okay? I just, I’ve only ever felt my own dick so, I’ve only ever imagined what having a bigger one would feel like.”

“Yeah, yep. It’s fine.” I reply quickly, just trying to maintain my composure.

My chest rises and falls rapidly and my fingers curl into the sheets. A familiar knot forms in the pit of my tummy and the last thing I want to do is cum while he’s touching me. His hand moves on me at the same speed as on his own. His fingertips stride up and down the underside of my length, hitting the sensitive spot beneath my tip every time. My lips press flat together as I try to stave off my orgasm – I don’t want to cum while he’s touching me, but I also don’t want him to stop.

Thankfully he has less stamina than I do.

“Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, working quickly on himself chasing his climax. “Fuck, fuck!” He whines desperately. His hand doesn’t stop on me while his hips buck up into his hand spurting milky white all over his exposed tummy.

The visual of his cock twitching and spilling cum all over his hand, combined with his high pitched moans and his hand on me catapults me over the edge. “F-Fuck.” I sputter out a strangled groan and scrunch my eyes closed. Before I have time to yank him off of me, my body goes rigid beneath him. The buzzing across my skin seems to all rush into my throbbing cock in Noah’s still moving hand. “O-Oh.” Slips from my mouth just above a whisper while every muscle in my abdomen tightens. I feel myself twitch and spill my own cum into the duvet and all over his hand.

The orgasm nearly blinds my vision and my heart beats so fast I can hear it thumping in my ears. Those couple seconds where it was just me, my racing heart and my throbbing cock, it was pure bliss. Possibly the hardest I’ve ever came before.

It’s not until I begin to come down that I realize what just happened and that… he worked me fully through my high?

My eyes shoot open the second I return to earth and feel his hand finally slip off my softening member. For a split second I contemplate if there’s a way for me to get out of this without even looking at him and god I wish there was.

Fuck

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I begin to profusely apologize before he cuts me off.

He laughs, “It’s okay. I’m sure having someone else’s hand probably feels a lot better than your own. Even if it had been you I probably would’ve came even faster than normal… and you know I already don’t last long as it is.” He chuckles with a light peach tinting his cheeks.

One part of me feels bad that I hadn’t returned the favor, until I remember I didn’t really even want to do this to begin with. Then, another part of me wishes I had returned the favor, maybe I wanted to know the same thing he did - maybe I want to know what another cock would feel like in my hand too.

“Yeah - um,” I swallow the little saliva I have left in my dry mouth. “Yeah it was nice.”

He pulls his hand from beneath the covers. “So much for not making a mess.” He laughs.

My eyes round when I see just how much I had spilt all over his hand. “Yeah, yeah sorry again, I just didn’t think that…” My eyes follow his stare on the milky white mess of mine on his hand.

His coffee brown eyes snap up to mine and utters out the last words I ever thought he’d say. “Have you ever tasted your own cum?”

I blink blankly at him, completely devoid of words.

What the fuck

“I-I um, no? Why would I?”

“I don’t know, curiosity?”

“…Have you?”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to know.” He shrugs. “It was gross, bitter. But,” His eyes flutter back down to his hand. “I’ve obviously never tasted anyone else’s. I wonder if yours tastes different?”

My brain seems to glitch, not fully comprehending his statement.

“I-I um, I mean, probably.”

“Would it be super weird if I tasted it?”

My brows shoot up at the question.

But I reply before I’m even sure of my answer. “No, I um, don’t think it would be that weird?”

And it wouldn’t be, right?

He’s just curious.

Just like he was about my cock.

“Alright.” His tone much less confident than just seconds ago.

His dark brown eyes drop to the puddle of my cum on his right hand, just above where his thumb meets his hand. He lifts it tentatively up to his mouth; my eyes can’t help but rotate between his face and his approaching hand. Hesitantly, he darts his pink tongue past his lips to dip the tip of it into the puddle. Unexpectedly, his eyes find mine, snapping me out of my gaze that was locked on his tongue. His mahogany eyes surprise me, with how round and soft they are - so puppy dog-like for a situation such as this. I blink at him and for some reason, seeing him flatten his tongue a bit on the remnants of me makes my cock twitch. He takes a scoop of my orgasm on his tongue and into his mouth.

“Hm.” He hums, almost sounding pleased, like he was taste-testing wine. “You taste better than me. Sweeter. Must be all those bananas you eat.”

Sweeter

My brows join together, perturbed, “It can’t be that different?”

His boney shoulders raise into a shrug. “You can try mine if you want? To make it even or whatever.” He gestures his left hand up a bit to remind me that his mess remains on that hand too.

“Oh - I - well -“ I watch his hand gesture towards me again. The turbulence in my tummy reminds me of when someone offers you a gift and out of politeness, you’re supposed to refuse it - but I don’t want to refuse. I want to know.

“Oh c’mon it’s only fair, it’s not that bad.” He urges me, only reaffirming my inability to voice a decline.

I look down at the back of his hand covered in cloudy white rivers. My fingers gently take hold of his wrist and he lets me take control of his arm without a single ounce of resistance. I bring his hand to my lips and copy his actions - dart my tongue out and meet his eyes. His are just as intrigued as mine were, locked in my tongue.

The second his cum meets my taste buds, my eyes flutter closed. I’m surprised at the taste, it’s bitter and salty, what I imagine battery acid must taste like. The texture is about what I imagined, thick and slimy. And yet, even with the immediate disgust of it, it makes my cock twitch again. There’s a tingle in my fingertips and on my tongue that urges me to lap up the rest of his orgasm but I fear if I did, I’d be completely hard again. I never thought something as rancid as battery acid would make me hard, but for some reason right now it’s threatening to.

I’ve never been more grateful for anything more than the duvet on my body right now.

I half-force a twist in my face at the taste as I pull back from his arm. “Augh, that’s disgusting.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “See! Told ya.”

A nervous chuckle escapes me, “That you did…”

-Next Day-

Since landing an apprenticeship at a local tattoo parlor, I don’t see much of either Noah or Folio. While I’m at work after class, they’ve been hanging out at the library in a study group full of people I barely know - people from the frat party a couple weeks ago.

Today though, I got off my shift early and I’m on a different mission.

My tires screech and the weight of my entire body jerks forward as Stella makes another abrupt stop at a redlight. My hand lands on my dash as a reflex I had gotten far too familiar with.

My tongue passes between my lips before pressing them together and close my eyes through a deep breath. I consider myself a fairly patient person, but if there’s anyone on earth who could get me to snap, it is definitely my sister.

“I told you to start braking 5 million feet ago.” I exhaled with the hopes of Buddha himself coming down and bestowing me with a well-deserved medal of excellent patience.

“Whatever, we still stopped, didn’t we?” She sasses, as she continues to dance to whatever pop song pours through the speakers.

“Yeah, barely.” I grumble, crossing my arms in the passenger seat. “I have no idea how they let you pass your driver’s test.”

“You are so grouchy today.” She glares at me. “What, did the shop bully you again?”

My eyes roll so hard they could’ve fallen out. “No.” I clench my fingers into my palms and stretch them out as overlayed flashbacks of scrubbing every inch of the tattoo parlor flash across my mind. “No, I just cleaned a lot. Fumes. Headache.”

“Right.” She responds unconvinced.

The car takes a sharp turn into a plaza I’ve only ever driven past before and pulls into a parking spot right in front of the destination of my mission.

“We’re here!” She beams, turning the engine off.

We walk up to the small shop snuggled in the tiny strip. The walls look like they were once white, a long, long time ago. Now they’re stained a yellow-y beige with weeds and vines growing across the plaster.

“’Record Store. Plus repairs.’” I read off the giant red letters above the door. “How creative.”

Stella’s elbow sharply jabs into my ribcage. “Ow!” I hiss and recoil away from her.

“Be nice. Be cool.” She scolds me in a hushed tone.

Whatever the fuck ‘nice and cool’ means to a teenage girl.

A bell trills sharply when she pushes open the glass door. A rush of cold AC blasts against our skin soon as we step into the foyer.

At the tall reception desk stands a man with lengthy brown hair and a long face. He looks a couple years older than me, at least 23ish.

“Hi Jolly!” Perks Stella almost jumping the second her fingertips meet the glossy wood.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a giggle when I see the man noticeably deflate the moment he hears the shrill chirp of my sister’s 16-year old voice.

He sets down his pen on whatever paperwork he was working on and turns to us, “Hello Stella.” He greets flatly, with a hint of a foreign accent I can’t place yet.

It’s quite obvious that she comes in here often, more than she’s let on – enough for them to be on a first-name basis.

“Jolly, this is my brother Nick, Nick this is Jolly.” She beams at his name, completely smitten with the older boy. If it wasn’t so obvious that he’s irritated by her mere presence, I’d be more protective of her - but she’s perfectly fine. She’s made sure of that herself.

“Hey.” I meekly wave at him.

He acknowledges me with a nod and looks back at her. “What’s up.”

“Well, we need your help!” She rocks up and down on her feet with her hands behind her back.

“Great. What is it you need help with?” His fingertips restlessly patter on the table top, impatiently waiting for her to deliver her pitch faster.

“Go on Nick, show him.” She urges motioning her hand towards him.

I sigh and pull out my phone from my jean’s back pocket, then scroll to find a picture of Noah’s snapped guitar and hand it to the man.

“Could you fix that? Or know someone who could?” I inquire, already feeling as though the trip was hopeless.

His brows pull together as he inspects the picture then uses two fingers to zoom in on the instrument. “Whoever did this really did a number on it.”

“Yeah.” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. “So, do you think you could fix it?”

“Hmm.” He hums, pulling down his thick-rimmed glasses down his nose. “I can’t say for sure, you’d have to bring it in.”

Air escapes my throat with another sigh, that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. “Okay. I’ll get it in as soon as I can.” Even though I have no idea how I’ll be able to do that without Noah noticing.

He hands me back my phone, “That’s a really rough break.”

“Trust me, I know. Thanks for looking.” My tone suddenly lacking optimism. “And sorry about…” When I turn to point at Stella, I realize she’s not beside me anymore, now shuffling through the various wooden crates of records. “Her.”

He taps his pen against the counter and glances over at her. “It’s fine. She brings friends in. They buy records. Sales are sales.” He shrugs before going back to whatever he was working on before we interrupted him.

Stella doesn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon so I let myself roam around the shop. The majority of the small store is made up of boxes full of records, a mix of old and new. A small, separated section has various instruments strewn about, most of them looking refurbished. The air is pungent with the smell of sandalwood incense, some kind of chemical-y polish, and stale wood.

“Okay! Ready to go!” Stella calls from behind me and when I turn to her she’s holding a record that I recognize.

“Since when do you listen to Nine Inch Nails?” My brow arches up, seeing as she’s only ever been a Taylor Swift type of girl.

She giggles, “Jolly suggested them.”

I take two fingers and pinch the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, “Okay, whatever, let’s go.”

Stella and I walk into the house and my ears are immediately unsettled by the sounds that fill the house. They’re giggles, some I recognize to be Noah’s but the other is quite … feminine.

The edges of Stella’s lip curl into a mischievous grin, “Oooooh Noah snuck a girl innnn.” She snickers in a sing-song tone.

“Go to your room Stella.” I order, mostly because her tone irritated me but also because I don’t want her to see what’s behind the cracked door.

She gives me a glare, “You’re just jealous that he’s getting some and you’re not.”

“Go. To. Your. Room.” I repeat sternly through gritted teeth.

“Fine, whatever. Be the party pooper you always are.” She huffs before turning down the hall and slamming the door behind her when gets to her room.

I blink at the doorknob as her words sear into my chest. I question even interrupting until another giggle pierces my eardrums.

I’m precarious with the way I approach the cracked door and peer in. Noah and the girl from the party, Kassidy, next to each other on the bed with open textbooks and notebooks littered about. They’re laughing at something but all I can focus on is her hand on his thigh. An odd twist forms in my abdomen, somewhere between my ribs and my gut. It makes me feel sick, like I ate some gas station sushi.

My knuckle taps on the door and creaks it open. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey Nick!” Noah seems surprised to see me but not necessarily upset by my presence, which for some reason eases the knot in my chest. “I heard a door slam did-”

It’s not until the blonde waves at me with the hand that’s not glued to Noah’s thigh that I realize the anger staining my fingertips.

“Noah, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask through a fake smile.

“Sure.” He nods, “Be right back, Kass.”

Once the bedroom door clicks behind him, I feel myself begin to unravel.

“Does my mom know you’re bringing girls home?” I question, my voice coming out much harsher than intended.

“No…?” He answers. “I figured I would just do what we always did with each other? Sneak in.”

“Okay well, I don’t appreciate you bringing girls into my room. Please tell me you guys didn’t do anything in my bed.” The words shoot from me, quick and sharp, like acid bullets.

His face falls and I see the light behind his warm eyes dim.

Fuck

I regret the words the second I realize my mistake. Though I suppose on some level, deep down, I knew that the word choice would hurt him, but I said it anyway.

I said it anyway.

I was so upset that I said it anyway.

“No?” He replies sounding a bit offended at the accusation, even though it’s not out of the realm of possibility. “I wouldn’t do that in your bed.”

The impulse to lash back is there, bubbling just under my skin, but I have no reason to be angry. No valid, explainable reason. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lie.

“Right.” Noah says softly but with a slight edge. “Well, I” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Um, she was just about to leave so.”

“Okay.” I reply quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with an odd mixture of anger and guilt.

While Noah escorts the girl out to say goodbye, I begin tidying up the room. Noah is pretty clean thankfully, so the room itself is clean, but I can’t shake the feeling of something oddly foreign within the four walls. The room suddenly feels so dirty and the taste on my tongue is sour like expired milk. My eyes land on the bed sheets and my stomach feels like I had drank expired milk – maybe 3 whole gallons of it. My mind struggles to account for the food I had eaten today but fails. Surely that is the reason for my abrupt nausea.

Before I can even process my actions, my fingers hungrily latch onto the bed sheets, snapping each fitted corner off the mattress. Heavy textbooks and pens hit the floor with a loud crash.

Despite having just washed them, I’m absolutely positive that they’re filthy.

Maybe they smelled too much like stagnant laundry this morning

Maybe they were making me itchy last night

Maybe I developed an allergy to our detergent

Maybe it’s been too warm and I soaked them in sweat

Or maybe I just want to clean the fucking sheets.

“Oh,” Noah’s gentle voice startles me from the doorway. His eyes trail up from the mess on the floor to the balled-up sheets beneath my palms. “Um, did I accidentally get highlighter on them or something?”

“Nope.” I’m quick to answer. “Just wanna wash ‘em.”

His brows furrow still looking at where my hands keep the shape of the large sphere of material. “Oh. Um, well. I just washed them like 2 or 3 days ago?”

“It’s fine, I just want to wash them again.” I respond shortly.

“Okay… well, let me do it then.” He crosses the space between us going for the sheets but I pull away.

“No. I got them, thanks.” I avoid him by swerving around his thin body and head towards the door.

“Well, what can I do? I could mop again or… reorganize the fridge? Or…” He trails off, not being able to come up with much else.

“No, Noah. It’s Stella’s turn to mop and who the fuck offers to reorganize a fridge?” I snap at him from the doorway, “You don’t need to be cleaning the house 24/7, okay?”

His eyes falter but he nods “Oh, sorry, I um, I just wanna be doing my part. You know… earn my keep and all that? I just… wanna help.”

My face softens and the tight muscles in my shoulders ease. I feel guilt all over again.

I sigh. “I’m sorry – I just - I just had a bad week with school and with the shop and,” I pause. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, okay?”

He nods and the edges of his mouth upturn ever so slightly into a tight-lipped smile. “Okay.” He pauses, fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry about Kassidy. I should’ve asked.” He says quietly while his eyes drop to his anxious hands.

The tips of my fingers curl into the sheets a bit, a stream of… frustration maybe? shoots through my veins. “It’s okay. I just don’t want my mom to get mad.”

A half lie.

“Right.”

When I turn to leave, he stops me, “Oh – I wanted to ask you something?”

My eyes widen while still turned away from him. A chill rolls up my spine at the realization that we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning, when his hand was around my cock.

“Um sure, what’s up?” I turn back to him cautiously.

“Well, the fair is in town this weekend, I thought we could go? You know, me, you and Folio?”

I smile at him, relieved it wasn’t about something else. “Sure, sounds fun.”

-Friday Night-

When Folio comes to pick us up, I immediately regret agreeing to carpool. The passenger side door flings open with yet another blonde in the front seat. This one a bit more of a natural, darker blonde and not nearly as bobblehead-like. She looks vaguely familiar, maybe she was one of the wannabe sorority girls from the frat party.

I sigh when I glance over to my busted blue car that’s been acting up every morning since the cold weather’s been getting closer.

The girl smiles wide at us and gets out so we can fold her chair to get to the backseat.

We squeeze our way to the back and naturally, Noah’s mile-long limbs take up most of the room.

The thick distinctive stench of paper-wrapped nicotine coats the cracking plastic of his car doors and the pungent aroma of $10-per-gram weed oozes from the stained beige seats.

Even though Nick brought his ‘friend’, I feel decent about the fair tonight. I mean these are the things we should be doing, right? Going out is what college kids do.

The girl hands back a plastic bottle wrapped in brown paper and Noah hungrily takes it.

“Vodka.” She says simply with a dazed smile.

“Cool.” Noah grins, though I know he’s never tasted pure vodka in his life.

He puts the bottle to his lips and tips it back, immediately scrunching his face in disgust at the taste. If it was just us, I know he would’ve spit it out.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, “Not bad.” He lies straight through his teeth.

Noah tips the bottle offering it to me. I shake my head and wave it off, “No, I’m good thanks.”

“Oh, c’mooonn Nick, don’t be a wuss.” Noah whines.

“Yeah Nick, loosen up! Have some fun!” Folio perks up from the driver's seat and watches me in the rearview mirror.

The last time he told me to “loosen up”, he ended up floundering in a lake so it hardly has an enticing ring to it.

“No really.” I reaffirm. “Not for me.”

Noah tsk’s and rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.”

The words hit me square in the chest and my ribs mold around the letters like playdoh.

You’re no fun.

They’re simple words. Logically, I know they’re mostly a joke. Yet, they burn like a lit match colliding with white paper.

You’re no fun.

We’ve been friends for a long time. Long enough to sit in boring silence scrolling on our phones comfortably for hours. But now I’m no fun because I won’t drink out of a foreign bottle?

The searing in my lungs forces my hand to reach and snatch the bottle from him abruptly. I don’t think, I just do. I take the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back with scrunched-closed eyes. I chug, better he did and better than the girl, until the scorching of my throat gets too much.

I shove the bottle back at him, now an extra quarter empty. His face and every other face in the car seem shocked, eyes wide with slightly dropped jaws.

“What?” I hiss and let out a vodka-singed burp. “You told me to have fun.”

Nick’s wheels roll to a halt in the dirt of the fair’s extended parking. The crowded car disperses faster than I anticipated, leaving me alone in the empty car. I stumble out of my seat and precariously steady myself in the dirt to scan the parking lot for the group. The four of them are already ahead of me, nearly halfway to the entrance. Their laughter carries in the wind all the way back over to me.

Once I catch up, I trail behind them quietly. My hands stuffed in my pockets and my Vans kicking up dry dirt, just trying to focus on walking in a straight line.

As we approach the ticketing office, my heart plummets to my stomach when I see two familiar girls standing at the gate waiting for us.

I should’ve known.

“Nicholas, you remember Brooke, right?” Noah grins and gestures to the carbon copy of every other sorority girl on campus.

“Yeah. Hey.”

That’s when I notice the delay in my words and the lag between my fingertips as I wave to her. And as we buy our tickets and make our way into the fair, I catch the warmth all over my skin and the growing numbness in my lips.

I think I’m drunk. Really drunk.

We make a solid lap around the entire park – picking up random snacks here and there, some fried oreos, a shared funnel cake, slushees, and more I can’t even remember. All the fried food mixed with the couple spin-y rides and the alcohol sloshing in my stomach, I was more than ready for an actual meal. I convinced everyone on hotdogs since it’s the cheapest food here and I’d already spent a good chunk of my tip money on ride tickets and overpriced junk food.

When we reach the window of the hotdog stand we’re met with a familiar face.

“Bryan!” Exclaims Folio, excited to see his fraternity mentor.

As always, Bryan looks about as thrilled as a mother of toddler triplets after a candy bender.

“Trout.” He replies unenthusiastically with his monotone cadence matching the deep sleep-deprived purple beneath his eyes.

Normally I would’ve giggled at Folio’s ridiculous nickname but my body was too focused on sustenance.

“Two hotdogs and fries please.” I skip past the rest of the indecisive group.

“We’re out of fries.” He replies flatly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He just shrugs, unbothered.

“Fine. Just the hotdogs then.” I huff.

“Coming right up.” He feigns enthusiasm.

The rest of the group place their orders and I can’t help but find amusement in how comical Bryan looks. He’s uniformed in a hotdog themed apron and a silly hotdog visor.

We finally make our way to a painted blue picnic table that sits off to the side away from the busy crowd. I’m grateful for the small respite from the overwhelming, overstimulating chatter.

I fucking hate hotdogs. Usually.

But the minute that meat and bread combo meets my tastebuds, it is as though heaven itself found home in my mouth.

The rest of table fades out as I devour my food and it is only when I’ve finished my 2nd dog that start regaining consciousness. I glance over at the boys who are in the midst of telling some story that’s got all the girls laughing.

My eyes land on Kassidy. She’s giggling at every single thing Noah says and he’s looking at her like she hung the moon.

No matter how tacky or annoying she is, she’s still objectively beautiful – beautiful in a way I could never be.

The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, makes me want long blonde hair too. When she bats her fake lashes at him, it makes me wish mine were longer. Her nails adorned with white tips suddenly make my nailbeds feel bare. The foundation caked on her face reminds me of the breakout I have on my cheek and the stubble growing beneath my nostrils. All at once I’m disappointed with every bit of myself that isn’t like her.

A fleeting moment of curiosity passes pondering if this is what it feels like to question your gender. It had never crossed my mind to be anything other than male, nothing else I ever desired. I’ve never felt like I was in the wrong body or anything of the sort – so, I don’t quite think that’s what I’m feeling now.

Maybe I just envy her existence or how confident she is. Maybe I find her attractive? It’d be kinda shitty if I found her attractive, seeing as she’s Noah’s date and I’m here with Brooke. I don’t think it’s that either, since I can barely tolerate either of them.

Perhaps I’m just drunk and confused.

I must just be drunk and confused.

Once the food settles in my tummy, I feel significantly better, a little nauseous still but better nonetheless. My buzz has fizzled, but the tips of my fingers still tingle and words are still hard.

I quietly use a leftover bun to move around a glob of ketchup as entertainment. Noah’s always been the social one, he’s always been the connections, the glue. So, it’s no surprise that he’s captured the attention of the whole table, filling the air with collective drunken giggles. Normally though, he helps nudge me gently into conversations. He helps me not stay silent like I am now. It’s fine though, I don’t have much to contribute since they have all these inside jokes from their study group.

I snap out of my daze when I hear Folio crunch a coke can in his hand as he gets up from the table. There’s an emptiness beside me I hadn’t felt til now – Brooke is gone.

My gaze follows the group as they get up from the table to bring their trash to the overflowing garbage can.

“Where did Brooke go?” I ask to the general conglomerate, most of which pay no mind to me.

“She left to go meet up with some other friends.” Noah replies, his tone suggests that he’s downplaying the situation. I’m sure she wasn’t having fun with a half-drunk silent boy.

‘You’re no fun’ rings in my head from earlier in the car.

2 things I’ve learned from tonight are:

1 – eat hotdogs when drunk.

2 – pretending to be “fun” is really fucking exhausting.

“Oh.” I say quietly, matching their actions by tossing my flimsy paper plate and Dr. Pepper can into the trash.

“We’re heading towards the bigger rides, if you want to come.” He turns and follows the rest of the group through some carnival game tents.

‘If you want to’ I mimic him in my head.

No I don’t fucking want to but I was driven here and I’m stranded.

“Yeah.” I mumble and quickly jog to meet them ahead of me.

The others made their way to the short ferris wheel line after I insisted it was okay to leave me behind. I sure as fuck didn’t want to sit in a pod alone or 3rd wheel on one of their’s.

I watch Noah and Kassidy’s pod reach and stop at the peak of the small ferris wheel, I don’t know why I’m watching but my body is rooted where I stand. Upon it’s a slow descent down, I see it.

His hand cupping her face. Their lips locked.

It’s not a decision I make until their pod locks at the gate and they’re being let out. My foot swivels in the dirt, kicking up dying grass as I try to dip around various family-owned booths for cover. As feared, I hear him calling from behind. I knew I had messed up by making a run for it so late.

“Nicholas!”

His calling only makes my legs move faster – I’m not sure exactly why I’m running or what good it’ll do, just that I need to get as far away from him as possible.

He catches up to me faster than I was prepared for. Fall leaves crunch beneath his worn-out Converse. “Where are you going?” He asks and before I even turn around to see him, I know the look on his face. The same look that I can’t seem to ever say no to – the one that breaks my back just to make me bend to him.

I sigh and turn to him. “Noah, I’m going home.”

“What! Why?”

And there it was. Big, round, puppy dog eyes full of decadent chocolate so sweet it could rot the teeth right out of your skull - paired with pouted lips that demand pity and restitution.

“I’m not having fun. I don’t want to be here.”

“What? You told me you wanted to go to the fair?” He questions with curved eyebrows.

“No. I didn’t. You invited me. You told me that I wanted to go. You tricked me into being on a triple date I didn’t want to be on.” My arm gesturing towards the fair.

“Well, c’mon we can still make it fun! We can just get some more ride tickets and-” He grabs the sleeve of my flannel and tugs at it towards the fair.

I yank my arm back so hard it nearly pulls him back with it, “No you’re not listening to me Noah. I don’t want to be here. Why do you continue to bring me places that you KNOW I won’t like?”

“We’ve been to the fair a million times, Nick.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah! With just us! Not with three random fucking girls!” The churning in my chest begins to spit drunken thoughts out without filters.

His brows knit together in confusion. “They’re not random girls Nicholas, and I really thought you’d hit it off with Brooke-”

“Oh my god, why the fuck would you think I’d get along with her? Just because she’s got tits and ass? Sorry, I’m not you, I need a little more than that.” I scoff.

“Well, I-I don’t know just thought you’d want-”

“Augh!” I groan and pace a tiny lap around the grass. “Can you stop assuming you know what I do or don’t want?”

“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want to go to parties, or the fair, or hang out with girls… normal college stuff, you don’t want?”

My heart pounds hard against my eardrums and my fingers burn with frustration. My fists tighten at my sides and my jaw clenches, digging each row of teeth into the other. Molten lava threatens to spill from my throat.

“No, Noah. I guess I don’t want ‘normal college stuff’, I don’t fucking like alcohol and I don’t even know if I like girls!”

My yelled words tumbled from my mouth so easily I didn’t even realize I said anything that odd until Noah’s eyes widen.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

“What?” Noah asks softly and genuinely with his head tilted slightly.

“I-I,” I stumble back, accidentally hitting an oak tree behind me. “I’m- I just need to go home.”

“Nick.” His hands stretch out to grab my arm as I turn to leave but he’s a millisecond too late. “Nick!” He calls after me.

Every bit of adrenaline available in my body propels me forward, past all the booths, all the rides, and through all the neighboring forest. When my feet finally find asphalt, my head feels like a basketball on a player’s fingertip. My eyes widen at a sharp turn in my stomach. I analyze my surroundings in a split second, running towards a lamp post for support. The moment my palm touches the cold metal, I double over and empty the contents of my stomach onto the concrete. The funnel cake, the cotton candy, the fried Oreos, the slushees, and the goddamn fucking hotdogs all found home the sidewalk.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

Why would I say that?

Is that true?

Do I not like girls?

Of course, I like girls.

I wobble over to a bench and sit on the cool wood. The weather’s a lot colder now that the sun has set, and I regret not bringing a proper jacket.

I like girls. I know I like girls. Right?

I mean, I’ve been jerking off to girls… this whole time? So, if I didn’t like girls, why would I do that?

I like girls.

Only.

I like girls.

Right?

I shake my head of the thoughts spinning faster than I can even grasp.

The dim light of the street lamp flickers and it occurs to me that it’s almost 10 pm and I have no idea where I am or how to get home.

Fuck.

Pulling my location up in my Maps app tells me that I’m still fairly close to the fair, which unfortunately means I’m pretty far from home. Tears begin prickling in my eyes and a tight knot forms in my throat.

The weight of the night crashes down onto me all at once.

The “you’re no fun”

The fucking hot dogs

The “she went to meet other friends”

The “if you want to”

The ferris wheel

The “I don’t even know if I like girls”

“Fuck.” My voice cracks as tears take hostage of my cheeks.

My body doubles over, folding in on itself to bury my face in my hands.

I’m drunk, I had a shit night, I left my best friends at the fair and now I’m stranded on some random street.

Even through my own heaving, a brief pang of guilt shoots in my stomach for leaving Noah behind.

He wanted to have a good night, perhaps I ruined it.

In the past, I would’ve stayed feeling guilty because I knew for a fact that if the roles were reversed, he’d come back to find me. But now, I’m not so sure. I don’t think he’d leave Kassidy for anyone or anything.

Not even me.

My palms try to stave off the tears by digging into my eye sockets.

“Fuck, okay. I need to get it together.” I say out loud to myself, letting out a deep exhale. “What the fuck am I gonna do.”

Both of my only friends are still at the fair.

Mom is at work.

So that leaves me with…

Stella.

“Shit.”

I unwillingly pull myself from the bench and begin to pace back and forth taking fast but deep breaths. I ring out my hands out, trying to expel any sort of panic from them. The last thing I need is for her to see me like this.

Finally, once I’ve composed myself, I dig my phone out of my pocket and click her contact name “Snot”.

It rings for a little bit too long and I almost hang up just before she answers.

“Hello?” She asks a little louder than necessary, shortly after I hear a flood of giggles in the background. Her sleepover.

“Hey.” I barely get out without my voice cracking.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks with concern lacing her voice. There’s the sound of a door closing behind her, shutting out the chatter.

“Oh um-“ My tone pitched up and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. If the rest of tonight’s events weren’t enough, here I am making a fool out of myself to my little sister. “I forgot about your sleepover. It's fine – I’ll just walk home or something.”

“Walk home? Where are you?”

I swallow the knot in my throat trying to keep my voice level, normal and calm but my pause is long and loud.

“I-I,” My eyes squeeze shut pushing as much of my tears out. “I don’t know.”

“Did you drink?”

The back of my hand roughly wipes my nose. “Yes.”

“Are you with Noah?” Her voice is gentle and kind and reminds me of how our mother would talk to us when we scraped our knees.

I sniffle and my voice threatens to break once more. “No.”

“Okay.” She states as if she just got handed a checklist of effortless tasks. “The girls were just about to go home.” I know that’s a lie. “Drop me a pin and I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Stell.” I reply quietly.

“Of course.”

It took about 20 minutes for Stella to pick me up in my own car.

My arms wrap around my shivering body and my head rests on the window as I watch the streetlights zoom past us. Her speed is inconsistent, fast in short bursts then slow in long drags. Her stops are jerky and her turns wide. If this was an early Tuesday school morning, she wouldn’t be able to stop my mouth from rambling off critiques. But tonight, opening my mouth seems more dangerous than her driving.

“So. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” She cuts through the silence unapologetically, like opening a crisp can of Coke in a dead, silent room.

I shake my head.

“C’mon. You can’t really expect me to pick you up in the middle of nowhere at midnight without any context?” She patters her fingertips on the steering wheel and glances over at me. “Did something happen with Noah? Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that.” I mutter.

She squints her eyes and kind of tilts her head to the side. “You guys never fight?”

“Well.” I reply bluntly. “Things change, I guess.” The fabric of the seat cover stretches as I shift. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

The gears spin in her head, I can almost see them. “Weird.” She mumbles under her breath. “Was it about a girl?”

“I said I’m done answering questions.”

“Sheesh, okay.” She says defensively.

Silence fills every empty space in the car. I’m not sure I’ve ever been uncomfortable around my sister before, but I certainly am now. It’s a new feeling, something I want to run and hide from. My knee bounces nervously as my mind cycles through everything that happened tonight. Regardless of anxiety and confusion twisting my organs into pretzels, I fear that if I don’t say what’s chanting in my head right now, I could explode.

“I told Noah that I don’t even know if I like girls.” I blurt out with extreme urgency, as if I didn’t get it out now, I never would.

Her eyes widen a bit but they stay focused on the road. My heart thumps hard against my chest threatening to jump right out.

“Okay.” She says calmly but cautiously. “And why did you say that?”

“I-I don’t know.” I let the weight of my body finally relax and sink into the seat. “You’ve known me my whole life. Do you think that I… might not only like girls?”

She turns to me at a red light and the face she gives me reminds me of when she was 4 and I was 7, when I speculated that Santa might not be real. Without a second thought she replied, “Of course he’s not real, silly.”

Even at 4 years old she was smarter than me.

“I think that might be a question you have to figure out yourself, Nick. I can’t tell you what you do or don’t like.”

I huff, suddenly frustrated that I couldn’t hand off such a complex task onto someone else – that I couldn’t have someone else give me a quick, solid, factual answer.

“I guess you’re right.” I mumble.

She returns her focus to the road and lets out a little sigh. “Do you remember when we were little? And we liked Power Rangers?”

“…Yeah?” I reply confused as to what exactly Power Rangers has to do with my sexuality.

“Well, I remember the first time we watched it - and you thought it was so stupid.”

“No I didn’t? I loved Power Rangers?”

“No.” She corrects me. “At first, when it was just us, you thought it was dumb. But then all your friends started liking it and suddenly you did too. You even wanted to be the red one for the group costume that Halloween, remember?”

“Okay… and? What are you getting at?”

“I can’t tell you what you are or aren’t, Nick. But you’re right - I have known you my whole life. And I know that sometimes you change things about yourself to, I don’t know… not make waves? Not stand out? To fit in? I don’t know your reasoning and I don’t know if that’s what you did with this. But… just something to think about I guess?”

My fingers tap at my knee in thought. I don’t really remember that specific component, only that I had Power Ranger shirts and bedsheets. I remember playing with the figures on the playground with friends and running around the neighborhood with them on Halloween as the Red Ranger. If I was having fun, does it really matter if I didn’t actually like Power Rangers?

“Yeah… I guess it’s something to think about.” I let out a deep sigh. “How’d you get so smart anyway?”

She shoots me a smile, “I learned from the best.”

“Nope, definitely not me. That was all Mom.”

“Who did you think I meant?” She smirks.

“Ha-ha so funny.” I roll my eyes with a toothy grin, finally feeling the tiniest sliver of ease enter my body.

The relaxation slipped from me as quickly as it arrived. “Please don’t um, tell her…or anyone that we talked about this – especially Noah.”

“You got it. I would never.”

I somehow feel relieved yet terrified of what I’ve just divulged to her.

“Do you wanna get donuts from that 24-hour place? And maybe some water for your inevitable hangover?”

“God yes please.” My thumbs rub circles into my throbbing temples. “And a burger please, jesus I need a burger. And fries, I need fries more than air right now.”

“Fiiine, McDonalds too, I guess.”

“Thanks, Stell.” I say soft and genuine.

“Of course, Nick.”

I smile kindly at her. Tomorrow I’ll probably regret everything I said and did tonight but right now, I’m getting junk food with my sister at midnight and the world is quiet. Everything feels okay, even if it only lasts until the end of my Mcdonald’s.

I wave Stella goodnight as she walks into her room. With a twist of my doorknob, I open my door and my feet halt in their tracks. My swollen eyes widen at the last thing I expected to be in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I question before I can even really gauge my own reaction.

Noah sits on the edge of the bed still in the same outfit from the fair.

“I went looking for you.” His brown eyes find mine and it makes my chest ache the same way it did earlier on the bench.

“You did?” My square shoulders soften briefly before straightening back up again. “And why would you do that?” I snap at him.

The space between his brows burrows slightly, seemingly confused by my harsh response. “Well, I-I,” He presses his lips together while his fingers pick at his nails. “I was worried about you.”

My eyes dart down to the carpet and try to ignore the way my heart swells at his words. I swallow hard and curl my fists at my sides. “Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“Oh okay…” He trails off and lets his gaze drop to his fiddling hands and bouncy leg. “I just wanted to make sure, I guess.”

“Okay well, you’ve made sure. Now I really just wanna go to bed, if that’s okay with you.” I cross all of the two feet from the doorway to my dresser and forcefully yank the top drawer open.

He carefully lifts from the bed and meets me where I dig for clothes. “Nicholas.” His voice is gentle and full of concern, but no matter how much it should comfort me it just fans the flames of my resentment.

“What now, Noah.” I sigh harshly and turn to him.

“What did you mean at the fair?”

After the food adventures I had with Stella, it had almost erased what I had said from my memory. Too bad it couldn’t have done that to him too. I was really banking on him being too drunk to even remember. But I should know better than that – Noah and his very selective memory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign confidence and turn back away from him to focus on finding PJs. My chest and limbs fill with a feeling similar to sitting in the waiting room of a principal’s office. Suddenly, I’m small and the room triples in size while the oxygen rapidly depletes.

“You know what I’m talking about Nick.” His fingers gently grab my arm to turn my attention to him again. “Do you… not like girls? Do you think you’re-”

“Gah! No!” I all but spit out. The thought of what he was about to say makes me want to vomit all over again. “No, I’m not…that.”

“O-oh, okay…but if you were, you know you could tell me, right? You know you can tell me anything, like we’ve always done.” His voice is quiet and tender, even through the vodka I can still smell on his breath.

“Oh my god Noah.” I grasp at the air in frustration. “No. I just said it to, to throw you off. So you’d let me go, so you’d leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh.” His hand slips from my arm and he takes a step away from me.

If this was any other night, after any other event, I would apologize, minimize it, and say that I’m just having a bad night. But it’s not any other night and I don’t have enough energy in my entire body to make more excuses.

My fingers dig into the bundle of PJs I hold, and my stare stays straight on his chest. “I just, want to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?”

“Right.” He sucks his teeth and nods. “Okay, enjoy your shower then.”

“I will, thanks.” I reply blandly, shoving the overflowing drawer closed.

The world seems much lighter now that the thick layer of carnival muck, the remnants of alcohol and vomit were washed down the drain. I scrunch my hair with a terry cloth towel while I walk to my room from the shower.

I’m confused to find my door cracked open with the big light still shining through the door. I spent almost an hour trying to get all the grime off and let the water ease the pulsing in my head. Surely, Noah wouldn’t still be up, it’s almost 3 am.

I quietly creak the door open to find the bed empty.

“Huh?” I whisper to myself and make my way over to the disheveled bed. Noah’s nowhere to be found, but instead there’s a plushy on his pillow. I hook my finger through the plastic carabiner attached to it and lift it to my eyeline. It’s a stuffed tuxedo cat with sunglasses that look similar to the knockoff RayBans I usually wear.

I look back at the pillow and notice there was a note beneath it. I pick it up and unfold it with the cat dangling on my pinky.

‘Saw this at the fair and thought of you.

Went to stay over at Kassidy’s so, you can have your room back for the night.

-N’

The breath that escapes from deep in my torso seems to deflate me completely. I knew the slip of up of my words the other day hurt him, more than I thought. A vine of thorns wraps around my throat, each guilt-drenched spike digs into my windpipe. He left because of me.

I take a precarious seat on the edge of the bed, holding each item in each hand. My palm aches to crush the note in my fingers but my eyes burn with salty tears too. All while the cat swells my chest in the saddest way possible. How could someone feel so many things at once?

I have no screams, no yells, no sobs left in me and my body begs for rest. I can’t let myself wallow in whatever this is, how could I make sense of it now? When my brain is so hazy and my eyes are so sleepy.

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tiny bit of tears left in my eyes and set the note and the stuffed kitty on my bedside table. The bed creaks when I bury my knee into the mattress and let myself fall to the middle.

The bed feels colder and emptier without him in it, but right now I’m not sure this is where I want him to be.

I reach up to tug the lamp light off and pull the duvet around my shivering body.

After about 20 mins of stirring with no hope of falling asleep, I give in and just stare into the stillness of the room. My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and start making a sort of mental inventory list counting all of the items scattered around my room that aren’t mine. I try to remember what the room looked like before he moved in, but I can’t.

While there are growing pains, I can’t imagine my room without him in it anymore. He’s tangled himself into the very essence of the space.

Drawing my gaze across the room, I land on the kitty he’d gotten for me at the fair. I reach across the space and bring it to the bed, placing it in his spot.

It fills a tiny void in the vast emptiness of the bed and for about 15 minutes I cling to the minor comfort it brings, believing it might help me fall asleep.

I let out a frustrated sigh. The heaviness of the night drops onto my shoulder blades and finds refuge beneath my eyes. Once again a venomous coil tightens itself around my ribs.

It is mostly confusion that I feel, the only factor I can distinctly pick out.

The only other one I can somewhat recognize is, loneliness.

I glance back over to the cat and it dawns on me the possible reason I can't fall asleep. My fingertips tap rhythmically against the mattress cycling through my options until I find one.

I wrap my thick duvet around my body and grab my pillow before shuffling down the hall. I gently tap my knuckle against her door then crack it open just a bit.

“Stella.” I whisper-yell into her room. “Stella.”

She shifts in her bed and cracks one eye open at me. “Hm?” She groans sleepily.

I let myself in and scuffle across the carpet to her bedside. “Can I sleep on your floor?” I request in a hush.

“What? Why?” Her brows knit together with her eyes barely open. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

I chew on my bottom lip searching my brain for an answer that makes any sense but there’s only one.

“It’s empty.”

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @concretenoah @kingdomof-omens @the-hell-i-overcame @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

#i have edited this so many times and it got so long #sorry if there’s errors or is bad idk 😭#im honestly just really sick of editing and looking at it #longest chapter i’ve ever written for any of my series-es ever #as always lots of plot lots of dialogue #concreteburialplot works #intertwined series #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #noah x nick #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo #nicholas ruffilo smut #noah x nicholas #noah x nicholas fanfic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

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moonshine-nightlight · 1 year

Text

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Three

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41189829/chapters/118476739

Warnings: Violence and Death (nothing too graphic, but its prevalent enough I wanted to mention it)

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine][Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] Part Twenty-Three [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

But time is slipping through your fingers. You make your decision and pray it’s the right choice.

“Dale!”

There’s a second of silence before muffled confusion is evident from the hallway on the other side of the door followed quickly by pounding footsteps. Vi spares you a glare, but Clen seems unconcerned, merely readying his crossbow.

The door bursts open before anything else can happen and you can’t help but flinch as it hits the wall.

Framed in the doorway is an alert and worried Dale, his mouth in a hard frown and his hand already on the hilt of his sword. You watch as his eyes land on the four strangers arrayed in front of him. He draws his sword before he unerringly finds you and the unconscious Grandmother. That’s when fury ignites in his eyes.

“What is happening here?” Dale asks, his voice outraged as he takes stock of the situation.

“Northridges simply enjoy asking after the obvious, do they not?” Clen asks Lasky before looking back to Dale. He lifts his crossbow and aims directly at you. Instantly you tense, ready to drop to your knees and out of range behind the heavy wooden desk. You freeze where you are because that would leave Grandmother a free target. “This is a kidnapping, your lordship. If you don’t cooperate with us, your fiance and grandmother are forfeit. Surrender now. Prove yourself more intelligent than the rest of your ilk.”

Keeping your dagger in your strong hand, you grope blindly on the desk for something to use as a shield, cursing yourself for not thinking of grabbing such a thing earlier. As your fingers close around the ink mat, a sturdy leather mat to absorb any ink that might seep through when writing, your eyes meet Dale’s. You can almost see a cold certainty enter them before they slide back to Clen.

“No. You may surrender or run,” Dale retorts. “I’ll not go with you nor will I allow you to continue to threaten my kin.”

“Oh, lordling,” Lasky coos, “You’ve barely begun to hear threats. Wait until you learn of my plans for your spouse-to-be. Not that you will continue to live for much longer, but I doubt you’d still wish to marry after I’m through.”

You swallow down bile and hope Dale hurts him.

Dale growls, a dark, rolling sound that fills the room. You shiver, feeling it resonate through you, and quickly check to see that Grandmother has not yet awoken. The mixture of concern and relief that fills you at that fact doesn’t help any of your nerves settle, not that you expect them to for several days—provided you live that long.

“Do not—” Clen warns before cutting himself off with a curse as Dale charges. He manages a single shot in your direction before he’s forced to meet Dale’s sword with his own. The shot is still good enough that it hits your makeshift shield of an ink mat. The arrowhead pierces through the leather to scrape your arm and knock it back, but it doesn’t make it any further than that through the mat.

The clatter of the crossbow hitting the floor is nearly masked by the shouts and grunts as Clen, Vi, and Lasky begin fighting with Dale. Your eyes find Two, but he’s watching the fight, not you. Dale has managed to get his back to a wall, limiting his opponents ability to surround him. They’re appearing to have trouble ganging up on him without hitting each other, limiting their approach.

With no better opportunity, you place your dagger down on the desk and open the closet door. You grasp the back of the chair Grandmother is on and begin tugging it is in towards the closet. You choose to keep your eyes forward towards the fight instead of putting yourself between Grandmother and the action. Hopefully if you see anything coming your way, you can intercept it before she gets further hurt.

The chair is heavy, but you’re terrified, especially since you no longer have even your thin dagger in hand. The adrenaline seems to help as you drag the chair across the rug, grateful at least there’s no sound to alert the others to what you’re doing. The three assassins currently trying to fight Dale seem to have fallen into a pattern, with Clen engaging Dale’s sword and Vi trying to get at him with her spear from the side, herding him towards the opening in the wall to another side room. Lasky waits in that room, a seemingly endless supply of knives in his hands.

True to your suspicions, both Clen and Lasky seem to have some sort of demonic enhancement to themselves or their weapons, although they remain clearly unpossessed. Clen has a strength to his movements that matches Dale’s own while Lasky’s daggers seem to come back to his sheaths when they miss. You eye the knife lodged in Dale’s leg and wonder if it's a good thing they don’t pull out to return when stuck.

You cross the threshold into the closet and have to focus on maneuvering in the much tighter space. It seems to primarily hold cabinets for files which you realize once you back into an ornate handle. It’s at a perfect height to jab painfully into your neck and prevent you from pulling the chair the final few inches into the closet.

You side-shuffle out from between the cabinet and the chair, mind racing as you check if the chair even will fit. The top of it is just under the height of the handle so you think you can manage it. You scoot around in front of the chair, a nervous glance over your shoulder to see the fight still raging, a confusing knot of bodies and weapons that you can’t make heads or tails of except that Dale is still holding his own.

Kneeling down, you lift the front legs of the chair off the ground so they can get over the higher board marking the entrance to the closet and heave. After a few seconds of straining which feel like an eternity, the chair finally moves those last few inches, thudding into the back cabinet and fully crossing over the threshold into the closet. You set the chair down, trying not to dwell on how it’s likely a bad sign that Grandmother hasn’t woken up for any of this movement.

You get to your feet, glad you’d pushed the chair towards the middle of the closet even before you’d realized how shallow it is. That leaves room on either side for you to fit in. Unfortunately it means that it’ll take too long to turn the chair around and try to wedge it against the door. Or maybe that’s a good thing because your hands are shaking and your palms sting where the wood of the back and legs had dug into your palms. You half close the closet door as you turn around. You're even more nervous now, after having your eyes off the fight for so long. You need to see if there’s anything nearby that might work as a wedge instead and check on the fight.

Dale seems to have gotten more room to breathe, the others all pushed back, but he’s in that doorway, with little at his back to guard it. Lasky takes advantage of that space before Dale can, sending a series of knives flying at him. Dale deflects two and dodges the other two. Unfortunately, with Lasky on the other side of Dale from you, you realize with a jolt of terror that sends the dodged knives in your direction.

One lodges into the desk, but the other flies just over it. You try to move out of the way and you manage—mostly. The knife lodges solidly in the closet door and through your skirts, pinning them in place.

“Darkest damn—” You can’t help but let a minced oath out as you frantically begin pulling on your skirts, trying to get free. How the knife was sharp enough to pierce the fabric of your skirts but not enough to rip them now is proving nearly as frustrating as it is terrifying.

You glance back at the fight and your eyes meet Lasky’s. Desperately, you reach for the knife hilt instead while your other hand fumbles to pick your own dagger up again. You swallow when you notice Lasky is indeed circling the fight, heading for you. You grip the hilts of both daggers so hard the little imperfections on then dig into your palms.

You point your own in the direction of Lasky’s approach while continuing to tug futilely on the dagger pinning you in place. Nothing you do seems to budge it and your hand keeps slipping off given how much you're sweating. You give up on pulling and start to simply shove at the hilt with the palm of your hand.

“Did I pin a pretty little butterfly?” Lasky asks. He’s got another dagger in his hand, but he comes to a stop a few feet from you.

You keep your eyes on him, but don’t answer, giving the hilt of the dagger another strike with your palm. You feel it wiggle and wrap your fingers around it. If you can move, you don’t want him to know in case the element of surprise will help.

At the same time, where can you go? Or rather, can you afford to leave grandmother? She’s hidden now, but if one of these assassins decides they need her or just wants revenge when the inevitable becomes clear. Dale is the only one here who you know will walk away from this fight. Whether everyone else, including yourself and Grandmother, will is still to be determined.

“Did I nick your tongue too?” he taunts. “Do not pretend to misunderstand what your role is. Your little lord is proving more of a challenge than we expected, especially since Two isn’t helping.”

You think he grimaces at that, but it’s hard to tell with his mouth covered. Still, for all his taunts, he’s clearly strung a lot tighter than he had been before. Good.

“So you are going to help bring him to heel, as intended.” He flips the dagger in his hand in a deliberate move to show off. You chance a glance behind him to see Dale finally pushed into the side room and out of your line of sight. You’re certain the idea that you did manage to make eye contact with him is just false hope. You have to figure out how to get out of this yourself. And right now, running isn’t an option.

“You are not going to win this,” you reply, your voice a little rough, but still intelligible and not obviously full of fear, hopefully. “You should leave.”

He takes a step closer instead. “Just because he didn’t immediately fold, doesn’t mean he will triumph,” Lasky corrects, some anger coloring his voice. “He’s outnumbered and once Two remembers why they’re here, he’ll be outclassed.”

“Then should you not be aiding your companions?” you ask, trying to tug on the dagger with as little obvious movement of your arm as possible. Anything to keep from drawing Lasky’s attention to what you’re doing.

The lines by his eyes crinkle, he must be smiling under that mask. You feel more dread pool in your stomach. “Do you not see? That is what I’m doing. For all your threats, you’re no real match for me and while I still do not have any rope, I’m just as capable as taking out an eye as you are, if not more so. You need to remember who you are dealing with and surrender.”

A noise from behind—something heavy crashing into the wall and possibly a bookcase given the cacophony that follows—draws both your attention. Unfortunately, Lasky refocuses just as quickly as you do and so you’re still in a stalemate, both holding daggers, but truly, there isn’t a contest here. There is no question who will this fight, just what the collateral damage could be.

You hate this. You hate everything about this situation, from the fighting and Grandmother’s condition, to Dale in a fight against multiple opponents. Most of all you hate this man in front of you. But what can you do?

Another smash and thud sounds from behind Lasky, but he doesn’t bother turning to look this time, just takes another step closer. He steps to the side, blocking your sight-line to the rest of the fight although not before you see a figure thrown across the room. You can’t even hope to identify who.

With another step, you give up on the pretense and give a final pull. This time the dagger is freed from the wall and you take a stumbling step down along it, away from Lasky. You hastily bring that knife up to bare as well, holding one in each hand. You’ve had no training in the use of two daggers or even much training at all with your non-dominant hand.

It’s clear Lasky knows that too, his confidence is obvious. The secondary reason for that becomes evident when the knife in your hand that belongs to him starts to tug. You’d thought if you were holding it, it wouldn’t try to return to him, like when it had been stuck in the wall, but apparently that’s not true. It fights your grip, attempting to go to Lasky and into its sheath on his arm like the others had.

You hold on tight, not wanting him to be further armed even if you don’t know how to wield it well yourself. He takes another step forward and you take another to the side. You notice that he’s steering you away from the relative safety the desk might have afforded you. The only good thing is that he seems to have completely forgotten about the fight going on behind him. Unfortunately, whenever you move to compensate, he blocks your own view.

Finally he breaks the stalemate you’ve been locked in and rushes forward. You hastily stumble backwards along the wall, unwilling to give up the, perhaps false, feeling of safety it gives you. He slashes at you with his greater reach and you try to dodge, but you can feel his strike connected. Luckily, between the fabric of your dress and the manner in which the corset is boned you’re not pierced or cut by the blade. However, on his pull back, he catches your arm, slicing it and leaving a hot line of pain on your underarm that makes you cry out.

Your mind spins as the attack throws off your balance. You try to ignore the drip of blood down your arm, the sting of the cut, and the satisfaction in his eyes. Your palms are sweatier than ever and you have to focus on not trembling. The pull from his own dagger has only gotten stronger. With half an idea in your head about that, you kick out, slashing with your dagger more in the hopes of gaining back even a foot of space.

It works, you catch some part of him, and he curses as he takes a step backward. “Would you simply stay—”

You lower your center mass and just as he raises his arm for a stab from above, attempting to use his height to get at your throat or chest, you release your grip on his dagger. In such close quarters, it doesn’t have time to turn or aim effectively. Given the strength it had been pulling at, it’s out of your hand like it was shot from a slingshot. Between your attempt at aiming and Lasky’s own speed, it misses its sheath entirely. The blade sinks into his armpit instead and he screams in pain.

Lasky’s fingers release the dagger held in that arm as his other hand clutches at the knife now embedded in him. You don’t waste any time standing there, immediately retreating, trying to find somewhere else to go, somewhere else to hide—anything to keep him away from you.

Should you go for the courtyard? Two’s no longer guarding that door—at least as far as you can tell, who knows if he needs to be near it to stop you from leaving. You feel a pang of guilt and regret for no longer staying to guard Grandmother, but with Lasky specifically focused on you and no real way to hold him off, you’re no use to her except to distract from her. The closet door was slammed shut so hopefully these assassins will just forget she’s even there.

You head back towards where you came from originally, where Lasky’s been herding you. Hopefully you can find some of the Governor’s guards—or anyone, really. You sloppily knock over any chairs, ottomans, side tables you come across—anything to slow down your pursuer as you go. A wild, likely foolish part of you wants to run towards Dale. For all the fight still raging, and him already dealing with multiple opponents, you know he’d try to protect you. But your presence would just make his fight harder. Right?

“You bitch,” Lasky’s voice is ragged with pain and you hear his heavy footfalls getting closer as you round a short couch. “Get—” Whatever words he was going to say next are cut off by a thump and a wet gurgle. Unable to help it, you turn around.

Lasky’s already much closer than you expected, his eyes wide with surprise as he looks down at the raw spike of iron protruding from his chest. You identify it as a fireplace iron and look beyond him to see Dale’s back disappearing from the doorway.

A gasping cough brings your focus back to Lasky in time to see him collapse over the back of the couch and stop moving. You pant where you stand, feeling staggered by the sudden absence of an immediate threat. You can’t dwell on Lasky’s death, you can barely process your gratitude to Dale—there's only relief that Lasky’s not capable of hurting you anymore.

Should you return to Grandmother? You hadn’t actually gotten that far with how messy the room is. Hide in that closet to defend her if need be? Hadn’t you just proved how ineffective you’d be at such a task? You got in one good blow that was more accident than anything and still needed Dale to—.

You hesitate and absently use your dagger to finish a cut made to the fabric of your dress. You take the strip of cloth and wrap it around your bleeding arm. The sudden pressure on the wound makes you flinch and grit your teeth against the renewed pain.

Just as you secure that makeshift bandage in place and resolve to leave to find help, Vi comes running full speed out of the side room. You know the moment she spots you because she changes direction, heading for you. Immediately, you try to run for the door, but she anticipates your movement. She runs around wide, blocking that as a viable exit.

Without thought, you turn, heading back the way you came and for the courtyard. She’s fast though, faster than you with her sturdy boots and training while your skirts and soft shoes only slow you down. She catches you just before the desk and closet you’d started this mad dash from.

A side hit from the spear bruises your side and you cry out as you are spun around. There’s desperation in her eyes as Vi lunges to cover that last few feet between you. She slams you back against the wall, her spear shaft across your throat. Your wrists too are pinned up in the skilled maneuver. Her wide, terrified eyes bore into yours. “What the fuck is he? You’re going to—”

The clash of metal on metal followed by a wet cough and a triumphant growl from the other room cuts her off. You only try to wrestle her for control briefly. You’re no match for her strength. Instead, you try desperately to wriggle your hands free, trying only to get more room to breathe. Your head is tilted back, your throat throbbing as she fixes her gaze back on yours. You try to say something, you don’t even know what, but she doesn’t give you a chance.

“They lied, he’s not human,” she spits. “He’s a skinwere.” It’s clear Dale’s revealed enough of himself that she knows he’s possessed, not enhanced. Another word for a possessed human is a demon wearing human skin or skinwere for short. It’s a very negative term and you think she might be local—you’ve heard that term used more in Northridge than even at school. No wonder she’s scared out of her mind.

She must be able to tell you’re not surprised by the news because her eyes narrow, “You knew.” It’s not a question, but you can’t speak or even move your head to answer anyway. She doesn’t seem to need you to.

She pushes against you with her spear, completely cutting off your air before she pulls back enough to let you speak. You cough, gulping in air as she orders, “Tell me how to kill it. Tell me—”

Before she can make any more demands, you drop your whole body down heavily. There was enough space now between the spear and the wall to let you, although it still wrenches your wrists and hands painfully. Your head hits the wall as you tilt it back to allow the movement.

Wrists and head hurting from the spear, backside throbbing from smacking into the ground as a dead weight, you’re moving before you can think about it. Crawling around her legs on your hands and knees. You scurry towards anything that can be perceived as safe. The sound of something heavy being flung into the wall makes you flinch.

A heavy blow to your back makes you yelp, collapsing onto your stomach. “You’re not going anywhere,” Vi snarls, the butt of her spear, pressing down with insistent force. “Not until—”

The pressure abates abruptly and you turn on your side to see something long and black around her wrist, pulling her weapon off of you. Your vantage point, combined with your throbbing head, makes it hard to follow all the action, but it looks like a black snake that Vi tries to tug off with a yell.

She draws a knife with her free hand to strike the black thing, but the crack of bone breaking causes her to scream as her spear drops from her limp hand. It falls harmless to the floor. You manage to pick it and throw it far away. You know she’d be more capable of taking it from you than you would be at wielding it.

Vi finally looks behind her, following where the solid shadow stretches from and screams at whatever she sees. You only see another long dark ribbon of tangible blackness wrap around her neck before she’s pulled backwards with a strangled sound. She disappears out of your sight.

Another thwack and gasping whimper make you wince, paralyzed on the floor, mind unable to decide what to do next.

You hear footsteps heading for you accompanied by a tap of wood on wood. Then you hear a worried, “Sana?”

Relief floods your body and you desperately need to see Dale, to reassure yourself that despite the horrible clashes and yells, the violence and the destruction, he’s whole. No matter what he must look like given what you’ve seen and how his voice still has an echoing, deep quality to it. You brace yourself on your palms to push yourself up. Opening your mouth to answer him, you’re interrupted by a crack before you can.

“I knew it,” an unfamiliar voice meets your ears. It has a strange, otherworldly grit to it and you freeze instantly. “How all these other humans are so blind, I’ve no notion.”

Dale hisses, “Hide,” before you hear him move away from you and towards the voice. You follow his suggestion, too cowed by the return of the threat to want to do anything else. Half crawling and half dragging your tired body, you tuck yourself under the heavy wooden desk.

“As though you are a paragon of subtlety,” Dale snaps back. He’s clearly nearly in that other side room once more, but his voice carries more than perhaps he’s even aware.

“Ah,” the voice concedes, the sound carrying just as easily. Is that a demon power? you wonder with only slight delirium, projecting your voice? “ But I am not trying to be. Neither of us are.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” a far more human voice replies this time. “Us.” The two voices overlay on that word before the more inhuman voice continues, “We are not all so rude as to kick out the original owner. Some of us know what it is to share.”

You realize it’s Two, who has apparently decided to finally enter the fight and who’s strange nickname suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“I care not how many of you are fitted in that body,” Dale replies. “You’ll do no more harm here. You’ll not fulfill your mission.”

“Perhaps,” the casual menace of this voice is not intimidated by Dale’s confidence or orders. “Or perhaps there is simply more to be gained and less to be shared.”

Dale must see no more reason in talking because there is only the sound of movement and metal after that. Grunts sound from all three voices, perhaps more distinct given your inability to see and only to hear. They’re not enough to tell you who’s winning and you’ve no notion of how Dale stands in contest with another actual demon. Neither are likely attempting to hide their natures, but is that an advantage to one or the other? Or a wash?y

Does the Two being both help or hinder them? They had also implied that Dale was not sharing his own form, which meant the human who had been Dale was gone, didn’t it? Neither of them are mentioning Clen, so is he dead too? What sort of creature was the demon in Two? You know demons vary wildly, even the intelligent ones, in a manner far greater than humans did, what if this one was more powerful than Dale?

It feels like ages of simply listening, though in reality is likely only a minute or two. You can’t take knowing so little about what is happening. You hesitantly move forward and cautiously kneel up to see just over the surface of the desk.

They’re indeed still in the other room, moving so fast you can hardly tell who’s who. Front he glimpses you catch, neither of them are in forms that are entirely human anymore. Part of the fight seems almost mundane, the swords meeting and breaking apart as they circle, engaging and dodging stabs and slashes. The shadows in the room move unnaturally and at least two seem to be even more independent than that. They whip around Dale to meet and deflect animate stonework, colored grayish-green with a rusty red shot through it. The rock seems both to come from the columns and walls of the room beyond, despite looking nothing like ones in this room, and from nothing at all.

Your heart is nearly in your throat as Dale’s shadows seem as if they would be far weaker than something so sturdy. A big chunk of stone falls from the ceiling causing Dale to need to dodge to the side. He catches Two’s sword stroke awkwardly as a result. A clatter reveals that he’s been disarmed. His sword sent flying from his hand to land behind Two.

Dale retaliates with a riot of shadows which erupt between them and forces Two back. It also nearly leaves them out of sight of the doorway and you straining to follow what’s happening. Dale’s back is to you and only half his body visible, while Two’s nearly on the other side of that room. From what you can tell he’s beginning to resemble a statue more than a person, if a moving one.

“I believe you’re unarmed now,” Two says with a smirk.

“I do not need a weapon to be armed,” Dale snarls, the shadows of the room flickering dizzyingly. His entire body seems more amorphous than ever before. You think he looks taller than he typically is, but thinner too. The arm you can see is oddly shaped, as if it is bare but also, more like a medical mannequin from class—bone and muscle with no fat to be seen. He brandishes his hand to better display the black claws he now has. In fact, you’re certain he’d been wearing a green suit earlier, but it’s black now too. Even his dark hair is even darker, untied and wild, longer than it should be.

You keenly appreciate Dale’s rebuttal, but you still hate that his sword is gone from his hand while one remains in Two’s. They shift their stance and you automatically try to compensate with your position to keep your view. You bump into a lamp that’s been knocked to the floor.

As you push it to the side, something on the ground catches your attention. You peek around the edge of the desk to get a better look and very deliberately don’t look too closely at Vi’s body, only a few yards away. Instead you focus on the long, thin piece of polished wood instead. Dale’s cane.

Instantly, you know you need to get this to Dale and more than that, you want to do something, anything to help him. Carefully, you put your hands down on the cold stone floor to steady yourself. Then you move just far enough out from behind the desk to grasp the foot of the cane and pull it towards you.

You grasp it firmly in your hands and peer back over the top of the desk, checking to make sure that Dale’s still the one closest to the doorway.

Once you see that he is, you call out, “Dale!” Then you lean up high on your knees and throw the cane like you’ve seen others throw a javelin. It soars through the air and into the further room where Dale and Two are tangled in a confusing knot of shadow and stone.

They break apart at the sound of your voice and Dale leaps backwards as if propelled by some of the shadows under him. A hand, black, like he’s wearing gloves or dunked his arm in ink, and clawed, snatches the cane out of the air with careful precision. You think you see the glint of a blue eye on the back of his hand, practically the only color standing out against his form now.

“Will that do you any good?” Two asks, seemingly curious more than anything as he watches Dale hold the cane. You can’t tell if his lack of anger over this fight, the way he keeps treating it like a tournament fight for entertainment, is a good thing or not.

Dale says nothing, merely twists the handle. He carefully pulls off the wood to reveal a long green rapier.

“Jade,” Two hisses, taking a full step back. “A dangerous weapon for one such as ourselves to wield.”

“All weapons are dangerous,” Dales replies brusquely. “Humans regularly use weapons as deadly to themselves as they are to their enemies.”

“How adaptable. All the shade in your nature, I presume,” Two says, a mocking edge to his tone.

“You are not the only one who can use stone to their advantage,” Dale bats back as easily.

Two lets out a bark of laughter and the sound seems to come from far more than two mouths, let alone one. You would give nearly anything for him to never do that again. “It has been so long since I spoke with one of us with intelligence still left to them up here. The sunlight seems to drive too many insane. Almost a shame to kill you.”

“A good thing then,” Dale says as he charges, “that you will not.”

The visibility of the fight becomes impossible after that. There’s too much movement from shadows and they move further into the room. You’re back to primarily trying to gauge the fight based on sound alone: thuds and crashes and ripping that you can’t identify.

“So close. But perhaps you are correct,” it’s the human voice this time, panting but not demoralized. Some of the sight line clears and you see Two hunched over, a hand on their chest. “I shall not be able to kill you nor collect the bounty so generously placed on your head.” They pick up their head, “However, the knight had the correct idea.”

“Yes,” the grating demonic voice picks up and they slowly straighten. “I’m certain you must have supplies or books worth perusing. I can tell your form is impeccable underneath, despite your essence spilling out. This body, with him intact, still gets a bit stiff if I’m not careful. I shall be intrigued to ascertain how you accomplished such a thing.”

“You think I will allow you to leave?” Dale hisses. “After all you’ve done.” He throws a hand out to emphasize the general state of destruction around them.

Two laughs and it's one of the most unsettling things you’ve ever heard. It has a screech to it that makes your skin crawl. You are resisting the urge to cover your ears or yell yourself in order to drown him out when he looks over and meets your eyes. His dirty red eyes, the color of dried blood, bore into yours across the distance and he rushes for you.

He crosses the distance faster than he should be able to you and there’s a ripple in the walls that seems to respond to him. Panic seizes your heart and mind as you instinctively dive back down and under the desk. Your hands desperately latch onto and drag a broken ottoman to cover the open part of the desk.

Curling up behind it, you feel something slam into the makeshift shield, pushing you and the desk back, the wood squealing against the floor as it moves. A wordless roar comes from further away and another crash echoes through the room. The sound of what you think are books falling to the floor and a heavy grunt follow.

Then, silence.

You cough a few seconds later, unable to help it due to all the dust the stone moving has kicked up. You think you hear a smothered groan while you attempt to stop, but you stay rooted in your hiding spot, waiting.

After another dull thump, Dale calls your name. His voice is still strange and yet you can hear the confusion and worry in it. You can hear a lot more than that actually. Your eyelids flutter despite being unable to see anything other than dust and dingy wood.

Your name sounds different than when he’s said it in the past. There is a depth to it, meaning below the surface that you can hear when he’s like this. Like emotion and inflection and neither of those.

There’s a layer of softness, of imagery that it conjures up, that you can almost feel through his voice. Of gentle sunlight through the window on a clear day. Your favorite chair and the taste of fresh, sweet honey melting on your tongue, soothing and comforting. Its respect and harmony and the potential to be more than you are alone, of joining and of belonging. Tension leeches from you in waves, like taking off so many heavy coats to stand unburdened. You want to drown in the sensation, you want to hear him say nothing, but your name for the rest of your life.

You want to come out, to go to him, regardless of what you might see. Hesitantly, you push the ottoman away and start to crawl out from beneath the desk. Shakily, you stand up and turn to face Dale.

To your surprise, he looks far more human than the glimpses you’d gotten of him during the fight. His eyes still glow unnaturally and his hair is too long and wild. He’s roughly the correct height again with no too tangible shadows or extra eyes, though you’re not looking at his hands on purpose. His skin for the most part is a shade of human coloring once more. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding either, no obvious large wounds or injuries.

You can’t handle a direct conversation about his nature now, not after all of this, and so you look beyond him to assess the rest of the situation, although you can tell by a feeling in the air that Two is gone.

The room beyond him does look as though the bookcase closest to you had been tipped over or thrown towards the desk, but Dale is standing in such a way as to suggest he’d caught it before it fell. His free hand is also held open in a gesture towards the wall behind you, where you can see large bricks of rock have come loose, though not enough to threaten the integrity of the wall itself.

You meet his eyes once again and he finally relaxes, shoulders drooping as you both stand in the aftermath. Then he’s striding forward and the cool fingers of his free hand grip your chin as he examines you.

“I am fine,” you say, which would probably be more convincing if you couldn’t feel tears dripping down your cheeks. His eyes rake up and down your form, obviously trying to assess that for himself before finally settling back on your face once he’s done.

Something that might be relief starts to spread over his face until he freezes. He withdraws his hand abruptly from your face, tucking it behind him with a speed you don’t bother to try to match. Instead you resist the urge to sway towards, wanting his touch once more as it had felt grounding.

Then he blinks, his eyes darting around the room with renewed concern. “Where?” Dale asks.

After a second of confusion, you realize who he’s asking after. Your hand closes around the door handle for the closet and you pull the door open to reveal a still unconscious Grandmother hidden away safely.

You grab one arm of the chair and Dale the other as you pull it out from the closet. You don’t even care that he’s clearly doing the majority of the work. It takes a second before you can see her chest moving with her breathing.

“Grandmother will be too,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Good,” Dale says. He carefully brings a human thumb to wipe away your tears with a tenderness that does not match the danger that lingers in the way he still holds himself. You can’t help but lean into his touch, the safety he offers, if only to you. “It would only be worse for them if you were not.” His eyes slide to Grandmother’s unconscious form and menace seems to drip from his voice. “It shall be bad enough for them as it is.”

You jump at the sound of a door opening, looking past Dale to see two of the governor’s guards walk in. They stop, gaping in the doorway.

Dale straightens, ignoring the reinforcements that have finally shown up. He doesn’t respond to Grandfather’s concerned voice calling his name and Grandmother’s and even your own. His head swivels to the direction of the courtyard, where Two went.

Fear grips your heart and your hand lands on his forearm, “No.” He doesn’t look back at you either. He gently, but inexorably pulls out of your grasp. You can’t stop him, you know that you can’t, but you can’t stand the thought of him leaving, of him pursuing this threat. “No. Dale. Don’t go after him!”

He ignores you, jade rapier in hand, and runs out into the courtyard.

“Damn you,” you say, voice tight as you try to stop more tears from welling up. What if he’s found out? What if Two can do more to hurt him? What if there are others in wait and he’s outnumbered? What if—? You wipe your eyes more harshly than perhaps you need to as you force yourself to focus on what you can do, who you can help.

While the other guards race to follow Dale, Grandfather hurries across the room to be on the other side of the chair, calling Grandmother’s name. You can feel her breathing, but you need to see if her heart is in trouble. You check her pulse as you tell him, “We need a doctor. Now.”

[Part Twenty-Four]

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