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emcscared-whumps · 4 months

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SHIFTING PHASES - Part 1

[PREVIEW] Chapter 6: What One Desires Most

Shifting Phases Masterpost

Today marks the 7th year that I've worked on Shifting Phases. I never imagined I'd ever get this far, nor that I'd love it so dearly, but here we are. Recently, I finished two chapters whose sum is the content of the chunk I wrote first all those years ago. I'm proud of how far I've come as a writer, so, because it's what I wrote first around this Special Date, I thought it would be nice to give you guys two preview chapters :)

Stay tuned for Chapter 7, No Wish is Without a Price!

A very big thankyou for the lovely @whump-cravings for beta'ing my work once again! You always teach me so much, and I am beyond grateful for your help <3

CONTENT AND WARNINGS: Angst, emeto mentions, minor disordered eating (it's kinda not really but reads like it), this chapter's pretty tame, all characters present are 18 or over wc: ~2.1k

Pete's Perspective

Every night, the sun set earlier.

It hadn’t been long since the academy courses finished for the day, but already the sun had dipped below the mountains, casting the historic island town of Devonhurst into deep shadow. One by one, as the sky above darkened, antique street lamps blinked on, bathing the streets in warm, soft light. In shadowed corners and alleyways between each sandstone building, the first mists crept across footpaths onto cobbled roads. On the horizon, dark storm clouds rolled in, their flickering lights a warning to residents, who took heed; some scurrying down the street with bags filled with groceries and supplies, while others leaned from windowsills to pull shutters in.

Side-by-side, Pete and Liz strolled with steaming pastries in-hand from a bakery a few blocks back, accompanied by the gentle clicking of Pete’s bike. Normally, Timmothey would’ve joined them, but not tonight.

He’d said his boss, Mr. DePetro, would be cross if he failed to show for his shift at the aquarium early that evening, and rushed off with a hasty good-bye to the ferry terminal to Candimor City, despite Pete and Liz’s insistences to take the night off.

“I h—I hope that Mr. DePetro sends—sends that idiot h-home,” Pete grumbled, taking a delicate bite of pie. Pete frowned; the thought of any boss who made their worker endure injury to clock in ruffled him. His breath steamed when he spoke again, “He could have a—have—a-a concussion.”

Liz hummed in agreement, “Aye, he needs ta rest. Every coach I’ve ever had insists on a day’s break after somethin’ like that, just in case.” She paused, sighing. “Not that Timmy ever does as he’s told.”

Pete watched her breath mist in the evening air. “’S boneheaded.”

“You said it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be al-alright, though,” he said and took another bite, “th-the idiot at least—at least knows w-when work’s not worth it.”

The pie was delicious. Its creamy, meaty fillings never disappointed. Rarely did pastries contain egg and an assortment of other ingredients; he stopped by regularly the moment he discovered it. The owner of the small bakery had been going to discontinue it until she saw his disappointment. If that wasn’t evidence enough that she was soft on him, she was always giving him extra nibbles and desserts.

‘Ye’re a growin’ lad,’ the baker would say, ‘take it, please, ye’re so skinny. Does yer mother not feed ye?’

Liz slowed to match Pete’s ambling pace. “Y’know, I’m surprised you haven’t already finished; I don’t think I’ve seen ye eat all day.” She had already wolfed hers down. The baker liked her too. “Did Burton take yer food again? I can walk yer bike fer a bit so ye can eat properly if ye need. We can find a place ta sit.”

“N—no, I just… wasn’t h-hungry today,” he lied. “Would’ve just m—made me s-sicker.”

“Oh,” Liz said.

Well… It was a half-truth. Though he’d been dreadfully hungry, he couldn’t stomach eating before the belunae awareness course; he would’ve just thrown up in front of the class.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and Pete turned, eyes darting around.

Something like clattering came from the other side of the street—or maybe it was erratic footsteps.

An icy shiver crawled down his spine, the sensation of unknown danger setting his skin prickling.

Across the street in a narrow alley, the mist curled in turbulence, but there was no one to be seen save for those rushing to prepare their homes for the coming storm.

Was it just brewing static, and dropping temperature and pressure that he felt…? Surely not. His hand tightened on the handle of his bike.

“Pete…” Liz asked.

He didn’t remember slowing, but he must’ve because Liz’s voice sounded from behind him, a few paces further down the path.

“Everythin’ alright?” Liz was at his side, hand ghosting over his arm.

“Y-yeah, just… Well, I’m n—I’m not—entirely sure,” Pete stammered, eyes scanning every corner, “It’s—I feel like—we’re bein’ followed.”

Liz dutifully followed his gaze, but all signs had vanished save for the ice in his veins.

His mind drifting back to the awful awareness course from earlier, he recalled the uneasy feeling something was amiss, like something had escaped his notice.

Burton had said that Pete would regret his interference.

While Pete wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, nor that that was the only source of this nagging feeling, his mind conjured many horrifically creative ideas, some including the dark object that Colette, Burton’s friend, had snatched.

Powers above, surely he wouldn’t—surely Burton would know what would happen if he shot—

“I’m sure it’s nothin’, Pete. It’ll just be people shutterin’ their windows,” Liz said.

Still, there was nothing.

Even the fog had stilled.

Pete frowned, swallowing the last morsel of pie before pocketing the bag and folding an arm close to himself. “I s-suppose,” he said, but the—the feelin’ w-won’t leave me.”

“Then let’s leave the feelin’ behind.” Liz smiled and trotted toward the nearby gardens. “I’ve still got some time before I have to get back home… we could take a walk through the park, clear our heads.”

He looked around again. “Maybe, I’m n-not sure…”

“Aw, don’t tell me a sweet guy like you doesn’t like a walk in the park?”

Ducking his head, he admitted, “Well, I—I sup-suppose I d-do, but—”

“Of course ye do,” she said, victory tinging her voice.

Pete hesitated before pushing his bike forward to catch up. “The st-storm—”

“We won’t stay long then. Come on, Pete.” She grabbed his arm, pulling him forward.

Pete let her lead him down the path, through the large stone gate and along the cobbled path, though he still cast a furtive glance behind them. Eventually, once they were away from the main street, Liz slowed to a gentle stroll and hooked her arm through his.

Even in darkness, the gardens glimmered. At this time of year, only the hardiest flowers remained, but grass-lined paths and ornate stone gazebos nestled among autumnal foliage and boughs of chestnuts made for a peaceful scene. The moon peaked over the distant skyline of Candimor City, illuminating the fine layer of frost that blanketed every leaf and blade of grass; each tiny crystal caught the light, sending up a delicate glowing aura.

The sight filled Pete with contentedness.

His gaze gradually drifted upward to the evening sky, past the flickering clouds on the horizon, and settled on the moon.

Waxing gibbous… for once, the timing was just right.

Despite the cold and returning exhaustion, he almost felt pleasantly warm. Maybe, they could sit on one of the benches for a short while.

“Ye should take walks in the park more often, I don’t think I’ve ever seen ye this relaxed,” Liz said.

“Mmm…?” Pete hummed, tearing his gaze from the sky, “O-oh, really? N-never?”

“Nope. Did ye want ta throw a coin in the fountain with me?” Her eyes glittered hopefully. “They say the luck from this one helps ye find whatever ye desire most in yer heart.”

Her pull on his arm was subtle, but it was enough to draw a small smile across his pale features, “I—p-perhaps, yes—I—we c-can, if ye want.”

Liz beamed.

Pete couldn’t help but notice the way her freckled, rosy cheeks pinched her delighted eyes, how her smile always seemed so genuine. She was beautiful. It was only when she looked up at him from her coin purse and smiled again that he realised he was staring.

His heart leapt, cheeks colouring. He tried to avert his gaze, putting the kickstand of his bike down and leaving it at the opening of the path into the fountain’s clearing, but when Liz pressed a coin into his palm, their eyes met.

“Ready ta make a wish?” Liz asked, voice as gentle as the light that fell on her dainty features.

Pete nodded.

She was usually so fierce, but in the moment when the coins hit the water with small, twin splashes, her fingers intertwined with his, she could’ve been the most gentle lady in the world.

Together they stood, listening to the steady burble of water from the spouts nestled in the delicate sculptures decorating the architecture.

Liz broke the silence. “Pete…?”

Pete had never heard her sound so nervous before. “Mm…?” he hummed.

“I’ve—we’ve known each other fer a long while now, and…”

Oh. He’d already caught on to her feelings, but for her to even ask, to want to give it a shot with an obvious wreck like him… Was he dreaming?

But she continued, “Ye’re such a kind lad, I was wonderin’… if ye’d ever consider, maybe… goin’ out with me.”

A twinge of dread curled in his stomach. “L-Liz,” he started, heart aching. She didn’t know.

Liz hurried on, “And… If, perhaps, ye’d also felt the same way… Romantically, that is.”

He swallowed, looking down. If she knew, she would be disgusted that she ever thought of him in that way. What kind of person was he for leading her on like this?

“Pete?” Liz searched his face for an answer.

Her soft voice snapped him back to reality. He stammered, “I—wow, uh… I’m flattered, I am, but—but I-I’m not sure ye’d want ta… ta have me as…”

She grasped his hand with a little shake. “Oh don’t be silly, of course I would! Ye’re sweet, polite… handsome,” she said, lowering her lashes.

Instead of bringing delight to his heart, each compliment was like a knife through his chest. “No, I mean, th-thankyou, b-but—I… I c-couldn’t,” he said, withdrawing his chilly hand from her hold, much to her protest.

“But Pete…!” Her eyes were so desperate; she didn’t understand. “Can I still hold yer hands? They’re like ice; please let me warm them.”

He couldn’t bear it, squeezing his eyes shut, and shaking his head. “I—Let me finish wh—what I’m about ta say, and then then, then ye can, if ye want, but, I w-won’t blame ye if—if ye won’t.”

“What could ye possibly be talkin’ about?” she said, reluctantly letting his hands stay free.

“It… I’m sorry, it just—it’ll change h—how ye—how ye—” He paused, taking a slow, deep breath. “See… I—I haven’t been… completely honest with you Liz, and, t—truth—fully, I’ve n-never really known… how—how ta tell ye…”

“Look, Pete, ye can tell me anythin’. Just take yer time; I’m listenin’,” Liz said.

“It’ll… It’ll change how ye see me.”

“I’m not convinced, I don’t think I could see anythin’ other than the shy gentleman in front of me,” she smiled.

Pete took a measured pace back. He told himself it was to give Liz room, but he knew it was for his own conscience. Greedy. Selfish. He dropped his gaze to the side, unable to so much as glance into those clear brown eyes. On their own, his fingers trailed the seams of the leather gloves squeezed in his hands. The words were right there, on the tip of his dry tongue, but his voice locked up.

After a moment of struggling, he could barely get the first few words out, “I’m—I—I’m actually… I’m not… n-not, I’m—”

He shook his head, frustration beading as tears in his eyes. Curse these nerves!

“I’m n-nnot—not—hh—” he tried again, but his voice failed him.

Curse this fuckin’ stutter!

“Hey, hey,” Liz said, hushing him.

He fought to keep tears at bay, refusing to—he couldn’t stand to sound so stupid and useless in front of her, because he did like her—he cherished her—and he had to tell her, before anything else; she had to hear it from him—but he just… couldn’t.

Liz moved forward to take his hands and steady him, but he couldn’t bear to so egregiously take advantage of her ignorance, so he stepped back again, bringing the back of a hand to his lips.

It was stone cold, just as she said.

And that was when he heard it; the brush of footsteps on the edge of the clearing, kneeling and crouching, hiding and approaching.

Pete’s heart stopped.

“Ye—ye should go,” he murmured fearfully.

From the bushes, figures emerged.

Burton, followed closely by his lackeys, sauntered over the grass with crunching footsteps until he stood a scant couple of metres from Liz and Pete.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, smirking “so you two are in love.”

The hair on the back of Pete’s neck prickled. Frustration and fear warred for their place across his features, but under Burton’s predatory gaze, fear won out. “Dovey, I need to have a little chat with your boyfriend. In private.”

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