#has a passing curiosity towards romance though he likes it more in theory than in practice

[tropicalcontinental]

"Average CL16 character is aroace" factoid true actually (personal headcanon)

[lumina-rose]

Tear You Apart

Chapter 3/4

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32168824/chapters/80048179

Pairing:

Laszlo x Reader

Summary:

Mere months after the conclusion of the Beecham case, Dr.Kreizler and his associates are asked once again to solve a new series of murders that plague the streets of New York. They are joined by the alienist’s new assistant, who’s presence soon unravels startling revelations. Not only within the case, but also within the mind of one of their own.

(This story is set between the events of Season 1 and Season 2)

Warnings:

Murder Mystery, Graphic Description of Corpses, slight dark!Laszlo (kinda. Think Will “This is my design” Graham), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Minor Violence, Friends to Lovers,Assistant, Boss/Employee Relationship,Tension, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining, Kidnapping, Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Abuse

(More Future Warnings TBD)

Notes: 

Adding an extra warning for this chapter, just in case.

This chapter deals with themes of violence, kidnapping, captivity, non-consensual touching, non-consensual groping, and implied abuse.

Chapter 3: Lily

Dr. Kreizler was not a man who considered himself superstitious.

Ever since he was a boy, he clung to his curiosity, searching for answers through science rather than religion in order to understand the world around him, even if it left his reputation tarnished to the more traditionally-raised, God-fearing socialites of New York. Yet, even as a child, there had always been a darkness that surrounded him, drawing in trouble wherever he went. No, Laszlo was not superstitious, but there seemed no other term to describe himself other than cursed.

You had been missing for two days, and even logic and reason could not explain why history seemed destined to repeat itself.

Following your night at the opera, Kreizler had thought it odd that you had not appeared at the Institute the following day. You had not seemed unwell, during your outing- quite the opposite, actually- and yet the fact remained that your presence was notably absent. At first, the alienist pushed his worry aside. After all, you had spent what was supposed to be a night of rest by his side. He reasoned that perhaps you had simply drained yourself, driving yourself to exhaustion with both the investigation and the concern you had displayed for him. But what truthfully unsettled him was the lack of warning of your absence. It was unlike you.

Regardless, even with your absence, Kreizler quickly worked through the day's sessions and duties, leaving most of the day free to continue working on the investigation. Your theory the day before had intrigued him, and gave valuable insight into what the killer's motives and background could be. With a newfound momentum, Laszlo called for Stevie, sending the ward to gather his colleagues here at the Institute, in order to follow this new train of thought. He also instructed Stevie to find you, deciding that it would be best to check on you, if only to calm his own anxieties. With that, all that was left to do was wait.

Marcus and Lucius were the first to arrive, punctual as always.  Not wishing to waste any time, the twins immediately went to discuss their new findings with the doctor, picking out bits of information that may be relevant to figuring out the killer's identity. Kreizler listened, drawing connections to their findings with the theory you had created. John was the next to arrive, quickly followed by Sara. The two had not had much to work with, in terms of narrowing down who the killer may be, but found a couple police reports and articles that had spoken about similar incidents. Laszlo nodded, giving his own opinions and comments occasionally, but his mind continued to drift elsewhere. He had pulled out his pocket watch, when he heard a new set of footsteps. Quickly, he looked up, only to see Stevie once again. Ushering the boy inside, he asked if he had found you.

"I tried, Dr. Kreizler, but I couldn't find her anywhere." Stevie explained. "Even went by the house a few times, but no one ever answered. Her door was locked, so I thought maybe she came back here."

Laszlo sighed, audibly upset by the news. "Right, thank you Stevie."

This caught the attention of everyone in the room. After the boy left the room, Sara turned to Laszlo.

"Has something happened?" She asked, sensing Laszlo's growing worry. "How long has she been missing?"

The alienist simply shook his head. "Since this morning. At first I thought I was simply overreacting, but now I'm not so sure..."

Saying his admission aloud, Laszlo realized how troubling the whole situation had seemed. He explained where you had been last night, and how Kreizler had made sure to get you home safely after the opera, only to find that you had not come to the Institute today. John stood up from his seat, sending a glance to Sara and the brothers. They stayed silent, throwing silent glances back and forth, as if talking through looks alone. Finally, Sara stepped forward.

"I believe we should go to her home, ourselves. If we find that she is safe, then we can continue our investigation."

"What're you saying?" Lucius interjected, stunned by Sara's proposal. "What would you have us do? Having the five of us show up unannounced to (y/n)'s home might be an overreaction, considering it hasn't even been a day."

"You may be right," Sara starts. "but I'd like to make sure nothing has happened to her. I won't be able to shed the guilt if the worst has come."

Laszlo's heart sank at her words, reminding him of the very same doubts and worries he had told you of the night before.

Moving quickly, Laszlo went to grab his jacket, placing it on as he spoke. "I'm going-"

Once more, Lucius was wary. "Dr. Kreizler-"

"-stay here if you must, Lucius." He turned, leaving no room for argument as he walked towards the exit.

Reluctantly, Lucius followed after Laszlo, with Marcus's hand on his shoulder. Sara and John were already standing, ready to leave with the doctor, the same memory of the Beecham case fresh in their mind. With that, it didn't take long for them to reach your home, a mere few blocks away from the Institute. It was a relatively small building, not like the towering apartments that surrounded it on either side. It was as though someone had taken a cottage from the countryside and placed it right on the streets of New York.

There were no lights on, by the windows. A fact that shouldn't have been strange, considering it was now late into the day. Even so, it caused a sense of looming dread to enter Laszlo's mind. It felt so similar when he had returned to his own home all those months ago, as though time was repeating itself. First with Mary, now with you. As the group called and knocked on your door, drawing the scrutinizing and curious stares of the people passing by, Laszlo concluded that he must have been cursed. How else could he explain the events unfolding? Truly, everyone that was drawn towards him seemed destined to either leave or be taken from him.

There had been one thing that gave him hope that it would be different.

With Mary, she had been a constant, comforting presence. What he felt towards her had not always been there, not until much later after their first interactions, but it had been a source of happiness and warmth. The feeling of being known so completely, without needing so much as a word being spoken. Mary had brought out a kindness in him that even he had feared he did not possess. It had been sweet and somewhat innocent love, regardless of the rather unusual dynamic.

With you, it was a similar feeling, but not entirely the same. Where his feelings for Mary were more subtle, there had always been an underlying want in his relationship with you. At first, it had simply been a need to understand you. How you could be so similar to him, sharing that same curiosity for the human mind, yet still be able to catch him by surprise with your insights. He wanted to know about you, every little detail. Learning what made you tick, what made you happy, and what parts of your mind you had not shown to anyone else. Yet, even that wasn't enough. It wasn't until much recently, had Laszlo deduced the source of this incessant need for you. Where his feelings for Mary had made him recognize the lighter side of him, you made him realize that perhaps the darkness there was deeper than he knew. But he welcomed that new feeling just as enthusiastically, after the events of the opera.

What he felt for Mary and for you were very different, but just as intense. He had hoped, foolishly, that those differences would change something. And yet it seemed as if history was playing out again, as it had before.

"Unlock the door."

Laszlo's words were met with hesitation by the group, before they noticed the clear distress in his expression. Marcus nodded, placing the bag he held down in front of the door, before crouching down to pick the lock. Once unlocked, Sara opened the door, leaning in through the frame to look inside. From what she could tell, the study and kitchen were empty, and she could hear no sounds of movement, even after she called your name. Slowly, one-by-one, the five of them entered your home.

"Marcus and I will check upstairs," Sara decided, earning a nod from the Isaacson brother. "I believe there are a few rooms further back."

As they split up inside the house, Laszlo found himself at a loss. Although he had stopped by a couple of times, he had never truly taken the time to examine the home. Outside of the paintings that decorated the walls and the furniture provided to you, the home was extremely bare. Only a handful of personal items were scattered about, as well as a couple of books he had given you to read. For each and every room the doctor passed, it dawned on him that you had not been exaggerating when you had told him you dropped everything to move to New York. He wondered just how much you had left behind.

"Dr. Kreizler!"

Marcus's voice called out, clearly alarmed, causing the air to still throughout the house. Rushing upstairs,  John, Lucius, and Laszlo all went to join Marcus and Sara, only stopping once they saw the man exit what appeared to be your bedroom. A small bouquet of roses in his hands.

You awoke with your eyes closed. The only thing grounding you to reality was the steady, throbbing pulse in the back of your head, causing a dull ache to pass over you with every beat. With a low groan, you blinked, as you thought about how rough work at the Institute was going to be, if this headache was going to plague you. As you shot up from the bed, letting out a painful cry, you went to raise your hand to you head. Only for them to be pulled back harshly, by a binding pressure against your wrists.

You blinked, and suddenly the pain in your head was in the back of your mind. Your eyes shot to your hands, ignoring the sting of the sudden action. A bundle of knots bound you, as a rope dug into your skin, leashing you to the unfamiliar bed frame behind you.

No. no. no no no. You thought in a panic, realizing the gravity of your current situation.

You took in your surroundings, seated on a small bed in the center of a room. There were no windows, and only a small lamp by the door lit the small space. The walls were bare, save for the portrait of a young woman. The only exit was a wooden door, with cracks forming from the bottom. Your heart racing, you tried to recall your memory of the events last night. What had happened to you? Where were you? Who brought you here?

You remembered the opera, and your pleasant time with Laszlo there, and how he had escorted you back to your home. So why couldn't you remember falling asleep there? Why were you still wearing the same dress you had spent hours deciding on? You had watched the carriage ride far out of sight, Stevie at the reins. You had opened the door to your home, without the use of your key, as it had been unlocked already.

Unlocked. Despite having purposefully locked it before leaving for the night.

"Stupid." Your breath hitched, as you cursed yourself for not noticing such a mistake. You hadn't even realized. Too giddy and tired from the emotional events of the opera.

Your heart raced, as you grew more and more frustrated, causing you to tug at your bindings. But no luck came. You thought back to what you did after entering your home. You had placed a few things down, before retiring to your bedroom, in order to change into your night clothes and sleep. But you never made it that far. In a sudden moment of clarity, a memory returned to you. You had sat down in front of your vanity mirror, before noticing a flash of red in the mirror. A bouquet of roses. Perhaps it was the fear and shock of the realization that the killer they’d been hunting had been in your home that caused you to lose consciousness. However, the pain in your head suggested otherwise.

Whatever the case was, you were now trapped in a room, after being taken from your home by the very person you had spent months trying to find. But aside from the distressing predicament of your kidnapping, what unsettled you most was the sudden deviation in behavior. If you truly had been taken by the killer you were searching for, why were you still alive? Why did he take you? What did he plan to do to you?

You didn't want to wait to find out, but found that you had little choice in the matter. No matter how many times you tugged and pulled at your bindings, the restraint never weakened. You had tried untying the knots on the bed frame, in hopes that you may be able to escape, even if your hands were tied together. The knots however, were tight and overlapping each other, and no amount of strength that you possessed could undo them. In desperation, you looked at the wooden door, knowing that it was all that stood between you and freedom. If you only could unbind your hands. But even if you had escaped, you didn't know where you were, or who's home you were in.

The answer didn't come till what felt like hours later. You had sat yourself up into a more comfortable position on the bed, where the rope would not pull at your now-aching wrists, and jumped as the wooden door suddenly opened.

Your heart leapt to your throat, and all you could seem to do was stare at the figure in the doorway. You were shocked. Your were speechless. You wanted to deny it, to try and lie to yourself by saying that he couldn't be the one who took you. That his presence here was merely some miraculous coincidence. But you weren't that naive. Still, never had you thought the same man who would regularly stop by your house could potentially be a murderer.

"Mr. Arnett." You breathed out, finally.

"Good evening, my dear." He greeted, his tone just as casual as any other time you had spoken. As though it was normal, to have you tied up in a room against your will.

As he stepped into the room, you found yourself growing more and more anxious with each of his steps. He had asked you something, a question you couldn't recall. You couldn't even find it within you to respond, knowing that anything you said might make your situation worse. If Arnett truly was the same man who’d been killing the women of New York, then it’s likely he’d have no issue using that same violence against you. Although, he had already changed his behavior, choosing to attack you in your own home, rather than on the street. That alone revealed that he was unpredictable.

"What..what am I doing here?" You asked, fearfully. You wanted your tone to come off as more questioning, rather than upset. You knew that if Laszlo’s theory was correct, the only reason you weren’t dead yet was because the fantasy behind the murders relied on your acceptance of the man. Still unsure of his intentions with you, you shuddered at the thought of letting the man do whatever he wanted.

"I'm taking care of you."

The vagueness of the answer, and the emptiness in his tone, as he spoke sent a wave of fear over you. The man took a step towards you, right next to the bed you were tied to. You sat up, moving away from him, by instinct. You had hardly noticed the tray Arnett had been carrying, until he placed it down on the foot of the bed. A wide assortment of fruits, breads, and foods were placed onto the tray, along with a single red rose. Taking a seat next to you, he lifted something off of the item.

"A strawberry, from my garden." He explained, as though that was the cause of your nervous behavior.

You didn’t feel hungry, but felt a sense of relief at the act. Only because that meant he didn’t plan on harming you…yet. Once more, he placed the strawberry up to your lips.

Arnett's jaw tensed, as he spoke again. This time he sounded as though he were trying to restrain himself. "You don't need to be afraid of me."

Afraid to anger him, you took a bite, before attempting to distance yourself from him further, if that were even possible at this point. He praised you for the action, as an owner would praise a pet. Bitterness rose from your chest, creating a bad taste in your mouth. Whether it was the fruit he gave you, or the reaction you had to his words, you weren't sure.

"See, I knew you'd be good," He spoke, condescendingly. "just like my Lily."

You swallowed back a grimace. "Lily?"

Arnett blinked, as if confused for a moment, before giving a forced chuckle. His eyes turned to the portrait in the room, of the young woman. "I must apologize, it's rather rude of me to compare you to my wife- ex-wife. "

He quickly corrected himself, before looking back at you, his eyes falling to your wrists. More specifically, the red burns on them, from your previous attempts at escape. He reached out, without warning, before scolding you profusely. He spoke only about how should be more careful, as to not harm yourself further. In your upset state, you didn't even think before instinctively ripping your hands from his hold, not wanting him to so much as touch you.

Arnett's almost-caring expression fell in an instant, before revealing an angered scowl. He grabbed your arms again, only now his grip was harsh and painful. There was no doubt in your mind that you would have bruises later.

"Don't do that." He hissed. "Don't you ever do that!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You gasped, shaking as you quickly apologized in an attempt to calm his sudden temper. Blinking, you searched for any excuse that might help you. "I'm sorry.. I.. It's inappropriate, I wasn't expecting you to.."

Once more, you cursed yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse. However, even as you closed your eyes, you felt the grip on your hand lose its hold. When you looked back at Arnett, his scowl had disappeared. He thought for a moment, before a slight smile crept over his lips.

"You don't need to worry about such things anymore, my dear." He sighed. "Now that you're here with me, you won't have to feign innocence for the sake of appearances. We can speak freely now."

As you stared into his eyes, you came to understand that in some twisted way, his mind had made up a lie: making him believe you held some form of silent connection with him. Twisting your interactions into subtle advances, when they had merely been polite conversations. Every small talk in the study of your home, he had taken it as a sign of reciprocated affections. Rather than what they were. And he truly believed that lie, which was what frightened you the most.

You were silent, as he ran a thumb over your injured hand. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but you viewed it more as a threat. You knew that if you pulled your hands way, as you wanted to, you'd be met with more aggression. Eventually, his focus returned to the tray he had brought in, handing you the rose as he placed another fruit to your mouth. You were fighting back a mixture of emotions, as you attempted to process the situation. You wanted to snap, and tell him that he didn't need to feed you himself. You wanted kick and fight, if only to save your pride. But you knew that none of these actions would help you, and would more likely cause Arnett to harm you.

Instead, you tried to refocus your frustrations into questioning Arnett's plan for you.

"Mr. Arnett, I..I find myself at..at a loss as to why you've brought me here." You muttered, weakly. "Surely, it's not simply to 'speak freely', as you put it? I can't help but think there is another reason.."

The older man scoffed, as if surprised you even had to ask.

"Well, I've been left with no other choice, haven't I? You're forced to spend every day and night fretting over the little problems of a half-crazed alienist, who insists on keeping you by his side." He grit his teeth, looking  around the room for a moment. "But that no longer matters. You won’t need to worry anymore about Kreizler taking his liberties with you, my dear."

The bruising grasp on your hand returned. His voice and expression reflected anger, though it didn't seem directed at you this time. His eyes were still staring off at nothing in particular, and it seemed as though he wasn't even aware of the venom in his tone. Ignoring your pain for a moment, you feared what he meant, upon mentioning Laszlo. Was he merely speaking his suspicions out of a jealous delusion? Or had he known- had he seen- your actions with Laszlo at the opera last night?

You let out another pained gasp, causing Arnett to release his hold on you. This time, he stood up, staring down at you with regret and fear. Almost dejectedly, he grabbed the tray once more, and made his way back towards the wooden door. But not without looking back at the portrait once more.

"Lily was as delicate as you."

A time passed before the door opened again.

You had fought to stay awake, in order to try and defend yourself against Arnett, even though you were essentially at his mercy. But the reality was that you were exhausted. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. The stress of the case, Laszlo, and your own current situation had left you utterly broken. As sleep came for you, your eyes fogged with tears, as you thought back to the happiness you felt just a night before.

When you finally awoke, you heard a loud thud, as though something had fallen somewhere in the building you were being kept in. Your heart pounded, half hopeful and half afraid. The wooden door to the dim room opened, your heart sinking as you faced Arnett once more, his face red with anger as he began yelling out, seething with every breath.

"He comes to my place of work, accusing me!"

Arnett raves, red in the face, as he circles around the room. His sentences slur together, his words coming out faster than you can understand them. You sit up quickly, bracing yourself, as it's all you can do in the moment. The man's eyes were wide and his gaze flicked from place to place, as if searching for something as he continued to ramble on. You noticed how his hands were clenched, his fingernails digging into his palms and his knuckles becoming a white color. Fearing what he may do, you kept your mouth shut, hoping in vain that he might forget that you're there.

"-Slandering my name and reputation!” He heaved out a heavy breath, before his stare finally finds its destination on you.

Whatever pleasant facade the man placed on for you before was gone now, overcome by his anger. He rushed forwards, pushing you back against the headboard of the bed, placing a hand on your face, pressing hard on your cheeks and jaw. Startled, you froze, unable to even move, except for the trembling throughout your body.

"Who is he to you?" He demanded, an accusatory glare cutting through you.

You choked out a reply, asking who or what he was talking about. That only made his grip stronger, squeezing against your bones enough to make them ache.

“That damned Kreizler!” He spat. “Is he truly so dependent on you, that he cannot go a single day without you?! Is your company so enjoyable that he cannot help himself?”

Arnett’s words were spiteful and insulting. Not only towards Laszlo, but yourself as well. It seemed that while Arnett did not seem to know the extent of your relationship to the alienist, the suspicion was enough to drive him over the edge. You only feared what would happen, should he learn what occurred at the opera. As your mind raced with your thoughts, you hadn't noticed how your captor now moved over you, trapping you under him. His spare hand trailed over you, his glare burning holes into you as he grabbed at your form. Your mind went blank, and all you could hear was the heartbeat that now pulsed in your ears. You twisted and turned, biting into your cheek as your body moved on its own, trying to do anything to get him off of you. A quick slap stunned you, causing you to recoil from the force.

Still, Arnett seemed lost to his ramblings. “He claims himself a gentleman! Tell me, do you enjoy the attention he gives you? Perhaps I’ve been mistreating you, perhaps you enjoy the way he takes advantage of you-“

Mistreatment was an understatement, but you dared not speak your mind in this moment. The feeling of his spare hand pushing a trail up your leg sent a wave of disgust and fear through you. Desperately, you spoke, saying anything that came to mind, hoping to calm the clearly unhinged man.

“No, no Mr. Arnett, please!”

You cried, gasping as your throat seemed to close off on its own.

“You’re- you’re right! He’s- He’s not a gentlemen, not like you. Louis-“

You barely registered what you were saying, only focusing on pleading for your life. You continued, speaking whatever you thought the man would want to hear. As soon as they left your mouth, you hated every lie you spoke about Laszlo. How you were catering to Mr. Arnett’s sick fantasy. It seemed to work, however, as the man paused his assault on you. His grip on your chin lifted your gaze up to him, making you stare through tears to look him in the eye.

Your voice shook as you spoke, going on and on about how you were being mistreated and how Arnett was a gentlemen, as much as it pained you to do so. You empathized the phrase, hoping it might somehow make him stop. His actions were abhorrent, yet he seemed to pride himself on being the gentleman he had tricked you into believing he was. You played into Arnett's fantasy, making yourself appear as some damsel in need of saving and that Arnett was the man who would do it. All you could do was hope your words satisfied him.

His hand released its hold on your leg, but you did not allow yourself to sigh in relief. The hold on your chin disappeared, as he gently placed his palm against your cheek. A soft smile met his lips, yet his eyes remained vacant and cold. His voice was distant once more, as if remembering something.

“You truly are just like my Lily.” He pressed his lips against you, holding you there. You didn’t move. When he finally parted, he gave a reassuring smile, something meant to comfort you, before saying: “He won’t mistreat you anymore, my dear. I’ll make sure of it.”

The older man stood up, smoothing a hand over his suit, before turning from you. Your heart sank at his words, leaving you in despair even as he left the room. Pulling your legs up to your chest, you cried into the wrinkled fabric of your dress, muffling the sound in order to keep Arnett from hearing you.

It felt like years, as another day passed. Your heart ached along with your shoulders and wrists, as you stared blankly at the wooden door. There were moments when you asked yourself if this barren room would be the last thing you saw. If the painted, empty eyes of Lily Arnett would be staring down at you, as you joined her in death. But there was hope.

Arnett’s outburst had been sudden and terrifying. But in his state, he’d given you the knowledge that Laszlo and the others were close, already questioning the man. Already suspecting the truth. You just needed to keep him satisfied, until your friends could figure out how to find you. If they found you.

When the wooden door opened once more, Arnett was bringing in another tray of food and water for you. As he came into the light of the lamp, your attention was drawn to the cut along the man's temple. Given your situation, this shouldn't have surprised you, but in all the time you've known the man you’d never seen the man with even a scratch on him, despite the violent attacks he had carried out. Before your abduction, you knew the man to be of good standing in the eyes of society. Someone obsessed with his reputation as a proper gentleman. Someone who’d never be caught up in a fight, not one that would cause such a wound.

You ask what happened, less out of concern and more out of curiosity, desperately wanting to learn what you could about the events playing out in the world outside of the small room. Your words seemed to fall on deaf ears however, as Arnett silently approached, not answering you. Instead, he lifted the food for you to eat. Slowly, you took a bite, not wanting to upset him further. After finishing the bits fruit and bread he initially offered, you found yourself growing more and more restless, due to his unsettling silence. As he lifted another fruit to you, you turned your head slowly, until eventually you found yourself looking up at the woman in the portrait.

Twice now he had mentioned his late wife…Lily. Some deep-rooted part of you felt as though her death had not been some random accident or illness, given how Arnett had consistently been comparing the two of you. No… By now, you suspected that perhaps the poor woman had shared your fate, falling victim to her husband's erratic behavior.

You opened your mouth, your throat dry as you carefully said: “I…I realize I never asked about your wife, before. If it is not too upsetting, tell me, how… how did she pass?”

Arnett blinked, as if snapped from his silence. A vacant expression crossed over his face, sending a frightening chill through you. It was identical to the one Laszlo had at the morgue, as the alienist was trying to gain insight into the killer’s mind. You had trusted Laszlo, but it was different now. Now you looked that very killer in the eye.

“I believe I told you. She was delicate." He paused, staring you down, before glancing away quickly. "Now eat.”

A horrible pit in your stomach grew, as your mind raced to create images of what you suspected befell the late Mrs. Arnett.  If his lack of hesitation of using force against you was any indication…It was slowly becoming evident that perhaps she may have been the first. The catalyst that created the man you faced now. You swallow back the lump in your throat, speechless. In your shock, you had forgotten what Arnett had ordered you to do. It was too late to fix your mistake, as the man quickly took your silence as refusal. In an instant, the tray was shoved aside, slammed to the floor, as his form climbed over you.

"You ungrateful bitch!" His hands clamped down on your throat, using a strength that felt as though it would snap your life away at any second. You hands pulled down on the ropes, having enough length to allow you to claw at his grasp. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me?"

You struggled for breath, your heartbeat becoming the only sound in your ears before a slam at the door snapped you from your panicked state. A voice- no, voices- spoke loudly. You didn’t process what was said, only that the weight of Arnett shifted. You found yourself placed between Arnett and the unknown parties, a sharp pressure against your neck. As you gathered your senses, you realized the pressure was a knife, one Arnett had kept hidden away. You weren't sure if he had it before, or if he had planned to use it against you before being interrupted.

John and Sara stood before you, the woman aiming a gun towards Arnett. Though, with you placed in between them, the weapon was also directed towards you. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. If you weren’t so focused on the knife’s weight against you, your heart surely would have leapt with happiness. They had found you! But the confrontation was not over.

"You have no right, breaking in here!” Arnett seethed. “I’ll have you arrested!”

Sara was quick to respond, not even flinching from his words. “Call them if you like, but I doubt the police would be interested with us, upon finding a woman unwillingly locked up on your property.”

Arnett shook his head, his breath coming out in heavy exhales. His voice was shaking. Out of anger, fear, and confusion. “No, you’re wrong! She..she wants to be here! Tell them!”

The knife pressed harder against you, as Arnett whispered unintelligible words against your ear. You gasped, closing your eyes, as if everything would disappear if you didn't watch. Another sound of footsteps grabbed your attention, forcing you to look up once more. A third figure emerged through the door, joining John and Sara. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, upon seeing the tense stand-off between them and Arnett. With you at the center.

“Laszlo!” You called, the name falling from your mouth before you could stop it.

A vice grip found the back of your neck, making you gasp in pain. His whisper was erratic but you could just make out: "How dare you say his name in front of me-"

The knife pressed harder, a small sting followed by a warm trickling feeling. His cheek pressed against your ear, speaking lowly. “Tell them you want to be here. With me.”Another pause of silence made him seethe. "Answer me, Lily!”

Arnett’s grip on reality, whatever remained, was slipping as the scene played out before you. Still, you refused. Laszlo was here, They were all here! You were so close to freedom that you couldn't bare the thought of him taking it away. Tears reached your eyes, as you glanced at the faces you've grown to know.

“There’s no where to go, Mr. Arnett.” Sara said, regaining your attention. She looked back at you, rather than your captor. She looked unsure, as she aimed her gun toward the two of you, in contrast to her confident words. “If you truly care for her, as I suspect you do, then let her go.”

“No, nonono..” Arnett’s breaths became erratic. “She belongs with me! Tell them, my dear, now.”

Still you remain silent, biting back a cry.

Arnett snapped, cursing you, as the knife lifted for a moment, before turning fully towards you, intended to pierce your throat. In that split moment, you heard the loud blast of gunfire, followed by the metallic smell of gunpowder. A ringing overtook your senses, followed closely by a burning in your shoulder.

Then...

thud

thud

thud

Your heartbeat signaled to you that you were alive, but you couldn't help yourself but think it was a trick. One last cruel joke for the entertainment of a higher power.

Your mind and vision seemed to blur, as each passing moment came by in flashes. You no longer felt Arnetts breath against your ear, yet the intense pain in your shoulder remained. You felt a pair of arms reach around you, as the restraining pull of ropes on your wrists disappeared. The cool breeze of air hit your face at some point, before the rest faded away to darkness.

[cirrus-grey]

TMA/The Good Place AU

I've seen other versions of this before and I have so many thoughts (Contains spoilers for all seasons of both shows)

Gertrude is the Architect, who thinks she's working for the good of the universe by punishing bad people but gradually learns compassion, friendship, and the ways in which the system is broken

Gerry is the neighborhood guide like Janet

He's a lot more incorporeal though

Instead of "not a robot, not a girl" he's got "not a boy, not a ghost"

Good Gerrys have poor dye jobs

Bad Gerrys have perfect dye jobs

Neutral Gerrys do not dye their hair

Yes this means disco Gerry exists

Magnus is the Head of the Bad Place who pretends to be the Judge

(The actual Judge is Dekker)

OG Elias is the pothead student who had a bad trip and predicted the whole afterlife system with almost perfect accuracy

Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha are the four humans in the first neighborhood

Jon and Tim think they belong in the Good Place

Martin and Sasha know they do not

Jon is told his research into the supernatural saved thousands of lives

Tim was an environmental activist

Sasha was a hacker but Gertrude welcomes her as a tech innovator who changed the world

Martin was just working a minimum wage job trying to get by and Gertrude welcomes him as a professional in the parapsychology field, he's given the same "your research saved lives" spiel as Jon

Jon and Martin are told they're soulmates

Tim and Sasha are told the same

Jon and Martin have the Chidi/Eleanor multi-season-long star-crossed fall-in-love-in-every-reboot plot arc

Tim and Sasha have the we-hooked-up-in-one-reboot-but-we're-better-as-friends Tahani/Jason dynamic

However, Sasha gets Eleanor's "there's someone with my name who's supposed to be here instead of me" plot

This is Not!Sasha

Peter Lukas is the Bad Place representative who brings Not!Sasha to the "Good Place"

Martin gets Jason's "the person with your name was in a near-death coma"

Sasha tells Tim she doesn't belong right out of the gate

Martin overhears them and the three end up working together

Martin does not tell Jon he doesn't belong, leading to Jon becoming paranoid about what he, Tim, and Sasha are always conspiring about together

It comes out in a "why are you lying" argument just like the CV thing in canon and Jon is heartbroken that he doesn't actually have a soulmate

He shuts Martin out for a while but eventually realizes he's fallen in love with him, soulmate or not

The four of them end up working together (somewhat)

When they go to the Medium Place they meet Mikaele Salesa

He was a cut-throat antiques and curiosities dealer who donated his fortune to aid the orphaned children of sailors on his deathbed

Eventually the whole "this is the Bad Place" reveal happens

Not sure who figures it out

They get rebooted

And rebooted again

And again

Gertrude does not know how they keep figuring it out but she's definitely losing control

The other demons in the neighborhood are talking about rebelling

(Jude Perry is that one fire demon who keeps walking around without their skinsuit)

(I'm thinking Jared "canonically hot" Hopworth is the one who keeps going to the gym)

She makes a deal with the four humans to help them get to the real Good Place if they play along with the torture, and finally concedes to letting Annabelle Cane run the next reboot

(Yes, to line up with the original show it would be the Not!Them but I think Annabelle is far more likely to want to pull everyone's strings)

Instead of the Jason/Janet romance there's a Tim&Gerry friendship

Since there's no romance there's no need for a rebound boyfriend, however Gerry ends up feeling really alone in Annabelle's reboot and builds himself a new best friend to cope

It does not go well

Michael/Helen is a glitchy, non-functional almost-human who nearly blows everyone's cover with the chaos they cause

They have two faces, two personalities, two identities that they flip between seemingly at random

They get more stable the more times they're rebooted

They go chill with Salesa in the Medium Place while the main crew makes their bid for the Good Place, fails, begs the Judge (Dekker) for mercy, and ends up back on earth

Instead of a near-death psychological study they're all brought together again with an un-death paranormal study

Run by Jon and his new girlfriend Georgie

Yes, Peter is the demon Magnus sends to interfere

Yes, Gertrude drop-kicks him back off the planet

They form the Soul Squad and go off into the world to save people

Not really sure who

But they end up visiting OG Elias and realizing how deep the problems with the system go

They pass through accounting, which is run by Oliver Banks, and meet the neutral Gerry

I'm thinking Leitner is that one demon who's forced to assign point values to weird sex acts

Not sure who makes up the Good Place council

But they make their way back to the Judge and get the whole "test neighborhood" thing to happen

The new humans are Daisy, Basira, Melanie, and Georgie

I know it would make sense for Jon to end up in charge of the neighborhood as Gertrudes's replacement, but nope, he gets his memory wiped because he's awful at lying and he can't pretend he doesn't know Georgie

Martin ends up in charge after Gertrude freaks out

Jon does not actually end up as a participant in the study, since none of the new humans are demons in disguise, so he's just kind of wandering around like a loose end

Georgie definitely pulls the "this is a near-death hallucination" thing

Martin breaks his own heart telling Jon that Georgie's his soulmate, hoping Jon will be able to convince her it's all real

It backfires

Jon's miserable

He eventually confides in Tim (he and Sasha are pretending to be normal humans) that he thinks there's been a mistake, unless... do you think platonic soulmates are a thing?

He doesn't want to date Georgie

He's in love with Martin

Tim tells Martin and Martin has to handcuff himself to his desk so he doesn't run off and kiss Jon senseless

Yes, they establish that platonic soulmates are a thing

Georgie starts dating Melanie

Jon and Martin pine from a distance

I'm thinking Basira is the problem resident who is not making any progress towards improvement

She's very reluctant to see the complicated morals of a situation and takes a long time to break out of her "us vs them" mindset

When they're approaching the one-year anniversary of the new neighborhood and the end of the experiment Melanie and Georgie gather together Tim, Sasha, Daisy, Basira, and Jon

They pull out a huge red-string theory board and say there's something wrong with the neighborhood

Tim and Sasha exchange nervous glances

Georgie says she thinks it's all orchestrated by Martin

They make a plan to meet up at the party that evening

Tim and Sasha go straight to Martin, Gertrude, and Gerry and tell them what's going down

They decide to run out the clock and hope nothing goes too wrong

When Martin stops by his office Jon is waiting for him

Jon spills Georgie and Melanie's whole theory

"They think you're plotting against us, but I know you wouldn't"

"Whatever this is, you're as much a pawn as we are, I think"

"This is supposed to be the Good Place, right? So no one should be unhappy"

"But I am unhappy, Martin. You are too! I've seen the look you get, when you think no one's looking"

"Martin, I've seen the way you look at me. You must know how I feel about you. What kind of Good Place would not allow us to be together?"

Martin is imploding

He really really really wants to kiss Jon

But instead he takes him by the shoulders and tells him "I know what's going on. You're right, there's something more here than you've been told, but trust me when I tell you it's nothing bad. I won't let anything bad happen to you, Jon. I've got you"

"Please just play along with whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll explain everything soon"

And Jon does. Even when the sinkhole happens, even when Martin laughs in his face and tells him he's in the Bad Place

"I really got you, Jon," he says. "I got you good"

"I've got you," Jon remembers, and trusts him

Anyway there's a lot of drama but the neighborhood was a success

Jon gets his memories back and there's a tearful reunion

They start implementing test neighborhoods for everyone so everyone has a chance of reaching the Good Place

And Jon, Martin, Tim, Sasha, Gertrude, and Gerry finally get to go as well

Of course they still need to fix the Good Place itself but that goes fine

And then everyone gets a happy ending, with as much time as they want to spend with the people they love

[still-a-morosexual-help]

OBEY ME! LESSON 46 DETAILED SUMMARY + THEORIES

This lesson’s got two locked chapters that I can’t unlock :’)

D takes them to the casino where they meet Mammon in the Lamp event outfit. When he laughs and tells them that they must have forgotten who he is if they think they can take the money MC ignores all of this to ask him wtf he’s wearing. Mammon blushes and tells them that they have no right to criticize what he’s wearing considering what they’re wearing. Then he says also Lucifer wtf happened to you!? He laughs and teases Lucifer about getting shrunk and how he could accidentally step on him and kill him rn or how Beel might eat him as a snack. I saw someone say that Mammon was a little shit who was also BabyTM and like Yess!??? I love when we get to see more of the asshole side of him specially when we already know how soft he is. Man’s an onion :’) Beel says he wouldn’t do that unless Lucifer hid inside a piece of cake and Beel swallowed him whole without realising. Lucifer, off screen: “You’d better realise I was there!” And Like??? That’s the point Lucifer wants to argue? Not the fact that he wouldn’t hide inside a cake? Mammon says whatever and that he’ll take Lucifer from them so he can have fun with his new toy anyway RIP to Mammon who dies after this lesson. “Mammon, Avatar of Greed, Appears”- gonna have Pokemon Battles from now on, I can’t believe this what this dating sim has evolved into :D Mammon uses wind to lift Lucifer up and bring him towards him. MC has a flashback to the previous night and commands Beel who transforms into a demon and whose body starts moving on its own, Beel then cancels out Mammon’s spell and uses a wind spell to send Mammon flying. Beel transforms back to his human form and is shocked by what happened. Solomon says MC did a good job commanding Beel though they weren’t able to draw out all his powers. They get the armour, which Beel thinks is too flashy but MC tells him it looks great which he is happy about. D tells them about a rumour of Satan attacking a town up north.

As they walk through the woods Lucifer talks about how much he’s gonna love beating the shit outta Mammon when he’s back to normal and waves MC off when they ask him to go easy on Mammon. Beel says that Lucifer used to be a lot nicer to Mammon in the celestial realm and how the two of them would team up to go argue with Raphael. Solomon asks if it was Diavolo who got Lucifer to change and what exactly Lucifer had to do to reach the status they now enjoy in the Devildom. Beel seems shocked at this and ask Lucifer if it’s true. He says he doesn’t remember. There’s growling & they’re suddenly surrounded by ghosts. Solomon: Oh yeah lol this is called the Black Phantom Forest. Everyone else: WHY the FUCK didn’t you say so before!? They run from the ghosts and set up camp beside a lake, MC & Beel talk. Beel says how they’ve all changed from their time in the Celestial Realm and he can’t remember when he stopped resisting the urge to constantly eat. But how somethings are still the same and how the brothers have always been together and how they always will be. He brings up the three things the butcher said to maintain a long relationship and how even though they may sometimes falter at the “respect each other” part when it comes down to it the brothers have all three things with each other (Not me sobbing like a baby. It’s the found family trope for me guys). Beel says how he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to fight Belphie if they meet him in the game and how he has so many people who he loves that he doesn’t know who to put first and that he knows many people would kill to have that kinda problem and that as both an angel and a demon he’s being lucky to have the people he loves. MC gets to hold his hand, lean on his shoulder or say nothing and guys I love Beel so much he’s just so pure god. Okay so theory part: I 100% believe (& it’s implied in canon and in the chats too) and the main reason Lucifer is so mean to Mammon now is because he’s scared if he doesn’t discipline him then Diavolo will and he’ll end up with another Lilith situation. That being said I NEED to know how Lucifer came across Mammon in the celestial realm and what he said to make Mammon so loyal to him. PLS om! Give me the boys backstory? I like to think Lucifer raised Mammon the same way Simeon is raising Luke and that’s why you can see some of Lucifer’s traits in Mammon whenever he becomes serious about something and why Mammon sometimes slips up and calls Lucifer “Dad” and why Lucifer becomes so happy about it. I also think the others would have been older than Mammon was when he first met Lucifer, when they eventually joined the family which is why they share far less traits with Lucifer and why (as far as we know) none of them have called Lucifer ‘dad”. If this is true it also brings up a real interesting dynamic between Satan and Mammon that would be useful when writing fics. You know a little deeply buried resentment and envy about Lucifer having been more of a father figure to Mammon than to the person who is technically his actual son, and since we know for a fact that right after arriving in the Devildom Lucifer starts going through an existential crisis and Mammon’s the one who steps up to look after the others I 100% believe Mammon’s the one who did most of the work in raising a newly created Satan and who taught him how to control his anger so well (cause lets be real it definitely couldn’t be any of the others) which also gives backstory to Satan’s “do you think Mammon’s actually the most decent of us” homescreen comment and more importantly adds spice to the relationship dynamic you can work with in fics.

When they wake up Beel is thankful that they didn’t get eaten. Solomon: not like you would have noticed with all the fun you had *wink wink* Lucifer: wtf Solomon:*WINK WINK* Me: bro they were just talking…  they find out game time and real world time pass differently and come across a treasure chest in the middle of their path. Solomon: Lets open it! :D Lucifer: Expect that’s definitely a trap… Solomon: Exactly! Which is why we should open it! :D MC: Lets open it! :D Lucifer: Why is the entire human species so fucking stupid!? Why were you created without any self preservation!? Who approved this!?  They find medicine, a warding bottle and cat ears. …They put Lucifer into the bottle and Lucifer’s really going through it in this huh. But opening the chest pulls up an inescapable battle with the final boss, and Satan pops up fully immersed in the villain role with an evil laugh and everything. Luci asks MC to use something from the chest and they use the cat ears and Lucifer’s disappointed when they actually work. But it only deals 222 damage to Satan’s 870k HP. Satan paralyses them all and steals bottled lucifer and calls Belphie to finish the others off. I can’t remember if I mentioned this before but how did the brothers know that Lucifer was gonna be mini before they even got home, it would’ve had to be quite a bit in advance for them to so perfectly set up everything… And you know Solomon was really determined to open that chest (I mean so was MC but the whole of season 1 was establishing that their curiosity was gonna get them killed) so…

MC tells Belphie they don’t want to fight him and Belphie says he doesn’t want to fight either but at the same time Satan agreed to give him mine lucifer for a whole day if he defeats them. Beel’s still reluctant and Belphie says Beel doesn’t have to worry cause Belphie isn’t the same small/weak person that Beel always had to protect (and holy shit I need more info on this too?). Beel eventually agrees and says that Belphie’s strong, he tells MC that they weren’t able to use his entire power against Mammon cause he was holding himself back unconsciously but that he was ready now. MC makes Beel do a bunch of wind attacks and they defeat Belphie who’s impressed. Beel says that the magic was actually MC doing it not him (even though he was the one that executed it). Belphie says he’ll join their party if MC promises him that he’ll be allowed to poke at mini luci. MC tells him there’s a damned line and he’ll have to wait his turn. Solomon wonders if MC should be going around giving the right to annoy lucifer to others but also he wants that right too. Even though Lucifer was kidnapped since he’s still in the bottle he’ll be protected so MC’s test is still ongoing. Odd that there was a bottle that would protect Lucifer should he get kidnapped in the chest that was a trap… look we all know Solomon is shady enough that he’s probably behind this right?

During dinner at a tavern the twins are sickeningly soft with each other and Solomon watches them with a smile. For the night the twins end up sharing a room with each other, with Mc and Solomon alone together. In the middle of the night MC wakes up to Solomon still up and looking sad. They ask him what’s up. He says despite how much they walked he still isn’t tired and that seeing the twins together made him lonely. Seeing how much they love and care and understand each other and how they were always together made him wish he had something similar but how when you didn’t age it was difficult to from lasting bonds like that in the human world. MC tells him that all of them care about him and he says he hopes so. Solomon: Lol just the two of us in a room in a game, wouldn’t it be crazy if we made out? MC can either kiss him or kinda stare awkwardly. If they choose the second he apologises for suddenly putting them on the spot and says he won’t try anything else. So this might be kinda an unpopular opinion and I’m genuinely really happy that the side characters are getting more screen time and development because I desperately needed that but I’m not really onboard the romancing option with them? I’m happy they’ve got their own cards now and I love the devilgram stories and romance options in them but I don’t think it makes sense in the context of the main storyline? Barbatos has almost no interaction with MC and though they haven’t shown it yet it’d be weird if he was suddenly into MC. Diavolo spent 2 whole seasons simping over Lucifer why is MC suddenly an option? Besides Diavolo always seems so lonely and I really want him and MC to be really good friends, I want Diavolo to have a friendship where there isn’t some condition that hangs over it like there is with his relationship with Barbatos and Lucifer. The same goes with Solomon. I just want him to have a good solid friendship where there isn’t expectations or power between them. He also initially only seems interested in MC for their power and as a way to train them and eventually genuinely softens up to them, Just the request to kiss seemed outta nowhere? I don’t know why but with Simeon he seems above crushes? I always imagine him seeing MC as another cute kid Lucifer picked up (despite MC being an adult) and having a sort of soft indulgent attitude towards them. I don’t know I think I just want MC to have some friends who aren’t trying to sleep with them.

Solomon is extremely chipper the next morning and Belphie grumpily makes a comment about him having fun and sdfjdvnsjdokd they just talked. Belphie uses his magic to teleport them to Satan’s castle and Beel asked why he couldn’t do that the previous night, Belphie says grumpily cause then Solomon would have missed out on the fun and Solomon agrees and THEY JUST TALKED!? Satan has managed to transform Lucifer into wolf Lucifer and is shaking his bottle hard enough to make Luci wanna puke while Lucifer asks him to stop. MC tells satan to stop and he tells them they won’t be able to defeat him cause they skipped right to the boss battle without taking the long route and levelling up. MC says they’re not gonna fight him cause this whole thing is fucking stupid. Satan says it’s not cause he’s having fun. MC gives him one of their free therapy sessions about how important the bonds between he and his brothers are and how they don’t care more about helping the brothers all get along than some stupid star. Beel comes out spitting facts, saying they all know that Satan actually cares about Lucifer and how that embarrasses him and how he needs to stop hiding it by lashing out. And how Lucifer needs to get his shit together and be honest with satan. That he needs to tell Satan that Lucifer knows he’s his own demon and a really good demon at that. Lucifer says FYI but I never said you weren’t your own great person and Satan blushes and says that unless he wants to look childish he has no option but to accept the olive branch. He tosses Luci to MC. Belphie complains about having stupid older brothers and Solomon says he’s disappointed in Satan and reveals himself as the true secret final boss and FUCK YEAH! I CALLED THAT SHIT! Kinda – I thought he might have just given them a heads up about Luci’s condition. On a different note, Satan needs serious therapy. They all do tbh.

Solomon congratulates MC on what they’ve done so far but says they still haven’t accessed Beel’s full potential and that he’ll give his ‘adorable apprentice’ one more shit at it. Solomon summons Asmo who complains about how long he was made to wait and how he nearly gave up and went to the spa and that no one likes a selfish man. Solomon tells Asmo that he can tell him all this after they get back to the real world and I genuinely want the backstory of how they met and just more about their relationship. At Solomon’s command Asmo uses charm and paralyses Beel and at MC’s Beel uses another wind attack. Asmo says he’s never seen beel do something of this calibre before and he seems more powerful, even more than he was in the celestial realm, Asmo yells at Solomon for just standing and seeming impressed instead of helping him. There’s a bright white light.

Back home with everything back to normal Beel, Lucifer and MC are hanging out by the pool. Lucifer is in an unexpectedly good mood and MC has earned a star, which glows slightly from its place on the symbol etched to the back of their hand. Inside Solomon is feeding the other brothers as punishment. Mammon is sobbing his heart out and Levi is out cold (possibly dead). Satan is given Levi’s remaining share of food and Asmo is in tears. Belphie had made a run for it the second they got home and is nowhere to be found. Solomon talks about how nice Lucifer actually is and how he really loves his brothers cause he just made Solomon make them dinner instead of punishing any of them…. Love that the canonical reason why none of these demons tell Solomon about his food and allow themselves to get tortured is cause they don’t wanna be rude and hurt his feelings. And he thought no one cared about him. If that isn’t love I dunno what is. Beel and MC take a walk while Lucifer sits by the pool and in his words basks in “their screams of agony” While blushing beel says he’s grateful for what happened and how that star is proof that they got closer. Mc can either thank him or say that the star belongs to him. I think they kiss after the second option? For the first Beel says MC’s the one who did the work of drawing out his power. Over the echoing screams from inside Beel asks if they feel like they forgot something and ndfjkfjkdjfefjkn THEY FORGOT DIAVOLO I’M!!!!???? poor baby

[sparklingchan]

Checkmate || Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) X Bang Chan

Word count : 14k + ( oops-)

Warnings: A few cuss words , suggestive, mentions of death / murder / beheading and blood.NOT PROOF READ I’M SO SORRY.

Genre : Fluff, angst, romance ,strangers to lovers , Alice in Wonderland au, Royal au(a tiny bit) .

Description: Alice in Wonderland is just a story , or so you were made to believe.

A/N: This story is loosely based on the story of Alice in Wonderland. I always wanted to write Chan in a fictional universe and FINALLY I AM DONE WITH THIS STORY! I have twisted a few facts from the original story to fit my plot so not everything is the same.

Enjoy!

Weekends have had a special place in your heart ever since you were old enough to understand the importance of the last two days of the week in a normal human's life. For a long time , weekends meant going out with friends , partying, camping , eating , relaxing. Weekends meant your mom's scoldings in the morning , the sound of your dad's old radio, your brother's laughter. Weekends meant happiness.

But for sometime now, these definitions have changed. Drastically . Now weekends mean finishing presentations, cleaning your room , washing dirty dishes in the company of the empty corners of your solo apartment. Weekends now mean loneliness.

"Yes ,mom. I have been eating the herbal medicine you sent." You were never able to lie to your mom as a kid or even as a teenager. But the adult 'you' could easily do it. Lying to your mom was as easy as breathing now.

"Are you sure,y/n?" She asks in a stern voice.

You look at your small dining table , at the herbal medicine packet that lies there, as good new. And you let out a tired sigh , pressing your phone closer to your ear.

"Yes."

It had been an exceptionally tiring day at work today. And as you flop down on your couch with your mom still on call ,you wonder why you were feeling this sudden tiredness - all you did today at office was listen to your new boss boast about her achievements and your annoying colleagues kissing up to her as if she were some kind of Messiah.

"Aren't you coming home this weekend?" Your mom's tone now changes. She sounds worried, almost sad, "Dad and I miss you so much. Minho comes home often but we rarely get to see you."

Your eyes fall on the family picture hanging in the wall in front of the couch. It was the summer of your third birthday. Your mom and dad sat on the carpet while you and Minho stacked up legos to make a multi coloured house. The smile on your faces splash a wave of nostalgia towards you and you accept it wholeheartedly.

"I miss you guys too but I don't think I'll make it ,mom. I'm so sorry. " you say with a suppressed yawn, "But I will be going over to Minho's on Sunday so don't worry. We'll facetime you guys then." You feel your eyes get heavier but for the sake of your mom and your empty stomach ,you try your best to not fall asleep.

"Okay, okay. Sounds good. " your mom replies, "See you soon. Love you ,baby. "

You smile at her cheesy yet sweet words. Your mom has always been a fluff ball, just like your dad. But you and your elder brother didn't inherit that sweetness, sadly. "Love you too, mom." You reply.

And then the line goes silent.

You close your eyes, just to rest for a moment before having to cook dinner and working on your next week's presentation. But your eyelids feel like they suddenly weigh a lot more than they did a few minutes ago, like they were made of lead and you couldn't even lift them for a second more.

And before you know it, you've already drifted off into dreamland with your office clothes still on and your empty stomach growling.

For some reason , you'd always been a morning person. You've never had trouble waking up for school or college or work on time, where as your friends and colleagues were all heavy sleepers - they could sleep even through earthquakes.

You remember as kids ,all of your mom's friends would complain about how their kids wouldn't get their asses up for school in the morning and needed to be practically dragged out of bed while your mom just smiled and nodded in response. You probably adopted this habit from Minho ; he might be an annoying idiot most of the time but you have to give him credit where it's due.

And when your eyes open a few hours later, naturally , you expect it to be a bright , sunny morning.

But you're disappointed to see that it's still dark outside.

The lights of your living room are still on and the television is playing some stupid movie in the background , just the way it had been when you came back home from work and switched it on. Rubbing the sleep away from your eyes, you look at the clock on the wall. 3:45 AM, it reads.

"Goddamn it," you push yourself off the couch ,still groggy from your nap, your whole body aching . You grab your phone and office bag and waddle to your bedroom ,in hopes of finishing your much needed nap.

The hallways of your house are dark but familiar so it takes no time for you to find your room's door. Groaning , you close it behind you and walk towards your bed, a homely , comforting feeling enveloping you like a soft blanket. The lights of the room are switched off as usual , and the cold air of the room makes your skin tingle. You smell your signature perfume in the air and the room freshener you use, and surprisingly, a very strange, foreign smell that you are sure you had never smelt in your house before - the smell of grass and mud on a rainy day.

"What the-" you mutter to yourself as your mind finally starts functioning properly again , coming out of your post nap trance and all your senses suddenly switching to high alert mode.

It wasn't raining right now ,nor had it been raining in the evening when you came home so there's no way that this smell was carried in by you. You remember seeing droplets of rain run down the office windows during your lunch break, which means it had rained only a little bit during afternoon. Did someone enter your house in the afternoon?

Your heart starts hammering against your chest. Something feels wrong ,very wrong.

And you quickly realize you were right - because the moment you take a step away from your bed , your feet gets stuck onto something and you crash on the floor. Face down.

"Ow, shit - WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT?"

Turns out ,your feet didn't get stuck on a 'something ' , it was rather a                  ' someone '.

In all honesty, you had never seen a man as handsome as the one that lies on your bedroom floor right now, his hands and feet sprawled out as if he were sleeping on his own bed, his lips parted and hair damp. And if it weren't for his slow , steady breathing and the flush across his cheeks , you'd have almost thought he was dead.

You want to scream. And you do.

You should have called the police the moment you saw him, you think , but you didn't- more like you couldn't.

You are scared obviously, as you frantically check all your lockers and drawers to make sure he hadn't stolen anything. You check his pant pockets but find nothing. You even consider calling your brother but something was stopping you from doing so .

There is something about this man - maybe his extra silky looking clothes , maybe the weird pendant around his neck or maybe just the mere gut feeling that he might actually be the victim, not the criminal - that just wouldn't let you pick up the phone and call the authorities, even though you have their number on speed dial.

"Can I get another slice of bread ,please?" You snap out of your thoughts on hearing his husky, honey-like voice, call out to you, only to realize that you'd been staring at his face as if he were an alien.

Maybe he is an alien....

Embarrassed at being caught red handed, your cheeks flush as you nod your head and pass the man sitting on your dining table,right in front of you, his fifth slice of bread. Damn, he must have been starving.

"Thank you ,miss y/n." He replies with a polite smile, applying butter on the bread with the butter knife Minho had left at your place on your last birthday.

You want to return his smile ,you really do, but you can't find it in yourself to keep your curiosity suppressed anymore. You've never been so intrigued by a living,breathing human before, not to this extent at least.

A few hours ago, when he woke up after you dragged him off from the floor and laid him on your bed, you half expected him to attack you with a weapon or strangle you or threaten you for money but all he did was politely ask if you were the owner of this 'warm and cozy ' house and your name. He even called you ' a kind lady ' when you offered him breakfast and medicine for the slight fever he complained of , out of nothing but pure curiosity and intrigue.

"What was your name , again, sir?" You ask , putting down your chopsticks after deciding your breakfast wasn't that important anymore ,"and where do you come from?"

He sits up straight, the smile on his lips slowly dissolving into a frown. Did you say something wrong?

"I'm Bang Christopher Chan. But I usually go by Chan, " he answers the first part of your question and when he notices your anticipating eyes ,waiting for him to answer the next part , he looks down at his plate, as if embarrassed. "I wish I could tell you where I come from ,my lady ,but I can't and you wouldn't believe me either way. "

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion ; first of all ,this man - Chan - ends up in your room, passed out and sick , secondly he wears such expensive looking ,vintage clothes and lastly, the man speaks as if he were an actor in a Shakespearean play and now he refuses to tell you where he comes from.

He is feeding into your alien theory a little more than you expected.

"Well we won't know that unless you tell me." you reply with pleading eyes, curiosity getting the best of you. He shakes his head and presses his lips together in a firm smile, dragging his chair across the floor and standing up, "I'm afraid I can't do that."

You only watch in awe as he walks towards your main door in strange yet elegant steps. He turns around to look at you, "I express my heartfelt gratitude for everything you've done for me, my sweet lady. You gave me shelter and food and your magical herbs cured my sickness. I will never forget this favour of yours."

Magical herbs? Is he talking about your mom's herbal medicine?

You gulp, not knowing how to reply to his sudden expression of gratitude. With an INTP personality type, you've always found it hard to express yourself to people around you, even if your life depended on it and this time isn't any different either.

"W-well it was my pleasure." You stutter, "But where are you going now anyway?"

He runs his fingers through his silky , fluffy blonde hair and licks his dry lips. "I'm going to look for a friend. He might be able to help me."

"How will you find him? Do you have his phone number or address?" You ask. He shakes his head, "I'm afraid not. What's a phone number, by the way?"

Your eyes widen at his question, your mind running wild with possibilities of what might actually be going on with Chan. You've only ever seen things like this in movies and shows - a random person with no memory whatsoever meets the main character and they set out on an adventure together. And as curious as you were to find out whether Chan brings adventure with him too , you didn't want to get yourself involved in something so messy.

"It's a number via which you can contact people using this device." You say , showing him the led screen of your phone.

His mouth gapes at you , his eyes shaking with curiosity.

Oh this one is a gone case ,you think.

"I'll help you find your friend. What's his name?" You ask him again.

Still in fascination with your phone , he barely whispers his friend's name but thankfully you catch it,

"Lee Felix."

You hate driving . Period. Especially on weekends when the roads are full of impatient cars going off to picnics ,goods trucks trying to finish business as soon as possible , two wheelers which are the location of all the PDA in the world. You aren't used to seeing such happy traffic.

But here you are ,driving this mysterious yet charming man to his friend's place.

Lee Felix ,as the internet tells you , is an owner of a medicinal shop and is pretty well known among people for his homemade medicines and ointments. It only took one tap on your search engine to find out his location.

"So who exactly is this friend of yours?" The car has been quite ever since you left your apartment and you couldn't take it anymore - not when Chan just sits beside you , his fingers tapping on his leg with anxiousness.

He looks up at you , "He's more like a little brother to me , honestly. I grew up with his family - playing with his friends and his siblings. But he moved out of our hometown to do business. He still comes home sometimes but lives here most of the time. "

Now, that's the kind of information you'd been seeking for since the morning. He's slowly but surely warming upto you.

"So you're here to take him home or what?" you ask.

He shakes his head with a grim expression. "No, of course not. I wish I could but he is happy here , tells me he has a lover now and lots of friends. I'm happy for him. And anyway ," he pauses for second , "I'm here to hide. "

You find your heart race at the last word. He's hiding, but from what? From who? Is he a criminal that is trying to save himself from punishment? Or something worse?

Shit. This is not a good idea at all.

If your brother were here , he'd have flicked your forehead so hard it would have hurt for days. Maybe you even deserve it this time.

"From what?" You ask ,your voice only a whisper.

He sighs ,leaning against the window and looking out with thoughtful eyes.

"I really can't tell you, my lady." He replies.

Before you could question him further ,you see a house emerging in the distance and immediately recognize it as Lee Felix 's home plus workshop. Reluctantly, you pull over in front of the huge wooden house.

"How do I open the door ?" Chan asks with an innocent smile when you're about to get out. You let out a small chuckle and put your hand on your own door handle, "Press the black button here and push the door gently. " You demonstrate and he picks it up quickly, joining you as you stand on the porch of this Felix dude's house.

Chan knocks on the door with urgency, and for the first time today, he seems a little relaxed now. Like a weight from his shoulders had been lifted, and you don't have the heart to tell him that there's a doorbell directly on his right.

You hear quick shuffling behind the door and within a second ,the door opens to reveal a man - probably Felix - with bright orange hair and a big smile.

Brothers , you remember Chan's words.

They really do look like brothers as Felix jumps on Chan,embracing him like he had just saved his life. You don't miss the quiet sniffing from Chan and the tears that accumulate in Felix's eyes as they pat each other on the back , mumbling ' I missed you's to each other.

"I was so worried, Chan." Felix pulls away , grabbing Chan's shoulders, " I thought you'd gone to Marmoreal . Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

The name Marmoreal rings a bell in your head ,for sure. You'd heard that place before many times but as you search through your memories and try to find the exact context of that name , you fail to find it. It feels like you'd heard it almost in a dream.

"I just arrived here last night. Wasn't a very pleasant ride ,if you ask me. " Chan says , giggling.

Felix giggles too and then his eyes land on your confused face , as he let's go of Chan.

"And who might this fair lady be?" He asks with a pleasant smile.

Brilliant. Another actor from a Shakespearean play.

"Oh,right," Chan chuckles. " This is y/n, the kind lady who let me stay at her house for the night. "

No,he ended up in your room out of nowhere, you want to say ,but you swallow the words. You didn't want Chan to think of you as rude.

"Hello, Miss Y/n. " he smiles, " You've done us both such favour by housing him. We will not forget this. " Felix says, bowing his head to you.

Awkwardness is what you feel as you force a smile and nod in response,your palms sweating from the unexpected words , "You're welcome,I guess. "

Felix leads the two of you inside the house and you are greeted by a lovely young lady, who looks about your age - Felix's lover ,you assume.She walks in with a freshly baked cake in her gloved hands, her eyes shining the moment she sees the both of you.

"Oh,my dear." She runs to you , " Prince Chan! I have heard so much about you. Felix talks about you all the time. And oh,my, who's this lovely lady?"

Prince Chan .

Prince Chan.

Chan is a prince?

You look at him ,your eyes wide with confusion and doubt and he looks back at you with a nervous expression, like he didn't want the girl to address him as a prince.

"Yeah, " Felix clears his throat, raising his eyebrows at the girl in front of you , as if asking her to keep quiet. "This is Chan and the woman who provided him shelter last night- y/n."

"Oh my apologies," she replies with a smile, probably getting Felix's message, "Hello, Chan, Y/n, I'm Felix's girlfriend, Tracy. " She says as she clings on to Felix's arm and he stares adoringly at her like she is a rare ,precious diamond that no man could ever have but him.

You've seen that look before - in your parents eyes when they tease each other , in your brother's eyes when he talks about his boyfriend , in your ex boyfriend's eyes. You almost feel jealous.

"Hello ,Tracy." Both you and Chan say at the same time and then awkwardly stare at each other.

Tracy giggles.

"Anyway, Chan and I have important things to talk about. " Felix wiggles out of her grip and takes Chan by the arm ," Tracy, my love, would you please see to it that Miss Y/n here is not bored."

And Tracy surely did make sure you weren't bored for a single second.

She takes you into their medicine workshop, showing you the different herbs and fruits and vegetables they use to make the herbal medicine. She shows you the various jars full of these medicines and ointments. Her eyes shine with passion when she talks to you and it makes you realize how happy this makes her.

It is not an hour later,when she offers you a slice of cake and a cup of coffee that you find in yourself to ask Tracy about Chan and Felix and whatever happened back in their hometown.

"Ah,right. Their home." A sad expression falls on her ,as she stirs her coffee, " I wish I could tell you , I really do but unless Felix or Chan ask of me , I cannot do it."

The same response, again and again. "But I'm curious..... and scared." You mutter.

Tracy clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth ,"Sweetie, I know you are and I don't blame you. But it is not my place to decide if I can reveal a secret or not....yet I can tell you this- Chan is not dangerous or anything of that sort. He's in fact the one in danger, in need of protection. "

Shocked, you stare at Tracy ,not being able to form proper words. Your prediction was right, Chan was in fact the victim.

You feel chills down your spine.

"Do you come from that place too?" You ask again.

"Oh no, I wish , sweetheart, I wish but no. I'm from this city itself. Born and raised. " she replies with a slight chuckle.

You want to ask her if Chan and Felix had come from a different planet but you stop yourself just in time when the boys arrive into the workshop.

"I'm afraid we'll have to bid them farewell now, miss y/n." Chan says with a sad smile and you wonder if he said that to console his own self.

"You've been so ,so kind to Chan. I would just ask you to do one last thing for him -" Felix starts, " Can you please drop him at the Levanter hotel ?"

Your forehead creases with confusion, "Why ? Will he not be staying with you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. He'll be easier to find in my house out of all the places. He won't be very safe here." Felix admits, embarrassed.

"Then he can stay at my place. He doesn't have to live all alone." Your mouth speaks out those words without giving a second thought to the idea of Chan actually living with you - you said you didn't want trouble but here you were ,being a big ass hypocrite.

"Well I don't see a problem with that, "Tracy chimes in , grinning, "and besides ,I like to believe that Chan would rather enjoy your company than be alone."

Your cheeks burn red as Tracy yet again puts you and Chan in an awkward place. His eyes are fixed on your face while yours are everywhere but him.

"Its settled then. " Felix says as the couple escorts you and Chan to your car. And just before you drive off, you hear Felix say to Chan, "I think we can trust the lady. Tell her about Underland. Tell her about home."

You love listening to stories. You remember your dad telling you and Minho stories ever night when you were kids and how you found it difficult to sleep without listening to his stories. Stories make you happy, they make your mind wonder about the infinite possibilities in this vast universe and how you happened to be where you were at the exact moment when the story was told.

Stories fascinate you .

With a voice as serious as your dad's, Chan starts, "I and Felix come from a far, far away place called Underland. You humans might know of it as Wonderland because of that one writer who stumbled upon our kingdom one day and decided to write a stupid book about it." He almost sounds angry when he speaks the last line.

"Anyway, I and Felix belong to Underland, which was ruled by the First Great White Queen's descendants for centuries. But everything changed when my grand father - The Last White King passed away. My father were to take the throne by blood right but then a blood descendant of the First Red Queen arrived and claimed Underland as hers. She killed all remaining members of the White Queen's family, my parents, my brothers and sisters," he pauses for a second ,blinking away tears. Your heart clenches with sadness , "But she couldn't kill me; I was just a baby. The youngest of them all. So she banished me to the Enchanted Forest forever ,to live with The Hatters which was Felix's family. In the forest , I grew up with his siblings - Sana, Momo , Me and Felix were inseparable. And we played with the Dormouse , the Cheshire Cat, the White Rabbit , March Hare all day. It was lovely, almost like a dream. Never once did I want to live a royal life or desire my rightful throne back - I was happy. But when I turned twenty , the Queen wanted me to marry her daughter so that she could tighten her claim over the throne. I couldn't do that , I couldn't marry a woman I did not know and did not love. So my friends used their magic and helped run away from the Queen and her Red Knights. And that's how I ended up in your house. "

You blink a few times as everything comes crashing to you at once - his sudden appearance in your room, his weird clothes ,his accent ,his strange walk ,his cluelessness about the modern world , and Tracy calling him a Prince - he is a Prince. A Prince of a place you didn't know actually existed, a descendant of A Queen you'd only heard about in books and movies.

Marmoreal is the name of the White Queen's home , now you remember.

Wonderland was real. As real as you and Chan and Felix and Minho and Tracy. It very much exists .

"Y/n, please do not fear me,I beg of you. You can ask me anything you want but I want you to know that I will not harm you. I am your friend. At least I want to be. " he says , putting a hand on yours as your mind snap backs to reality.

You straighten up.

"Questions , right." you say, still blinking more often than you needed to .

"So the Red queen and the White queen are real? Like they're not just that Writer's idea?" You ask.

"Oh ,they are, I assure you. They were sisters but enemies, which led to the evil Red Queen's banishment centuries ago. Their descendants never got along with each other."

You nod, gulping hard. So the scary Queen with the big head was real. Brilliant.

"And The Hatters , are they the family of the Once Mad Hatter?"

"Yes, they are."

"Aren't they all mad?"

He chuckles, leaning closer to your face, "Darling, they're only as mad as you and I."

Your heart beat gets stuck in your throat , stopping you from asking him anything anymore.

Taking it as the end of the conversation Chan bids you a quick goodnight and heads over to the guest room you had given him.

But he stops just before the door, leaning against the door with a grin ,"Oh, by the way, my lady ,you might not want to skip that herbal medicine on your table anymore."

You frown, "Why?"

"I wasn't lying when I said they were magical - Felix makes them after all."

Oh, what a small fucking world!

The next morning, Bang Christopher Chan claims that he makes very ,very good morning tea that will give you a boost that normal ' human ' tea could never.

"Take one sip and you will crave for more, " he tells you as you provide him with the basic ingredients and watch him from the opposite side of the counter , making this supposedly mind blowing tea.

Now, to be very frank ,you weren't much of a tea person - you've only had boba a few times and the proper ,traditional tea only on the few times that your dad makes some. You were more into coffee. But you didn't tell him that.

You see Chan lean over the boiling pot of water on the gas , adding tea leaves and a little bit of cinnamon and then half a spoon of ground ginger. You observe him , your curiosity bubbling like the boiling water.

"Are you going to add ...magic too? " you couldn't help but ask the question as Chan stirs the mixture in front of him.

He chuckles , a warm , hearty laugh that lights up the lonely and cold corners of your small apartment. His eyes turn into crescent moons and his deep ocean dimples as he walks towards you and softly boops your nose , "Yes, of course! How would it be different from your normal tea otherwise?"

You see him walk back to the pot and then rub his forefinger and thumb together above the mouth of the pot , "Watch this ,my lady." You stare at him with shock as a sparkly , golden dust snows down due to the friction of his thumb and forefinger and gets mixed with the boiling tea.

And when the first sip of the freshly brewed,warm tea touches your lips and travels inside your mouth, you feel an explosion in your brain that you'd never felt before. You feel like there are literal fireworks in your head ,burning and cracking and fueling your energy levels. You want to run out on the roads and scream on top on your lungs for no goddamn reason.

"Chan, I didn't think I'd say this ,but this is the most delicious beverage I've ever tasted." You say , booping his nose like he did before, " Thank You."

In the evening , you take him out for shopping after calling Minho to cancel your plans with him. You told him that an old friend of yours was visiting from Australia and that he would be crashing at yours for the next few days. Minho didn't care much , as usual ,and all he said was, "Don't get pregnant." You remember rolling your eyes at his annoying remark.

So now here you are, scrolling through your phone while Chan tries on different clothes in the trial room.

"I do not like the shirt that shows my arms!" He yells from inside as the employees of the store giggle.

You sigh, " It's called a tank top,Chan. And I'm buying it whether you like it or not, it's summer for God's sake!"

You hear him mumble something under his breath and then the door of the dressing room creaks open to reveal a very different Chan. You can't help up but gawk at his perfectly toned arms and the very evident biceps that you did not expect to be there. You gulp hard. With his tousled hair and perfect smile and gorgeous eyes , he looks like a Disney Prince, the ones you used to obsess over as a child.

He is a prince, you dummy, you remind yourself again. Prince of Wonderland . (Underland, whatever)

He awkwardly hugs his arms around his body as the cool air from the AC grazes his bare arms ,his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

" Hey, chin up !" You grin , and walk toward him.

He presses his lips in a line and mutters ,"I look ugly."

"No, you do not look ugly ,Christopher. You look anything but ugly ," you glare at him, "You look amazing. Just like... Park Chanyeol. "

His forehead creases and you see a ghost of jealousy in his eyes, " Who is that? Your lover?"

You laugh out loud, patting his cheek softly. " No, he is a...famous person. In our world. Just like you are of your kingdom."

You decide to take out Chinese food for dinner and even though you want to ask Chan if he was okay with that , you don't. Because he probably doesn't know what China even is .

"Do you want me to carry that bag for you?" Chan asks ,pointing at the take out bag on your lap as the both of you settle down in the backseat of the cab you had called. You wince as you realize how badly your feet hurt from all the shopping and snacking.

"No , thank you. Plus you have enough things to carry yourself." You reply, eyeing the tons of bags he carries, containing clothes and shoes and whatnot.

The drive to your house is long , owing to the fact that the city becomes more livelier at night - a scene you rarely get to see with your own eyes anymore, thanks to your stupid job. The cab driver plays a slow, romantic song and you automatically find your eyes scan Chan's face, looking for something that could help you relate to the song booming through the speakers.

But all you see is worry.

"Chan, are you alright?" You ask him, placing a hand on his arm.

He looks over at you , his eyes shining like the city lights that you hadn't seen in so long, " You're a very kind person ,my lady. I do not know how I will ever repay you for this; any of this! "

You feel a warm feeling spread from your chest, coursing through your veins and under your scalp and your ears.

"You can repay me by making that tea for me everyday. " you reply with a soft smile.

Chan scoots over closer to you ,then puts his head on your shoulders, " Well then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I take a short nap - I owe you this one too."

You blush and look away from his captivating gaze ," Fine, whatever. Just make the tea for me. "

You know you want to add something but you swallow those words and repeat them only in the company of your own thoughts.

Thank you ,Chan , you think as you look out the car window ,cherishing the beautiful streetlights and the tall buildings and the neon signs of shops and the gentle pressure of Chan's head on your shoulder , Thank you for making my weekend less lonely.

Chan is a man of his word, you can guarantee that - An honorable , honest man who almost seems too good to be real sometimes.

As promised , he'd make you tea every morning for the next two months before you go to office while he spends most of his time in your house, trying out different things to keep him occupied while you were at work - learning how to use your spare laptop , cooking tutorials on YouTube , videocalling with Felix , practicing magic on your plushies, online window shopping because he apparently loved the way people in your world dressed.

He'd wait for you every evening with another interesting thing he had learnt and wanted to share with you , and a plate of freshly cut fruits that he prepared beforehand. Then you'd both make dinner together and spend the rest of the evening talking and laughing and gossiping .He would tell you about Underland and it's castles and magic and you would tell him about your world and how a stupid picture on the internet could go viral in a split second.

On weekends, you'd make a hearty breakfast for the both of you and then clean the house together,which Chan never once complained about. By the time evening comes, you would have already chosen what movie to show him while the popcorn cooks in the microwave. Or sometimes you'd spend the day at Felix's or sometimes drive down for a small picnic at a park.

Slowly but definitely, Chan becomes a part of your everyday life , your source of comfort, your escape . And he ,in turn , finds a caring friend in you , a teacher , a person he could lean on . Knowingly or unknowingly , you become his escape too.

It is on one such Friday night that Minho calls you during your movie session and you excuse yourself from a weeping Chan ( the movie you chose was Titanic) ,walking towards your own room.

" What's up?" You say into the phone as you jump on your bed .

"Are you seriously asking me that? Y/n , it's been weeks since mom or dad or I saw you. You keep cancelling plans for your Australian friend. Do you think I'm stupid?" He yells at you and you move your ear away from the speaker. Gosh ,talk about being so loud and annoying.

"He's coming home after years, Min. I can't just leave him here."

He sighs, "What kind of a friend stays over for two fucking months. " then adds ,with all seriousness, " is this some Christian Grey shit going on?"

You laugh - you have to ,even though you know your brother is pissed off ," Dude, do you even hear yourself ? I earn ten times more than that Anastasia bitch did. I don't need a sugar daddy."

"Then what's going on with this guy ? Tell me the truth ,y/n . You know I'll believe you." His voice now softens.

You sigh, rubbing the crease between your eyebrows.

Not this time ,you wouldn't believe me, you want to tell Minho.

But then decide that if you can't tell him the truth ,you could at least tell him half the truth.

"Look, Minho...my friend is not here for a vacation. He's here to hide. He's in possible danger. " you whisper to him.

"What kind of danger? Y/n,what if he's running from the police? What if he's in trouble with the government?" He asks,his voice filled with concern.

You hated the fact that he was so similar to you . And he had the audacity to call you adopted for so many years. Asshole.

"No, silly. Not that kind of trouble. He ran away from his engagement. The bride's mother is a bitch apparently ,trying to force him for his money and fame. "

You hear Minho heave a sigh of relief from the other side and naturally, you relax too.

"Well then if you can't leave him alone ,bring him along to our house. I'd love to meet this Australian guy in person."

And that was the end of the conversation.

When you live with someone , you find new things about them everyday - today is the day you find out that Chan looks exceptionally attractive in a tight black polo t-shirt and simple jeans. His blonde hair is pushed back a little, his forehead glowing under the bright Sunday sun and he wears a watch that Tracy and Felix had gifted him last week. Handsome as a Greek God.

"How do I look ?" He asks you as he scratches the back of his neck, smiling at his reflection in the mirror.

He's gained confidence .

"Like a Prince." You say, standing beside him.

Your eyes are focused on your reflections in the mirror,the close proximity of your bodies and the way you both look like any other couple in the world, makes you feel overwhelmed. You see the few millimetre gap between his hand and yours and if you reach out a little bit, you could easily lace your fingers with him.

"And how do I look?" You ask him with a small smirk.

He scans your image ; you wear a simple floral summer dress with short sleeves ,along with a pretty wrist bracelet and a simple pendant around your neck. You catch him blushing.

"Like a Princess. " he replies.

You badly want to hold his hand in yours. But you don't.

The drive to your Brother's place is filled with questions and replies and a few careless teasings thrown here and there.

"I hope your brother doesn't hate me for keeping you occupied all the time. " Chan comments when you turn to Minho's apartment street.

You shake your head, " No,no. Of course not. Minho is not like that."

Your brother has lived with his boyfriend, Jisung for about five years now . You want them to get married soon but they always make weird excuses about it. So you just assumed they enjoy this live in relationship without the pressure of marriage and children.

"Hey , y/n, oh my god! Long time ,huh?" Jisung hugs you tightly the moment you enter their living room ,his big toothy smile permanently plastered on his face. Minho stands behind Jisung ,his arms crossed over his chest and his critical eyes focused on Chan. You smile and jog up to your brother, wrapping your arms around him. His familiar scent makes you miss home and your parents and your old room. "Stop being so stuck up,Min." You whisper to him as Chan and Jisung introduce each other and Minho eyes them suspiciously.

He chuckles and hugs you tighter ,pressing a small kiss to your head. You grin as he pulls away.

"Chan,meet my brother Minho, " you bring Chan to stand in front of Minho , "And Minho ,this is Chan." Minho observes the way Chan walks - elegant and smooth and the way Chan talks , like he were a dude from the Victorian Era yet he wears modern clothes and uses a phone and air pods. Everything about this man is mysterious yet Minho couldn't find anything to hold against him. Perhaps he is being too hard on the poor man. He also notices how lovingly Chan gazes at you , looks out for you in the smallest possible ways and you look at him with the same adoration and concern. Were you two dating? You didn't say anything about that though.

So he asks you after dinner ," Do you like Chan?" The question comes out as natural as any other question Minho has ever asked you. You look down from his balcony at the streets and cars and people below then your eyes fall on your brother and the wine glass in his hands and on Jisung and Chan who chat inside the living room over dessert, having found a common interest in music making and lyrics writing.

Your blood turns cold - not because Minho had asked you that question but because this is the first time you're actually considering the possibility of that being true. It scares you.

You think about a similar incident that had happened almost ten years ago - when you were in middle school and Minho was in high school. You had a crush on your cute classmate but he chose your friend over you. Even at that tender age,you were heartbroken. No one at home noticed your sadness or disinterest in everything those days but Minho did - he always does.

"I don't know ." You lean against the railing of the balcony , "I don't want to think about it."

"Why?"

"Beacuse we do not belong together. We're from different worlds. " you whisper , "And I'm not sure if he feels anything like for me."

Minho frowns at you then flicks your forehead so hard that it stings.

"You keep suppressing your feelings all the time, y/n. You wouldn't know if he likes you or if you belong together if you don't tell him." He says.

You do know that you do not belong together. You do know that he may never like you back. But you don't mention it to Minho.

That night , as you are driving back home and Chan is sleepily looking out the window,you ask him , "Chan, there's something I have to ask you."

Chan sits up straight ,his attentive eyes focused on your nervous ones. He could sense your turmoil since you stepped out of Minho's house. He nods ," Go on."

"Um...actually, Jisung's cousin is getting married on Wednesday. Would you like to be my plus one for the ceremony?"

You'd never seen Chan smile so wide before, his eyes practically disappearing in the process. His cheeks tinted red and his hands tapping on his thigh .

"Do you want me to?" He asks. He hopes more than anything that you say yes.

" Hell yeah,dude! " You reply, chuckling.

He has never hugged you till now , you realize, as Chan jumps and wraps you in a warm embrace ,even as you are driving. Your heart hammers against your chest and your cheeks turn brighter than his own.

His smell fills you with a comforting ,homely feeling and you just hope he never lets go of the hug.

Remember when you said that Chan looked really good in a polo t-shirt and you thought it couldn't get any better? Well you take your words back now.

Your hands go limp by your sides when you see Chan walk out of his room , as you stare at him from the small crack of the door of your room. He looks ethereal. He wears a black suit with a pink, silky shirt inside paired with his locket and his watch. Nothing too fancy and yet you feel your knees growing weak below you.

You suck in a deep breath,looking at yourself in the mirror and trying to gather enough confidence to walk and face him. You wear a pink net shirt with black palazzo pants, accessorized with silver earrings and a rose gold ring on your thumb.

"Okay, come on ,y/n." you encourage yourself, your heart beating fast.

You had not really expected him to drop his jaw on the floor the moment he sees you but he did and it makes your heart flutter and cheeks red.

He offers you his hand, "You look gorgeous ,my lady."

And you slip your hand in his ," So do you ,your majesty."

The wedding venue is not really far from your apartment so it takes only about 30 minutes for you to reach there.

And rest assured, you both had turned all the heads in the wedding that night. Wide eyes and gaping mouths and silent whispers of jealousy, you noticed them all. You felt a little bad for stealing the spotlight from the bride and groom but you secretly wanted to show Chan off too.

"Attention grabbers." Minho had teased you during the wedding ceremony as the bride and groom took their vows , earning a pinch from you in reply.

The rest of the evening goes by smoothly and before you even realize it, Jisung pulls you and Chan to the dance floor when a slow,romantic song comes up.

"Uh. I don't know how to dance." You admit shyly as Chan offers you his hand.

He chuckles and you notice how deep his dimples really are this up close.

"I can so don't worry about it. Just trust me. " he says, his eyes scanning your face

Smiling, you take his hand and put your other hand on his shoulder while he drapes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He indeed is a good dancer because soon you find yourself gliding around the dance floor effortlessly, flowing with the music and drowning in Chan's intoxicating eyes.

"This isn't so bad though." You comment when the lights are turned low and you see all the couples around you in their own bubble,doing their own thing, just grooving to the soft music ," I could get used to it."

Chan pulls both your arms and wraps them around his neck ,his hands finding a comfortable place around your waist.

"You should come to Underland some day. We could dance there all night. No one would disturb us." he whispers back,moving your bodies gently to the music.

Your smile fades , " I wish I could,Chan. I desperately do. "

He looks into your eyes and leans in closer, making your heart thump fast. Faster than it ever has.

"You can. You can come and go whenever you want, I promise you. " he says.

You nod at his efforts of making you feel better but you know that when he finally goes back to Underland, your heartache would be inevitable. You are so deeply ,madly and truly in love with the man in front of you that you will not be able stand a day without his warm presence in your otherwise dark and cold house. His absence would absolutely destroy you so you simply bury your face in the crook of his neck , breathing in his smell , enjoying his hands on you and sketching this moment in your mind forever.

"I'm going to miss you when you leave." you mutter in a silent voice as he runs his fingers through your hair , "Don't go,Chan."

You don't know why you're suddenly getting so emotional about him leaving when you always knew it would happen some day.

"Then come with me ,y/n." He whispers into your ears.

You pull away just enough to look into his eyes and then shift your gaze to his oh-so kissable , plump lips that you'd spent so many nights dreaming about.

Is this the right thing to do?

You no longer care.

He leans in first ,pulling your body towards him and softly yet hastily pressing his lips against yours.

Oh the bliss of having to kiss the man you've longed for since forever.

You're not even surprised when his lips fit perfectly in between yours as your whole body turns warm under his touch , like it had been waiting for him for a long time. And when you hold his cheek to control the pace of the kiss , you realise how much this means to him. How much you mean to him.

"I love you, Chan." You whisper after he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours.

He grins," I love you ,too."

The wedding ends shortly after but you guys stay back to wait for Minho and Jisung while they bid farewell to all of Jisung 's family and relatives.

"Be quick. " you tell Chan when he rushes into the boys washroom while you wait outside, your mind still replaying the intimate moment you had on the dance floor ( and Minho and Jisung teasing you about it later on). You shake your head ,smiling like an idiot.

Your beautiful thoughts are interrupted when someone- a tall ,muscular man wearing a peculiar red tuxedo - walks past you, bumping his arm harshly onto yours.

"Ow,dude,what the fuck?" You wince ,rubbing your arm as the arrogant asshole walks into the bathroom, "Piece of shit." You say when he doesn't even bother looking back at you.

You are about to go back to reminiscing your kiss with Chan but you hear a Chan yelling from the bathroom, his voice is as crisp and clear as the air in the mountains.

Your whole body goes cold.

"Get away from me !" You hear him yell and before you could stop yourself ,you feel your feet running into bathroom , pushing past the main door that clearly reads 'Male'.

"Chan? What's wrong?" You ask, your voice laced with urgency and adrenaline pumping through your blood.

What you see inside is something you'd never expected to see before but you were in love with a man who came from a place you didn't even know existed so this doesn't come as a big surprise to you. If Chan weren't in immediate danger, you might as well have been fascinated by it.

You see - Chan crouching on the floor , blood running from his nose and his hands covering his eyes , as if he's hiding. You see - the red tall asshole leaning against the wall, staring at Chan. You see - three very peculiar creatures surrounding Chan , shaped like the rummy cards with spades, diamonds and whatnot drawn on them and holding spears in what you assume to be their arms.

You almost regret coming in when all of them look at you with wide ,surprised eyes.

"Y/n! What are you doing here?" Chan gets up and walks toward you ,his lips quivering with fear.

The card creatures walk toward you,their spears pointed toward you as they growl something under their breath. You back away slowly.

"Hey! Stop it! She has nothing to do with it. Don't attack her." Chan yells at those things and thankfully ,they listen. They turn around and stand beside the asshole in the red suit.

Chan runs over you , tears starting to form in his eyes, "You shouldn't be here , y/n. Go back,now!"

You look into his eyes , your heart breaking at the sight of seeing him so in pain ,so vulnerable. It's like you're hurt ,too.

"D-did they do t-this to you?" You ask,pointing at his nose.

He blinks for a second then nods with a sigh ," That's why I'm telling you to leave ,okay? Y/n, sweetheart, please leave.Now." His voice is basically begging you and all you can do is stare at him and the others with horror.

"They found you. The Red Queen found you." You mutter to him,as he holds you by your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry ,y/n. I really thought...we had time. I really did. " his voice cracks as more tears stream down his face.

"We don't have all day long , Chan. Your future wife and her mother have been waiting for a long time." The man in red says sarcastically, "You've kept them waiting long enough."

You glare at the man then turn to Chan, who's a sobbing mess by now.

"They're going to get you married?"

The man in red scoffs, " He should be lucky if that's all they do. And knowing the Queen , she is very angry with him. He will not have it easy."

"Will they...execute him?" You ask ,running your hands over his face ,rubbing the mixture of blood and tears. Your heart shatters.

"No, the young princess is very fond of him actually. They will get married after he serves his punishment."

You see Chan wince in your arms as you pull him up in a crushing embrace. Probably the last one ever.

"I can call Minho and Jisung. They could easily take care of these bastards." You whisper into his hair, blinking tears away.

He clutches into you as if you were the only thing keeping him completely losing his mind.

He shakes his head, " No, don't, please. I cannot let more people get involved with me."

You pull away from the hug, just like you had on the dance floor, but it's different this time - more painful .

"Is there anything I can do...to stop this." You ask again ,desperate to not part from the man you've grown to love so bad.

He kisses your forehead,then holds your face in his hands. "I do not want any harm befalling you ,or your brother and Jisung or Felix or anyone of my friends in Underland, which is why I have to go and face my faith. I'm so sorry ,my love."

You let the tears flow.

Why was the Universe so unfair to people who deserved to be happy together? Why did the universe always favour those who mean ill to others?

"I love you ,Chan , remember that. " you say , " I always will."

He smiles through his tears, "and so will I. Always. I don't care if I am married or you are married or whatever, you're my princess till the end of Earth and till the end of Underland."

The asshole in red clears his throat, glaring at the two of you. Chan pulls away from the embrace and walks back to where he was originally when you came in.

You see all of them taking turns to drink from a vial with a purple liquid in it.

"Farewell,my lady." Chan whispers as a tear drop rolls down his face and falls on the floor with a soft splat. And in the blink of an , he is gone ,leaving behind nothing but a puff of golden smoke and his tear drop on the floor.

That's when you realise how real all of this is. And realise why exactly you didn't like the story of Alice in Wonderland as a child - its because the story is not a typical fairytale where the prince ends up marrying the princess, and because some day or the other, Alice had to leave everyone behind and come back to her real world.

You feel like it's been an eternity since you have been walking through the crowd of people in the wedding , people looking at you with disgust and fear, while you look for your brother or Jisung.

You enter the main hall and scan the room , sniffing away your tears and rubbing your bloody hands on your shirt.

You are a mess.

Finally ,you spot Minho in the far corner of the room ,speaking with a few guests with Jisung by his side. You sigh in relief but your body responds in the form of sobs.

You rush towards him and pull him by the end of his shirt, "M-Minho."

Jisung and Minho turn around ,their eyes widen at your crying, shivering , bloody sight .

Jisung immediately wraps his coat around you.

"Hey,what happened?" Minho demands as he pulls you in a hug ,and you sob into his neck, " Where's Chan?"

You feel Jisung rub your back soothingly.

"T-they got him ,Min. They took him and they punched his nose and it was all bloody and horrible and he was crying. Those things were so scary and ..." you say in between sobs, "..they'll punish him for running away and then marry him off, Min. I couldn't protect him."

"Who is them, y/n ?" Minho ask, rubbing your tears with his thumb.

"The Red Knights."

Jisung and Minho share a look of confusion with each other but they don't push you to explain your words.

"Okay,let's go home. We can talk there okay? Nothing will happen to Chan. We'll save him."Jisung says .

You shake your head , "No, we can't go home. We have to go to Felix. He's the only one who knows what to do. You guys can't save Chan without magic."

They want to believe you and whatever you say and they're worried about Chan too ,afterall both of them were so fond of him but they find your words rather hard to digest.

Nevertheless, your brother drives you to Felix's house.

His house once made you feel happy and complete but now it makes you feel horrible, like the freezing cold sensation you experience when you play out in the snow for too long.

And as you sit around his dining table , telling him about the incident and then him further explaining the whole story of you and Chan to Your brother and Jisung , you feel horribly empty.

"I'm so sorry ,Felix. I should have done something. I should have called out for help but I was so...scared. " you say , Tracy rubbing your back in comfort.

"Its not you fault, Y/n. Those knights are scary and the red man you talked about, he is the Queen's personal guard." Felix says ,"You're lucky he didn't do anything bad to you."

Jisung stares him blankly.

Minho paces up and down the room , his face twisted in confusion, " So you're telling me that the stupid story of 'Alice in Wonderland ' is true and Chan is from that place and you too?"

Felix hums in response.

"Bloody hell ", Jisung murmurs under his breath then adds , " so how do we go to that place and find him? I mean how do things work there?"

"Oh uh,no, we are not going anywhere. I will go . You are staying at home ,safe and secure!" Minho says to Jisung.

You frown in confusion.

"Wait, you believe it? You don't think we're all mad?" You ask.

They shake their heads.

"I trust you , y/n. You may be a pain in the ass and a crybaby but you aren't stupid or mad,as a matter of fact. We believe you ,of course." Minho shrugs.

You don't know if he's poking fun at you or if he actually believes you, but knowing Minho ,he rarely ever jokes around in situations like this.

"But how can we save Chan from there? Do we challenge the Queen and her claim on the throne or what? " you ask Felix.

Felix sighs , " It's not going to be easy . At all. That woman is dangerous...crazy even. She killed off Chan 's entire family , you think it'd be that easy to save him from her?"

There is genuine hatred and disgust in his voice when he speaks of the Queen. You'd only ever seen the portrayal of the First Red Queen in the movies and that woman was enough to piss you off . You couldn't imagine how someone from the same family tree could possibly get any worse.

"What are our options?" You ask ,tapping your fingers against your leg, a habit you'd picked up from Chan. You didn't realise it until just now.

"We cannot defeat her with physical power so dueling challenges and other such things are cut out. So that leaves us with either breaking him out from prison or being witty enough to fool the Stupid Red Head into letting him go " , He says . " and mind you, the Queen is very easy to fool because she's very ,very dumb but her daughter aren't. So we need a full plan to get him out."

You nod in agreement.

"Might I suggest something," Minho chimes in after giving much thought on whether he should speak up or not.

"Yes,please, of course." Felix replies.

"I think that the more important thing right now is to go to Wonderland - I mean, Underland- and as you mentioned earlier, talk to your friends and family. We can make a plan after we reach but first we need to know the severity of the situation there. "

Minho has always been smart but you don't want to admit it out loud - not in the presence of other people at least .

"Fine , yes. We must leave soon," Felix turns to Tracy , "Tracy, sweetheart, you will have to stay here and look over the shop . Jisung ,as Minho said,will stay back too. We don't know how long it will take but I promise I will be back."

And with that , you leave the two couples alone to bid their goodbyes and walk out to the porch, breathing in the cool night air.

"I promise I'll find you , Chan. I will find you and save you." you mutter into the air.

Funny things love makes one do.

The vial with the purple liquid feels cold in your hands as you uncork it .

"Do I pour it all in?" You ask nervously.

Felix stands on your left while Minho on your right, both of them holding the same vial in their hands.

"It doesn't matter. Just a drop does the work too." Felix shrugs.

You see him pour all the contents of the vial into his throat and then squint his eyes at the taste.

Minho and you share a look before doing the same.

And then your vision is fogged with a golden puff of smoke as you feel your body falling down a long, neverending , bottomless hole.

You've only ever heard about Underland from Chan and Felix ,and only ever seen this place through their eyes ,but now that you're actually here , it feels surreal, if you put it subtly.

The crisp and fresh air in the Enchanted forest runs chill down your spine and you hop over wood logs and thorny bushes with continuously moving leaves. Minho stays close to you, his hand never leaving your arm while his eyes try to absorb his surroundings.

Felix walks in front of you two , not wavered by the scene in front of him. And why would he be anyway,this was his home ,his domain.

"W-where are we,Felix?" You ask in a soft voice .

"We're in The Tulgey Wood . We're going to my house." He replies with a slight nostalgic tone.

The Enchanted Forest is so breathtakingly beautiful that it almost feels unreal to be walking right through it. The purple sky above you ,the rustling leaves around you , the trees that seem to follow your every movement and flowers that seem to have actual eyes, everything welcomes you rather warmly although you have a feeling you are yet to see the crazy side of this place.

"Well , I had expected you a little earlier, Felix." A sharp voice says from somewhere within the bushes, startling you and Minho and he jumps in front of you ,as if to protect you.

"What's that?" Minho asks,unable to mask his own fearful eyes.

Felix chuckles , " Don't be scared. This is my friend ,the White Rabbit. "

You hear shuffling sounds from the bushes and out comes the most cuddly looking rabbit you've seen in your whole life, hopping on his back limbs and wearing a waistcoat and carrying a stopwatch.

A waistcoat and a stopwatch....

Minho stares at the creature with awe while you bend over to take a closer look at it.

"Hey ,young lady ,back off!" The rabbit threatens you , squinting his eyes at you. And you immediately step back, blinking your eyes nervously.

"It's alright, she's our friend. Chan knows her too. " Felix says, crouching down to pat him , "This is y/n and her brother ,Minho. They're here to help."

At the mention of Chan's name , The Rabbit's eyes widen and he slumps down into Felix's arms and starts sobbing.

"Oh,my dear Felix , I'm afraid of what has become of The Prince. When we heard that the Knights brought him back , we were all so ...lost." he says as Felix cuddles him in his arms, "Dormouse and Cheshire have sneaked out from their duties of the Queen and gone to visit him . They say he looks scared to death. The Queen out him in a prison. With murderers and thieves and whatnot."

Your whole body goes limp at his words, your annoyingly vivid imagination creating those pictures in your head. You blink your tears away.

"How can we save him?" You ask in croaked voice.

The rabbit looks at you sadly , " Let's go to the girls first. They can help you."

"Who is he talking about?" Minho asks.

"My sisters," Felix replies , leading the way deeper into forest , "Come on, we're almost home."

The Hatters' live on a clear patch of land in Tulgey Wood , surrounded by trees for as long as the eyes could reach , in a huge house beautifully built like a Victorian top hat.

You were breath taken. And so was Minho because you could literally feel him hold his breath as you guys enter the house.

"Oh ,my gods , is that you Felix?" A high pitched female voice thunders from above you ,while you stand in what looks like the Study of the house. Your hands brush over a brown diary kept on the desk and the pot of ink sitting beside it. ' Medicinal Documentation ' the diary reads.

"Yes, it seems so. " Felix replies with a grin.

Your eyes fall on the steep spiral stairs in front of you that go up to the other floors of the house and you see two girls jogging down the stairs, big smiles plastered on their faces yet the sadness in their eyes cannot be hidden.

They are a tad bit shorter than you are , and they must not age more than Minho and as they jump on Felix ,squealing with excitement, one can almost immediately see the resemblance in the siblings' appearance ; bright orange hair , toothy smiles, and big ,sparkly eyes .

"And who might these lovely people be?" The shorter of the two girls asks ,as the white rabbit clings onto her long skirt.

"Oh,this is y/n and her brother Minho. They know Chan and want to help him." Felix introduces, " Y/n , Minho meet my sisters - Sana and Momo."

"Of course..miss y/n. We've heard about you." Sana ,the taller one ,walks up to you and bows her head lightly, "We're so grateful for what you're doing for the Prince, sweet one, we really are."

If Felix, Momo , Sana , Chan and the annoying ( but cute) rabbit were put in a Shakespearean play together , it would be a massive hit. Their accents are so good and elegant and graceful that you wish you could learn it too.

You smile at the compliment , "Please don't thank me. I haven't saved him yet. "

"Oh, enough of these formal courtesies, " the shorter girl, Momo , holds your arm and leads you up the stairs, "How about we talk over tea?"

The group reaches the top most floor of the house ,overlooking the beautiful forest through the window as you are made to sit around a long table .

Sana and Mina serve you a cup of tea while the White Rabbit passes you some freshly baked cookies.

"Wow,this...this tea is wonderful." Minho compliments when he takes a sip from his China cup , "Is this what Chan used to make for you ,y/n?"

You nod, as those memories dance around behind your eyes , " He was very good with it."

"Oh he always has been good at everything, I tell you ," Momo starts , " Sword fights ,archery, horse riding ,poetry , cooking, too bad a prince like him had to live with mere Hatters like ourselves."

"Hey,we weren't always this poor. " Sana adds, "This is all the Second Red Queen's doing, gods curse her!"

You scowl , " What do you mean? I thought she only harmed Chan's family . "

Sana let's out a woeful sigh while Momo and Felix look at each other with sorry eyes.

"I wish she'd only done that ,truth be told." Sana says.

"Yes, but instead she ruined everyone's lives who ever crossed paths with her." Momo says, "Our father was the Royal Hatter for Chan's family - the White Queen's descendants. And our mother was the Royal Physician . We lived a happy life , living in a big house near the palace in Marmoreal . "

"Marmoreal was the Summer Palace for the Royal family ,not very far from the capital town of Witzend. One such summer , when Prince Chan was only a year and a half old ,the banished heir of the Evil First Red Queen arrived in Marmoreal and her Knights butchered the royal family and killed every living creature in sight. Her dragons set fire to our house and the palace and the nearby villages. It was...horrible , to say the least. Only a few people survived , which included our family and the Young Prince. The Queen commanded us to take the infant away and never show up in front of her again and so we did - for a long time." Momo then looks over at Sana ,signalling her to continue telling the story.

"But that was until the Queen's only daughter - Princess Scarlet's 18th birthday celebration. We had gone to the parade fair in Witzend, just near the Queen's castle. No one knew us properly or Chan so we were safe. But the Princess saw Chan and fell in love with him...madly. She pursued him every chance she got and when she couldn't succeed , she used her mother's powers to force an alliance. Her mother was hesitant at first, given her history with Chan's family but then she too decided to force him into this alliance for her political good. And initially , Chan had to comply. But on the day of their wedding announcement, he escaped into your world."

"Through my rabbit hole,if I may add." The White Rabbit mumbles. You purse your lips, letting the story in slowly , word by word ,letter by letter. And when the realization sinks in,you purse your lips to stop yourself from crying.

"And I couldn't protect him. I am responsible for what happens to him." You whisper.

Everyone looks at you with disbelief.

"Hey, no! That is not true!" Felix says,almost angry ," You're the reason he was safe and happy for all those months. If not , if he were with me or worse,alone, he wouldn't last a week out there. You saved him, y/n."

"It's true, y/n. Our friends work in the Queen's royal kitchen and they've met Chan a few times in the prison - he only ever asks about a woman named y/n." Sana says.

Your heart drops into the deepest pits of your stomach. You didn't know what love really meant until you met him and although a stranger, in an unknown place , he still trusted you, believed you , cared for you , loved you.

You have to save him.

"Okay , anyone has any plans? Any ideas?" You ask ,after composing yourself.

"I don't have one but I really want to suggest we move this meeting to the medicinal garden in the backyard. That place helps me think. " The White Rabbit offers,scratching his fluffy ears.

As if something in your brain suddenly clicks , like a gear falling into place in a machine; Your eyes widen as you slam your hand on the table.

Everyone jumps up , startled.

"What's wrong ?"

You look over at the Rabbit and pat his head , "You are a genius."

"Huh?"

"You said your friends work for the Queen ,right?"

"Yes?"

You drag your chair away from the table, jumping to your feet ," I have a brilliant idea."

When the next morning arrives , you find yourself walking to the town of Witzend with The White Rabbit , Minho , Felix and his sisters by your side.

"Here,y/n, take this," Momo gives you something just before you enter the castle of the Red Queen. "You'll need it."

You gaze carefully at the shining vial in your palm.

"You know when to use it." She says.

You nod.

The Red Queen that you remember from the movies and the few excerpts from the original book of Alice in Wonderland that you'd only ever read once, you had expected her descendant to look a certain way too - big ,swollen head , scary eyes , loud voice.

But the woman sitting on the throne directly in front of you is definitely not what you had expected. At all. The Queen is a small woman ; and by small you don't mean skinny and short - she's literally small. She must not be more than three feet in height , you assume , but her features and face is that of a fully grown adult in her 40s. A human being who'd suddenly shrunk ( proportionally) like a raisin.

You wonder how someone so small could hold so much evil in themselves.

"Your majesty, " you bow down to her and so do the people standing beside you , scared yet worried for Chan. "It's nice to finally see you again."

You see a familiar gaze behind the throne, and you immediately recognize him - the Queen's personal guard - the asshole who had punched Chan bloody.

He smirks at you.

You curl your hands into fists.

"Yes? And what is it that you want from me?" The Queen asks, not really caring about the matter at hand. She picks at her cuticles while chewing her bottom lip.

Hesitant, you look at Felix asking for help.

Behind you , you could hear murmurs from the people waiting in line for their turn to put forward their complaint in front of the Queen.

"Your majesty, this is Miss y/n. She's come a long way from home to see you." Felix says ,his voice as gentle as the wind on a winter morning.

The Queen rolls her eyes, running her small hand through her red hair , " What can I do for you?"

That's the fakest thing you'd heard all day.

You clear your throat and pick up all your courage to speak, "I want your help to look for the man I love, your majesty. He's ...missing and possibly hurt I believe. "

" Why are you here instead of asking the Police to help you?" The Queen demands.

"Oh,because I'm afraid you're the one who has him."

The Queen stops picking at her cuticles, and raises her head to stare at you with her small , googly yet intimidating eyes. You realise now why the people were so afraid of her - the Evil curve of her lips and her deadly stare are enough to make you want to drop everything and run back home.

"What do you mean ,young lady?" The Queen asks, her interest now focused on your words.

A collective gasp runs through the throne room , starting from the citizens, then passing on to the Queen's staff and her card shaped Knights. They seem surprised at the Queen actually showing an interest in something for the first time.

"I'm talking about Prince Chan, your majesty." You say.

The Queen's eyes widen as you hear the room fill with murmurs and gasps and silent cries. How long had it been since a person dared to even mention Chan in front of the Queen?

"Mother,what is this woman talking about?!" You hear a loud shriek from somewhere beside the Queen .

And only when you squint your eyes hard enough can you actually see her ; the Princess of Underland who was hilariously so small (even smaller than her mother ) that you almost wanted to giggle. Now don't get me wrong, you weren't body shaming her or anything , but you'd never seen a person so terribly small in your entire life until now. You could only imagine what it would look like if Chan happens to marry her for real one day.

"Don't worry daughter , " the Queen gets up from her seat and walks up toward you, her guard close behind her , " Chan is only yours. No one else's."

Just when you're about to respond , you see two huge fishes - almost as tall as you - twirl up to the Queen and offer her a cup.

You'd never expected to see actual, living fishes out of water or wear clothes or hold trays and bowls or walk on their tails, but here you are .

"Wrong timing ,idiots!" The Queen screams her face red with anger yet she snatches the cup from the tray and gulps down all it's contents at one go.

What a peculiar woman.

"Go away now." The red asshole growls at the poor fish as they rush away from the scene.

You smile at the Queen as she stands in front of you , not even reaching your knees properly .

"You,girl, what do you want?" She demands.

You feel Minho wrap a reassuring arm around you , eyeing the woman in front of you with a hatred filled gaze. Felix stands close by your side.

"I want Chan to be released from prison , and be given his rightful throne back . That's all." You say.

The Queen scoffs , "His weak and worthless dynasty ruled over this excuse of a country and the useless people for years. I am only trying to make things better."

You can feel the disapproval of the citizens around you at being called useless.

"And? Do your people think you're doing a good job?" Felix asks.

You see numerous heads shake in a negative response,and you can slowly feel the tension in the room rising.

The Queen points her left forefinger at you while the other hand is on her waist , " You want the truth , peasant girl? So here it is - I do not care about anyone . I care nothing of this country and its citizens and its creatures. None of my ancestors ever had. We just like to sit on that extremely uncomfortable throne and enjoy the money and power we get from controlling these worthless citizens. Oh and I wish I could relive the screams of The White Royal family as I killed them. One by one."

The Queen gasps in realization of what she'd just said while the room falls completely silent for a second before the princess yelps , "Mother ,what is the matter with you?!"

The princess looks horrified as she runs up to her equally horrified mother.

You smirk - the plan of pouring in the truth potion in the Queen's tea had taken so less effort , thanks to the sweet Dormouse and benevolent Cheshire Cat and Felix's mother's medicine diary.

"Oh I hope you burn in hell . A whiny, good for nothing girl. You can't even fight your own fights without dragging me in. And as far as Chan is concerned , I don't care about you marrying him. I only wanted to secure my claim over the throne by forming an alliance with a person with actual rights to this kingdom." The Queen clamps a hand over her mouth, stumbling back from the shock.

The princess let's go off her mother,betrayal clear in his eyes.

"So you admit to your crimes?"

"Yes." The truth comes out as natural as those lies she'd fed the citizens and the princess and her servants and the Knights for years.

From the corner of your eyes , you see The Princess trying to sneak past everyone and run out of the throne room , guilty of her own wrong doings but Felix stops her with a firm grip on her tiny hand , "Where do you think you're going, little one? Didn't you threaten to kill my whole family if we didn't hand Chan over to you?"

The Red Knights close in to capture the Queen and her personal guard in their unbreakable grasp , giving up their oaths of protecting the Queen - their duty is only to serve Chan from now on.

Sana steps in now , turning to address the people who are witnessing this unusual incident, "My fellow lovely countrymen, as you can see right before your eyes and hear through your own ears , your Queen has intended nothing but to harm you and our kingdom for all these years. She means no good and never will - the true heir to the throne now lies injured and chained in her dungeons. What do you suggest we do?"

"Behead her!" "Free the Prince!" "Finish off the Reds!" "Be done with her guard too ." "Crown Prince Chan."

The room thunders with all sorts of suggestions and you make an eye contact with the White Rabbit ,who nods at you and you nod back ,smiling from ear to ear.

You've done it , he wants to say , you've freed The Prince.

The rooms in the castle were beautifully designed, but were in a terrible condition since most of the rooms were never used really and the Queen didn't feel it was important to get them cleaned regularly.

You had asked the White Rabbit to find some servants to get one of the rooms quickly prepped as the Red Knights carried Chan from the prison and into the castle - his birth home. Sana and Momo cleaned his wounds the moment he was laid down on the soft bed, changing his clothes and then softly pulling the covers over his body to keep him warm while he rests.

The White Rabbit brings you an apple but you don't eat it - you just sit by Chan's side ,praying desperately that he wakes up soon. You wouldn't be able to swallow a single grain of food until then.

You run your fingers softly over his arm ,drawing random patterns and spelling out your names on it.

"Please wake up ,Chan." You say in a whisper , scanning his calm yet beautiful facial features. "I found you ,Chan. I am here."

Your fingers find their way to his and naturally as ever ,wrap themselves around them.

Suddenly, Chan stirs in his position , a low groan leaving his parted lips. You stare wide eyed at him as he slowly opens his eyes, your hands still tightly intertwined.

"C-chan?"

He turns his head toward you , a lazy smile dancing on his lips and his eyes focusing on your face , which he'd yearned to see every second he spent in that horribly dark dungeon.

"Are you really here, y/n? Or am I finally going mad?" He asks you.

You lean in closer ,brushing a few strands of hair from his face.

"You're only as mad as the rest of us." You reply, "Welcome home ,your majesty."

Groggy and weak ,Chan pushes himself up in a seating position. "How did you deal with the Queen? Where is she? " He takes your face in his hands , "Did she hurt you?"

"She couldn't lay a single finger on me. And now she's locked up in the same dungeon as you were. She'll be given to the slave trader soon ,along with her daughter." You say. "Who knew a simple medicine and a few good friends could be enough to defeat a tyrant ?"

He giggles , pressing his forehead on yours. "Did you meet everyone else ? Momo? Sana? My friends?"

You nod with a grin. You'd come to adore his friends and family so deeply in a single day. You would hate to part from them.

"Thank you, y/n. I owe you everything. " he sighs, his breath fanning your face , "I love you so much I think it's going to drive me crazy!"

You chuckle at his cheesy words , "You're welcome. But I need compensation for all of this. An ' I love you ' is not enough."

You were joking ; hearing him confess his sincere love for you is more than enough but you liked playing with him. He looks very cute when flustered.

"Then what would the pretty lady desire?"

"You."

He shakes his head , leaning down to capture your lips in his plump ones.

This kiss was even better than the first one that you guys shared on the dance floor , mostly because you know now that even if he's taken away from you or you are taken away from him , you'll always find each other , in every world , in every universe. He pulls you up on his lap despite him being injured , and you let him.

You put your hand around his neck, pulling him closer and closer and closer . At one point ,you could no longer tell who he is or who you were. The only thing that mattered was that you loved him so much , you could deal with a hundred Red Queens for him. And you know he'd do the same for you.

"I have one last favour to ask of you ,my love." He whispers against your lips ,pulling away from the kiss. His red cheeks and sparkly eyes are a sight to behold ," I want you to stay here with me. Please."

You grin , knowing he'd say this and you were well prepared for it. Convincing Minho to let you stay was so much easier than you had expected really. All he did was shrug with a smirk and say, " Just don't get pregnant." In reality, all Minho really wanted was for you to be happy and healthy and he knew living here with Chan would make you the happiest.

"On three conditions." You reply to Chan ,who is staring at you like he'd seen a human like you for the first time.

"Okay. What are those?" He brushes your cheeks with his thumb.

"I can visit home whenever I want."

"Agreed, obviously.  You're not a prisoner, y /n."

"Then I also want to put up a small shop of my own in the main market square. I will not be wasting my time on stupid politics- that's your job."

"Agreed. I will help you with it whenever I can. What's the last condition?"

You smirk and lean your face closer to his. "Kiss me one more time."

And he does.

You smile into the kiss , wondering now that ' Alice in Wonderland '  might not have been that bad after all. She had a choice to stay or go back and she chose the latter. You had the same choices too , but you chose to stay. It wasn't about a happy or a sad ending ,after all. It was about the choices.

And as Chan holds your waist firmly, deepening the kiss , you know you've made the right choice too.

[chapitre7]

When I have you

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

CQL-verse, Canon Divergence, Alternate getting together

Tracks up to episode 33

Read on AO3

“Why would a person like another person? I mean that kind of like.”

 He makes an abrupt pause in his writing, and though he doesn’t look up, the smudge on the paper is ever-growing. If not for the practice of his calligraphy, all the work put into transcribing those rules would have been for nought. He’ll have to discard those, and start over.

 Wei Wuxian, however, unfortunately encouraged by his reticence, continues.

 “Come on, Lan Zhan, you’re the smartest person I know. I don’t understand what my senior sister sees in that peacock, but she seems to like him, like really likes him, and not out of the endless kindness in her heart.”

 The Jiang disciple breaks the peace in the Library Pavilion with heavy steps, crossing the distance between his desk and Lan Wangji’s in long, ungraceful strides, plopping down beside the Second Jade with a low sound. Head bowed, eyes turned up, he attempts to lock gazes with the other.

 “What do you think, Lan Zhan? Have you ever thought about it?”

 Lan Wangji is not looking up but he can see Wei Wuxian’s grin just at the limits of his peripheral vision. Out of a stubborn, uncontrollable desire to ignore the other, Lan Wangji continues to write down the Gusu Lan rules from memory, the blotch in the middle seeming to chastise him for his irritation.

 “Has Second Young Master Lan ever liked someone?”

 “Ridiculous,” he mutters, but not with as much purpose as he meant to convey with the word. Under the cold layers of his façade, Lan Wangji admits to know the sentiment in his heart. He loves his brother, and he loves his uncle, and he certainly loves his sect. Those are all different from the kind that Wei Wuxian is talking about, he also knows. A kind that he hasn’t put his mind into in his short experience in life, having had no reason to consider it. Even as brother tries to gently push him towards the path of friendship with someone, he’s... troubled. If he must fulfill his duties with his sect with focus and precision, how could he be dedicated to someone else?

 “Right, it is ridiculous.”

 It must be a particular talent of Wei Wuxian’s, to sound petulant even when he’s being agreeable.

 “Second Young Master Lan is cold as jade, I bet no cultivator has been strong enough to melt the ice in his veins.”

 Lan Wangji closes his eyes, summoning all of his diligent training to calm the storm that seems to loom around this disciple who seems to want nothing but to shake the foundations of the Gusu Lan sect.

 “But if I could almost beat you in a fight, Lan Zhan, I wouldn’t give up on that front if I were you!”

 He snaps his eyes open and Wei Wuxian recoils at his glare, as if sharp Bichen had just been unsheathed and pointed at his neck. And because he’s not been taught to feel pride, Wangji rationalizes that it’s only appropriate for the misbehaving to be aware of their actions.

 “Get back to work,” he says, enunciating every word, and Wei Wuxian pouts like a child, resignedly dragging himself to his feet and slouching back to his own desk. He doesn’t ask anything else that day, and Lan Wangji makes a series of mental notes of all the points that Wei Wuxian needs to work on in order to become a proper cultivator.

 The question still lingers in his mind when he lies down to sleep. In the cold, dark blue of the Cloud Recesses after curfew, no hints are blown to him on the breath of the wind, nor are they whispered by the cricking branches of the magnolia trees. It’d be a shameful question to ask uncle; brother wouldn’t mind, but his usual method of guidance would be like trying to tread through a village without light. One can live alone, Wangji. Our hearts are our own to keep or to give. But our feelings are hardly ours to control. He knows, just like he’d be able feel the dirt beneath his feet and feel his way from one side to the other in the dark. But as he relies on his sight to see, how could he know if his surroundings were the very ones he had been looking for?

 Lan Wangji only falls asleep hours after curfew, after he wills himself to stop thinking.

 ***

 To find Wei Wuxian searching through the archives of the Library Pavilion, having arrived earlier than Lan Wangji, is something of a surprise that the young Lan could easily brush past, his jade-like complexion not betraying the slight sentiment of optimism that the disciple is finally willing to be studious and respectful.

 To hear him muttering, “I can’t believe there’re literally no romance books,” causes those fragile wings of hope to melt under the scorching reality that Wei Wuxian is unrepentant, and realize there’s still much work to be done.

 “Lan Zhan!”

 He barely suppresses the narrowing of his eyes. Every time he calls his name is like he’s closing in again, trying to whisper theories or whatever occupies his mind at the time, and Wangji does not like to be close, does not like to be touched, does not like the ease with which Wei Wuxian falls into calling him by his name. Excessive feelings are forbidden. He bundles his disapproval, folds it over and over and tucks it away, so he can properly start finding ways to discipline Wei Wuxian.

 Who’s looking at him with undisguised disappointment. “I had so many expectations for your library, Lan Zhan, but there’s really nothing helpful! The library at Lotus Pier has collections on bravery, legendary hunts and cultivation partners. Doesn’t your sect have any romance in you?”

 Lan Wangji moves soundlessly to stand beside the other, adjusting the book spines back into their proper place. The task is nothing to him, just a repetition of propriety, and against his better judgment, his eyes go unfocused, thinking about the concept of romance.

 “Lan An, after finding his cultivation partner and founding the Gusu Lan sect, passed on that all regulations can be foregone once one finds the one they love. Although that much is known, he didn’t leave behind any record or notes about his life with his cultivation partner.”

 Which Wei Wuxian would know if he had been attending class like his peers, and paying attention instead of messing around.

 Casting his gaze aside from the bookshelf, Lan Wangji notices that Wei Wuxian stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Words seem to have escaped him, for what surely must be the first time in their short acquaintance. The moment stretches for so long (seconds) and it’s so out of place that Lan Wangji almost fidgets, but instead he barely moves, ready to guide them to their proper seats to start their work for the day, if Wei Wuxian isn’t inclined to say anything else. However, he takes only a sidestep when the boy blurts, a bit too loudly,

 “You can ignore the rules?!”

 He soundly gasps, clutching the front of his robes, looking positively anguished. Lan Wangji is unimpressed.

 “Lan Zhan! Then why are we even learning this many rules to begin with!”

 Lan Wangji retracts his foot from its designed path to place it right beside the other, turning fully to Wei Wuxian, the perfect form of ordinance.

 “One must first know and follow the rules in order to forego them.”

 The rules are so much more than the binds Wei Wuxian perceives them to be, and with time, he’ll understand. At that point, however, Lan Wangji is a little wavered, experiencing his own limits. He is, perhaps, a bit disappointed in himself. But Wei Wuxian only blinks, the exaggerated, dramatic mask he’s wearing dropping, only to break into his usual mirthful countenance. He laughs, body curving forward, both hands cradling his belly.

 “Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he says between difficult breaths, wiping tears away from his eyes. Lan Wangji simply waits, hands behind his back, slowly blinking. “The Second Jade of Lan can be so funny! You must talk more!”

 “Nonsense,” he says, ready to leave Wei Wuxian’s inappropriate curiosity behind, walking to his usual seat in the pavilion. Without anyone to entertain him, Wei Wuxian follows.

 “Lan Zhan, listen! What do you think a man who wrote down however many rules only to give them up was thinking?” He hops from one side of Lan Wangji to the other as the cultivator walks, and gingerly sits down beside him as the other carefully sets himself behind his desk. “Do you think it he was taken by how pretty she was? Or how nice? But the peacock is neither of those things! Well, he might be good-looking, but his personality is rotten, so what good is it for! What do you think, Lan Zhan? What would you like? Would your destined young lady cultivator have to be prettier than you? I think those standards are a bit— All right, I’m going, I’m going, I’m sitting down, see?”

 Lan Wangji keeps glaring at Wei Wuxian even as he starts scribbling down the rules in uncoordinated calligraphy. He catches every glance the other throws in his direction to make sure he refocuses on his designed task. It’s only after a few good minutes of Wei Wuxian copying the rules at remarkable speed (which would probably require another whole round of copying, considering he’s processing a whole lot of nothing that way) that Wangji allows himself to look down at his own blank manuscript.

 With Wuxian quiet, the doors to the pavilion closed, and only a breeze swaying a wind chime by the open window, Wangji tries to remember any love poems that he’s read in the past. He doesn’t get up to look for any books, not wanting to catch Wei Wuxian’s attention, but all of the meanings and messages that he remembers fail to form a proper answer, speaking only of an abstract feeling that supposedly one could do anything for. To create rules to regulate one’s spirit and then give them up. To live for a sect and to live for a single person. Be two people — or was it just one, perfectly divided, perfectly wise? Was love also a form of cultivation, once you uncovered its mysteries?

 All Wangji knows of love are uncle’s short words about father when he dared to ask, spoken with fondness before a grunt and an endless reciting of rules.

 An open door with warm arms and a laughter that rang like bells, teasing him into speaking, into making sounds. Warm despite her fate, caring and welcoming, until the door closed and never opened again.

 Flowers that never survived winter.

 “...An. Lan Zhan!”

 His eyes had been open the entire time, but it’s only after the call that he sees Wei Wuxian. Standing before him with a slight furrow between his brows, holding a stack of notes but keeping it at his side. Instead of handing them over, he kneels, placing his elbows on Wangji’s desk. The paper before the Second Jade is empty again, and if he wrote anything, he’s unable to recall. The sun is low outside, casting shadows on the usually bright pavilion.

 “Are you okay? Are you hungry?” Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side, and all of his questions beg no real answers as he continues. “Really, Lan Zhan, the food you serve here isn’t enough to sustain a cultivator of your caliber. You should come to Yunmeng! I’ll show you all of the best restaurants, though none of them can really compare to senior sister’s cooking. I can ask her to make you all my favorite dishes! I’m sure you’ll like them.”

 Wei Wuxian stands up laughing, but it’s not quite like the way he usually does. He’s moving between his heels and the balls of his feet, delighted huffs of air escaping through his nose. It echoes the melody of the wind chime, his eyes catching a light that Lan Wangji doesn’t know the source of. Wangji can only watch him for a second or two, spellbound, as if the sun that he is, that Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang tend to gravitate around, is lighter, the beginning of autumn. Something lies heavy in his chest — the promise or the company? The clear concern or the unambitious compliment? — and he can’t speak, waiting for the words find their way back to him.

 “No need,” Wangji says at last, holding out his hand, and Wei Wuxian hands him his copy of the rules with a clearly displeased expression at his dismissal, which gives Wangji some relief; he’s not acting strangely, or not so strangely as to make an impression on the Yunmeng Jiang disciple.

 All through dinner, thoughts keep swirling in his head. Brother doesn’t keep him in his company for long, catching that something is on his mind, but being, as always, kind enough to let him go if he’s not ready to share. And as he folds his robes after changing for bed, he’s suddenly hit with the memory of the cloud patterns on his mother’s robes. Even if he can no longer perfectly envision her features anymore, he thinks that he can understand the virtues that could lead someone to love. Kindness, gentleness; a disposition to accept him and stay with him, even if he’s not much of a talker, not fun to be around; and a way to make him feel like he’s right where he’s supposed to be, even within the four walls of her pretty birdcage.

 In the space between the long night and sunrise, Lan Wangji dreams of white gentians and of Wei Wuxian, clad in the white of Gusu Lan as he knew him, laughing with his sword in his hand and the night breeze in his hair. The world is boundless behind him, and he’s calling his name. Opening his eyes to the dark of his safe quarters, Wangji wishes it had been one of those dreams that he forgets at the first light of day, lest he feels tempted to long for their continuation.

 His name in Wuxian’s voice lingers in his ears.

 ***

 Brother seems to understand something that’s not enlightened to him yet. Or maybe he’s just testing the waters, surveying the scene, as cultivators ought to do at the beginning of a night hunt. Guiding him, without taking his hand. Smiling at him, anticipating his success.

 Traveling with Wei Wuxian is nothing like night hunting. There are no guidelines to follow; even as they ride their swords to Caiyi, he talks about everything he can think about, all the people he sees, an anecdote about Yunmeng here and there. Once they arrive, he’d certainly get lost in the crowd, carelessly going from one merchant to another, if Wangji didn’t go straight to their inn. And when brother arranges for them to stay in the same room — what were his expectations, exactly? Wangji wishes he could see the threads of his brother’s thoughts —, Wangji feels like he’s being tested. Exactly by whom and what for, he’s not sure. His brother isn’t one for tasteless jokes, that much he’s certain. So he must be missing something, any indication that he let on, unconsciously, that he wants things to change.

 Does he?

 An answer doesn’t come simply because he wishes for it. And he’s no child to throw tantrums at what he doesn’t like or understand. So he just takes it as he does the tasks he’s given. He goes, and he’s focused, as he always is.

 Wei Wuxian — Wei Ying, despite his brashness and overconfidence, is smart. He’s capable of asking the right questions, to find the flaws in a story, to grasp at the truth beneath. But exactly because he’s brash and arrogant, he jumps to conclusions that, judging from Jiang Wanyin’s brazen outbursts at his attitude, oftentimes lead into trouble. And he refuses to adapt, to fit into the rules, to follow a more direct path to being a righteous cultivator instead of skirting from one way to another like a drunk.

 And yet, Lan Wangji keeps the drawing he made secure on a shelf, pressed between his books. And yet, Wei Ying keeps approaching him in that shamelessly familiar way, just to... What? Rile him up? Get under his skin, like he did with that outrageous book? Or is he so used to all the attention that he gets, that he won’t tire until he’s secured his as well? He tries to piece him together, the contradicting parts of him, the loud and the subtle, the clever and the ignorant, and Wangji doesn’t even know why he thinks of him. Is this what brother intended, in the end? To help him solve a puzzle that he didn’t even realize he was trying to put together? He is unlike any other guest disciple that had come to the Cloud Recesses. Maybe brother intends to have Wangji guide him—

 “Lan Zhan.”

 Wei Ying talks from his bed. He’s been quiet for so long that Wangji had assumed he had fallen asleep after sulking, after his usual games didn’t follow through with him. And there’s a part of Wangji that feels a pang of guilt that, instead of meditating or preparing to sleep, he had just been sitting there, thinking about him while he’s in the room. It feels dangerous, all of a sudden. That somehow, his thoughts and questions might be seen by the other, that he’ll be able to tell that he’s been on his mind.

 “I still can’t think of why senior sister would like the peacock. Maybe it was something he said to her?”

 There’s no perceptible change in Wangji’s stance, but he doesn’t shut the topic down.

 “Maybe in one of their meetings he said something to her that made her fall in love... Is that possible? I’ve said all kinds of things to the girls in Yunmeng to make them smile and I don’t remember any of them. So why like someone for what they say? Why like something that can be so easily taken back or veiled in lies? You agree, right, Lan Zhan?”

 Lan Wangji agrees that words are fleeting, especially considering that Wei Ying says so many of them at any given time, and he’s not surprised that he can forget them the very next moment. But he can’t deny that words can have a life of their own; those once said or those never uttered. They carry a weight to Lan Wangji; he’s known for having few, and in his experience, few are enough. Other times, the questions he’s wanted to ask die in his throat and speak only in restless dreams.

 Why did mother kill father’s teacher?

 Why didn’t he let her go?

 How did she die?

 Why won’t father see us anymore?

 Why is Wei Ying—

 “We must sleep.”

 He ignores Wei Ying’s complaints, putting out the candles. He takes off his outer robes, folding them with precision, as his eyes grow used to the dark. He lies down and tries not to be so aware of Wei Ying’s presence in the room, even as he strains to hear the rustling of cloth, his intelligible mumbling followed by a sigh, then silence.

 Could a person fall for someone’s words?

 He has no idea what it’s like to fall.

 But a person can remember so many things in a lifetime, that even something ordinary can feel precious with time. A compliment, perhaps. A hummed melody.

 A deep inhale in the stillness of the night.

 ***

 It’s not sound that wakes him. Wei Ying is sitting by a window, looking down at an asleep Caiyi, drinking directly from a jar of alcohol that Wangji doesn’t remember seeing him buy, but he’s not making a sound. He’s just peering at something, or nothing at all, moonlight bathing him in pale blue. The Gusu Lan robes grant him a sort of glow — or maybe it’s Wangji’s half-asleep eyes, interpreting the only source of the room with more brightness than it holds. Wei Ying doesn’t look like he’s slept at all.

 “Drinking is forbidden,” is something that comes straight to mind and right out of his mouth. His body is telling him that he hasn’t had enough rest. Wei Ying’s image, his face turning to him, softer at the edges with a trick of light and shadow, keeps him from slipping back into his bed. His unguarded posture and uncharacteristic silence keep the sting out of Wangji’s words. The sound of water is faint in the background, in the pause where they simply look at each other.

 “Sorry, Lan Zhan, did I wake you?”

 Lan Wangji rises, softly muted steps taking him towards Wei Ying. He casts a glance out of the window, trying to will himself awake and catch any abnormality, but he sees only the busy town of the day, now deserted and painted in darkness.

 “You should sleep,” he remarks, letting his hand fall from the window frame. Wei Ying just smiles, bubbling with a low chuckle.

 “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. I’ve been to night hunts on little sleep before, it doesn’t affect my performance.” He lifts his jar to him, eyebrows raised with a question, but Lan Wangji just shakes his head. Wei Ying shrugs, then proceeds to down the rest of the alcohol by himself.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “Just thinking.” He doesn’t really fit on the windowsill but that doesn’t keep him from perching one foot up while the other just moves back and forth languidly, as if unable to catch up with his rapid, endless thoughts. His smile goes a little crooked then, before he says, “Wishing the peacock were here, to see what he’s made of.”

 “Don’t antagonize, Wei Ying.”

 “I’m not antagonizing him,” he says, eyes darting up at Lan Wangji, his lips forming an almost imperceptible pout. “I just need to know.”

 He doesn’t elaborate, meaning hanging and falling away from view. Wangji frowns, more from trying to decipher Wei Ying’s charade than from any discomfort.

 “Ah, I wish I had brought my dizi.”

 “You can play?”

 Wei Ying nods, foot moving down to join the other, body turning to face Lan Wangji fully.

 “Madam Yu, ah... Only senior sister really likes my playing, Jiang Cheng complains it gives him a headache. I’m good! I don’t use it for cultivation or anything, although, after seeing Zewu-jun, I think it wouldn’t be so bad.”

 Wangji nods, without hesitation. This Wei Ying, creating music with the spirit that he has witnessed, is something that he finds himself wanting to see.

 Wei Ying beams up at him, the moon at his back, still favoring him. Like on that first night of mischief, the night when Wangji met his match.

 “Lan Zhan, you should come to Lotus Pier and I’ll play for you. You can play an instrument too, right? We can play together! I may not be on the Second Jade’s level but we can play something nice together, I don’t think anyone would complain about you giving them a headache. What do you say?”

 He doesn’t give voice to his agreement. Doesn’t take a step forward, closer to Wei Ying, like he feels compelled to. He looks down at Wei Ying’s fingers, supporting him on the windowsill, and lets his mind wander, for the long span of a second, maybe two, about the songs it can bring to life. Wei Ying, in the foreground of the lively Lotus Pier, painted in his mind only after books and retellings from senior disciples. His smile beckoning, ready and open, like it is now, for him.

 “It’s late,” he says, after too long. He turns his back so he doesn’t see Wei Ying’s disappointment, lies down and closes his eyes so he can sleep instead of think about it, of how nice it would be.

 What would Lotus Pier sound like? What would it smell like?

 He doesn’t even know what the Cloud Recesses smell like anymore.

 He closes his fists, fingers clutching at his covers. He falls asleep quick, as his body was trained to do, and once again, he dreams.

 ***

 The cold springs turn the burning on his back into a phantom pain; something there but distant, bearable. The cloudy memories of the night before, in inexplicable contrast, don’t stop echoing in his head, as much as he’d like to forget them. The heavy beating of his heart against his chest as his admission about his mother fell from his lips; the slurred tale about a boy, his parents and a donkey; weak laughter drowned in alcohol. He swayed then, right where he sat, taken by the mist of his inebriation but also by warmth. He thinks he fell, embarrassingly, against the other, or maybe it was the other way around. Then the memory blurs and he remembers only of lying down and hands holding his, placing them against his chest. They’re not close, he had said so, he doesn’t like touching people, but boundaries were pushed back, washed away by waves that carried him along to unknown places.

 He thinks that he held onto those hands, but it could be either a memory or a dream. Questions asked, answers given, his face so overwhelmingly warm. He tries to recall some kind of promise; another one among so many that he collected now, like pressed flowers between pages of his favorite poetry book. And then nothing else.

 He accepts punishment for his transgressions, accepts it because it’s the right thing to do. But the night yet lingers behind his eyelids, faded and out of focus, watched from behind a waterfall. When Wei Ying approaches him, crossing the waters, he’s ever conscious of him, of things he said and things he might have said but that Wangji can’t remember; or maybe something Lan Wangji might have showed, eyes downcast but not closed, the back of Wei Ying’s hand against his cheek.

 “We’re friends, aren’t we? Of all people that I know, I really want to be friends with you, Lan Zhan!”

 He struggles without purpose, without meaning, while Wei Ying says all that he wants with ease, convinces him to use his headband so they can both uncover the secrets that lie beneath the land of Gusu Lan. Uncle would have been outraged to know; Lan Yi says nothing, demonstrating a spirit so unlike those of his immediate family that Wei Ying himself looks at her in awe, bowing to her with more respect than Wangji has seen him show for anyone.

 Their bound hands are just like the pull that he can’t ignore, persistent, like an ache. It’s stronger when Wei Ying is close, and stronger still when he backs away. Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to think. The tangible problem of the Stygian Metal fails to take over his mind, no matter how much he wants it to.

 After they emerge from that place lost in time, that piece from the past heavy inside his robes, Wei Ying falls against him. He feels heavier than the Stygian Metal, the weight not lessening even as he stands, pressing against Wangji’s chest.

 Every look Wei Ying sends is tinged with meaning now, with secrets shared between them, both acknowledged and not.

 When Wei Ying shows him the lantern he made for him, he thinks he knows a bit why his brother seems to have taken a liking to the boy so fast. In his hands stained with ink, in the delicate rabbit he drew for Wangji (it’s their lantern, their secret), he sees him. His is a spirit that thrives in pushing down barriers and then reveling at his success with showmanship, with resonating laughter. Every action has his mark, every move gives him away. Juggling jars of Emperor’s Smile back and forth with a warrior’s gait, speaking against Wen Chao unafraid of an unequal fight, pulling pranks and playing with those he holds in esteem; thinking hard about things beyond himself, just for the sake of his sister. There’s so much of Wei Ying in everything Wei Ying does, and the person he is...

 “I, Wei Wuxian, wish to eliminate evil and protect the weak, always maintaining a good conscience.”

 ...doesn’t feel like a stranger.

 ***

 “After young master Wei leaves, the Cloud Recesses will return to its previous silence,” brother remarks as the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader walks away with his family, Wangji’s chest aching like it hadn’t in so many years. The passing of time in constant calm and quiet, things Lan Wangji has known all his life — he feels like the ants that Wei Ying had been playing with before are crawling over him, cold and insistent and hard to get rid of.

 He clenches his fist, the other holding firmly onto Bichen, and prepares himself for the journey ahead. Away from the Cloud Recesses, he might not feel the loss as he does then. Alone, he can focus on his mission, on his duty to his sect, without being carried away by feelings that grow every time he thinks about them, every time Wei Ying is near and filling his head with questions about love. It is enough for him to invade his dreams with his smile, with his gifts and outstretched hands, calling him to share his burdens, to fight together with ideals guiding their swords. He dreams of him even awake, at times, the cadence with which he says his name already etched like a song in his memory.

 He tries.

 “Lan Zhan!”

 And his resolve to let go crumbles so easily, in a single call. It’s always so easy for him; to appear in a second, with loquats in his hands. It was once alcohol, it was once a drawing, a rabbit and a flower for the Second Jade of Gusu Lan. He closes the steps and stands beside him, clad in dark and red robes, the sun catching on his eyes, and Lan Wangji feels the ache of Wei Ying’s absence grow numb, even as he throws his usual quips at him, even as Lan Wangji keeps pushing him away for his own peace of heart.

 As they walk together, move together, and talk about which way to go first, the numbness gives way to a buzz, and the buzz gives way to nothing. It doesn’t feel out of place to have Wei Ying standing near, he doesn’t have the need to be alone, away from Wei Ying and everything, secluded in his own cultivation. Wei Ying shows off his talismans and plays around Tanzhou; he chatters away with Nie Huaisang and talks about frivolous things and Lan Wangji lets him. He’s sprinting ahead, leading, taking him by the hand, and he lets him.

 Lan Wangji doesn’t know when he started trusting him, at what point between all of his rule breaking and demonstrations of good thinking and good heart he started to trust his judgment, but he does. On the night of their second night hunt together, he sits around a fire with a dozing Wei Ying and a very much asleep Nie Huaisang, waiting for a clue about the Stygian Metal to show itself, waiting to contain a disaster, and it’s completely different from all the night hunts he’s gone with the Lan sect.

 It’s...

 “Lan Zhan.”

 He keeps his eyes closed, but tilts his head in Wei Ying’s direction.

 “Uncle Jiang canceled the marriage between elder sister and the peacock. Can you believe that?”

 Lan Wangji opens his eyes and looks at the fire. He remembers young lady Jiang’s face at the time of the fight between Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan. Futures are more fragile than we believe.

 “I want to feel like it’s a relief but I saw elder sister crying and there’s really nothing I can do to make her feel better.”

 Wei Ying pulls himself up to a sitting position, regarding the fire with eyes that look but don’t see.

 “Liking someone like that, isn’t it like haltering your own neck?”

 He says it so low that Wangji doesn’t think he’s talking to him anymore, fiddling with the ribbon that fasten his arm guard. Concerned about how he gazes so intently into the fire, Wangji speaks, though he’s not sure about the subject, not any more sure than the first time Wei Ying brought it up.

 “Have you found your answer?”

 The temple is cold, dust and dirt caught in every corner and crevice, under them, all over their palms and robes, long inhaled by their lungs. It’s uncomfortable, and the fire can’t warm them evenly, can’t keep them safe in its weak light from the shadows that surround them. He takes notice of nothing. As a cultivator who treads in the night, who protects those in need, who goes where the chaos is. And as Wei Ying looks at him, saying nothing, maybe still thinking, yet unwavering, perhaps leaning towards him. Wangji waits for the answer, discovering Wei Ying’s smile against the candles flickering behind him, and his warmth despite the whole distance of the burning campfire between them.

 It should have been different. Wei Ying smiles for anyone and he plays with everyone and he goes wherever he wants, unbound by rules. How could he long for him to smile only at him, to appreciate his company, to stay by his side, being so fundamentally alike but with so striking differences?

 He thinks there’s an answer in his ellipsis, in how he stops smiling. Wei Ying’s hands are moving, splayed on the ground, scraping against the dust, he’s definitely inching closer, the few feet between them growing fewer, and the man who’s always had something to say is silent like the nights at Gusu.

 Wei Ying stops when their knees touch. He has to look up at Wangji as he stands with his back straight, and Wei Ying doesn’t, leaning in instead, his breath tickling Wangji’s cheek. He thinks Wei Ying dusts his hands off on his dark robes but he wouldn’t be able to tell much, he can’t look away from his face, suddenly so close. The fire shines in his eyes, beautifully. Wei Ying is beautiful, like the warriors from the books he likes, drawn with fine brushes and the right lines and curves, as Wangji saw in an illustration in Caiyi. He’s more beautiful still, because he’s real and he knows him and he wants to be known in return.

 “Let me see something,” he says, and he moves his hand like he wants to touch Wangji’s face. He halts, not completing the motion, hand in mid-air, and Wangji’s gaze goes from it back to Wei Ying’s eyes who are looking down at his lips. Wangji swallows, the action so clear in their proximity, and Wei Ying looks back up, waiting, but Wangji does nothing else. Wei Ying had asked him for permission and he lets him. Through the tempest inside of him, he lets him, one hand closed around Bichen, gripping it tighter, and the other safe on his lap. He closes his eyes when Wei Ying does, and leans his head down at the same time Wei Ying tilts up.

 The kiss doesn’t make a sound. Their position is awkward, not close enough, and without either of them holding onto the other, it’s like they can fall at any second. They hold still, not breathing, until Wei Ying moves his lips, closing around his, pressing closer. He backs away but Wangji falls back into him, the hand not holding Bichen moving to fit perfectly on his jaw, the cold tips of his fingers touching the soft skin behind Wei Ying’s ear. He moves his lips like Wei Ying did, capturing his upper lip then his lower lip, while Wei Ying responds, both slow, unsure of what they’re doing. Wei Ying still hasn’t quite touched him, his fingers traveling, but not holding, along the front of his robes.

 Their exhales come deep and hot between them when they part. Nothing much has changed; there’s not a strand of hair out of place that wasn’t already out of place a minute ago, and their clothes aren’t crumpled or dirtier. There’s only their lips, glistening in the firelight, and Wei Ying looking at him with wide eyes.

 What did you see?

 They’re leaning back against each other, like magnets that can’t help themselves, but just like in Caiyi, time is not on their side. There they were out of sync, out of balance, still lost between questions. In their pocket time at the temple, he sees an answer in Wei Ying’s face — or maybe not an answer but a different question, a tilt of his head, an inhale that he’s just close enough to hear  — and the moment is broken by the sound of cracking stone and a rumble that shakes the ground and causes Nie Huaisang to jolt awake with a scream.

 Together, they fight. They go from one enemy to the other, the night stretching into day, cultivators committed to their cause. He fights back to back with Wei Ying, their feet and slashes working in perfect coordination, completing attacks with simple commands, with a look. Yet Wei Ying still goes a little further, mind always working too fast, too careless, where Lan Wangji hasn’t yet learned to go. He folds and folds his worry and his frustration and everything that follows Wei Ying away, until the moment comes again, when he’s within his reach. Until then, he’s the Second Jade of Lan, and he’s on duty for his sect and for the good of the entire population.

 Was Lan An ever worried about giving too much or too little to his partner?

 Which way was he supposed to go?

 Lan Wangji just marches on, not a single sign in his body language that he’s lost any of his resolution.

 He just moves forward, going where his brother wants him to go.

 ***

 Wei Ying is a little tipsy when he enters Wangji’s room in Qinghe. He smiles a silly smile that turns his eyes into tiny crescent moons before he walks to his bed, tips off his shoes, and plops down.

 “Lan Zhan, it’s not fair,” he says, swirling the jar of alcohol he’s still holding. “We’ve been through so much the past couple of days and there’s not a stain on you.”

 He’s wrong. There’s dried blood caught at the hem of his robes, and residual dirt that told the tale of their battles and little rest. Lan Wangji feels all of the tribulations of their journey in his bones, and the tension caused by the shadow of the Wen sect feels even stronger against his bloodstream. Wei Ying must feel it too, his smile strained, his eyes lost in the distance but not glossy, not overtaken by the alcohol. In a few strides, he reaches the bed and sits down next to Wei Ying, taking the almost empty jar from Wei Ying’s lax grip. Wei Ying lets him, smile shining again.

 “Lan Zhan, we need to report back to Zewu-jun. We can figure out what to do about the Wens together. We’ll part in the morning, just you and me.”

 He pats down on Wei Ying’s hair, an affectionate gesture that surprises the both of them. Wei Ying just stares at him at first but quickly leans against the touch, and Lan Wangji is left with the tatters of his restraint as he pets him, thumb gently touching his temple.

 “And Jiang Wanyin?”

 Wei Ying stops moving his head like a needy cat to blink, frowning as he considers his options. Wangji is glad, then, to know that he’s not the only one struggling with priorities.

 “I’ll ask sect leader Nie to have someone escort him back to Lotus Pier... I can’t let you travel alone, Lan Zhan, not while you’re carrying the Stygian Metal. What if something happens before you reach the Cloud Recesses? What if you’re ambushed?” He shakes his head, taking hold of Wangji’s wrist and sitting up. “You’re not going alone.”

 He holds Wangji’s gaze with the determination he’s got to witness more than once as they worked together. Wangji says nothing, does nothing, but he feels Wei Ying hand trembling in the grasp he has on him. He looks down, pulling his wrist from Wei Ying’s hold, only to hold his hand in both of his. He understands. Though they’ve been trained to fight since they learned how to walk and have been cultivating for just as long, there are little lessons that prepare you for the bloodbath that Xue Yang left in his wake. And it’s only a prelude of what’s to come, following the Wen sect right to their homes.

 Wei Ying head falls against Wangji’s shoulder, the hand that’s not being held closing around the cloud motifs in his robe.

 “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Lan Zhan.”

 His words are low, muffled from his position, but Lan Wangji hears them clearly. And they bring him back to that day, apparently so distant but it wasn’t, not really. It was just before all of this, all of the worry, all of the road that led them to where they are. The words he had forgotten, hidden away by his drunk stupor and shame, but a promise still uttered, still made before he fell asleep under Wei Ying’s kind touch.

 You don’t have to be alone forever.

 Wei Ying raises his head, nuzzling against his jaw. He takes his hand from Wangji’s hold, placing it on his shoulder, his lips placing a lingering kiss against the corner of his mouth. They’re so simple, his touches, not demands but asking, giving him time and space to lean away, his eyes small and tired but unwavering from his. Asking, please, asking, what do you see?

 There’s no risk of falling this time. They’re not alone in an abandoned temple with a threat right at their necks, they’re not exposed and vulnerable under a shaky roof. He guides Wei Ying down on the mattress, the embroidered, silver curtains of Qinghe keeping them safe, if only briefly, a small sanctuary to spare. He keeps one hand on Wei Ying’s waist, the other lying next to his head, lost between thick strands of black hair. There are wet sounds in the silence this time, their mouths finding ways to meet, to pull, to open and breathe, before Wei Ying’s tongue tentatively nips at his lips and he dives further, tasting the alcohol in his mouth and getting inebriated by it alone, Wei Ying holding his face with both of his hands and keeping him close.

 They kiss until Wangji’s jaw hurts, until Wei Ying is so dazed that the alcohol and exhaustion catch up to him, drifting off as Wangji melts the stress away with gentle touches and his warm presence. He lies with him until he’s sure he’s fast asleep, then he disentangles himself from Wei Ying and stands up.

 Looking down at his asleep form, Wangji can already feel their separation like a physical ache.

 Why would a person like another person? For a touch, a look, something they said or did, or a beauty that no other can compare?

 Wangji remembers everything about Wei Ying since they first met, has overanalyzed them, discovering only the undeniable proof of Wei Ying’s being; rash and inconsequential, reckless and wild, but brilliant just the same. Relentless against challenges, even if that challenge is the son of a high sect, too closed up in himself to let other people in. And he called himself his friend, he called himself close, until he found all the parts where they intersect, where they meet, and there he made his home.

 He doesn’t know if Wei Ying found his answer, but he found his. And because he’s certain of it, he holds Bichen in his hand, and he stands, pale blue of Gusu catching the lights of the Unclean Realm.

 “Wei Ying, I’ll be leaving now.”

 He parts, knowing he’ll come back, trusting he’ll have someone to come back to.

 ***

 Everything else hadn’t seem real. People looking at him and not seeing, as if he’s invisible. Somebody else’s life, with his own nightmares bled in. People calling his name like a curse long destroyed, a plague, defeated. Jiang Cheng’s hatred was just as he remembered or worse, words stinging with venom each time they fall from his lips. And the white of mourning, touched by the clouds, summoning him — Hanguang-jun.

 His guqin, resounding through Mo Manor, was the first thing that got through to him. More than a memory, cutting deeper than the wounds of Mo Xuanyu’s last wish. Under the experienced hands of the Light Bearer, the ground shook and the threat that had troubled his disciples seemed almost small. Then everything stilled under his gaze and Wei Ying allowed himself a moment to simply watch him, those eyes he had missed so much and that could tell you the world if only you were looking.

 He’s alive again. The ritual had really worked. And he has to leave those eyes behind, knowing he had already given him enough trouble for a lifetime.

 But why does chaos follow him, wherever he goes, knowing he can’t turn his back on the pain of others, as long as he’s in power to help?

 Everything else happened too fast. Seeing Wen Ning again, alive, or as alive as he last saw him. Losing control of him, panic soaring inside his head in flashes, like the signal the juniors had sent for their beloved senior. And there he was, as though Wei Ying had truly sent for him, called him, just like in the past. Lan Zhan, he’d say, over and over again. “Lan Zhan,” was at the tip of his tongue but he bit it back, tried to hide behind Mo Xuanyu’s mask, behind the shrill sounds of his makeshift flute that was nothing like what the Yiling Patriarch used to win the Sunshot Campaign. He played for Wen Ning though he wanted to run. He played until he was gone, then, Zidian.

 Zidian.

 He wakes to the sound of Lan Zhan’s playing, but it’s Zidian that he feels at his back. It had been just one hit, but it grounds him, oh it grounds him with a shiver and a burn. Even when he had a golden core, it had hurt. And though it had been a single hit, it still stung, as if it had been Yu Ziyuan herself who had scorned him for his return.

 The melody of the guqin is broken with a dissonant note. Lan Zhan is by his side in an instant, even though he never rushed, never ran, always the perfect son of the model sect. He feels his weight on the bed as he sits up, wincing at the mark on his back but knowing that he had felt much worse.

 I’ve died, once. What could be worse than that?

 Lan Zhan is calling.

 “Wei Ying.”

 He freezes, and even his pain forgets to burn. He quickly raises a hand to his face, and realizes that the mask is gone. Of course it’s gone. He’s down to his under robes, so if there had been no decorum for his clothes, why would his mask be spared? The Lan Wangji he had met on that rooftop, a lifetime ago, might not have touched him. But this one who stands before him, who had left whatever remained of his childhood on the battlefield washed with Wen blood, whose face is sharp now, lean and so fair (have they been feeding you? you look like you’ve spent three months at the Burial Mounds, Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan) — this man who stares at him now, he knows Wei Ying too much, too deep.

 He had almost fallen off the edge of that cliff, still holding on to him.

 “...ei Ying. Is the pain too severe?”

 Wei Ying looks up, the anguished eyes in the back of his mind being replaced by the same pair, now worried, in front of him. He tries to wave it off, feeling too exposed by everything happening at once, even if it’s just his heart that’s too slow to catch up.

 “I’m okay, Lan Zhan. I just had forgotten what it’s like to be struck by Zidian. I’ll be fine in a couple of days, it was just one slash, after all.”

 He lets his hand fall back onto his lap but Lan Zhan takes hold of his wrist, pulling his robes up to reveal the sole mark of the curse that remained. Lan Zhan raises his eyes, the question evident in them. Wei Ying opens his mouth, ready to dismiss it again, but Lan Zhan takes his other wrist, checks the skin above, then attempts to slid Wei Ying’s robes down his shoulders. Wei Ying’s catches his hands, flushed despite the mood of the situation, and says Lan Zhan’s name in a high-pitched question.

 “Anywhere else?”

 Wei Ying frowns, breathing through his mouth.

 “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

 Their hands are clasped together, but it’s different now. Wei Ying can feel a slight tremble in them, and it stings, deep in his heart, knowing those hands are always steady, always wielding Bichen with perfect grace, and playing the guqin as if they had been born for nothing else. But they have touched him, whispered secrets against his skin, and held on, even when he tried to let go. When the path got too narrow and too dark for Hanguang-jun to tread and he tried to push him back, he held on, and Wei Ying reveled in it. Until the day he couldn’t anymore.

 Wei Ying lets go of him, but his hands remain close.

 “Ah, no, I’m all right. I was well put together!” He smiles because it’s what he does, because it’s what he’s always done, even when elder sister worried. “This isn’t even a wound, you see, the ritual—”

 Lan Zhan takes his wrist again and pulls, at the same time he leans closer him, and their chests collide. Wei Ying is a little out of breath, and his back complains at the impact, but Lan Zhan has one arm around his shoulders while his other hand travels across his back, its movements long, slow, and warm against the thin fabric. He feels Lan Zhan’s inhale against his own chest, and the exhale is ragged, loud and heartbreaking next to his ear.

 “Lan Zhan?” He tries, not really knowing what answer he wants, but knowing the other will not speak on his own, barely ever is the first to move, but he’s shaking now, his forehead pressed against Wei Ying’s shoulder.

 “Sixteen years...”

 It had been long. Jin Ling is grown now, there are so many disciples that he doesn’t know, but Jiang Cheng still has the same look in his eyes that he did the day elder sister died. And Lan Zhan...

 “Wei Ying.”

 “Mn,” he lets out, his arms moving, circling Lan Zhan’s middle, his chin resting on his shoulder.

 “Wei Ying,” he says again, in a voice that Wei Ying hadn’t heard before, or perhaps did, right before he closed his eyes and vanished from the tragedy at Nightless City.

 “Mn, I’m here.”

 The last time he had seen Lan Zhan cry, it had been in that forgotten cave, trapped with the Tortoise of Slaughter. He cried for his father, for his sect, for his home, and Wei Ying cradled his head in his arms, kissed his exposed forehead, and didn’t wipe away his tears until he was done. He had promised him it’d be okay, that together they could make it right, but nothing had been right. Had Wei Ying kept a single promise he made him? As Wei Ying’s robes soak all of his tears, Wei Ying realizes that he had left him alone. For sixteen years, he had left him just as he was when he had first met him, with a brother too busy to keep him company, and a world that needed him, but never saw beyond the white of his clothes.

 His own crying comes with sobs, but Lan Zhan doesn’t make a sound, he never does. Wei Ying rubs circles on his back but still feels him strained, so horribly contained, and no amount of whispered words can soothe him. He’s caught between grief and his own rules that try to limit what can’t be limited.

 Lan Zhan, shouldn’t you stay away from this person? Should you be holding so tight?

 Jiang Cheng had proved what the world thought about him still. He feels that he should tell Lan Zhan to let go, but if asked the same, would he do it? Could he don a mask and pretend not to know him, go about his life, without ever looking back at the cultivation world that meant everything to him?

 In this second life that he was so unworthy of but that was gifted to him anyway, could he not right his wrongs, mend his promises, and live without regret?

 Lan Zhan has stopped shaking, and the hand that had been clutching to him so tightly feels lax. And yet he embraces him, fingers threading through Wei Ying’s loose hair, so affectionate that Wei Ying feels he might cry again.

 Why like someone so much? Lan Zhan, is it possible to like someone this much?

 He leans back, arms unwrapping from around Wei Ying, head bowed low like a chastised disciple. There’s a flush on his cheeks, on his ears and around his eyes, clear marks of his emotions, vivid in candlelight. He keeps his hands on his lap, almost as if he doesn’t know what to do with them, as if he’s forgotten where they belong. Wei Ying regards all, still clinging to his robes around his waist, sketching his wet lashes in his mind, and his unadorned hair, and all the other parts of him that he shows no one else.

 “Wei Ying, you should rest...”

 Wei Ying can’t help but let out a huff of air. Really, that Lan Zhan, when has he ever rested unless Wen Qing forcefully knocked him out? And after sixteen years of darkness, neither here nor there, when all the parts of him are finally one, how could he let his soulmate fall apart in his stead?

 Lan Zhan looks up at him, a little startled at the sound he makes, and Wei Ying lifts his hands to tearstained cheeks, wiping away the trails, brushing back stray strands of hair. He brings that face closer — beloved, beloved —, lays kisses on closed eyelids, rests his forehead against the cloud patterns of his forehead ribbon. So many promises made, all of them broken, but what does he have if not a thick face and a beating heart that knows he’s welcome?

 He places a kiss right on the metal adornment that he’s touched more times than he should probably have. Lan Zhan’s hands have found their way to his wrists and he holds on tight, his breathing loud in the clear silence of the Cloud Recesses.

 The kiss feels nothing like it used to. He knows the shape of his lips, and the details of his mouth, but his weight is different, heavier, carrying sixteen years of memory that Wei Ying will never be able to experience, to understand like Lan Zhan does. They kiss like it’s the first time, and it is, all around them a world at peace, with newborn life, and all of tomorrow ahead of them.

 Breaking away, Lan Zhan hovering above him but careful not to place his weight on top of him, Wei Ying sees the past in his eyes. Eyes still red from crying, a tell-tale of his heart, that have been looking at him — after him, since he was copying rules at the Library Pavilion. Wei Ying’s memory is faulty and spotty, that much he knows, but he remembers what Lan Zhan looked like then, the reliable expanse of his back, and how he called his name each time with less annoyance, growing used to him, indulging him as he rambled about both useless and useful things.

 He laughs, because he remembers wanting to kiss him not to see if he liked him then, but because he already liked him so much, he needed to see if there really was a cliff waiting on the other side and if Lan Zhan would be there to catch him. He needed to give it a name.

 Turned out it felt much like they had already been leaning back to back, waiting for the other to turn.

 Lan Zhan tilts his head, the curtain of his hair falling over his shoulder, hiding Wei Ying from the gaze of the moon.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, wanting to say it a million times more, pulling the other until he lies on the bed beside him. “Will you play a duet with me?”

 Lying on his side, facing him, the moon once again smiling upon them, Wei Ying sees him smile.

 “Mn.”

 “Will you go to Yunmeng with me?”

 “Mn.”

 “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay by your side? I’ll try my best not to be recognized, but—”

 “If Wei Ying wants to stay this time, I wouldn’t have him anywhere else.”

 Wei Ying frowns.

 “This time?”

 “Wei Ying didn’t want to come the first time I asked.”

 He looks down and Wei Ying can’t help but let out a pained noise, scooting closer until his nose is nuzzling Lan Zhan’s collar.

 “That was different, Lan Zhan, I wasn’t...”

 He sighs, closing his eyes when Lan Zhan’s hand starts petting his hair.

 “I won’t leave you alone. I promise.”

 With a hand at Lan Zhan’s back, he searches for the ends of his forehead ribbon and twirls it around his finger. His breathing falls into rhythm with Lan Zhan’s and he falls into a peaceful sleep, Lan Zhan only moving to place a cover over the two of them, protecting against the chill of the night. Curled around his best friend, confidante, soulmate, Wei Ying has no need for dreams.

 When he wakes in the morning, alone, the sun cascading through the open window, he finds that the Cloud Recesses look just as beautiful as it did in his youth. Fire couldn’t destroy its heart. He sees himself and Lan Zhan in every corner, his elder sister smiling and laughing as he plays with Jiang Cheng, the smiling eyes of Lan Xichen following him, and even the memory of Lan Qiren throwing a scroll at his impertinence doesn’t fail to make him happy.

 Wei Ying sees love in the halls and pavilions, in the trees and the rabbits. And when he catches the sight of Lan Zhan at the cold springs, he sees it in every moment of their past, all the way back, in a conversation about Lan An, and in a drawing of the Second Jade with a flower in his hair.

 He runs towards Lan Zhan, ready to give purpose to his second life. There are still mysteries to be uncovered and a debt to be paid to Mo Xuanyu. There are night hunts to be had, and without the Stygian Tiger Seal, he can figure out his own way to fight, without harming the body he now cherishes. He needs to find Wen Ning and take care of him, and maybe, when he finds a way, he can see Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling again, even if it’s from afar, against the warm waters of Lotus Pier. He doesn’t know whether he can live in the Cloud Recesses, if they would accept him, or if he dares to hope they can live like Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan, bound only to their common ideals, their combined strengths and inseparable hearts.

 Wei Ying isn’t good at planning far ahead; he dreamed of being a hero and he gave it all up to do what he considered right. He doesn’t regret it, not even for all that he lost, for all the pain he caused. All he can think about is the immediate tomorrow and a tangible, new dream.

 If he can, if Lan Zhan will have him, he’ll do everything to finally live his life with a clear conscience and a heart full.

 Lan Zhan turns his head once he approaches, and seeing him there, trusting and waiting, Wei Ying swears he can promise him a hundred things and still not run out of things he wants to do or say or keep. So many years have passed and he still wants to pour all of his heart at the feet of the second young master of Gusu Lan.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan, what’s the name of the song? Don’t give me that look! Please? There can be no secrets between us! You know I never stopped thinking about it! All I wanted to do was play a duet with you in Yunmeng, ever since you got stuck with me at the Library Pavilion. ...Lan Zhan? Really, you didn’t—? Haha, Lan Zhan, you’re really too much to my heart. I only started thinking about what it’s like to like someone when I met you.

 It was always you, Lan Zhan.

 It had to be you.”

 ***

 Why would a person like another?

 Wei Ying can no longer remember a time he hasn’t.

[lilacmoon83]

Finding You Always

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 206: The Brightest Star in the Sky

The young man sighed, as he trekked after his determined cousin. They were about the same age, but decidedly had very different interests. As always though, he tagged along to make sure she didn't get into too much trouble at these conventions.

His cousin Nora loved anything considered weird, paranormal, or of a conspiracy nature. So seven years ago, when that crazy storm had happened in Seattle, his cousin had been enthralled from that moment and ever since she had been exploring every single aspect of that day.

She did have a point. Even he, like most, suspected that the official story the Feds fed the public about that day was garbage. But he, like most, didn't really know what to do about it so they moved on with their lives. But not Nora and she had gotten into some trouble early on in her days of spelunking in the woods of Maine and into fights at the conventions. So here he was again, tagging along to another conspiracy convention in Misty Falls, Maine and bored out of his mind.

"If you don't want to be here, JJ...then you can leave. I'll be fine," Nora told him. He rolled his eyes.

"It's just...some of these guys are in this for the cash grab now. I mean...what new or real information have they come up with in the last seven years?" JJ questioned. She sighed.

"You don't get it...there are no definitive answers, because the government is hiding the whole thing. But you've heard the stories. Weird things happen in these woods," Nora said.

"Maybe that's because this convention brings the weirdos out of the woodwork," he quipped.

"So...are you still on the fairy tale kick or do you think it's aliens?" he asked.

"If you're going to make fun of me, you can take a hike," she answered. He sighed.

"I'm sorry...but you have to admit, most of the theories are pretty insane," he mentioned.

"You saw the videos...how do you explain all that?" she asked.

"I don't know...but fairy tales? Really?" he questioned.

"Whatever...you just wait until I prove you wrong," she insisted, as they arrived at the convention tables, where they were conducting a live podcast.

"And if you're just joining us, I have made contact with a source that has a possible lead on the man known as David Nolan. Now, if you remember, David Nolan is the detective from Seattle that curiously had his wife and son stolen from him by a man, who was known on the dark web as the Collector. His wife had amnesia and was diagnosed by a shady doctor with dissociative identity disorder. The woman had an alter and yes, you're remembering correctly. Her alter was none other than Snow White," the podcaster said.

"This couple was splashed all over the tabloids for weeks and their romance became an obsession; an obsession that the Internet still hasn't let go of. Especially when this same couple showed up on that fateful day in Seattle and things happened around them that can only be described as magic, no matter what the official government story tries to tell us," he continued.

"But then they disappeared, without a trace, like they never existed. But if the rumors on the dark web are anything to go by...then they are somewhere hidden in these very back woods of Maine, possibly in a hidden realm or maybe even beneath the surface of the earth if you believe the hallow earth theorists," he added.

"But no matter how much they try to dissuade us from seeking the truth, we will not stop until we expose what really happened that day and just who these mysterious people really are. Join us again tomorrow, as we make our annual hike into the woods of Maine in search for answers," he said, concluding his podcast. JJ rolled his eyes, as Nora got in line to get an autograph from the man who had made a living with podcasts and books on this subject.

"I'm gonna go check us in at the Inn and if it's booked again like last year, we're leaving, cause I'm not sleeping in a tent again," he complained, as he started off that way when screams from the diner nearby attracted all the attention. And if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would have never believed it.

The diner exploded in flames, with any of the poor people inside, obviously perishing instantly. He stood, fear stricken, as two flaming figures strode toward them.

"You…" one said, as the flames faded mostly.

"You will drive us to a place called Boston," Arthur demanded.

"Uh...here, take the car," JJ said, but Gawain growled and grabbed Nora by the arm.

"The King has requested that you drive us and you will do so unless you'd like me to melt the skin off her body," Gawain threatened. JJ nodded, as he led them back to his car. Suddenly, all the conspiracy had just gotten very real…

~*~

David stood behind his boss with a few other agents, as she made a statement to the press and delivered the profile, stating that they believed their perpetrator to be a highly educated professor with access to multiple Universities campuses.

"Major Donovan...are you really accusing someone in the educational community of perpetuating these crimes?" one reporter questioned.

"As uncomfortable as it is...I'm afraid so. The chemical compound alone suggests that this person is at least a scientist and someone highly intelligent. But the location of the crimes is very suspicious as well. Only an educator would have the kind of access that to the multiple institutions that these crimes occurred," Patricia answered.

"They're cannot be that many that fit your profile. Does that mean you've narrowed the suspect pool?" another asked.

"Yes...we are getting close and we are doing everything in our power to make sure the last victim is this person's final victim," the Major answered, as she stepped away, effectively ending the impromptu press conference. But one person, without a press pass, slipped through and ran up behind them.

"Agent Nolan is it?" he asked. David sighed and turned to him. He hated reporters.

"Make it quick...I really do want to catch this guy," he said impatiently.

"No one else has seemed to put it together, but rumors in the alternative community have suggested that you are the same person as the Detective Nolan from strange events that occurred seven years ago in Seattle," the man interjected.

"I'm sorry...what media outlet are you with?" Patricia asked.

"I'm an independent researcher for the people, Major," he answered.

"Ah...so one of those nuts on the Internet. Got it...if you'll excuse us, we have work to do," she said, dismissing him.

"I've done some digging. Your wife, Margaret Nolan, she's a teacher, right?" he called and David stopped in his tracks.

"Look...I don't know who you are, but I've never lived in Seattle and I'll let you go right now if you go without another word. But you mention my wife again or even think about going near her...then we'll arrest you for harassment," David warned. The man smirked.

"Fine...but pictures don't lie, detective. Oh, I'm sorry...it's agent now," he said, as he tossed the newspaper to him and walked away. David sighed and followed his boss back into their workplace. He was about to look at the paper out of curiosity, but tossed it on his desk when Agent Harding called them into the conference room.

"Hey...I think I might have narrowed it down now," she said, as they both went into the conference room.

"Really?" David asked.

"Well...we caught a break. Our perp has been careful up until now, but after the last student death at Boston University, they put even more cameras," Danielle replied.

"Wait...are you saying you got something on camera?" David asked.

"Well, nothing incriminating, but I went through and cross referenced everyone that was signed into the lab at Boston University on both nights of each murder that occurred there," she replied.

"Nice work...how many are we down to?" Patricia asked.

"Eight...so still not great, but way better than the thirty-two suspects we had it down to this morning," she replied.

"Okay...well eight is workable. Let's see them one by one," Patricia said, as she nodded to Trevor and he put the slide show up on the screen. And David's heart nearly stopped, as he recognized the photo of the sixth man on the screen. As the slide flipped to the seventh one, he called out.

"Hold it...go back!" he said, as he stared a the image of Dr. Ian Jenkins.

"David? Do you know him?" Patricia asked, as his mind was racing a mile a minute and he remembered what, at the time, had been a fairly innocuous conversation with his wife.

~*~

They had taken the kids out for pizza after the game so Bobby could eat with his teammates. They were so glad he finally seemed to be fitting in. Middle school had been an awkward time for him and he had always said he felt different than other kids and had trouble relating to them, but he was never really sure why. Snow and David were fond of telling him that it was because he was special, but they weren't sure that helped much. At his age, being special was definitely not easy. It wasn't easy to be normal at his age, so being extraordinary or special came with its own struggles. But his teammates really seemed to take to him. They both just hoped there was more to it than the fact that Bobby was winning games for them.

After pizza, they had stopped for ice cream and she was currently sharing a pint with her husband on the couch. In his lap no less, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for them.

"You're a little quiet...lost in the chocolate goodness?" he teased, as she looked him.

"No...it's kind of silly I think," she replied.

"Your feelings are never silly to me," he reminded, as she put her spoon in the ice cream and set it aside on the table.

"Well...my new boss, Dr. Jenkins...he's nice and all and I kind of feel bad for him. He's socially awkward...but I kind of got a weird vibe from him today," she said.

"Did he come onto you?" he asked.

"No...why would you think that?" she asked. He rolled his eyes.

"Because you're beautiful and I saw the way he was looking at you. I may have acted like I was absorbed in the game, but trust me, I always notice everything when it comes to you, especially when other men look at you," he replied. She caressed his face.

"You're the only man I want," she reminded him.

"I know...that's why I don't gouge their eyes out when I see one looking at you. That's serious self control...you should be proud," he joked, as she nudged him playfully.

"But seriously...was he making you uncomfortable?" he asked.

"No...not really. He just was weirdly insistent that I should enroll in his night classes and get my doctorate," she replied.

"Do you want to get your doctorate?" he asked.

"No...I'm happy where I am. Besides, spending my evenings away from you and the kids would only make me miserable," she replied.

"Then he should accept that and if he gets out of hand, I want you to let me know right away," he stressed. She shrugged.

"I don't think it's like that. I think he's just lonely and is trying to be a friend," she said.

"Maybe...but remember, I'm a cop. I see this kind of thing go bad way too often and it scares the hell out of me that you could be on the receiving end of someone that doesn't like to hear the word no," he lamented. But she stroked his face.

"I'll be fine. Like I said, he's just awkward and hasn't crossed any lines. I'll be friendly, but keep a professional distance," she promised, as she kissed him.

"Good...because I don't think I have to tell you what it would do to me if something happened to you," he said, as she caressed his face again.

"I know...it's the same for me when it comes to you. I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he replied, as their lips met again.

~*~

"David?" Patricia questioned, as she noticed his fear stricken face.

"I know him…" he uttered.

"How?" Danielle asked.

"He works at the same school Margaret and Bobby are at. He's the head of the science department," David answered, as Trevor pulled up his information.

"Dr. Ian Jenkins, five PHD's and moved to the United States from Great Britain a few years ago," Danielle said, as dread knotted in David's stomach and he ran out of the room and to the stairwell.

"Pull up everything you can get on him, from his time here and his home country. I have a feeling this is our guy," she said, as she followed him.

~*~

Mount Olympus practically shook apart to rubble, as Seth unleashed his rage at what was going on in the United Realms at the moment. There was a heavy ice storm plaguing several Kingdoms and a lightning storm over Storybrooke. If that wasn't enough, there were also several cyclones raging in the waterways, creating violent hurricane-like winds. He had told Mephisto not to bother returning unless it was with the Charmings in chains.

"I'm going to torture you all...and burn everything and everyone you love!" Seth raged, as his eyes bled yellow with evil and he glared down at the United Realms. In his mighty rage, he blasted Snow and David's castle in Misthaven and then Winter and Charming's near the toll bridge, torching them both. He knew they were likely empty by now, as these storms were clearly a distraction. He glared at the reserve and then the mysterious area near Bald Mountain. Even in all his immense power, he was unable to get through the shields protecting these areas and it made him livid in a way he had never been.

"I must find a way through…" he growled, as he disappeared and reappeared in Nephilim. He needed to consult Madam Mim's oldest spell books. There had to be something in one of them to combat the power of these truest loves. He had little faith in Mephisto's new charges and thus, he knew it was very likely that Winter and Charming's good halves would soon return. Which meant he needed a way to obliterate them and their entire bloodline…

~*~

Thanks to their abundance of beans, multiple portals opened with people pouring through them. Due to the nature of the barrier, created by the combined light and dark powers of Winter, Charming, and Rumpelstiltskin, it made the barrier around the Bald Mountain area nearly impenetrable, even by the mighty Seth. Another perk of the magic woven into the barrier was that anyone that walked into the refuge of the mountain through a portal had their real memories returned. Emotions were running high, especially, as many people were reunited with loved ones thought to be dead, including Abigail with her father.

"That should be mostly everyone that we could get," Leo said, as he arrived with Frankie and Joe, having retrieved them and most of the people of Storybrooke.

"Yes and it shouldn't be too crowded, thanks to the magical extensions," Regina agreed, as they arrived back from the Maritime Kingdom.

"Where is Eva...this is taking too long…" Charming said, as he paced a hole in the floor. Thankfully, a portal opened, as she and Paul arrived back from the Land Without Color and its people.

"I'm here Daddy…" she called, as he hugged her tightly and cradled her head.

"I'm okay, Daddy," she assured and then pulled back.

"I hope everyone is mostly here though. He destroyed your castle in Misthaven and the one by the Toll Bridge," she reported.

"We're safe...that's what matters most, sweetie," Winter said. He nodded.

"She's right, angel...we can rebuild when all this is over," Charming assured.

"So what now? As usual, you've built a resistance and led us all here. But Seth is worse than I ever was...so you two better have a plan," the Evil Queen asked said, as she stood beside her other half.

"Emma will bring our other halves back, along with Summer and Bobby. Until then...we ready ourselves for the battle to come," Winter declared.

"She's right...because this one is going to make the Final Battle look like a casual afternoon sparring match," Charming said.

"We've lost Fandral too...that was not a blow we needed," Elsa mentioned.

"We must hope that his friends got our message and were able to rescue them," Hermes implored and they could only hope she was right.

"Let's hope the barrier holds long enough, because Seth will do everything he can to get through that barrier," Winter whispered to her husband and he pulled her into his arms.

"It will...and Emma will be back soon," he promised.

~*~

"...and that was how we ended up in the All World River," Fandral said, as he got choked up again.

"And I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me," he said, as he clutched her hand and Rose rested her head on his shoulder. She was cuddled against him in a large chair, as they had opted to share and no one bothered to tell them they could have their own. At the moment, he could bare to let her out of his sight or even let go of her. He was too afraid that she would disappear.

"By Odin's beard...there is really a serum that can separate a person from their good half and their bad half?" Lady Sif asked. They nodded.

"There is...it was originally created by Dr. Jekyll to separate himself from Hyde," Fandral asked.

"They are the ones in the story when you were cursed to be bear? This Jekyll is the one that tried to keep you apart, yes?" Thor asked. Rose nodded.

"He did...he separated from Hyde, but it turned out that he was the real monster all along and Hyde, though he has done some terrible things, he retained a goodness in him. He helped reunite us...despite his feelings for me," she explained.

"And your friends? Their dark halves...they don't seem all that dark," Valkyrie observed.

"They're not...they have done dark things in the name of revenge, but ultimately, like Snow and David, they still love each other and their family. They're just a little more willing to go to dark places to protect them, whereas Snow and David do so from a place of light," Fandral tried to explain.

"And your friends good halves are cursed again?" Sif asked, trying to understand.

"Yes...to protect their youngest. Seth fears his powers, which I have feeling he hasn't even begun to come into. But their eldest has gone after them in hopes of waking them up and bringing them home. The final battle with Seth draws near," Fandral answered.

"And I thought our lives were insane," Valkyrie quipped. Fandral sighed.

"We must get back to the children…" Fandral said.

"They are safe...I know our friends would make sure of that," Rose assured him. He nodded.

"If you are sure of that, perhaps it is wise to remain here until the right time to make your entrance," Thor suggested.

"That is a good idea. We just have no idea how to know when the right time will be," Fandral said. Thor exchanged a glance with Valkyrie and she rolled her eyes.

"If anyone has any kind of tech that can see across realms, it's probably one of them. It's one hell of a long shot though," she mentioned.

"We should try...I'll make the call," he said, as he stood up.

"So...he doesn't look so good. I feel badly for asking for his help," Fandral said, but Sif shook her head.

"No...this is exactly what he needs. It's been two years here too since the snap and he's been drowning himself in his own sorrows," Sif replied.

"She's right...you seem to be someone that's able to do what none of us can and that's pull him out of his misery. He feels he has no purpose now so do not feel bad about giving him one," Valkyrie admonished. Fandral nodded and Rose kissed his cheek.

"So...who is he calling?" Fandral asked curiously.

"Someone with a really big brain," Valkyrie answered.

~*~

Margaret arrived back in her classroom and started gathering her things to go home for the day. As she put things away in her bag, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and jumped when she saw Dr. Jenkins standing in the doorway.

"Oh...Dr. Jenkins, you startled me," she said, with a quiver in her voice. The way he was looking at her made her very uncomfortable and warning bells started going off in her head.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry...I don't mean to. I just wanted to thank you again for all your help. Today was quite successful, thanks to you. We made quite a team," he mentioned. She swallowed thickly and grabbed her bag in order to make a quick escape. Unfortunately, the contents of the bag went spilling to the floor instead.

"Oh dear...let me help you," he said, as he started picking her things up.

"That's okay…" she said, as she quickly stuffed things into her bag and stood up.

"I...I need to go. Bobby's waiting for me," she said, as she walked past him and fear seized her when he grabbed her arm.

"Margaret please...I think it is important that we talk," he said.

"Doctor…" she started to say.

"Margaret...please hear me out," he pleaded. He wasn't giving her much choice though, as he did not let go of her arm.

"I've never met anyone like you. Brilliant and beautiful, with a kind soul. I don't connect with many people, but I felt an instant connection with you. Can you not see that we belong together?" he asked.

"Doctor...I'm married. Happily married and very much in love with my husband. Please...let go," she pleaded, as she was now on the verge of tears. But that only made him squeeze her arm harder.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that...and you'll soon see that you belong with me," Jenkins he said in a matter of fact tone. She tore away from him, but he grabbed her and pulled her back.

"Help me!" she cried out, as he put a hand over her mouth. She bit his hand and he cried out. He backhanded her across the face and she went spilling to the floor.

"This is not how I wanted to do this, Margaret...but you leave me no choice," he said, as he pinned her on her back. She cried and screamed, but the school was mostly empty by now and those that were still around were in the gym.

"Shh...stop your struggle," he chided, as he put the scarf she was wearing around her neck between her teeth, as tears streamed down her face. She couldn't believe his strength. He didn't look all that strong, but his grip was like a vice and her struggling didn't faze him at all. She winced away in disgust, as he caressed her face.

"The moment I met you...I knew I had to have you," he leered and she tried kneeing him, but he held her knees down.

"You are so fiery...it's exhilarating, but this will help calm you," he said, as he pulled a syringe out of his jacket pocket.

"A simple muscle relaxer. You'll remain awake...but unable to fight me," he said. Her eyes widened and she continued to struggle. Just as she thought the worst was about to happen, she saw the doctor be literally peeled off her and thrown...across the room. Her son stood there, looking at his arm in surprise, wondering how he had even done such a thing, but decided that was a question for later, as he helped his mother up and into a chair.

"Mom…" he said, as he helped her pull the scarf away from her mouth and her arms flew around him.

"It's okay Mom…" he soothed, as he looked back at the doctor and put his hand up.

"You stay away...you stay the hell away from my mom!" Bobby hissed, as Jenkins started toward them.

"You won't stand in my way once I make a guinea pig out of you for my new drug. You're strong...maybe you'll be the first one to survive it. Either way, you won't be able to stop me from taking what I want," he said.

"Drug?" Margaret asked, as she saw the syringe with a red liquid in it.

"You're...you're the one my husband is looking for. You...you killed all those students and homeless people," she realized. He smirked at her with admiration.

"As usual...you are stunningly brilliant, Margaret. Such is wasted on your muscle brained husband. He's supposed to be an FBI agent and you figured it out before he did," he said smugly.

"Don't be so sure...I know my dad and he's probably already onto you," Bobby warned, as he guarded his mother.

"You don't want to tangle with me, brat. I don't mean to harm your lovely mother...I just need to show her why she belongs with me," he said.

"You're really are psycho if you think I'll let you touch her or that she belongs with you, because trust me, she belongs with my dad," Bobby growled.

"We shall see…" Jenkins said, as he kept walking toward them, causing Bobby to charge the man and they went tumbling to the floor.

"BOBBY!" Margaret cried, as she looked for something to use as a weapon.

Jenkins managed to get his hands around the boy's throat and started choking him, until he felt the incredible pain of being beamed with a chair across his back and rolled off, howling in pain. Margaret quickly helped her son up and looked him over.

"How dare you try to hurt my son!" she growled, all traces of her usual kindness gone.

"You are making this very difficult on yourself, Margaret. I do not want to hurt your boy...but I will if you do not come with me right now," Jenkins said.

"Go to hell," Bobby growled.

"I'm already there, young one...I'm already there without her to complete me," he claimed.

"You are sick…" Margaret spat, as he got up and she had no idea how. She had hit him with a metal chair, after all. He started toward them and Bobby punched him, before taking his mother's hand and leading her to the door. They were startled when they opened it and found a blonde woman there with a few other people. The woman smiled at them, like she was relieved, and put her hands up.

"It's okay...I'm a cop," she assured and they sighed in relief. But Margaret cried out, as Jekyll grabbed her and put his arm around her neck in a headlock, before dragging her back.

"Don't move...or I strangle her," he warned, as she gasped for air.

"Stop it!" Bobby cried.

"If I cannot have you, sweet Margaret...then no one will…" he hissed in her ear, before sniffing her hair.

"Let us leave...and she'll keep breathing," he said.

"You have four guns aimed at you four-eyed psycho so you're not going anywhere with her," Emma growled. But he smirked and pulled her tightly against him.

"But none of you will risk firing on me as long as I have her...she too precious…" he hissed, as he looked at her with a lustful stare. Suddenly, one of the windows in the classroom shattered in surprise and Jenkind looked that way, only in time to see a fist connect with his face, busting his glasses. He stumbled to the floor and Margaret sighed in relief, as her husband caught her before she went crashing to the floor with him.

"Oh David…" she cried, as her arms flew around his neck.

"It's okay now, my darling…" he promised, as he held her tightly. Emma smiled at them. Thankfully, some things never changed and that one thing was the love between her parents. It still shined as passionately and brightly like the brightest star in the sky.

"Hands up where we can see them," Nick warned, as he leveled his gun at the doctor. Jenkins smirked and jabbed the needle into Bobby's leg.

"Oww…" he cried out, as time seemed to stop.

"What...what did you just do?" David cried. The evil doctor looked at him with a smug smile.

"You know what I have done, agent Nolan...the same that I have done to all my other test subjects. I doubt the boy has but a few moments to live," Jenkins said.

"You son of a bitch!" Emma cried, as she felt tears fill her eyes and she tackled him to the ground, before cuffing him.

"Bobby…" Margaret said, as their son began to convulse.

"Oh God...no...no...no...I can't lose our baby," she cried, as she fell apart and they held their son.

"This is agent Martinez, I need an ambulance at North Star High School immediately. We have a student that was injected unwillingly with a dangerous substance!" Angela said into her phone. Bobby convulsed, as his parents held him and cried over him. Suddenly, the ground beneath them all began to shake.

"An earthquake? In Massachusetts?" Nick asked in confusion. But Emma and Killian exchanged a glance.

"Yeah...not an earthquake," she told them and their eyes widened.

"Are you saying the kid is doing this?" Nick hissed.

"That drug...it might have just awakened his powers," Emma said.

"But there is no magic," Killian reminded her.

"Yes there is...my parents have half the chalice hidden in their rings," she reminded him.

"Then...he might survive this," Killian said hopefully.

"It's possible…" she said, as the rest of the windows shattered and wind whipped around all of them.

"If my brother doesn't kill us all with the elements first," Emma said, as the paramedics arrived and were unsure as to what they were seeing. Her brother's magic was fighting the drug and he had a better chance than anyone else of surviving. But if he destroyed everything around him in the process, it was going to be something they would have a hard time explaining…

~*~

Summer arrived home that evening and was surprised to find the house seemingly empty.

"Mom?" she called.

"Hmm...they must still be at school," she muttered, as she dropped her bag in her room and went to the kitchen for a bottle of water. It was strange that her mother hadn't texted her that they would be this late though and she opened the fridge to grab an apple. She heard the doorbell ring at that time and went to answer it, finding a package on the doorstep. It was a little strange since there didn't seem to be a delivery truck. She shrugged and took it inside, surprised that it was addressed to her and her brother.

"That's weird...we didn't order anything," she said, but shrugged again and opened the box. Inside was a large, leather bound book with the title emblazoned in gold.

"Once Upon a Time," she read.

"Fairy tales?" she wondered, as she opened the book and was suddenly seized with a river of memories running through her.

"Oh my God!" she cried out, as it all came back to her. She put the book down and dug through the box, extracting the Dark One dagger from it.

"I need to find Mom, Dad, and Bobby," she uttered, as she grabbed her bag. She stuffed the book into it, as she heard a noise.

"Hello?" she called, but received silence. A chill ran down her spine and she clutched the dagger.

"Daddy?" she called, but somehow knew he wasn't there.

"Afraid not, young one…" a voice said and she turned to find a man that she recognized as King Arthur.

"My my...you have grown up. You were so very small the last time I saw you," Arthur said.

"As fair as your mother," Gawain said.

"You stay away from me, jerk face," she growled.

"And with the same mouth too," he quipped.

"Believe it or not...I do not want to hurt you, little one. Just give me the dagger and we will be on our way," Arthur said, as she clutched it and backed away. She ran from them, as their arms became alive with fiery chains. She screamed, as Gawain sliced through the kitchen table and she ran out the backdoor, before colliding with a young man she didn't recognize.

"I'm sorry…" he said, as he helped her up.

"Who are you?" she asked, as Arthur and Gawain tore their way through the house.

"Uh...later," he said, as he led her back to his car. Just a few moments ago, he had the opportunity to run away, but something had told him not to and now he knew why.

~*~

A Few Moments Ago

"You're welcome crazies!" he called, as the two weirdos that had forced them to drive them four hours to Boston got out in front of a nice house in a very nice suburb.

"JJ...what are you waiting for? Floor it!" Nora urged. He snorted.

"So everything you've been going on about for seven years is probably true and now you want to run?" he asked.

"Away from those psychos...yeah!" she answered. But he heard a scream from inside the house and got out of the car.

"Someone is in trouble...stay here!" he told her, as he ran around the back of the house. He may have been dragged into this conspiracy stuff unwillingly, but now that the danger was real and people needed help, that's where he shined. He wanted to help real people from real danger and he wasn't about to run away from that, even if what the danger he was facing seemed wildly unreal.

JJ took the girl's hand and they ran to his car. Nora was still in the back seat and he opened the passenger door for her.

"Get in," he said, but Summer hesitated and looked back at the house.

"I need to find my parents," she replied.

"Fine, but it's not safe here and I assure you that we're better than those freaks," he said. She nodded and got in. He ran to the driver's side.

"Where to?" he asked.

"North Star High...I'll tell you how to get there, just go," she urged, as he peeled away, leaving Arthur and Gawain behind…

~*~

Training was in full swing at the refuge, as Leo sparred his Uncle James and his wife was firing icicles at Regina, who was using fire to extinguish them, just as Eva ran into the training room.

"Honey...what is it?" Winter asked.

"Something is happening in Boston...it's all over the news," she said, as Rumple magicked a television into the room and they turned to one of the national news stations.

"And if you're just joining us, Boston is experiencing a strange series of weather events. No one is sure how or why, but the source of the earthquake appears to be a local school, North Star High," the reporter droned on.

"North Star High?" Leo asked.

"We looked it up. Your Mom teaches there under the name Margaret Nolan and Bobby is a freshman there," Paul replied.

"But...that doesn't make any sense. Why would Bobby unleash his powers?" Elsa asked.

"And how even? They're in the Land Without Magic," Leo added.

"Mom and Dad have their half of chalice, even if they don't know it," she reminded him.

"Which means something must be happening and Bobby might not be able to control his powers. It's the only way he'd ever use them out there," Regina surmised.

"Exactly...but this could be the catalyst we need. Emma should be there by now and she'll bring them home," Rumple stated.

"Except that we know Seth sent Arthur and Gawain after them and if people see those two and what they can do? There is no putting this one back in the bottle," James said. Aphrodite nodded.

"Snow and David will know what to do...we have to have faith. I'm assuming that package has been delivered?" the Goddess asked the Dark One.

"Young Summer should have it by now and with any luck she's awake so it's only a matter of time until the rest are," he replied.

"Let's hope you're right, because Seth has access to every magic book in Rose Red's library and if he finds a way through our barrier prematurely...then it's over," the Evil Queen warned.

"Then I guess it's time for you to take a page from the Charming manual as I have, Your Majesty. We must have hope," he said. She looked at him in disgust.

"Hope...that damn word. It always comes down to hope and that insipid princess and her idiot husband," the Queen complained, receiving many glares, most notably from the twins.

"I'm sorry...I love you both, but your mother and father are a menace," she complained.

"No...they're heroes and they'll be back soon to help us fight. With the United Realms joining together, all our armies, all our magic...Seth will go down and we need to be ready," Regina said. Robin smiled at her and put his arms around her.

"And we will be, because we're all heroes, especially you now," he said, as she smiled back at him.

"And if we can't put this back in the bottle? Even if we do defeat Seth...what if the whole world becomes aware of our existence?" Leo asked.

"Yeah...because something tells me that Seth might decide he wants to rule more than just the United Realms," Eva added.

"I'm afraid you're right...Seth may decide he wants to conquer the world. But we'll save it and then we may have to face an entirely new world where we are no longer hidden," Aphrodite told them.

"As hard as it may be, it can be done. There was a time on the Earth in the realm where Fandral comes from that believed magic, Gods, and heroes were mere fantasy, very recently, in fact. But that is no longer the case there and may no longer be the case here much longer. But I am certain of one thing," Hermes said.

"What's that?" Leo asked. She and Aphrodite smiled.

"Your parents will lead us through it all. Your family is a beacon of hope to everyone in the United Realms and I know that the same will be true for the whole world if such comes to be," Aphrodite declared. The twins exchanged a glance and nodded. They weren't sure they liked the idea of their family being so exposed to the world, but they knew she was right. Their parents would somehow lead them through it all with their love shining like the brightest guiding star in the sky...

[spiftynifty]

Hey there! I’m the same anon that sent that confusion ask to jojo. I saw your reply and Read your post about LGBT in kids shows and how (at the time) it seemed probable for a m|m canon. I wanted to ask what your thoughts are now? I personally think it seems most likely that Keith will end in a het. Relationship (despite it seeming a little rushed and lm and jds saying they wouldn’t) Keith ending with no one when such a strong relationship with shiro was built up just doesn’t seem likely either..

To be honest, I was worried about Kacxa at first too. Many, many other hetero romances have started with less than that and seeing underdeveloped relationships just happen because “he was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious” is something we are extremely accustomed to. Heck the show kind of plays right into this with Hunk/Shay.

But Keith is different, he is a far more developed and story-focused character than Hunk is, and thus if he’s to be given a romantic partner then it needs to match that flow and level of development. One of the “rules” that we often get in media is that “romance is a higher level on the relationship chart than friendship”. And at this point, and even after 13 more episodes, there’s just no context this show could offer me where I could honestly believe that Keith could regard Acxa with a similar level of affection to how he regards Shiro, let alone higher. This was the biggest reason I stopped worrying; to be blunt, Kacxa doesn’t make sense on a narrative or character level. Keith aside, Acxa deserves to have a story told that doesn’t involve her following dudes around.

Also, revisiting the show I’m quite convinced that Keith is canonically in love with Shiro, that his feelings for him were intended to be read as so many of us do. There’s a reason so many people in and outside the fandom have written about their relationship with optimism and curiosity about where the show is taking it. It’s there, even for those who have never been looking for it. I know a lot of straight guys who have picked up on it despite never realizing Korrasami was a thing. 

But we definitely do a lot of speculating here in the Sheith fandom and I’ve seen some pretty elaborate meta for scenes that didn’t particularly resonate as shippy for me. So stepping back, shipping goggles off, speaking as a viewer and as someone who works in animation, there are really… 3.5 sequences that give me pause, that are so heavily coded and so… interestingly storyboarded and animated that I find it increasingly impossible to believe the showrunners and directors never intended for their relationship to be read romantically. They are:

Because there is something inherently romantic about the slow zoom on their smiles before the slow drift of them towards each other, the castle forgotten

Because this is blatantly highlighting how beautiful Shiro is and Keith staring at him in awe before he closes his eyes for the last time, resigned to their joint fate

Because I have run all the permutations and scenarios in my mind and there is literally no reason for Keith to stop mid lean, with his eye direction shifting lower than Shiro’s eyeline. It would have been faster and way less work to show him just hugging him without the pause.

And then this is the 0.5:

Because while the canon tempers this moment with “you’re my brother”, I am beyond convinced that that line was added because the scene was too romantically coded without it. And if you don’t believe me, check out this edit someone made of what the scene sounds like without the brother line. It’s incredible. 

But will we SEE canon Sheith? that’s… a little more complicated. 

My post ages ago about LGBT in cartoons was pretty optimistic but where I failed was considering the differences in studios. Some companies are a lot more chill about LGBT content in their shows. But they also aren’t the Big Two: Disney and Dreamworks, whose records of LGBT characters are utterly abysmal. Here are the two they had prior to July 2018: LeFou from live action Beauty and the Beast, and Gobber from HTTYD2 in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line that was ad-libbed by the actor and left in. Arguments could also be made for the Sheriffs in Gravity Falls (that had to be Dumbledore’d after the fact by the show creator who alluded to there being a fight over it).

NOT great, especially when you consider Disney is not just Disney: none, NONE of the 19 Marvel movies feature an LGBT character, nor do ANY of the Star Wars movies. It’s utterly inexcusable. Shareholders in these companies make things more complicated because they help dictate the direction a company will take and if a large portion of their major shareholders are say, more conservative, we’re going to notice that there is one area on the diversity checklist that is repeatedly getting passed over. The bigger the company, the more complicated the relationship is with shareholders. That’s why it’s difficult to compare Korra’s achievement, through Nickelodeon, to the potential of an LGBT relationship on Dreamworks. We should absolutely hold them to the same standards regardless of company size but we can’t expect to get an endgame LGBT relationship just because Korra did, or because of the giant 20-gayteen celebration going on for two wlw ships at Cartoon Network.

But we also got THIS on Voltron.  

And it’s a start. I think it outlines pretty clearly where the limits are for Dreamworks at this time, especially since many casual viewers seemed to miss the romantic implications of Zethrid/Ezor, and a more alarming number somehow walked away from Adam/Shiro’s fight completely unaware they were a couple. Which honestly, was certainly Dreamworks’ goal. Keep it vague enough to fool the shareholders, but implicative enough to pat themselves on the back for their achievement. Even though it only exists because JDS and LM fought tooth and nail for it. But at the end of the day, we still have Shiro, Shiro our canonically gay rep, and that’s so huge. I don’t think people realize how huge that is, and I wish his coming out party hadn’t been so marred by toxic antis and even non-antis who decided to take a really big moment in cartoon history and make it all about themselves and their own pain over the “more” that they didn’t get. 

It’s incredible that we are getting LGBT in cartoons finally, properly. 2018 celebrated three massive historical achievement in kid’s animation: A strong, muscular, leader hero was revealed to be gay and have had a boyfriends, and two wlw couples kissed–one of them got married, onscreen. 

This is HUGE. Prior to 2018 the biggest LGBT cartoon moment we had was Korra and Asami four years ago. 

It was like for four years everyone fought and fought and fought and 2018 was the breaking point and we got this glorious explosion of LGBT romance as a result. Audience reception to these couples has been immensely supportive, which is something the companies are definitely noting if it’s translating into dollar signs. It’s something that makes me much more optimistic for the future of cartoons in years to come. 

But I’m just going to come out and say it: the road to mlm is just a little bit harder. There are a ton of reasons for this but I’d say the biggest two boil down to: classic, gendered homophobia (the white conservative straight dudes with money supporting the studios have an easier time with the idea of two women making out, cuz that’s “hot” than two men, cuz that’s “weird”), and also because it is easier for people to accept that two overly-touchy women are “just good friends” than it is for them to accept that two male characters doing the same thing are. Guys Don’t Get Affectionate With Each Other, after all, because that’s not the Masculine Way. Or something. Tons of people watched the end of Korra and assumed they were just friends. Replace those characters with Shiro and Keith and it raises eyebrows. 

So where does that leave Shiro and Keith? It’s really hard to say and at this point it’s anyone’s guess. I truly believe Sheith was intentionally coded as romantic, but getting the green light is another matter entirely. In addition to the DW shareholders, JDS/LM have to deal with the Voltron ones and since that would include conservative-minded folk along with some Japanese shareholders and Japan has complicated rules about LGBT content… it’s a hot mess. Realistically speaking if you were hoping to see Shiro and Keith kiss onscreen, it’s time to come to terms with the fact that there is a 0.0002% likelihood of it happening. I think the best outcome we can expect at this point is that they both end up single, with bonus points if they’re still alive and on the same planet by the series’ end. I firmly believe that this IS something the showrunners are and have fought for and will continue to fight for until the last retakes are done and the show has been approved and shipped off to Netflix for distribution. 

My tinhat theory is that there is one, single scene/shot, that is blatantly canon, that JDS/LM and KR animated on the sly, and have at the ready that they are totally prepared to replace another more platonic scene with– should DW give the go ahead. But I doubt that go-ahead will ever come. At the end of the day the shareholders are the rulemakers and unless they’re convinced it’s worth the financial gain, Sheith is forever bound to be the “will they won’t they” friends we have seen for the last 7 seasons. And I don’t think that potential financial gain of the kids’ animation world’s first mlm couple is big enough to convince them. But god do I ever hope I’m wrong. 

[ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut]

What Could’ve Been (ML season 2 rewrite) Volpina Part 1

Hey guys! This is a Miraculous Season 2 rewrite attempting to fix certain things and apply theories that could’ve been used. This will start from Volpina to the end of season 2 and hopefully continue when Season 3 comes out.

This wouldn’t have happened without the Marinette Defense Squad on discord and especially  @imthepunchlord for contributing with ideas and lore. I’m so thankful for their help and I hope they’ll continue to collab with me on the future chapters!

This is a gift to imthepunchlord and all of the Marinette Defense Squad on discord

Title: What Could’ve Been Pairings: Adrien/Marinette, Nino/Alya Genre(s): Romance/Friendship/Drama/Action Summary: Rewrite of Miraculous Ladybug from Volpina onward that will attempt to give healthy characterization, development, and slowburn with the miraculous cast that is not hindered by the episodic formula and reset button that is applied in the show.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Miraculous. If I did, I would give it to the discord server to rewrite it.

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Volpina: Part One

“Adrien, I’ve prepared your schedule for today.” Natalie announced as Adrien walked down the grand staircase to his foyer. Adrien resisted the urge to sigh and gave a weak smile. If structure is what his father wanted, he would go along with it…

“Thank you, Natalie.” Adrien replied. Natalie nodded and went to go prepare the car with the Gorilla. A slam was heard, and Adrien jumped, registering his father’s angry tone resonating from his study. Concern filled Adrien. He hasn’t seen his father much in these past months since his mother’s departure. Ever since then, his father had immersed himself in his work to the point where Adrien questioned if he ever slept or ate. He wondered what his father was thinking—did he miss her as much as Adrien did?

A hand touched the doorknob of his father’s study, the only physical barrier between them, but Adrien felt as if they were oceans away from each other emotionally. An urge to talk to his father about their grief entered his mind, and determined, Adrien peeked inside the study where his father was talking heatedly with an employee.

“You got the arrangements all wrong and the show is next week! You seem more like an imbecile than a professional!” Gabriel roughly closed the tome he was searching through, picking it up and retreating to Adrien’s Maman’s portrait. Adrien’s eyes widened as he listened to his father talk while Gabriel revealed a secret safe behind the portrait.

“No, have Natalie send you the arrangements. She does a better job than your incompetent staff.” Gabriel finished the call, closing the safe, and hiding it from the world again. Adrien hid away as his father exited the study, his green eyes trained on the door.

“He keeps a safe behind Maman’s portrait?” Adrien whispered. Like his Black Cat Miraculous, Adrien couldn’t resist the temptation to sate his curiosity. He crept quietly into the study, immediately zeroing in on the portrait and moving it aside.

Staring at the lock though, he hesitated. This was his father’s privacy he was breaking. Whatever his father was hiding, he didn’t want Adrien to see. Guilt churned in his gut, preparing to shut the portrait’s view of the safe before Plagg chose this to be the time he would be the little devil on Adrien’s shoulder.

“Oooh I love secrets! Let’s have a look!” Plagg announced in glee, rubbing his paws together. Adrien looked unsure.

“We probably shouldn’t, Plagg.” Adrien said, but his traitorous eyes wouldn’t leave the safe. He then cleared his throat and appeared casual. “Besides, I wouldn’t want Father searching through my things like this.”

But Plagg wasn’t having it. He could see the thirst for knowledge in his kitten’s eyes and frankly, Plagg finally found something interesting in this stuffy mansion! He wasn’t going to just pass it up because his kitten has a conscience.

“Too late!” Plagg cried, eagerly zipping through the metal to unlock the safe. Adrien made a grab for him, but he was too slow. A few clicks were heard, and Adrien was face to face with the contents of the safe and Plagg’s Cheshire Cat grin.

“Ooooh lookie here! A ticket stub to Tibet! And some old Chinese relics! Ah, even a pretty lady!” Plagg flew around excitedly at all the contents. Adrien’s eyes snapped towards a picture of his beautiful mother Emile. Her serene expression was frozen in time in the photo, and he knew in his memory, it would burn in his mind forever. Sadness engulfed him while he fingered the glass of the picture.

“That’s my Maman, Plagg. You’ve seen her on my computer.” Adrien informed, distracted by his overwhelming urge to cry at the loss of his mother’s warm smile. She wouldn’t approve of him breaching his father’s trust like this. She always had told him and Gabriel it was better to be honest with each other even if it hurt, than to lie and find out from someone else causing more hurt.

“Plagg, I—”

“Ah ha! This is the book he was looking at!” Plagg was oblivious to Adrien’s conflict, opening the pages and flipping through them in interest. The contents of the book, however, made his eyes enlarge and he made a choking noise. Adrien stared at his kwami in concern.

“Plagg, what is…it…?” he trailed off, wide eyes taking in the contents of the book. There on the pages were both depictions of what looked like to be ancient Ladybug and Chat Noir wielders. Adrien gaped, his mouth opening and closing, quickly snatching the book and flipping the pages with as much care as his could have in his speedy examination.

His emerald eyes locked onto another hero, and Adrien gasped, anger flowing through him at the sight of what appeared to be Hawkmoth’s Miraculous.

“What’s he doing in this book about Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Adrien hissed. However, before he could examine the tome any further, he heard Natalie’s voice. He panicked, shutting the door to the safe and closing the portrait quickly, and stuffing the book in his bag. He composed himself, making sure to use some of his ‘Adrien charm’ as his mother would call it, and appeared sheepish.

“There you are! The car is ready.” Natalie told him.

“Coming, Natalie.” Adrien followed her, his mind firing questions left and right. Why was Hawkmoth with Ladybug and Chat Noir? How did his father get this book?

Most importantly, why did he have it and not tell Ladybug?

Adrien was distressed with these questions all the way to school.

------------------------------------------

“Gah! I’m late again!” Marinette cried as she scrambled to pack her bag. Tikki sighed.

“I told you not to switch off your alarm.” Tikki scolded in a way that said ‘I told you so’. Marinette was sheepish.

“But sleep is important for a superhero! You can’t deny that heroes need more sleep than regular people, right Tikki?” Marinette grinned bashfully. Tikki sighed, giving her a teasing smile.

“If all heroes slept like you, Marinette, we would never catch any akuma.” Tikki smirked. Marinette pouted.

“Awww Tikki! That’s unfair.” Marinette protested.

“Aren’t you forgetting you are running late, Marinette?” Tikki reminded, playing innocent. Marinette fell for it, gasping when she saw the clock. She gave a cry, immediately returning to scrambling around to gather her things. Tikki flew into her purse, amused at her little bug’s antics.

Marinette raced down the stairs towards the kitchen, grabbing an apple and swiftly kissing her mother and father’s cheeks. Sabine and Tom watched their daughter move about fondly, exchanging knowing looks and both giggling in amusement.

“Bye Maman! Bye Papa!” Marinette bid her parents farewell, sneaking a cookie for Tikki from the cookie tray. Her parents were none the wiser that she snuck it into her purse for her kwami. The teenage superhero raced out of her family’s bakery towards the steps of Collège Françoise Dupont. She breathed a sigh in relief that she wasn’t late for once. Maybe she could meet up with Alya and chat before class! An excited grin bloomed across her features, searching around for the journalist. When she couldn’t find her though, she decided to ask Rose and Juleka if they’ve seen the girl.

“I can’t believe Lila met Prince Ali! She’s so lucky to know him on a personal level!” Rose gushed, preventing Marinette from speaking. The girl saw Juleka appeared a little uncomfortable with Rose’s words, and Marinette felt pity for the sad glint in Juleka’s eyes as Rose admired Prince Ali. Maybe she should comfort her when they were alone…

“How dare Jagged Stone compose a love song for Lila outside of her window! I’m obviously better than her!” Chloe seethed, stomping by in one of her usual ‘Princess tantrums’ with Sabrina following and failing to calm her. Marinette blinked, distracted from her original mission of locating Alya and listening to all of her classmates praising a girl named Lila for incredible feats.

She entered the courtyard in curiosity, continuing to listen to everyone’s praises of the unknown girl. Finally spotting Alya, Marinette figured her friend could provide her an answer to her classmates’ behavior.

“Who’s Lila?” Marinette asked Alya. Alya was flipping through her phone, grinning like a mischievous fox. Her gold eyes sparkled in excitement and she looped an arm around Marinette’s shoulders to show her what she was looking at.

“She’s the new exchange student from Italy! Her mother’s a diplomat so she gets to travel a lot and meet a lot of famous people! Look! She’s even submitted something to the Ladyblog!” Alya grinned, clicking play on her video. Marinette found herself gazing at a pretty girl with brown hair laughing elegantly. The way the girl held herself was proud, but Marinette couldn’t help but feel a little turned off from the smug glint in the girl’s eyes.

“Oh Ladybug?” the girl, Lila’s, voice drifted into Marinette’s ears. “We’re like this.” Lila crossed her fingers, symbolizing her and Ladybug were tight. Marinette’s eyebrows rose in shock. She’s never met this girl! As she listened further about how Ladybug saved Lila and they’ve been close ever since, her frown deepened, and her eyes turned into slits the more she saw Lila’s smirk and fabricated smug story.

A memory crept from the recesses of her mind, of another person pretending to be nice and then crushing her hopes. Her eyes automatically focus on the person who fooled her before she shook her head. There was no use bringing up old wounds she couldn’t easily bandage back together. But the association already rooted in her mind, and Marinette felt an intense dislike for this Lila, just like she felt distain for all malicious liars. Squirming, Marinette felt like she was being suffocated and maneuvered out of Alya’s hold to get some air in order to calm her rising ire.

The familiar arrogant giggle reached her ears, and the midnight haired girl snapped her head up to see Lila in the flesh holding Adrien’s wrist. An ugly feeling of possession and protectiveness churned in Marinette’s stomach at the sight. She wanted to assert her claim on Adrien, but she also wanted to protect him from Lila’s dishonest clutches.

“What is she doing with my Adrien?” Marinette hissed. Alya looked taken aback by Marinette’s attitude before composing herself in a teasing manner. Maybe this will finally get her friend to make a move on Adrien!

“Oh, you know, probably charming up our local model! I mean she’s pretty famous after all!” Alya smirked. Marinette felt anxiety at that statement.

‘What if he falls for her and doesn’t know she’s lying? He could be hurt!’ Marinette fretted. She wrung her hands roughly, and Alya blinked. She knew her friend had bad anxiety, but she usually suffered exaggerated catastrophic thinking in a more comical way. Seeing Marinette really distressed alarmed her a bit.

“Are you okay?” Alya placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Marinette jolted out of her thoughts and locked eyes with Alya’s amber ones. “I know you like Adrien, but remember Marinette, he doesn’t know you like him. He’s allowed to be around other girls.” Alya gently explained to her. Marinette swallowed, her eyes hyper focusing on Lila tugging Adrien out of her sight, and her heart clenched in worry.

“I gotta go.” Marinette excused herself, running off to follow the two. Alya watched her go, worried about her friend, but knew if she went, it would only be encouraging Marinette’s jealousy. She sighed, resolving to talk to her about it later when she was calmer.

Marinette hid herself in the library, following Lila’s flirty giggling towards where the two were. Adrien and Lila were sitting at a table, his eyes intently examining the text he was reading. Lila appeared a little put off that Adrien was paying more attention to his book than her, and Marinette watched her place her hand on the text, moving closer to Adrien to get his attention. Marinette bit her jacket to keep from snarling.

“Thanks for helping me study history.” Lila smiled, twirling some of her hair and taking his hand. Adrien felt a little uncomfortable, Lila’s behavior vaguely reminding him of how Chloe hasn’t been respecting his boundaries lately and he resisted the urge to take his hand away.

“Oh, you’re welcome, Lila. Though Max’s grades are better than mine in history. Maybe next time we can ask him for help too.” Adrien mentioned, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with her not releasing his hand.

“Marinette,” Tikki left the safety of her purse, her voice dripping with disapproval. She crossed her paws, gazing at her bug sternly. “Are you spying on Adrien?”  

Marinette jolted, turning to Tikki, shock on her face before determination settled there.

“I’m not spying, Tikki. I’m chaperoning… without them knowing.” Marinette finished weakly. Tikki appeared not convinced.

“You know, Marinette. Adrien is always being watched over by his father and his bodyguards. Do you think he’d appreciate you watching over him like you’re his babysitter?” Tikki lectured. Marinette’s shoulders slumped, but she still wanted to defend herself.

“But Tikki! Lila is lying! I gotta protect him!” Marinette whispered.

“Protect or make sure he doesn’t get stolen away?” Tikki raised a brow. Marinette deflated.

“Protect? Keep him single? …I don’t know. Both?” Marinette admitted. Tikki sighed and flew to Marinette, lifting her chin to gaze at her. Tikki’s eyes were tender as she surveyed her bug.

“Marinette,” Tikki began, “You are my wonderful bug. You are so compassionate and smart, but you are letting your jealousy and fear dictate your actions. Perhaps not all your intentions are bad with wanting to also protect Adrien, but you must remember Adrien is his own person. You can’t always prevent him from being hurt or prevent him from loving others just because you don’t like them.” Tikki explained with tenderness.

“But she’s taking advantage of people Tikki…” Marinette tried to keep the hurt out of her voice from the memory of dealing with another person who harms others without any remorse, but Tikki heard it.

“And she will be found out sooner or later. This is not the time or the way to expose her. All maliciousness shows itself at some point.” Tikki told her soothingly. She sensed a deep hurt from Marinette, and she wondered what had given her such pain, but knew it wasn’t the time to pry.

Marinette sighed, and nodded, realizing that Tikki was right. She blinked tears out of her eyes from past scars, and Tikki comforted her. They would leave from their hiding place after Adrien and Lila to avoid being caught.

Meanwhile, Adrien was trying to help Lila with history, while discreetly trying to read the tome he stole—borrowed, he corrected himself—for more information on the Miraculous. Lila was increasingly insistent he pay attention to her, despite giving her passages she could read and dissect on her own, and Adrien made sure to keep his composure lest he put a tarnish on the Agreste name.

He turned another page of the ancient tome, and his expression turned to adoration as he fondly traced the picture of the female hero in the book wielding the Ladybug Miraculous, being reminded of his own Lady. He wondered what she was doing right now. He wished he knew who she was—being able to spend time with her outside of hero duties would send him to cloud 9.

“Ladybug fan?” Lila interrupted his musings. She appeared irritated that his attention was elsewhere, and Adrien could feel himself tensing from the calculating way she gazed at him. He glanced down at the image of the Ladybug hero to give him courage, and he felt a grin emerge on his face at the thought of his Lady.

“Yeah. She’s amazing!” Adrien sighed, blissfully imagining his Lady smiling, her bluebell eyes sparkling in jest as he delivers a terrible pun. Lila watched Adrien critically, and a surge of distain coiled in her gut for the spotted hero. Her mouth opened, spitting poison for the hero like a viper.

“She’s alright. Though if you ask me, I’ve seen better girls to idolize than her.” She spat a distasteful emphasis on Ladybug, and Adrien narrowed his eyes, not liking the way she addressed his partner. Not only was she the love of his life, but also, she was his valued teammate and deserved respect.

“Ladybug gives her all for Paris. To me, there’s no one more admirable.” Adrien said firmly, and Marinette blushed, her back to the bookshelf, listening in on the conversation when they started talking about Ladybug. Tikki couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride in Adrien for sticking up for her bug. However, her attention was then caught by the book Adrien was reading, and her eyes widened in realization.

‘That book… it can’t be!’

Lila made a face, but composed herself, smirking coyly like a predator cornering their prey, and placed her face in close proximity to Adrien’s. Adrien, not expecting the loss of space, backed away flustered. Lila wasn’t deterred.

“Hmph. Meet me in the park around 3pm after class. I’ll be sure to show you something that can change your mind.” Lila flirted, coming close to his face again. Adrien’s mind was screaming escape.

“Errr okay! I gotta go right now though!” Adrien excused himself quickly—agreeing to meet her just to cease her advances now—grabbing the tome and fleeing far away from her. Lila watched him go, a pensive expression on her face.

“He likes heroes huh…?” she murmured, departing from the library, a plan set in mind.

Marinette and Tikki released their breaths, sighing in relief when they were alone. Marinette stretched, getting ready to go to class, and leave Adrien and Lila alone. Tikki was right—Adrien was a person, not an object for her to covet. He had a right to make his own decisions.

‘Even if I don’t like them, I have to respect them because he’s my friend.’ Marinette concluded, proud of herself for choosing to be a good friend.

“Marinette! We have to go to the park after them!” Tikki urged. Marinette gaped.

“Tikki! You just told me I have to stop spying on Adrien! Now you’re telling me to spy on him?” Marinette questioned. What has gotten into her kwami?

“You don’t understand Marinette! Adrien’s book! We need the book! It’s important!” Tikki pushed on. Marinette scrunched her brow.

“What about his book?” she asked Tikki. Tikki flew close to her face.

“It should only belong to the Guardian! It contains knowledge about all Miraculous that can be abused if it fell into the wrong hands! We need to get that book and return it to the Guardian immediately!” Tikki frantically explained.

“Who’s the Guardian?” Marinette inquired. Her bluebell eyes narrowed. “Tikki, what have you been hiding?”

“I promise I will tell you everything, but right now we need to make sure we follow Adrien to the park after class! We can’t let this chance get away from us!” Tikki persuaded her. Marinette saw the panic in her kwami’s face and nodded.

“Okay, we’ll follow them after class.” Marinette conceded. Tikki sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Marinette.” Tikki told her chosen sincerely, for she was very grateful Marinette listened to her council. She’s had some stubborn bugs in the past that often had to learn the hard way, but while Marinette was like that at times, she did respect Tikki’s input. She supposed it was because all her bugs were spirited little things, and that spirit could get in the way of rational thought if they weren’t careful.

She winced at the memory of Hippolyta. While she adored her like all her other bugs, the woman was not known for her willingness to compromise. Her fate was set the moment Hera manipulated her and Hercules took her life.

But Tikki has learned since then. She will try her hardest to council her bugs, even if they didn’t agree sometimes. She’s lived many lifetimes, but each of her bugs has never been forgotten by her, despite some of them rejecting her council. It just made her more determined to be better and guide her future bugs to success.

Marinette hid Tikki in her purse and set off towards class. She couldn’t help but muse about the book Adrien was reading and why Tikki wanted it. There was also the mysterious Guardian. She remembered Pharaoh, and her fight with him at the museum. Not since then has it hit her that Tikki was an all-powerful being that lived thousands of years and wasn’t just her small companion that helped her turn into Ladybug. Was this Guardian as old as Tikki? Was he a kwami like Tikki or was he human like her? Marinette tried to fathom a human living as long as perhaps Tikki had, and it didn’t seem to click, almost like it was too surreal—too phenomenal to comprehend a human living many lifetimes.

“Ah, Marinette, late again I see.” Madam Bustier remarked, but you could see her face stretched into an amused, fond smile for her class president. Marinette gave a weak grin, chuckling nervously.

“Sorry, Madam Bustier.” Marinette apologized. Madam Bustier shook her head, her smile still present.

“I will not count it on your record this time, but please try to be on time in the future.” Madam Bustier sighed. Marinette gave a grateful nod and sped towards her seat. She discreetly eyed Adrien. The boy paid her no mind, his eyes flickering between his notes and under his desk where the tome that Tikki wanted sat on his lap. Whatever this book was, it sure had Adrien’s attention. It only served to make Marinette more curious about the contents of the ancient book as well.

Alya didn’t seem to notice Marinette’s eyes trained on the book in Adrien’s lap instead of Adrien. The girl’s amber eyes watched her, concerned that Marinette may have gotten her heart broken while spying on Adrien and Lila. Marinette played her part and gave Alya a reassuring smile, mouthing ‘I’m okay’.

This seemed to satisfy the journalist, and she went back to her notes while Marinette stared at the back of Adrien’s head. Luckily, she did this so much that her friend didn’t even bother to be suspicious at her actions.

The midnight haired girl placed a hand on her purse where Tikki resided, drawing strength from her while she plotted in her head about how she was going to get the book from Adrien without revealing who she really was. She wouldn’t lie—she knew Adrien adored Ladybug—and at times she was hypnotized by the temptation to reveal to him who Ladybug really was, so she could earn his affections, but Marinette always stomped on these daydreams.

She wasn’t stupid. Revealing yourself comes with consequences—consequences she’s probably never realized that were even worse than putting her loved ones in danger. She wouldn’t put her friends and family in the line of fire just because she wanted a boy to notice her. When she first took up the mantle of Ladybug, it soon became apparent being a hero wasn’t just donning a mask—you could be required to make sacrifices and go against your personal wants for the sake of everyone else’s safety.

There were times Marinette was sure she was going to die in this never-ending war. She’s never discussed it with Tikki the realization that she could very well lose her life while fighting Hawkmoth. There were many—too many—close calls where she thought ‘this is it. I’m going to die.’ though she had a feeling Tikki knew all too well about the mortality of her Ladybugs.

These thoughts often stopped her from ever giving in and revealing herself to her partner, Chat Noir. She had no fear that he would be disappointed—that wasn’t what stopped her besides the fear that Hawkmoth could find out about her if Chat Noir was ever compromised and vice versa.

It was the fact that if she revealed herself, and she died, Chat Noir would be alone in his mourning of who she really was. He would be able to put a face to his dead partner, and no one besides him would ever know she was Ladybug and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, two people he’s interacted with actually being the same person. At least if one of them died, they would be able to protect themselves from the reality that they were more than soldiers against Hawkmoth—that they were just children.

If she gave Chat a face, an identity under the mask, it would shatter the illusion of their invincibility. The reality that they had lives outside of their masks would weigh upon them, and the façade of heroes would be gone, replaced by the frightening reality that they were just children in a war against a merciless terrorist.

To Chat Noir and Paris, she was Ladybug, a hero that couldn’t be put down or beaten. She was a symbol to them. A symbol of hope and that good always wins. If she died now, at least hope would live on and pass onto the next Ladybug.

She refused to make Chat Noir suffer in silence and despair if he knew the face behind the mask and no one would be able to share in his grief.

Paris could live on without her as Ladybug, but Chat Noir could not.

She was jolted from her reverie when she felt Tikki’s paw press against her palm through the fabric of her purse, as if she knew what Marinette was thinking. It brought Marinette back to reality, back to where she was and what her mission was.

Determination filled her. Now was not the time to dwell on her mortality. She was a soldier—a hero of Paris—and she would continue to fight for Paris until her last breath. However, now was the time to plan for her current mission to retrieve Adrien’s book.

It was time for Ladybug to step into the arena once more. \

-------------------------

There’s part 1 of Volpina rewrite! I hope you guys like it. I have the whole rewrite of the episode outlined, but I find it easier to do smaller chapters in order to hopefully update faster. Please let me know what you think if you can!

[tenderdnp]

we’re already each other’s, yet you aren’t mine

beta: @star-crossed-phan​

artist: @just-another-phanfic​ + a pt. ii of her art is here!

word count: 26.2k

rating: PG-13; genres are romance, fluff, and angst

warnings: mild language, homophobia (internal and external), mild homophobic slurs, alcohol, hints at sexual intimacy

summary: in a time where tattoos bloom upon the skin out of nowhere - dan is a boy who paints watercolor roses in his backyard and has a single hidden marigold behind his ear, all while phil, who has tattoos of daisies around his ankles + shoulders, writes poetry on the front porch next door. (a high school, art student au)

author’s note: aaaa my first pbb fic!! :’)) thank you so much to kayla for betaing this! you are so sweet, and we talked more than just about editing which was so lovely. bless you for sticking with me even though the word count went from what was supposed to be 5k straight to 25k; you’re a real one! and thank you to kat for being a great pinch hitter artist, your moodboards make my heart go !!!!!

and a p.s. —  this fic was inspired by @demonphannie​’s post and @audaw​’s art. ty for existing

moodboard by @just-another-phanfic

. . .

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing the dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls, the ones that would convey the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, an elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

<<>>

It’s the sound of lips on skin and lips on lips that makes his shoulders tense and his hair stand on end. He can’t ignore them, they’re only three lockers down after all, and his peripheral vision just happens to be especially keen. Dan Howell has the new girl -new as in she had literally transferred into their art school several days ago- pinned against the locker’s cold metal, his lips pressing against hers again and again. It isn't a shock, really. She is likely his latest rendezvous, i.e. the new girl in both the real and alternative sense.

The probable truth of that fact makes his gut twist.

His thoughts are confirmed by gossipers in the hallway, their ringing giggles unintentionally piquing his interest. Their conversation automatically separating from the bustle of bodies and hallway sound, he listens in on their eager chatter.

“Did you hear who it was this time?”

Her friend squeals —was that necessary?— in response. “No I haven't! Who?!”

“It was Erin—”

“Erin? The new girl who came in and started here last week?”

“Yes! Well, she came in a totally different way last night,” he could hear a smirk and a wink in her voice. The if you know what i mean was a little more than heavily implied, making him internally cringe. “Everybody’s saying that they just locked eyes across Chris’ living room and like, totally fell in love. Or lust. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” the friend laughs knowingly, “Not a single girl has ever lasted too long.”

From there, as the conversation topic shifted, his attention followed. Suddenly irritated, he shuts his locker with a slam, not loud enough to gain the passerbys’ attention, but enough to snap Dan and Erin (she has a name now) out of it. By the time he turns around, Erin shoots a mildly peeved glance his way. Familiar words of it's always cloudy except for, when you look into the past, one night… flow from his worn earbuds to hit his eardrums as he makes his way to class, clearing his mind and relaxing his annoyance.

He shakes his head to himself, and puts a little smile on his face. It happens all the time, so he shouldn’t be bothered. Today is gonna be a good day.

He can feel it.

<<>>

As per usual, he is the first one in the classroom. It is a basic english class, because despite being at the art school for written work and thus having several writing and literary classes under his belt, he is still required to take a “basic” class for the english language.

His efforts to convince the principal to change his situation (that other students have voiced to have as well) otherwise was, needless to say, futile.

The class bores him a bit, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. More often than not, he keeps to himself and simply chooses to not actively participate in class. Besides, being one of the teacher’s favorites due to having a particularly advanced grasp of the material is not necessarily the worst thing in the world (plus it gives him time to write rather than pay attention).

Several minutes pass before Dan enters the classroom. As per usual he is the last to enter, with Erin in tow. Her blonde curls are even more all over the place than they usually are and his typically perfectly straightened hair is a little less than perfect; to add even more to that, their clothes are crinkled, leaving little to nothing to the imagination as to what their shenanigans were. The teacher makes no comment but a slight disappointed exhale and a passing gesture of the hand for them to take their seats before he opens up the class for the lesson.

“Now for the past two weeks we have been talking about poetry…” Mr. Lamansi begins, clapping his hands together. “And for today in particular, we will be focusing on Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road.”

The class proceeds by his calling on various students in a random fashion to take turns with reading stanzas, his choice sometimes falling on the ones with their hands raised and other times upon those who were purposefully remaining quiet and avoiding eye contact. Phil allows himself to take advantage of this time to freewrite, allowing his pen and mind to wander.

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives...

“Phil? Could you read these few lines for us?”

At the teacher’s interruption, Phil looks up and nods, proceeding to put down his pen and stand up from his seat as every other student had. His hands hold his textbook as he prepares himself to speak, but the moment he opens his mouth, Mr. Lamansi stops him.

“Actually Phil,” Mr. Lamansi begins, “Can you come up and read in front of the class? This is one of my favorite parts.”

Phil bites his lip. “Y-yeah. That's fine.”

Everyone’s focus is on him as he strides towards where the teacher directed him to go. He’s not a fan of this kind of thing you know, being the center of unwanted attention that is, and each stare only seems to be encouraging the swirls that are slowly appearing on his lower back. Once he reaches his spot in the front, each set of seemingly judgemental eyes causes buttercups to rapidly pop up on a concentrated spot on the inside of his wrists, mapping the places where he feels anxiety and unease.

An awkward cough to clear his throat and break the stillness of the room comes first. Then, he begins.

And it's captivating.

“The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road—the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel! O public road! do you say to me, Do not leave me? Do you say, Venture not? If you leave me, you are lost? Do you say, I am already prepared—I am well-beaten and undenied—adhere to me? O public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you—yet I love you; You express me better than I can express myself; You shall be more to me than my poem.”

His voice pulls at the heartstrings of everyone watching him, or at the very least, grabs their gaze so that they don't look away. Other students were bored and monotone in vocal delivery, but his take on it is deep and rich. It's lovely, and all the students (okay, except maybe a select few, but you can't win them all) are listening. Breathtaking is definitely the right word to describe it, for the full classroom of rowdy adolescents are nearly completely silent.

Unbeknownst to him, when he's finished, Dan’s lips are parted oh so slightly in a sort of soft awe.

As Phil sits back in his seat, his face burns red, a murmur of applause going through the room. His teacher praises and thanks him, but he pays it no mind. His eyes shift down at his desk as he brainstorms and works on a poem for the rest of the period, until the bell eventually rings.

Now mind you, Philip Lester was usually very observant. His eyes were open, all the time— as a poet he had to take inspiration from every facet of the world around him. However, perhaps if his mind didn't force itself to replay the most anxious of moments, and he wasn't so distracted by his writing, Phil would have caught how peculiar it was for a certain Dan Howell to throw a fleeting gaze at him just before leaving the room.

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age four.

Life was pretty nice when one’s age was still a single digit number.

While his mother was cooking, Phil was sat in the chair at the dining table. Legs swinging in the air because he was far too short to reach the floor, with a face of curiosity he pointed a small finger at what was on her bicep.

“Mum, why does your skin have different colors there?”

She briefly stopped her stirring upon the stove, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion a little before she saw what he was pointing at and laughed in understanding. “This?” she clarified while she smiled, pointing at the tattoo of a concert ticket that lay on her upper arm.

“Yeah!” young Phil exclaimed, nodding eagerly. “And Daddy has one too!”

His mother hummed in agreement and continued to make supper. “Indeed he does,” she laughed, “And that's on purpose you know. The first time I met him was at a concert.” Her voice became wistful as she continued, “I was sold a counterfeit ticket and because of that was absolutely devastated, with tears in my eyes and all, and was on the way to being sent home. On my way out, I had bumped shoulders with your father. We were completely knocked down to the floor! And then…” Her hand stopped once more as her words trailed off.

“And then he noticed my eyes and asked me what's wrong. Once he heard about what had happened, he told me that his friend became sick and that he had a free ticket. Only if I wanted it of course. I accepted it, we ended up having a great time, kept contact, and eventually started dating. I got one half of a concert ticket on my left arm, and your father had a concert ticket on his right.”

“Wow! Now you two are matching, right mum?”

“Yep! They say that nothing’s been proven but if anything,” she turned towards her son and made a pointing gesture to emphasize her words. “This appeared out of love, I’ll tell you that.”

“Love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Phil’s cheeks beam with a smile. “Love sounds so nice.”

As she sets a bowl of Phil’s favorite soup in front of him, an easy reply comes as a response. “Oh it is, dear. It really is.”

<<>>

“Just milk and a bag of crisps? Again?”

Phil places his tray down with a playful eyeroll. “Peej, you know it's because I’m not hungry.” He sits down next to his best friend, unzipping his backpack to take out his phone and aimlessly scroll while they’re chatting.

With his mouth still full, PJ says pointedly, “Yeah sure.” He swallows his food. “I’m just worried sometimes, you know.”

“I know,” Phil laughs, “And I appreciate it.”

PJ does a cheeky little grin and wave with a jokingly bashful, “Aw you’re making blush and all Philip, but let’s cut the sap.” He takes another bite of his lunch. “So how are you? How’s your day been so far?”

“Ugh,” Phil groans. He stuffs his face with practically six crisps at once, annoyed. He had nearly forgotten about how his day started, and now PJ had reminded him. He chews rapidly before he swallows so that he may continue talking.

“Dan was making out with some girl this morning at the lockers… It was obnoxious. Annoying as hell.”

PJ just smirks. His body leans in closely, accompanied by a wiggle of his eyebrows and reply in a teasing tone, “Are you sure annoyed is how you’re really feelin’ Philly? No jealousy because of ‘ol pretty boy—”

“How are things going with that film project?” Phil quickly interjects PJ’s sentence with his cheeks suddenly red, making PJ immediately drop both his smirk and the topic. Ooo ouch, how touchy.

“It’s good! It’s going. I hope to actually start the filming part soon.”

Pride for his friend swells in Phil’s chest. “That’s great!”

“Yeah I guess, but I’m stuck with the script. I’m really lacking inspiration,” PJ mutters, his eyes looking back down to his food.

“Oh, I totally get that,” Phil nods with a wave of his hand. “It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

The other laughs, immediately dismissing the comment. “Pff, yeah right! Coming from the guy who never stops writing ever.”

“Peeeej! Trust me, I’m serious! Okay listen—” Phil’s voice softening, almost as if he was revealing a big secret. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know? Or to look for inspiration in unlikely places. You have to have a muse.”

“Aw Philly, are you saying that you have a muse?” PJ smiles.

Before he can answer, Phil catches a glimpse of Dan walking to join his group of friends, and in doing so, Dan passes by he and PJ’s lunch table. Phil only lets his eyes linger for a moment more before he turns to look back at PJ, and gives him his response, letting out a low hum first. A cheeky hint of something is playing at the edges of his lips.

“I guess you could say that.”

<<>>

brown is all sorts of golden in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun    when it touches every bit of soil and soul of the earth a sign that even angels admire from afar, a bronzy glow of the ages - p.l.

<<>>

“Now creative writing has a key word: creative. And what does creative mean?” implores freshly graduated teacher Miss Caroline (who, at the beginning of the year, refused to be called Miss Alabang due to it apparently being “too formal”). A resounding lack of feedback comes from the class. Rolling her eyes in response, she shoots them all a you guys are useless look, accompanied by the typical seriously you could do better eyebrow raise.

Not many people are in this particular class, so theoretically, there should be more student engagement. But oh, on the contrary, it was not working out that way.

Throwing her hands up in the air with a passion, she exclaims, “It means to think outside of the box of course! Which is why there will be an interesting new project for the midterm. Never before done, never before seen by this institution.”

She begins to pace around the room, her voice rising and falling in a way that seems to soar over students’ heads and then capture their attention, while her gaze creates eye contact with each and every person to guarantee their engagement. “This project,” she says with a pause for dramatic effect, “will be a collaboration with the art students.”

“Exactly right.”

Art teacher Miss Land enters the scene. Her chin is raised with a sort of delicate poise and her hands are held behind her back, a contrasting yet pleasing juxtaposition that is a great complement to Miss Caroline’s own casual stance and posture. While Miss Caroline has a voice that projects itself as much as her eccentric presence, Miss Land’s is a bit more subdued in the sense that listeners had to concentrate more to hear her.

“The idea is to bridge together visual art and written art…”

“...essentially taking words and bringing them to life.”

“Both pieces must be able to both stand on their own, yet inspire one another. A mix of two mediums that are strong individually, yet when put together, fabricate something that reaches beyond what one could achieve as a solo piece,” Miss Land elaborates.

“Any questions?” asks Miss Caroline. The students helpfully provide her the deafening silence that fills the room in response.

Miss Land nods. “Good. My students, please don’t crowd around the door. Line up against the front, please.” She gestures to the front board, each art student awkwardly shuffling to their own spot, standing expectedly as the creative writing students sat and looked upon them with neutral expressions. Most are calm and collected except for a select few, who shift in their seats at the thought of working with unfamiliar people and a medium they didn't know. Among the art students is new girl Erin who couldn’t care less, and she has a hand on Dan’s arm while she whispers into his ear. He chuckles, and makes playful a face back at her as if saying, “Shh, we’ve got to listen now.”

Miss Land then glances at Miss Caroline, sharing an exchange of the eyes before coming to a silent understanding. From there, Miss Caroline addresses the group as a whole.

“So I’m going to randomly choose a student from my creative writing class, while she,” placing emphasis on the last word and looking pointedly at Miss Land, “will randomly choose an art student of her own. Okay? Sounds good. So first off: Eli Romano.”

“...Louise Pentland,” completes Miss Land.

“Andee Steiner with…”

“Erin Romer.”

“PJ Liguori.”

“Chris Kendall, you’re up.”

“Philip Lester…”

“...Dan Howell.”

As partnerships are created one by one, it is so interesting to see the reactions of each couple (couple used for the lack of a better term here, of course). For example, Eli, Andee, Louise, and many others seemed like the type to not mind whomever they were to be assigned to. Erin on the other hand? No one missed the huff she let out and the scrunch of her nose when she heard that she was not assigned to Dan. Chris Kendall stuck his tongue in his cheek with a smirk then let out a big grin when he sauntered over the PJ’s desk, while PJ himself held a soft smile.

In regards to Phil, he kept it together. If together meant his leg started bouncing at a great speed, that is. As long as no one looked below the desk, no one would notice. His fingers start picking at the ends of his sleeves. Buttercups were starting to appear.

And Dan was just an enigma. Nothing in the eyes, nothing in his stance, only a polite smile.

Once the partner assignments are completed, papers are handed out, and a direction is given for everyone to go with their respective other half of their duo, the art students disperse and fill the empty seats. Immediately, chatter begins to diffuse throughout the previously quiet room.

Squeaks come from the moving of chairs and desks, along with slight oomphs of backpacks being tossed down to the linoleum floor and pushed to the side in order to be out of the way. Phil bites his lip as Dan sits in the desk next to his own, and with every ounce of effort in his body he tries to make sure his voice is steady when he breaks the ice between them.

“So, I guess we have to exchange info right?”

“I guess,” Dan replies simply, scratching his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really know, but I guess there’s not really any other option. I mean, what else can we do.”

Not too far from them is PJ, who leans back in his chair and sends a questioning glance over to Phil, who then does a small shrug in reply. Turning back to Dan, he purses his lips a little before continuing. “Okay, so uh, my number is…” Phil lists the memorized numbers with ease, then repeats it once more. “You got that?”

Before Dan can even nod, the bell rings, and out of nowhere Erin grabs Dan’s hand right for the two of them to immediately bolt out the door.

<<>>

Dan is reading over the paper that the art teacher gave them earlier. He wants to start brainstorming, the concept of combining two different art forms seems really interesting… It would probably be best to discuss it with his partner, though.

His partner: Phil Lester. Dan knows him, he lives next door to him so how could he not, and they have gone to school together for a while now. Yet despite having known him all these years, he only knows of him. Dan has never spoken a word to Phil, to his knowledge.

Although he never paid mind to him before, when Phil read Song of the Open Road in his english class today, Dan admits that he was surprised. He never expected something like to come from him.

Dan takes out his cellphone, tapping the screen to reach the number that he put in earlier. Because Erin pulled him out before he could tell Phil his own digits, he is forced to be the one to text first. He types a quick message, and hits send. Better now than later.

from dan, to phil:

hey it’s dan. meeting in the library after school tmrw sound good?

He doesn’t expect a reply, but for some reason it’s like he’s waiting for one. When he thinks about it, Phil seems like someone he would want to get to know better. He seems interesting.

This project may actually be kinda fun.

A reply comes a minute or two later, and it’s like Dan has something caught in his throat when he rushes to see the message.

from phil, to dan:

Okkie dokes! :D

Aw. Dan can’t help but smile to himself. Heh, how cute.

<<>>

Phil ends up arriving first. In his defense, he spends most of the time in the library anyway, and extra time gives him the chance to pick the perfect spot: one with a lot of sunlight, and where not a lot of people are studying. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with wanting for today to go well, right?

Dan arrives about ten minutes following the school’s ending bell, and Phil doesn’t even notice him walking through the door. He’s got his head in his notebook, as usual.

“Bye, see you later,” bids Dan, giving Erin a quick kiss on the cheek. Although he begins to head off, he remains facing her, walking backwards, giving a little farewell salute and a quick wink to match.

Erin calls after him. “Goodbye baby, have fun with the project!” She accompanies it with a chippery wave back, and blows him a kiss right before orients his body forward so that he could see where he is going.

Phil looks up from his work, disturbed by the noise. Dan has spotted him, eyes lighting up in recognition, and he is starting to make his way to the table. When he gets there, it is a moment when first impressions are made.

For Phil, it’s like an up close confirmation of everything he has admired from afar. Everything is so lovely, and the way the sun hits Dan is so nice. His eyes aren’t just brown, they fit every descriptor that Phil has wrote with— caramel, golden, earthy, warm. Choosing this spot was the right choice.

As for Dan, he is taken aback by the scribbles of sentence fragments and various adjectives and lines that cover the pages of Phil’s notebook and Phil’s hands. They’re like stories that others want to read, but won’t understand, because Phil is the only one that can tell them.

He doesn’t know it yet, but he is one of the few willing to listen.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Dan grimaces, feeling guilty that he was the second to show despite being the one to set up the meeting in the first place. When he grabs the seat next to Phil to sit down, he misses the edge of the chair and the sound of his bum hitting the hardwood floor echoes through the library, making Phil laugh and Phil’s heart swell.

Embarrassing. Still grinning, Phil holds a hand out, helping him up. Dan lets out a laugh as well, Phil’s attitude spreading to him.

“Don’t worry about it Dan, I was willing to wait for you.”

<<>>

His car purrs as it rolls into the driveway upon his arrival home, having just come from hanging out with friends after school. Dan loves going out with them, but to be frank, it gets exhausting sometimes.

Right now, he kinda wants to take a nap.

A chirp comes from the car as he hits the buttons on his keys to lock up the thing, and the moment he unintentionally shoots a glance at the house next door happens to be the same moment that Phil looks up from his spot on the porch.

Phil looks down at his feet right when their gazes meet, before choosing to raise his head once more and give Dan a little wave. “Hey,” he mouths.

A moment of hesitance, then Dan smiles and takes a step forward. As if it’s an invitation, Dan walks over and sits next to Phil, joining him. The last time they had talked had been over text a day or two ago, and they have only met up once more since their initial meeting at the library. The steps creak a bit at their weight and their legs nearly touch, but not quite.

Slowly but surely, they are warming up to one another.

“So what are you working on? Are you working on our project?” Dan leans a little into Phil’s side to get a better look at Phil’s notebook, while remaining careful as to not be too invasive of his space. A writer’s notebook is like an artist’s sketchbook: a secluded place for the expression of thought. The cover is worn and the pages are messy, Phil’s writing ranging from neat print to rushed scrawls. Anyone could tell that that little notebook was the receiver of a lot of love. Dan’s heart skips a little at that thought; it always makes him happy when a creator is passionate about their own work.

“Yeah actually,” Phil replies, not looking up. He keeps writing as he completes his thought. “Just brainstorming about various ideas.”

“Is it okay if I stay here?”

Phil nods. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

A few minutes pass of comfortable silence, and Dan even took out his own sketchbook from his backpack. He keeps making a few strokes then erasing, feeling the urge to do something as Phil is sitting beside him seemingly within an endless river of creative flow. He breaks the silence as he wonders in a whisper out loud, “You know, people always see you writing in that thing.” Dan then pauses, attempting to formulate his question before he voices it. “How do you… How do you constantly have something to write about?”

Phil is quiet, thinking before he comes up with a response. “It’s about being honest I think.”

“Honest?”

“Yep, honest.” Phil affirms. His pen stops writing for a second, and he makes a motion towards his body, looking forward rather than directly addressing Dan. “Let whatever is in you tell the story you know? They don’t have to be complete ideas, you just need to let them exist. Like how our tattoos appear on their own, but still tell our story to others, in a way.”

As Phil rambles on, without realising, Dan is sketching Phil’s profile. Glancing up to look at him while he speaks to give an occasional sign that he’s still listening, his wrists make little flicks and strokes across the page, while his hands are especially careful with shading. Dan spends quite a bit of time on Phil’s cheekbones, for he can’t seem to get it right.

He grins softly. Phil seems to be all angles and sharp edges, and it’s kind of enticing.

“...And most of all, with honesty, you know what is real.”

<<>>

“You know Phil, this is a bit clingy.”

“Clingy? May I remind that you were the one calling me at two in the morning for the past week and a half.”

“Pbbbt, but you said you didn’t mind!”

“Yeah, you’re right—”

“Damn straight I am.”

“But anyways, you didn’t call me tonight, and I was still awake, and now here we are.”

“I don’t need your excuses, Lester. So what do you wanna talk about? Because we’ve got all night.”

<<>>

According to Dan, working at a Starbucks coffee shop is ‘too corporate,’ and that is why they are at a local cafe now.

Chris and PJ are here as well. They’re doing a cute little “study group” thing, but instead of studying they are discussing their projects. It’s always good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, and brainstorming is better when one is able to hear feedback from other people.

They’re all casually chatting, as friends of friends all together.

What’s strange though, is this: Chris is being particularly touchy towards PJ. It was playful touches at first, to his arms and to his sides, but then all of a sudden he put his arm around PJ’s shoulders. PJ didn’t acknowledge it at all, but the expression on his face was one of someone who was definitely flustered.

Dan raises an eyebrow at Chris upon seeing this, the other only responding with an eyebrow raise back as if in a challenge of, what? Something wrong?

And as for Phil, his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he has a shit-eating grin, simply amused.

It becomes a source of small unacknowledged tension, but no one brings it up and they all continue their relaxed chatter. Each of them grab several pastries and a coffee each, scones and croissants and the like, “brain food” being the excuse for all of the sugar in their purchases. They then head towards a table by one of the cafe’s huge windows that overlook the London street.

PJ speaks up about their projects first. “So, what’s your guys’ idea?”

“We’re going for a kinda… like… nature-y? Is that the right word?” Phil looks at Dan, who just kinda shrugs. “Theme. Something with the forest, or the ocean… We don’t know for sure yet.”

Chris nods, and looks at Dan. “Colors?”

“Earth tones, I would guess,” Dan replies, taking a bite from his scone.

Chris hums in approval. “Some cooler undertones would work nicely with that, I think.”

“How about you guys?” asks Dan.

“Something with a whole lot of bold color. That’s kinda all we got.” PJ shrugs.

“We’re just rolling with it,” Chris barely manages to add, mouth full.

Phil points his question towards PJ. “And how’s the writing?”

“Well I haven't had too much time to really develop it, I've been working on stuff for the poetry slam…” PJ says sheepishly, momentarily preferring to watch himself stir his coffee over looking up.

“Spontaneity is the best kind of creativity!” Chris exclaims defensively, yet mostly excitedly, He lists descriptors as he counts them off on his fingers, voice all sass and eagerness, making everyone laugh. “It's gonna have a lot of color, it's gonna be bright, and it's gonna be cool as heck!”

“Poetry slam?” Dan inquires. “Our school has that, PJ?”

“Yep! It's open to all the students but mostly english students enter, I’ve been bothering Phil to join for ages—” When PJ moves his hand to point at Phil, the porcelain of his coffee mug hits the table and his drink  becomes a brown puddle of a mess out of nowhere. It had narrowly missed his crotch, and thank goodness, not a drop fell upon the notes of his that were scattered on the table in front of him.

Chris’ eyes widen, and he reacts quicker than all of them. “I’ve got this,” he assures PJ, immediately rushing off to grab napkins, but not before leaving PJ with a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine!”

When Chris is out of earshot, Phil immediately gives PJ a look.

PJ’s face only gets redder, and he folds his hands in his lap. “Shut up he didn't mean anything by it…”  

But Phil is relentless, and he’s not buying PJ’s denial at all. He doesn’t stop giving his old friend that look that is all smiles and muffled laughs. Eventually, PJ breaks and bursts out with, “Okay, I admit it, he might’ve maybe asked me out yesterday…!” Phil smirks, and finally lets out the laugh he was holding in. “But to be honest I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

Throughout the past few moments of Phil and PJ’s exchange, Dan had remained silent, gaze bouncing between Phil’s knowing grin and PJ’s not-at-all-subtle blush. It is for that reason that when he makes a comment it catches them both off guard, even though it was more of an observation to himself, if anything. With his chin in his palm and his elbow resting on the table edge, Dan murmurs, “Huh, that's why Chris looks so happy. He's probably the happiest I've ever seen him.”

“Yeah,” says PJ after hesitating a little, addressing Dan’s words. He bites his lip, the corners of his mouth hinting at turning up as he admits the truth. “He makes me really happy too.”

“Happy enough to write about?” asks Phil with a smile, referring to their conversation from way back when. Dan sits, listening still.

PJ doesn’t look at Phil directly, but his hand unconsciously reaches up to his face to briefly touch where Chris has left a quick kiss earlier. If you looked closely, a little tattoo of a planet was beginning to fade into view.

“We’ll see.”

Chris finally returns, a wad of napkins in his grasp. Carefully he begins dabbing at the mess, nudging PJ’s papers aside so that they would be out of the way, all while PJ has a look that is entirely of affection all over him, as Chris pays no mind.

Very casually, PJ throws a question into the air. “So, what time and place?”

Chris crumples up the napkins, the coffee mess finally cleaned up, and heads towards the nearest bin. “For what?” he calls, throwing the trash away.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about our date already.”

Standing in place a couple feet away, Chris is frozen and his jaw goes slack, and PJ can’t help but giggle. Chris is simply beaming now. He rushes to the table to directly talk to Dan and Phil, words rushed and excited. “Sorry to cut it short lads, but we’ve got a date to plan,” Chris says matter-of-factly, adorned with an adorable little salute. After that his hands move to help PJ pack up his things, and in a matter of seconds everything is put away.

When they head towards the cafe door, PJ flashes a sheepish expression to Dan and Phil and mouths a “Sorry about this,” followed by a sincere, “Thank you.” Before they disappear, Chris then grabs PJ’s hand in his— holding it up to his lips to place a quick kiss on the back of PJ’s hand.

Cute.

As for the left-behind-two, an hour and a half more passes before they make any real effort to go. The company is lovely even if they aren’t talking. They are simply working in silence, both lost in their own creative worlds, and it is only when a worker comes up to them and asks if they would like to order anything more (to which they politely declined) do they begin to clean up their space.

“They’re cute together,” says Phil, a comment that breaks the stillness between them.

“Yeah,” Dan replies nonchalantly. He closes his bag after putting away his sketchbook and pencils bag, and slides the strap on his shoulder as they both head towards the door. To no one in particular he adds, “They’re really happy together, aren’t they?”

The edges of words seemed to be tinged with a bit of longing, if you listened hard enough.

When they step out of the cafe, Phil immediately rubs his arms, his breath forming a small cloud with each exhale from the oxygen in his lungs and the brisk air. “Heh, I didn’t expect it to be this cold today…”

Almost hesitantly, Dan places his own jacket upon Phil’s shoulders. The gesture isn’t acknowledged at all, and he just keeps walking, ignoring the fact that the chill was now getting to him. He refrains from rubbing his own arms, and just shoves his hands into his pockets. He only did as any friend would do.

In the meantime, Phil just stands there, not knowing how to react.

Steps ahead now, Dan merely waves his hand before quickly putting it back into the pocket of his jeans, beckoning Phil to walk a little faster.  “C’mon Phil, let’s go home.”

<<>>

phil: <IMG_0981 is attached. View image?> phil: LOOK AT THESE DOGS!!!!! phil: IT’S A DOG WHO HAS A GUIDE DOG

dan: asagAFGAAJHLHFW dan: THAT’S THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER S E E N

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age eleven.

He stood outside, garden hose in hand. His mother had told him to water the plants around the front porch, and that is exactly what he did. Although the job required focus, it did nothing to prevent him from becoming lost in thought.

The age of him and his peers was one where crushes were all too common. Girls were talking about cute boys; boys were talking about cute girls. However, no one really made Phil feel the way that other people claimed they felt— Samantha from maths lent him a pencil once? That was kind of her. But he would only want to become friends with her and nothing more, he was sure.

A yelp of surprise escaped from him when he suddenly realised that the water had begun to pool around his feet amidst his musings, which formed a damp patch of grass that was well on its way to becoming a muddy puddle. Quickly, he ran to the side of the house to turn off the hose, and started to make his way back inside.

Before he crossed his driveway to head towards the small path that led to his front door, out of the corner of his eye he noticed something roll across the road.

  It was a piece of white chalk. The neighbor’s, to be more precise, who appeared to be outside as well. A rare occurrence it was: Phil had only seen them a handful of times before.

Tentatively, he took the chalk piece into his hand. Heading towards who was kneeled in the driveway next to his own, in front of a house with freshly trimmed grass and no garden, but did have a single weeping willow. As his steps drew him closer, more details about his neighbor, a somebody about his age, came into view.

And honestly? Phil couldn't help but be left dumbfounded.

The pretty boy in front of him had equally pretty hands. With those hands of slightly tanned skin he was creating art out of seemingly nowhere; slender fingers fabricated gentle strokes, images of flowers and stars, along with daisies and planets and angels amongst them stole Phil’s breath to allow for only awe to remain.

Phil was almost nervous to disturb him. If he did, it would be like catching a doe in a forest clearing— one moment peaceful, until a slight sound frightens them away. So because of that, he made sure to be careful.

His voice of “Um, this yours?” was a whisper full of gentleness that seemed mindful of the delicate flowers that the boy in front of him seemed to be growing out of the pavement.

Immediately, the boy looked up, revealing brown eyes that perfectly matched his brown curls. “Yes, thank you,” the boy replied quietly, carefully taking the chalk piece from his extended reach. His fingertips lightly grazed against Phil’s, which left Phil’s hands tingling.

In the three days that followed, Phil had fireworks tattooed upon his fingertips (and more often than not, from then on, one could catch him writing poetry on the front porch in an effort to catch a glimpse of the boy again).

<<>>

Dan throws a bag of McDonald’s on the library table, the sound of its impact resounding through the quiet studying of students. And if that’s not enough, he follows up with a loud, “Eat up babes, let's get to work!”

Laughing, Phil does an exaggerated fake gasp. “Dan! Watch your volume!” Reaching over the the table, he grabs the bag off the table, still noticeably hot. When he opens it, a little whiff of steam comes up, caressing his face. “Besides, why'd you buy this anyway?”

Dan shrugs, taking a chicken nugget and shoving it into his mouth. While he’s chewing he responds, “I’ve been noticing that you never have food when we work on school days, and we usually work during lunch. It's always just a drink and like, a bag of chips.”

Phil shrugs back, head tilting as his words trail off. “I just find eating to be a waste of time…”

Dan holds up his hand, cutting his words short as his voice trails off. “Don’t even give me that bullshit Phil, it’s because you’re always writing and you think you have no time for eating, so just eat a little bit or so help me.” He nudges the bag closer to Phil so that it hits Phil’s chest. Dan’s eyes shift to the side a little, and his voice becomes a bit demure. “Just… Take a break from that carpal tunnel catalyst, and dig in, alright?”

Phil opens the bag reluctantly and sighs, taking a bite of a french fry. His lips are pursed into a pout, for what Dan said was pretty much on the nose. He doesn’t mean to avoid eating, honest, it just… happens that way.

He smiles. The fact that Dan noticed and bought him food is such a sweet gesture, and the more Phil chews, the more Dan looks satisfied. Dan claps his hands together right as Phil swallows.

“Cool, now let’s get started.”

Today is final drafts day.

In order to proceed with the final production of their project they have to refine their drafts, and that is what today is dedicated to. For their work to not go to waste, everything has to be absolutely perfect (but to be fair, a poor outcome resulting from the two of them is actually quite doubtful).

“I’ve got these so far,” indicates Phil, pulling out various disheveled papers. They’ve got red ink that make it look like his writing went through a bloodbath, with elegantly chaotic black scrawls to match. He holds them out to Dan and is a bit sheepish about it, kinda embarrassed by how messy it is. “You can look through them right now if you want, but they’re not that great…”

Dan shakes his head, automatically dismissing Phil’s putdown of himself. “I doubt that, Phil. I absolutely doubt that.” He accepts Phil’s writing from Phil’s outstretched hand, and exchanges it with a few ripped out sheets of his own from his sketchbook, graphite smeared and all. “And here’s mine, they’re really sketchy and not as refined as they could be, but you should get the idea.”

When they’re looking over each other’s rough pieces, Phil’s fingers linger over the calculated strokes of Dan’s drawings, all while Dan is floored by Phil’s words.

Dan has never gotten the opportunity to see Phil’s work like this before. He’s taking in everything, soaking every word and descriptor in, and he makes sure he does not miss a single stanza. He never was someone with a way with words, that’s why he stuck with visual arts. But he is thankful that he was given the opportunity to read rawness such as this.

Then suddenly he notices a little something. A little bit that doesn’t seem to quite fit in with the rest catches his eye, a little snippet of a thing that was barely legible and had the last word cut off.

‘n ‘ol brunette has got that teasing grin skipping class and hands that have likely committed sin that ugly little shit messing with my h

When he reads it he snickers, and when he points to it and holds it up to Phil, he can’t keep his laughter in and he justs bursts into a giggling fit. “Aw, Phil,” his tone entirely both sing-songy and teasing, “Guess now I know that you think that I’m an ‘ugly little shit.’” Dan does a little pout. “Do you not think I’m cute?”

“Pfff! Please,” Phil sputters, realising what exactly Dan was pointing to. “Who says that’s about you?”

“I mean we could just address the ‘hands that have likely committed sin’ part…”

At the sound of that, Phil interjects quickly. “Fine, you’re adorable!” Barely processing the thought, Dan thinks, “Pbbt, so are you,” and Phil suddenly puts his index finger in front of Dan’s lips in a shhhing motion.

“What’s going on—”

“No no no, shush!” Phil holds a finger up, as if motioning “Hold on,” and Dan takes the hint and complies. Phil’s eyebrows are scrunched, clearly thinking.

“What?” Dan asks, after a few moments pass.

Phil takes both sets of their work from their respective spots and lays it upon the space in front of them, spread out but distinctly separate. He purses his lip, unsure at first then proceeding to rearranging a few. “Why don’t we… write about...” Phil picks up a sketch from Dan’s side and a page or two from his own. He hands the chosen ones to Dan, who takes it with a raised eyebrow. “This?”

Dan slowly nods, shifting through the papers and ultimately agreeing with the choices. He turns his body, his eyes looking up to meet Phil’s. “So that’s it? That’s our theme?”

Phil answers his question with an affirming hum, and when he starts explaining it just to clarify they find that they were on the same page all along. “It’ll be about humanity in its rawest form—”

“With earthy elements and other aspects of nature—”

“How we all have stories—”

“...and what makes a human human is emotion.”

Phil’s grin reaches from ear to ear. “Perfect.”

“Fuck yeah!” yells Dan, pounding a fist on the table. He holds up his palm for a high five, which Phil happily reciprocates.

When he hears a loud SHHH! come from behind him, Phil’s eyes widen, for it is most likely the librarian telling them to politely shut the hell up. He looks at Dan and silently scolds him, mouthing “Language!” to which Dan merely giggles, his laughs muffled as he tries to keep quiet.

“Fuck you,” Dan mouths back.

Phil rolls his eyes and smirks. His reply comes with a chuckle: “You wish.”

<<>>

Forget about Monopoly being end-all be-all relationship ruiner. With the way the game was currently going, Mario Kart should be the holder of that title.

“EAT MY ASS,” yells Dan. With every turn, he turns as well, because he insists it ‘helps me play better!’. His body rams into Phil’s side as he mimics the motion of the kart on the screen.

A breath leaves Phil’s lungs with an oof as Dan nearly knocks him to the floor. He automatically bursts into a laughing fit, pressing into the buttons of his controller even harder. “NEVER!!”

At this point they’re practically sitting on top of each other, and seem to have ignored the whole concept of sitting on the bed rather than the floor. Legs crossed, his knee touching his knee, the room is filled with giggles and playful banter as they keep jabbing each other in the side as they play.

When one shouts, and the other pouts— the game is officially over.

Dan crosses his arms, and presses his lips into a thin line. He withholds himself from bitterly throwing the control to the ground, but he does cross his arms. “Good game,” he mutters.

Shaking his head, Phil rolls his eyes at Dan’s dramatics. He gives Dan a pitiful pat on the back, and gives his reply all-too-knowingly. “Oh just let it out, we both know you’re a sore loser.”

A sharp inhale through the nose, and a slow exhale through the mouth.

Followed by a swift headbutt by Dan to Phil’s shoulder.

“OW!”

Dan jokingly starts to lightly punch Phil in the back, sides, and shoulders, shouting,  “YOU WERE THE ONE THAT HIT ME WITH A FUCKING SHELL AT THE END I THOUGHT WE WERE PLAYING RELATIVELY NICE!!” He pushes him down, Phil chuckling at Dan’s sad attempt to push him over (noodle arms are not that effective, Dan has learned). “I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!”

They land on the ground, the punching turning into tickling. Phil rolls around in an effort to avoid Dan’s attacks, but each attempt is futile, and instead his stomach hurts from the laughter and his face aches from the grin on his face that reaches from ear to ear. “See,” Phil laughs in between breaths, “What an incredibly sore loser you are.”

Dan finally sits back up, smug at Phil’s ‘defeat.’ “Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” He holds a hand out to Phil, and they pull each other up so that they are both standing. “I still totally should have won though.”

At a suggestion to take a snack break, the two head downstairs towards Phil’s kitchen. They continue to chat, and as Phil moves towards the pantry, he makes a gesture for Dan to take a seat at the dining table.

When Phil turns around, he not only has various food in his hand, he has a smile on his face. He walks over to the table and sets a plate of cookies in front of Dan, making Dan look up from his phone and eagerly move to grab a cookie of his own.

“You know, where you're sitting right now, is where my mum told me about what tattoos were.”

With a mouth full, Dan manages a, “Really?” Phil nods, and Dan swallows the last bits down his throat. “Was it like, a serious talk?”

Phil is at the counter now, he has decidedly chosen to make hot chocolate for the both of them. He mulls over Dan’s question as he gets the hot chocolate mix out. “Hm, no? Not really. I was like five or something. How about you? When did your parents tell you?”

“Oh, uh…” Dan grimaces, suddenly feeling awkward. “They— they never really told me? I kind of just found out on my own. From classmates, and the internet, and stuff. They never brought it up, and I never really asked…”

“Oh.” For a moment, Phil stops moving. “So they didn’t even tell you where they come from?”

“What do you mean? No one knows where they come from. Isn’t there still no confirmation from scientists about their origins or whatever?”

“Yeah, but my mum told me.”

Phil hesitates a little, the tiniest bit embarrassed.

“She told me they came from love.”

Dan sputters, laughing, nearly choking on his food. Phil doesn’t say a word and continues to prepare the drinks. “No offense Phil,” Dan chuckles. “But really?”

“I know, I know. But at the same time, there’s no harm in believing in things like that, don’t you think?” Phil hands a mug to Dan, who takes it gratefully. They clink their mugs together and drink a bit at the same time. Phil laughs when Dan makes a face at how hot it is, and Dan rapidly starts blowing on the drink to decrease its intense heat.

“Love though? Quite doubtful.”

“Are you not a believer in love? How about you and Erin?” Phil takes another sip from his hot chocolate. When a little residue is left on his upper lip, his tongue easily leaves and licks it away in a moment. “How are you guys doing?”

Dan’s eyes don’t quite meet his, sounding distracted. “Oh we’re great.” When he looks back up at Phil, Phil’s expression is expectant, waiting. Dan quickly rushes to elaborate on his previous sentiment. “She’s lovely, and so sweet!  Every date I’ve been on with her has been amazing. She’s incredible. I like her a lot.”

Phil nods. “I’m glad.”

After that, he says nothing more.

He takes Dan’s now-empty mug from his hand, and washes it after his own. Dan’s eyebrows are scrunched in thought, he’s staring at his phone again, but he’s not really processing what’s on the screen at all.  

Phil finishes up rinsing their cups in the sink, and puts their mugs into the dishwasher. He dries off his hands with a hand towel. Once he’s all done, he asks Dan, “You wanna go back upstairs and keep playing?”

Dan’s phone vibrates.

from erin, to dan:

Hey babe! I’ll be finishing up work soon, you wanna come over?

Rather than unlocking his phone, he reads the message as it is on his lockscreen. He ignores it, and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

Dan smiles up at Phil. “Yeah. Let's go.”

Phil grins back, and as he leads them back to his bedroom, he has his hand on Dan’s back. The atmosphere is nice and easy. Uncomplicated.

He makes a comment about how Dan is ‘totally going down’ again, but to be honest, Dan isn’t really listening.

Later at night, in his own room, Dan takes off his shirt before he goes to bed. He always sleeps shirtless (that is nothing new), but it’s different this time: for if he had looked in the reflection in the mirror behind him, he would have noticed that there were dandelions on his back exactly where Phil had touched before.

By the morning though, they are gone.

<<>>

phil: I remember you saying you had a test today, good luck! phil: The universe may test ya like this but I believe in ya

dan: oh shush go pay attention in class dan: but ty that’s v nice dan: u’re too good for me

<<>>

“Aw, they’re so cute together!”

These are the words that seem to be just about everywhere: in the comment section of various social media, in the giggles of the hallways, in the not-so-subtle gestures and points of the cafeteria crowd. They can't seem to go anywhere without encountering what seems to be a fan club around the two of them.

But don't get him wrong. Because there is nothing wrong in the first place.

Erin is a lovely girl, and they have been together for a while, three weeks almost four weeks now. And that is far longer than any previous girl of Dan’s. With a wild head of curls and an even wilder personality, she is a whole lot of fun, and he loves to admire the beautiful ink upon her arms. She has these beautiful gradients of rising suns around her arms along with clouds that often change in hue.

Each and every time she goes on her tiptoes and she wraps her arms around his neck to place a kiss on his lips, he can’t help but be reminded of the idea of them, both in regards to the tattoos themselves and of him and Erin as a couple. Of all things though, he is reminded of Chris’ party especially.

Additionally, as if that isn’t enough, there are whispers of new ink starting to bud on her hands. Rumors that the new ink matches his own spread like wildflowers, even though so few have seen the hidden marigold to the extent that there are doubts of its existence. The possibility of Erin’s budding flowers being identical to his still makes his own blossom burn at the thought.

Because even though he did say that there was nothing wrong, there is an issue. And that issue is that nothing has happened to his own skin.

Besides the common flare ups of ink that happens to most people including himself, the only thing constant that he has is the single flower on the spot behind his ear, and that has been been on his skin for years.

Maybe he could— No. He couldn’t.

Could he?

It wouldn’t hurt —it couldn’t hurt— if nobody found out.

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to fake tattoos for a while, right?

He ignores the prickling of stars appearing on his ribcage, and takes some skin-safe ink to his own arms to mimic what Erin has on her own body. When the prickling starts going around his abdomen and begins to reach his shoulder blades, he still pays no heed to it.

He just continues on.

With each mark and movement of his nimble fingers, his stomach turns once more, even more so as he recalls the words that Phil mentioned before. What he said about honesty, about truth. This thing, what Dan is doing right now, he knows is the exact opposite of that.

He shakes his head in an attempt to shake the words off his mind. Phil has nothing to do with this. Phil has nothing to do with the state of Dan’s feelings for Erin. Why is he thinking of him at a time like this? For that matter, why is Dan doing it in the first place?

To be brief, he does not want to be rude. It’s not like Erin isn’t a nice girl anyway, so it’ll be fine. It will only be for a little while until those typical boy-girl feelings become stronger, because that’s how it works. That’s how it should work. And it will. There’s no reason to not reciprocate what Erin evidently feels for him. Naturally, it will all work out.

Yet if he were to take Phil’s words to heart right now and be honest, in reality, Dan was actually pushing certain feelings away.

Dan touches up the final details of clouds on his forearm, and presses his lips into a straight line, shoving the spiraling feelings that were welling up in his chest far deep into the ground below his feet.

If he were to be honest, he was actually just pushing certain feelings away… And with regards to other things, he was simply burying them further.

And covering them up.

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age thirteen.

“...NOW AS A RESULT THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT IS CURRENTLY HOLDING DISCUSSIONS IN REGARDS TO THE POSSIBLE LEGALIZATION OF HOMOSEXUAL MARRIAGE. THERE IS NO FURTHER INFORMATION AT THE MOMENT, BUT RADICAL ADVOCATES FOR THE LGBT COMMUNITY ARE CURRENTLY LINED UP IN FRONT OF THE GOVERNMENT HALL—”

A harsh, snarky tch came from Dan’s father, his blatant irritation had jarringly interrupted the newscast that came from kitchen radio. In his hands the steak knife threatened to start shaking with his tight grip, his knuckles whitening to nearly match the teeth he was gritting in anger. “Those homosexuals,” he spat, while he slammed the table with his fist at the same time, “Those homosexuals need to get the fuck out of our country, or better yet off our planet, or I will BEAT THEIR ASSES!!”

His mother simply took a napkin to her lips and daintily dabbed at her mouth, taking a breath before she added input of her own. “Now honey, some of them may be nice,” her tone calm and even. With a voice tinged with what seemed like genuine concern she continued, “I just don’t understand, they can’t have children, so why even bother if they can simply choose a lovely lady or a strong man?” She reached across the table to squeeze her husband’s tense fist. “If anything dear, I think it’s just a trend.”

The entire “discussion” only progressed from there, all while Dan remained silent. His shoulders hunched in as if he was going to fall into himself, he ate his food with minimal noise whether it be chewing or cutting into it for a bite, merely taking everything, every comment— “It’ll blow over, for this it just sounds ridiculous”, retort— “Ridiculousness has wrongfully made it’s way to the law of the land!”, and remark— “To put it simply, the gays need to know their place”, in.

Eventually he asked if he could be excused (he was given permission by a grunt of acknowledgement from his father and a nod from his mother).

Dan’s room was his sanctuary. Constantly he would go there for escape, or to remain in solitude with his thoughts, and this was one of those times. From the back of his closet he revealed his unfinished painting, taking it from its resting spot and placing it upon the floor so that he could resume his work. The canvas was one that he left alone but kept coming back to—maybe he would finish it one day. A year or two had passed since his work on it began.

His paints were in his lower bedside drawer, and he took those out as well. Every movement was routine, a relaxing habit, and essentially his mind was a step ahead of his actions. But perhaps the ease of not thinking only gave way for other, bad thoughts to come.

The harsh tongue of his father as he spat out the words “those homosexuals” could not leave his ears and only further buried itself in his mind. The comment made his hair stand on end, even though he didn’t know precisely why. Dan knew that he couldn’t like boys. Liking boys was wrong. Boys like girls, and girls like boys. Nothing else. And why would Dan care about liking boys anyway? Dan liked girls.

why would he care why would he care why would he care—

His chest was heaving. He only snapped out of his train of thought when he realised his breathing had become erratic, his chest heaved and his hands were shaking and his heartbeat was far too rapid for it to be normal. At an attempt to relax he tried to breathe, he inhaled and exhaled in time as he closed his eyes.

Darkness came.

Darkness came, and colors followed. Shades of blue, green, and yellow. His painting was actually composed of only that particular color palette, a set of hues that seemed to be set in not only his subconscious but also within the motions of his brush. They reminded him of someone’s eyes, but no one he knew. They reminded him of the ocean, of waves he wasn’t used to.

They were always comforting. Those colors never failed to ease him.

Through his open window, he heard the neighbors’ garage open, and he opened his eyes. The sounds of their laughs made their way into his room, which made him smile a little. Those laughs eased him too. The family next door must have arrived home.

Within his own house, dinner had presumably ended. He could hear his parents’ footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom door, their bickering anything but quiet. “I don’t want him drawing, I don’t want any of that sissy shit.”

That was his father.

“He is super talented and we should be supporting our son!”

And that was his mother.

He put on headphones to drown out it all, and dipped his brush into his paints. This time, he focused on blue. As his strokes hit the paper, shivers went up his spine as a tattoo of tree branches spread out across his back, and as its roots went down to his hips; the only signs of life that the tree’s branches held was the idea that it used to be budding once.

<<>>

In basic english, the poetry unit is coming to a close. For the past couple of days, the students have been presenting their favorite poetry pieces to the class, an assignment that the teacher thought would be a fit way to wrap up the unit.

“Dan, you’re up,” calls Mr. Lamansi.

Finally, now he can get this done. He is the last student that needs to present.

Although he isn’t nervous, his heart is pounding incessantly in his chest. He definitely has jitters, a finite flow of energy that is coursing through his veins and he can’t seem to calm it down, and everyone can definitely tell. Who couldn’t? His hands are trembling so much.

The amount of anxiousness in his body makes this whole ordeal feel like confessional.

Before he actually starts, he awkwardly coughs to clear his throat. “Um, I picked a part from that poem we read a long time ago? Walt Whitman’s Song of the Open Road?” Mr. Lamansi then nods and jots the title down, and makes a motion for Dan to begin.

When he makes an attempt at a taking a deep breath, he hears a whisper. Turning his head slightly he sees Erin, who makes a silly face at him, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing a little. Instead, he opts for a simple smile.

And then he (he couldn’t help himself) casts a glance at Phil, who's beaming at him, all warmth and encouragement and support. Dan’s small smile widens just the littlest bit more. What did Dan ever do to deserve a friend like him?

With that, his shoulders relax, and he breathes.

Swallowing his worry, Dan feels ready now.

“I will recruit for myself and you as I go; I will scatter myself among men and women as I go; I will toss the new gladness and roughness among them; Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me; Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless me.

Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me; Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d, it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth.”

When he finishes, he does everything in his power to not completely rush back to his seat. He tries to keep it cool, but he can feel his face burning, and if anyone looked hard enough they could see little leaves and thorns popping up along his collarbone.

A couple seats away, Phil’s heart is swelling. For some reason he feels like this poem has an underlying importance to Dan, and if he were to reread the lines to himself perhaps he would even realise what its significance even was. For now though, that was something that Dan could keep all to himself. Phil is proud of him for standing in front of the whole class like that (Lord knows that Phil’s confidence in his own public speaking is quite mediocre at best).

Small moments like these only fuel Phil’s admiration for this boy, and this time he can't help but feel pride and a sense of wonder all at once.

In Dan’s pocket, Dan’s phone vibrates. Before sliding it out, Dan quickly glances at the teacher to check whether the coast is clear, and upon ensuring so, he reads the notification under his desk.

to dan, from phil:

You did so great!

The small gesture is so sweet, and although it isn't much, it makes Dan undeniably happy. He has this expression of light, a grin reaching from ear to ear. While he can't see it himself, he swears the marigold behind his ear is tingling for the bud of another golden flower.

As they are leaving class, Dan comes up to Phil’s side and puts a hand on his shoulder to catch Phil’s attention before Phil has the chance to head off in the other direction.

“So, see you later?”

Cheeks red, Phil replies shyly, “Yeah, see you.”

<<>>

Soft taps are hitting metal, and Phil knows that Dan doesn’t even need to look to see who it is. He already knows it’s Phil. When Dan shuts his locker and he pokes his head out, saying “Heyy!” with a huge grin and the cutest dimple, Phil can’t help but to match with a smile that’s equally as big.

If someone told Phil that he and Dan would be friends one day, he would doubt them. But right now, he’s chatting with his crush, they’re face to face, laughing and shining with ease and happiness. Phil is on top of the world.

But Dan reaching up to close his locker door placed Dan’s arm at Phil’s eye level, and for a moment, Phil saw Dan’s tattoos up close. When his hand eventually falls back to his side, Phil’s eyes linger over them for a moment more. He has forgotten something important, something more prominent than the dimple in Dan’s soft cheek that Phil adores. The tattoos are a reminder: Dan isn’t his.

The wings on any of the butterflies Phil has in his stomach rapidly frumple, suddenly shy and abashed, and his smile can’t help but falter a little.

<<>>

Even though they don’t have an audience or anything because everyone has already headed to class, when Erin is kissing him, he’s not really kissing back. At all. The hallways are pretty much empty and the only sounds that remain are her lips on him. But even then, he can’t focus on her. If anything he is much more interested in absentmindedly playing with her hair.

Erin pulls away from him, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. She places a kiss on the marigold behind his ear, a tender thing, but to him it just burns. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Dan only brushes the question off, the ringing of the first tardy warning bell easily makes it so he doesn’t have to answer much. “Nothing, I promise.”

The expression in Erin’s face shows that she doesn’t buy it. “Oh Dan,” her voice sympathetic, one hand rubbing the space on his back between his shoulder blades.“Let’s just ditch class and go to my house? I can make you feel better and get you out of this funk.” She ends that last sentence with a wink.

As gently as he can, he pushes Erin off of him, politely giving her a cordial smile. “Uh, maybe next time?” His eyes not-so-subtly look away from her, and he just scratches the back of his neck, with his shoulders hunched stiffly. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but abruptly, the second late bell rings this time. “Let’s just head to class, alright? We’re gonna be late.” From there, he attempts to make his leave.

Erin hastily grabs his arm before he can make it too far. Her grip is firm.

“What has been with you lately?”

Despite sounding tender, she definitely comes off as confrontational. All the little things she has been noticing about him for the past few weeks begins to spill out of her one by one, in the form of pent up evidence supporting a suppressed argument.

“We’ve barely hung out, you rarely approach me first, and don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you hardly ever text me back anymore,” her voice cracks, just the slightest bit, but it is not vulnerability, it is only irritation. When she looks at him, she makes perfect, dead on eye contact, as if daring him to look away.

She starts getting louder. Her face is getting more red and more frustrated, the emotion further emphasised in her tone. “I thought I had it. I really did! I thought I was in one of the most important relationships of my life— here I thought I was different, and that I changed the ‘unattainable Dan Howell’…!” In a flash, it all shifts and she suddenly becomes a bit reserved. A bit meeker, wishful. Regretting and inhibited. Her voice is quieter. “…And that I found a really, really sweet guy.” She smiles the smallest bit, but her eyes are dull.

Her fingers start fiddling with the ends of her hair, and she looks down at her feet. “Instead, you just seem disinterested.”

“Look Erin, it’s not you it’s me—”

At that, her glare rises up once more, red lines suddenly appearing in wings at the ends of her eyes, further emphasizing her vexation. “Stop.” Her index finger threateningly pokes his chest with nearly every word that she says. “Don’t you even dare give me that load of bull. shit. I had to have done something.”

“You didn’t do anything, I promise,” Dan tries to reassure her, but he can tell that in the same way she didn’t believe him when he said was fine earlier, she absolutely does not believe him right now.

“Dan, don’t lie to me,” Erin huffs. She then furrows her eyebrows and kinda tilts her head and frowns, but it’s not directed at him, not really, and Dan knows that it means she’s thinking. When the corners of her mouth turn up a little and she shakes her head and laughs to herself, that is when he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to react. And he certainly does not anticipate the words that would then exit from her lips.

“I bet it’s that boy. It’s that boy, isn’t it?”

Dan bites his lip, his words are caught in his throat, and for some reason he can’t make himself reply.

A moment passes. One that lasts a beat too long for it to be salvaged.

“Oh.” Her voice and face suddenly falls and softens. It’s evident that she did not expect her ‘revelation’ to actually ring true. “Oh, Dan. I’m right aren’t I?”

Dan’s brows raise and his eyes widen, his hands waving frantically in an effort to convince her of the truth. “No!! No no, no way. We’re just friends, plus, I think that you’ve forgotten that I’m straight.”

Erin sighs. “But straight boys don’t look at other boys —well, just a single boy in your case— like you have, Dan. It makes sense now that I think about it, and honestly why didn’t I see it before, and I don’t care about the whole ‘gay thing’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She turns away and opens her locker, packing a few things into her bag, then slides one strap on her shoulder. “Love is love, and who am I to deny that?” Instead of then moving her body to face him, she bites her cheek. Her head tilts to the side a bit as she looks down. “I just hate that I had to find out like this.”

“Erin, I’m telling you!! We’re just friends!!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” she waves, brushing him off. She doesn’t move, hand still on the locker door. She only turns her head so that he can look at her when she makes her point. “But baby, it’s obvious. And if you still can’t see it, then maybe you should stop and take a good look at what you’re missing.”

“You’ve got it all wrong—”

“Look…” Erin lets out a low exhale and lets her eyelids fall over her eyes, slamming the locker hard enough to both make the sound echo off the walls of the now empty halls. To her relief, it also  effectively shuts Dan up. She sounds tired. “I’m gonna head home alright? I don’t really feel like being here anymore. You can go back to class.”

After beginning to walk off, she stops after only taking a few steps.

Her back remains as the only thing facing towards him.

“Dan?”

He hesitates before responding. “Yeah?”

Before she speaks, she takes a second to articulate what exactly she wants to say. Even though it’s not a goodbye, it sure as hell feels like one.

It’s like a final admission.

“You… You were a good time. Even if you ignore me after this, since we’ll just be classmates, say hi once in awhile, yeah? And consider who’s important to you. Really, really consider it,” she then angles her body a bit to look over her shoulder, so that their eyes may meet one last time. Her lips tilt upwards a little bit at the corners, but even that is twinged with a hint of sadness. “That Phil boy… He really does make you smile.”

<<>>

They’re walking home, and the warm tones of the sky perfectly complement the warmth of the caramel macchiatos in their hands. Phil had treated them to the delicious drinks once school was over, despite Dan’s protests, and the late afternoon sun showed that they definitely ended up spending a little bit more time at the coffee shop than originally expected.

Oh well. Becoming lost in a sea of conversation of topics they could no longer remember gave them a much needed break from thinking about anything —or anyone— at all.

When they reach Dan’s house, Dan fumbles for the key and unlocks the door. Noticing that is Phil hesitating at the welcome mat still, Dan laughs. “C’mon,” he invites Phil in warmly, as he starts removing his shoes and places it next to the front door after closing it. Dan motions for Phil to do the same. “Let’s get started.”

Tonight is the night they finish their project. With only visuals remaining, and their use of a different type of surface for their piece, they only have the next several hours to complete it.

Dan grabs blankets for them to sit on and he tells Phil where to find the paints they need, and together they make their way towards the backyard. With perfect weather accompanied by a lovely sky, it is no wonder as to why it is their work space of choice this evening.

Outside, the air is quiet. The only noises come from the soft hum of suburbia and the chirping of crickets. “I work here often,” Dan says, his voice casual and not as loud as it normally would be.

Phil nods. “I understand why. It’s peaceful out here.”

They start setting up, picking a clear spot in the grass. Dan tosses the blankets to the ground and they both slide their backpacks off their shoulders, and Dan leans down to take the supplies they need out of his bag. As he is getting situated, Phil asks if he should get ready now. Although Dan just passively gives him a “Yeah, yeah,” he can’t seem to resist looking up when Phil turns around to slip off his shirt.

Phil isn’t the most fit person in the world, but he is certainly a bit toned, and the movement of his shoulder blades and back do something to the heart beating in Dan’s chest. The first thing he notices even before that though, are the daisies that seem to go all across Phil’s shoulders. They are admittedly quite hard to miss. That too, gives Dan this tingling feeling that starts in his chest and spreads through his arms. He can’t put a name to it, but it’s just that the flowers seem so endearing. Because oh, how lovely is that?

When Phil turns and faces Dan again, he catches Dan looking at him. Quickly, Dan looks away, but by then it’s too late, and Phil is standing there flustered, hints of pink coming off like paint splatters and freckles on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly self-conscious, Phil shifts the moment’s attention to something else when he quickly moves to pick up one of the many blankets that Dan brought outside. When he hands one end of the blanket to Dan, Dan takes it with a sheepish smile.

For a split second, their fingers graze each other’s, before parting so that they may set the blanket down upon the grass together. After they put the blanket on the ground, Phil rubs his fingers together. A reaction, he can’t help it: last time there were fireworks, after all.

And even though his hands show no ink this time when he checks, by God does it feel like the moment was electrically charged.

“So, where do you want me?” asks Phil, the question effectively gently breaking the comfortable silence.

Dan laugh cuts through the thick air between them. “Pff, Phil,” He teases, “You know that anywhere is fine as long as we’re together.”

Phil shoves him playfully in response, making Dan grin, and the pink in Phil’s cheeks becomes just the tiniest bit redder. “Oh, shut up!”

“Lie down on your stomach here,” Dan gestures to a certain spot right by Phil’s feet, “Just relax okay?”

Phil follows Dan’s orders, and underneath him, he can feel the rustling of the grass. He rests his head on his arms, closing his eyes, his voice muffled by his mouth being covered. “Don't worry about me. I trust you.”

Dan chuckles. “I would hope so.”

The scenery around them seems unreal. The setting sun’s light gently lays a golden cast upon everything in the backyard, as if graced by Midas’ touch. Flowers and plants of every color grow here: a personal rainbow, a trove of jewels. Even the grass is a true to life representation of ‘the grass is greener on the side,’ for Phil knows that the grass on his side of the fence is wild and unkempt.

The atmosphere of it all is airy and seraphic.

Dan awkwardly squats down while muttering an apology, for in order to begin the actual painting process, he doesn’t really have any other option besides straddling Phil’s back. Of course he could just sit down next to Phil…  But then he would have to work sideways, and that would simply not be optimal.

He shifts in an attempt to make himself as comfortable as he can, and he makes sure that Phil is okay too.

Next to Dan lies the sketches of what he wants to achieve for the piece. Their idea is to demonstrate and illustrate what the definition of humanity, with an emphasis on the relationship between man and earth. The execution of Dan’s vision involves painting upon Phil’s back, sort of as a way to mimic the concept of tattoos and tell the story of man.

It is now time to work.

Underneath him, Phil’s skin is clear, pale, and soft. Like a blank canvas would, it invites him to have his way with it, a call to let his hands take over his mind. When Dan does any kind of art, he doesn’t like thinking at all due to its hinderance on creative flow. He takes a deep inhale, counting the seconds that pass as oxygen comes in, and lets a deep exhale pass his lips.

His fingers lightly trace the flowers upon Phil’s back, taking in the detail of each and every one of them. The intricacy of it all is so pretty, and almost delicate.

Finally, Dan starts.

The coldness of the paint makes Phil shiver.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil laughs awkwardly, “It’s cold, that’s all.”

Dan can’t help but laugh a little too. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I’m gonna need a steady surface though so…”

“What should I do?”

“Hmm…” Dan starts, trying to think. He makes a long, broad stroke with his brush. “Maybe you can like, I don’t know. This might sound dumb. But maybe you could recite some poetry to me?” Dan dips his brush into the water, cleaning it off so that he could change colors. “It’ll distract you from the cold. It can be from the project, your own stuff, whatever. Tell me anything on your mind.”

Phil thinks it over, taking about a minute to contemplate over what he wants to share.

While he thinks, the sun finally finishes setting, and the moon eagerly moves to replace it. No longer is the sky burning ablaze with oranges, vermillions, and magentas; instead it’s all dark. Only a star or two glimmers. Everything is void except for the light of the moon that only seems to shine on them two alone.

“Yeah okay,” he agrees. “Alright.”

Another breath. “This is one of mine,” Phil adds.

Then a beginning.

“in a field of forget-me-nots, he’d try to forget them a lot the one who made his heart bloom from freckles that were like seeds, and smiles like sunshowers: pulling handfuls of grass out of the ground beneath him and picking petals of any flower he touched, choruses of ‘like me’ and ‘like me not’ in a golden air

there was something about them, who with hands made soul out of oxygen of every color and texture and medium who made his knees shake and his cheeks redder

Dan’s breath hitches. Phil continues, seemingly not noticing, and Dan shakes his head to shake the ridiculous thoughts out of his mind.

So what if the story seems to tell of a boy in love with an artist? It doesn’t mean anything.

“for although they was a mere windowpane away, their red threads seemed to be nothing more than fishing lines leading them to a separate sea and him to an empty shore

The brush in Dan’s hand has completely stopped moving. His arms have goosebumps, and although he can see that Phil has goosebumps across his skin too, Dan is sure that his own are not from the brisk air.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s reading too much into it. Maybe it’s not even about him.

But is it too strange to say that Dan doesn’t seem to mind at all?

Before, Dan wished that Phil could see what he’s making while he was making it, but he is very thankful that Phil can’t see him right now. His free hand reaches to cup the side of his face, and under his palm he can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Although he can’t see it on himself, his suspicions are basically confirmed, and he has a good guess as to what is there.

Because at this moment, only visible by the moonlight, Dan has a fierce blush— a coalescence of roses and carnations on his neck that reach and bloom upon the apples of his cheeks (along with a few freckled stars).

More stars that could be seen in the night sky, to be precise. Side-by-side a whole garden that rivals the one that is blossoming around them.

“so from the coastline, he would admire them —this caramel boy— and he would watch the boy pull in the many fish of the sea as for he, he would merely sit writing words in the stand with a tidal wave heart that consumed him and stole the air from his lungs”

The chill of the night is starting to set in, but he feels like he’s on fire.

<<>>

They finish incredibly late. The idea of time is lost to them, and honestly they can’t tell the difference between the the evening’s final hours and the earliest hours of the next day.

Phil fell asleep towards the end, and Dan finds it endearing. The rise and fall of Phil’s back, along with the faint sounds of his breathing, are the only things keeping Dan company in this standstill of a night.

“Wake up,” Dan murmurs. He nudges Phil gently. “Get up, Phil.”

Begrudgingly, Phil sits up. He yawns and ruffles his hair, and as Dan begins packing up the supplies, Dan makes sure to keep a watchful eye on Phil to make sure that he doesn’t ruin the painting. Ultimately, he tells Phil to sit on his hands to ensure that no excessive movement leads to crackling in the piece.

Once Dan has returned everything inside, he comes back out to see that Phil is still sitting there, and the sight makes Dan chuckle a little. Phil has his eyes closed, clearly he dozed off despite sitting up; how he managed to do it, Dan doesn’t know.

He first lifts up Phil’s right thigh, then Phil’s left, sliding his hands out from under his legs. He keeps his hold on Phil’s palms and pulls Phil up so that he can stand, then picks up the last blanket that is left on the ground so that he can sling it over his shoulder.

With Phil’s hand in his, Dan carefully guides him inside, to a seat right beside a window.

“Dan…” Phil is still incredibly sleepy, his voice groggy. “Dan, what… What are we doing…?”

“It’s okay, I’ll handle it. You’re alright,” He assures him. “I’ve got you.”

Dan proceeds to sit Phil up in a chair. He makes sure to be gentle. Phil’s eyes keep going back and forth between either being open or closed, his eyelids eventually settling for the middle ground of being drowsily half-open; his body is simply too sluggish for him to stay completely awake. He is doing his best, though.

While Dan does have a soft yellow light lit up so that he can properly operate the camera, he had picked this spot next to the window so that the light of the moon could hit the piece just right.

What a good choice that is.

He snaps a couple photos. He takes some shots that are up close, in addition to others that showcase the big picture. The ones that are closer show all the detail; they show every single one of the strokes and the way the colors seamlessly blend into one another. Those are his favorite, for they caught what the eye wouldn’t normally catch.

The paint doesn’t completely hide the imperfections of the skin and Dan loves it. Humans aren’t perfect, and it only further emphasizes their project’s theme, but it also makes the piece uniquely Phil as much as it is uniquely Dan’s.

Click. And that one’s nice too.

This photo frames everything perfectly, it is one of the far-away shots: showing how Dan’s depiction of a skeleton matches exactly where Phil’s own bones would be. Amongst the rungs of Phil’s ribcage, Dan weaved an entire garden of flowers, blossoms come in azure, olive, and honey, and all of the other related shades.

Where the veins would run through, instead of being where the blood would run its course, it is red thread intertwined with vines, and it even leads all the way through Phil’s arms and hands. Where there is empty space, Dan filled it with a mix of daisies and stars, along with the colors of a midnight sky, the sky’s colors are a contrast almost as striking as Phil’s hair to his pale skin.

It isn’t a physical manifestation of the poem Phil recited to him, no. But if Dan said that he didn’t think about doing that, he would be lying. Dan ended up completely disregarding his original drafts and ended up giving into what his hands and mind seemed to want to do, and this was it, a portrayal that was a likeness to the relationship between nature and man, with a subtle hint at man’s idea of a red thread fate (perhaps Phil’s poem had more of an impact than he originally thought). And it turned into something lovely, he thinks. He hopes.

It almost resembles how Phil makes him feel inside.

How Phil seems to make everything bloom in color.

Softly, he taps Phil on the shoulder. “C’mon, wake up, Philly,” Dan whispers. “You did great.”

Phil rubs his eyes. They’re fully open now. “Oh hi Dan…” he replies, “I know I’ve been awake, but I think I can actually think… Coherently now.”

Dan smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” He holds a hand out to Phil, to which Phil accepts, and he pulls Phil up so he can stand. “I handled it. It all turned out fantastically.”

Phil stretches, and yawns. Then his eyes widen, face suddenly full of worry. “Wait, what time is it?? I never told my mom what time we’d finish—”

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Dan suggests. Phil looks at him and tilts his head, thinking it over. “It’s so late anyway, and my parents won’t mind, they’re out on a business trip anyway.”

Phil nods, “Okay. Alright, I’ll just let my mom know.”

Then they go to the bathroom upstairs, and Phil follows. While they are walking, Phil sends a quick message to his mom: I’m still at Dan’s, just right next door. Staying the night. I would’ve told you sooner but I fell asleep. Love you ❤❤

Upon reaching the bathroom, Dan gets a hand towel from the closet, and runs the towel under the sink. Out of nowhere, Phil laughs, and Dan turns to look at him, eyebrow raised, perplexed and wanting an explanation.

When all Phil says is, “Heh, Howell with a towel,” Dan smacks Phil in the shoulder playfully and can’t help but laugh too.

Dan then adds a bit of soap so that it will wash better. Before he starts to clean the painting off, Phil sees the piece in the mirror and loves it. “You’re so talented,” he whispers, and Dan’s ears flush with pink, he’s positively bashful. “It really is a shame that we have to wash it off.”

“Yeah,” is all Dan can reply. “It is.”

He finally starts washing Phil’s back, watching the colors smear together into something incomprehensible. Abruptly, Dan hesitates, really taking in the situation. “This isn’t weird, right?” he asks.

Phil doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you’re just helping me. I wouldn’t be able to do it properly myself.”

Dan can’t seem to argue with that, and so he finishes. When he’s done, he tells Phil to wait a moment. About a minute or two passes by, and Phil is humming to pass the time, and when Dan returns, he tosses Phil the clothes of his that he grabbed. Then he shows Phil how to use the shower.

“So those clothes are just some of mine that you can borrow,” Dan finishes. “My room is just across the hall when you’re done.”

Dan’s hand is on the door handle already when Phil stops him. “Oh wait, hold on! Before you go…” Phil pulls him back to the counter, and takes a new towel from where he saw Dan take one from earlier.

He does just as Dan did, and runs the towelette under water with a bit of soap, and he cups Dan’s cheek with his hand. He dabs at Dan’s cheek gently, cleaning up paint that had somehow made it’s way to Dan’s chin and other miscellaneous parts of his face.

“I didn’t know you had freckles,” Phil whispers, continuing to tenderly clean Dan up. “I love them.”

The comment automatically makes Dan flustered. His cheeks threaten to flare up, as they usually do at words like that, but he wills every atom to his body to refrain from doing so in that moment. He can only hope that it works out like that, though.

He barely manages to utter the two words. “Th-thank you.”

Eventually Phil finishes, and Dan subsequently leaves and retreats to his room. He uploads the photos from the camera to his laptop while he waits for Phil to shower. Once they are uploaded, he is pleased to see that they did indeed turn out as great as he thought. He starts editing, retouching them a bit here and there, just overall playing with the exposure and sharpness of them.

Fifteen minutes go by, and he’s still editing. That’s when Phil comes in, having lightly knocked on the door before entering, with his hair damp and Dan’s t-shirt and pajama pants on. In response to the opening of the door, Dan spins in his chair to watch as Phil comes in.

And there is just something about Phil in Dan’s clothes that makes him look so incredibly cute, that Dan has no other option but to smile.

Phil walks over to look at the photos that Dan has pulled up on his laptop. He asks if he can see the others, and Dan turns back to the screen to watch Phil scroll through the rest of them.

“Oh, Dan…” Stunned by the photographs, Phil is breathless. The lighting is spectacular, and the attention to detail is amazing, and none of it goes unnoticed.  “These are beautiful.”

He says some more things, but to be honest, Dan stopped listening. He’s just looking at Phil instead. That is, until Phil turns his face too.

Their faces are so near.

And their lips are so, so close.

Phil pulls away though, and Dan feels strangely empty. But why does he feel like that? he asks himself. He instantly shakes off the thought, getting up from his seat and heading to the closet to grab some pajamas. “You can just sleep on the bed Phil,” he states simply, “I’ll just take a quick shower.”

In the shower however, the thought of Phil can’t seem to escape him. Yet again, he pushes it away.

Nothing happened, and besides, it’s just Phil, he thinks, but it’s like he’s reassuring himself.

Nothing more.

When Dan is done, he heads back to the room, in far comfier clothes. As he opens the bedroom door, Phil cracks an eye half-open at the sound. Dan walks over to the bed, leaning down so he is looking at Phil at eye level.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Phil yawns, and pulls the covers up a little. His eyebrows scrunch up, and his eyes squint a little, questioning. “You have curly hair?”

Dan grimaces, a bit embarrassed. “Mmm, yeah. I always straighten it though.”

Phil reaches over, taking a curl in between his two fingers. “It’s like a little pig tail,” he giggles, “Why do you keep getting more and more damn adorable, whenever I learn more about you?”

This time, Dan doesn’t even acknowledge the comment, except for the playful hint of the corners of his lips turning up. He then stands up straight, and heads towards his desk. “I’m gonna edit a little more before I hit the sack. Good night you little shit.”

“Goodnight,” Phil calls.

Dan is editing for another twenty minutes more before he decides that it is time for him to finally sleep. He makes his way over to the bed, and he would lie down, but Phil is in the middle, looking cozily wrapped up in the black-and-white duvet.

Dan smiles softly. As he adjusts the covers so that it covers Phil’s feet, followed by tucking him in a little more, he mutters and laughs under his breath, “And I am the one that looks more and more adorable? Has he even seen himself?”

When he’s all done, he takes one of the extra pillows on the bed and tosses it to the ground. He then goes out and grabs one of the last clean blankets, and tosses that to the ground as well.

He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor tonight.

<<>>

phil: We definitely did great on that project! :D

dan: hECK yeah i hope they grade us soon

phil: alhfdlhls What if I told you that they did already??

dan: W H A T dan: but they usually take ages??

phil: It’s been a couple days materino phil: Plus like, my teacher told me that she graded ours first sooo,, phil: In THEORy it should be up by now! ;P

dan: omgomgomg i just checked and it’s uP

phil: And??

dan: WE GOT AN A

phil: YAY!! All thanks to your amazing art!!

dan: pbbbt your writing is the loveliest thing ever don’t even come for me dan: like shakespeare who?? i don’t know her

phil: Oh shush asdfgjjhg phil: That’s so sweet I hate you

dan: nooooo don’t hate me

phil: Don’t worry Danny boy phil: I don’t think I ever could.

<<>>

The rain outside is dreadfully heavy, and Dan is late. Usually, that wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but he had been doing so well with being on time these past few weeks. Since there is no point to alarms if they don’t even work as they should, alarm clocks are dead to Dan now.

When he runs in, he looks so scattered. Sleeves are three-fourths rolled up, creating a look that lies somewhere between rushed and on purpose, and to add to that his hair is frizzy, he has mismatching socks (well, one is black and the other is dark grey, but still). A white umbrella that has baby pink ribbons all over it completes the whole ensemble.

Honestly? A fashion icon.

Phil sees him on the way to his second period class, and he has to cover his mouth to keep from giggling at the sight of Dan looking completely frazzled from the rain. One little laugh does escape him though, but he can’t help it: what is likely Dan’s little sister’s umbrella makes Dan look cute as heck.

Yet when Phil begins to lightly run towards him to give a quick hi, something doesn’t seem right.

Dan’s tattoos seem… Blurry?

At first glance, the ink seems to be what Phil expects it to be. That being, what Phil knows to be on Erin’s own arms: grey, stormy clouds. Yet at the same time— it seems to have changed?

Phil is just standing in place now, stopped in his tracks, a fair distance away from him still. He isn’t looking up close, the exposed skin on Dan’s forearms show it all. The texture is off and that the colors are melding together in an unnatural way, and overall it is just wrong.

Phil continues to stand by and watch.

Dan rolls up his sleeves more, revealing his whole arm. When he reaches into his locker, he takes out a variety of art supplies, of various mediums and hues and purposes, and begins to mess around a bit with the tattoos. As if he’s touching up.

Why would he need to…? Oh.

They’re fake. The tattoos are fake. And scratch what Phil said earlier— they are not blurry. They are smeared.

Dan finishes his work relatively quickly, and by that time, Phil has already begun heading to class, asking himself whether or not the scene he just watched unfold in front of him was real. Whether the sight of Dan amending the ink on his skin was true, or if it was a sleep-deprived induced dream. Yet no matter what he tells himself, he can’t deny what he saw.

Eventually Dan looks up and sees Phil’s distant figure. When he lets out an, “Oh hey! Phil!”, a moment passes that seems like a reluctance to greet Dan back. But Phil turns around, because that’s the kind of person he is, and he waves. Dan swears that it seems a bit stiff, though.

After that, Phil doesn’t acknowledge anything else.

He simply bites his bottom lip and keeps walking.

<<>>

(2) missed calls from Danny Boy.

<<>>

“Hey Phil! Let’s head to the library for lunch?”

Phil forces a smile. “Maybe another time, Dan? I have to… uh, go to a teacher.”

<<>>

You missed (5) Skype Video Calls from Daniel Howell.

<<>>

dan: hey why rnt you replying to me? dan: phil, did i do something?          ✓ read 9:22 PM

<<>>

Rumors are spreading all across campus. The hallways are littered with whispers and gossip of the school’s proclaimed ‘It Couple,’ and even teachers are chatting about it in the teachers’ lounge. Everyone seems to be aware that Dan and Erin had a falling out, but to be fair, it wasn’t necessarily hard to guess. No one needed to hear it from the source.

It is evident from how they no longer walk together, sit together, or talk to one another. Even more apparent, Erin’s arms no longer displayed the sunrises that everyone believed (she, included) to represent new beginnings and the birth of something new. Instead, it is now rain. It is stormy clouds on a setting horizon, the sunset for the sunrise, to match the end to the beginning.

Even the flowers she had, the precious flowers that convinced even the doubters of her and Dan’s love (if you could call it that), are wilting.

There are claims being made; there are those who are attesting to seeing Dan leave parties early with people on his arm while he has his hand on their waist, as he leads them out the door and to his car. Some said it was Dan whose neck and chest was splattered with purple from what the night had entailed, others said it was his company who adorned the marks. People told of the moans that would come from bathrooms, bedrooms, and even in one instance, a closet, where sounds of ecstasy made passerbys envious and left his partner of the night a pleasured mess.

Amongst all of Dan’s hookups, there is one thing they all have in common: they are all boys.

And that common fact makes Phil’s heart go from skipping a beat at even the mention of Dan’s name to sinking six feet below the floor.

Girls? That he can handle. He can handle it because he is used to it, he has been used to it for years. But Dan being with boys puts Phil on an even playing field— Phil isn't different from any of those boys. He has gone from watching on the sidelines to being an average player on the losing team.

When it comes down to it, these are the truths: he is in love with someone who, until the project, hadn't spared him a glance for years. He is in love with someone who —he was sure of it— had tattoos that were ingenuine and painted on. He is in love with someone who is known for playing the game, for having issues with commitment, for being someone who picked up people then dropped them like flies.

He is in love with someone who lies.

And so now Phil sits on his front porch, writing, restraining himself from going beyond the brink of tears. For someone who treasures honesty, the truth hurts. No matter how much he tries to hold himself back, two or three droplets still manage to escape, smudging some of the words that were written out of a mix of anger, disappointment, and emptiness.

They were words written by a heart who lost the game, a game rigged by a player of the most gut-wrenching emotion.

<<>>

skin of freckled honey and a body of clouds, sweet and soft— in the same way that only thoughts could fabricate the idea of how your lips taste. fabrication does not compare to the reality of it all though and no one ever warned me, for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you - p.l.

<<>>

Everything is white noise. His surroundings are a blur and his head is pulsing intensely from the conglomeration of far too much alcohol and far too loud music. He can barely feel himself existing within his own body. The bustle of people dancing around him, the sounds of the DJ and the people singing and screaming at the top of their lungs, and the scent of sweat and booze: it’s all much more than he wants in that moment.

But to be fair, he does not really know exactly what it is he wants.

Whoever he is kissing is much more into it than he is, for he isn’t into it at all. He’s barely there, just a shell of a kiss upon the person’s lips. A disappointment for anyone sober to be honest.

Yet the other one couldn’t care less.

“S-so do you wanna, like,” the boy, probably two years younger than him, stammers as they separate for a breath, “Take this somewhere else?”

Numbly, Dan nods. No harm in going along with it, right? “Y-yeah. Yeah, okay.”

On the drive to Dan’s house, the boy (Justin? Jake? Josh? Oh forget it, just calling him J will be easier) is texting rapidly. The entire drive is silent except for those keyboard clicks and the nervous tapping of J’s foot, and from the light of J’s phone screen, Dan can see that J is sporting a huge grin on his face. Dan doesn’t even have to see the texts to know what they are about.

If he were to guess, it would be J bragging to his friends about how he is getting to sleep with The Great Dan Howell™ and how “OMG HE CAN’T BELIEVE IT.” Or you know, another statement that is equally as dumb.

It makes Dan feel sick.

When they actually arrive, things escalate from Dan leading J into his home with his hand on the small of J’s back, to rapidly making out on the couch. The way J kisses him is incredibly zealous. Dan tries his best to match his passion, but his efforts fall short. It’s just different, for Dan’s kisses are intense in a different manner; his lips press against J’s lips and skin in a way that is almost forceful, as if trying to forget about something.

But regardless of how fervent they both currently are, it all stops the moment the boy reaches to unbutton Dan’s jeans.

Immediately, Dan breaks away.

The boy, Jared, Jace, whatever his name is, looks confused. He leans in in an attempt to just restart where they left off, but Dan only shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says quietly, pushing him off. “I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”

He gets up, and the younger one awkwardly follows, the way the boy carries himself shows that he is definitely disappointed. When they reach the front door, the boy takes a second to send a quick message, letting his friend know that he needs a ride, knowing what Dan will say next.

“Go home,” Dan tells him, his voice gentle as he opens the door. “You’re sweet, but go home. Please.” A nod from the other passes as a silent “Alright then, goodbye,” and Dan knows that he’ll never see the boy again. When Dan shuts the door and locks it, he runs his hand through his fringe, letting out a groan that comes from deep within his chest.

He makes his way upstairs eventually. When he gets there, he sits upon the edge of the foot of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands, pulling at his hair. His knuckles are white when he forms a fist, fiercely punching the bed once. And that’s the point where he just yells.

Dan yells so loud that it genuinely scratches his throat, it is of such volume that it bounces off the walls of the empty house.

Next, he just allows himself to fall onto the bed. His body sprawls out in the center, amongst all of his sheets that should seem familiar, yet somehow don’t smell like home at all. His eyes are squeezed shut. One hand reaches up to rub his one eye, the other arm rests in place and remains outstretched.

After some time, breaking the quiet, a soft gravelly whisper finally leaves his lips. “Dang, she might’ve been right all along…”

<<>>

chris: i heard from pj that u + phil aren’t on the best of terms right now chris: you okay mate?

<<>>

daniel james howell. flashback; age sixteen.

from chris, to dan (and 63 others):

party tonight. my house (u should know the address, lmk if you need it tho) until whenever u wanna leave ! gon be lit be there or be square lads

He only had a little bit of time before Vanessa —well, because she insists he actually calls her Van— arrived. Chris Kendall was having the party of the summer to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of vacation because his parents were out of town, and he and Van agreed that they would go together.

As a casual thing of course, nothing serious.

The party started in about half an hour. Black skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees and a shirt he knew he looked good in was the look of choice for the night. He nearly chose to leave his hair in waves, but after he ran his fingers through his fringe he ultimately decided against it. His hair looked stupid if it was anything but straight.

Right when he was straightening the last curl, the doorbell rang. How perfectly timed, and even their arrival at the party was perfect too: not too early and not too late. As soon as they got there, they were greeted by the mob of people who were bumping along to the music. While they gave quick greetings to their friends, they quickly made their way into the center, amongst all those who were dancing like it was the night of their lives.

Van had her hands on his chest, her moves sensual and easy. She’s dancing with him, and Dan doesn’t hate it, because any onlooker could tell that she was very attractive. She’s pretty, and admittedly they have had fun together before, but Dan had realised for a while that he hadn’t been actively interested in her for quite some time.

But who was he to decline her company when they should be having fun?

“Let’s go grab some drinks,” Van commented, as she took his hand to drag them both out of the cluster of partying bodies. Even before she reached the drinks table, people started to hand her drinks as if they knew exactly what she wanted. She grabbed two, nudged Dan with her elbow, then held out the one cup out to him. “Drink some, Dan!”

Dan made a face, unsure. “I dunno, I don’t usually drink much…”

She gave an ‘ol pbbbt and a playful eyeroll that clearly meant that she didn’t want no for an answer. Van gestured towards the cup in her hand once more, and with her eyebrows raised up at him, she follows up with a plead. “C’mon! Take a fuckin’ sip babe.”

Giving in, he took the drink from her, downing it all in a matter of gulps. Van laughs, and they went right back into partying.

However, whether he realised it or not, one sip had quickly turned into multiple sips. And sips turned into finishing the cup, and one finished cup turned until multiple finished cups, and then he completely lost count. He’s completely, he thought as he hiccuped, he’s completely —as his friends would say— tabled.

If he’s honest, he had no idea how much time had passed. He just knew that he was currently all over the place, dancing one moment, chatting the next, then suddenly beer pong or something after that. When the music got softer, that’s when his drunk high started to diminish too, and that’s when he started to get tired.

He terribly needed a bed.

It was at this time that he started to head towards the stairs (anything after that however, he couldn’t recall for the life of him).

<<>>

Why is Phil doing this?

Dan knows he’s not imagining it. Dan can feel Phil distancing himself away from him more and more with each passing day, and he just wants to know why. It’s not just ignored texts, Phil won’t even glance at him. And that’s what really hurts about it all.

At lunch, he goes to “their” spot in the library, but Phil isn’t there. He brings food and everything, but even if he waits, Phil never shows. As a matter of fact, he isn’t in the library at all. To add more salt to the wound, when Dan goes to the cafeteria to check out the lunch table where PJ, Chris, and Louise sit at, Phil isn’t with them either.

Even when it is time for class, Dan is determined. He shows up first rather than last in an effort to try and sit by him. Dan will get him this time he’s sure, because he knows that Phil likes having time to himself in the beginning of class. Dan knows Phil. Dan is positive that he is right in this notion —there is no way he wouldn’t be— and when Phil walks in through that door, Dan will just talk to him and everything will be normal again.

But as if he’s aware of Dan’s plan, Phil ends up arriving last. Every time.

<<>>

“Please Chris!” his tone is embarrassingly pleading, but Dan doesn’t care. Anyone could be listening in on their conversation as they’re strolling the halls, but Dan doesn’t care about that either, he just grabs Chris’ arm and begins shaking it violently as he keeps begging (these are clearly some great persuasive tactics he’s using, perhaps he should consider becoming a lawyer).

“Pleaaaseee!! Talk to your cute boyfriend for me!”

Chris stops in his tracks, nearly making Dan stumble. He stares at Dan dead in the eyes. “Okay first of all, only I can call him cute, back off. And second,” he says the last parts slowly as he takes a couple tentative steps forward. “I don’t think it would be smart. If anything, you can talk to my cute boyfriend yourself.”

Dan lets go of Chris’ arm, letting out a small reluctant exhale. “Okay. Fine.”

It takes a while. Dan has to wait until the afternoon finally comes to an end in order to talk to PJ, and even then, it takes a good chunk of time to convince him. Dan’s proposition is for PJ to somehow provide Dan with an opportunity to talk to Phil.

At first, PJ declines. Right away.

But then he manages to go from “Oh, I don’t know Dan…” to “Alright, okay,” after a little over an hour of persuading. After Dan explained the circumstances, and with a bit of begging, PJ changed his mind. He makes it clear that he’s not the most supportive of Dan right now due to Phil’s current state, but that he is appreciative of the fact that he did make Phil so happy before.

And above all, there is one thing that PJ can’t deny, and that is that Phil deserves closure. If anything.

PJ looks away from Dan, not able to directly meet his eyes. He scratches the back of his neck, before turning to face him once more, voice firm. “He’ll meet you in room 109, alright? Tomorrow, fifteen minutes after school ends. I’ll tell them there’s a meeting for a club he’s in or something. But if you miss it… That’s on you. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

<<>>

The clock on the classroom wall shows that seven minutes have passed since their supposed meet-up time. Not that he was counting or anything. Understandably, Dan can’t help but to feel on edge, for what if PJ changed his mind?

What if Phil never comes?

Out of nowhere, words start coming from the other side of the door. “Yeah, this is the room. Text me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks for letting me know about this meeting Peej.” That one is Phil. That’s definitely him. “You’re a great friend.”

The door then opens with a flourish. Phil closes it behind him.

Dan coughs, making Phil turn around. He does a small wave and says meekly, “Hey, Phil.”

Phil’s eyes widen and the color drains from his face. “Oh no. Oh no no no…”

“Phil, please listen to me—”

“But I don’t even want to talk to you…” Phil’s firmly points out. He is looking all around the classroom, at every place and every thing except for Dan. Annoyed, he mutters, “I knew that something was up when PJ said there was a meeting for a new writing program. It just seemed sudden, and I never heard anyone talking about it or anything…”

“Phil, please talk to me?”

“And why should I?”

“Please.”

Instead of responding right away, Phil walks over to Dan, and gets all up his face. He nearly spits at him, and to be honest, he kind of wants to. Inked images of flames are flickering from his bottom of his neck, threatening to reach his chin. He entire demeanor is radiating with bitterness. “Don’t you get it? Can’t you take a hint?” He crosses his arms. “You’re with her, and I’m a total idiot, and you can just live your happy lie. Ignorance is bliss, right?”

“What are you even saying, I don’t understand…” Dan’s voice trails off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Brashly, Phil grabs Dan’s arm, hastily rolling up the sleeves. His lips are pressed into a straight line as he takes out his water bottle from in his backpack. Proceeding to pour a bit of water onto Dan’s forearm, he then takes his hand and rubs across Dan’s skin.

The ink smears, as Phil expected.

A sharp intake of breath comes from Dan. His eyes widen, and suddenly it’s like something has lodged itself in his lungs. Frantically, he waves his hands, crying, “Phil, whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t believe it! There’s more to the story, I promise you…” Phil doesn’t respond, he simply twists the bottle cap closed and slips the water bottle back into his bag. “Can we just talk? We need to talk, Phil!”

Phil’s voice is hard and stilted. He doesn’t acknowledge what Dan is saying, not really, but his words speak directly to him. “Dan, if anything, you have to understand this: the project is done, so there is no logical reason for us to talk anymore—”

This is where Dan attempts to shut Phil up. Hurriedly, he had leaned in to close the space between them, with the aim for a chaste kiss on the lips. Just so Phil would stop talking and calm down. That kind of thing works in the movies, right?

But Dan misses.

He misses because Phil turned his face, so that instead of his lips, Dan would hit his cheek instead. A futile attempt overall. When they return to simple eye contact, Phil is anything but pleased. Dan grimaces. He’s worried now.

“Art students,” begins Phil bitterly, “are the worst.” He moves his head so his fringe is out of his face, and all of his focus is on Dan. He shakes his head, a forced chuckle almost escaping his lips.

“Just so you know,” Phil’s eyes are like steel. Unbearing, unyielding, a disclosure with resolve. His words are steady. “I was pretty damn close to falling in love with you.”

Dan’s expression has become a mess of emotion, his voice laced with a desperate want for Phil to stay. Yet Phil is already for the door. “Well I’m pretty damn sure—”

Phil cuts him off one last time, his fingers lingering on the door handle. His face turns so that Dan can see his profile, but can’t see his expression. To be fair, he doesn’t need to, for the impenetrable accusing, disappointed tone of his voice is undeniable.

“Do you tell that to everyone you sleep with?”

<<>>

philip michael lester. flashback; age fifteen.

Apparently this party was supposed to be a big one. More so than usual anyway, and that was why James had forced him to go— and that was why he was here. People seemed to be filling up the house to its brim, and the scent of sweat and alcohol blended into what Phil guessed to be whatever Nirvana imagined teen spirit would smell like. When Phil and James arrived, they were greeted with the same chorus of “heyyy!”s that all the other houseguests probably had to endure.

They had only stepped through the entrance moments ago when James had nudged him in the side with his elbow. “I’m just gonna go and mingle, yeah?”

Phil just passively nodded him off in reply, and turned around to head towards the living room. Before he makes his leave, James patted him on the back with a brief, “‘Kay mate, I’ll be back in a minute.” Phil rolls his eyes, because he highly doubts that. Yeah, yeah. That’s what he said every time.

An hour and a half passed on by. To elaborate, an hour and a half was how long it took for Phil to finally look up from his phone, get up from his spot on the couch, and go to the kitchen for a change of pace, and maybe a drink perhaps. His journey to the kitchen was mildly ruined however, when he realised James had been preoccupied —and was still preoccupied— with making out with someone in the hallway.

Phil simply pursed his lips, blatantly ignored it, and headed towards the drinks. Despite being close, the two were never actually close. As evidenced, that guy was never really a good friend anyway.

Life sucks sometimes, you know? Phil grabbed the nearest drinkable-looking liquid. but before he could pour himself anything, he was stopped. Someone else was offering a red solo cup to him.

“Are you looking for something harsh, or you just want to let loose?” The person says.

“Let loose,” Phil affirmed, with a shrug. “I just want to have less of a crappy time to be honest.”

“Well then here you go mate,” he replied, as he handed him the drink. “I’m PJ by the way.”

The conversation took off from there. Introductions were made, and so were jokes and banter; overall they were having fun getting to know one another. PJ was a film-video major, and was studying directing, writing, and special effects. It turned out that they both attended the nearby arts academy, and that they were in the same lunch period. Numbers were exchanged, and agreements to hang out were arranged.

It seemed like a friendship was to start. One already far better than the one with James.

“It’s been great talking to you Phil,” PJ grinned as the conversation came to a close, patting Phil on the shoulder. “I gotta make my way out though! The party host is a past friend of mine, and I just wanna see if I can give a cheeky hello.” With that, he turned and headed off with a little salute.

“See you!”

And with that, the night went on. The party dwindled down, and as early morning approached, people transitioned from either quietly chatting or leaving, to being completely knocked out or sleeping. The sleeping ones included Phil amongst them, who had succumbed to that heavy-eyed feeling on the stairs. It was one of the only places left that was free: his peers littered the couches, the floors, and the hallways. Along with all of these people, there were cups, half-eaten pizzas, and a whole lot of other trash that were haphazardly left upon every surface and within every possible nook and cranny of the house.

The music that had previously been blasting loud enough to vibrate the whole block had now been turned down to a lower volume, presumably by someone who did so out of the courtesy of others. A simple light pulse could be felt through the floor, and it stood as the only sound left to resonate through the house.

Well, except for the footsteps of one person. A person who, in their completely hammered state, had decided that he wanted to sleep in the comfort of a bed, and was thus attempting to trudge their way to a bedroom. That was before they tripped on Phil.  

Who was on the stairs.

Blocking his way.

Phil’s eyes kinda squinted and fluttered open, eyebrows furrowed as he half-woke up from the sound of whoever fell near him. Once he realised that someone was helplessly lying face down upon the steps, he made the effort to help them up. Even though he himself did stumble a couple of times.

He placed an arm around the person’s shoulder, and the other did the same back at him. In their matching hazy, sleepy states, they made their way to the bedroom together, nearly tripping on more than one occasion as they attempted to hold each other up on the way up the staircase.

A couple fumbles, and they were finally at the top.

“Are we nearly there?” The guy asked, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah,” Phil replied quietly, as he pushed open the first door he came across. “Yeah, nearly.”

When he opened the door, it was easy to tell that it was probably the master bedroom, for it had a bed fit for kings. The duvet looked silky to the touch, and the pillows looked fluffed to homey perfection. It just seemed so, so inviting.

The music from downstairs could still be fairly heard from where they were. The boy Phil was holding onto sorta hummed along and tried to spin them around the room in a dazed dance.

A laughably graceful spin, an uncoordinated dip. “Mmmm, mmm mm mmm…”

It all quickly went downhill though. Expectedly, rather than dancing, they instead clumsily fell onto the bed, the covers being as soft as they looked. Phil giggled as they fell down.

One person on one side, and the other person next to them. They laid down together, back to back, not touching and ready to fall asleep. Phil’s eyes began to close once more. Both of their breathing patterns were becoming slow and even.

Rustling all of a sudden came from the other side of the bed, the shifting of sheets were followed by a genuine, dazed slur of question. The guy spoke at a volume that hardly goes above a hummingbird’s whisper. “Hey, doyouthinkit’sstrangethat… I don’t know. That society is simply made, made up of concepts that are in… inherently real and. And not real?”

Reluctantly, Phil turned on his side to face him so he could reply. He yawned, and shrugged. His voice is gravelly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Some people see marriage as just being a piece of paper.”

The stranger nodded, seemingly accepting his answer. “That’s, that’s true...” He paused for a moment, taking a second to think before he voiced his next thought. “Hmmmm, next question: why are we here?” His voice was more stable now, despite all the alcohol in his system. Probably because he was more awake due to holding a conversation.

“If this is an existential question, that’s too much thinking.” Phil’s face scrunched up as he attempted once more at a better response, but inevitably gave up. A mostly-tired tipsy brain is only capable of so much at two am. “It’s too early for that, mate. Sorry. But if you’re asking for why I’m at this party? Then it’s because,” Phil moved his body so he could be more comfortable, resting his head on his arm. “Well, my friend forced me to come.”

The other one’s body mirrored Phil’s, moving in the bed as he did in order to better situate himself. He replied with a nonchalant shake of his head. “I did mean it as existentia-whatever, but eh, you’re right. Too much thinking. I’m here because of a friend too.”

Somehow, they began to talk about everything. And by everything, it meant just that: worries, fears, existential thoughts, random animal facts. They became so relaxed yet so awake, because if they closed their eyes they would miss these fleeting moments of an almost trance-like unreality. There were no holds barred. Everything left was raw.

After a while, there was a lull. It’s either that or they have fallen into a comfortable silence, Phil truly didn’t know. They were both still lying face to face —but also not really looking at each other— in an absentminded stupor. The stillness was broken when the guy reached over, almost as if he wanted to play with Phil’s hair. He hummed and muttered, “You kinda look like my neighbor, you know?” Phil’s eyebrows only raise slightly in response, like a silent question of “Oh really?”

Dan pursed his lips with an mmhm, decidedly rubbing the black locks in between his fingers and brushing Phil’s fringe out of his face. “You are the prettiest boy I have ever seen, you know...”

After hearing those words, Phil took the other’s hand into his, away from playing with his hair. He brought their hands down to rest in between the both of them, fingers interlocked. Chrysanthemums quickly bloomed on the boy’s face in a blush, which then faded as fast as they appeared. “And that is you, to I,” said Phil.

The boy laughed, the flowers reappeared on his cheeks for several moments fiercer and brighter than before, right before they faded again once more, slowly this time. A soft rosy patch of red on the apples of his cheeks was all that was left behind upon his flushed face. “What are you, a poet?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” Phil smiled.

Whoever made the first move after that moment wasn’t relevant. It was just that at one point they were no longer at an arms’ length away from each other, but yet they somehow had moved closer to one another. Close enough for Phil to see that this pretty boy had the prettiest eyelashes and the softest brunette hair, and for the other to see his three favorite colors within Phil’s eyes. They were simply lying down amongst shared bedsheets face-to-face, alcohol on their breath; two boys with no care in the world.

Phil moved forward just the slightest bit more, letting go of the guy’s hand to move and kiss him behind the ear first, where a tattoo of a marigold immediately began to bloom. Then Phil continued and left soft kisses down the male’s neck.

In response the boy sighed with the quietest ah, nearly moaning from the slightest touch. With the utmost tenderness, he ran his hands across Phil’s shoulders and down Phil’s arms, letting one hand rest on Phil’s waist before he leaned in and gave him a peck of a kiss, making the both of them smile.

“Your touch is so gentle,” Phil says to him. Echoing the other’s words from earlier, Phil continued in a teasing tone, “What are you, an artist?”

The boy only winked, with a hint of a knowing smirk. “Maybe.”

That portion of humanity’s daily twenty-four hours in which the ongoing evening merged with the early day, and when the stars met the morning sunrise, was not only comprised of only the physical world that night, but also of the whispers of yes between strangers and the unspoken confessions between two people who had somehow already met. Perhaps through a past life, or unknowingly, a connection even closer than that.

Because even acquaintances can be something more.

In the morning, it’s skin against skin, amid silken bedsheets and marks from the night before. Their legs were entangled with one another— leaving daisies around Phil’s ankles, while the boy’s arms around him left daisies upon Phil’s shoulders.

When Phil awoke, sunlight had only begun to trickle in. Reluctantly he moved to break away from the guy’s hold, careful to not wake him up, and groggily, Phil grabbed for his phone that was on top of the nightstand.

Four missed calls. Seven texts. His mother must be worried sick.

from mom, to phil:

Where are you Philip???!!!! I’ve called you so many times!! I trust you to be alright, but please contact me to ease your old mother’s heart. Come home as soon as you can, dear. Call me.

Phil sat up on the edge of the bed. Cellphone in hand, he immediately dialed for his mother. As it rang, he began to shuffle around the room to pick up his clothes off of the floor. Pants here, shirt there. Boxers somewhere. The phone rang five times, to which afterwards it then went to voicemail, accompanied by the traditional “Please leave your name after the beep!”. While he struggled to put his jeans on, Phil pinned the phone in the nook between his shoulder and ear.

“Yeah, mom? Sorry I didn’t answer or come home right away, I fell asleep at the party from last night. I’ll be heading there now. Don’t worry, I’ll take a taxi or uber or something.” A quick message and then he hung up, it was just a sign to let her know he was okay. Finally, he slipped his shirt on over his head.

Before he left, he took one last glance at the boy in the bed. It was only at this point does he realise exactly what happened last night. He wasn’t a stranger at all, in fact Phil knew him, he knew him much more than he would like to admit.

The boy was Dan. Dan, the one Phil admired from afar, the one he wrote about in secret.

Phil bit his lip, feeling a twinge of something twist his insides. It’s a mix of guilt and some other emotion. His stomach did not contain butterflies, oh no; right now his ribcage swelled with bumblebees. Stabbing the inside of his chest, filling his lungs so he couldn’t breathe.

But perhaps that was only fitting. Because that couldn’t stop him from confessing the fact that this sight of Dan left Phil a bit breathless.

A state that left Dan looking so vulnerable, while at the same time, looking so damn gorgeous.

Leaning down, Phil’s fingers grazed Dan’s forehead so that he may push those adorable curls aside, and his lips left a light kiss on Dan’s forehead, just above the space between his eyebrows. A farewell that would have to suffice, for after that Phil went back home.

When Dan awoke, he woke up to strewn sheets and duvet, and a slight tingling of where someone had left their mark— literally. There was a small red heart where Phil unknowingly kissed him, along with even smaller ones splattered along his hairline. When he touched them, they gave him a pleasant feeling, but at the same time he was just confused.

On Monday, when he went back for the last day of school, he hid the hearts under his fringe. If anyone were to catch a glance at them, he’d say they were freckles.

The matching redness of his cheeks and his glance towards the floor alluded to otherwise, though. And the way he picked at his shirt collar that hid a hickey or two showed that he was a bit unsure as to where exactly they came from.

<<>>

It has been almost three weeks since he first started avoiding Dan. At first it wasn’t on purpose at all, it was simply a reaction. He felt like he couldn’t help it— he just didn’t want to be around Dan for a while. Being around Dan felt like a confrontation.

But now, Phil is well aware that he has been purposefully distancing himself from him. From ignoring Dan’s texts and calls, taking a different route to classes, and turning the other cheek when Dan attempts to catch his attention. He has been doing it all.

And each and every time he does it, it hurts him. The feeling of contrition makes his insides wrench.

A new tattoo appeared on his thigh a while ago. It’s a clock. Every time he avoids Dan’s persistence, another crack appears on the clockface.

Needless to say, the clock is very close to being completely shattered.

People say that time heals all wounds, and at this point, Phil is praying that the saying rings true. The very idea of disingenuity tears him apart, because if something is built on falsehoods, does it even have any true worth? The answer is no, it doesn’t.

If he were to consider the amount of time he has spent on Dan, Phil has worn his heart on his sleeves for years. Dan was never his, but yet Phil feels like he lost him.

So much of himself, more than he’ll ever want to admit, has gone into this boy. It’s too much. Putting more of himself into someone who does not seem to value him to nearly the same extent is exhausting, and ultimately emotionally draining. Letting it continue on isn’t right.

This is the right choice. Phil is making the right decision, for he is considering every element of the bigger picture. So what if he didn’t hear Dan out back then? That he didn’t listen to what Dan had to say? He’s sure that Dan will just try to cover up his tracks, and move on. He’s sure that Dan’s just that kind of guy, the one who sees everything as temporary, ultimately forgetting about Phil in a matter of months. Dan will just be dishonest because it benefits him somehow. Phil is positive about that.

Because more than anything, Phil doesn’t want to be in love with a liar. And that’s what Dan is.

He needs to put everything behind him.

Phil needs to end it all tonight.

<<>>

pj: Are u sure

phil: I’m sure.

pj: Alright. I let her know. She says you can be the last performer so you should be ready by then

At the last moment, Phil took into consideration what PJ told him about the slam poetry night, and he asked PJ to let the teacher know that he wanted to participate in the school-run event taking place at the local cafe.

Phil decides to do it because such a great number of his poems are about this boy. PJ was right about Dan being his muse; Phil would write stanzas upon stanzas based on him in messy scrawls in the margins of his school notes and frantic jots on his hand.

If he mentioned eyes, the color would always be brown. If he wanted to create a particular atmosphere, it would almost always be one of warmth. And if they were about love…  Phil wrote from experience, because that was an emotion he was all too familiar with.

That is why this performance tonight needs to happen. He needs to get all of this pent up emotion out of his heart and into the world, rather than keeping his feelings restrained to the confines of himself, wishful thinking, and paper.

Phil glances at where the current poet is standing. Whoever is at the microphone right now is doing great, and it is only making him more anxious. The audience is clearly affixed to their words, eating it all up, and clearly enjoying the show.

Remember, tonight is not about the actual performance, Phil whispers to himself.

His palms are laying flat against the table in front of him; an abundance of the poems he has written are scattered all over the surface. There are scribbles in various pen colors and the worn papers are even ripped in some places. Any onlooker could see that these pieces were nothing but the tangible forms of pure amour.

After tonight, the burn he feels in his chest at the thought of him will stop, and the ashes of discarded literature will be its only remains.

Itwillstopitwillstopitwillallstop.

A vibration sends a tremor through the table when his phone screen lights up.

from dan, to phil:

where are you?

Phil picks up his device and shuts it off. Although it could be said that this night was about Dan, it is mostly about Phil, it is about Phil’s feelings, it is about Phil putting it all behind himself. He needs this.

Because it’s justified, right?

Two taps are hitting on his shoulder. It’s PJ, who actually ended up becoming a spur-of-the-moment volunteer to manage the behind-the-scenes for tonight. He leans in to whisper to Phil. “You’re on in a minute or two.” And almost as if he could sense Phil’s worrying, he continues and reassures him with, “You’ve got this, you’ll be great. I believe in you.” PJ clasps his hand on Phil’s shoulder, and gives it a squeeze. At that, he corners of Phil’s lips turn up slightly. He really is grateful for having a friend like him.

“Thank you.”

The supposed minute or two passes by quickly, and soon enough they are introducing Phil’s name. “The final poet of the night,” is what they say. Phil takes a deep breath and goes under the spotlight, the cool metal of the microphone in his hand is doing its best to calm him. He holds onto it tightly. With the spotlight in his eyes, and the cafe lights dimmed, he can’t see the audience at all.

Perhaps that’s for the best. For more reasons than one.

Because right when Phil opens his mouth to begin, someone quietly enters into the cafe. Despite the fact that the slight little twinkling of bells signaled his entrance, no one pays any heed to him.

He chooses to sit in the back.

And Phil notices nothing at all.

“brown is all sorts of golden, in the sense it gives as much warmth as a gentle sun…”

After a few poems, some cafe patrons swear that they see a shadow move from the back of the cafe to the front, as if to listen to the poet better.

“...for although tattoos of roses don't have thorns, blood pours from the prick in my fingertips because i picked you”

With every line, with every poem, with every eloquent sentence having their origins rooted in enclosed secrets, each word that leaves his lungs also lifts a small weight off of his shoulders and manages to carry it over to listening ears. Everything is on the line tonight. Every emotion is on Phil’s sleeve, not just his heart, and every person in the room is hanging on to each otherworldly wordy confession that falls from his lips. And speaking of confessions, Phil’s biggest one is coming up. He wrote it last night, so it’s fairly new.

His final poem. About everything.

Including the night from two years ago.

“young days are of bubbles and bubble gum little girls are so kind, they are so soft that little boys can’t help but fall for them with their small smiles and neat handwriting from tentative hands for a crush and descend

however, i never took the plunge for i saw a boy who was softer: with a subtle cotton candy blush who grew daisies from concrete and carnations on flushed cheeks

a mirage, admiration from afar became inkstained fingertips and etched scrawls on every surface imaginable

(he had freckles that were far more than just constellations, they were made of stardust)

adolescent times; time stopped for one drunken night when only the moonlight was sober, an evening full of whispers and kisses and care that faded when faced with the sun

artists are known to create somethings out of nothings with elements derived from the earth, they turn strokes into paintings clay into sculptures a-and unspoken promises—”

He coughs, his voice caught up in his throat.

“and unspoken promises into h-hope”

Phil’s voice is wavering. His eyes aren’t on the audience anymore. Instead, he’s staring at the floor.

Hands shaking.

“poets are known to write about tragedies and this is no exception there is red on those hands: is it from the words of my pen, your paint on my skin? or perhaps from the thorns from the flowers that bloomed, with your smile that could make the heart grow fonder

perhaps he truly loved her but his smile could tempt a lover

and my dear, even the lawfully good fall into temptation.”

He’s out of breath now. By the end, he was just rushing to get the last few words out, and he was straining his throat. His eyelashes are wet, he can feel them, and he knows that he’s probably on the brink of crying.

Phil bites the inside of his cheek. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t know what will come next. He stays standing there for a moment more, doing a small nod and awkward bow. Barely registering the trickling of applause, his shoulders curl in and he crosses his arms, one hand reaching to rub the place where the all too familiar daisies bloomed.

Would they still be there?

When Phil steps out of the light, it is an unexpected sight. Dan is there, right in front of him: one of Dan’s hands is all tremors while the other is reaching up to his face, desperately wiping away his salty tears. Dan’s hair, in those beautiful curls Phil loves, are in disarray; Dan’s lip trembles; Dan’s eyes are red and looking up at him through wet eyelashes that match his own. It is a state of vulnerability that only God should see. And seeing that? That is the breaking point.

A truth revealed. Barely louder than a bumblebee’s hum, that Phil almost misses it, but good thing that he happened to be great at reading lips.

“I love you,” Dan whispers.

Now that is true the breaking point. At that moment, Phil breaks into sobs, and they both reach out to one another to each other into a bone-crushing hug. “A conversation between us is long overdue,” one of them mumbles into the other’s neck, and the other one just nods, unable to respond with words.

They’re in tears.

<<>>

“I wrote poems about you, you know. Mostly on my front porch. I would never see you, but I always hoped that I would catch a glimpse of you.”

“I would paint in my backyard, among all the plants. I loved painting roses in watercolor, they were my favorite, but so many paintings of mine were made with three particular hues: blue, green, and yellow. My favorite colors. And they just so happen to be the colors of your eyes.”

<<>>

Out on a sidewalk curb, two boys sit with a cup of local coffee. “It’s good to support local businesses,” one says, “and Starbucks is overrated.”

“Yeah I know, you’ve told me,” the other replies. “I remember everything you tell me.”

He puts his head on the other boy’s shoulder. The other boy lifts his hand to gently wipe away the tear stains on the boy’s cheek with his thumb, while the boy softly places a kiss on the other one’s  neck.

<<>>

You have (1) voice mail from Philly-delphia.

“I’m sorry for distancing myself from you. Call me back? Let’s meetup and talk. Bye bye.”  

<<>>

“I’m sorry for not telling you the whole truth. But please know that I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t even being honest to myself. I don’t think I have been honest to myself for a long time now.”

“Dan, it was immature for me to assume. To be frank? Out of line. It was stupid for me to be upset over what you were doing with your own life. What you do isn’t my choice, and I shouldn’t have been so personally affected by it.”

“We’re our own people, of course. I know you know that. And besides, I get where you were coming from.”

“What do you mea—”

“If I lost you, I probably wouldn’t be thinking rationally either.”

A pause.

“...I shouldn’t have acted like you were mine, when you weren’t mine to own.”

“A fair point. And you’re completely right. But I think you’ve had me since the beginning, Phil Lester. I feel like I’ve finally found something that I’ve been looking for my whole life.”

<<>>

dan: let’s take it slow?

phil: That sounds perfect.

<<>>

For centuries, humanity has held art to the highest of esteems. Early neanderthals began it all with their coarse hands, withdrawing dirt from the earth below their feet to leave marks upon rugged stone walls that conveyed the beginnings of history. In the millenniums that followed, a sort of elitism has formed around the most talented ones who have managed to make a name for themselves. The names of these creators are commonplace in many households amongst the nations; buildings are erected with the mere purpose of showcasing such artistic creation.

Perhaps it is for that reason that the phenomenon in which ink would envelop one’s skin was thus regarded as a wonder, rather than as an alarming fright.

Despite seeming harmless, precaution took place of course: scientists all over the globe have dedicated themselves to research the peculiar tattoos. Theories ranging from genetic mutations related to the brain’s creative processes to shifts in the earth’s overall physical environment resulting in a strange seismic change have arisen, but nothing about their origins have been confirmed as of yet. For that matter, nothing has been confirmed as to how exactly they appear either.

There are two people though, who have it all figured out. No matter how many times you ask them, they will always give the same answer: if anything, they appear out of love, they’ll tell you that.

They have graduated now. They are at a graduation party right now actually, and their time at their high school art academy has finally come to an end. Blood, sweat, and tears have been spilled all over the canvases and films and publications and music at that institution, and now every student can only rely on hope that their work does not go to waste as they move on to pursue the rest of their future.

But for now, that kind of worrying does not exist.

There are no drinks this time around. Okay, maybe one or two, and perhaps they are a little tipsy as well, but they are definitely not drunk. They are, however, definitely on a bed again.

Dan and Phil are lying together on a bed again.

Phil throws a question into the air between them. “You know, this is how we met?” Although the words come out in a way that sounds like a rhetorical question, Dan nods.

“I wish I remembered more,” admits Dan. Phil squeezes his hand, and this time, it’s Dan’s turn to ask a question. “Do you regret it?”

Phil thinks for a moment. “I regret how it happened. So in that way, I do, a bit. Maybe even a little more than a bit. Even though I remember that night, the details of it all are hazy, and we weren’t really in the best state of mind.” Dan curls into Phil’s chest, looking up at him as he listens to him speak. Phil affectionately looks back at him. “But then again? I don’t regret that it took place. In some ways, I feel like that night was our starting point.”

With Phil’s arm wrapped around his waist, they are only a breath apart from one another. “And now we’re here,” whispers Dan. His lips pepper a few soft kisses upon Phil’s skin.

Phil echoes Dan’s words with a fond smile, placing a kiss on top of Dan’s head. He absentmindedly runs a hand through the brunette’s waves, Dan finally confident enough to adorn the curls after all those years.

“Yeah, and now we’re here.”

When Dan then comments on how far they’ve come and Phil marvels at how much they’ve grown, it is to be noted that their growth is not just a growth of spirit, or of themselves as people. It’s also evidenced, it’s also proven that is, by their skin.

The single marigold behind Dan’s ear is now a small gathering of flowers. Its stem winds down his neck, its petals and leaves falling to meet the leaves of the tree that grows on his back. The tree on his back is grand, absolutely lovely and absolutely bountiful. Its signs of life are held within every branch, and where the roots end on his hips, are a freckling of small hearts. According to Phil, it is because it thrives off love (“that’s so cheesy,” dan always says. laughing, phil always replies, “it’s supposed to be cheesy!”).

In the meantime, Phil has a whole garden on his shoulders, with flowers of every hue and type. If he ever took the time to search up the meanings, they would not only mean love, but forever, and admiration, and warmth, and together. Upon his ankles are the cutest little succulents and cacti, pretty little plants that are hard to kill. They remind him to remain grounded, and who it is that helps him do so, a representation of how hard it would be to forget the one who is such a big part of his life.

They are kissing slowly now, every touch between them is an embodiment of care and devotion that would put the bond between the moon and tides to shame. Nothing else exists around them. The future is unknown, but as said before, worries don’t exist here.

Because if they are being honest, they are ready for anything.

<<>>

“Mon enfant! I give you my hand! I give you my love, more precious than money, I give you myself, before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?” - Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

(and also, those would happen to be the same lines that dan would propose to phil with a couple of years later.)

[mardigrasqueen-blog]

One Thousand Love Letters Meditation: Love and Other Contracts

Love is completely selfish. I pondered on this notion as I walked around Peter Bruun’s One Thousand Love Letters exhibit in the Maryland Art Place. It may sound contradictory as Bruun’s exhibit is something so touching and romantic, but past the obvious emotional impact, there is something inherently greedy in the expression of love. The exhibit is broken into 4 of 8 themes: “Forever Family,” “Cupid’s Arrow,” “Wild Horses,” and “Love Thyself.” Each depicting love in different forms and contexts. When asked whether or not one type of love can be possibly stronger than the other, Bruun claims “There is no hierarchy in love.” So then as I walked around, why was I immediately drawn to each section in my own specific order? With all due respect to Peter Bruun, the answer is because there is indeed a hierarchy in love. There is a path of least resistance in our hearts, that I recognised in reflecting over the experience. In my theory, the hierarchy goes respectively: the love we desire, the love we are most familiar with, the love we don’t understand, and the love we take for granted. How we decide upon these categories are the values and conditionals we place on our relationships.

I was first drawn to Cupid’s Arrow because this is the type of love I’m pathetically desperate for. In Fredrich Nietzche’s The Gay Science, Aphorism’s #14 poses the idea that romantic love “betrays itself most plainly as the striving after possession: the lover wants the unconditioned, sole possession of the person longed for by him; he wants just as absolute power over her soul as over her body; he wants to be loved solely, and to dwell and rule in the other soul as what is highest and most to be desired.” We seek romance because we want to be someone’s everything. It may sound egotistical and asking for too much, but isn’t love a transaction of sorts? If my lover fails to show me intimacy, passion, and friendship, what use is he to me? Alternatively, what use am I to my lover if I fail to give him the same? The love letters Peter Bruun hangs in this section hold the same virtue. Many, if not most, claim how their lover makes them feel sexually, spiritually, and emotionally. Romantic love is also the most conditional of all. The bittersweet reality of modern romance is that love comes and goes. Yet we continue to risk the pain of losing someone who we give ourselves to because the cost of love is insignificant to the benefit of it. Not anyone can be my everything. For me, that someone should preferably be tall, pretty faced, and a man. He has to be intelligent, amusing, honest, and able to keep up with me. Why do I have these conditions? Because it’s not a matter of what someone else wants, it’s what I specifically value in myself and others. I refuse to settle for less because if I do, I’m not being true to myself. So I’ll suffer the boredom and loneliness of being single because I know it is in my self-interest to fulfil my conditionals. What’s more special than a stranger finding everything they could possibly want in someone as different and flawed as I am? Romeo and Juliet betrayed their families and died in the name of love because they gave each other seemingly what no one else could ever. Rose found in Jack freedom from her oppressive upper-class expectations. Shah Jahan did not commission the Taj Mahal for his dead wife Mumtaz’s use, but for his own sake. Music, film, literature, and visual art express the pain and joy we feel when we find someone to share our lives with. No one is inherently entitled to this love, but it is the love we actively work the most towards making it more valuable. In the same way I watch romantic films and listen to romantic music, I dwelled in Bruun’s letters. In the same way I tell myself when I feel alone that I won’t always feel this way, they comforted me. They assured me that being a hopeless romantic isn’t a waste of time, but rather a calculated emotional investment.

I then moved along to Forever Family as it’s the most familiar type of love to me. My mother has been there my entire life. Growing up I never questioned why she loved me because I believed it was her job to love me. And now from an analytical point, I understand that concept. It’s simple biology to explain the love of a mother. A child gives a mother purpose, and a mother gives a child the best possible circumstances to survive. It’s true today as well. If there’s one type of person I can be vulnerable around it’s my family. They protect me in times of distress, uncertainty, and fear. My mother grew up in a broken family, forced to grow up before her time. I can see how she heals from that pain by doing absolutely anything for my siblings and me. She pushes us to work hard, to be independent, and do what we can to keep our minds and bodies healthy. And in times I feel worthless, like a failure and ugly, she is there to tell me I am wrong. She tells me I am beautiful and fearless, and I deserve every happiness. I love my mother because I trust her to give me stability and hope, as it’s her job too. My father’s love follows this same principle though his love comes in the form of practicality. My father can’t bear to see me or my siblings suffering. He works incessantly to make sure we have a home, food, and the best possible education. He teaches us the virtue of responsibility and honesty. I take that for granted sometimes. And regrettably, I don’t tell him I love him often enough. Forever Family captures the essence of family. Letters to siblings, parents, and friends all speak of the necessity of seemingly unconditional support. Love Letter #52 from Megan to her mother expresses what we value the most from our parents, “Thanks for raising me right, showing me how to live a whole life, and loving me even when I’m really hard to love.” What makes a family, is the ability to forgive and understand. My sister, brother and I are so different yet so similar. We are stubborn and ambitious. We compete and play rough. Yet when we feel defeated by the unforgiving world, we support each other as teammates. The difference between family and friends is that one feels effortless. Like minds attract each other. My best friend Katie is hundreds of miles away, yet I don’t miss her because I feel her presence with me. We give each other laughter and support. Though she may not realise it, she reminds me that I don’t always have to pretend to be an adult, holding the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am with my family for the same reason lions stay in a pride: to survive in the unpredictable and perilous wild.

It was my curiosity that pulled me towards Wild Horses. Addiction is foreign to me. It’s a tragedy that occurs elsewhere. And as I observed the different messages, I felt truly selfish. I could not relate my own benefit to this love, but in further inspection found that perhaps what exists is just hope. Peter Bruun understands this love. It is what triggered his creation. Beyond the pain, suffering, confusion and resistance, there is hope that perhaps there is more than addiction to live for. Bruun could give only this to his daughter before she passed away. I felt selfish gazing upon the pain. Expressions of love resonate with us because it is integral to who we are. As I sought to understand this love I could only muster a guess as to what it might feel like to love someone who is being controlled by a substance, or alternatively be someone struggling to find in love what they attempt to in substance. And so I move forward, accepting what I hopefully cannot ever understand.

Finally, I came to Love Thyself. I do love myself. I am incredibly resilient and ambitious. I am intelligent, understanding, bold, and impulsive. I am stubborn and think too much. I’d like to believe I have a good sense of humour, great taste in everything, and that I am incredibly sexy (like really sexy). I believe in truth and integrity. I feel too much too often. I am confident in myself because I am incessantly striving to change and be better. And with love and lust for life, I find that there is nothing above myself. Not fear or complacency. There is one person you should ultimately be loyal to and that is yourself. You exist, and that is enough reason to fight for yourself.

Peter Bruun’s One Thousand Love Letters has allowed me to understand how integral love is to who we are. Survival is the strongest drive of humanity. And to survive we love as conditionally and complexly. Without love, we are nothing but skin and bone, stumbling through existence aimlessly. We love for our own sake; to feel comfort, passion, and lively. It is our salvation and the reason to push forward against suffering.  It is completely egotistical. Yet, essential for our humanity.

[beyondforks]

Book Review: Gallowglass by Jennifer Allis Provost

Gallowglass (Gallowglass #1) by Jennifer Allis Provost Genre: Adult Fiction (Fantasy Romance) Date Published: June 6, 2017 Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Design Publisher: Bellatrix Press

Karina didn’t set out to free the Seelie Queen’s gallowglass. Now she’ll do anything to keep him.

After Karina and her brother, Chris’s, lives fall apart in separate yet equally spectacular ways, they leave New York behind and head to the UK. Karina buries herself in research for her doctoral thesis, all the while studiously not thinking about the man who broke her heart, while Chris—who’d been a best-selling author before his ex-fiancée sued him for plagiarism—drinks his way across the British Isles. 

In Scotland, they visit the grave of Robert Kirk, a seventeenth- century minister who was kidnapped by fairies. No one is more shocked than Karina when a handsome man with a Scottish brogue appears, claiming to be the Robert Kirk of legend. What’s more, he says he spent the last few hundred years as the Gallowglass, the Seelie Queen’s personal assassin. When they’re attacked by demons, Karina understands how dearly the queen wants him back.

As Karina and Robert grow closer, Chris’s attempts to drown his sorrows lead him to a pub, and a woman called Sorcha. Chris is instantly smitten with her, so much so he spends days with Sorcha and lies to his sister about his whereabouts. When Chris comes home covered in fey kisses, Karina realizes that the Seelie Queen isn’t just after Robert.

Can Karina outsmart the Seelie Queen, or is Robert doomed to forever be the Gallowglass?

Gallowglass is the first book in the Gallowglass series by  Jennifer Allis Provost. This story had cute moments, naughty moments, and action moments. It also had quite a bit of down time, and it was hard to stay focused during some of Rina's research ventures. I would have liked something more to happen during those times to hold my attention better. I loved the setting though. Scotland and fae are a definite draw for me. I enjoyed the cute attraction between Robert and Rina. They were pretty adorable and had some steamy moments. I actually thought it read more like a young adult novel until it got to those naughty bits.

Gallowglass by Jennifer Allis Provost was kindly provided to me by Bewitching Book Tours for review. The opinions are my own.

I sped back to the ruined kirk, my knuckles white as I gripped the wheel. The real reason I didn’t get on Chris about his constant mooning over Olivia was that at least he and Olivia had had something. I’d had nothing with Jared. No it hadn’t quite been nothing, but it may as well have been. One thing that Chris and I had both learned on this trip is that an ocean is not nearly enough distance to outrun your past. I parked in the kirk’s tourist lot, leapt out of the rental and ran across the bridge and up the fairy hill, startling some of the local wildlife along the way. When I reached the Minister’s Pine I was panting, my heart pounding as sweat poured down my back. I had to find that quartz. I just had to. I dropped to my knees and felt around near the base of the tree. I found my brush rather quickly, along with my hairclip and the stupidly expensive Mont Blanc pen that my advisor had given me when I earned my masters degree. But the quartz, the quartz wasn’t anywhere. The bits of lunch I’d had turned to lead in my stomach; if the quartz was gone, then it was really, truly over. “Lookin’ for this, are ye now?” I turned toward the voice, blinked, and pushed my glasses up to my forehead. Yeah, he was really there. Standing in front of me was a tall man in what I assumed was period dress. Instead of a kilt—we American girls tend to think that all Scotsmen run around in kilts, no matter the occasion; sadly, this is not the case—he was wearing a padded brown leather coat topped with chain mail, along with matching brown pants and well-worn leather boots. A helmet was tucked under his arm, and I could see the hilt of a claymore, one of those medieval broadswords that were so heavy you had to swing it with two hands, poking up over his shoulder. A shield rested next to the sword’s hilt, its curved edge just visible above the man’s shoulder. I hadn’t realized they did reenactments at Doon Hill, and I made a mental note to check the brochure for show times. I also noticed that the actor had his hand extended, with my lump of rose quartz sitting on his open palm. “Yes!” I got to my feet, and grabbed the stone. “Thank you,” I said once I remembered my manners, stroking the stone with my thumb. The man looked at me intently, his expression wavering somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “What made you think it was mine?” “Saw ye drop it, I did,” he replied. “And you’ve been waiting here since then?” “I knew ye would be back for me.” I blinked, since I must have misunderstood his accent. What I’d heard as ‘me’ must have really been ‘it’. Accents do tend to garble words. “I really appreciate you waiting for me. Thank you,” I said, extending my hand. He eyed my hand, dark brows low over his blue eyes. Then he grasped my fingers and brought them toward his mouth. “What are you doing?” I snapped, snatching my hand away. “I thought ye wanted me to kiss your hand,” he explained. “I wanted to shake your hand!” He looked befuddled rather than offended, so I attributed this to yet another cultural misunderstanding. It was becoming quite the list. “Well, regardless, thank you. I’m Rina.” “Rina,” he repeated, that Scottish brogue of his making my nickname sound positively decadent. “’Tis quite an unusual name.” “It’s short for Karina,” I explained. “Karina Siobhan Stewart,” I added, wondering why I’d felt compelled to give him my full name. Historically I’d only been called Karina Siobhan when I was in trouble. “And I am Robert Kirk,” he said, extending his hand. This guy was way deep in character, like method actor deep. I shook his hand, and we both smiled. “Good to meet you, Mr. Kirk.” “Reverend Kirk,” he corrected. “My apologies, Reverend Kirk.” These reenactors sure liked to stick to their roles, though I’d never expected to see a reverend wearing chain mail. We stood there for a moment, holding hands and grinning like a couple of fools, and I took the time to really look at him. He was older than me, probably a bit older than Chris too, with dark, tousled hair, chiseled features, and a roguish glint in his blue eyes. They had obviously picked reenactors that would appeal to the ladies. “Do no’ fash, Karina lass, no offense was taken,” he murmured, and my cheeks were suddenly hot. I took back my hand, barely resisting the urge to fan myself. “I should be going,” I said. “My brother’s waiting for me.” I scanned the area around the Minister’s Pine, ascertained that I’d left nothing else of import behind, and turned toward the path. A hand on my arm stopped me. “Ye canna leave me here,” the reenactor said. “Ye must take me with ye.” “What? No!” I faced him, planting my feet before him and whipping out my cell phone. “I don’t know what goes on here in Scotland, but I’m an American citizen. Stay back, or I’ll call 911.” I didn’t even know if they had 911 in Scotland. Would I have to call Scotland Yard instead? I hoped my phone had some kind of app for international emergencies. I waved my phone in what I hoped was a menacing manner, and Robert—or whatever his name was—eyed it as if it would bite him. “Put away your tricks, lass,” he said. “It was ye what called me here in the first place.” I shook my head. “This is an act, right? Reverend Kirk, freed at long last from the Minister’s Pine?” “’Tis no act, lass. Would that it were.” He stepped closer, and took my hands in both of his. Robert’s hands were warm and callused, and, despite all this nonsense, comforting. “I am Robert Kirk himself, and ye have freed me no from just a tree, but from Elphame, and the Seelie Queen herself.” “Elphame?” I asked. “Aye,” he replied. “Some refer to it as the Fairy Realm.” I leaned against the Minister’s Pine. He claimed he was from Elphame. Of course he was. How did I always attract the weirdos? It was generally agreed that when magic left the world, it was because the fairy realm had closed its doors to humans. Some claimed that human industrialization, and its rampant use of iron, had caused the fae to retreat, while others claimed the global shift from pagan to monotheistic faiths was the culprit. No matter which theory you favored, the end result was the same; there was no new magic. For hundreds of years humans had made do with a few crumbling artifacts and enchanted items, but those items were wearing out too. It was as if magic had a half-life, and we’d long since passed the middle point. “You can’t be from Elphame,” I said. “It’s closed. It’s been closed for centuries.” “Has it, now? I will say this, when I was a boy the land was thick with magic. Ye could hardly walk the roads without encountering one o’ the Good People.” “When you were a boy,” I repeated, then I remembered that Robert Kirk had lived in the seventeenth century. Magic hadn’t started disappearing until a century later. “Still, it’s closed now.” “Just because a door has been closed, does no’ mean it canna be reopened.” I slid down to the ground and Robert sat beside me, both of us leaning against the tree he’d recently emerged from. Wait, when did I start believing him? “So, um, you think all of this is real?” I ventured, gesturing around the clearing. “The legend and all?” Robert smiled wanly. “Ye have heard o’ me, then?” “They say you told the world of the fairies’ secrets, so they imprisoned you in a tree.” “That is no the whole of the tale.” Robert closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the trunk. “I did have dealings with the Good People, but it was no them who abducted me.” “Then who did?” “’Twas Nicnevin, the Seelie Queen herself.” My jaw dropped, and if I hadn’t already been on the ground I would have fallen. As it was, my arm went out from under me, and my shoulder bumped into Robert. “Are ye all right, lass?” Robert asked. “Yes,” I lied. There was nothing all right about this. “Why did the queen take you?” “She fancied me,” he replied. “Offered me an apple, ye ken. I said no, it angered her, she cursed me. And here we are today.” I looked up at him. He still had his head tipped back against the tree, his eyes closed. “That sounds like the ridiculously oversimplified version.” At that, he opened his eyes and speared me with his gaze. “Would ye be likin’ all the details, then, lass?” I swallowed. “Um, maybe not just yet.” My gaze moved from Robert’s face to the quartz in my hand. “What makes you think I freed you?” “Ye made contact wi’ the tree, wishin’ to rescue me. Wishes are powerful things, ye ken.” Robert leaned over and touched the quartz. “Then ye dropped your stone, and a door opened for me. I ha’ been waitin’ for ye ever since.” “Wishes are powerful things,” I repeated. “Why do you want to leave with me? You don’t even know me.” “I know ye freed me, and that is no small thing,” Robert replied. “I also know that as soon as Nicneven kens I’ve left me post, she will send her creatures to retrieve me.” “Creatures?” “Aye. And I do no’ want to be here when they arrive.” I took a deep breath and got to my feet, Robert following suit. Once we were standing I looked into his clear blue eyes, his guileless face, and sighed. He was either telling the truth, or he was the greatest actor in the world. Or I was the world’s biggest idiot; the jury was still out on that. “Well, let’s go.” “Go?” he repeated hopefully. “If you’re telling the truth—and I’m not saying that you are—I can’t just leave you here. And, if you’re not telling the truth, I’ll drop you at the nearest police station,” I added, trying to act tough in front of the armored man with the sword. Robert inclined his head, and took both of my hands in his. “Lass, soon enough ye will ken that I only speak what’s true.” He once again brought my knuckles to his lips; this time, I let him kiss me. It was nice, having one’s hand kissed by a dark, handsome man. “Karina Siobhan Stewart, I am now your charge, and I shall follow your every command.” “Okay. Um.” I looked him over and issued my first command. “First of all, you can’t tromp around Aberfoyle wearing chain mail. You’re going to have to take off your armor.”

Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library). An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. When she’s not writing about things that go bump in the night (and sometimes during the day) she’s working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction. To learn more about Jennifer Allis Provost and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, and Twitter.