Signed, a disgruntled aroace young adult who's tired of seeing a character she relates to and identifies with being chained up and slobbered over in order to "make things more progressive UwU"; ESPECIALLY when you consider the context that he was born from a line of enslaved/impoverished civilians that were being exploited, extorted, and worked to death on a planet run by elitist criminals.

(and even if Luke isn't canonically aroace-coded I think it's very profound that his arc is centered around him saving the Galaxy through his platonic/familial bones instead of traditionally having a romance/"getting the girl" like other old time male heroes. It shouldn't be ignored.)

lovely {8}

a @tacmc​ x @snelbz​ collaboration

Find previous chapters here: Lovely Masterlist.

Feyre couldn’t do anything but stare across the room. The pure elation at seeing her art, a piece that she’d poured her heart into, hanging in a museum, was snuffed out as she found Tamlin and Ianthe across the room.

“Stay here,” she breathed, barely noticing as a petite dark-haired woman came up beside Rhys. She handed him her wine and was across the room before she processed what she was doing.

Her new friend’s eyes went wide as she saw her walking towards them, but Feyre ignored her, gripping Tamlin by the elbow. “Tam, can I talk to you for a minute?”

A look of sheer surprise crossed Tamlin’s face as he turned and found Feyre standing there. Any notion she may have had that this was planned and she released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. He blinked and said, “Sure,” before turning to Ianthe and saying, “I’ll be right back.”

When she glanced over at her, the friendliness in her eyes had been replaced with ice.

They stepped off to a corner and before he could say anything, she said, “She’s not a good person, Tam.”

He blinked, grass green eyes wholly confused and asked, “Ianthe? How do you even know her?”

“I feel like I should be asking you the same thing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced across the room, thankful to see Ianthe hadn’t noticed Rhysand. Yet.

Tamlin hesitated, then began rubbing his temples. “Feyre, not that it’s not a joy to see you, but last time we were near each other it didn’t turn out great, so if you’re stalking me-.”

Feyre barked a laugh. “Seriously? You think way too highly of yourself, asshole. Do I need to remind you that you were the one that fainted on my porch not long ago?” 

He grimaced as he looked away. 

“I’m...here with a friend,” Feyre said, at last. 

Tamlin’s lips thinned. “Rhys, then?”

“You need to get rid of Ianthe,” she said, arms crossed, ignoring his question altogether. 

To her surprise, Tamlin laughed. “Let me get this straight. You break up my date, while you’re on a date, to tell me that I should get rid of my date...even though you have no feelings for me, whatsoever?”

Feyre blinked. “Yeah, she’s aw-.”

“What gives you the fucking right?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. 

“She has a baby,” Feyre hissed. “And it’s….not a good situation. It’s complicated.” Oh, and by the way, the father is my sister’s boyfriend, and my boyfriend’s best friend. How’s that for complicated?

Tamlin just shrugged. “Yeah, I know. I hear the baby daddy is a little asshole.” 

“That’s not true.” Her voice was cold.

He snorted. “Is it Rhys? Wouldn’t surprise me if he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Is there a problem over here?”

Her voice wasn’t nearly as sweet as it had been in the bathroom earlier. Now it was sickly and reminded Feyre of artificial sweetener.

“No, Feyre was just getting ready to leave,” Tamlin said, not taking his eyes off of her.

“You’re making a mistake, Tam,” she breathed.

Ianthe asked, “Wait, this is Feyre?”

The tone made Feyre pause and she turned to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The smile on her face was cruel as she said, “I shouldn’t be surprised. The best gold-digging whores are always the prettiest.”

Feyre wouldn’t have been able to stop the words if she tried. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

One day, when Feyre needed to paint a model of rage, she’d use memory of Ianthe’s face.

“Everything okay, Feyre, darling?” Rhysand’s hand settled low on her back, fingers wrapping around her hip, and she knew that he knew Tamlin was watching.

This has become a dangerous game, and while Feyre didn’t want to make a scene, she couldn’t remember a point in her life where she’d been so angry.

Ianthe’s eyes dragged to Rhys and she said, “Oh, look who it is.”

Rhysand ignored her completely. “Tamlin.” 

Tamlin nodded to Rhysand, although he wasn’t happy about it.

Rhysand, though, wasn’t phased. His smile was radiant when he said, “Feyre and I have a reservation, we really should be going. Great seeing you. I-.”

“This is your boyfriend?” Ianthe asked, looking from Rhysand to Feyre. “You went from Tam to this piece of trash?”

Feyre’s body stiffened, and Rhysand’s hand around her waist tightened. His voice was still light when he said, “Wasn’t Az supposed to drop Ash off to you tonight? Or, did he just drop him off to your parents, since they’re basically the ones raising your kid.” 

The only thing that brought Feyre back down to earth was the look of pure hatred in Ianthe’s eyes as she took a step closer to Rhysand. Even Tamlin reached out a hand to stop her. 

“Let’s go, Rhys,” Feyre whispered, her words still hard, but not wanting to start a full on fist fight in the middle of an art gallery.

Without another word, they turned and left, Rhys practically dragging Feyre. He was pulling out his phone, dialing before they’d reached the city streets.

“Who are you calling?” She asked, both of them pausing to breathe as they looked out over the Sidra.

“Azriel.” He put the phone to his ear. “This changes everything.”

—————

Cassian had offered Nesta a drink, but when he opened the cupboard, he found absolutely nothing. Naturally, that meant that a run to the liquor store was a necessity. There was one a block away from his apartment, so he and Nesta were walking, hand in hand, beneath the starlight. She was still wearing that oversized sweatshirt, her hair in a messy-bun on the top of her head, and Cassian was absolutely breathless. 

“You’re walking slow,” she said, quiet laughter lacing her tone. She tugged on his hand, but he didn’t move any faster.

“I’m taking my time,” he said, grinning. “Slower I walk, the more time I get to spend with you.” 

Nesta snorted. “True, but the faster we get to the store and back to your apartment, the quicker I get tipsy and loose.” 

Cassian arched a brow. “Is that you telling me I’m getting lucky tonight?”

She rolled her eyes. “You act like you don’t get lucky every night.”

With a smirk, Cassian decided she was right.

The errand didn’t take long after that, and when they got back to the apartment, Nesta flopped next to Cassian on the couch and said, “I want to take a bath.”

Cassian made a face, which had nothing to do with the whiskey he raised to his lips, and said, “A bath? You want to sit in your own dirt water?”

She raised a brow and said, “I want to get naked, relax and drink wine.” There was emphasis on the naked part.

He bit his lip and thought about his dingy little bathroom. “My bathtub isn’t very big.”

Her lips tilted up slightly at the corners and she said, “Oh, are you taking one with me?”

He sat his whiskey on the table and dragged her on top of him. “You don’t just get to tell me you’re going to get wet and naked and not expect me to want to join.”

She giggled and kissed him before she sighed, “You’re right though. Your bathtub can’t fit us both.” He was about to suggest a shower together when she said, “The hot tub at your pool can.”

He snorted. “Can’t get naked at the pool though.”

“Says who?” She cooed, and stood. Walking back toward his bedroom. When he followed a moment later, he found her tying her bikini strap behind her neck. 

He stopped in his doorway and lifted a brow. “You weren’t kidding.”

She quickly spun around, adjusting her top over her boobs. “I don’t kid about relaxing in warm water with wine.”

Cassian chuckled. “You’re not supposed to bring wine down there.”

“Just like you’re not supposed to get naked?” She asked, with an eyebrow raised.

“You’re feeling daring tonight,” he laughed.

She rolled her eyes. “Get in your swimsuit.”

When he emerged from his room in his trunks, Nesta was finishing pouring an entire bottle of wine into a large water bottle he kept for the gym. He laughed quietly and she handed him a cup of his own. He raised an eyebrow and she said, “It’s straight whiskey.”

With a chuckle, he said, “Of course it is.”

He grabbed a couple of towels and they walked down to the pool. At half past eight, in early autumn, Cassian was surprised that it was empty. While he picked a chair up and pulled it over to the hot tub, Nesta was already stepping into the bubbling water, a sigh of contentment leaving her as she settled in.

He joined her, sipping from his travel mug full of whiskey, and draping an arm around her. After about ten minutes, he figured she’d forgotten about her wet and naked claim when she looked around and lifted her hips from the built in bench. She dropped her soaked bottoms along the edge of the water.

Cassian raised an eyebrow and waited as she reached behind her back and untied the strap. The water was just high enough that when she dropped the wet fabric on the concrete, he still couldn’t see anything.

She looked at him and breathed, “Well?”

He blinked, then slowly began to shake his head. “You know, when I met you, I thought you were an uptight piece of work. Now? You’re a wild woman.” He reached into the water, shimmied out of his trunks, and pointedly plopped them down next to the scraps of her bikini.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she crooned, inching closer to him.

He grinned. “I never said that. I’m starting to come to the conclusion that you were a wild woman all along, and now I just get to see your true colors.”

With a quiet laugh, she climbed onto his lap and straddled him. “Our first night together was a drunken fiasco.” 

“Oh, I remember it well,” he said, eyes bright, as her arms wrapped around his neck. “But you also bitched at me for ruining your shoes the first time I met you, so my assumptions were valid.”

She scoffed. “They were a one-hundred-and-sixty dollar pair of boots.”

“There’s your problem,” he murmured, leaning up and brushing his lips against hers. “You spent too much on your shoes.”

She snorted but let him pull her into the kiss, lost herself in the way his hands gripped her hips, in the way he tasted like whiskey and how kissing him made her light-headed.

The pool gate creaked and then crashed closed and both Cassian and Nesta jumped slightly, looking towards the sound.

Another couple entered the pool, though they went to the pool, thankfully, rather than the hot tub.

Nesta breathed, “Shit,” and took a large drink of her wine. She reached for her suit, but Cassian grabbed her hand, pulling it back under the water. “What are you doing?”

He smirked and said, “I thought you liked baking a wild woman.”

Her eyes went wide and she warned, “Cass…”

He gripped her hips and ground her into him. The whimper that left her had him grinning.

“Stop it,” she whispered, although her eyes were humored. 

The couple was nearing-elderly. If they even knew what was going on, they probably found it romantic, or appalling - either way it could have been worse, but Nesta was still pushing against his chest. 

“You got yourself into this mess,” Cassian mumbled. “Now I’m tipsy and too far gone.” 

“You’re impossible,” she warned, her fingers running through his hair. 

He shook his head, grinning. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait until they’re gone to stick it in you.”

“Stick it in me?” she laughed. “How romantic.”

“Oh, I’m very romantic.” His hands wandered down to her ass and grabbed her, possessively, which made her laugh out loud. 

“You know, I’ve had fantasies like this,” she said, feeling that wine coursing through her body, making her lighter, more daring.

“Is that so?” he asked, his hands moving up her sides. 

“Yes,” she whispered, cocking her head to the side.

“And what does this fantasy of yours look like?” he asked, quietly.

“Sort of like,” she sat up slightly, gripping him in her hand and sliding down his length. His eyes fluttered shut and she breathed. “You fucking me and me trying my hardest not to get us caught.”

“Nes, they’re, like, a hundred,” he grunted, explaining why they shouldn’t, but gripping her hips and rocking her back and forth regardless.

She didn’t say much else as he head fell into the crook of his neck and her lips found his pulse point. His eyes fell shut and he gripped her ass, urging her to move quicker.

As long as she rocked and didn’t bounce, they should be fine. He was listening to the couple, not really hearing them, but making sure they weren’t suspicious. They should be fine, Nesta was getting close, he could tell by the way she was whimpering quietly and squeezing his cock. But as long as she didn’t bounce, they’d be-.

She reached back and he felt her cup his balls and he couldn’t stop the thrust he slammed up into her or the hiss that left him.

Nesta cried out and he immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her to him. He didn’t look over to the couple, he knew they’d be staring, so instead, he buried his face in her shoulder. He was hoping to make them so uncomfortable that they’d leave, and just a minute, later he heard the gate opening again.

As one they turned, finding the pool empty again and Cassian pinned Nesta’s hands to her sides before she could do anything. He slowly pulled out and pushed back into her, breathing “Let’s discuss the fantasies before we act on them next time, yeah?”

A little smirk appeared on her lips. “But what fun would that be?” 

His laughter was quiet as he thrust himself up into her. Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting. 

“At least then I’d know what I’m getting myself into,” he muttered.

“Is that a complaint?” She asked, breathlessly.

“Absolutely not,” he whispered. “You’ll never hear a complaint from me.”

The bouncing began, Nesta holding onto his shoulders, him holding onto her ass. Cassian’s head fell back against the concrete, his eyes falling shut.

It didn’t take long for the whimpers she’d been fighting earlier to become full-on moans and groans now and he was so thankful the couple had left as he lifted Nesta and pulled her nipple between his teeth.

She hissed through her teeth. “You can’t properly fuck me out here,” she whined.

“Should have thought of that before you jumped on my cock,” he said, face between her breasts.

“Your apartment is twenty yards away,” she groaned. “Pull your cock out of me, wrap it in a towel, run upstairs and then fuck me against your kitchen counter.” She tried to stand, but his hands held her down.

He smirked. “Is that another fantasy?”

“Not getting arrested for indecent exposure when when they come back is,” she said, pushing against his shoulders.

“You’re talking like we’re teachers or something,” Cassian grinned, then it faltered, as he was second guessing himself. “Fine. But when we get to my apartment, all rules are out the window.”

Nesta’s grin was devious when she whispered, “Fine.”

She settled down on him all the same, nestling in as low as she could go. Her eyes were wide, not batting for a second as she eyed Cassian. “Take me upstairs, then.”

“Okay,” Cassian breathed, his hands still resting on her hips as she rocked, back and forth. 

A moment passed before Nesta whispered. “We’re alone.”

“Yeah,” Cassian breathed. “We are.”

Nesta groaned and finally stood, quickly grabbing one of the towels and wrapping it around herself, as well as her wine and hurried towards his apartment. He chuckled and did the same, remembering to grab their swimsuits, and when he entered the apartment, indeed finding Nesta lying back on his counter with her legs spread, he locked the door and continued fulfilling any and every of Nesta’s fantasies she would share with him.

~~~~~

Azriel had already closed up his shop for the day. The front door was locked, the open sign had been turned around, and it was only him and Elain, who was sitting in the chair at his station, watching as he finished prepping.

“You look nervous,” he said, glancing up at her through his dark lashes as he put on his black, latex gloves. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m...not.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He asked her to unlock her tablet and one last time, they looked at the tattoo she’d fallen in love with all those weeks ago. “So we want the flowers and the pearls, but no watch? Right?”

Elain looked down at the stencil on her shoulder. She ran her finger along the curve of her arm, of the fall down to the upper arm. “Yeah, but shouldn’t it come down lower?”

He smirked. “What did I say about biting off more than you can chew?”

She blushed as she remembered his words in bed that morning. “I’m not,” she murmured. “I just know I want it on my shoulder and my arm.”

He pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder, beneath where the stencil ended, and said, “Next session, baby.”

She sighed and nodded, sitting back and staring at her shop across the street. Elain heard a couple of loud buzzes and then Azriel’s gloved hand settled on her shoulder. She glanced up at him and tried her hardest to look brave.

When he snorted and asked, “Ready?” She knew she’d failed but she nodded none then less.

She gasped when the needle touched her skin, and her cringing was so evident that Azriel asked You okay? every thirty seconds. After about half an hour or so, though, her shoulder was numb, and she was finally able to relax.

She watched him as he worked. She could tell he took pride in what he did, and he was amazing at it. His brows were furrowed, the lines of his face hard as he concentrated. Every now and then he would look up at her, just to give her a little smile, before getting back to work. 

“Will your sisters be surprised?” He asked.

“Probably,” she confessed. “I’ve never exactly been the type to do such a thing. I was talking to Lucien on the way here and he wouldn’t stop asking me if I was serious.”

Azriel chuckled and they fell into a comfortable silence, Azriel’s music playing on his phone behind them. Every now and then, one of them would ask a question and after a couple hours, Azriel was handing her a mirror. “What do you think?”

Elain pulled the strap of her camisole out of the way, though it had been pushed to the side the whole time. “Oh, that’s weird,” she breathed.

Azriel chuckled and asked, “Good weird or bad weird?”

She tilted her head to the side and said, “I like it. How does it look?”

Shaking his head, he began to clean up and said, “I’m a bit partial, but I think it’s one of the best pieces I’ve ever done.” He snapped a few pictures before carefully wrapping it.

“I’ve got a tattoo,” Elain breathed, standing and walking towards the full length mirror hung on the wall.

“You do,” he smiled, coming up behind her and wrapping an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her neck, on the side that wasn’t throbbing currently. “You look pretty damn sexy if you ask me.”

“Is that so?” She asked, smiling faintly at their reflection. 

He nodded, his kisses trailing down her shoulder. “It suits you.”

She turned to him, her hands sneaking behind his neck. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he whispered, and kissed her, softly. “Let me shut everything down and we can grab a bite to eat?”

“Can it wait five more minutes?” She asked, pressing her body up into his.

His grin was radiant as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and took her to his desk in the back where he plopped down in his spinning chair and kissed her, slowly, sweetly.

He took a hell of a lot longer than five minutes.

_____

As Rhys and Feyre we’re pulling up in front Elain’s house, Nesta was climbing out of Cassian’s truck. He walked around to the passenger side and waited with her, talking quietly until the other two reached them.

“I know that we’re the least likely daughters he’d explain things to,” Nesta mused, “but do you have any idea why we’re having a good, old fashioned, family dinner tonight?” She quoted the text Isaac had sent to his daughters, asking them to meet him at Elain’s and to bring their significant others, if they had one.

“I have no idea,” Feyre mumbled, as they began to walk towards the door. “But Elain texted me twenty minutes ago. Az had to bring Asher, Ianthe dropped him on her last minute.”

“Dad’ll have a field day with that,” Nesta muttered, as she walked up the porch with Cassian, the others just behind them. She didn’t bother knocking as she pushed open the door, falling into the living room, where Azriel was lying on the floor, talking to a babbling Asher. He looked up as they all entered and slipped off their shoes. 

“Hey. Elain’s in the kitche-.”

“It’s about time!” Isaac swept into the room, cutting off Azriel’s greeting. He went to Nesta and gave her a hug, then Feyre, both of whom stood there half frozen. They definitely noticed that Isaac completely ignored Azriel, and when he caught sight of Cassian, Isaac’s head cocked to the side. 

“You work with my daughter,” he said, plainly.

“I do,” Cassian said, holding out his hand. “I’m Cassian.” 

Isaac slowly looked down at Cassian’s hand and blinked, dismissing it completely. “And you must be Rice?”

Feyre’s eyes slipped shut and she sighed as he said, “Rhysand, actually, but most people call me Rhys.”

Nesta was already walking away from the door, heading straight for the kitchen, though for Elain or the wine he knew was chilling in the fridge, Cassian wasn’t sure. He sidestepped Rhys, clapping a hand on his shoulder as passed and headed for the living room.

Asher turned at the incoming steps and his face lit up as he beheld Cassian. “There’s my favorite little dude,” he crooned, picking him up and holding him against his chest. Asher continued to babble as he patted his chubby hand against Cassian’s face. He turned and reached toward Azriel, before turning back to Cassian, babbling some more. Cass raised an eyebrow and said, “Pretty sure he almost just said dada.”

Azriel nodded and stood, bending over to brush the fuzz and lint from his black jeans. “Yeah, we’ve been teetering right on the edge for about a week.” He stood and walked over to where Cass held Asher and said,“It’s okay though, because you know what he won’t say?” He looked at Asher, and in baby talk, said, “Ash, say dada.” The baby babbled excitedly, but couldn’t quite put the two sounds together. Azriel smirked and said, in the same playful tone, “Can you say mama?” Asher stared up with his big, hazel eyes and blinked. Cassian snorted as Az took his son and tried once more, “Say mama, bud.”

Cassian chuckled and said, “You get way too much joy out of that.”

“Nah,” Azriel shrugged. “I get just enough.”

“What is that?!”

Cassian’s head turned to the kitchen, to Nesta’s elevated voice. Azriel picked up the beer bottle sitting on the side table and said, “Well, I guess Nesta’s seen Elain’s tattoo now,” and put it to his lips.

Cassian lifted a brow as Feyre hurried into the kitchen, Rhysand joining them in the living room. “Elain got a tattoo?”

Rhysand halted. “Seriously?”

Azriel grinned as Asher grabbed onto his nosering. “Ow.” After gently removing his infant’s fingers from his jewelry, he said, “Yeah, gave it to her last night.” 

A throat was cleared and all three men turned around, where Isaac stood, watching them. “You did that to my daughter?”

Azriel hesitated. “Yes. I’m a tattoo artist.” 

There was a few seconds of silence as Isaac looked at Azriel’s arms, his hands, his neck, all covered in ink, and then he said, “Of course, you are.” 

Rhysand’s eyes met Cassian’s, then to their own skin, which bore nearly identical markings to Azriel’s. And rightfully so, seeing as his own scarred hands had done all of the work on Cassian and Rhys and most of his own.

Azriel was going to let it go, was going to keep the peace for Elain’s sake, just like he’d done when Rhys had called him on the way home last night. But he couldn’t do that.

Clearing his throat, Rhysand asked, “I’m sorry, but what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Azriel’s voice was quiet, but the hard warning was there. “Rhys.” Drop it.

Isaac scoffed, gesturing to him. “I don’t think it needs explaining.”

“I think it definitely does,” he said.

Azriel tried once more. “Rhys.” Let. It. Go.

The older man looked around the room at the three of them, made a decision and said, “The tattoos, the piercings, he’s a single father, and a tattoo artist? Because that’s what a man dreams of for his daughter one day.”

“Listen, you can dislike the way he looks without being a dick,” Cassian began carefully.

Isaac turned to him, and he knew immediately where Nesta’s short fuse had come from. “Oh, this is coming from the one who apparently has sex with my daughter at her - and your - place is employment?”

Cassian really wanted to make a joke about listing all the places he’d had sex with Isaac’s daughter, but decided the list was too long. Instead, he smirked and said, “If that’s the reason you hate me, that’s fine. But calling me out like that isn’t going to rile me up. Good try.”

Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but then Elain was calling from the kitchen, “Food’s ready! Everyone in the dining room!” 

The men all stared at each other for another moment, the silence stretching on, but then Asher started fussing. 

“Excuse me,” Azriel muttered, before hurrying into the kitchen to make Asher a bottle while the others went into the dining room, where the three sisters were piling dishes filled with food on top of the gray tablecloth. 

The tension must have been clear, because all of their smiles faded. 

“What’s wrong?” Elain asked. “Where’s Az?” 

“Kitchen,” Rhysand mumbled, looking down at his empty plate as he sat. “Asher’s hungry.” 

She nodded, looking at each of them, before backing into the kitchen.

She found him stirring up the contents of the baby food as Asher sat in his chair, holding his bottle, as he drank from it. He was gazing at Elain as she walked closer.

“Hey,” she breathed, running her fingers first through Azriel’s dark shaggy hair and then Asher’s. “What’s wrong?”

Azriel shook his head, taking the bottle from Asher’s chubby hands and holding the spoon in front of his mouth. He took a tentative bite and shook his head, reaching for the bottle that was sitting off to the side. “Sorry, Ash, I know you hate them, but you gotta eat them.”“Here, let me,” she said, sitting next to him and smiling. She held her hand out for the spoon.Az glanced from her waiting hand to her face and then back to Asher. “It’s fine, baby. Go eat with your family.”Elain could still see the look on his face, she could still tell something was wrong. She tried to make a joke. “Az, we both know I’m better at feeding your kid than you are.”He scoffed. “Great, he’ll think I’m a shitty, deadbeat dad, too. Add that to the list.”With a blink, Elain asked, “List? What are you talking about?”Azriel sighed and handed Elain the spoon. “Your dad is a dick,” he said, quietly, while Elain miraculously got Asher to eat his mashed peas.She sighed, refusing to meet Azriel’s gaze. “I knew it. He said something to you, didn’t he?” Azriel didn’t answer, and Asher was oblivious to the tension as he blew a raspberry, spewing peas down his chin. Elain looked over at him.“He talks without thinking,” Elain said. “And he’s judgmental. It won’t be a long night, okay? But, he seemed excited about this dinner-.”“He hates me,” Azriel interrupted. “He hates all of us. You should’ve seen the look of utter disgust when he found out I’m a tattoo artist. Then, of course, Rhys had to say something, and then Cassian got in trouble for fucking Nesta at work-.”“What?” Elain asked, trying to follow what he was saying as she wiped the food off of Asher’s chin. Just as Azriel was about to go on, Nesta peeked her head around the corner. “You two coming? It’s awkward, and we’d really love to shove our mouth’s with food so we have something to do aside from sit in silence.” 

Elain nodded. “We’re coming.” She turned back to Azriel as Nesta disappeared. “Az-.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed, taking Asher out of his seat and holding him close to his chest with one arm, the other picking up the chair. “Carry his food for me, please?”

She wanted to talk it out, to ease his worry, lift his mood, but she only nodded.

Elain followed behind him, trying to listen into the conversation coming from the dining room. Only to realize there was, indeed, nothing but silence.

Azriel saw that the only seats open were to Isaac’s immediate right, which meant Asher would have to sit between the two of them. Or so he thought.

Elain stepped around him and took his son, re-situating the chairs so Asher’s high chair could fit snugly between their own chairs, as long as Elain sat next to her father.

Cassian cleared his throat. “El, that tattoo looks badass.”

Nesta and Azriel both closed their eyes and sighed, knowing Cassian always had to poke when he knew he shouldn’t. Rhys was smirking.

Elain’s cheeks turned the softest shade of pink. “Thanks.”

“I, personally, think you’re too pretty for tattoos,” Isaac said, plopping potatoes onto his plate. 

“Pretty girls don’t usually get tattoos?” Cassian asked, taking a bite of chicken. 

“No,” Isaac answered, simply. 

“Can we just,” Nesta began, angrily cutting up her chicken, “eat in silence?”

“Family dinners aren’t meant to be silent,” Isaac said, shaking his head. “Besides, your friend there has a big mouth. I doubt he knows how  to be silent..”

Cassian only grinned. 

“That’s true,” Nesta muttered. 

“So,” Feyre began. “How long are you in town for, dad?”

“Not long,” he said. “A month or two, maybe. It all depends.”

Rhys muttered something about leaving as soon as possible under his breath and Feyre stepped on his foot under the table.

Asher began to fuss and before Azriel could put his fork down to do anything, Elain was handing him his bottle. “Here, buddy. You can handle that while we eat, right?” He grinned up at her, chewing on the nipple of the bottle as he cooed.

Azriel couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he watched her lovingly gaze at his son.

“So, Azriel,” Isaac began. Az glanced up at him, honestly surprised he knew his name. “I can only assume his mother isn’t in the picture.”

Azriel took a swig of his beer and said, “No, sir, she isn’t.”

“Might I ask why?” He asked.

The table grew uncomfortably quiet, but Azriel just nodded, slowly. “We just...didn’t fit together.”

Isaac watched Azriel for a moment as the rest of the table picked at their food. “How long were you with his mother?”

Azriel cleared his throat. “Um, not...long.”

“Ah,” Isaac began, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork. “So, you knocked up some random, poor girl then?”

“Dad,” Elain snapped.

“No, it’s fine,” Azriel said, quietly, although his hands were clenched into fists on his lap. “Yes, I made a mistake, and she got pregnant. I don’t regret it or find shame in it, though. Asher’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Hmmm.” Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “I assume you don’t get to spend a lot of time with him.”

It wasn’t necessarily his words, but the way he had said them.

Elain’s face was in her hands.

Azriel’s words were hard as he said, “No, sir, I don’t. But I take advantage of every spare moment I get with him.”

Isaac opened his mouth to say something else, but Feyre said, “That’s enough, Dad.” He turned to look at his youngest daughter. “We came here to all have a nice family meal, but all you’ve done is...harass our boyfriends and make them feel extremely unwelcome.”

The smug look on Rhysand’s face, his arm draped around Feyre’s shoulders. It infuriated him.

Isaac slowly set down his fork. “I’m just making sure my daughters are well taken care of.”

“Oh, they are,” Cassian said, unable to stop the words as they flowed out of his mouth, unable to stop the sensual tone that went along with it.

Nesta jabbed him in the ribs. “You’re no help.” 

“We’re grown women, dad,” Feyre said, ignoring both comments from across the table. “We can take care of ourselves and make our own decisions.” 

“Is that so?” Isaac said. “Because last time I was here you were dating Tamlin, who was incredibly successful, if I may add, and you two were planning a future together. Now? You’re dating this…” He gestured to Rhysand, who only lifted a brow. “Bar-owner covered in tattoos who thinks far too highly of himself. Nesta is with that manwhore, and Elain…” He shook his head, looking over at his middle daughter. “A single dad? Tattoo artist? You’re getting tattoos! You, Elain! Is this really the best you can do? What happened to Graysen, huh? Clean-cut, well-educated, making six figures!”

Azriel’s body tensed as the room fell into silence. For a moment, nobody said a word. Then, with shaking hands and in a tone he’d never heard from her, Elain said, “You cannot come into my house and say-.”

Isaac began to cough, cutting off her words, and then it became uncontrollable, that cough. His hand gripped the edge of the table, the other pulling the napkin off his lap and holding it up to his mouth.

“Dad?” Elain breathed, her eyes going wide as the napkin became splattered with blood.

Seconds passed as Isaac tried to calm himself. Everyone was watching him, waiting, all anger and frustration and sarcasm fading away. 

“Dad?” Elain repeated, quietly. 

Isaac cleared his throat, crumbling the napkin in his hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure when a good time to tell you all was, but I guess this is it.” He picked up his glass of water and took a sip before continuing, quietly. “I’m sick, girls. And they caught it too late.” 

The Neighbour [0.7]

Masterlist

The sun was high in the sky, bright and casting everything in a flattering golden light. The grass blades beneath Eva's body pricked at her fair skin and Remington's hair tickled her spine, the May heat was blazing but she was happy as she proofread her latest article.

Remington had his white heart-shaped sunglasses on, and Eva was sure he must've been asleep from how still he was. She broke her attention from her laptop and looked over her shoulder, stormy blue eyes gliding over the expanse of his torso and the many tattoos that were like a gallery to his world. A gallery that she had the pleasure of enjoying just for herself.

With a sharp intake, Remington stirred when he felt he was being watched. And when he saw Eva's delicate face looking back at him, he smiled back, face thick with sleep but he looked happy.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Just checking on you," she replied coyly, "You comfortable?"

"Yes I am. Had no idea you made such a good pillow," he grinned, to which Eva simpered amusedly, "How's your article coming?"

"Just proofing before I send it," she said.

"How much you getting for it?"

"Seven hundred and fifty bucks"

He gave a stirring whistle, settling down against her flank and closing his eyes, "Make that money, Eva,"

Eva was quiet as he nestled down again, but she kept her eyes fixated on his body. She admired the way the light bounced over the sunscreen-slick film on his skin, and how effortlessly pretty and cool Remington looked in contrast to the lush green grass beneath him. The tips of her fingers brushed at the cooler blades beneath her chest, fighting the urge to reach over and touch the ink on his bicep.

And just like that, a new poem jingled in her brain and sprinted to her fingertips. The poem was drafted in minutes, and as Eva read it over and over to herself she was at a loss as to whether she should publish it to her blog. She knew Remington had looked at her poetry, and she wondered what he would think if she posted a piece about him. Or what his fans would think if they happened to find her blog. Would people even know it was about him?

Nevertheless, she took another glance at his rising and falling chest. In her lens she looked at him like a muse, a piece of art that she wanted to record and worship with her words. And that feeling made her nervous.

... But it also had her simmering with excitement.

"You're still staring at me," he suddenly said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Eva rolled her eyes, though a sheepish grin spread across her own lips as she pushed her laptop across the grass, "Let me up,"

Remington's eyes snapped open again as he lifted his head so Eva could get to her feet, "You alright?" he asked.

"I'm just gonna' get something drink. You want anything?" she replied.

"I'm good," he threw his hands behind his head as he laid back down in the grass, "I'll guard your computer for you,"

Eva chuckled, "You're so brave,"

"Aren't I?"

Eva slipped her tank back over her bikini top, rubbing at the hot spot where Remington's hair had prickled over her skin. Her hand seemed to shake as she pulled back the glass sliding door, quickly slipping inside and finding Emerson sat on the couch with his notebook and variety of charcoals. Pepper was sleeping at his feet, but she perked up and tried to crawl to the top of the couch when she heard Eva's footsteps.

Emerson turned to his neighbour, "You okay, Eva?"

"Yeah," the small brunette replied, "Could I grab some water?"

"Of course," he smiled, "You know where the glasses are,"

"Thanks," she grabbed herself a glass of cold water and headed back for the door, stopping when she peaked over Emerson's shoulder and gazed in awe at the gothic victorian architecture covering two full pages in his journal, "That's so sick,"

"Thanks," he replied happily, "Did Remington tell you about our graphic novel?"

"He did. Did you illustrate everything?" she asked incredulously.

Emerson shrugged sheepishly, "I had a lot of help. I'll let you read the first copy that comes out, if you'd want"

"That would be awesome,"

It was then an idea stirred in the back of Emerson's head, "Do you write any fictional stuff?"

Eva shrugged, debating whether she should bring up her fanfiction hobby, "... I've dabbled,"

Emerson smiled, "Well, I'm planning to make these into a series. When we start drafting the next volume, would you want to work on it with us?"

Eva's heart nearly leapt into her throat, "You serious?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, "It's always more fun working with friends, anyway,"

Eva's face flushed, "Emerson, I'm honoured! I'd love to work with you guys,"

Over in the backyard, Remington shifted and sat up from his nap. He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the sudden influx of light, then focusing in on the shadowy silhouette of Eva and Emerson in the house. He watched her smile, and the hand that wasn't holding a water glass came to rest on her chest. He wondered what they were talking about: probably art, the pandemic, the album party that was coming up this week.

Or was it possible that they were talking about him?

Remington took a glance at her macbook, the screen having just fell asleep. Curiosity got the better of Remington, he wondered why Eva kept glancing at him between her writing. He checked again and Emerson and Eva were still having their conversation, and Remington reached over and tapped the touchpad, bringing the laptop back to life. Eva's main page was her article about dog fighting and the people who ran these gambling rings, but Remington clicked on the open Tumblr tab. A draft of a new poem stared back at him, and before he knew what he was doing he was reading it word-for-word.

"You sleep soundly, protected by the company of

snakes, angels, and demons.

They guard your organs, flesh, and muscles.

Without moving eyes they watch the world pass you by

While you're none the wiser, drunk on beer and sunstroke.

The breath that leaves you fans over a crest of regality, valiance,

The summer grass tries to scratch away the frowns of the skulls on your arms,

You've come too far to continue to be sad.

At least, that's the impression I get.

I like your homage to the illuminati: that little triangle below your intestine

forever searches for lies and enlightenment.

Or maybe you just decided that it looked cool?

And I love that angel, clinging to your spine as you dive into the four corners of hell

Yet it drags you back to the surface, reminding you of the better qualities you have

that overshadow the bad ones.

Your body is a gallery, and I've bought myself a ticket.

I only planned to take the basic tour, a brief introduct --"

Remington quickly clicked back to Eva's article when he heard the door sliding open again, but Eva had caught him snooping. She looked down at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her standing figure blocking out the searing sun.

Remington glanced back at the screen, "Reading about the bastards who exploit defenseless animals and force them into fighting for monetary gain," he replied quickly, "Very profound work,"

Eva had the mind to know he was spouting straight bullshit, but she didn't press on, "Thank you," she set down her water glass and started to pull off her shorts.

"Your thirst quenched?" he asked.

"Yes, and now I'm going to go for a swim," she smiled, "You're more than welcome to join me,"

Remington sat back as her tank top fell to the ground, revealing the small flower tattoo on her ribs peeking out from the band of her bikini. Eva stood at the edge of the pool, shook out her hair, and dived head first into the crystalline water. Remington smiled to himself as he stood up, his heart thrumming as fast as a hummingbird could bat its wings when as the words he read fluttered behind his eyes.

She was writing a poem about him.

Eva emerged from the water just as Remington took a running start, and without warning, cannonballing into the water beside her. As she wiped the water from her eyes more had splashed over her head. Remington broke out of the water seconds later, laughing when he saw the scowl on Eva's face.

"You're so fucking chaotic!"

"You love me,"

The album was to drop this Thursday at midnight, and they were going to stream and celebrate its release at Sebastian's place with a party. A small party, with Daniel, Andrew, their mom, and their girlfriends.

And of course, Eva had been invited.

Remington assured her it was just going to a small casual affair, and all she needed to bring was her "gorgeous smile". Those were the words he used. Nevertheless, Eva had a constant flutter in the pit of her stomach as Thursday neared; annoyed because no matter what she pulled out of her closet she seemed to have nothing to wear, and popping advil because her period decided to pay her an early visit the morning of the party.

Remington continued to check Eva's Tumblr and Instagram pages now and again, wondering if she had posted the rest of that poem. He felt a little guilty about snooping, and he wondered what her reaction would be if she knew he had looked. Or perhaps she already knew that he had and she was only letting it slide because she didn't want to talk about it. And as he stood in the shower on the morning of the party, not snapping out of his thoughts until Emerson banged on the door loudly for his turn, Remington began to realize he wanted Eva so much more than he should have for a friend.

Pluto lay diligently at the foot of Eva's bed while she worked, wearing a face mask to hopefully keep her period acne at bay. She read through her most recent poems, a shiver crawling up her spine every time she read them. It was scary because within the last few days, she realized Remington had become the muse she examined and picked apart in her pieces. It wasn't that she hadn't written about boys before, she had, but they didn't elicit the same excitement Remington did when he touched her; or when he was even near her.

In the two and some months she had come to know him, Eva's world had grown so small and yet exploded so suddenly in such little time. Remington was a firecracker of wild colors that splattered across the folds of her brain and drew her into him like a moth to the light. She wanted to watch him move, work, and no matter what she wanted to make him smile. After listening to his music, she knew how badly he needed to be happy. And there was a part of her that wondered what it would be like; how would he be with her if they started a relationship? What's it like dating a rockstar? She imagined the day-to-day wouldn't be very different from how they were now: great friends just one step further on the scale of intimacy.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted it. She wanted him.

✧✧✧

Remington's tongue tingled as he approached the complex courtyard in the late evening, his gaze flying to her balcony to hopefully get a small glimpse of Eva. He smashed the call button for her apartment and waited for her sweet voice to pick up.

"Yellow!" she answered happily.

"It's your friendly neighbourhood psychopath," Remington smiled as he spoke into the speaker.

Eva chuckled, "Come on up! I got the door open,"

The front door clicked and Remington slipped inside, his mask over his face as he waved to the landlord who was too nose deep in his newspaper to give a damn about him.

He pulled his mask down and knocked first before entering Eva's apartment, first being greeted by Pluto who leapt out of his bed and began to rub himself against his pant leg. Remington scooped him up in his arms.

"It's good to see you too, buddy!" he cooed at the cat, "Are you coming to the party with us? Maybe if we ask nicely your mom will take you?"

Remington's attention diverted from Pluto when he heard Eva walk in from behind. Turning around, any words he had were suddenly stuck in his throat when his eyes fell over her. Just when Remington thought she couldn't look any more gorgeous, she blew all his expectations out of the water in a body-hugging black, white, and red plaid dress, white sandals on her feet and her short hair loose and wavy. She only had on mascara and some eyeliner, but in his opinion, Eva didn't need any more than that.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Her smile faltered when Remington hadn't said a word, not even a hello, "... You're looking at me weird," she said, bordering on panic as she glanced at her dress, "Do I look weird? 'Cause I can go change --"

Remington quickly snapped out of it, "N-No! You're fucking gorgeous," he gaped, "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare like that --"

"No, it's okay," she assured him, smiling sheepishly as her heart skipped a beat, "You look really good, too. Yellow suits you nicely,"

Remington chuckled, continuing to cradle Pluto as he glanced at his pants, "See -- me and Emerson got into a debate. I say they're yellow, he think they're lime,"

Eva shrugged, "Regardless, they're on the citrus spectrum," she grinned, going to grab her purse, "Are you sure I can't bring anything? Like a bottle of wine, or --"

"Nope! Seb's got all the alcohol we'll need," he replied, "You can bring Pluto if you want, though. Emerson's gonna' bring Pepper,"

"He's better off here where I know he'll be safe. Over there, I'll constantly be worried if he's trying to tear up the carpet or... or eating another shoe," Eva shook her head.

Remington shrugged as he set Pluto down, "Just as well, I don't think he and Pepper like each other," he said.

"Oh really? What gave that away?" Eva asked in mock disbelief, "The constant hissing, the yapping, the growling? The cat's staying here,"

"Sorry bud, I tried," he said to Pluto. The tabby spun his tail before striding off back to his bed.

Eva took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, "He'll be fine," she sighed.

Remington cocked his head, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "It's that time of the fucking month again and my stomach does not like me,"

He swallowed with uncertainty, "... It's just a period thing, right? You're not losing taste or smell or anything, right?"

"No, it's just a period thing," she assured him, "I'll be fine. I feel like shit, but I just need some fresh air and some good music,"

"Lucky for you, I can provide all of those things. And just to reiterate, you look fantastic," he said.

"You're sweet," she smiled, slinging her denim jacket on and clutching her purse, "Shall we?"

"We shall," Remington quickly held the door open for her, "After you, my lady,"

"Why thank you, kind sir,"

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth. 

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool. 

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there. 

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships. 

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom. 

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration. 

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.” 

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point. 

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin. 

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up. 

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go. 

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

~~

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him. 

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees. 

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them. 

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch. 

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter. 

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

 “Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself. 

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls. 

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner. 

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” 

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head. 

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons. 

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool. 

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?” 

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did. 

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?” 

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist. 

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup. 

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet. 

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell. 

~~

 The first text came the next afternoon. 

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send. 

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again. 

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’ 

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back. 

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy. 

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand. 

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

 If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart. 

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time. 

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little. 

Lost In Your Eyes: Heechul x Reader

Genre: high school au;  i’m a believer in fluffy endings, but there are some kind of deep issues explored in this work. namely, beauty standards. 

Word Count: 10k (this is actually my longest drabble!)

Tracklist: “Lost In Your Eyes” by Debbie Gibson & “I Think We’re Alone Now” by Tiffany (bc your girl is 80s pop trash)

Note: y’all why do I have no self control when it comes to Heechul? this was literally just supposed to be a short piece based on a dream I had & it became a novella lol. honestly, I could have kept writing this forever & I could definitely be convinced to revisit this story’s universe!

fyi: to explore the themes of this story, the reader character is of Korean and Hispanic heritage. 

You almost made it through high school without attracting a single boy. While you didn’t rejoice in that fact, you certainly weren’t losing sleep because the high school boys didn’t fawn over your naturally curly hair and eternally bronzed skin. Long ago, you had accepted that you did not fit their standard of beauty; you never would. 

“There are far more important things than boys,” your father said often— whenever he found time to look up from the books that detailed the financial records of the Korean-Mexican restaurant he operated with your mother. 

You believed him just as much as you believed your mother when she patted your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your cheek, saying, “You’re beautiful, baby.” 

And yet, when your father hired him to work as a host and server so you could focus on studying for the upcoming graduation exams, you wondered if he would look at you if you resembled the girl on the cover of the magazine you read while stuffing your mouth full of rice. 

His name was Heechul— or so you gathered from your father’s praises of his salesmanship and the excited chatter of girls who visited the restaurant, clad in tiny shorts and bikini tops, just to get a look at him. 

“Come on now, ladies.” He would wink at the girls when they delayed in placing an order as long as possible in an effort to admire him for as long as possible without having to pay for food they didn’t care to eat. “You’ll order something, won’t you? Every penny you spend here goes toward my dream of buying a new motorcycle. Maybe if you help me enough, I’ll take you for a ride.” 

Heechul’s dream changed every day. Sometimes, he dreamed of buying a new motorcycle, sometimes a new car, sometimes a new guitar or a new drum set (that he would use to write a song especially for whoever bought the most food). The girls never noticed that he never held a dream for long; they were all too happy to be a part of his fantasy of the day. 

You couldn’t blame them for leaning into his every word. Aside from the fact that he was beautiful— his sleek shoulder-length black hair often falling from its ponytail to frame his face— Heechul crafted his sentences carefully. They probably didn’t recognize his wit. How could they even notice it when they were lost in his eyes or enchanted by his smile? 

You could appreciate Heechul’s cleverness at first, though, because you only heard his punchlines while reviewing a practice test or while penning your answers to a magazine quiz to learn which K-Pop idol would totally fall for you. Heechul didn’t look at you, so you couldn’t get lost in his eyes. He didn’t smile at you, and yet you were very much enchanted by him long before he sat in the seat across from you in the corner booth. 

“Hey.” His eyes met yours over the top of the magazine. Tapping his index finger against the cover, he asked, “Is this nonsense really more important than your studies, Y/N?”

Burning with the question, “How does he know my name?” you dropped the magazine onto the table and closed it over your open textbooks. Heechul pointed again to the neon decal advertising, “Want porcelain skin like your crush’s ideal type? Try these 5 tricks!”

“No.” You shook your head. “That’s not important to me at all. I was reading about this.” With your pink highlighter, you circled the text: “How to tell him you’re not interested.” 

Heechul’s face flushed pink when he met your gaze, and once he recognized the teasing smile spreading across your face, he laughed. That high pitched scream of a laugh didn’t seem like it should have come from such a delicately pretty face, but it did; it turned heads, and the stares deepened your own laughter. 

“Careful there,” he warned, expression suddenly grave. “You almost had me convinced that you weren’t interested in my attention.” 

When you shrugged, feigning disinterest, and dropped your gaze back to the magazine as you flipped through its pages, Heechul yelped, “Hey! If you’re going to neglect your studies, at least pay attention to me!”

He snatched your magazine and fanned himself with it so the hair that escaped his ponytail blew in the breeze. He smirked at your glare— apparently of the belief that all attention is good attention— and you realized that Heechul wasn’t talking to you because of any genuine interest. He just couldn’t live knowing that he hadn’t stared into the eyes of every girl who entered the restaurant. 

You had been content with being just another girl who admired Heechul, but you didn’t want to be another girl who inflated his ego. You didn’t want to be another girl who felt special just because he glanced your way. 

Frowning at the realization that you couldn’t like him anymore— and you really enjoyed having such a harmless crush before he ruined it— you asked, “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Heechul retorted, “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

Hoping to drive him away by refusing him any attention you agreed, “You’re right,” before grabbing a pencil and reading through the instructions of the next practice test. 

Heechul groaned at the lack of admiration and jumped out of the booth. “Right. So you don’t get distracted again, young lady—” he couldn’t have been more than a year or two older, so you rolled your eyes at his condescending language— “I’ll be confiscating this.” He flashed his glittering teeth when you watched him tauntingly lift the magazine higher and higher out of your reach. 

“Give that back, Heechul!” You hissed as you stood in your seat to reach for the magazine. It hadn’t cost much, and you weren’t all that interested in it, but that wasn’t the point. 

Who was he to make you feel small— first figuratively with his games and then literally by holding your property over your head? He couldn’t get away with being annoying just because he was gorgeous. 

Except he could. His behavior had probably been excused every day of his life on account of his appearance. And he probably never paused to consider how his actions— how flaunting his good looks— impacted others. 

“Oh, so you do know my name!” Heechul jumped as you tried to grab at the magazine. “It actually sounds better than usual when you say it. Do it again!”

Your fingers caught the cover, but Heechul wouldn’t loosen his grip around the pages, so when you pulled, the staples binding the magazine together snapped. Brightly colored pages depicting celebrities’s faces, detailing fashion advice, and instructing teen girls in the art of appealing to boys scattered across the recently mopped floor. They were ruined. 

Heechul’s wide, guilty eyes met yours briefly before he set to gathering each page while muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

You would have accepted his apology if you weren’t crumbling under the stares of the customers, many of whom were young women who hated you for holding Heechul’s attention for a moment when you were clearly so unworthy— so unappreciative. Too embarrassed to speak, you slumped into your seat, crossed your arms over the table, and buried your face in the bend of your elbow. 

“I’m sorry,” Heechul repeated. Had you looked up, you would have seen how delicately he placed the poorly stacked pages on the table’s corner. You would have seen how he leaned forward, his face almost level with yours, to implore you to look at him so all could be forgiven. 

You didn’t look, though, because you didn’t want him to see your face scorched by a crimson blush. “Just throw the pages away, please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You doubted whether he could see that you nodded into your elbow, but when you looked up minutes later (after the waves of embarrassment subsided) the remnants of the magazine were gone along with every trace of Heechul. 

Of course, you hadn’t been foolish enough to think that you wouldn’t see Heechul again just because he had taken care to avoid your table for the rest of his shift. You knew that it was likely just a matter of time until he spoke to you again, but you hadn’t expected his next correspondence to come so soon through a note that you found on your table. 

After tossing your backpack into the booth, you read what he scrawled onto a sticky note likely grabbed from the host’s booth: “Sorry I ripped your magazine. Here’s a new one. And here’s my number if you want to call/text to cuss me out.” Carefully, you peeled the note off of the magazine and saw that Heechul used a red marker to circle a featured article titled “Five Ways To Say Sorry.”

It was silly: the fact that he had gone so far to apologize for ruining a cheap magazine filled with superficial thoughts you were supposed to hate and the fact that your heart raced just from reading his handwriting.

Unsure of how to reply to your cousin, you tossed your phone down on the table, rubbed the fatigue out of our eyes, and resumed your work. Sometimes, you thought, studying was less stressful than talking to AJ. 

You didn’t think anything about leaving your phone unlocked, screen facing upward, until Heechul settled into the seat across from you and declared, “I see my name!”

Your eyes flicked up to find him scrolling through the texts. When you reached for the phone, knots tying in your stomach as you wondered how much of your cousin’s insanity he had read and taken as truth, he held the phone out of your reach. 

“Apparently—” your face burned as you dared to look into his eyes— “you don’t learn from your mistakes. Does this scene look familiar to you at all?”

“I apologized!” Heechul reminded, and he probably would have clung to your phone longer if your father hadn’t appeared at your side. 

Clearing his throat, your father asked, “What is going on here?” His stern gaze wandered between you and Heechul. 

While you sank because disappointing your father was your deepest fear, Heechul responded promptly. Setting the phone down on the table, Heechul said, “I just came to check on Y/N’s progress. You know, I thought I could offer her some tips because I took the graduation exams just a couple of years ago, but I was never half as smart as she is.”

When Heechul glanced into your eyes, which were narrowed, confused by the sudden flattery, he smiled. “I guess I’m not much of a tutor, then.”

Mouth pressed into a thin line as a wrinkle darkened between his eyebrows, your father suggested, “I suppose that means you should get back to work, then.” It wasn’t a suggestion so much as an order. 

Heechul’s smile faltered. Your heart sank at the thought, and you realized that your heart had been swelling with the growth of his smile. You had been leaning across the table, subconsciously willing yourself closer to him. You were just like everybody else: enchanted by Heechul’s smile. 

Chewing on his lips as if embarrassed by your father’s reprimand, Heechul nodded. He tucked stray strands of hair behind his ears. “Yes, sir.” He dropped your phone— now locked, as evidenced by the darkened screen— atop your book and encouraged, “Keep up the good work,” before setting off to help your mother carry a tray piled high with enchiladas.

Your father then patted your shoulder and, after praising your hard work, reminded, “There are more important things than boys.” The twitch that moved his eyebrow when his icy eyes fell on Heechul from across the room was in stark contrast with his past boasts about the young college student who nearly doubled profits with his charisma. 

Had your father mistaken Heechul’s interest in you too? 

He wouldn’t walk away until you promised, “I know,” and proved your belief by fixing your stare on the math practice sheet when you really just wanted to watch Heechul laugh with your mother. 

Once satisfied that your father wasn’t watching— he was too busy talking to a longtime customer— you unlocked your phone to see that Heechul had sent a text.

Despite your cousin’s professed interest in visiting, you didn’t expect to look up from your studies to find her sitting across from you, smiling broadly as she twisted one of her long blonde curls. 

“AJ!” You would have smiled if your jaw hadn’t gone slack from the surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Okay, so here’s the official answer.” She tapped her French manicured nails on the shine black tabletop as her peach colored lips pulled more tightly into a bright grin. “It’s my spring break, and your mom paid for me to fly out here as a part of your birthday present!”

Your birthday? Surely you hadn’t forgotten.

When you scrambled through strewn papers to find your phone, you blinked at the date. It was your birthday— the one day of the year that was yours— and you hadn’t even realized until after wasting half of it studying in the corner booth of your parents’ restaurant.

“But unofficially,” AJ divulged, “I’m here on my quest for a baby daddy.” 

At that moment, Heechul decided to appear at the table. Wearing his apron and name tag, hair tied back as he held the pen in one hand and notepad in the other, he looked like a model employee except for the devilish smirk twisting the corner of his mouth when he asked, “Who needs a baby daddy?”

Your face flushed crimson, and he laughed when you mumbled, “Damn it, Heechul, why did you have to show up right this second?” Since he called you beautiful, you hadn’t been able to look at him without blushing; this topic deepened your embarrassment. 

Placing both hands on his hips and tilting his head at AJ, he asked, “How much will you pay me— to be your baby daddy?” 

Anyone else in the world would have melted at his wink, but AJ didn’t crack the smallest smile. She didn’t flatter him with the faintest blush. She only shook her head. “Sorry, sir—”

Heechul glared when you giggled at the word ‘sir,’ but he ultimately broke into his own laughter until AJ concluded, “But you don’t have the assets I’m looking for in a baby daddy.” 

As if you had been the one to offend him, Heechul gasped and looked to you for an explanation as he clutched his notepad over his chest. Rolling your eyes at his theatrics and AJ’s ideal type, you started, “She’s into buff—”

“I’ve heard enough!” Heechul decided, waving his hand dismissively as it fell from its place over his heart. “I didn’t come here to get insulted! I came to look at a beautiful girl—” He blew a kiss at you and delighted when you fixed your flustered gaze away from him— “and to take your drink order,” he said to AJ. 

“That won’t be necessary.” AJ laughed at your embarrassment with Heechul. “I was just about to drag Y/N off to the beach if you wanna tag along. Maybe we can talk her into wearing a bikini!”

Heechul’s eyes widened at AJ’s proposition, and you wondered, glaring at her, “How are you going to talk me into wearing something I don’t own?”

“We can go shopping!” AJ suggested enthusiastically. “I saw a cute little boutique on my walk over here! Let’s just swing by on our way to the beach!” Then, as if a lack of funds was the cause of your reluctance, she offered, “I’ll buy the bikini— just consider it a birthday gift from me to you!”

Heechul asked, “It’s your birthday?” and he frowned when you nodded. “Damn! Now I feel really terrible about turning you ladies down. I’m on the clock, ya know?” He gestured sadly to his work attire. 

Noting how your shoulders slumped, weighted by disappointment, AJ tried to make you laugh by joking, “Damn! Now how are we gonna assess your tiddie situation, Heechul?”

Again, as if you had spoken, Heechul scoffed at you. “Wow! I didn’t know you could be so bold!” He caught his tongue with his teeth as he smirked, his dimples deepening. “If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask.”

Winking, Heechul set his pen and notepad on the table, reached around his back to untie his apron, and he might have reached for the hem of his shirt (as AJ slapped her hands on the table, roaring with laughter, while you concealed your burning face with your hands, peeking at him through your fingers) had your mother not approached the table. 

“Oh, hi, ma’am.” Heechul bowed and donned a smile so sweet it made your teeth hurt. He waved both hands, and your mom mirrored the gesture. 

“Hi, Heechul! And hey, AJ— I’m glad to see you made it here safely!” Your mom’s forever smiling eyes landed on you as she asked AJ, “You’re still walking down to the beach with Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, if I can convince her to walk away from her work for just a few hours!” AJ huffed in exaggerated frustration because she knew that would appeal to your mom, who feared that you didn’t spend enough time doing ‘normal teenager things.’

You mom told you, “You can take a break at least for today.” 

Before you could argue that you weren’t reluctant to leave your work— you were just uncomfortable about having to wear a bikini— your mother set to closing your books and stacking your papers. “You can take the day off too, Heechul, so you can look after these girls. Make sure to have them back at the restaurant by 7 to have cake; you can stay for that, if you want.” 

The beach was less than a mile away from the restaurant, and you had never been in trouble a day in your life, so there was no rational reason for mom to send Heechul to escort you and AJ. Still, you didn’t point that out when Heechul nodded, promising, “I’ll keep them out of trouble, ma’am!”

Nobody could have kept AJ out of trouble, though. As soon as the three of you entered the boutique across the street from the restaurant, she abandoned you and Heechul to strike up a conversation with the boy running the cash register. 

While you rolled your eyes at her nerve, Heechul grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to the rack of bathing suits. “Guess that leaves us to shop alone.” He didn’t seem at all affected by AJ’s misplaced priorities. 

Heechul usually laughed at your blush, but his gaze softened when he noticed that you were staring down at your sandals. “Hey.” He nudged you until you looked up at him, and he smiled— a small closed mouth grin that wasn’t supposed to make your heart thunder— as he released your hand. 

“You don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to wear. See— here’s a modest one.” He plucked from the rack a striped black long sleeved bathing suit top matched with black shorts and held it out for your approval. 

You shook your head, and when Heechul looked at you with gathered eyebrows, you explained, “Horizontal stripes aren’t flattering on me.”

“What—” His tone was harsh until he remembered that he was trying to make your birthday happy. Swallowing his annoyance, Heechul forced a grin, returned the striped bathing suit, and reached for another. This one was a ruffled cotton-candy-pink one piece. 

“Ruffles exaggerate my curves.” You frowned as you picked at your nail beds. 

Heechul groaned, “Y/N, curves are good—” and he bit his tongue only when you cut your eyes at him, cheeks reddening. “Fine.” He slammed the hanger back on the rack and asked, “Where do you get all this stuff, anyway? Is it from those magazines—”

“It’s fashion advice,” you maintained, but Heechul continued to argue. 

“I don’t think it’s good for you to read things that tell you ‘You look bad in this, this, and that.’” 

Had the shop been busier, you might have been embarrassed by his volume. Maybe then, you still would have been too flattered by his rage on your behalf to care who overheard. 

Calmly, you explained, “They don’t just tell me what I look bad in. They also say what’s flattering for my body type.” 

Heechul rolled his eyes as he humored you by asking, “Well, what do the magazines say flatters you?”

You pointed to the polka dotted red one piece. Heechul grabbed it and ushered you into the dressing room in the back of the store. In another attempt to make you laugh, the tried to walk into the dressing room with you. 

He laughed— that high pitched cackle that drew everyone’s attention— as you snatched the bathing suit from his hands and pushed him out of the room, chuckling, “Nice try, Heechul.” 

Even after all his skepticism toward magazine advice, Heechul frowned when you walked out of the dressing room without modeling the bathing suit. 

“Patience, Heechul,” you urged as you rose to your tiptoes to pull the elastic that held his hair back. You had never seen him with his hair down before; he looked more beautiful this way. “You’ll see it at the beach.” 

He grumbled, “Whatever,” while raking his fingers through his hair. He smiled only when you absentmindedly slid his hair tie onto your wrist before skipping to meet AJ at the register. 

“Cute,” AJ cooed when you dropped the bathing suit onto the counter. “Very 1950s chic! Your almost-boyfriend has great taste!” You shoved her as she turned to wiggle her eyebrows and wave at Heechul. 

Heechul’s frown returned when AJ whipped her wallet out to purchase your bathing suit. 

“Hey!” His eyes spat fire. “I wanted to buy that!” Stepping by your side, he had also pulled his wallet from his work pants’ front pocket. He wore an indignant expression that clearly meant, “And I have every right to buy it! I helped her pick it out while you were sidetracked by your baby daddy quest!”

AJ mimicked his face, going so far as to stick her tongue out at him while adopting his whining tone. “Too bad! This was my idea first, so you’ll have to think of some other present for Y/N!”

While the cashier watched their exchange with raised eyebrows, you offered him an apologetic smile and tugged anxiously at one of your twin braids. “Guys, I’ll just buy it myself—”

“No!” Heechul and AJ shouted in unison, causing you and the cashier to jump and raise your hands in surrender. 

Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, Heechul grumbled, “It was AJ’s idea first, so whatever.” 

AJ stood triumphantly, beaming as she counted the money likely given to her by your Mom, and Heechul stood over by the door. He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pressed out into a pout. 

You couldn’t explain that his presence alone was a gift without sounding like a lovesick fool, so you smiled as you walked to his side and said, “We’ll need towels and sunscreen and stuff, right?”

Heechul blinked until he understood that you were offering him another way to financially contribute to the beach trip since, obviously, that was so important to him. He grabbed you around the shoulders and grinned as he instructed, “Wait here.” 

. . .  

“What was the point of buying a bathing suit,” AJ asked as she plopped onto the checkered blanket with you and Heechul, “if you’re just gonna sit here the whole time?”

You tossed a towel at her, kicking with your bare feet to drive her off of the corner of the blanket she was soaking with ocean water. “Why did you drag me to the beach for my birthday if you’re just gonna flirt with every guy on the beach?”

The red patches that rose over AJ’s cheeks were either the beginning stages of a sunburn or her first blush. “Well, forgive me for not wanting to interrupt you and Heechul.” 

At his name, Heechul propped himself up on his elbows and lowered his sunglasses to cock an eyebrow at AJ. “Excuse me? We aren’t doing anything. I am being a remarkably well behaved boy.”

“Right,” AJ said skeptically before rising to her feet and dropping the towel onto the blanket. “Well, I’m gonna go get ice cream. Might swim some more. I’m not sure yet. But you won’t see me again ’til it’s time to walk back to the restaurant.” 

You thought AJ was mad at you until she winked before prancing away. 

So that’s why she had been elusive all day: she didn’t want to be the third wheel. In her mind, this was a date that she had coordinated with your mom’s help. 

Heechul rolled onto his side. “You can go swimming if you want.” Lying like that, with one hand supporting his head and the other resting on his hip, clad only in his black slacks, you couldn’t bear to look at him. You fixed your gaze on the not-too-distant shoreline as he said, “I wouldn’t mind. It’s your birthday, and your cousin is visiting from across the world, so do what’s fun to you.”

It occurred to you that there was an imbalance between you and Heechul. While you had vaguely admitted your attraction to him as some kind of crush similar to one every girl developed when looking at him, he had been open about liking you. Liking someone is different from having a crush. Liking someone is different from thinking they’re pretty. 

The thing was, you did like Heechul. You couldn’t exactly explain why or when it started, but you figured you must have tripped some time during your first conversation. You must have fallen without realizing it until you looked up at him from your place on the ground. 

You hadn’t ever liked somebody before, so you didn’t know how these things worked. You didn’t know what marked the distinction between crush and love, but you knew that you liked Heechul, and you didn’t want to swim because he couldn't walk into the water wearing his work uniform. 

You knew, “I am having fun,” so you told him. 

Heechul didn’t tease you. He simply lowered his sunglasses again to look at you without the barrier— to check your expression for any signs of uncertainty or deceit. He handed the glasses to you, explaining, “You’re squinting. Here.” 

As you slid them onto your face, he crawled in front of you, sat with his back to you, and asked, “Do you know how to braid hair?”

“Yeah,” you answered, “but I don’t have a hair tie.” 

He advised, “Check your wrist,” and you saw that you were wearing one. 

Unable to remember where it came from or how Heechul noticed it, you set to combing through his hair with your fingers. “Do you want, like, a French braid, or—” 

“I don’t care.” Always a little too honest to believe, Heechul explained, “I just want you to touch me, okay? And not in, like, a pervy way, so stop blushing.”

It wasn’t so impressive that Heechul knew that you were blushing without watching your face burn; you were almost always turning red while talking to him. 

“Okay,” you agreed, playing with his hair without pausing for even a moment. Your movements didn’t falter until Heechul leaned back so that his back was flush with your chest. 

“What are you doing?” He whirled around when you pushed him away. His voice had been grating— irritated— until he noticed that the color had drained from your face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you or—”

Shaking your head, you explained, “My heart is racing. I didn’t want you to feel—”

Heechul gently grabbed your wrist and held your palm flat over his chest— bare and warm from the sun’s rays— so that you could feel it too: the rapid booming of his heart. Somehow, that made it okay. Somehow that made it right: the fact that he felt this way too. 

Once you nodded, Heechul returned to his position with his back against your chest. When you said, “I can’t braid your hair when you’re this close,” he repeated, “I don’t care,” and he reached for his phone. 

So he really did just want to be close to you. 

You sat there for a few minutes, gaze shifting from the clouds overhead to the shoreline to the children building sandcastles to the couples sitting on blankets in positions to yours and Heechul’s. You sat there for a few minutes, stiff and unsure of what you should do, unsure of what you were expected to do, uncomfortably aware of what you wanted to do. 

Finally, you gave in to your desires. You wrapped your arms around Heechul’s waist and hid your burning face in the scalding crook of his neck as you awaited his reaction. 

He gasped at the unexpected affection and dropped his phone. His hair tickled your nose and lips while he asked, “What are you doing?” For once, he was the surprised one. He was the breathless one. 

You replied, “I just want to touch you, okay? And not in a pervy way, so stop blushing.”

“Me?” His voice cracked as his arms grazed over yours. “I don’t blush.”

Hoping to call his bluff, you tried to raise your head, but he held you where you were, saying, “Don’t move. I want to stay like this for a while.”

“But Heechul,” you whined against his skin, “how am I supposed to kiss you from here?”

“Yah!” Heechul jumped out of your embrace and rounded on you again. He leaned forward on his knees, hands pressed down on the blanket on either side of your body, face just inches from yours. He couldn’t truthfully deny that his face was scarlet when he asked, “What’s gotten into you? Your cousin shows up, and suddenly you’re a shameless flirt?”

“Don’t blame AJ.” Somehow emboldened by Heechul’s blush, you accused, “It’s your fault that I’m acting like this.” 

“My fault?” His jaw dropped, and he shook his head. 

You nodded. “Yeah! You’re a terrible influence!”

“I resent that.” His growing smile suggested otherwise. His blush faded as he adapted to the situation; if you wanted to remain dominant, you would have to take action quickly. 

“Besides, Heechul—” you teasingly lowered the sunglasses he gave you so he could see your wink— “hasn’t anybody ever told you that you’re irresistible?”

It was quick— almost too quick for you to appreciate the cherry flavor of his barely chapped lips against yours— over in the blink of an eye, but you would never forget that first dizzying kiss. 

“Ah, damn it.” Heechul huffed when he backed away from you. His hair fell over his face, and he didn’t bother to move it (probably) because it acted as a curtain between his blush and your wide, curious eyes. “I’m supposed to prove myself worthy by waiting for you, and then I got all impatient like an idiot.”

At first, you thought that he was throwing a theatrical fit to lighten the mood— maybe he thought you were overwhelmed by the kiss— but then his shoulders slumped. He didn’t meet your eyes because he was focused on his balled fists. 

You tried to comfort him by acknowledging, “I went out of my way to tempt you,” but that only seemed to make matters worse.

“That’s no excuse. You clearly said that you don’t want to date, and—”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, annoyed by his efforts to dampen the moment, “but I didn’t know that sharing one sweet kiss means we have to get married next week.”

Heechul blinked and opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then he broke into a bashful grin. “Oh. Yeah, maybe I’m overthinking things.” When he moved to sit by your side, he was careful not to brush his hand against yours; evidently, he wasn’t done overthinking. 

A part of you— the part that forced your lips into a heavy frown— wondered how long things would be like this. How long would he, who never hesitated before, fear crossing the boundary you had drawn before trust was (somehow) established?

A part of you— the part that compelled you to toss the sunglasses into the beach tote so you could look at him without the slightest obstruction to your vision— said, “You’re a really nice person.” Then, that part of you said, “You’re a beautiful person, Heechul.”

“Why are you saying that?” He looked at you with an apprehension you recognize from the times you caught your reflection at school. He didn’t believe you. “You can’t say something like that just because I kissed you—”

“I’m not,” you argued, voice sharp as a blade although your heart was flooded with burning compassion. “I’m not trying to— I’m saying that you’re beautiful because you’re not going to kiss me again.” 

Heechul sighed. “I don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re confusing me like this, but—” 

“It’s beautiful that you care so much about waiting for me. It’s beautiful that you’re not pressuring me to just hurry up and date you just because the feelings are there.”

“That’s not beautiful,” Heechul murmured, smoothing the patch of blanket before him. “That’s called not being a total jerk.”

“Well,” you breathed, “I think it’s beautiful that you’re not a total jerk.”

When Heechul swallowed, his eyes still clinging to his mistrust, he seemed to realize that he couldn’t change your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to change your mind. “Okay. I believe that you think I’m beautiful, so I think you should try to believe that I think you’re beautiful.” 

You gasped. When would you get used to the fluttering in your chest those words caused? Did you want it to end so that you could breathe more comfortably? Or did you want the feeling to last forever? 

“What? What’s wrong?” Heechul finally pushed his hair aside so you could watch his face contort as he complained, “Y/N, you make me a little bit crazy. I know there’s a lot going on in your head, and maybe I wouldn’t get it all, but I— try to trust me a little. Please?”

“It’s not an issue of trust,” you claimed, but maybe it was. “It’s just—” adjusting your denim shorts, you worried aloud, “what if you think I’m weird?”

“Who gives a shit what I think?” Heechul apologized when you winced at his tone. “Well, obviously, you care what I think, huh?” He clicked his tongue. “Don’t worry then. I don’t think being weird is bad. I don’t think anything about you is bad.”

“I was just thinking,” you confessed when he linked his pinky with yours, “that I can’t breathe when you call me beautiful. And then I wondered how long I will feel this way. And then I wondered what’s wrong with me.” 

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with you,” Heechul said matter-of-factly. “It’s okay to be happy when somebody calls you beautiful—”

At the risk of sounding like a fool, you elaborated, “It’s not about being called beautiful. It’s about you calling me beautiful. I don’t want to be one of those girls who only feels special because a boy— even a boy like you— compliments her.” 

Heechul frowned and scratched at the back of his neck. “See, I don’t know what to say about that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you feeling special because— get this— you are. And if I help you realize it, then, well, I don’t see any harm in that.” As if wounded, he asked, “Why can’t I be one of the things that make you happy? I get why I can’t be everything— I don’t want to be everything— but why can’t I be something?”

You shrugged, unsure of how to process his question (much less answer it), and Heechul started guessing, “Because I’m a boy? Because I like you? Because I’ll kiss you every chance I get? That’s not very fair, if you ask me.” 

“It’s not because you’re a boy or because you like me or because you want to kiss me,” you admitted in a small voice, gathering your legs so you could rest your chin atop your knees. “It’s because— what do I do when you change your mind?”

Your question knocked the breath out of Heechul. He tried to mask his wheeze with a laugh. “Change my mind about what? Liking you? Falling in love with you? Thinking you’re beautiful?” He looked to you, again, for answers. Again, you shrugged, so he reasoned, “Well, Y/N, I’m not gonna lie or sugar coat things. People change, people grow, and sometimes people leave. I’m not going to promise you forever, and you shouldn’t trust anybody who does.” 

Everything he said— you already knew it. Those truths were among the many fears that prevented you from leaping into the unknown with him despite your repressed desires. Hearing them spoken aloud should have stunned you, maybe terrified you, but the words were a comfort. 

Heechul understood; Heechul wouldn’t pretend to hold the authority to silence your concerns forever. Perhaps above all, you appreciated his honesty. 

“I like you now. I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you now,” he confessed. You knew he wasn’t speaking for a reaction, as he often did, because he wasn’t even looking at you. “Now is all I can give you.”

“Now,” you wanted to say, “is beautiful,” but you couldn’t find your voice, or you couldn’t find the words. 

“But—” he looked at you briefly, stuttered when he found that you had been admiring him, and fixed his gaze up on the sky— “I will always think you’re beautiful. Even if you cut my heart out and stop on it— and I know you would never intentionally hurt me, but come on, that’s one of those things people do— you won’t stop being beautiful. Maybe you don’t know it yet, maybe you never will, but your beauty is one of those few forever things.” 

You said, “I don’t believe in forever,” and Heechul breathed an airy sort of laugh that wasn’t born from amusement. 

“Well, I guess we have more in common than we thought.” He looked at you, took your hand, and said, “I guess when it ends—” he gasped and amended— “ah, I don’t want to think about that, so let’s say if— if it ends, I’ll be able to look back and know that I loved someone truly beautiful.” 

Heechul’s face burned when you said, “I don’t think that’s so important.” Lacing your fingers through his when he tried to pull away, you supposed, “That’s not as important as knowing that you were loved by someone who knows you are truly beautiful.”

Moments passed in silence, with the two of you looking at each other. 

“You need to let go,” Heechul whispered, “because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you again.” 

“I’m not going to let you go.” 

This time, you crossed the distance and caught his lips with yours. This time, the kiss lasted long enough for you to memorize the feeling of Heechul’s cool breath against your skin, the feeling of his one hand squeezing yours while the other moved to cup your cheek. This time, you knew that you would never catch your breath again, and you didn’t mind.

. . . 

“Nice lipstick, Heechul.” AJ smirked on the walk back to the restaurant. “I’m sure Y/N’s parents are really gonna love how it compliments your complexion.” 

Heechul smiled even as he reached up to wipe at his lips and cheeks. You blushed, realizing that he hadn’t stopped smiling like that since your second kiss. 

AJ squealed, “Ah! He’s so damn happy he got kissed on the beach, he doesn’t care if he gets scolded by the ’rents!”

“The ’rents?” You rolled your eyes at AJ’s vocabulary while straining to remove the red stains from Heechul’s face. “What kind of— Heechul, stop pushing me away!”

“I like my kiss marks!” He shrieked before lifting you off the ground, arms secured around your waist, and peppering your face with light kisses. 

“Children!” AJ playfully scolded, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. “Behave!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as a sharp breeze blew Heechul’s hair against your face. Cursing, he set you back onto your feet and set to combing through his hair. He was too focused on making his hair presentable to distract you from wiping at his face with a towel from the beach bag. 

“My dad won’t like them,” you reasoned to his childish pout. “You don’t want him to make us break up so soon, do you?”

“Obviously not,” Heechul grumbled as you fished his red button-down shirt out of the bag. 

Tossing the short at him, you ordered, “Put this on, then—”

Smirking, he jested, “That’s not usually how these things go. You’re asking me to put my clothes on?”

“— Nobody is gonna react well if you walk into the restaurant shirtless,” you concluded, gaze stern in response to his perversion. 

AJ observed, wiggling her eyebrows at you, “You don’t seem to mind the sight so much,” and Heechul joined her in laughing at your spreading blush. 

Their laughter didn’t die until the three of you walked into the restaurant and met with your father’s disappointed scowl behind the host’s podium. “Where have you been?”

Although his gaze was fixed solely on you— your breath gasped past your lips and, in your shame, you dropped the bag onto the floor— AJ answered your father as Heechul knelt to stuff the escaped towels back into the bag. “Auntie said that as long as we were back by 7—” 

AJ fell silent as your father eyed her sharply. He turned his attention to Heechul, who stood up straight while holding the bag’s strap. Fearing that your father could somehow see the lipstick stains you had meticulously scrubbed, you shrank. 

“Where have you been, Heechul?” Your father asked. “Weren’t you scheduled to work until closing?”

Shifting from one foot to another, Heechul started, “I—”

You would never hear his response. Your mom walked out of the kitchen carrying a birthday cake and smiled as she asked, “So, kids, how was the beach? Heechul, AJ didn’t act up too badly, did she?” 

Apparently, it didn’t matter much (or at all) to your father that your mom had given the three of you permission— encouragement— to go to the beach. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he said flatly, “AJ, I’m used to you being a bad influence—” 

Rather than listening to your father’s scolding and crumbling under the weight of his disappointment, AJ rolled her eyes and stormed past you and Heechul, who were frozen stiff, to help your mom set the table. 

“— but Heechul, I expect better from you considering your circumstances. You have a lot to prove.” 

Heechul’s circumstances? 

You glanced at Heechul for some kind of explanation, knowing well that this wasn’t any time to talk, but he had fixed his gaze down at his dull black shoes. The circumstances— whatever they were— must have been dire, judging by the dark maroon that colored Heechul’s entire face. 

“And Y/N—” your father’s stern tone faltered when you looked away from Heechul to meet his stare with tear-filled eyes. Quietly, he asked as if he truly couldn’t understand why you would want to do something fun for your birthday, “You were supposed to be studying— don’t you care about your future at all?”

“Alright!” Your mom slammed the plates down on the table, stormed toward the conflict, and you were thankful that the restaurant closed early; at least nobody else would have to witness your humiliation. “Don’t start saying things like that! Your daughter slaves away in that corner booth every day of every week, and I don’t want her to become one of those zombie kids who don’t know how to crack a smile, so I sent her to the beach with AJ and Heechul because she likes them. She deserves to spend time with people she likes—”

It wasn’t often that your mother lost her temper, but it was never a pretty sight. She was so loud, and your father was so distracted by her wagging finger, that they didn’t notice you slip out the door. 

Nobody would have seen you lower your head as your threw your back against the building’s rough brick exterior had Heechul not followed you outside wearing an expression of genuine concern. 

“Are you okay?” He leaned against the wall too, and reached for your hand that was much colder in the moonlight outside your parents’ restaurant than it had been under the beach’s sun. 

You nodded and wiped at your tears with your available hand. “Yeah. Dad will apologize for being so strict after you and AJ go home. He’ll be proud of me for studying in that corner booth hours before the restaurant opens, and— and—”

“It’s okay to be upset.” Heechul offered, “If it means he’ll apologize sooner, I’ll go home—”

“I don’t want you to go home,” you blurted. Thinking that Heechul would tease you, a hand automatically clamped over your mouth. 

He didn’t laugh at you, though. A kind, gentle sort of smile curved his lips as he agreed, “Okay. I won’t go home then.” You nodded gratefully, and he promised, “I’ll wait out here with you until you’re ready to go back inside.” 

And he waited patiently. 

It turned out that Heechul really did have a motorcycle. On days when the sun shone brightly through the morning clouds, he used it to drive you to school and to pick you up during his break or on his way to start his shift at the restaurant. A far sweeter boyfriend than you dreamed was possible, he always pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and fastened your helmet before every ride. 

On overcast days when rain threatened to fall from gray morning clouds, Heechul drove you to and from school in his car. Although meticulously cleaned and well functioning, the car wasn’t exactly new. 

Upon entering it for the first time, you joked, “So your little sales pitch to the ladies at the restaurant— ya know, ‘buy today’s special, help me earn money, and I’ll drive you around town in a new convertible—’”

Heechul, who had been resisting laughter since you started to mimic his voice, interrupted with a wink. “Those were empty promises, baby. I only ever had eyes for you.” 

“Right. Of course.”

You couldn’t quite understand how Heechul could be so indifferent to all of the girls, many of whom were devastatingly gorgeous, but you believed him when he called those interactions mindless flirting. After all, that was all it had been to those girls— non-committal conversations with one of the prettiest boys they had ever seen. 

Moments passed in relative silence. The only noise was the drumming of Heechul’s fingers against the steering wheel until you asked, “What time do you have to work today?” 

That was how your conversations went when you weren’t busy making fun of each other. Although it didn’t affect him, Heechul would ask about the tests you had scheduled for the day. Although it didn’t affect you, you would ask about his work schedule. It was just nice to express an interest in each other’s day, even if you wouldn’t be there for most of the moments. 

“I’m off today.” 

You gawked at him. “You don’t have to go in at all?” You couldn’t remember the last time Heechul hadn’t worked at the restaurant for at least a few hours. 

“Baby,” Heechul laughed, bringing his eyes away from the road for a split second to look at you. “That’s what it means to be off.”

As always, you rolled your eyes in instances like these when Heechul pretended to be much smarter than you. “Don’t be a butt.” He chuckled at your weak insult. “I’m just surprised that you woke up early to drive me to school when you could have slept in. I can take the bus when you’re unavailable, you know. That’s what I’ve done for years.”

Granted, you embraced Heechul’s role in your morning routine, and your day wouldn’t start nearly as happily without him, but you didn’t want to be selfish with his time. 

“But I’m not unavailable,” Heechul argued, shutting the radio off when a song he didn’t like played through the speakers. “I enjoy our morning chats, so you’ll just have to get used to the passenger seat, alright?”

You adopted the tired tone he usually used when groaning, “Whatever,” before offering your sincere thanks. 

Instantly, he replied, “You’re welcome,” and you smiled because he no longer squirmed when you spoke to him in genuine admiration. 

As he pulled into the parking lot of your school, bringing the car close to the building so you wouldn’t have to walk far in the rain, you looked at him with a pout. 

“Ah damn,” Heechul sighed, working a hand through his hair as he took in your expression. “What do you want?”

“Let’s play hooky!” You suggested just to see how he might react. 

Heechul snorted. “I’m out of school for the summer, so I’m not pulling some delinquent stunt by driving out of this parking lot. He raised an eyebrow at you. “You, however—”

“Come on, Heechul, pretty please?” Bringing your hands together, you poked your bottom lip out. “I’m just a few weeks away from graduating, and I’ve never skipped a single day.” 

“Your father is never going to approve of me if I aid and abet in your first act of truancy, Y/N,” Heechul deadpanned, shaking his head. “I’ve made a lot of progress during the family dinners, and I’m not about to see all my hard work and good manners go to waste just because you look at me like that with your pretty eyes.” 

Your effort to skip school had been half-hearted at best, so you forfeited the fight almost as soon as it started. Zipping your backpack, you huffed, “Fine, fine,” biting back your amusement that, for once, he was being the responsible one. “I’ll see you later.”

“So you’re going to leave without giving me a kiss just because I’m not giving you your way?” 

That hadn’t been your reasoning at all, but when you turned to face him, hand on the door handle, and saw that Heechul’s lips were puckered disappointedly, you shrugged. Your only motive to play along with his narrative was your amusement with Heechul’s frustration. 

“That’s really childish.” Very rich coming from the king of childish behavior.

You shrugged again, and Heechul asked, “Where would we even go if you didn’t go to class?” He carefully phrased the question as a hypothetical, but you understood that he was giving in. 

Settling back into your seat, you chewed on your cheek. Because the rain was falling in full force now— pounding against the roof of Heechul’s car and sliding down the windows— the park, beach, and nearby outdoor shopping center wouldn’t be too fun. What was even open at that hour? 

Remembering that on an earlier car ride, Heechul mentioned that he was renting an apartment just a few miles from your school, you suggested, “Your place?”

“Wow.” Heechul chuckled at your nerve. “There you go again, being all bold like I can resist you.” 

“There you go, being a pervert again,” you squirmed when he smirked at your suggestion. He probably wouldn’t notice the blush rising beneath your makeup, but you turned to face out the window anyway. “It’s not dirty unless you make it dirty, Heechul.” 

“Do you want me to?” He reached across the center console to poke at your ribs like an annoying child. As you reached again for the door handle, he blurted, “Sorry, sorry! I won’t make it dirty if you really want to visit my place.” 

You skeptically narrowed your eyes at him, reluctantly leaning back in your seat. “Promise?” 

Heechul promised, and once you buckled your seatbelt, he drove away. His only condition for allowing you to skip school was that you text your mother to tell her where you were, preparing for the likelihood that the school may call home to report your absence— he didn’t want to worry her. 

“Call me crazy,” he said, “but I feel like your mom will be overjoyed that you’re doing a normal teenager thing for once.” 

“You are crazy,” you teased, giggling when he rolled his eyes, “but not because of that. While Dad has always been worried about me growing into a successful adult, I think Mom has been worried that I was never really a happy kid.” 

Casually, as if the question weren’t deeply personal, he asked, “Were you? Were you a happy kid?”

Why couldn’t you answer straight away?

In all honesty, you couldn’t remember laughing as much in your entire life as you had in the last month with Heechul. You couldn’t remember the last time you looked up from your textbooks before that day he sat across from you and ripped your magazine. 

Maybe it wasn’t so much that you were unhappy before Heechul’s smile became the highlight of your day. Maybe you just hadn’t known before that happiness could be a priority. 

Heechul pulled you out of your thoughts by calling your name as he opened your door. Offering his hand, he wondered, “What are you thinking?”

All you could think was, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” the feeling magnified by his touch, but that hardly seemed like the right thing to say when Heechul led you into his spotless all-white apartment, out of the rain. 

“Doesn’t it stress you out?” You asked as you anxiously eased onto the red couch at his urging. “Living in a place like this, I mean. I would be afraid I would spill something or somehow ruin the pretty white paint.”  

After kicking your shoes off, you pulled your socked feet onto the couch, afraid of soiling the shiny white floor that appeared untrodden. 

Heechul said, laughing at your behavior, “You can’t be afraid of making your mark on the world.”

Taking that as encouragement to follow him into some other room, you leaped off the couch. Heechul almost collided with you when he turned out of the room, clutching a guitar in hand. 

“Wow,” he grinned despite his promise not to make things weird. “If you’re so eager to come into my room, come on ahead.” He pushed the door open, probably expecting you to run, blushing, back into the living room. 

Driven by curiosity and a desire to surprise Heechul, you walked past him into a white bedroom covered with posters, housing guitars— electric and acoustic— and lined with bookshelves. Upon closer inspection, however, you realized that the shelves weren’t filled with books; they were overflowing with alphabetized CDs ranging from all languages, all genres, all decades.

Apparently unable to stand the silence, Heechul remarked, “I just re-organized those. I change it up a lot. This time it’s alphabetical order, but I’ve tried organizing them by genre, release date, language— oh—” 

When you turned to face him, he was sitting with his back against the headboard and blushing. Sometimes, like when he chewed his lips to cope with mild embarrassment, Heechul was adorable. 

“Oops.” He mirrored your smile when you sat on the foot of his bed. “I’m rambling.”

“Did you write me a song?” You folded your hands in your lap as you teased, “You know, like how you used to promise those girls—”

Throwing his head back, Heechul groaned, “This again!” He couldn’t dampen the bright smile that illuminated his face when you giggled at his reaction. “I don’t write songs about other girls! Only about you!”

Assuming that he was joking as usual, you disregarded that remark until he started strumming on the strings and filled the air with his gentle hum. Heechul sang often in the car, and you often complimented his talent, but there was a softer quality in his voice now. 

Why was his voice so different? Was it because you were in his room, whose atmosphere was somehow different— almost forbidden— from his car’s atmosphere? Was it because his voice was accompanied by a dulcet acoustic guitar rather than the full hard rock ensemble he sang along to in the car? 

Maybe Heechul sensed your questions, and maybe he wanted to give you some answers. “I haven’t written the lyrics yet. Or maybe I have, and I’m just too embarrassed to sing them while you’re looking at me like that—” 

Like what? Like there had never been anybody so beautiful in the history of mankind? Like he held your heart in the palm of his hand (and probably didn’t even realize it)? Like you wanted to admire him for the rest of time? 

“— but I kind of thought it would be nice— like something romantic from one of your magazines— to tell you that I love you with a song, but—”

Heechul paused again as if you weren’t leaning in to his every word. His strumming ceased as he looked up from the guitar to gauge your reaction. Once satisfied by your sharp gasp, he continued, “But you know I can’t ever really stick with a plan. I see you, and I get so excited that I can’t just think to myself that I love you. I have to tell you.” 

He set the guitar down on the floor, crawled to your side of the bed. Balancing on his knees and maintaining a small distance between your faces that instantly flooded your senses with memories of your first cherry flavored kiss on the beach, he breathed, “I love you.” 

Then, as if to spare you the burden of having to return the three simple words, Heechul brushed his lips against yours. 

Not too long ago, Heechul would have tried to debate when you breathlessly responded, “I love you too.” He would have said something like “Why are you saying that? You can’t just say that you love me because I said it first.” 

Your feelings must have been obvious from the expression he admired on your face when he broke the kiss; Heechul’s only response was a smile as he pulled your body against his.

. . . 

“He really likes you,” AJ said over the phone when she called to congratulate you on graduating. 

Applying the last touches of your makeup, you agreed. “I know.” 

Your father decided that the best way to celebrate your graduation and acceptance into an online summer college program was to host a small party. Beaming too radiantly at your achievements to cling to his disapproval of your boyfriend, he had said, “You can even invite Heechul!” as if Heechul didn’t work at the restaurant where the party would be hosted. Still, you smiled at your father’s effort to encourage your happiness.

Maybe it was silly to put so much effort into your appearance when Heechul considered you beautiful during all those days when you didn’t bother wearing makeup, but maybe you weren’t dressing up to impress him. Maybe you were trying to demonstrate with your appearance some transformation that occurred over the past few months; after all, your magazines called fashion a form of self-expression. 

AJ teased, her smirk almost audible, “I bet you’re doing that adorable thing where you smile down at the ground, just lost in the thought of him.” 

AJ was right about one thing: you were smiling, but not at the ground. You smiled as you met your bright eyes in the mirror. 

“Of course, I don’t blame you or anything. He really likes you,” she repeated, and you almost wanted to brag that he loves you, but that seemed too special to share over a phone call. That detail needed to be reserved for an in-person conversation (or at least a FaceTime chat).

She continued, “You barged into his bedroom, and nothing scandalous happened? That’s true love.” 

Or maybe, you thought, smile fading, Heechul just didn’t think about you like that. 

It was ironic. AJ (the self-proclaimed wild child always searching for a fling) admired the lack of physical intimacy in your relationship while you (the lifelong good girl who found love without looking)  frowned. 

Why were you upset, though? Did you genuinely crave that kind of connection with Heechul? Wasn’t it enough— more than enough— beautiful— that he loved you? Was this knotting in your stomach just the latest manifestation of your fear that, maybe, his attraction to you was limited? 

You couldn’t understand, and that confusion about your own feelings deepened the frown lines around your cherry red lips. 

Calling your name, AJ asked, “Are you still there?”

“Sorry.” Although nobody was there to see it, you forced a smile as you swept your makeup into a drawer. “I have to go, AJ. All this talking about Heechul has made me lose track of time.” You hoped that by distracting her with a joke at your own expense, she wouldn’t be able to imagine your sudden discomfort. 

Too consumed by your spiraling thoughts on the short walk from your family’s home into the restaurant, you didn’t see him coming until he had you pinned against the cold, hard floor. Before you ever looked at him, you felt Heechul’s heart thundering against your chest. 

He grinned, reaching up to pick pieces of crushed taco shell out of your hair. Apparently in no rush to stand despite the stares and laughter of party guests— comprised mostly of family members and your parents’ friends— Heechul traced the outline of your lips with his thumb. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” You were just about to hiss for him to get off, heat rising to your cheeks at his close proximity, when you made the mistake of looking into his eyes. 

On the bright side, looking at him— loving him— distracted you from the burning embarrassment of having fallen in a restaurant full of people. You probably would have laid there, heart racing, staring at Heechul for hours if he hadn’t suddenly jumped up. 

As if realizing at once that the people closest to you (and your family) were watching, Heechul dropped the tray he had been carrying onto an empty table and offered both hands to help you off of the ground. 

The restaurant wasn’t entirely closed to the public— your father probably determined that he couldn’t afford to miss a day of profit. A table full of girls clad in brightly colored bikini tops giggled when Heechul pulled you past them to the back of the restaurant. 

Stupidly, as if you couldn’t read the sign that marked the ladies’ restroom, you whispered, “Where are we going?”

“You have lettuce and tomato and beef all in your hair,” Heechul explained as he led you into the restroom. He ushered for you to sit atop the bathroom counter. “And that’s my fault, so—”

“You can’t be in here!” As if transforming into your mother, you wagged your finger as you scolded him. “What if somebody—”

“Look at us. Anyone who walks in here and thinks it’s a little suspicious that the waiter and the owners’ daughter are alone in the women’s restroom, they’ll quickly realize that this is some kind of emergency.” Heechul spun you around to face your reflection. Both of you were covered head to toe, as he said, in lettuce, tomato, beef, and whatever else Chef Leeteuk piled onto the tray.

Having only soiled his apron— which, technically, was made to be dirtied— Heechul frowned only when he noticed your frown in the mirror. 

“Hey.” Heechul turned you to face him before he lifted you onto the counter. “I’m sorry.” He ripped a paper towel from its dispenser, ran it under the water faucet, and wiped at some sauce staining your cheek. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” 

Stirred by the guilt flooding his eyes, you didn’t hesitate to explain, “I’m not hurt. I’m just— I know you probably think this kind of thing is stupid— but I spent a long time getting dressed, and—”

Heechul followed your gaze down to your white dress that had been stained by the food. “Shit. I’m sorry—” He moved to wipe at the stain, but faltered once he realized that it covered the majority of your chest. Tossing the paper towel onto the counter, he repeated, “I’m really sorry. It’s not stupid that you dressed up for your graduation party; it’s stupid that I ran into you with a tray full of tacos. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you responded to each of Heechul’s apologies, but he didn’t seem to hear you. 

“I know this won’t be nearly as pretty as your dress—” Heechul looked you over again and cast his eyes up to the ceiling as he hissed, “Damn it, you really dressed nice. You still look pretty post-incident, so I know you looked drop dead gorgeous when you walked in. And I barely even got to see it before I tackled you.” 

“Heechul.” To make him hear, you had to hold his face in your hands. His cheeks scalded your palms. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Yeah, this dress is probably ruined—” he groaned— “but it’s not the end of the world. This is one of those one time dresses, anyway. It’s fine. Really,” you said to his skeptical expression, “it’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Heechul shook his head before catching your lips with his. Maybe he thought the sweet act of affection would lessen his guilt. Maybe he wanted to gauge whether you were truly upset by your response to his kiss. 

Maybe he was satisfied by the urgency with which you drew him closer, forgetting (or not caring) that the food still sticking to his apron would further taint your dress. Maybe he was smiling into the kiss until, without warning, your hands gathered the fabric over his chest and shoved him away. 

“What’s wrong?” Heechul asked so often that the words rolled off his tongue without much thought. He gave you that look— brows furrowing and eyes twinkling with curiosity— that always preceded his request for you to trust him with your deepest thoughts. 

“We can’t do this here.” 

“What?” Heechul quirked his head at you, hair falling from his ponytail holder to fall into his eyes. “Kiss?”

You nodded, and he kissed— the frustrating tight-lipped pecks that were ending and beginning again before you could react— your lips again and again until you gathered the strength to push him away. 

“We are in a public restroom, Heechul,” you reminded him between pants, “and we are in my parents’ restaurant, and—” 

“I promise I’m not just being an insatiable pervert.” Heechul retied his ponytail before saying, “I know when you’re embarrassed. You’ve been blushing since those stupid girls laughed at us—”

Us, Heechul said, but they had been laughing at you. Knowing that Heechul wouldn’t want to hear that— explaining that would send him out to their table to harshly deliver a piece of his mind— you bit your tongue. 

“— and I would just rather think that you’re blushing because I kissed you over and over again— not because I ran into you with a tray of tacos like an idiot.” 

Again, like every other day of knowing him, you were struck by the realization, “You’re nice, Heechul.” Sometimes, because he teased you so much, that fact was easy to forget; rediscovering it every day was a joy, though. 

“Only to you,” he conditioned before kissing you. “Oh— like I was trying to say earlier before I got distracted— I know that this isn’t anywhere near being as pretty as your dress—” He frowned, tracing his fingers along the ruined fabric— “but I brought clothes to change into after my shift, before I joined your party. They probably won’t fit you right, but—”

“Heechul,” you wiggled your eyebrows teasingly, “was this all an elaborate scheme to get me out of my clothes?”

Because he was honestly trying to atone for his actions, Heechul wasn’t prepared for your playfulness to strike at that exact moment. His face turned beet red, and he stuttered, “No— I— no—” 

“If you wanted me to take my dress off,” you jumped off of the counter and reached for the zipper, biting back laughter, “all you had to do was ask.” 

Heechul kept his eyes fixed on yours, either trying to call your bluff or daring you to follow through. When you started to tug on the zipper, however, he clapped a hand over his eyes and whined, “We can’t do this here! We’re in a public restroom, and we’re in your parents’ restaurant!”

Once you doubled over laughing, he dropped his hand, wheezing, “Aish, everything’s a joke with you, huh?” 

Thoroughly unashamed— proud, even— you nodded your head. “A funny joke!”

“You win this round, baby,” Heechul warned, “but watch out.” He brushed his lips against your forehead before walking out of the restroom, you assumed, to retrieve the clothes he offered. 

Leaning against a stall door, you passed the time as you always did when Heechul wasn’t by your side: by imagining the next time you would get lost in his eyes.

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Look, it’s better if she doesn’t know. It’s not like she reads the blogs, and you didn’t want to go public anyway, so this sort of works out.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him. It was pitiful, this cop out of an apology. “So, what you’re saying is that this is really my fault?” I accused, getting more upset by the second.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Mandy,” Joe sighed, “Jesus, stop making it such a big deal.”

“It is a bit of a big deal to me, Joe. You’re outside hanging out with a girl who is clearly still infatuated with you, who refuses to face reality, and I’m kept in the dark about the whole thing? Why is she here anyway?” I thought out loud, having a hard time looking him in the eye. I knew I was slightly overreacting, but it really didn’t feel like I was.

Chapter 12 - Breaking Up The Girl

In a modern culture / My friend you must be careful / They’ve a million ways to kill you / In this dangerous world / There’s an art to growing old / Taking chances / Magic happens / One mistake's all it takes / And your life has come undone / Walk away cause you're breaking up the girl / It’s a drag / I know it's hard / But you're tearing her apart / Walk away cause you're breaking up the girl / I am afraid that there's much to be afraid of / Here today and gone tomorrow / Don’t end up in the gutter / Just like the one before / You’re just the same / Such a loser / You’ve go to let her go because you're breaking up / You’re breaking up the girl

“What the absolute fuck is going on over there?” Steph’s voice rang out from the receiver of my phone, me pinching the bridge of my nose. For the first full day of being “home,” it hadn’t been very relaxing. My head was completely done in, the events of the night before almost being too much to handle. In fact, I had no idea how I was handling it at all. 

“Obviously, you know. I mean, you met Joe, you saw how he was acting with me. So yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” I tried to explain, not really knowing what I was explaining.

“Yeah, TMZ did a pretty good job of filling me in on that fact, even if your official statement says otherwise,” she chastised and I winced on the other end, “I do have to say that I’m happy for you, even if you hid it from me.” I did feel guilty that I couldn’t give her a straight answer when it all happened, but there was just too much too quickly, and now, things had shifted again. 

“I’m sorry about that, you know I told you everything I could at the time.”

"I forgive you, but only on the condition you tell me everything," and I could tell she wanted details. I obliged happily. I filled her in on London, how I dragged him around and the moment on my balcony, how he shamelessly flirted with me the whole day before the awards, walking me to the door and asking me to be his girlfriend. I daydreamed about our night in Paris, kissing me on the top of the world, playing on the sand and loving every minute I spend with him. It all sounded so fake telling someone else, but it was true, and it was my life. 

"...and he sang to me last night, in front of everyone,” and I took a seat at the end of the bed, letting the memory of the night before roll through my brain. 

"Oh god, they didn't play your cheesy song again, did they?"

"Hey, it's not cheesy! I kind of like it..."

"No, you like the singer. The song is terrible." She had a bit of a point. It wasn't like it had the most creative or riveting of lyrics, but still, having a song that was my same name was nice, "Anyway, anymore biting?"

I had forgotten that I told her about him biting my lip after the kiss in Philly, and how we had analyzed it to death when I talked to her in New Jersey.

"I mean..."

"Is it still weird?"

"No... I like it..."

"Dirty Mandy!" She exclaimed and I felt my cheeks go red, even just over the phone. 

"So, what do you think?" I asked, curious as to her thoughts about him, now that she had met him.

"I think that he obviously likes you a lot, and that he's a nice guy, if a bit of a flirt," she started and my face fell. I never really thought of Joe as a flirt, but he knew what to do to get a reaction out of girls, but then again, that was his job. He certainly flirted with me, but that was because he liked me. 

"Really? A flirt?” and I stood to peek out my window, seeing Tiff closing the door on her powder blue convertible and walking up the drive. Why the fuck was she here?

"Yeah, Mandy, big time. He flirted a little with me when I was there,"

"But he just wanted you to like him. You are my best friend, he wanted to get on your good side."

"You said there was that party last night, what about any other girls? Does he flirt with them?" My mind flashed back to his reaction when Tiff launched herself into his arms, the looked of genuine surprise. He didn't know she was at the show, but then I didn't stick around long enough to see how he was with other girls, "I'm going to take it by your silence that he does flirt with other girls."

"No, I really don't know. I didn't pay attention last night. Something else was going on.” I was so preoccupied by the wonder of Malibu Barbie invading the house that I almost forgot the most important part of the night before. 

"What?"

"I got approached by someone."

"Someone." It wasn't a question, or even a statement. She was being purposely condescending, which was both something I hated and loved about her. Steph had just the right way to twist my thoughts around and force me back to reality, which I knew I needed sometimes. 

"An editor for Rolling Stone." Silence from the other end and I couldn’t help but nervously chew on my bottom lip. 

"Holy fuck."

"My thoughts exactly." I still hadn't really wrapped my mind around it, but one thing I decided right away was that I wasn't going to tell anyone just yet. It didn't make sense to get the family all riled up for nothing, especially just because it was nothing but a business card right now. 

"What did they want?" 

"They want to talk to me. I guess, somehow, they heard about me and my article. I mean, there was a press release that stated I am a journalist," I reasoned out loud. 

"Do you think they want to read it?” She asked and my stomach did a flip. I was trying to not think of it at all. I had sort to forgotten that I was writing an article, after all of the commotion of the last day or so. 

"I don't know. I've given up trying to figure out how this business works. I just live here now," I lamented and sat on the bed. 

“Well, you are going to call her back, right?”

“Of course I am…” I said unconvincingly.

“Mandy! You have to call her back!” Steph shouted at me through the phone and I actually had to pull the device away from my ear for a moment. She knew me too well, and knew my preference of not talking to anyone in charge or stepping out of my comfort zone. 

“Yes, I know. I promise, I will call her sometime today,” and I meant it. It made no sense to put this off. 

“Not, sometime. Like, as soon as we hang up, you take a breath and call her! She probably just wants to talk and see what you can do.”

“Yeah, I will…”

“Mandy,” and her tone of voice went as serious as I had ever heard it, “You can’t let this go. This is everything you’ve worked your ass off for. I’m going to let you go so you can call her now,” and we said our goodbyes. 

Steph had this odd ability to always be right, and at times it was a bit annoying. Standing from the bed, I fished Joy’s card from it’s place in my wallet, turning it over in my hands a few times. The red RS seared into my eyes, like a branding, and my stomach flipped over just as easily as the card. 

I do have to call her. I know I do. I didn’t come this far to just back away from the edge once things got too real. I wanted to take that leap, to free fall, to not be afraid of the unknown and see where I landed. Six weeks prior, I would have. But now?

People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

Or in my case, roll them.

~~~~~~~~~

The house was eerily quiet for a day where everyone was home. Descending down the staircase, I made my way into the kitchen but stopped when I saw the scene; Kevin, Dani, Nick, Joe… and Tiff, all on the back patio, just hanging out. I mean, I had seen Tiff come up the driveway, but I had no idea she was invited over. And especially since I wasn’t. Before I could decide how I wanted to handle this situation, Kev locked eyes with me and decided for me.

“Hey, Mandy, where have you been?” he called and all eyes shifted onto me, forcing me out onto the patio as to not seem rude. They had been swimming, or were about to, it didn’t look like anyone was wet yet. Of course, Dani was in a very cute yellow one piece with frills going down one shoulder, but Tiff was already laid out on a deck chair, attempting to get more of a tan in a too small hot pink bikini. Being that all my clothes were in the laundry, I was just in jeans and a t-shirt, no makeup, not even lipgloss. I uncomfortably shifted my weight from one leg to the other, an arm across my chest and my other hand gripping my phone tight. 

“I’ve been here the whole time, just needed to make some phone calls…” and I trailed off, noticing that Joe seemed to not be as concerned about Tiff’s lack of clothing as I was, “I wasn’t aware that there was a pool party going on.”

“You look familiar…” Tiff said, tilting down her sunglasses as to get a better look at me and I couldn’t help but glance at Dani, “What commercial were you in?”

“I’m not in any commercials, we met last night at the show. I’m Mandy, Joe’s…”

“Intern. My intern,” Joe quickly cut me off and all eyes snapped to him, “Well, not my intern, the band’s intern…” Nick let out a low whistle and averted his gaze from the scene. 

“Oh em gee, like Monica Lewinski?” Tiff said scandalously, laying back on the chair, completely unconcerned as to who I was to any of them, least of all Joe. Apparently her single brain cell couldn't retain any information.

“We had this conversation last night...” I finished before rounding on my supposed boyfriend, “Joe, can I talk to you in the living room please?” and I turned on my heel to go back into the house, Joe standing to follow me. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs right now. 

I let him firmly close the door so we would have some actual privacy before rounding on him again. “What the fuck?” was all I could get out. It was the only phrase that seemed to fully encompass how I felt about what had just happened, between Tiff being here at all, not remembering me from the night before, not knowing who I really was, not to mention the cold shoulder Joe was giving me. What in the actual fuck was going on?

“I know, that wasn’t great, I’m sorry,” he started, pulling a hand through his hair that he neglected to flat iron this morning.

“Not great doesn’t really cover it, Joe.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Look, it’s better if she doesn’t know. It’s not like she reads the blogs, and you didn’t want to go public anyway, so this sort of works out.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing from him. It was pitiful, this cop out of an apology. “So, what you’re saying is that this is really my fault?” I accused, getting more upset by the second.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Mandy,” Joe sighed, “Jesus, stop making it such a big deal.”

“It is a bit of a big deal to me, Joe. You’re outside hanging out with a girl who is clearly still infatuated with you, who refuses to face reality, and I’m kept in the dark about the whole thing? Why is she here anyway?” I thought out loud, having a hard time looking him in the eye. I knew I was slightly overreacting, but it really didn’t feel like I was. I didn’t trust Tiff at all, and for some reason I had a hard time trusting Joe around her. Not that I thought he would actually do something, but the little voice in my head was echoing Steph’s words. Joe was a flirt, and sometimes had a hard time turning off the charm before it got him into awkward situations. 

“She just showed up, I don’t know, she talked her way into the party last night and now here she is. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark, I swear nothing was planned,” he tried to explain, but the rest got lost on deaf ears. 

My phone had started to ring. Joy Richards’ number was scrolling along the top of my screen and my body froze completely. 

God, fuck, this was the worst timing. I couldn’t exactly miss her call, and maybe end up playing phone tag, that was if she even took my call again. But right now? I was in the middle of a heated discussion with my boyfriend, and the irony wasn’t lost on me. I either picked up the phone, or picked Joe.

“Do you need to take that?” he asked, a confused look on his face and I let out a frustrated sigh, sliding the arrow to accept the call while taking the stairs two at a time. 

“Hello?” I answered and I couldn’t help but recognize the hurt on Joe’s face as I left him standing in the foyer alone with no explanation as to why. He turned to go back out as I quietly closed my bedroom door, feeling my empty heart beating out of my chest.

“Hello, Amanda? This is Joy, we spoke last night?” Joy started and I took a seat on the floor, my legs having a difficult time bearing my weight anymore. 

“Hi, Joy, how are you?” I mustered up my best interview voice and feigned enthusiasm. I was excited, I really was, but there was too much pain and anxiety going on outside of the call to really enjoy the moment.

“I’m well, thanks for asking. And thank you for taking the time out to speak with me for a few moments,” her voice was cool but inviting, sounding just like she had the night before, “I’m sorry we didn’t really get a proper opportunity to talk last night, but basically your unique situation really piqued our interest over here at Rolling Stone, and as you may know, the Jonas Brothers are going to be on our cover in a few weeks.” “Yes, I saw the proofs from the shoot, they’re very proud.” “They should be, it’s very exciting to be the cover story, and you should be proud as well. Amanda, we’re interested in running your story alongside their article, but we know that your article and internship still has about… two weeks left?”

If I wasn’t already sitting on the floor, I would be down for the count now. Rolling Stone wants to run my article? To go along with the main cover story? Holy. Fuck.

“Uh, yes, a little less but yeah, two weeks,” I breathed out into the phone, still not believing the conversation I was having. My brain felt like it was short circuiting, not being able to handle everything that was going on.

“That’s still good with our timing, however before we commit to it, we would love to review some of your other articles. What I need from you is a sample of your portfolio, say maybe the three best pieces of writing, one of those being an article of similar nature to the one you’re writing now. Of course, I don’t expect you to have anything exactly like touring with one of the world’s biggest acts, but something compelling, investigative, tells a story from a perspective few have ever heard, that sort of thing. If you can e-mail those over to me today, I can present them to my boss and we can get a decision to you in, lets say, 48 hours?”

“Absolutely, yes, of course I can do that for you,” I answered, probably just a little to eager, “The same e-mail that’s on your card, correct?”

“That’s the one. We look forward to working with you, Amanda,” and Joy finished the conversation. 

This was next level. This was the complete opposite of where I was not even five minutes ago. This was it. This was the break, the opportunity that only comes once in a lifetime. 

This was my future starting.

Immediately, I dragged my MacBook over to my seat on the floor and scoured my documents folder. Luckily, I was a digital hoarder and never threw out any of my previous works, even ones that I wrote Freshman year English 120, not that any of those would be the ones I would send over. I knew I wanted to send over two of my articles from the newspaper, one of them the front page story, and I thought that maybe it might be nice to throw in a creative writing piece as well, to show my range. I was thrilled to be so spoilt for choice, but that also meant I was going to have to kill some of my babies, so to speak.

Taking five of them, I sent them off to Steph to do a final proofread and to help make the objective choice, and send a quick text to her, relaying the urgency of the situation. This could NOT wait until after work hours, for sure. It was almost surreal, this moment. I never imagined in a thousand years that I would have a chance like this, that my career could start in this way. I wanted to scream it from the rooftop, to jump up and dance, to share it with everyone... but I knew I couldn't. Nothing was set, there was no use in getting everyone excited over what could be nothing. No use in making anyone think that I was leaving yet.

“Knock knock,” came from my door and I quickly closed the lid of the computer, “How are you doing?” Dani asked sweetly, fully opening the door and taking a step into my room.

That was a bit of a loaded question. Obviously I wasn’t okay with the whole situation going on in the backyard, but at present my brain was so wired from the conversation with Joy. It was hard for me to fill articulate the rollercoaster I was on.

“Joe looked pretty pissed off,” she tried again and that information processed a lot quicker.

“Yeah, nothing really got resolved...” I lamented.

“It was a bit like watching a car accident in slow motion,” and she came to sit on the floor next to me, “I don’t think he meant to hurt you like that. Tiff really did just show up, and she has a way of talking herself into situations with him.”

“But that right there, why does he let himself get talked into them in the first place?” That’s what bothered me most about all of this, it just seemed with her he was powerless.

“I don’t know...” she answered quietly and it seemed like finally someone understood why I was currently in my room, “But, I’ve seen you and Joe together and he cares about you so much, in a way I’ve only seen when it comes to his brothers. Joe is bad at breaking away from people who he knows he shouldn’t be around, but right now, being holed up in here with your computer, you’re letting her win.”

I looked at her in confusion. I wasn’t in competition with Tiff, or at least I didn’t think I should be.

“She didn’t know you would be here, she doesn’t have the whole story and you do. You being here ruins her plans too, and right now you’re just letting her get what she wants.”

Oh fuck that. I wasn’t going to let Tiff get anything that she wanted when it came to Joe.

“Right. I need a bathing suit, mine is in the wash.” Dani stood with a huge smile and helped me up, leading me down the hall to her room.

​

**********************

Slowly, I descended the steps again, a hand on the banister because the sandals Dani lent to me were platforms. I felt more naked than I even did in the red dress or in Cannes, but she assured me that I looked "hot." She let me borrow a blue two-piece she had brought with her, with bikini bottoms that were just a little too small, and a triangle top that had straps that wrapped around my torso. None of it looked bad, the opposite really, I could pull something like this off, but I still felt self conscious. I didn't look like me, but this was war now, and I couldn't hesitate. 

Kevin and Nick had made their way into the pool, but Joe had decided to stay back with Tiff, laying in a chair next to her. Dani opened the french doors for me, beaming at Kevin over her handiwork. I tried my best to walk out confidently but opted to take a seat at the end of Joe's lounger. These shoes were impractical and the worst.

Joe gazed at me over the rim of his sunglasses, his face not giving way to any reaction from him, which hurt a little. I had thought that he would at least say I looked nice, or great as he was want to do, "New suit?"

"It's Dani's, mine's in the wash," I sheepishly answered. I didn't want to fight with him, but I wasn't going to be made to feel badly for wanting Tiff to know who I really was, while still keeping the world out. Joe just nodded and pushed his glasses back up, laying his head back. 

"It's cute..." Tiff tried and I just gave her a small smile. It was strange, this feeling, even though it had only been a few weeks since I had last felt this way. I felt outside, other, not like everyone else. I didn't like it, and I hated that it always seemed like my position with everything was a direct reflection on how Joe was feeling towards me at any given moment. "If you want to sit, there's a chair over here," and Tiff gestured towards the empty lounger next to her.

"Here, take mine, I'm going in the pool," and with that, Joe stood from the lounger and straightened out the towel he had draped there. I pushed myself back, settling to lay in the sun.

"You're brave, wearing a strappy bikini like that. Those tan lines would kill me," Tiff commented, not even looking at me. 

"Oh, well, I'm white as a ghost so I have no lines to be killed by," I responded dryly, trying my best to make nice.

"Now I remember you!" Tiff cried as she sat up, looking at me, "You're the intern!"

"Yeah... Joe just said that..." I started.

"No, last night, I met you in the bathroom, you were with Dani! And you said you're working for the band! God, sorry it took me so long to put it all together, you just look so different from how you did yesterday," she lectured.

"I look different?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

“Well, not different. You’re just more natural right now,” and she emphasized natural, but I knew what that meant. I wasn’t dolled up in fifty pounds of makeup and hairspray. 

“Again, I suppose I’m just confident enough to not need any enhancements...” I spat. 

With that, Tiff sat up in her chair and leaned over to me, lowering her sunglasses so she could look me in the eye, “Joe holds a certain position, and he needs a woman who is at that level, not a girl who needs a team to get ready every time they go out to dinner. Frankly, it doesn’t matter what insults you throw my way, it’s just all the same shit I hear day in and day out from all the other jealous, ugly girls who are mad that I’m with Joe and you aren’t.”

My mouth hung open, unable to even fully process the mouthful she had thrown at me. She was completely fucking delusional.

“Are you fucking with me right now? I’m not jealous, you have nothing I want. You don’t know anything about him, he doesn’t want to be with you, and all you keep doing is forcing yourself into situations to be around him. Have the two of you talked, like, at all? Can you even hold a conversation?” I snarled, my voice rising more than normal. 

“Mandy, that’s enough,” Joe snapped, standing at the end of our chairs. Tiff and I were so embroiled with each other that neither of us noticed that he got out of the pool and had heard our fight. 

“She just said some terrible things to me!” I defended, desperate for someone to step in and be on my side for just once. Why does everyone make accommodations for her? Just because she knows about one of the Jonas girlfriends? I fucking am a Jonas girlfriend and I was being treated like a child.

“Ugh, I think I’m kind of over the pool,” Tiff scoffed, gathering her things into her beach bag, “Joey, we’re still on for tomorrow?”

My breath hitched in my chest and my eyes found his, however fleeting, before he averted his eyes to his feet, a hand on the back of his neck. I knew the answer.

“Okay,” was all that I could say and I stood, leaving the vicious flip flops there and just going back into the house.

“Wait, Mandy,” I heard behind me, but it didn’t matter. Now I knew exactly where I stood, with the family, with Joe, with this whole bullshit Hollywood life. I was so stupid to think that maybe I could actually be part of this, to even consider for a tiny fleeting moment of giving up my dreams to try to stay. 

Climbing the stairs, I made it to the guest room but I wasn’t able to close the door before he caught up with me.

“Please, talk to me,” Joe begged and I stood at the window, watching Tiff get back into her car and disappearing down the street. I didn’t want to turn and face him, swallowing back tears.

“I don’t really know what there is left to talk about,” I responded, my arms firmly folded in front of my chest, still unable to meet his eyes. Joe crossed the room in a few steps but didn’t pull me into his arms, instead settling on lightly stroking mine with the tips of his fingers.

“I heard what she said to you,” he breathed, but somehow that didn’t make me feel any better, “I’m sorry I snapped at you, this whole day has just been so… unsettling.”

“Unsettling?” I questioned, finally turning to face him, wanting him to see the pain that he helped to cause, “Unsettling? For you? Joe, look what I’m wearing,” and I opened my arms so he could really see the seductive, strappy nightmare that I put on in a fit of insecurity, “I just wanted you to actually fucking look at me today.”

“Mandy, I can’t keep my eyes off of you…”

“Really? Because as soon as she walked in, suddenly I didn’t matter anymore,” and I grabbed an old tee, pulling it over my head and putting it on. I didn’t feel like being so bare around him anymore.

“Of course you matter, I told you, I swear I didn’t know she was coming over,” and Joe’s voice started to rise. Oh god, we were actually going to fight.

“And now you’re going on a date with her tomorrow? Why? What possible excuse could you have this time?” 

“It’s not a date! It’s an appearance and I’m going for moral support, as a friend…”

“Friend?! For fucks sake, Joe, she thinks you sang to her last night! That slut does not want to be friends with you! And she won’t stop until one of two things happen: either you tell her to stop, or she gets what she wants,” I seethed, knowing in my heart I was right. I’ve known girls like Tiff, hell, I’ve even tried to be like her, and she won’t let go gracefully. She’s not as dumb as I wished she was, she knows what she’s doing, and the only one who could put an end to all of this was currently pacing around my room. 

“I thought you were better than that,” was all he said, an observation, not a statement or question, and it felt like another arrow going right through my chest, “I thought you were better than catfights and names, than to stoop to games to get what you want.”

“Please, Joe,” and I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, “She’s going to want more tomorrow. She’s not going to leave you alone until you’re hers.”

The silence hung in the air between us and I wanted so badly to just close the distance, to take the steps and have him wrap his arms around me. I wanted to apologize for showing my truly ugly, jealous side. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to say he would stay.

“At least with Tiff, what I see is what I get.”

**************************

I didn’t go down for dinner, saying that I had a headache, which wasn’t far from the truth. I needed a cigarette so badly, but I didn’t have any and as far as I knew, I wouldn’t see Garbo again until probably my last day, to say goodbye. I had showered and changed into my pjs ages ago, and now I just laid on the bed, computer to the side, absentmindedly clicking on shit that didn’t matter. 

Were we together still? Was it that easy to break us up? After everything Joe had said to me, in London, Paris, Cannes, hell even LA, was any of it true? He acted like he was so deep into me, into this, into what this would turn into, but all it took was one flash of someone else’s tits for me to become an afterthought. And the apologies, god the apologies, he would know he was doing something wrong and still go ahead with it, asking for forgiveness after. 

Why was everything so wrapped up in Joe anyway? I had earned a standing in this family, in this company, before he and I ever even kissed. None of that went away just because he and I had a fight.  Was it different because there wasn't anything going on right now? All the other employees of the company had gone to their own respective homes, so why was I here still? I know it's because Denise wants to give me an inner perspective, so that I write something unbiased and true, but their personal life becoming my own was definitely a blur on the line of professionalism. Maybe it would be easier when I wasn't an employee, but for now, I didn't even know where I stood.

Steph emailed me back, ranking my articles from strongest to weakest, and echoed my sentiments that I should include a bit of creative writing as well. Using her suggestions, I crafted an email over to Joy, attaching all the articles in their intended print layout, and held my breath as I hit send. There, it was done. There was no turning back now, and my future was in someone else's' hands. 

This should have been a happy moment, one of excited anxiousness, like when you're applying to colleges or auditioning, and instead it was in quiet solitude. I know this is the right thing to do, but was it really for the best? What was that line from The Devil Wears Prada? 

"My personal life is falling apart."

"That's what happens when you start doing well at work. Let me know when your entire life goes up in smoke, then it's time for a promotion."

**************

Blue skies, birds chirping, Denise already in the back garden after making cinnamon rolls for everyone. LA certainly had it's own magic, that was for sure. I could only wish some of that magic would sprinkle down on top of my head, instantly making me feel better. Sadly, even though Disney was in the picture, no such luck for me. I dragged myself out of bed and dressed for comfort, as always, braving that the kitchen might be fairly empty for the mid morning and I might be able to snag a cinnamon roll. They always were my weakness. 

Nope. 

“Hey,” Kevin tried lightly, sitting at the island with a few papers around him. Of course, he was still working , even though everyone else had decidedly claimed this time as a vacation. 

“Hey,” I responded in kind, “Working on your break?” And I nodded to the papers. 

He laughed lightly, “Yeah, a little bit. Just looking over some of our contracts to see if I need to call the lawyers.”

“Lawyers. Uh oh, that sounds ominous. Did someone break the NDA?”

Kevin laughed again, although this one was a bit more strained than the last. I just picked at my cinnamon roll, not sure what to say. I was only joking when I said someone broke the NDA, but from the look of him, someone actually did. 

“Yeah, or rather, is about to. Dani and I have decided to go public.”

A/N: It’s not quite dead yet. Figured I might as well post since the JB are back. Any comments are welcome! Thanks for reading!

Persona 4 Fanfic: “You Wouldn’t Expect” [Commissioned by spiralstorm]

Characters: Teddie, Labrys

Type: Romance

Description: Teddie takes Labrys out to the beach.

Read on Fanfic.net: HERE

Read on Ao3: HERE

Author’s Note:

A commission piece. Since I personally love this pairing to bits, I had a lot of fun writing it, though it took me a lot longer than anticipated... Mostly because I had trouble deciding what to do with the requested setting.

If you want to commission me as well for art, writing or translation, please check click here.

I also have a tip-jar.

Most people considered him an extrovert. Most people thought of him as a person who was incapable of taking anything serious, regardless of the situation. Most people had trouble imagining him with anything resembling a sense of shame. Most people would also assume that such a shameless, unserious extrovert would not experience any sort of anxiety going to a social outing they, themself, had suggested and set up in the first place.

Most people were wrong.

There Teddie stood, drenched in a mixture of sweat and some overprized body spray he’d snuck from the hygienics department (on Yosuke’s tab). His bike stood angled and leaned against the wall right next to him. Ever since the incident with the pine tree and the rubber tape he wasn’t allowed to use the rollerblades anymore, so fixing up Yosuke’s old ride was his only way to get out here on his own. Probably a good idea anyway; he was well aware of the enticing properties these fabled ‘rides’ were supposed to have on cute girls. Though, didn’t the bikes he’d seen in Yosuke’s magazines look quite a bit different from that bicycle next to him? Not to worry unnecessarily, but this distinct aura of lameness he could feel radiating off the beat-up thing now that he wasn’t on it seemed a bit… troubling.

Ah! Focus, focus! Teddie clapped his hands onto his face and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to lose his nerves! Not here, not today! No, not when this was the moment, the one, his irreplaceable and very special, very first… date.

His breath stopped even just thinking the words. M-Maybe the air was just especially thin today? Who would be surprised, geez, with how unbearably hot and humid it was, good thing he hadn’t come in his beautiful fur, all the moisture would just have ruined his shine, but now his poor head-hair had to deal with these conditions, and his skin was all wet and his foundation was dripping, and his clothes were wrinkled, and the flowers were wilting, and he couldn’t stop biting his lip-

“Hey. Sorry, did I make ya wait?”

-He snapped to attention and froze up like a popsicle in a straight jacket.

Without him realizing, he’d been approached by a slender figure dressed in a light, flowing summer dress, a pale-yellow ribbon holding her long, azure hair together in a ponytail. Fuuka had really done amazing work in restoring those cloaking features. If he hadn’t known better, Teddie would have assumed it was a regular human girl that had just greeted him so kindly. However, he was sure that the face and voice he saw and heard could only belong to one person in this big world.

“O-O-Ohhhh~~!! L-Labby-chan!!”

He could force melodic inflections into his words all he wanted; it didn’t keep him from stuttering. He found it so hard to not stumble over his words whenever Labrys was around. This, too, he wanted to blame on the infernal heat today. It dried up his tongue and made it so hard to articulate! Yes, that was what was going on here, clearly, without doubt.

“‘You okay, Ted? You lookin’ kinda frazzled.” Labrys’ head tilted slightly as she spoke. Oh no, now the hot weather had gotten her worried for him, too! Not that he minded being cared for, of course, but… No, no! Today was not a day to be anxious and worried. Not for him, and definitely not for her! With a hearty shake of his head, Teddie tried to throw off the many oppressive feelings weighing down on his poor little head and laughed.

“Oh no, mon ami, what are you talking about? I’m doing just bearfectly fine! Especially now that I am in such stunning company~!”

“…If ya say so.”

She rolled her eyes a little, giving a slight sigh. While Labrys wasn’t necessarily the best people-reader, she did consider herself fairly perceptive, and the fact that Teddie right now didn’t appear to be at the height of tranquility was obvious to everyone but himself. Then again, hyperactivity was barely out of the norm for the little guy, now, was it? Giving Teddie a gentle pat on the head, Labrys began to scan the area around them a little.

“Whoa, it sure is packed. You sure it was a good idea to come today? Maybe we shoulda rescheduled, huh…”

The doubt in Labrys’ voice was like a lightning strike to Teddie’s motors, and at once he was bouncing along eagerly in front of the young gynoid lady, shaking his head in utmost denial.

“Nonsense! Don’t you know that getting lost in the crowd is part of the charm of this kind of event? Walking down the beach together, hand in hand, in a sea of blissful couples, gazing at the night sky above, and then--!”

“I… I was kinda hoping we’d be going for a swim.”

That sentence killed the scenario in Teddie’s head quicker than Yukiko could kill a man’s self-esteem. Labrys continued talking, her hands tugged away behind her back as she considered her surroundings. When had she ever found herself stood in a large gathering like this before?

“Y’know, since that whole Beach Party thing we were talkin’ about in spring didn’t end up happening yet, ‘cause everyone got busy, when you said we were meeting at Shichiri Beach, I just kinda… assumed.”

His face went through at least 5 different emotions upon the realization that whatever miscommunication he had allowed to happen had caused Labrys to come here with wildly different expectation from him. Teddie eventually settled on a boisterous laugh that came out more awkward than intended, trying to right the wrongs of what he had suggested.

“Ah… AHAHAHA! Of course, of course!! Swimming, at the beach, what beautiful maiden wouldn’t want to swim at the beach, it’s bathing suit time after all!! Summer, sun, pin-up poses! Never you fear, I always carry an emergency bikini just for cases like this, right on my-“

“…Going swimmin’ in a crowd like this would kinda blow my cover. My cloaking device can’t project into water, y’know.”

“-Oh.”

Well, that was quite unfortunate. And though she tried to hide it, a certain sense of disappointment on Labrys’ face couldn’t be denied. Teddie, for some reason, felt put on the spot by this. Embearrassed, even. And there he’d been mapping out this whole, unforgettable evening in his head already. What a debacle.

“Em… Should we…” he didn’t mean to, but he ended up having his head sink in between his shoulders on him. “Should we go home?”

Fast, unusually quiet and short was how Teddie’s question came out sounding. Still, Labrys seemed calm.

“Nah, let’s stay. It’s sorta my own fault for not researching the event before sayin’ I’d come. ‘Sides, I’ve never been to a ‘festival’ before. Maybe it’s gonna be fun.”

Teddie’s enthusiasm was restored.

“Of COURSE it will be fun! You’ll love it! We’ll buy snackies and weird thingie-dings, and write wishes on tiny sheets of paper, and catch goldfish and watch the fireworks and the stars…”

A young, gold-blond boy was excitedly jumping around in front of his azure-haired friend, continuing his descriptions in such a manner that it was hard to believe he was ever going to stop. Labrys chuckled. As nervous as it made her to be around these many strangers, as long as she had Teddie just being Teddie, she knew all was still right in the world. She took a deep breath of salty beach air mixed with the scent of fried meat and Takoyaki and looked out to the festival site stretching out before them.

“Shichiri-Tanabata Festival, huh.” she mumbled to herself. “Let’s see…”

★

Teddie hurried to drag Labrys along to every little point of attraction that grabbed his attention, his excitement unbroken even as the hours marched along. Calling his way of selecting the booths they’d spend their time at ‘erratic’ would have been flattery. In a hurry he jetted from one site to another, from a saleswoman selling star-themed charms to an ice cream stand, to a pair of performers, to a fishing game, to a stand selling cold drinks, and so on. It definitely helped that Labrys didn’t mind his guidance, much to the contrary. She was glad to have something resembling a line to navigate along this chaotic gathering of people, whose countless voices constantly threatened to overload her sensors. Her 5th generation hardware simply wasn’t optimized for complex social situations like this one. Following Teddie’s lead and focusing on his voice helped drowning out the noise. Holding his hand to not lose track of him kept her from getting distracted. Eventually, she found herself sitting by a table put up next to a little tree with lots and lots of colorful papers hung on it, sipping from a plastic cup of iced tea (her systems could handle tasting and excreting liquids; it was only solid foods that caused problems.)

“There sure is a lot to do here,” she said with a sigh, gazing at the mass of people she’d been walking through all afternoon and wondering how she’d survived it. She turned to Teddie. “You’ve been to a festival before, haven’cha?”

“Yes, but never to this one,” Teddie admitted, still a bit flushed from the excitement of all the games they’d been playing. “The one in everyone’s town is very different from here. It’s a lot smaller and a lot less romantic. This one here makes me feel like I’m being swept off my feet!”

“Hm…” Sip, sip, sip, Labrys worked her way through her drink, considering Teddie’s statement. For someone who had never been to this festival either, he sure seemed to sure his way around. There was a lot she could learn from him, especially considering that he hadn’t been living in this world for that much longer than her. It probably paid to be as wide-eyed curious as him when it came to this sort of thing. It was then that a small stack of tourist brochures on the table next to them caught Labrys’ attention. She reached out, took one and began to read it. Of course, Teddie looked over her shoulder.

“Ohhh, English! Fancy.”

“It’s frickin’ broken as heck tho,” Labrys frowned at the grammatical mess before her eyes.

“You speak English, Labby-chan?”

“Came pre-installed with ‘nuff to read most of it. Can’t exactly speak it tho. Well, not withoutta soundin’ like an, um, y’know. Robot.”

It took Labrys some mental effort to stop her language processing programs from going bonkers trying to deal with the monstrosity presented to them. Eventually, however, she had processed the text enough to read out some of it.

“Tanabata, also known as the Star Festival, originates from the Chinese Qixi Festival. It celebrates the meeting of the stars Vega and Altair, who’re thought to be embodied by the deities Orihime, the Celestial Weaver, and Hikoboshi, the Celestial Cowherd. According to legend, the two lovers were forbidden from meeting by the Sky King, who thought their relationship prevented them from performing their duties. Only once a year, when their stars meet on the 7th day of the 7th month, the two can meet, and it is said that wishes written down and bound to bamboo or branches on this day will come true.”

“Ohhhhh, that’s so romantic!!” Teddie almost squeaked hearing the story, making wide eyes at the paper in Labrys hands. She laughed.

“Sure, you’d like that. You’re into mushy stuff like that, aren’cha?”

“Hm. It would be even better if Ori-chan and Bosshy got to meet whenever they want,” Teddie declared after taking a few seconds to process the story. “I mean, it’s so sad! I thought true love was supposed to be forebear! Not giving them a happy ending when all the other fairytales get one just screams of discrimination, if you ask me! They should complain to the management!”

Somewhere halfway through Teddie’s critique had stopped making logical sense, but Labrys didn’t mind that. She’d expected as much. In fact, she kinda found it cute. She ruffled his hair.

“It’s probably a really old story, ya know. I reckon’ by now they’ve long got it worked out,” she suggested. “Like, maybe they quit their jobs and moved in together? That’s what I think woulda made sense, at least.”

“Mhm…” Teddie replied surprisingly half-heartedly as Labrys stroked his hair. Lowering his head, he mumbled. “If it were me, I’d do everything, so-“

“Hm?” Labrys tilted her head. Teddie’s voice had been too low for her to pick up all of what he’d said. However, he wouldn’t repeat the words. Instead, he swung his legs and leapt up from the bench the two of them were sitting on.

“Aaaaaalright! Where shall we go next, milady!?”

A 180° turn to the tree next to their table gave Teddie his answer.

“Oh, I know! Let’s write some wishes!”

★

It wasn’t Teddie’s first time writing wishes on Tanzaku paper. He’d done it the year before with Yosuke’s family, though then he hadn’t known the legend. However, it was Labrys’ first time, and she was struggling a little. To her it felt awkward trying to put any wishes she might have into words, especially knowing how many people there were around that could possibly be looking over her shoulder. The fact that Teddie kept loudly vocalizing every single thing he wrote down, proudly announcing his wishes to the world (he was up to tying his 10th Tanzaku to the tree now) didn’t help. Just how was it so easy for him to come up all these things to say? Maybe she just ought to stop thinking and just write down the first thing that came to her?

Eventually Labrys found a wish and wording she was happy with and put it on the paper in neat, clean handwriting, tying a perfectly symmetrical bow as she hung it to the branch. Yeah, this was okay. It reflected her hopes for the future, and she didn’t feel weird about the fact that someone else might read it. She was satisfied.

“Oookay!!”

Hands on hips, Teddie looked over his army of 27 Tanzaku Papers merrily fluttering on the tree, Labrys’ sole wish mixed right in with them. He seemed proud of the image, miming the hand-gestures of a photographer looking for the perfect shot again and again, though never actually taking a picture of the scene. The one to really take a photo was Labrys. The way Teddie was hopping around in front of that tree was just too cute.

“Careful, ya gonna tear ‘em down with all the wind you’re makin’ wavin’ ya arms ‘round,” she laughed.

“Wind? My lady, I will have you know, this is no orbearnary wind I’m kicking up here! It’s the cosmic shock-wave that will carry our wishes to the heavens! HMMMMMMM!” And he threw his finger up in the air and struck a pose, yelling. “ORI-CHAAAN! DID YOU GET ALL OF THIS!?”

Teddie’s display of unabashed confidence drew the attention of bystanders. A pair of college age girls could be heard chatting.

“Whoa, that kid’s Japanese is pretty good… And he’s kinda cute, too, isn’t he? Hee hee.”

“Careful what you say, I think he came with his big sister. You see that foreign-looking girl next to him?”

“Whoa, she’s pretty good-looking as well, check out that figure! How come foreigners get to have all those curves, huh?”

“Calm down, you’ll bother them. Hey, let’s move on, alright?” The girl took her friend by the hand and walked away, though she could still be heard adding. “It sure is nice, seeing that some siblings don’t feel like they need to ‘grow out of’ being cute together…”

Labrys and Teddie waited until the college girls were out of earshot. Then, they turned to each other, a little stunned.

“…Big sister?” Teddie asked, tilting his head a little. “Whatever did she mean by that?”

Labrys shrugged. “I guess we looked like siblings to them?”

“Oh, sort of like how Yosuke always says that all foreigners look ‘the same’? Geez, how rude!”

He didn’t look offended at all.

“We ain’t really foreigners though,” Labrys pointed out.

“So, we look the same to them because we’re both not human? Hmm, people are weeeird sometimes.”

“Yeah, can’t argue with that…”

“I mean…” Teddie put his fingers on his chin pondering. “It’s not like we should come across like siblings! After all, you are my fair Princess! And I am your Royal Knight, Sir Teddie, coming to your aid in shining armor.”

“Well, I dunno a lotta stuff ‘bout knights. But some of them were princes, right?” Labrys said. “And a prince can be a princess’ brother, I think.”

“Wha—No, no, no! None! That’s not it at all!” Teddie stomped one of his feet in the sand a little, not hard, just enough to kick up a dramatic dust cloud. “I mean… I maaaay be quite princely in just bearly all aspects, but! That’s not the nature of our relationship at all!”

“I mean. Yeah.” Labrys didn’t know what there was to get dramatic about, but on a purely factual level, she had to agree. “I do got some siblings, but last I checked, you weren’t one.”

“Right!?” Teddie seemed vindicated by that statement. He crossed his arms. “And… And anyway! If anything, I’d definitely be the older brother!”

At that, Labrys could only snort. “Really?”

“But, of course! In fact, ever since Sensei has gone back to the big city, I’ve done my beary best to stuff that sad, bro-shaped hole in Nana-chan’s life,” he told her. It’s not like I could ‘replace’ Sensei. Not even moi could ever do that. But! I’ve been visiting her lots and lots! We’ve been going shopping and watching TV and playing in the park and making music…”

Teddie’s mood went from high-strung to almost tranquil as he talked. His face visibly relaxed.

“Actually, you know, I wanted to bring Nana-chan here too! But… She was busy with school today, so she couldn’t come.”

“Why didn’t you just call me to reschedule then?” Labrys asked curious. “I wouldn’t of minded comin’ a day later so we can bring her, y’know.”

“No, it’s okay.” Teddie shook his head. “I’ll come with her another time! Besides… I thought it might be nice to come, maybe… just with you.”

Labrys accepted that statement, though she wasn’t quite sure what he meant by it. Generally, she found him rather unreadable at the moment. His expression, the way he didn’t really look at her but more at the ground behind her, that slightly pink tinge on his cheeks… Was he okay? If he was human, she would have guessed that he was showing early signs of a fever, but…

“Hey, hey, Labby-chan, look, over there! I wanna try that!”

And thus ended a brief, quiet moment.

The ‘that’ Teddie was referring to turned out to be a large stretch on the beach without booths, where people were currently gathering to perform some sort of folk-dance. Onlookers were evidently allowed to join in. Labrys was hesitant, after all, who’d ever heard of a dancing combat device? However, it didn’t take much coaxing for Teddie to get her to join. Despite their exotic appearances the two of them didn’t stand out among the dancers nearly as much as they could have. The crowd was diverse, some people having come in Yukata, while others were in casual clothing like Labrys and Teddie. There were even a few westerners, probably tourists, mixed into the bunch. Chaotic as it was, nobody noticed how many steps the two of them missed in their attempts to follow the shrine priestess and middle-aged man leading the dance. It was all in good fun. Some parts of the dance were performed in pairs and these were the parts that made Labrys most nervous. The idea of having to synchronize with the moves of a total stranger in order to not disrupt the event sent her logic circuits into disarray. However, Teddie kept close to her and immediately paired up with her whenever he heard the musical cue to, and though Labrys knew he probably had his own reasons for doing so, she was thankful. ‘He’s always been pretty clingy around girls, huh?’ she thought to herself. ‘Well, I’m glad he’s having fun.’ It was only fairly late into the song that it occurred to Labrys how many other good-looking girls her own age actually were in the crowd of dancers. Yet, throughout the entire song, Teddie hadn’t strayed from her side even once. When she realized that fact, Labrys fell silent.

“…”

“Labby-chan, what’s wrong? The music isn’t over yet.”

“Wha—O-Oh right.”

Labrys had been so lost in her thoughts, she’d stopped dancing on the spot. Now it was just Teddie and her standing still in the mass of dancers, small wrinkles forming on his forehead as he looked at her in worry.

“Are you tired? Should we take a break?”

“…Yeah, maybe. Thanks.”

Holding her hand gently, as if taking extra care to not hurt her, he led her to the edge of the beach’s waters, a little off from all the music and commotion. It was here, where the crowd was thinner and the noise less prevalent that, for the first time, Labrys could take a moment to breathe and process the events of the day so far. Her sensors registered a high content of sodium-chloride in water vapor in the air… Sea salt. A nice scent. In the distance the sun had begun to set, dyeing the sky and ocean in a dazzling red color. Carefully, Labrys stretched out the bottom parts of her legs to let the waves splash them a little. What appeared to be her ‘feet’ wasn’t real, of course, those parts of her body were a pure projection of her cloaking device, but it still was nice to pretend.

Watching Labrys stretch her legs out to the water like that, Teddie began to pout a little. He buried his face between his legs. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you swimming. You’re probably beary disappointed still.”

Labrys laughed at that. “What’cha even talking about? Today’s been great! I’ve been havin’ a blast.”

“O-Oh!” Surprised, Teddie looked up. “I was just thinking… You’ve been looking so nervous ever since we’ve come here, so maybe you weren’t actually having any fun.”

“Mhm… I’ve never really been ‘round this many people before. So, it’s a tad strange still, ya know?” Labrys admitted. “But a gal’s gotta get out sometime, right? I’m thinkin’, I wanna make friends that ain’t Persona Users too, some time. So, I’d better get used to seein’ more people around like this... You’ve already got that part of livin’ down to a tee, don’cha?”

Labrys grinned at Teddie as she said that, which he visibly took as permission to feel pride. Wearing her statement as a badge of honor, he puffed up his chest a little.

“Weeeell, if you ever need anybody to show you how to bring ALL the hot studs in town to the yard, you can come to me! I’ll be your wise and powerful mentor in the art of socialization and bearing it all to the world!”

“I’m sure ya will,” Labrys pet his hair a bit, partly to get him to dismount that high horse of his for a while. “Look. The stars are comin’ up.”

★

As the day drew to a close, the scene was lit by lights, both around and above them, all reflecting colorfully in the ocean before them. Labrys and Teddie spent the time talking, about themselves, the time they’d known each other, their friends. There was so much to say, the minutes seemed to pass much too quickly, and by the time Labrys had googled and pointed out the locations of Vega and Altair in the sky to Teddie, the festivalgoers had gathered around where they were sitting to gaze up at the stars as well. The fireworks began.

They were were even prettier than the last time Teddie had seen them, painting the sky in all possible colors, lights raining down above them in this pleasantly warm summer night. There were so many people around them, and – Labrys recalled – there were endlessly many more watching up to this same sky right now in this world. It was a concept hard to understand for someone who’d spent so much of her existence isolated from people, so why did she feel so at peace right now?

“I woulda never expected looking at some lights in the sky could be this beautiful,” she said quietly, almost a whisper.

“…Me neither,” Teddie said in much the same tone. And, whether he realized it or not, his hand was on top of hers.

In this moment, regardless of all the people and voices all around, it almost felt as if nobody but the two of them existed in this entire world. It was just like how, during the dance, Teddie had stayed only by Labrys’ side, like she would have never expected him to. That thought on her mind, Labrys found it easy to move closer to the boy next to her, her fingers intertwining with his, before she slowly drew him into a kiss.

“Next time, I’ll take ya out swimming,” Labrys told Teddie, breaking their lip-lock to bop his nose.

Stunned as he was, even if Teddie had had something to reply, he wouldn’t have known how to say it.

SAO: Captive Behind Glass

Once again, Asuna was a captive.   First, she had been trapped in the death game of Sword Art Online for two years. Second, she had been transferred to Alfheim Online and imprisoned within a cage at the top of the World Tree by Nobuyuki Sugou, a corrupt executive in her father's company who wanted to force her to marry him. This time was different.   Before, she could work toward freeing herself.   She became one of the strongest players in SAO and the Vice Commander of its premiere guild so that she could go home again.  With all of her fighting abilities sealed away in ALO, she had used stealth and guile to almost escape by herself.  Even in failing, she had helped Kirito come to her rescue, which he couldn't have managed otherwise, save perhaps with the intervention of Kayaba's digital ghost. But this wasn't the virtual world.  Everything was terrifyingly real, and now she was completely powerless to save herself. She had been kidnapped.  She couldn't quite remember how it had happened, only that she must have been drugged.  That was bad enough, but then her captor revealed to her that magic wasn't just limited to the fantastic realms of Aincrad and Alfheim. She hadn't believed it, not at first, and tried to force her way past him to freedom.  But he raised a hand, said some strange words, and she suddenly felt her strength fading away. And somehow, her kidnapper was starting to look a lot bigger... "Or am I… shrinking? It can't be!" But unfortunately for Asuna, it was. As her strength faded and her size dwindled, her legs buckled despite any effort to stay on her feet. As she slumped down, Asuna caught a glimpse of her hands turning very pale as her body appeared to freeze and soon take on a new texture, making it seem like porcelain. If that didn't alarm her enough, the sight of joints forming in her fingers certainly shocked her. She screamed, but soon found that her face was being pulled by an unseen force into a smile. She tried to resist it, but found her voice silenced before her face froze. Her clothes, Asuna noticed, had shrunk with her thankfully. But at the change in what her kidnapper was chanting, they began to shift, stretch and change. Her jacket started to turn a red colour as it fused with the shirt she'd been wearing underneath, and her skirt. She started to recognise her new outfit as a dress as it finished forming. It was conservative in its cut, stretching down to her ankles, but it went overboard on its ostentation, with lacy white trim against red finery delicately embroidered with intricate patterns.  The dress billowed outward around her body, supported by a tiny corset and bustle, harkening back to Europe's old Victorian style, and was further decorated by several satin ribbons. Her shoes were plain by comparison, black and with only slightly raised heels, yet they were made of authentic leather.  Only a hint of her stockings could be seen between the hem of her dress and her shoes, yet they were no less detailed for being out of sight.  Even her panties had lace patterns!  He also accessorized her outfit with white fingerless evening gloves, a big (obviously a relative term) matching bow tying her braids together in the back, and a fancy umbrella placed in her hands and resting upon her shoulders.  He then crowned her with a tiara, making her seem like a princess.  The only accessory that brought her any comfort was her necklace, shaped as a cross, the symbol her guild, the Knights of the Blood Oath had used back in Sword Art Online.   From what Asuna could see of the new outfit, she thought it looked ridiculous. She brought her hands up to her face to attempt to make sense of what had happened to her. She couldn't move her face anymore and soon, the pieces began to fall into place in her mind. "A doll?!" She thought. But Asuna had no time to contemplate on the fact that her kidnapper had turned her into a living doll, she had to get out of this place. Sluggishly, Asuna tried to get to her feet but her movements felt... off. She managed to get to her feet, and walk a small distance but her balance was definitely off. She soon tripped, but ended up falling into the hand of her captor. As the man lifted her up, he pinned Asuna's arms to her sides. "You turned out very well." He commented, taking her over to a nearby table. He moved her hair out of the way, and opened up her dress with the zipper in the back. Asuna struggled, but found a new, strange feeling on her neck as he drew an arcane symbol on the base of her neck before she felt any control over her own body slip away. He placed her down on the table, in front of a small mirror. Asuna could see the forced smile plastered on her face, and the blush spots painted on her cheeks. Despite all the changes, her hair still seemed like it was real. She wasn't happy with this at all!  She wanted to be with Kazuto, not this… freak. Her captor's tastes seemed to be a strange combination of the old and the new.   While she was wearing a fancy dress, and there were a handful of dolls nearby her with similarly styled but less elaborate attire, others wore outfits like bikinis or the costumes of anime characters.  She could also look out into his room through the glass of the case that he kept her in, and saw that it was also decorated by several wall scrolls, like a typical otaku's room.   But given the terrible power that he had, she wouldn't have been surprised if a number of the figures and dolls in the room, and perhaps even some of the posters and wall scrolls, had once been real girls like her.  No, she was certain of it.  But try as she might, she couldn't talk to any of them, and it seemed that none of them could speak to her.  Neither did they have a means of nonverbal communication, for none of them could make any expressions other than the ones they had been given, and notions of using some sort of telepathy were pure fantasy. He said that she was the pride of his collection.  He had admired her for so long from afar, even back in the days when they were both trapped in Sword Art Online.  But she would never be his, not as a girl anyway, and so he had settled for having her as a doll.  Besides, it was good to have her brought down a peg from when she was the Vice-Commander of the Knights of the Blood Oath and to know that she couldn't ever leave him. And wasn't she so pretty now? It was all thanks to a strange book on the occult that he had found after getting out of SAO.  Yes, some of his other collectibles had been once real girls who had caught his eye and also spurned his advances, and he even introduced Asuna to them.  Yet though they had come before her, they had been but tests so that he could perfect the spells for her, and now they were afterthoughts next to the attention he lavished on Asuna.  His captives, including Asuna, were well-hidden in plain sight among hundreds figures and numerous scrolls that covered every inch of available wall space. It made her feel sick.  But she could only wait and have faith that Kazuto would find and save her one day, as he always had. The days passed by in a blur, an endless tedium broken only when her owner opened the display case to adjust her pose or change her clothes, sometimes snapping pictures of her for scrapbooking or future reference, or more horrifyingly, when he added new girls to his collection.  She wanted to cry out and help them, but she was incapable of doing so from her perch behind glass and with her doll's body.  Just like her, they would become seemingly lifeless dolls or figures with bright smiles on their faces, or else they'd be made to assume really embarrassing poses before being converted into dye upon cloth, usually with some sort of background added in.  Yet they were mere amusements to him, and she remained his clear favorite.  Thankfully, the frequency of his "acquisitions" also seemed to drop off with time. Asuna could see a calendar on the wall across from her.  First it was a month, then six, then a year, then two years.  At that point, he smugly told her that the authorities had stopped looking for her and that Kirito clearly didn't care enough about her to find her.  But she wouldn't have to worry: he'd always take care of her. Soon, Asuna wasn't sure how long she had been there.  The calendar said it was 2032, but she couldn't remember when she had first joined the collection.  She was still in mint condition, free of dust and with not even a scratch on her paint job, thanks to her owner's diligent care.  It was a simple existence that demanded nothing from her, unlike the stress of running a guild or cramming for exams, yet a fulfilling one that filled her with the knowledge that she was appreciated, and she had come to love wearing her dress.  Its every stitch was testament to how much her owner loved her, and she took pride in the fact that she remained his favorite doll. Though they only arrived rarely now, the new dolls seemed frightened before assuming their forms for display, but  their smiles afterward assured Asuna that they would eventually come to find happiness as she had.  She wished that she could talk to them though and tell them that everything would be all right.  She could really use a good conversation too, but she never got one, and thus any words from her owner, especially those about the state of the outside world, were precious.  But most of the time he just told her how beautiful she was and how lucky he was to own her, and that was no less gratifying even with its repetition. Yet something nagged at the back of her mind.  There was something, no someone important that she had forgotten.  He was a black-haired swordsman who she had met in her past life.  What was his name?  Kaz… Kiri…?  It was muddled in her mind, yet the brief time she had spent with him was something that she would always treasure.   She wished that she could see the swordsman at least one more time, so that her memories of their time together could come rushing back to her.  Perhaps she even go off on another adventure with him… even if that adventure was simply to join his collection instead.  In spite of how well she was treated here, she knew that the black-haired swordsman was her rightful owner, and that her glass case was like a gilded cage.  That seemed vaguely familiar as well, a cage somewhere among the trees and the sky… And he had come for her then, hadn't he?  So a part of her stubbornly held onto her faith, and would do so no matter how long it took her first and truest love. And then one day her owner did something outside of his usual routine, taking her down from her shelf.  He didn't seem to have a new outfit that he wanted her to wear, for he kept her in the red dress, and Asuna felt anxiety creeping over her.  What was going on? "It's your big day, Asuna," he said with a smile. "Today I finally get to show you off, along with the other highlights of my collection." He seemed to have a case prepared for her, with foam cut to her shape inside, and set her down so that it acted as a cushion around her.  Asuna felt a little reassured by his gentle words, and the foam ensured that she wouldn't break in transit, but she couldn't entirely shake the feeling of uncertainty.  Was he showing her off so that he could sell her to another collector?  He wouldn't do that!  Would he? But then the case closed, and Asuna was left in complete darkness.   Asuna felt herself panicking a bit.  The foam was snug enough around her and not at all uncomfortable, and she knew that she couldn't suffocate in the case; she didn't breathe in the first place as a doll.  Yet claustrophobia had quickly set in all the same.  Maybe it was because dolls existed to be where people could see them, either playing with them or appreciating them on display.  Thus, being hidden away like this was a terror to her. She felt the case being picked up, and soon she was on her way… to wherever her owner was taking her. -------------------- For Kirigaya Kazuto, the last five years had been a nightmare. Yuuki Asuna, his girlfriend and wife within the virtual world, who had been his partner since the death game of Sword Art Online, had vanished without a trace in 2027.  They had both been in college and had been talking of moving in together and getting officially married to each other in the real world soon.  But someone had abducted her while she was on her way to the campus one morning, and the realization of this had been like a knife through Kazuto's heart.  No ransom demands were made, and he grew even more worried.  Asuna was incredibly beautiful, and unfortunately Japan had plenty of perverts.  Had they kidnapped Asuna just so they could rape her, just as the despicable and now disgraced Nobuyuki Sugou had once attempted in the virtual world? Since he was one of the closest people to her, he had naturally been questioned about her disappearance, but no further action was taken because there was no evidence to link him to any crime.  Asuna's mother still seemed to blame him somehow, even if she knew that he hadn't actually been responsible.  Yuuki Kyouko had never been particularly fond of him, looking down upon him as being "beneath" her daughter in spite of the everlasting bond that they had forged together.  She would have much preferred that her daughter marry some well-off businessman or a young heir.  It was the sort of thinking that had once led to Asuna being betrothed to Sugou, though Kyouko still contended that the match had been her husband Shouzou's idea and that she hadn't liked Sugou.  He had a feeling the two of them would never be able to see eye-to-eye. Two years after Asuna's disappearance, she had been declared legally dead. But Kazuto refused to believe it.  Asuna was strong, and she would survive.  And he would find her one day. Indeed, finding Asuna became his obsession to the detriment of all else.  He didn't sleep well anymore, and he would run himself ragged poring over any leads he could find.  His hair became wild from a lack of care, and his grades slipped, though he had enough natural brilliance with computers that he was still able to find enough part-time work to support himself while he worked on upgrading the capabilities of his A.I. daughter, Yui, who used her ability to sift through information at speeds impossible for a human to help him in his search for Asuna.  Suguha and the others were really worried about him, yet thankfully they had the decency not to make advances on him once they realized he would never be over Asuna.   Then one day in 2032, Kazuto heard the words he had long dreamed of. "Daddy!  I've found Mommy!" Yui shouted, waving him over to the computer terminal she was connected to.  His daughter still didn't have a body of her own, but she could navigate a simulated facsimile of the room based on camera feeds, and he now wore one of the first Neuro Linker models around his neck, projecting her image into his mind as if she were really there.  Invented within just the last year, it operated on similar principles to the NERV Gear and AmuSphere but it had considerably greater processing power and utilized a low-power quantum connection with the user's brain.  Unlike the devices that had preceded it, which were strictly for gaming, one could be fully awake while using a Neuro Linker, which allowed it to provide for Augmented Reality.  Not only did this let him experience Yui in his room, but it also functioned as a personal computer in which applications could be opened, closed, and used through thought, though it retained full dive capabilities.  It was a miraculous piece of technology, and he suspected that someone may have stolen some of his ideas to make it, but he couldn't bring himself to care with Asuna missing. Kazuto ran over to his daughter and her computer screen.  She still had the same child-like appearance as always, though recently she had begun to consider gradually updating her appearance so that she could "grow up" like any other couple's daughter.   "Where is she?" Kazuto asked anxiously. "Here, at the convention center," Yui replied, effortlessly bringing up a picture through her connection to the terminal. "Huh?"  Kazuto didn't see Asuna.   He saw someone's collection of dolls standing on a table.   "Yui, I think you've made some sort of mistake." "No, I'm certain of it, Daddy.  Look closer."  She magnified the image, zooming in on one of the dolls, one wearing a fancy red dress, a tiara and a white ribbon in its hair, and holding an tiny umbrella again its shoulder.  "Her face is the same as Mommy's, within a certainty of 95%."  Yui brought up several more pictures from different angles.  "Adding these to my analysis drives my certainty up to nearly 99.7%.   Her hair color is identical, and the style is similar - notice the braids on the sides of her head.  And this doll's name is even Asuna." Kazuto felt his mind spinning.   Was this just like the start of his journey into ALO, a picture leading him to Asuna?  But how could that really be Asuna?  It had to just be a doll based on her appearance.  But it was the best lead they had found in a while, and in his gut he knew it couldn't be a coincidence.  Someone couldn't have made such a doll without having plenty of references to Asuna's appearance on hand… or maybe, just maybe Asuna captive herself. "When and were were these pictures taken?" "Just a few minutes ago, in a convention center here in Tokyo, Daddy.   I'll search for the address for you."  Bringing up a search engine on her terminal, it only took moments for Yui to find the information.   "Thanks, Yui.  I'll check it out right away.  I owe Asuna that much if there's any chance that this could help me find her again." "Bring Mommy back soon, Daddy!" --------------------------------- The convention center was packed with people.  It had been a long time since Kazuto had been around so many people, in the real or virtual worlds, and he keenly felt his old awkwardness once again.  Otaku of all stripes were showing off their collections, and while he would have liked to check out the more technological exhibits, he was on a mission to find a very particular doll collection. And finally, he did. ------------ Asuna found it exhilarating to have so many people around admiring her, or even just going about their business, talking about various things.  The simple pleasure of being around people other than her owner was one she had been long starved of.  Yet the crowds also encouraged her rebellious thoughts.  Perhaps the black-haired swordsman, her true owner, would be among them and would come to see her. And then, she saw him!  He had come for her after all!  Even after five years, he was instantly recognizable to her, even if his hair was messier than she remembered it.  Seeing him also jogged her memory somewhat.  His name was Kirito! She was desperate to reach out to him, despite the fact that she had never been able to communicate with anyone since becoming a doll.  "Kirito-sama!  It's me, Asuna!  I'm down here!"  Maybe it was her sheer determination, or maybe it was her ability to easily empathize with Kirito given how well she knew him, but this time she actually got a response.  His head turned so that he was looking right at her, his eyes widened, and she heard another voice in her own mind. "Asuna?". ------- Kazuto clearly heard Asuna's voice, and, through his Neuro Linker, Yui heard it too ("Mommy!").  But when he turned toward the source of the voice, all he saw was the doll that Yui had pointed out to him.  But how could it have spoken?  Was it really Asuna after all?  Was this some kind of telepathy?  What was going on? "Yes, Kirito-sama, it's me, Asuna.  It's been so long since I've seen you, but I knew that you'd come for me one day." "Wait… Kirito-sama?  When did you start calling me that?  And how can you be a doll?  Please tell me that I'm not going crazy." Kazuto sensed an edge as sharp as steel pressing against his mind.   "That's mean, Kirito-sama.  You're my only true owner, so of course you deserve that honorific.  Though I suppose it's a long story as to how I got like this…  To make it short, magic.  Is that so hard to believe? We're already talking telepathically.  I can't speak on my own as a doll, so even this conversation with you is a miracle.  It's been years since I've been able to talk to anyone!" Kazuto supposed that made sense, and he was glad that some of Asuna's fierce personality remained, although the years of isolation had clearly gotten to her, muddling her memories and making her view herself as his doll rather than his wife.  Well, hopefully with time the independent Asuna who was his equal would return.  But first he had to figure out how he could help her get back to normal. "Okay, Asuna.  I believe you, and I promise you'll be back to your old self soon.  What do I need to - " "Can I help you?" the man displaying the doll collection asked, breaking Kazuto's concentration. "Oh - I was… just admiring your collection," Kazuto fumbled, while trying to see if he could somehow keep talking to Asuna.  He could still hear her voice in his mind, but he was having trouble reaching out to her now.  After all, it was nearly impossible to hold two coherent conversations at the same time.   "Ah, yes."  He beckoned down to Asuna.  "This doll is the pride of my collection.  Doubtlessly she's the one that caught your eye." "He's the one who stole me from you," Asuna continued, a venom that she had almost forgotten entering her tone.   "Does the doll have a name?" Kazuto asked, trying to sound natural. "Of course.  This one is named Asuna."  He paused.  "Do I know you from somewhere?" "Be careful, Daddy!" Yui chimed in through the Neuro Linker.  "He's getting suspicious!  Could he be another SAO survivor?" "He is," Asuna confirmed.   "I know, Yui, and thank you, Asuna" Kazuto thought back.  Returning his attention to Asuna's captor, he truthfully replied, "I can't say that I recall your face."  Trying to change the topic, he continued, "Would you be willing to sell Asuna?" It would surely be expensive, but if he could get Asuna away from him without any confrontation that would be all the better, especially in such a crowed convention center. "Sorry, but she's not for sale.  Asuna means too much to me.  Now maybe one of the others..." "Find out where he lives, and come for me." Asuna whispered into his mind.  "All you have to do is steal me back, Kirito-sama.  You've done that before, haven't you?" "I'll think about that then.  How may I contact you?" The collector handed him his card, complete with an e-mail address.   Bingo!  Kazuto could see that Asuna's captor was wearing a Neuro Linker as well, so all he would have to do is send an e-mail inquiring about the rest of the collection and attach a computer virus to it.  Once his foe's Neuro Linker was compromised, he could learn everything that he needed to know to rescue Asuna and he'd be able to confuse her captor's senses as well.   "Thank you," Kazuto replied, before turning to leave.  It would do him no good to further rouse suspicion here.   "I'll be back for you soon, Asuna." "I know." --------------------------------- "All too easy."  People just didn't learn, did they, even when the Neuro Linker had made it more important than ever to be vigilant in the security of one's computer, as it interfaced directly with one's brain. If you were a good enough hacker, you could even read the target's memories via the neurolinker.  Finding a particular memory wasn't easy, since they weren't organized quite like files were, and there would necessarily be a bit of fuzziness in the recall, but Kazuto had extensively studied the brain as part of his interest in VR technology, so he was sure that he could do it.   So what exactly was he up against?  To answer that question, he needed to know exactly how the man had abducted and transformed Asuna.  He figured that the best way to accomplish this would be to induce the stimulus of Asuna's appearance before her transformation, so that her captor would naturally recall the relevant memories.   And then he had them, the mental images triggered in the man's mind, which were relayed to Kazuto's own Neuro Linker, allowing him to experience them as if they were firsthand.   There were flashes of Asuna within Aincrad, of the man lecherously watching her from afar.  Of the man discovering his powers and testing them on other girls, just as practice for Asuna.   A flash of how he approached Asuna one day as she was leaving from class and hypnotized her into following him.  And he saw the man cast his fateful spells upon her, shrinking her and then drawing a mark that robbed her of mobility.  From there, the man put Asuna in a fancy dress and then on display on his shelf, where she stayed for five years. Kazuto could barely contain his rage, but he had to remain focused on what he was seeing so that he could formulate a plan. And then Kazuto saw another memory, one that was far more recent.  The man seemed to have decided that Asuna needed some friends to accompany her on his shelf, and he didn't mean just any friends like the other girls he had transformed over the years.  He had his eyes on Asuna's friends - Rika and Shino.  Sure, they now were "older" than Asuna, but they were both beautiful in their own right, and the man thought that it would be fun to dress them up in frilly outfits too, especially Shino. Now Kazuto's rage boiled over.  What the man had done to Asuna was already unforgivable, and now the villain planned to kidnap his friends too? And what sort of sick joke was it that it always seemed like there was some sort of stalker after them?   If the man's thoughts were any indication, Shino was his preferred target.  He'd approach her like he had Asuna, hypnotize her, and then lead her back to his apartment, where he'd transform her into his newest doll.  But as tempting as it was just to break into the man's apartment, immediately retrieve Asuna, and ambush him when he arrived with his would-be victim, Kazuto knew he couldn't do that.  Firstly, he couldn't let any of his friends be subjected to the man's control in good conscience if it was within his power to prevent it.  Secondly, it would be all too easy for the man to transform him there if the advantage of surprise was lost, and while that could reunite him with Asuna, it certainly an outcome to be avoided.  Lastly, there was the issue of what would happen to the man in the aftermath.  If he was allowed to go free, he would just keep transforming more young women… it wasn't as if the courts recognized "involuntary transformation" as a crime.  And if Kazuto broke into his apartment or killed him, Kazuto would find himself locked up for his own crimes and wouldn't be able to be with Asuna again.   So the solution was to catch the man in the act of trying to kidnap Shino - that was recognized as a real crime after all.  Once that was accomplished, retrieving Asuna from the man's apartment would be simple. Given how recent the memory was, he had to assume that the man would be going after Shino very soon.  As he hurried to where he could expect to find Shino, he could only hope that he wasn't too late to save her. --------------------------------------- "All too easy,"  the man thought.  Asada Shino stood before him, a distant look in her eyes, under his thrall, at least for now.  For an officer in training, she wasn't that tough.  The mind could be such a fragile thing, even if one gained a measure of inner strength over the years.  Sure, she had put up some mental resistance, but it was just a matter of finding the flaws in her resolve, punching holes in them, and then filling them in with pleasant visions that would pacify her.  She would see him as someone she trusted now, so that if he were to politely ask her to follow him, she would not object.   And then she would be his as a cute doll, right next to Asuna with a nice smile on her face. It had also been too easy to approach Shino as she left from work.  It was relatively late, and while the city was always busy, it was less so at this hour.  To any onlooker, he was probably just an acquaintance of hers who had paused to talk, and then they would leave together. Surely, there could be nothing suspicious about that.  Even when Shino was found to be missing, the chances of witnesses testimony leading back to him was slim at best.  Besides, he liked to change his attire regularly, and also varied his hairstyle or wore wigs while acquiring his new dolls, so even if people did report seeing someone talking to young women before their disappearances, the police wouldn't have a consistent description for the subject. Of course, if someone was to get too nosy, they'd notice Shino's stupor, and that would be suspicious.  But people were always in a hurry, so few would pause for a closer look. Yet… someone was getting closer right now, hurrying toward him with undeniable purpose.  How had he messed up?  Was it an acquaintance of Shino's, come to meet with her unbeknownst to him, who was alarmed at seeing her with a stranger?   No… this wasn't a coincidence.  The would-be meddler was familiar to him.   He had seen the black-haired man at the convention, where he had showed off Asuna like she was any other doll proudly in his collection.  And then it clicked.  The man was Kirito, Asuna's boyfriend!  Kirito would have recognized her anywhere.  How had he been so careless not to realize the black-haired man's identity before?  And Kirito was Shino's friend as well.  He didn't know how Kirito had pieced together that Shino was his next target, but that wasn't important right now… stopping Kirito was. Other eyes were already being drawn to Kirito's motion, and then he shouted "Shino!".  Now Kirito had really made a scene, and Shino blinked next to him, a sign that his hold over her was wavering.  He'd certainly lose control over her if he had to hypnotize the whole crowd.  Could he even manage to do it for so many people at once?  Even if he could, the strength of his suggestions would certainly be diffused among them. That was not a viable strategy, especially when Kirito was nearly upon him. No, he'd have to flee with Shino while he could still control her, and then he could fight back against Kirito when there were fewer people around.   Once it was just the two of them, he could turn Kirito into a doll as well… and then smash him into pieces.  He wasn't interested in collecting male dolls, and he was feeling rather vindictive after Kirito had ruined what should have been an easy acquisition.  And so he grabbed Shino by the arm, and began forcibly dragging her along with him. But then, a shadow loomed over him from behind.  Turning around, he saw a giant, black-haired girl, who seemed to be getting bigger by the moment.  Or was he shrinking?  It was utterly absurd, but he found himself rooted to the spot. "You're going to pay for what you did to Mommy," the black-haired girl said as she reached down toward him with a now-massive hand.   He was powerless to resist.  Was this how his dolls felt after he transformed them?  All he could do was scream. He didn't even notice that Shino had woken fully from her trance, and he only felt himself getting bludgeoned in the back of the head by her bag before losing consciousness. ---------------------------- It wasn't long before the raving lunatic and would-be kidnapper was taken away by the police. Shino, of course, had to make a statement, stating that the man had indeed tried to kidnap her, but Kazuto had apparently slipped away in the aftermath of the incident.  Wasn't he going to tell her what was going on?  It was infuriating! Finally, she was free to go, and soon thereafter she received a call from Kazuto, asking to meet with her.  It was about time! Kazuto was there to greet her when she arrived at his residence.  There was a look of relief on his face that she hadn't seen in years.   "Please, come in." She nodded, and stepped inside. "I believe I owe you an explanation, Shino." "You've got that right." "Firstly, this all has to do with Asuna." There it was again.  Kazuto had never been able to get beyond the grim truth that Asuna had been kidnapped and likely murdered.  But seeing that he had saved her tonight, and for old times' sake, she felt compelled to listen to him. "I'm listening." "The man who tried to kidnap you tonight was the same man who kidnapped Asuna five years ago." "How do you know that?" "It's a long story… you'd think I was crazy if I didn't have proof with me. But I do."  With that, he picked up an exquisite porcelain doll with strawberry-blonde hair and a gorgeous red dress and a tiara, making it look like a princess, and reverentially set it down in front of her. "Um… I'm sorry, Kazuto, but I don't follow." "Look more carefully at her." This was getting really weird, but Shino played along.  Adjusting her glasses (although she didn't really need to, since the lenses were non-corrective), she squinted and bent forward to get a good look at the doll's face. Wait!  That was Asuna's face!  And the braided hair…  Kazuto couldn't mean? "Hello, Sinonon.  It's been a while, hasn't it?" Asuna's voice said directly into her mind, using the affectionate nickname that she had once used for Shino. Shino almost fell out of her chair, and narrowly avoided knocking the doll over in her surprise. "Be careful, Sinonon!  You wouldn't want to break me on my first night among friends in five years!  Unfortunately, I'm very fragile right now." The doll was talking to her.  The doll was Asuna! "I'm dreaming," Shino told herself.  She gave herself a hard pinch.  It hurt.  "But I'm not.  How can this be?" "I'd be lying if I told you that I fully understood it myself," Kazuto replied.  "But it seems that some sort of magic really exists in our world.  And that man used it to turn Asuna into a doll.   He was planning to do the same to you next, adding you to his collection and putting you onto a shelf next to her."   "Though I would have enjoyed your company, it's good Kirito-sama was able to get to you when he did.  And then, he came back for me, so I got to see you again anyway.  But I can't help but think of how cute you would have looked, Sinonon.  You'll have to dress up for me one day." "What?!"  Shino felt her face burning red. "Was it something I said?" Asuna asked innocently. "Of course there is!  Me, dressing up as a doll?  And why are you calling him Kirito-sama?  You were close, but you never had that kind of relationship!" "You'll have to forgive Asuna," Kazuto replied. "The ordeal took a toll on her, and it may be a while before she's back to her old personality.  But the more she can interact with her old friends, the faster I think her recovery will be." "I see… well, I suppose I can do that."  But no sooner had her embarrassment passed, another thought occurred to her.  "Kazuto, why weren't you at the station when they brought that stalker in?  Of course, the police wouldn't have believed the story about Asuna being a doll, but you still should have been there to give testimony." "I was retrieving Asuna." "Are you saying that you used me as BAIT so that you could break into his apartment while he was detained?" "He was going after you anyway, it was the best way too…." SLAP!  "Unbelievable!" "Sinonon, how could you?  Even if Kirito-sama did have an ulterior motive, if he hadn't come for you when he did, you would have been captured too." "Hmph.  Fine.   But don't think I'll forget this soon." "Oh, before I forget, Asuna, there's something I should take care of," Kazuto added, carefully lifting her up again, and lifting her hair to reveal a mark on the back of her neck.  Rubbing out the mark, he set her down again.  "Do you feel any better now?" -------------------- Asuna felt a strange sensation throughout her porcelain body.  She still didn't have any muscles or blood flowing through her veins (or veins at all for that matter), but it was animated nonetheless.  Experimentally, she flexed an arm, and then took a few dainty steps off her stand.  High above her, Sinonon was freaking out, but Kirito-sama's smile was beaming down on her.   How odd it felt to be able to move on her own again… she had almost forgotten that she had enjoyed this sort of freedom once, how she had once been the Flash, gracefully dashing across the battlefield.  Well, that had been in world other than this one, in another life, with a virtual body, but she remembered it all the same. Of course, she wouldn't be setting any speed records with her current porcelain body, lest she risk tripping and smashing herself.  If that happened, she had no idea if Kirito-sama would ever be able to put her back together again, let alone restore her to how she had once been… a human being.  Her range of motion was also far more limited than when she had been human, as she could only move at her joints.  Consequently, she was stuck with the same smiling expression that she had worn for five years, only now, she sincerely felt that way.   For all of the shortcomings of her situation, it was enough for now. Carefully mounting her stand once again, she let herself become still, though the animating energy continued to flow through her. "I think I'll rest here for now," she said telepathically to the one whom she truly belonged to in heart, porcelain body, and soul. "I don't mind if you keep me on your shelf until you figure out how to restore me to my old self.  You can do that, right?" "It will take some time… I'm going to have to study that book that creep had in his room... it's where he learned his magic.  But I promise you Asuna, I will, no matter how long it takes." "I waited five years… I can wait a few more, and I don't mind if it's for you.  In the meantime, we'll have to invite Liz and all of the others over, and have a party.  I can't wait to see the looks on their faces." "What about your parents?" She would have frowned if she could. "It's… probably best if they don't see me like this.  They wouldn't understand.  But once I'm restored… we'll see them then." "I agree.  Well, I'll make things as comfortable for you here as I can in the meantime… and get a lot of cushions for the room." "And I," Sinonon added, having finally composed herself, "will pretend I heard none of this, especially that part about breaking and entering. But no matter what you've forgotten Asuna, never forget how lucky you are to have him, even as a doll."  Was there jealousy in her voice? And so began the next phase of Asuna's life.   She had no idea how long it would be before she would be human again, but she looked toward that future with hope, secure in the knowledge that she was no longer a captive behind glass.        

A Cab Ride

   Nico would have liked to walk. It was a cool May night, it had rained for a couple of hours, and now as the clouds began to somewhat clear, the air had a translucent crispness. Prism-like, it diffused and it sharpened whimsically the lights reflecting off the wet streets, slapped great even chunks of light onto damp, hanging walls. The air was saturated to tipsiness with light, zipping in and out of the narrow streets. The passing cars sizzled. Despite the motley crowds – the drunk young men following with their eyes the bare, whimsical legs of girls, and other girls, more self-possessed and discreet, walking besides potential lovers, and the weak and ugly – the rejects like a pile of defective dolls filtered out of a production line and piled in a corner – lounging passively on the sides, or practising some quaint art, juggling, balancing, playing drums with sticks and plastic buckets, or just composing their quaint thoughts, writing loose-ended poems in their minds – there was serenity in the aftermath of the sudden, heavy rain. The many, many ads of Dundas Square jostled for room in the calm, distracted minds of pedestrians. Nico smiled sarcastically at the bikini clad Beyoncé in the H&M ad. “Female empowerment,” she uttered in a voice of sarcastic solidarity, loudly enough to turn the heads of some bystanders, who were waiting, like her, for the streetcar. The image tapped like cold drops of rain on the mirror of her vanity, tap, tap, with the beat, beat, beat of the sticks on the buckets. Brushing her hair behind her shoulders with her fingers, Nico dove into her huge handbag, looking for her cell-phone. There was no time, she had to get to work. The bar manager had called her, asking her to cover for Sophia’s shift. Sophia had long, golden hair that reached down in vine-like coils; it was her own. Nico didn’t mind the work: she could use the money.

   She hailed the next cab, it’s headlights – as it swerved dangerously toward her; so that it took a leap of faith just to stand her ground, convince herself that the laws of civilization and machinery colluded to make a collision near impossible – revealing the gentle spray (for surprisingly there were still light clouds overhead – it was difficult to be sure in the starless city sky – and some spray) that she didn’t even feel touch her skin. In the cab, she took off her flip-flops, shoved them in her bag, and pulled out a pair of heels. They clicked onto her feet, one by one, like the shackle of a padlock locking into the groove; a timer began in her mind. A maple leaf idly hung, gently swung from the rear-view mirror, glazing the air with prickly, synthetic perfume. “Isn’t tonight to die for?” she asked Zulu, the driver, as she put on her heels. He watched her eyes in the rear-view mirror, as they scanned the street. “It’s a nice night.” “I would have walked, but luckily for you, I’m running late for work,” Zulu smiled at the familiarity of her tone, at how unalarmed, how discreetly confident her eyes were when they met his in the mirror. Her phone buzzed from a text message.

   “And a moment ago you were ready to pay a far greater price for this night,” Zulu poked at her casually. He always knew, with good confidence, how far he could take a conversation with his passengers. It was easy to tell, of course, which ones not to engage with, or simply nod his head to. But there were many who welcomed conversation. To the shy ones who would readily confide to a stranger who was unlikely to ever see them again, he would offer a sincere, acquiescent confessional; some even welcomed forthright opinions. Some were friendly because they found silence awkward, whose words always seemed insincere, contrived, even condescending. Then there were the fun, happy-go-lucky, or hammered, stoned, tripping passengers, the ones he could take around on a longer route, or sell, if he measured them correctly, MJ or some powders, or even – something that happened very rarely indeed  - even join their party.  This much Zulu considered his vocational requisite.  But it was a game Zulu had begun to enjoy, whittling away the time while he drove mechanically, gaining finesse in the act as he quite unconsciously expanded the scope of his personality – like chameleons evolving over thousands of years the range of their skins’ colours – selecting with great subtlety those pieces of his past that accentuated his present, momentary personality. To say that he resorted to lies would be straying very far from the exercise – to call it an exercise is perhaps too misleading.

   Driving home from the airport, only the previous weekend, a lawyer returning from the capital after throwing a case, Zulu sensed beneath the man’s restless, self-pitying gaze a streak of recrimination. This was neither unfamiliar nor unnerving: Zulu recognized this gaze as the somewhat sadistic, unhatched racism of a high powered man. The lawyer spoke now and then in short, sharp sentences, in a voice that invited no reply – he might have been speaking to himself, even as he stared at the back of Zulu’s head from the back seat. “Defeat, it makes me so hungry,” he confessed with a hand pressed on his stomach. And he didn’t need to: it hovered over his taut lips – the hunger. But what would you know about that, his eyes seemed to follow up as they turned away to watch the passing cars. Like following a thread to a ball of yarn Zulu began to trace the lawyer’s pulse closer and closer to his heart. “As a child I was a great swimmer. Very competitive. I remember each victory, and each defeat, they stay with me,” he spoke with the proud, playful solemnity of an energetic boy displaying new scars to a friend. Was that the truth? He wasn’t a hundred percent. He recalled swimming; he recalled winning – the heaviness of water, the feeling. He saw murky, brackish waves receding over a hole in the sand, through his windshield. “Swimming, it also makes me hungry, but never makes me feel defeated,” the lawyer’s gasping head emerged from the water left over in the hole. Zulu let him breath, for a while, in the crest of the silence between them. “So Zimmerman was acquitted,” he said, to help him emerge fully. It was nonsense, the whole thing, of course, but the lawyer explained to Zulu – happy to show off his liberal leanings in a condescending tone – the historical momentum behind the defence. “Any judge would have seen it coming,” he hypothesised, “and thought, ‘necessary evil,’ before his nightcap.” “Or not. Perhaps a judge is a judge not for his moral knowledge and authority, but for his moral neutrality, the exercise and… exhibition, of which has brought him where he stands.” “Are you saying that to be a judge a man has to be corrupt!” the lawyer snapped unthinkingly, unprepared, unwilling to take time with the cab driver’s meaning. But he knew what the cabbie had meant; they both did in all probability inhabit vastly different moral worlds – so where would any judge be expected to stand between them? “And where does God stand, you think?” he voiced his next thought very naturally, openly, and it was soothing; to say that, so say the word God in front of a stranger in a serious context, almost as if he believed in God.

   “I’m sorry, I have to… we have to change directions, I need to go somewhere else,” Nico’s urgent, earthy voice trilled in Zulu’s ear, and his hands clasped more tightly around the steering wheel. Still looking at her cell phone, she gave him the new directions. As he turned the car he resented the change in destination, the fickleness of youth – the metre didn’t matter – but it was a momentary lapse. It was the most natural thing, to change direction; on the savannahs there used to be no directions, so perhaps it can be said one was always changing; one shifted one’s head, here, this way and that, in hope to sense the world behind the thousand bars that exhausted the once wild gaze. But now and then, it’s also said, the curtain of the pupils soundlessly slides open, and an image enters – be it the sun narrowly framed between whimsical, pale yellow buildings, just ahead at the end of the street as if waiting, waiting with a promise; be it the unreasonable chiaroscuro of excitement suffused whimsically through a pretty woman’s cheek. “Yet more proof that there are things far more important than this… beautiful, night,” what was it that was so sad – nostalgia? – in his voice? But how could that be! Nico was touched. “I will not waste it, I promise you,” she said laughingly, sincerely, “I will stay alert, and, like Napoleon, I will make my fatal move in the depth of the night, when the city is unhinged,” she felt a little madness stir inside her, a little poetry. It was as if a mist passed through her body, and impregnated a thousand abstractions; crisscrossing through her limbs, they pulled her erect: life then was magic. Was there anything more enchanting than to wait, than apprehension? The world so full of calls and seductions, the air with her fragrant messengers, the streets with their pointing fingers, the homey buildings that seemed to gaze wistfully at her as she passed swiftly on her way. “Can you drive slower, please?” she demanded. Zulu obliged gratefully, braking gently; the next passenger could be anybody – an asshole, very likely. He liked being who he was at the moment. And the world: it was a slightly different place at each speed. “I know nothing about Napoleon, but now I know that we had one thing in common.” “What’s that?” “Being nocturnal. Or never sleeping, I should say.”

   The words descended upon Zulu from around him, crystallized upon his consciousness, and echoed, only faintly, without much of their meaning, into Nico’s. They were like a hand releasing him from the hook of Nico’s presence; disengaged, he fluttered. He felt old, centuries old; how long, like Charon, had he been carrying people between lives? Bringing home sailors, delivering businessmen to their families, mothers to their mothers, daughters to their lovers, and the darker transactions that usually, if revealed to him, held their individual identity for longer. They pooled like the pale, reflected moonlight on the swaying surface of a lake, all those faces, those snippets of strangers’ lives – submerging and re-emerging from the waves, scattering, interchanging, and unifying tirelessly. And every time Zulu grew weary of following the indecipherable dance something would sparkle brilliantly, begging Zulu to make the effort to explore. Detached, enlarged, harrowed: the face of a homeless man, who after braving a chilly, snowy day outside for dedication to his calling of begging strangers for assistance and change (loonies and toonies, not socio-political revolution); he got in for a ride to a shelter when his exhausted body refused to even shiver to get warm. Zulu remembered warmly, patting himself on the back, how the two had argued over money: him refusing to accept any, and the homeless man refusing to not pay – out of respect for each other’s poverty. Would he still – unlikely… So much had changed. A homeless man could no longer, in these times, be even trusted to be non-violent. Zulu brushed the memory aside as it began to prod too deeply into the present. But the faces kept rising. Cold and ashen: a girl with whom he had once had a special agreement. What had become of her? Carmen; that was her name, but likely not her real name. Glittering, high-heeled, she emerged out of her apartment building – he always pictured her so – walking with bent knees that struggled to stabilise her body. How had he known? There were signs. “51 Wils– ,” she said tentatively; her destination was no more than an address to her, but that was not uncommon. Her eyes rested on nothing: but it was not shyness, it was not panic – what was it that made them so painfully mobile? She met his eyes in the rear-view mirror now and then, mid-sentence, and always paused her speech, as if the effort required making that contact left her too breathless to speak. Then abruptly she would look away, abruptly continue talking. Getting out of the taxi, she boldly touched his shoulder: “Will you wait for me an hour? I can give you twenty for that, and the fare back,” she proposed, her eyes looked straight out the windshield, blank, straining under the pressure of sensations to maintain a vacuum. He couldn’t say no. From that day she would always call him when she went to see her clients. As their relationship matured, instead of the twenty, she gave him blowjobs, sometimes right in the taxi, sometimes inviting him over to her apartment. They had been close, in a way.

   “I doubt, at least I hope, you’re not as mad as him,” Nico replied smilingly, her smile more than her words pulling Zulu back into the cab, “otherwise, let me out right now!” she said with a light tap on his shoulder. Her eyes were steady, abundant, when they fell upon his, in sharp contrast to the mysterious chasm of Carmen’s eyes; her touch was light and tentative. What were his thoughts doing roaming the wasteland of his memories with such a charming girl as a passenger? They needed to be present, sharp. “I doubt Napoleon was mad at all. He was probably simple, like a… like a lion, or a dog. Direct, confident, at least a little blood-thirsty; a man of action. Madness is a weakness, a frustration, of the will, because of too much thinking,” he paraphrased Dostoyevsky, tapping his forefinger on his temple for effect: they often did that in the movies, the men of action, as if even the little thinking that did happen in those brains needed to be translated to mechanical gestures to be meaningful. He hardly noticed Nico shift uneasily in her place, look away and outside her window, as one turns one’s eyes from the TV during a gruesome scene – what cutting words! how they seemed to approach her heart. “Take yourself as an example,” he continued, and her heart froze with sadistic pleasure, “how fluently you made up your mind just now, changed your mind, to do what your heart wanted. If you were mad we would still be circling around Dundas Square…”

   How silly she had been to. Of course he didn’t know her – how could he know anything of her heart, her madness. How wrecked her heart still was with indecision. Because who was it, after all, that she was on the way to see? He was beautiful, tall, powerful, and spoke softly; and her love – for perhaps it was love – was a great distraction, as if she had jumped off a cliff so she wouldn’t have to think about the hike down. They had met online (great story that would make for their grandkids!) as at the time they had met that was the only thing she had courage left for: putting a few of her pictures on a page and waiting, waiting, waiting. Her parents had met at university. “Well at least you got something out of it,” she used to tease her mother, who had not worked a day since Nico had been conceived. “If by something you mean a wonderful husband, and a daughter that, well, function as well as the microwave.” There used to be a serenity to her family’s home life that was breath-taking – like a Mozart largo, some breathtakingly slow violin sonata that pulls the nerves full length in sheer effort to capture its graceful development – and which she always found difficult to re-adjust to whenever she lost the tempo in her youthful verve. Her father would often stroll home from the University, where he was a professor of art history, for lunch, often stay, often make love to her mother in the sun-struck afternoons; the dog, too big and too furry for the heat, would laze outside their bedroom door, waiting. Nico would sit lonelily reading romances in the garden, watching squirrels glide from branch to branch, birds chase each other from tree to tree to tree. Her father would wake her up near evening as it cooled, gliding his hand across her arm coated with goose bumps: “You’re cold.” “So I’ll shiver myself warm,” she was never surprised by that touch in her sleep, but once awake, she would stream fluidly away like an amoeba. “My darling you are no old, stubborn fisherman preparing for the immoral sea. You are my daughter, and a princess. Just look at your arm!” he was a charming, eloquent man, who read the poets as if they had been his lovers in each of his many previous lives. And that was one world, her home, like a dream now, but even then: somewhat surreal, a mystical place where she had to enter with her shoes off from life outside, from school or from a gathering of friends.

   And there was another world: earthier and more addictive; simple, forceful; sensually opening like a primrose against a dark, intoxicating evening, which she stretched longer and longer to touch. This was the world of her lover. It was a world of immediacy, where she could drop a pebble and watch the ripples flow out; rather than her mysterious, cavernous family life, where the echoes of her own voice mingled with delicate, genteel murmurs somewhere in the invisible distance. It was a world full of artistic youths working odd jobs to scrounge for food and alcohol while they read their books, practised their arts, and made love to distract themselves from their fates; a world her father had only glimpsed the crests of through the lens of history, but which she was approaching in its murky entirety. She too, could press into her lover’s organs and watch the immediate pleasure in his face; it was so simple that it seemed enough, so simple that it seemed precarious. She had found him online, by waiting, which was not easy, nor painless. Before she found him she played the princess in her self-imposed captivity in a high tower. Nevertheless, she felt lucky; and sometimes when they argued she was reminded of that tower, the damp, stony room in her mind where she paced back and forth, alone, till her legs gave way: she would go his way. Compulsively, nervously, she checked the text again, as if there was a risk this time it would say something different. Her breath, her skin relaxed at reading the same message: “Meet me tonight…” it said.

   “Can you please speed up a bit, it feels like we have been circling the block,” she said irritably, raising herself in her seat, only to guiltily slink back. But there was no point explaining anything to the driver. But his silence was so cuttingly judgemental… “It is easy to start something; to make up… one’s mind about starting something,” she added to explain herself, “look at the whole picture. We started for a different destination –“ “And then you changed your mind,” Zulu finished her sentence. “You say the glass is half empty.” The cab stuttered through the traffic lights in Chinatown. Even late in the evening, with the street clear of the throbbing crowds, there was a scrappiness, a sense of disorder here. Perhaps it was the cheap signboards on the store fronts which cluttered the space due to their sheer individuality. Perhaps it was only the language, the script, which – because it was utterly meaningless to Nico – promulgated only a scripted confusion. They were fast approaching her destination, and with every moment, with every word out of Zulu’s mouth, Nico felt more misunderstood. “I don’t think it’s a matter of perspective. That is an oversimplification,” she said carefully, deliberately, stressing the syllables which seemed to leave their meaning in her mouth as they flew away. ”What you saw… see, as a simple decision was not that simple. And probably the same applies to Napoleon,” their meaning fizzled on her tongue, as she scrambled to wrap it in new, different words. “Do you not wish to be here?” Zulu said flippantly as he stopped next to the bar she pointed to, ”you still have one wish remaining out of three.” Nico leaned forward to hand him his fare. “I wish I were nowhere,” Zulu’s heart squirmed under the weight of her melancholy smile, “can you manage that for me?” He could only manage a joke, as he handed her change: “And here I thought you were going to grant me my freedom.”

Reprise (Chapter 29) [Frozen/Tangled/The Little Mermaid]

CHAPTER 29: A Nice Place to Visit

"It says he died about two hundred years ago," Rapunzel whispered.

"The one guy. The ONE guy who could have helped us." Elsa began pacing. "We've been searching all over for him and he's been dead for two centuries already. He was our last chance and we finally found where he is."

With a grunt, she kicked the gravestone. "I am tired of this stupid goose chase. I'm so far away from my family, my home." She kicked again and again. "My country's at war. And I can't do anything about it!"

The last kick cracked the stone. It toppled like a playing card. Elsa shirked back. "Oops."

"What's this?" Rapunzel asked. "This writing down below."

The bottom of the stone contained faded glyphs, obscured by the thick wildgrass until now. "These... these look like the same glyphs on Arcius's island. Remember? At the altar-thing?" She rubbed sand away from the letters. "Maybe it's a clue. If I-"

Something hummed, like insect's wings. Their teeth rattled.

A blue light appeared on the pathway alongside the graveyard. It grew high and thin, reaching through the trees. The area around it rescinded, like a sinkhole in the middle of the air.

"Looks like a... a..." Rapunzel said.

"A portal!" Ariel finished.

The barrier opened only a dozen feet wide, but what they saw defied explanation. Beyond the veil lay a magnificent castle, with copper minarets and marble walls so white they glowed. A small staircase led to the grand double doors.

The skies of both their world and this one matched. The trees around the castle mirrored those in the forest nearby. Whatever magic kept this place off the map also rendered this palace invisible. It did not exist in some other world, but here and now.

"Should we go in?" Rapunzel asked.

"I think so," Elsa said. "Something tells me Lowther isn't as dead as we thought."

They passed through. Ariel looked behind them. The magic barrier was gone--it only worked one way. Whoever lived here must have been in isolation all its existence.

Their first steps took them on the short road to the palace gates. Past the archway, they saw the first signs of life--gnome-like men, not more than four feet tall, with large noses and stringy hair. They wore threadbare robes and dull, saggy expressions. Each was either carrying something or getting something to carry. Their steps were slow, with no hurry and no spirit.

"Who are they?" Elsa whispered.

"No idea," Ariel said. Not even the local folklore could help with this one.

"Excuse me..." Rapunzel bent down to one hauling a box on its back. "We're looking for... um, hello? Could you help us?"

The gnome passed by, never saying a word. Rapunzel stepped in front of it. It trudged around her, never looking up.

"They're like... slaves," Ariel said.

"I wonder if Lowther created them," Elsa said.

The three of them kept walking, avoiding the creepy gnomelings by staying on a straight line to the palace.

"No guards," Ariel said.

"You don't need guards if no one can find where you live," Elsa said. She knocked. No answer.

Elsa pressed her ear to the door. "I guess we go in." She pulled back on the door. The three of them slipped inside.

The door opened onto a hallway dedicated to decadence and hedonism. Beautiful diamonds and jewels lay in glass cases for display. Gold coated the floor and ceiling while red velvet covered the walls.

"Wow," Rapunzel said. "He certainly is living well."

Giant intricate murals painted hallway walls. Many of them depicted scenes of grotesque violence and nudity, enough to make them blush. Further down, the main entrance hall was a mess of gold coins, gems, and coffers. Piles of riches lay on each side of the staircase. A porcelain rivulet of sparkling water ran from west to east in a small in-floor aqueduct.

"This is insane," Ariel whispered. "And where is everyone? Does he live alone?"

"Is he alive at all?" Rapunzel added.

"Ravir and Arcius were long-lived," Elsa said. "And I think those workers would stop working if they didn't have anyone to work for.

The three girls split up, searching the giant hall for the castle's resident. Thick buttery smells like chocolate and roasted meats permeated the carpet. Ariel knelt closer to the indoor stream. Thirsty, she took a handful of the sweetest, most delicious water she'd ever tasted.

Rapunzel scrutinized a curvaceous statue, deciding whether it was artistic or vulgar. Then she noticed some others and realized it was a matter of comparison.

"Wait, I think I heard something," Elsa said. She was near the west hallway corridor.

The two others ran beside her. They heard it too--a woman's voice. Maybe many women. They continued on, listening for the next chuckle or cough, until reaching a door at the end of the hall.

It was a big room and poorly lit. Inside were women, all kinds of women wearing bustiers, tassels, lace, and other skimpy outfits. Some lounged in giant soft cushions, smoking hookahs from an end table. Others sipped green liquid out of wine bottles. But most lay sleeping,   draped on the floor or arms splayed, left in whatever narcotic ecstasy they were in. Most had distasteful expressions on their faces and slept comatose.

"What kind of place is... Oh..." Elsa said.

"What?" Ariel asked.

"The seclusion, the decoration. This is a pleasure-palace," Elsa said.

"That's what all this is?" Ariel asked.

"I guess if you had ultimate power and not many morals, this is what you'd do: live a life of luxury," Elsa said.

"He couldn't use his power to help other people?" Rapunzel asked.

"I don't think he's the sort of guy where that would cross his mind. He's used all his magic for self-indulgence. He uses women for carnal pleasure and slave creatures for servitude. And there's no one who could tell him otherwise."

The women must have seen them, but were too intoxicated to care that three people never seen before had walked in. Maybe the first in hundreds of years. Assuming these were actual people, not simulacrums. The power of Temeris must have had limits, didn't it?

"Excuse me," Elsa said. "We're looking for, uh, ah..."

The woman, who had tan skin and a two-piece lingerie set, wobbled as she glanced sideways. She gave a little smirk then walked away.

"Does anyone know where we can find Lowther?" Rapunzel asked.

"Or the king of this castle? Or whoever's in charge?" Ariel asked.

The women stirred, hovering in stupor. Ariel shuddered to think what they did when they weren't in this room.

The door opened. A single gnomeling stood outside.

"Master requests three," it said. "Three who haven't been seen in a while."

"Us," Rapunzel said, raising her hand. "That's us. It's been a long time since we've seen... the master."

The gnomeling looked them up and down. Rapunzel realized it was staring at their clothes. She and Elsa were still in the drab laundrywoman garb and Ariel's dress was ripped and muddy.

"We need to change though," Rapunzel added. "Give us a minute. We were..."

"We were cleaning," Ariel said. "That's it."

The gnomeling shrugged.

Rapunzel pulled Elsa and Ariel by their shoulders to the back of the room. They ducked behind a long dressing screen hidden in a dark corner. Discarded clothes lay in giant pile. The three of them tossed items to each other.

"Does this fit me? No. This one? No. This one?"

"Hurry up, hurry up."

"Where are the pants that go with this?"

"No. No. Ugh, no. What is this? Is this something you're supposed to wear?"

"Ergh, too tight."

"The snaps go on like this... Pull this down. There."

"Watch your elbow."

"Here, try this blue one. It goes with your hair color."

"This is just a sheet."

"That's nothing. Look at this. It's just one square inch of fabric."

Ariel walked out from behind the screen first. While the others kept searching for something that would preserve their dignity, her people had no qualms about bare skin. She had chosen little green panties with a transparent skirt. It showed off her legs and reminded her of the ruff around her waist as a mermaid. Her bra was red instead of purple, for something different. But for modesty's sake, a plain infinity scarf wrapped around her neck and chest.

The problem was she couldn't keep the trident strapped to her back with such skimpy clothing. And leaving it behind was not an option. Then she saw a discarded grass skirt on the ground. With a little quick weaving, she fastened it to the trident's tines. Now it looked like a palm-leaf fan she could carry around.

Rapunzel peeked out, unbraided golden hair spooling behind her. Hopefully, Lowther wouldn't recognize her as a magical artifact. Her purple and pink one-piece bodice covered her torso, except for the lacing, which exposed the skin from breastbone to navel.

"This feels so weird," she whispered. She clutched a gold necklace that looked pretty, unaware how it drew attention to her neckline.

"It looks good," Ariel whispered back. "Watch your stockings."

Rapunzel rehooked the white lace stockings that stretched to mid-thigh.

The gnomeling was still waiting for them in the doorway. The two of them posed and grinned.

"Elsa?" Ariel asked through gritted teeth.

"I am not coming out," she whispered.

"You've got to," Rapunzel said.

"No."

Rapunzel leaned behind the screen. "It's not that bad," she said.

"It's demeaning."

"It's okay. We all look like this. It's just another disguise. No one who matters is going to see you."

"Girls, he's waiting," Ariel whispered, eye contact still on the gnomeling.

Elsa emerged walking tall and courtly, wearing a two-piece arctic blue lingerie bikini. The top was covered with glittering sequins and trimmed with white fur. The bottom, also furred on the hips, attached to sheer blue stockings that ended in high heels. She stood beside the two other girls and tried grinning.

The gnomeling sighed and turned, making a slight tug of the shoulder to say "come on"

They followed him across the palace to the western wing, through more monuments to decadence--replicas of long-forgotten art, sculptures, lithographs. Magic flowers emitted pungent smoke. They could hear a waterfall from behind one of the doors.

The tour ended in the solarium--a tiled room with three glass walls so warm sunlight could shine through. Four meagerly clad women stood around a porcelain tub, two of them massaging a pair of porky feet.

The tub was full of sweet creams and oils, mixed together in a greasy mess. Rapunzel resisted the urge to pinch her nose. Only the head and feet of "the master" stuck out, but that was enough to frighten them about what the rest of his body looked like.

Lowther's face was grotesquely fat, pocked with zits, glistening with tallow and sweat, especially in the folds in his neck. His blotched, red cheeks quivered as he spoke.

"About time. Oh, you do look new," he uttered. "That glamour spell is finally providing some range." He squinted. "Slight builds. But easy on the eyes."

Lowther's body rose out of the cream bath, using magic instead of his own muscle. His feet touched down on the white tile as light as a feather. Milk and oil dripped off him like whey.

Ariel, Elsa, and Rapunzel tried their best to look away without looking like it, although his monstrous bulk covered any of his privy parts.

With another flash of magic, the residual milk evaporated off his body. One of the women slipped a thin bathrobe over his shoulders.

"Well, it's been a while. You can choose. Should we go out to the island or watch a tournament?"

The three of them eyed each other, knowing every millisecond that passed would gain suspicion.

"Um, what tournament is it?" Rapunzel asked.

"You know, the daily tournament of souls and freaks? My fancy's wandered to the disfigured as of late. How do they fight? I was thinking next should be people with no arms versus no legs. Should be interesting to watch."

Elsa swallowed, suppressing her urge to vomit. "Let's do the island."

Lowther cocked his head. "Very well."

He raised his hand. The glass walls separated and melted away, opening a hole to walk through. Lowther headed outside as gnomelings rushed forward, laying down swaths of carpet in his path.

Ariel, Elsa, and Rapunzel followed him down a grassy hill to a river bank. At the bottom lay a small dock with an unusual tied-up boat. Instead of being a bladed shape, it was a rectangular platform on two steel barrels welded end-to-end.

Lowther hoisted his bulk into a pile of red velvet pillows in the center. He must have been using magic to keep his heft aloft, because there was no way he could move on his own. A dish of cheeses and grapes appeared to his left, a bucket with wine in cold water on his right.

"Red, you drive. You ain't got much on the balcony, but a big enough garden. And I like having a keen view on the way." He turned to Rapunzel. "I'd ask you, but your hair's a better door than a window. Better trim that back. There's such a thing as overdoing it, you know."

Lowther curled his fingers to Rapunzel in a "start feeding me" motion. Rapunzel plucked off a grape like it was rotted and pressed it into his mouth. This was like feeding livestock.

Ariel clenched her teeth and walked up to the steering column. She searched for a rope or sail release. Suddenly the boat started off.

She looked over the side, expecting the boat to move on its own. But a neat line of oars stuck out from holes, turned by tiny rowers beneath them.

"Are those gnomelings?" Ariel asked, momentarily losing herself.

"Huh?" Lowther's piggy, glazed eyes glanced to Ariel's viewpoint. "Oh, the little slaves. Of course."

"Did you create them?" Elsa asked.

"Of course. Are you new?" He looked alarmed, like he was about to figure out the jig was up. Then he settled. "Ah, you're flattering me. Got it. They're remnants of the townspeople. I've transmuted and resurrected them so many times, the bodies have become somewhat... mangled. That's what happens over... I don't know. Two hundred? Three hundred years? Ah, who cares. Anyway, I didn't 'create' create them. That's divine power. But I do seem to have found the perfect form. Strong enough to work hard, small enough not to be a threat. Not that it matters anymore--their minds are attuned to my needs." He scratched at one of his boils.

He opened his mouth toward Elsa and the chocolate dish. She daintily picked up a piece and dropped it on his tongue. To her disbelief, this was making chocolate look disgusting.

"But the women you left untouched," Rapunzel added.

"Well, I wouldn't say untouched. Haw haw." He laughed with a throat full of phlegm. "A glamour spell or two does wonders to keep things stimulating." Lowther accepted a mouthful of grapes.

"You do seem to have created a paradise," Elsa said while he chewed.

With mouthful, Lowther said, "I don't know why anyone with magic talent doesn't do this. Why are they so concerned about establishing power and dominating others? What does it get you? A headache."

"You could have helped your fellow man," Rapunzel said. Elsa gave her a look that shut her up.  

Lowther was oblivious. "Why concern the self with lesser mortals? This is a gift. I earned this. It would be foolish not to take advantage. Hellfire could envelope the world for all I know. Let it burn. I've got my own little slice of heaven here."

The boat lurched forward, sliding across a sandbar. Elsa, Rapunzel, and Ariel jerked. Lowther's fat rippled.

"What was that?" Ariel asked.

"We're here." Lowther hoisted a leg over the pillows and held up his arms. He was gesturing for help.

Rapunzel and Elsa each took an unctuous arm, held their breath, and pulled him up. He waddled off the boat onto the sandy riverbank.

Above the grove of trees, scores of colored birds tweeted and fidgeted. A cherry-red and lime-green parrot hopped from branch to branch. Larks and quails zipped from one tree to the other in complex weaves. Elsa had never seen anything like it. These birds weren't meant to be on the same continent, let alone the same forest.

Lowther turned back his head. "Red! What are you doing? Rope up the boat. You want it to float away?"

Elsa and Ariel sprang to work, tying the boat to a nearby tree. "I can't believe this is working," Ariel whispered.

"He's been in his own private paradise so long, he thinks nothing can get in," Elsa said.

"I don't get it. How is he not miserable? He gets everything he wants. Everything he tries, he wins. There's no adventure."

Elsa shrugged. "Guess he's whittled his needs to simple ones."

Lowther held out his arm and, in a shower of sparkles, a spear materialized. "This'll be impressive. We'll find that Silverwing reindeer today. A hart. I've seen its tracks."

"Silverwing deer?" Ariel asked. "Those are rare."

"Indeed. Excellent sport. And this one's of fourteen tines. Been in the forest a while now. Could be my last one. But I'll take it down."

Lowther stalked forward through the shrubs of the rough land, holding out his spear. Ariel, Rapunzel, and Elsa leaned into each other.

"Eric told me there are no Silverwing reindeer in this land anymore," Ariel whispered. "For hundreds of years."

"He must have seized them long ago," Rapunzel said.

"And he's hunting them for sport?" Elsa asked. She clenched her fist. Rapunzel put a hand on her shoulder to calm her.

"Ladies! Attend!" Lowther shouted.

The three of them followed in heels and skirts, keeping as far back as they could without being obvious about it.

"Here's my theory," Elsa whispered.

Ariel thanked her stars for something to distract her. He had ordered complete quiet, only speaking to ask for more wine or to wipe the sweat between his folds. Their feet hurt from treading the thick-hewn meadow.

"So Lowther gets his magic from Temeris. Must be the body since Arcius has the heart and Ravir the mind. I bet that's the reason for all his fleshly desires."

"That makes sense," Rapunzel said. "Explains why he didn't take over any countries. He didn't need to take revenge or prove himself."

"He just selfishly created his own paradise," Ariel added.

Elsa nodded. "And he locks it off, so no one else can get in. No one can find him. No one can disturb him. Otherwise, his little illusion would break. He can make it so that anyone even thinking about it forgets right away. That way no one even comes on it by accident. That's why no one knew what you were talking about, Ariel."

"So then... how come I saw it?" Ariel asked.

"I have no idea. But it's a good thing you did. Or we would have never found this place."

Ariel smiled. "I couldn't have done it if you didn't believe in me."

Lowther grunted, as if he had fallen over something. "Where are you ditzes!?" he bellowed. "More wine!"

They skipped up to him. A pink stain ran down his tunic.

"Look at this. I've spilled all over my chest. One of you should be carrying this." He shoved the bottle into Rapunzel's bodice.

"Sorry, sir."

Lowther pointed at the ground. "Tracks. Found him. Just a matter of time now." He treaded forward as stealthily as a beached whale.

They followed the path, with Lowther poking the ground occasionally. Ariel spotted it before Lowther did--a giant stag camouflaged by white-barked trees. With its thick rectangular body and white chest, it looked magnificent.

"Ah," Lowther said. "There. First I'll silence our feet." He waved his hand. Lowther took a step. Instead of the crunch of leaves and grass under his elephantine foot, it made no sound. Lowther continued on.

"Why doesn't he just turn invisible?" Elsa snarked to herself.

"Sh, don't give him ideas," Rapunzel said.

The beast perked up once. For a reindeer, a healthy dose of paranoia attributed to a long life. But Lowther continued regardless. He strafed around the trunks, keeping the reindeer in sight. When he had a clear shot, he repositioned the spear to overhand.

Rapunzel and Elsa relaxed a little. They didn't believe he had the muscle strength to reach his target. With a grunt, the spear launched high into the air.

When it reached the top of its arc, it continued on. Rapunzel and Elsa's jaws dropped. He was using magic to propel the weapon. With a sickening thwack, the pointed end stuck in the deer's midsection. It mooed and dropped.

"Got it." Lowther pumped his fist.

He sprinted to his kill like a baby who'd learned the joy of walking. After a moment examining the body, he plucked out the spear. He stood with one foot on the deer's side like a magnificent hunter. "Remember this ladies. I might want a picture later."

Blood trickled out of the black hole with each labored breath. The beast was still alive. All that magic and he hadn't even made a kill shot.

Lowther took his foot off. "Phew. Now I'm hungry. Hey! Chop, chop." He clapped his hands.

Gnomelings appeared from all corners of the forest and sped toward the clearing. They set a table, chairs, a white tablecloth, plates of food and drink, and candelabras.

As Lowther sat, a gnomeling stuck a pipe in Lowther's mouth and lit it. "Come, girls. Stop looking at that hideous thing," he said as he puffed.

They stood vigil, watching its body heave up and down. Its glassy eyes stared out and its tongue hung out. "You're just going to leave it?" Ariel asked. "You're not even going to eat it?"

"What? No. That's disgusting. I have stuffed goose liver pate right here. Why would I eat that?"

"Not even for your workers?" Elsa asked. "It could be a treat."

"Pfeh. I'm not going to waste it on them. Grain and rice is all they need. Now get over here. There's honeyed fig tarts, oatbread, and lobster caviar. We can have lunch while we watch its life fade."

Ariel and Elsa forced themselves to turn away. The gnomelings pulled out chairs for them at the circular table.

But Rapunzel didn't move.

Ariel turned. "Rapunzel, what are you doing?"

She heaved a big breath.

Ariel didn't know what she was thinking, but Elsa did. "Rapunzel, that's not a good idea," she whispered through gritted teeth.

"I have to." She knelt down to the wounded animal. Rapunzel coiled her hair over the wound. Its head twitched.

"Girl! What are you doing?" Lowther commanded.

She ignored him. Pressing her hand to her heart, she sang. "Flower, gleam and glow. Let your power shine..."

The blooming light cast her in silhouette. Lowther leaned back, speechless. When she finished, she stood up. The reindeer propped itself up on one knee.

"Wh- wh- wh- wh- wh- what was that? What did you-"

That was all Lowther could manage. As soon as the reindeer was on all four legs, it made a deep whoofing sound. Rapunzel sprinted out of the way before it rampaged forward.  

Ariel and Elsa dove aside. The gnomelings squealed and returned to the corners of the forest where they had appeared.

Lowther stayed seated and slack-jawed until the monster was only feet away. Then he upset the table and chair trying to scramble away, but only managed a few feet. The reindeer rammed him with both antlers.

The girls never thought such a man could lift into the air, but they were witnesses. Lowther cartwheeled ten feet above the forest floor, then landed with a sickening thud. The reindeer bolted into the forest, disappearing.

Lowther groaned. When the lights stopped dancing in front of his eyes, he focused on the three heads with flinty stares. One was holding a golden trident to his throat.

"Who are you girls?" Lowther asked. "You're not from here."

"No." Elsa said. "We're not."