Young Writers Society

When James' face softened and gave way to a slight smile, that was the only answer Brett needed. He could hardly control his elation—he wanted to grin, to laugh, to cheer! Finally, after all this time! James' walls were down! But instead of laughing he resigned to contorting his face to a close-lipped smile, for even though the walls were down, it was still a delicate moment where he needed to watch out for James' masonry skills: that man could lay bricks faster than anyone.

"A farming town," Brett said, just above a whisper, eyes full of wonder. "What was it like?"

James huffed through his nose. "Simple. Quaint. My parents had a farm, and the moment I was big enough to help in the fields I did. We mostly kept to ourselves, because the farms were pretty spread out, but there were a few events throughout the year where we would go into town. Festivals for the summer and winter solstice, and one coinciding with the years' harvest. But for the most part it was just working the garden, working the farm, and taking care of the animals. It was quiet and calm."

Much unlike his life now.

A peaceful home was exactly what James needed as he recovered from his injuries, but now he was moving deliberately away from the Moonlight Kingdom and his old home. Brett could only imagine what had happened to alienate James from his peaceful past. He was all too familiar with how a single act of recklessness could drive you from your homeland out necessity and keep you there, in his case, out of shame.

"Do you miss it? Do you miss your family?"

James's eyes were stuck on the horizon, but his gaze became hazy and unfocused as the question wrapped around him like a heavy weight. He wondered what Brett thought, now that he knew James had a family somewhere to return to. He'd only told a small fraction - the beginning, really - of the story, and already it felt like there was a stone in his throat too big to swallow.

He wasn't going to cry. His eyes were too dry for that.

But he didn't know where this conversation would lead, and the uncertainty was something he dreaded. For once, he felt like he didn't have the reins, but he was tempted to take them, ripping them out of Brett's hands with another deflection, another not-answer.

But that wouldn't be fair. That wouldn't be honest. That wouldn't be kind.

"Of course I do," he said, barely above a whisper. "I miss them every day."

Brett's previous elation had disappeared now, of course, replaced by sympathy and preemptive sadness, for he sensed that this was only the tip of the iceberg. Unlike his own family reunion, there was no happy ending detected in the deep anguish of James' whisper. It threatened to break Brett's heart for—what was it? The third time today?

He leaned his head in a little bit closer so he could hear him better. "Tell me about them."

James's eyes flicked over to Brett for a moment, and he found himself leaning his head away by just a fraction -- barely noticeable. Having someone listening so intently, and having it be someone who genuinely cared, knowing Brett wasn't going to use this information against him -- it was hard to process.

"I haven't seen them in over ten years," he said quietly. "I don't know what they're like now."

"That... whew. That's a long time. You must've been just a kid, when..." He'd been trying to ease into the topic with lighter questions, but this one was just too hard to avoid. He sighed. "Well, what happened?"

James closed his eyes.

"I left," he said. "I ran away."

From a town he described so fondly? From a family he missed every day?

"Why?"

"It's... complicated. Well, maybe not really." He swallowed, and sighed. Still, unable to look up at Brett. He stared at the ocean.

"Goblins ran through our farm when I was ten. I lost my father. My mother took me and my little sister into the city. There was a lot of change, very quickly."

His eyes started to feel dry, like they were stinging with what should've been tears. And yet, they weren't.

"I don't say that as an excuse. If things turned out differently... if I wasn't wanted. If the people who want me didn't know who my family was. If seeing them wouldn't put them in danger. Maybe I could find the courage to see them again."

He swallowed again.

"It's my biggest regret, and my biggest failure. As a son, and a brother."

Brett was still as he absorbed the tragedy of his friend's early life.

"I'm so sorry, James," was all he could say at first.

"If it... if it means anything," he continued, desperately trying to provide some comfort, "I think it takes a lot of courage not to visit them. To do what you know is best for them, even though you love them and miss them as much as you do. Do they know that you're wanted?"

James's eyebrows started to twitch, before finally pushing against his resistance and knitting together. His mouth pressed into a straight line and he took in a slow, deliberate breath.

That knot in his throat was getting stupidly bigger.

"No," he said, his voice growing a little hoarse. He cleared his throat, trying very hard to hold back tears to the point of giving himself a headache. And still, his vision turned blurry.

"I changed my name. Before I was even wanted, I changed my name." He laughed, but that made two tears run down his cheeks. "My posters don't even have my real name on them. Unless they make the educated guess that I'm related to them based on a drawing someone did of my face I doubt they even give it a second thought. They probably think I'm dead, or in some town doing - well - I don't know. Not this."

"Ah. Phillip," Brett recalled. Swallowing back his own rising emotions, he reached over to give James a half-pat, half-rub on the back. "Almost forgot you were called that."

James took in a breath, sniffling in the process. He reached up to wipe his tears out of his eyes, before more could fall and make a mess of things.

"Tiberius," he corrected. "That was the first name I chose for myself. It was some stupid name of a character in a book I read. Phillip was just a name I made up passing through a town a year ago. But I went by Tiberius for almost ten years. It had been so long I stopped responding to my real name, because no one ever called me by it."

"Tiberius. That does ring a bell. Why?" Brett narrowed his eyes and racked his brain for a few seconds, grateful for the chance to emotionally distract himself. "Aha! When I was, uh... eavesdropping in the bushes that one time, I heard Kaia call you Tiberius. That's how she knew you."