Young Writers Society

Lyall watched closely for a moment as some tall fellow sidled up beside Hild on their way out. Which was innocuous enough, he supposed, but he still didn't like it one bit. He made a note to...do something about that sometime. Or to at least just keep an eye out for that going forward.

The lights dimmed, and some slow melodramatic pop song about romance played softly on the speakers overhead. He shook his head as he milled about to find a table. This whole event was exhausting-- and this was coming from someone who thrived on social interaction!

He at first assumed it no longer mattered where they sat, so long as it was with their "final match" of course. But, catching sight of a bouquet of lavender on one of the tables made him reconsider that. Because, he liked lavender quite a bit, and so far nothing on this island was without intent. Leaning sideways to examine it, he found a large bundle of red roses tucked into the same vase.

"Hello again, soulmate. I knew you'd come back to me," Alan said beside him with a silly smile.

Lyall cracked a grin. "My dear," he greeted playfully as he pulled out a chair for Alan, "nothing but divine intervention could keep us apart."

"You're too kind. Thank you," Alan said as he sat down, but then motioned for Lyall to sit across from him. "Please. Join me. We have a romantic date to follow up on."

As he obliged and took the other seat, the window shades behind him mechanically rolled down, further darkening the room.

Strangely enough, Lyall found himself blanking on conversation. He glanced off, still...really quite uncomfortable from when everyone's picks were revealed. Especially those who weren't matched. None of this should be taken seriously, but there was some legitimate baring of souls here and there, and it just... It all made him feel gross.

Not to mention the concept of dating here itself, when there was still Kaya back home, who had all his love, and was no doubt tuning in when she could. Despite the absurdity of it all, and how cliche it was of him, the Valemteens theme of this whole event made him especially sick for her company.

"All jokes aside, I'm actually quite relieved that we picked each other. I can only imagine the tough spot you were in to have to pick someone even when you're in a committed relationship. But if the DMV wants entertainment, then I'm happy to give it to them in this silly way," Alan said, diving right into conversation.

Turning back to his "match", Lyall mustered a relieved grin. "Agreed. I greatly appreciate it."

"How is Kaya doing, anyways? Hopefully you get to talk to her often, and the time zone difference isn't too staggering," Alan said with a friendly smile.

"She's really quite well," Lyall answered, trying to breathe out the rest of the tension in his chest. "We mostly catch each other in the odd hours, but it's working alright so far." The next smile came easier, and more relaxed. "She's recently been commissioned to put together a mural for the art institute she previously attended. She's excited, it's a great opportunity for her."

"A mural? That's fantastic. What is she painting? I'm still waiting for you to show me more of her works," Alan said with a wider smile.

"From the sound of it, she's got all sorts of ideas that she needs to parse through." Lyall huffed a laugh. "Remind me later to show you, then, I have a whole album that you can look through!"

"I will," Alan said eagerly. "I love seeing art, but hearing about the artist makes it even better. After all, they can tell the story of the piece that makes the art come to life. I admire how artists are able to do that on a tangible medium."

Nodding, Lyall agreed in earnest, "She's gifted like that."

"She mostly dabbles in paints, correct?" Alan asked.

"Yes," Lyall said, "but a good variety of paint types, which I feel is no small feat."

Alan nodded, still smiling. "It's refreshing to hear that the Ashlunds are knowledgeable in the arts. You with the piano, Hild with the cello, and future Kaya Ashlund with paints."

Mirroring Alan's expression, Lyall tilted his head slightly with confusion. "I never mentioned I played piano...?"

"Ah. Right," Alan said with a chuckle. "Hild mentioned it to me in passing." He paused. "But also, you took the keyboard krok charm, which I was two seconds away from taking before you took it first, by the way."

Lyall blinked. Then barked a laugh when that wretched shoe store came back to mind.

"I completely forgot," he murmured to himself. Then cleared his throat and said aloud, "Ah, yes. But I'll have you know I picked those at random. You can't be so sure that the keyboard charm was indicative of any real musical inclination."

Alan chuckled, shaking his hand out in front of him like he was dismissing the thought. "Nonsense. If it was at random, then I think the coincidence is too good to be true, and I'd like to explore it. I'd love to hear you play sometime. You can play hot cross buns, and I'd still be floored, because it came from you. I don't think music is about talent, anyways. It's about feeling. It's about expression. It's what you put into it-- not what you put out."

"Spoken like a true artiste," Lyall mused. He leaned back, arms folded loosely, and gave Alan a pointed grin. "One of actual talent."

"Please. I just have too much time on my hands. I live to entertain," Alan said with a smile.

"Well, if that's the case, we should perform together sometime," Lyall offered. "My piano-playing skills are a little too rusty to immediately put to the test, I think. But I'd be more than happy to lend my voice."

Alan hummed. "I don't know if I've told you yet, but I used to work at a dueling piano bar on weekends. Basically, it involves two pianists playing and singing together, taking song requests for tips." A pause. "Anyways, that helped me learn to improvise and learn faster, and you reminded me of it. If you sing too, and we both play... well, then it sounds like we're in a piano duel, doesn't it?"

Lyall couldn't help but snort. Alan Alvaro could not take a hint, apparently.

"Well, sadly, I wasn't gifted a keyboard of any sort, so I'll need to usurp yours for practice," he said.

Alan was quiet for a moment, mulling this over. "Maybe I can move it to the living room. That way we both have easy access to it."

"A perfect solution," Lyall agreed.

"Now I just need to find either another keyboard or, somehow, another grand piano. We have access to both, but it'd be far too silly to play an electric keyboard next to a grand piano," Alan said, now thinking out loud.

"Perhaps there's another grand piano in one of the plaza bars," Lyall suggested, really only half-serious. "We can just steal that."

"Maybe. That sounds like it'd be hard to move. Plus, it'd have to get on the stage. Somehow," Alan said, seeming to take this suggestion quite seriously.

Lyall felt his amusement grow as he studied Alan.

"No, between the two of us?" he continued, tone mildly teasing. "And perhaps Cyrin, since I'm sure they could be convinced, we could nab that thing in a jiffy. We're all strapping young blokes. That piano doesn't stand a chance!"

Alan stared at Lyall blankly for a few seconds.

"What if we make a trio instead? You play piano, I play violin, and Hild plays the cello," Alan suggested. "That way we don't have to move anything."

Lyall bit back a laugh. "I'm amenable to the idea."

"Or maybe we start a band instead. Cyrin plays the drums, after all. We can turn our cabin to a garage band," Alan went on.

"Whatever you want," Lyall agreed with an amicable grin.

Alan let out a soft hum, now fiddling with the bouquet of roses in front of him. "Or maybe I play, and you sing," he offered instead.

Hm. Perhaps it wasn't being slow to the game, so much as a hesitation.

Lyall gently countered, "Or we just keep it loose, play it by ear. Change it up when we want."

"Going a step further, maybe we don't plan practices at all. But if I break into song while you're going down the stairs one day, you should know that this is an ad hoc practice session," Alan said, smile returning.

Lyall laughed. "Now that sounds fun," he said wholeheartedly. "I'm in."

Alan grinned, watching Lyall for a moment. "What's your favorite song, anyways?"

"'The Longest Time'," Lyall answered without hesitation. "Billy Jo."

"Hm. Noted," Alan said with the lingering grin.

"Yourself?"

"I actually don't have one." Alan shrugged. "My music tastes change too often, I guess."

"What? No." Lyall frowned, feigning deep disappointment. "That's the easy answer. Which is none, and thus unacceptable!"

"I change my mind. My favorite song is hot cross buns," Alan teased.

"Oh, go--" Lyall cackled.

"Like I said. I'd be floored to hear it, so if you want to serenade me..."

Still avoiding the question.

With a grin, Lyall simply made a note to later write something to the tune of the silly ditty.

"Perhaps another time." With a waggle of his brows, he playfully added, "In a more intimate setting?"

"That's right," Alan said as he mirrored his playful tone, gesturing to the other distanced tables and cameras around them. "That type of serenading is too intimate to be in the public eye. We best do that in private."

Lyall suppressed a sigh at the reminder of the cameras, and how this really was as public as anything could get. There were people who were undoubtedly taking their game of flirty banter quite seriously. The only thing that kept it from feeling dirty was the fact that no one who mattered to him was going to read into it.

Absently, he bounced a leg as he asked, "Well, how about you, then? Anybody waiting for you back home?"

Lyall watched as Alan's playful smile faded into one of longing melancholy as he took out a rose from the bouquet, inspecting it for a short stretch of time.

"Just family," he answered. "It's been a while since I've seen them, actually. I'm sure they're tuning in during every waking moment to collect blackmail of me for when I return."

Lyall softened, his heart going out to the man. "How long's it been since you last saw them?"

"Well..." Alan briefly squinted upwards, thinking. "It hasn't been since I left for the hike. So, a little over a month."

"And you haven't been able to contact them this whole time?"

Alan slowly shook his head. "There's not any service on the trail, so I didn't bring my phone with me. It forced me to live in the present, anyways."

Lyall felt himself frown a little.

Over a month was a long time to fall completely out of touch with family, especially if one was close with their relatives. And it was evident that Alan very dearly missed his.

Now Lyall found himself wishing for a do-over with the prize requests. And feeling semi-foolish for what he did put down, but that was neither here nor there.

All he could think to offer now was: "Well, if you don't mind sharing, you could try calling them through my phone."

That piqued Alan's attention, causing him to look at Lyall with gentle surprise. "Are you sure?" he asked, then weakly laughed. "I love my family, and they mean well, but they will blow up your phone at all hours of the day."

Lyall offered a more encouraging grin. "I'm well acquainted with the phenomenon."

And, just to prove it, he held up his phone now to show the 23 unread text messages just from the past 5 hours.

Alan hummed, pursing his lips. "I have a pretty big family, and all of them are like this. Don't underestimate how often a ten year old girl will text you to steal your attention."

Slipping the device back into his jacket pocket, Lyall scoffed lightly. "This will simply be another challenge in life, for which I'm ready to face."

"Alright," Alan mused with a growing smile, sitting back on his chair as he rolled the rose stem between his thumb and forefinger. "And-- bless her soul-- but my mom is the most needy of all. She will text you personally so that she can talk to me. I guarantee it."

Lyall huffed a laugh. "It will only be a lovely time, in that case."

Alan was quiet for a moment, watching Lyall as his smile grew. "Thanks, Lyall. Then I'll take you up on that. That means a lot to me. I really appreciate it."

Quite please with this outcome, Lyall inclined his head. "We have ourselves, Alan Alvaro, another deal."

"Well, Lyall Ashlund," Alan said with a grin as well. "You know I'd take any deal with you. Although, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to hear the end of it from my family. They're going to ask me how my lover is doing. I think I'll keep them in suspense. Tell them to find out in TV. Wouldn't want to give them spoilers."

"Keep them coming back for more weekly," Lyall agreed, deeply amused by how they were very much in the same boat in that respect. "Our fates depend on the viewership."

"Luckily for you, my mom will think it's the sweetest friendship. And is probably only half-aware of anything going on. So, you won't be getting funny texts from her. Just a million emojis and sparkly gifs, probably," Alan went on.

Lyall laughed warmly at that. "She sounds like an absolute delight, and I look forward to you properly introducing us."

"Now, now, Lyall. If I'm introducing my family to you, don't you think I'd be interested in meeting your family as well? This is a significant relationship milestone, after all," Alan teased.

"Ah, but of course." Lyall nodded thoughtfully. "Introductions shall abound." He paused, then wryly added, "My brother will certainly have a field day."

"Viktor, was it? Hild told me that he brings the playfulness out of her. I can't imagine what effects he has on you," Alan said, his smile warm and curious.

Lyall heaved an exaggerated sigh, putting on a bothered front. "Well, the absurd antics are certainly... multiplied quite a bit," he admitted, a sheepish grin slipping out. "As is the competitiveness, if you can imagine."

"Not sure I can. You and Hild? Competitive?" Alan waved his hand in front of him like he was dismissing the thought. "No. Not at all."

Lyall cast him a somewhat flat look at that. "You'll have ample opportunity to witness for yourself."

"I'd like to meet your brother. I think he'd be able to tell me only nice things about you," Alan mused.

Barking a laugh, Lyall shook his head and jokingly said, "That would be wishful thinking."

"How old is he?" Alan asked.

"Younger than Hild by only a few years," Lyall answered brightly. "He is officially technically a man, as of a few months ago."

"That's so sweet. He may tease you, but I think it's nice to be the older one, watching the younger ones grow up. You have the privilege of watching him become his own person, which is a gift of its own," Alan said warmly with a smile.

Lyall's amusement melted into open fondness. "It truly has been," he agreed. "And you? Hild mentioned a brother of your own, I believe."

"Oh, did she?" he said with a nod. "That's right. I have a twin brother. Alistair and I aren't identical twins, though. We're actually pretty different, both in appearance and personalities. But I consider him my best friend and I love him dearly." Alan paused, his smile washing away to a blanker, mildly annoyed expressed as he stared into the closest camera pointed at them. "Even though I'm pretty sure that the asshole is gathering an arsenal of evidence to embarrass me as much as possible."

Lyall huffed a mildly surprised laugh, quite certain that this is the first time he'd heard Alan resort to any sort of vulgarity. "As brothers are wont to do."

"He does have a big heart, though. Even though he acts so tough and can be so stubborn sometimes," Alan went on, now sitting at the edge of his seat, talking with his hands and expressing more passion. "But I know, deep down, he has so much love to give. He disagrees with me, but I think that's his greatest strength. To love people wholly and unconditionally, no matter the circumstances. I know I can depend on Alistair for anything, no matter the request. He's been there for me since literally the day I was born. And I know we'll be there for each other until the last of our days, too."

Grinning wide, Lyall simply watched the musician aggressively praise his not-present brother. He was undeniably endeared by such an open display of affection.

"Anyways... I hope the camera caught that for Alistair to see. I'm sure he'd love to hear more of my longing spiels about him," Alan said with another playful smile, back to fiddling with the rose he picked out.

Peering around Alan, Lyall caught a small thumbs up from the tall cameraman at the far end of the room.

"There are..." Lyall quickly counted the cameras in the room. "A total of 7 cameras in here. They're catching literally everything."

Alan hummed. "True." A pause. "Do the cameras make you nervous?"

"No, not nervous," Lyall answered, smile fading naturally a bit as he leaned back. "You?"

"Not really. But I hear from others who say they don't like it. I feel like I should have more animosity towards being filmed, but I'd be lying if I said I did." Alan shrugged. "Maybe it's because I'm used to having an audience. Or maybe I just don't care if the world sees me for who I am."

Lyall hummed, closely considering Alan. "Probably both."

"Probably," Alan agreed. "What about you? You'd be the first one I've asked who said they don't mind either."

"I truly don't mind it," Lyall confirmed easily. "My sister insists I should be more wary of constantly being recorded, but I've always considered myself an entertainer at heart anyhow, so." He shrugged.

It was really only during this event so far that the cameras made him especially self-aware.

"Hmm. Do you feel like you always have to entertain the film crew whenever you're being recorded?" Alan asked.

"There isn't any sense of obligation."

Leaning to look around Alan again, Lyall waved to the cameraman in the back-- the cameraman shyly waved back.

"I just...do it. Instinctively, I suppose. Probably also a byproduct of my work."

"Work... You mean, as a doctor?" Alan asked curiously.

Lyall huffed a laugh as he met Alan's intrigued gaze. "I try to help patients relax where I can. And being entertaining is definitely an asset with the small ones."

Alan broke out into a grin, the smile reaching his eyes. "You're good with kids," he remarked. "Of course you are. I can see it. You have this relaxed air about you that feels safe and playful. And you're entertaining. I bet the little ones think going to the doctor's office is a fun experience when it's with you."

Tilting his chin up, Lyall laughed again. "I've been told something along those lines before. Thank you."

Alan quietly hummed, closely watching Lyall with a lingering smile. "You know, Lyall, it's a shame that we've been seeing each other every day, but it took a silly event for us to have a more serious conversation. But it really is only the end of the first week. I'm glad that we can get to know each other on a more personal level now. I think you have this depth that is often unexplored. I wouldn't consider myself an adventurer, but I think someone ought to explore you, and it'd be my privilege to gain a deeper understanding of what makes you, you."

Lyall blinked, then huffed a more self-conscious laugh this time. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked off to the side for a second.

He was used to simple compliments and praise, and always took them graciously (though Hild would tease him about his inflated ego). But the sincerity of Alan's cascade of words caught him way off guard, and he was actually unsure what to do with it to the point of momentary speechlessness.

Especially the "someone ought to explore you" part, which he knew Alan didn't mean in any way other than innocently. But it was still such a strangely intimate way to phrase it.

"I think it's a fair request, though, considering we're a match made in heaven," Alan said in the brief silence that followed, the smile still in his voice. "At any rate, I'm perfectly happy just being in your presence."

Lyall finally found his bearings once more and cracked a breezy grin. "Soulmates, as a very wise person once observed," he agreed, matching Alan's lighter tone. "Even though it has indeed only been a week, I likewise look forward to spending the next approximately 84 days in the company of a kind and kindred spirit. While I wouldn't say I'm always in the company of insincere folk, I don't believe I've ever met someone as open and thoroughly engaging as you. And I'd disagree, and go as far as to say you're quite an adventurous soul, far more than you seem to give yourself credit for--"

Lyall's spiel was interrupted when suddenly Alan threw the rose he had been holding at him. It smacked his face before flopping down into his lap, and Lyall couldn't help but sputter from the shock of it.

"Shhhhh," Alan said playfully with a smile, finger over his lips. "Just take the compliments."

Lyall furrowed his brows, but couldn't force a frown. "Speak for yourself," he muttered playfully.

"There's only room for one hopeless romantic in this table. And sorry, I've already claimed it," Alan teased.

Lyall tsked. "Fine. I rescind all compliments leading up to this point."

Alan hummed, pretending to deeply contemplate this. "Now that makes me sound like a dictator. Maybe, instead, you're only allowed to give me compliments on Wednesdays. That's more than fair."

Lyall stifled a laugh behind his hand, then asked, "Why Wednesdays?"

"I have no clue. I just picked a random day of the week," Alan admitted with a small laugh of his own.

"Either way," Lyall said, laughter still in his voice, "you're still dictating the 'when' of compliment-giving."

Alan hummed some more then grinned. "Then it seems you're just going to have to win me over instead. Only after that will I take away all compliment restrictions."

Putting on his most dashing smile, Lyall offered back the rose with a flourish. "Let the wooing begin, then."

They filled the rest of their time practicing Vietese and Talian until they were finally released from the "Speed Dating" event that took up half their day. For something that was supposed to be quick, those who'd matched weren't let out until almost 3pm. They'd started at 10am. That five hours of hell.

At least, by now, James felt sober again, though he was far from feeling sane. He and Eve left the venue together, not drawing attention to themselves as neither of them were feeling very chatty with the cameras still on them, and with the requirement to "date" being fulfilled, they ended up walking in silence.

All James knew was that Eve was going to take him somewhere private. Were he to second-guess himself, he might reconsider following someone who was still nay a stranger to an undetermined secondary location. But if he was going to build bridges of trust here, he'd have to take some risks. Hopefully, he wouldn't regret this one.

It was a long walk.

Eve led them back through the plaza. James noticed she took the less travelled path, cutting behind buildings or through narrow passageways. Some looked like they were passages made with staff in mind, not for cameras. He wondered if Eve stumbled upon them herself or if she somehow knew about them beforehand, but he said nothing on the matter, only noting it to himself quietly.

Eventually, she let them into a thick, woodsy path. It looked like it weaved between the cabins down on the beach and the cabins more inland, where staff housing was. The island plant-life was dense and tropical, and it reminded him of the jungle back home, on Nye.

Hopefully it was less populated with monsters.

The path felt more like a deer path in size, leaving space only for them to walk with one person behind the other, and Eve, of course, was leading the way. James occasionally had to duck his head behind low-hanging branches or weave out of the way of overgrown plants. He also noticed Eve waved away what looked like some spiderwebs here and there. James felt bad that she was having to run into all of them, since he was behind her, but she made no fuss.

James glanced above, where the late afternoon sunlight spilled through the gaps in the leaves overhead.

It came through in speckles, but even so, most of the area was shaded. Hidden. Quiet. Almost dramatically so.

Were there really no cameras out here?

When James looked down, Eve had come to a sudden stop, and James took a small hop back to keep himself from bumping into her. The edge of a branch brushed the top of his head with its leaves, like a leafy hand reaching for him, resting on his forehead. Not sure whether to duck, squat, or move away at an awkward angle, James decided to merely embrace nature. And whatever Eve was--

"I wasn't entirely saying the full truth. The DMV can't predict everything," Eve suddenly said, turning around to face James, expression serious and focused. "They can only predict events based on what has happened. Your predicted actions are based on a series of likelihoods and probabilities, but these predictions cannot be made if your past doesn't dictate your future." She paused, studying him. "The Trieu family can't predict chaos and randomness."

James stared at her, blinking slowly as her fast-spoken words processed.

"...Okay," he said.

Was she telling him to be unpredictable?

"Not only that, but Maeve and Oliver have different types of clairvoyance," Eve went on. "Oliver is good at predicting what can and will happen for a select number of people. On the other hand, Maeve is good at predicting what doesn't happen for a larger group of people. This results in being able to narrow down the list of what will happen to groups of people, which is why she's good at running the show. It's a balance of what can happen and what might happen. But two of them-- they can predict the risk of a person. Think of it like a chaos factor. The higher the risk, the less they're able to predict. The more a person embraces random effects, the harder it is for either of them to predict events. Oliver's magic in particular is very receptive to this factor. He'd have a hard time narrowing down possibilities of a peron's future and would be less certain of their outcome."

This was all useful information. And it was all well and good to know. He would keep it in mind, and he would consider it in the future when he made decisions. But what Eve hadn't even begun to touch on was how she knew all of this.

James only nodded, still taking it all in. Eve crossed her arms, brows drawn together deep in thought, and she kept going.

"Your punch. I don't think Oliver predicted that. If he did, he'd have actively avoided the situation. Although, I think the oversight is a combination of not looking into your past history and also not being able to pin down this action that's more chaotic in nature. I'd guess, however, that the more he understands you, your history, your past actions, your psychology-- he will be able to narrow down random effects and be able to be more confident in predicting your next possible actions." She paused, slightly shrugging. "It's just a hunch. Not to say that he will. It could be that he'd never be able to figure you out at all. But I'm sure he will be persistent in his efforts."

"And you're telling me this... as advice," James said slowly, making sure he was reading this situation right.

Eve was quiet for a moment, still watching him intensely. "Did you not want to know?"

"I mean, it's helpful to know, for sure," James said. "And I appreciate it. But if you're wondering what I was getting at earlier, I was wondering how you knew so much about the Trieus. I know the internet is always a resource, and even I've done my fair share of semi-shallow googling about public figures, but you seem to have a more... keen take on their powers and person. Maeve and Oliver aren't really in the public eye that much, anyway. They're rich and powerful, but somehow they stay out of the media most of the time. Insofar as personal information about them goes."

This seemed to make Eve hesitate. Her stare sharpened to be more of a glare, and her lips were pressed together tighter, like she was holding back words. This time, she let the silence stretch on.

"If it's personal," James added. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just... hopefully you can understand why I'm a bit on edge at the moment."

Eve let a deep breath, and with it, her tension. She nodded slowly, turning away from him and focusing on the a trunk of a nearby tree instead.

"I don't have affiliation with them anymore, if that's what you're worried about," she said, then quietly sighed again.

Anymore. So he was right about a former affiliation.

"If anything... I think I'm only here because it's personal. But as far as I know, there aren't any nefarious intentions. Not from me, and from from them towards me. You're right. I'm only telling you this as unsolicited advice," Eve finished.

Uh-huh.

"Thank you for going out of your way to give it, then," he said. "Cryptic, as it was."

Eve shot him a flat look. "You're welcome."

James didn't bother hiding his small smile of amusement.

"You know, if you wanted to be away from cameras, are you sure there isn't somewhere else less..." He looked up, tapping the leaf touching his head. "I don't know. Crowded?"

"Don't you think that'd be too predictable?" Eve said with a downward tilt of her head.

James huffed through his nose, plucking the leaf off the branch and spinning it between his forefinger and thumb.

"Perhaps," he said. "Then again, I don't know how predictable you are to the Trieu's. Only that they're supposedly still figuring me out."

"They wouldn't have a reason to unless you have something they want or you did something that upset them. For example: punching one of them," Eve said, voice still flat.

So she'd upset one of them. Now he had to guess which one. Based on age alone for peer-based relations, it was more likely to be Oliver. For some reason, he couldn't imagine Eve and Maeve getting along. Not just because of the age gap, but there was a huge temperament difference. And from what little Eve expressed about Maeve, she seemed more annoyed with her than anything. When speaking about Oliver, though, she was more guarded in her language. Perhaps, more intentionally neutral.

She did, after all, say it was "personal." And Eve seemed a careful person at heart.

"In my defense," James said after a small delay. "He deserved it."

"I know," Eve said. "He did. He had it coming."

Okay. So it was definitely Oliver she had "personal" issues with.

Shifting his weight, James pursed his lips, looking down at the ground in thought. He spun the leaf idly in front of him.

"I wanted to tell you this because I thought it'd help," Eve went on when the silence started to feel long. Even though it'd only been two seconds. "You said that you feel like you're being targeted. I don't think you're crazy. I think you are being targeted. And I think it's only going to get worse, especially after today. It's not like I have any control of the situation, but... I thought you'd like to know. As a warning. In case that helps."

"I'd already deduced it'd only be downhill from here," James said quietly. "But I suppose it's nice to know at least one person doesn't think I'm crazy."

He probably could've considered Shane one of those people. Until he ruined it.

"If it does go downhill, then I suggest you don't give Oliver any more fodder. Be unpredictable. Beat his intuition. Play his own game," Eve said.

James sighed.

"I'll do what I have to," he said, already feeling weary. "But I'd just like to make it known that I don't want to play his petty game. Even though what I want doesn't change anything."

He tossed the leaf to the ground, looking up to meet Eve's eyes again.

"How long do you think it'll be before cameras come looking for us?" he asked.

"Not long. I'm sure we'll hear or see the camera drones flying above us soon," Eve said.

"Perhaps I should get out all of my secret confessions now, then," he said with a sigh, leaning back on his heels. "Should I start with Tula being a double agent or the part where she threatened me into secrecy?"

Eve kept her eyes on him, more focused and alarmed now. "You think Tula is working for the DMV," she stated.

"'Think' isn't the word I'd use. Maybe 99% sure. Convinced. Positive. Highly persuaded," he said.

"What happened?" she asked. "What makes you think that?"

"With an inevitable countdown in mind, bear with me if I'm short. But in summation: she's trapped and cornered me several times now, gone out of her way to threaten me, my family, humiliated me in more ways than one, and though she's denied any official relation to Oliver I find it very odd that she arrived the day immediately after the punching kerfuffle with no official announcements prior. Also, she seems to have access to some of the island's 'security' measures remotely. Which tells me she must have connections to those in high places."

Eve took a moment to process this, slowly nodding. "I also don't think it's a coincidence that Tula came in on the second day, after you punched Oliver. Which means that Oliver had influence over this decision. However, Maeve runs this island. It's no secret that the siblings do not get along. If the two of them have different opinions about Tula, that means they have different opinions about you. It seems that your situation is more manageable than you think. I know it's easier said that done, but driving a wedge between what Maeve wants and what Oliver wants could make your time on the island more tolerable."

More tolerable? That was something at least. He just had to give Maeve what she wanted. Unfortunately, that was drama.

He hummed in thought, not wanting to waste his few prescious remaining moments of privacy.

"Last two things," he said. "Tell no one I've told you about Tula and treat her like you would any other contestant if you cross paths. Secondly, despite how awkward this whole day was, I did enjoy the time spent with you. So hopefully we can still be language learners together. And you know. Be normal, without the--"

He waved his hands around, indicating all of the sparkles and hearts. At least, that was what he intended.

"You know," he said.

Eve meekly smiled, nodding and dropping her gaze down at the floor. "Yeah," she said softly. "I wouldn't mind that. The... normalcy. Whatever that means."

James laughed lightly, glancing down at his fart shirt.

"Yeah," he said. "Whatever that means."

Shane made the walk back to his cabin alone-- not just because James and Connie were staying for the rest of the event, but because he was out of there too fast to leave with anyone else. His head was hurting, only partly from exhaustion, and he needed to put this all behind him. Enough of whatever the hell was happening on this island. All of his urges were telling him to do something dramatic, like swim back to the mainland or lock himself in his room and toss the key into the waves. With his luck, the key would probably wash right back up again.

Shane let himself in the cabin, shutting the door behind him and carefully taking off his shoes so he didn't get any sand tracked around the door. He'd just finished when he heard a loud meow, and Shrimp was there, rubbing up against his legs.

"Hey, little guy," Shane murmured, stroking the cat's back and picking him up. "I'm tired. Really tired."

Shrimp purred. He was just going to pretend his pet was being sympathetic.

"I don't even know what to do," Shane continued with a heavy sigh. "It's like the world is against me. I... I mean, it's been less than twenty-hour hours since I found that painting, and since then I've managed to mess up a potential friendship, get humiliated on live TV, and go through the torture of whatever that dating thing was. Like, where does it stop? What's next, the cabin burns down? I feel like I'm watching a dumpster fire live."

Shrimp meowed, nibbling on the collar of his shirt.

"You're right," Shane said, sighing again. "I'm being pessimistic. I just need to rest, and then things will get better. Maybe."

Shrimp went on to attack one of his buttons with a swipe of his paw. Alright, conversation over.

"Thanks, Shrimp. Glad you've got my back, at least."

Still holding the cat, he went up the stairs, slipping into his room. He did turn the lock, but there wasn't any key to throw out, come to think of it. It was a relief that he couldn't actually act on dramatic impulses, but could still withdraw in here until inevitably the next thing happened.

He took a seat at his desk, setting Shrimp in his lap and staring blankly out the window. Strangely, Shrimp seemed to understand he was in a weird mood, because he didn't jump away, even when Shane got distracted from petting him by his thoughts. The sun was slowly setting before his eyes, but it barely registered, even though he knew the oranges and pinks he was seeing without seeing had to be spectacular.

There was a knock on the door. Four times in quick succession.

"Yeah?" Shane asked absently.

"It's James."

Great. Shane wasn't unhappy to hear from him, of course, but all he wanted was to keep to himself right now. He didn't need a repeat of yesterday.

"Glad you made it back alright," Shane said, dropping his gaze to Shrimp as he scratched him behind the ears.

There was a pause. Long enough to make Shane wonder if James was still on the other side of the door.

"Look, uh," James finally spoke. "Can you come to the door?"

Shane almost made up some excuse so he wouldn't have to, but he knew he wouldn't be able to convince James he was doing anything more important in here. Even so, he hesitated before delivering his response.

"Okay," he said at last, standing up and taking Shrimp with him. He transferred the cat to one arm so he could unlock and open the door with the other.

Opening the door so he filled the space, Shane looked out at James, who took a step back. It appeared he'd been standing close to the door, but now he stood awkwardly, with both hands in front of him, holding each other.

James met Shane's eyes with a look of concern.

"Hey," James said softly. "I hope I didn't wake you. I just wanted to see if you'd eaten dinner yet."

Shane felt tempted to tell him there was no chance of that, since he hadn't slept since the night before last.

"Oh," he said. "No, I didn't."

"Would you want to join me, then?" James asked. "I threw some frozen tater tots in the oven. Low effort, but, it's something."

Again, Shane paused.

"Sure," he said, and then more quietly, "Thanks. I guess this little guy needs some food, so I should head down anyway."

James glanced down at Shrimp, his expression softening slightly. He seemed to hesitate as well.

"Oh," James said suddenly. "By the way. I think you dropped something earlier. Found this on the floor."

With a notable level of insistence, James held out a folded piece of paper to Shane.

Shane looked down at it, slightly frowning with confusion. He didn't remember leaving something like that behind.

"Oh," he said. "Um, I'm not sure that's mine. I don't recognize it."

"Weird," James said. "I thought I saw your name written inside."

Shane blinked, flicking his gaze back up to his face. He made eye contact with James for a few moments before he slowly took the piece of paper.

He saw the reading before he had it unfolded. James had the piece of paper on a flat surface, somewhere dark, and seemingly hidden. James was hunched over it, writing quickly, a mix of anxiety, regret, and deep sadness propelling his pencil. James seemed deeply focused on each word, as if he meant for it to be seen and read.

By Shane.

Quickly-- though this was all happening in an extended flash of a moment-- Shane focused on keeping the writing in his mind, reading it in full.

I am deeply sorry for last night. I am being watched and blackmailed. It is no excuse for being hostile, but please know that I hold no animosity towards you of any kind.

For your safety, the safety of others, and my own, I am required to turn away any suspicion of Tula. She is a spy working for Oliver. I believe I am her main target, but if I do anything to expose her, those I’ve begun to grow close to will be the first to suffer. Those who try to expose her will also be silenced.

I do not want you caught in the cross-fire, but if you desire to help me fight this we must play it smart, subtle, and secret. You cannot let on that you know. You must pretend that your suspicions have been assuaged. You must play as dumb as Tula does in the presence of others, and even myself. I am constantly being watched and monitored, even in “private” spaces. You might be as well.

What I said last night was wrong, and hurtful, and I regret doing it for show. You did not deserve that cruelty. Hopefully we can find creative and careful ways to discuss this moving forward. I hope we can make amends.

Destroy this message after you’ve read it at an appropriate time.

The vision vanished, and Shane blinked again, looking down at the paper as he processed. Carefully, he unfolded it. The paper had no writing on it, but here and there, he saw the faintest smudges of eraser markings, or the shallow imprint of where letters had been.

He realized James' intention all of a sudden, and he felt like he'd witnessed a stroke of genius. It was a message that was impossible for anyone to read, or otherwise intercept. Except for him.

In this unexpected moment, he felt the tiniest shred of hope. Maybe the bridge between them wasn't burned after all.

"Actually, come to think of it," Shane said slowly, looking back up at James as he folded the paper, "I think this was a page of notes on a book I was reading. I shoved it in there as a bookmark, but I didn't know it could've fallen out. Thank you for returning it."

He said the Thank you a little more seriously, with emphasis. It was the part he really wanted James to hear. And it looked like James needed to hear it, too.

Tension released in James's shoulders, and his expression relaxed into a weary relief. James offered him a smile.

"No problem," he said.

Shane smiled back faintly, tucking the paper into the pocket of his dress pants with the mental note to head out to the fire pit later.

"Can Shrimp eat potatoes?" James asked after a beat.

"I think so, as long as they're cooked," Shane said, with a glance down at the cat. "I don't know if he likes them, though. Please don't be offended if he chews up and spits out a tater tot."

"I'll be more amused than anything," James said with a slight grin, reaching over to pet Shrimp under the chin. The cat let out a happy mrrp.

"Thank you for feeding both of us, then," Shane said, returning the small grin as he held out Shrimp a little farther. He needed to find some way to respond to the note in more detail than his simple acceptance. But for now, it felt nice to have this tension gone.

"Would you like to hold him?" he asked after a moment, lifting Shrimp slightly. "He's very gentle, and I know he likes you. Plus, he's super soft."

James's grin grew a little wider.

"Sure," James said, happily tucking up Shrimp into his arms not unlike a baby. He began to massage Shrimp's neck affectionately, and the cat closed his eyes and let out a low, rumbling purr.

"Yep, definitely likes you," Shane said with a small chuckle.

James looked up at Shane, his smile meeting his eyes.

"I'm glad," he said.

Shane had the feeling he was saying he was glad for more than just this, and the shred of hope brightened a little. Maybe this wasn't so much of a dumpster fire after all.

"Me too," he said, meaning it sincerely. "Thank you again."

"It's just tater tots," James said, his smile growing with a hint of knowing amusement. "But I guess we'll see how good they are."

James then looked down at Shrimp in his arms.

"Won't we?" James asked the cat.

With perfect timing, Shrimp meowed again, blinking up at him.

"I think he's ready to eat," Shane said, smiling again.

"Then I guess we better hurry down," James agreed.

Finally.

The event was over and they could go home.

God, that event was infuriating. Tula had to fake being nice to so many insufferable people. Why the hell did she match with so many? Did they all want to get tortured? She wished Maeve would allow her to be more violent or go after any one else who wasn't an insufferable, useless, good-for-nothing potato farmer.

And Stravos. Tula was miffed that he was here and that Maeve didn't tell her.

She couldn't be upset with her. After all, she was her boss. But she knew Maeve liked to play mind games. Tula was no different, but if she was here to mess with people's minds, she'd prefer that Maeve didn't mess with hers.

After all, Tula wasn't a real contestant. She had played this game before.

But even so... even if she wasn't a real contestant...

Tula was determined to win again.

It was only the end of the first week, and Tula had much to discuss.

She followed Alexander into his room even though Jay and Aaron matched with each other (they were so good for each other). They had much to discuss, and they wanted the certainty of privacy.

But Tula also suggested to go to Alexander's room because she knew the rooms told a lot about the contestants. She and Alexander were allies, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he turned against her.

Tula walked into the room as Alexander chatted about useless small talk, closing the door behind him. Already, Tula was immersed in new information.

A massive knife collection covered in glass lined the wall, taking up the full wall. A huge dresser stood on the other side, stuffed with clothes that peeked out over the cracks. Through them, Tula could see the bright colors and patterns. There was also a large bear rug in the center of the room, and it looked very much real-- especially since the room displayed other taxidermy. There was also a giant bed on the other side, velvety red with matching satin curtains. The curtains hung along four poles that stretched from the floor to ceiling. There was a fifth pole, however, in the center of the room. That was it. Just a pole.

Hm. Tula didn't read about this in his character profile. It was almost as if Maeve knew she would discover this herself.

God. This room was so gaudy.

"You're very observant," Alexander said with a smirk. "Aren't you?"

He sat on the edge of his bed, looking out at her.

"How observant of you," Tula said back with a feined smile, staying where she was at, which was right next to the head of the bear rug.

"Oh, the irony of it all," Alexander said. "You know, it's a shame that we didn't match up with each other for the speed-dates. It might've been a nice reprieve. Though I can't say all of mine were terrible, you saw how it all turned out in the end."

Tula crossed her arms, watching Alexander. Observing him, studying him.

"I'd prefer we match with different people. Information is power, after all. It would be useless if we both know the same information," she said.

"Right," Alexander said. "Better to cover all our bases and whatnot. Did you learn anything useful today, then?"

"I learned a few things you may find interesting, yes. And yourself?" Tula asked.

"Oh, I learned a lot," Alex said. And from the way he leaned forward and already began to gesticulate, Tula knew he was about to tell her everything. "But I want to hear you first."

Tula paused, deciding to keep it concise. "The biggest takeaway I learned is that Shane is a dirty little liar. Of course, I kept my facade of being an innocent good girl, clumsy and naive. Yet, he lied about where he was from, and he told me things that were inconsistent from what I know about him." She tilted her head at him. "Why do you think that is?"

Alexander hummed in thought.

"Sounds like he was wary of you," Alexander said. "Who else to have sounded an alarm but your beloved James?"

Tula nodded. "They are cabin mates, and Shane stays inside more often than not. James tipped him off about me. He's suspicious."

"Well, we can't have that," Alexander said.

"He's not a real threat. For being a future heir, Shane Hawking is far too easily intimidated." Tula drew out a him, drumming her fingers on her arm. "One could even say he would be intimidated to submission by one simple, horrifying nightmare."

Alexander eyed her with a growing grin.

"I like how you think," he said.

"Tell me when you've done it. I'd like to see through his eyes. I'm sure you'd love to know his reactions," Tula said with a smirk.

"That I would," Alexander said with a full smile. "And you're always so courteous to share."

Tula nodded once. "That was the only piece of information worthy of sharing. What did you learn?"

As if he'd been waiting all this time for her to ask, Alexander chomped at the bit to speak, launching into it immediately.

"First of all," he said. "Hendrik is a judgemental prick. If only the gods have given his body to someone with less of a penchant to be like some cursed combination of an overbearing principal and an emotionally clueless father. It's such a waste! He would make a wonderful drinking partner otherwise, but alas, I'd rather not discuss my life with him. I believe he'd only be a downer."

He waved a hand as if to be despairing, but quickly moved on.

"And Kazimir! Well, if only he weren't taken. He's about as sharp as a butterknife, that one. But he's got such a jawline. Though I'm sure you've already noticed. Trying to have a conversation with him, however, was absolutely draining. I felt like I was talking to a child! All he cares about is his girlfriend, cars, and videogames. It's like he's developmentally stunted! The poor man. All of that said, he'd probably be easily swayed to do anything if you so much as gave him a cookie and called him friend. A simpleton, in that sort of way. Can't say the same about Hendrik, though. If you want to get his attention, I have one word: alcohol."

At that, Alexander pointed at her meaningfully. Although, Tula already knew that alcohol was an easy way to win them over. But she wasn't here to do that.

She could possibly use them one day if needed, though. The two of them were forces of chaos, but could be easily manipulated. Especially Kazimir.

"And if you want to gain his respect, good damn luck," Alexander threw his hands out in front of him with a small huff.

"And then there's Stravos. You know that guy's obsessed with you, right?" Alex asked, a smirk growing on his face. "What's that all about?"

Tula tiredly sighed. "I gave him a cookie and called him friend."

"Well I'm glad that worked for you," Alexander said. "Because talking to him is like talking to a brick wall. It's like he was deaf! Just kept blabbering about everything he thought I was thinking. The guy's mental."

"If you want to shut him up, use violence. It's what he wants. I'm sure that won't be a problem for you," Tula said, voice neutral.

"So long as the DMV won't penalize me for it, I'll do it gladly," Alexander said, waving a hand to the knives on his wall.

"You have to be smart about it. They want drama. They want content that an audience wants. And of course, you can't kill him," Tula went on, flicking her eyes down his knife collection.

Alexander leaned back with a roll of his eyes and a sigh.

"Yes. Were it not for the laws of this land..." he spun his hand and shook his head. "Yeah. Whatever. No murder."

This sort of thinking was also not on Alexander's profile, but Tula found this type of thinking more interesting than distasteful.

Leaning forward with his hands on his knees again, he didn't waste his breath continuing.

"Hild and I got along, though," he said. "I think we hit it off pretty well, actually. I tried to match her, and I don't think she was any the wiser. I know you're prioritizing James at the moment, and I think she's in his still-developing inner circle. They already go on runs together every morning. I'm thinking I'll keep up with her. Try to get close, you know. Gain her trust."

"You hit it off," Tula echoed. "She seemed interested in you?"

"At the very least, on a friendly level," Alexander said. "I can't deny that she already seemed pretty taken with that Alvaro fellow, but we seem to have quite a bit in common."

He glanced off to the side, shrugging with a sly smile.

"Even if some of it was fabricated," he admitted. "But she was none the wiser. Despite being book-smart, I don't think she's as experienced with - oh, how else to say it? Making friends."

"She may have a steel trap of the mind, but that still makes her vulnerable," Tula mused.

"Emotionally vulnerable, at least," Alexander said. "Wants connection, I think."

"It seems it's a win-win. She wants connection, and you are dying for it," Tula said.

Alexander let out a scoff. "Do I look like I'm perishing?" he asked with a hand over his chest.

"Perhaps I should rephrase," Tula said, still watching Alexander closely. "She wants connection, and you would kill for it."

Alexander squinted slightly, still holding his small smile steady.

"But you're not here for connection," Alexander said, tapping his fingers against his leg. "You're here... to win?"

"Aren't we all?" Tula said innocently.

"Oh," Alexander said. "Definitely not all of us. But perhaps that can be said of at least three of us in this cabin. Decidedly not Aaron, since his expressed desire is to merely survive."

And that was a whole other subject. Tula had tried to reason with him, but the man was infuriating. It seemed she could only get his attention if she gave him damn sandwiches. What was he, a dog? She already had a dog to take care of, and he was far more entertaining and obedient.

"Who else did you meet with?" Tula asked instead.

Alex huffed, but was quick to answer.

"Eve. She's massively reserved, and boy does that woman not want to talk about herself. One word: guarded!"

The last word was sing-songed.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's hiding something. She's polite enough but clearly doesn't want to be here as a whole. I barely got anything out of her, really. I felt like the only reason she spoke with me was out of obligation. Which-" he scoffed again. "-please! I'm not that dull, even when I'm pretending to be."

Admittedly, even Tula didn't know much about Eve. She received everyone's files except Stravos and Eve's. She figured she didn't get Stravos's file because Maeve wanted the drama of her being surprised to see him for the first time, but Eve?

Why didn't she get her file? Tula wasn't sure, either.

"Consider this a challenge, then," Tula said. "Get her to speak more to you than obligation."

"Ha!" Alexander laughed. "And why won't you?"

"Haven't you noticed? She more easily befriends men," Tula said, which wasn't at all the reason why she wouldn't pursue Eve herself, but it was a reason.

Blowing a raspberry through his lips, Alexander threw up his hands.

"Fine! Fine. Whatever," he said. "I'll befriend her if I must. Seems she and Hild get along well enough so that might be an in with her. I'll see."

"She also gets along with James and staff. You may learn something," she said.

"Yeah, yeah," Alexander said. "I figured."

Tula swirled her hand in front of her. "Is that all?"

"I met with Cyrin," Alexander said. "Didn't learn anything really useful about them, just felt like I was talking to a celebrity, I guess. Cyrin was charming as expected, but there wasn't much else to it.

Alexander took in a small pause to take in a deep breath.

"But then!" he said dramatically. "There was Alan."

Tula tilted her head. "You picked him as your match."

"You know why? Because I thought he might be genuinely interested," Alexander said. "But turns out this guy throws out mixed messages with everyone, apparently, and you know what? I throw it back to him and guess how he responds?"

He didn't wait for her to guess.

"The man freaks out! He stiffs up, acts like I'm the one being weird, when he started it! Like, don't get me wrong, I'll take a no but he didn't have to be so damn offended about it, like he was trying to make me feel like I did something wrong. For goodness' sakes! It's a speed date! Of course I'm going to flirt back!"

Alexander threw his hands up into the air with graceful dramatics, and he flopped back onto his bed with a groan.

"I'm going to fuck with him. Fuck up his dreams and make him unravel. I've got nothing else better to do on this island anyway. It's getting boring. They want drama, I'll give them drama."

Tula listened intently, watching Alexander closely.

She knew that Alexander picked Alan, and she was admittedly curious to hear why since he had otherwise been so deliberate. Upon hearing this, however, two things come to mind: one, Alexander was extremely petty. And two, it dawned on her that this could be something of merit.

She had read through everyone's files and read up on their magic. Alan's magic in particular was of interest to her.



Charm magic was particularly rare, and it was even more rare that someone who was naturally charismatic would have this. Of course, Tula didn't care about anyone on this island who wasn't James or someone who had a connection to him, and Alan wasn't someone connected to James. It was obvious during Alan and James's match.

But he was already connected to the same people James was close to: Shane, Hild, and Lyall.

"He deserves to get a taste of his own medicine, don't you think?" Tula said. "He continues to push his unrealistic ideals on people. He ought to get a dose of reality that life isn't a bundle of roses viewed through a tinted lens."

Alexander sat up quickly, locking eyes with Tula with interest and determination.

"Agreed," Alexander said, and then a devilish smile grew on his face as he watched her for a moment.

"What did you have in mind?"

It felt good to be able to rest again.

Now that Shane had resolved things with James, his thoughts didn't weigh on him so heavily. There was still the humiliation of the interview, the situation with Tula, and-- whatever it was that was happening with Alan-- but those things had only been so bad partly because of the hurt he'd been feeling already. With that gone, he still had problems, but at least they didn't keep him up at night quite as much.

Tonight, Shane decided he'd take a break from burning the midnight oil and go to bed a little early instead of staying up to read the books on his shelf. He said goodnight to James and Connie once dinner was over, took Shrimp (who had rather enjoyed the tater tots) upstairs and gave him a little goodnight head smooch, and then got all ready for bed. It was weird to be doing this-- he couldn't remember going to bed without working for hours on end first-- but that was the grad school experience speaking. He'd have to get used to having less of that work to focus on.

Usually, even after exhausting work, it took Shane a while to fall asleep, kept up by thoughts. But he was so drained from not sleeping the night before that he passed out within minutes of getting in bed.

It was deep, deep sleep. Until he was already awake again.

Shane heard the sound of buzzing while his eyes were still closed. He blinked them open groggily, instinctively reaching for his phone. While he fumbled to answer the call, he got a sense of his bearings. He was lying on the couch of his apartment in Crystal City, where he attended his grad school from. His laptop was sitting on his chest, cracked open with the screen off, and it occurred to him that he must have dozed off working late on a paper. Setting it aside on the floor, he put his phone to his ear.

"Hello," Shane said through a yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

He heard a gentle laugh on the other end of the call, from a warm, familiar male voice. "Are they overworking you over there, kiddo? You sound like you've slept two hours in the last two days."

A smile came to Shane's face. Ray Hawking. His dad was on the phone.

"Nope," he said, but it was through another yawn, which didn't serve as good evidence for his statement. "No hard work to speak of and plenty of sleep. It's like I'm on vacation all day, every day."

His dad hummed skeptically. "Are you sure? It sounded like you were falling asleep halfway through a sentence there."

"I plead the..." Shane waved his hand around, his thoughts getting too fuzzy to complete the statement. "Whatever law we have against self-incrimination. You'd know better than me."

His dad let out a breathy chuckle. "Alright, I'll stop interrogating you. I'm about to ask you to do something, though, so I hope you're awake enough for it."

Shane slowly sat up, leaning against the back of the couch. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to head downstairs. Just step out onto the street. That's it."

Shane hummed thoughtfully. "Am I looking for anything? A car, a person, a delivery? Something else?"

"Oh, you'll see," his dad said, with a hint of amusement. "It's a surprise."

Although he had no idea what it was about, this request didn't surprise Shane. His dad had a way of trying to make things fun, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten a random exciting surprise from him.

"Alright," he said with a smile, standing up. "I'm heading down."

"Perfect," his dad said excitedly. "You can keep me on the call."

Shane kept the phone to his ear as he left his apartment and locked up behind him. He found himself walking briskly down the hall, unsure what he was rushing for, but rushing all the same. His pace slowed, however, when he caught sight of a paper by the elevator. Taped over the doors was a note, and he expected a notice that said it was out of order. Instead, it read: CLOSED DUE TO TRAGEDY.

"...Huh," Shane said slowly, coming to a stop.

"Is the elevator not working?" his dad asked on the phone.

He nearly automatically answered yes. However, the strangeness-- and the accuracy-- of the question gave him pause.

"How do you know that?" he asked uncertainly.

"There's signs like that everywhere," his dad answered. "Plenty of places are closed for the day. It'll pass."

That didn't make sense to Shane. He didn't see why an event would cause an elevator to stop operating. He also didn't know what this tragedy was even about, and it felt like he should. But try as he might, he couldn't remember what the big deal was.

"Alright," Shane said, staring at the note for a moment longer before shrugging and turning. "Well, there's always the stairs."

He kept going down the hall, pushing open the heavy fire door. Even though he'd rarely had need to take the stairs, he was familiar with their look. Metal railing, white steps, blue walls, windows lining the right side. There was something new, however. A TV hung on the opposite wall, displaying a grainy image. No, not an image, a short video on loop. The screen was filled with orange pixels shifting over the black, repeating every three seconds or so. The quality was terrible, but even so, it reminded Shane of crackling flames.

"They put a TV in here," he said over the phone. "It doesn't look like it's doing much good."

"Why's that?" his dad asked.

"It's trying to play something, but the video is just... terrible." Shane squinted at it. "I can't make it out."

"How about you keep going," his dad suggested.

It seemed like such an odd recommendation, but it was one of many odd things happening already. Maybe strange could only be solved with strange.

"Okay. On my way down."

Shane took the first flight of stairs down, keeping one hand on his phone pressed to his ear while the other gripped the railing. When the next floor down arrived within view, however, he stopped with a confused frown. Just like his floor, there was a TV mounted on the wall in front of him, playing what seemed to be the exact same footage as the last. If he looked closely, though, he swore the pixels were slightly smaller, the image just barely less grainy. The picture was sharper.

"There's another," Shane said slowly, feeling uneasy without knowing why.

"Just make your way to the ground floor," his dad encouraged him. "That's all you need to do."

Something about the coaxing just didn't feel... right. He didn't see how his dad was responding to his remarks by saying that. But it was just a screen, even if it was a weird screen. What did it matter if his apartment building wanted to waste money on installing TVs in the staircase? Even if his dad's reaction felt strange to his ears, the only reaction that felt appropriate was to move on. It wasn't like there was anything to do about it anyway, even if he felt motivated to do something.

Shane kept going, but he didn't tear his gaze away from the screen until the angle hurt his neck.

It didn't even surprise him when he descended another floor and there was a third TV screen, exactly where the others had been. The only difference was that again, the image quality had gotten slightly better. Shane now saw shades of paler yellow admist the orange, and he felt more sure that the loop was depicting flames.

He nearly said something about it again, but--

"Another screen?" his dad asked in a gentle, knowing tone. "You don't need to pay attention to them. Just focus on getting down the stairs. You can do this."

Shane let out a weak laugh, feeling silly. Right. He was making a big deal out of nothing.

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed. "It's weird they're there, but it doesn't matter. I'm still on my way."

Even so, he did give each screen a look as he kept going down, because they kept coming. Five more floors down, the edges of the flames were defined and clear. Seven floors after that, the image almost looked to be of good quality, with visible sparks jumping off. And some number of floors after that-- he was losing count-- he could see the thin haze of smoke rising from the fire, which had been completely invisible on the first screen.

Shane slowed at that realization. He'd lost count of the floors, but his floor was a very countable number. He lived on... floor... it started with a...

His thoughts came up blank.

He couldn't remember what floor he lived on. And he didn't remember his building having this many floors either.

Shane felt simultaneously like rushing down the stairs, and like freezing up to never move again. He chose the former, taking the steps down three at a time and nearly dropping his phone in his haste. By the time he reached the ground floor, the fire was crystal clear on the screen, almost sharper than how it looked in real life.

Shane dashed across the lobby, pushing the door to the street open with his shoulder. Immediately, he began coughing as smoke seeped in his lungs, and he waved his hand around in front of his face, trying to see through stinging eyes.

This... wasn't his street. That was obvious even when his vision was obscured. The cobblestones for a sidewalk were the first clear hint, but other things didn't match-- no graffiti tag on the ground, a crosswalk much closer to the door than normal, and a trash can that wasn't there at all normally. Disbelievingly, Shane turned his gaze to the street.

The smoke was still creeping in at his vision from the sides, but he could still see what was directly in front of him. In the street, just a few feet away, two body bags were lying on the concrete. There was no one standing over them, no sign of why they were there. Just two zipped body bags and thick, dark smoke spreading everywhere.

"Dad?" he whispered into the call, clutching his phone together with both hands now. "What's going on?"

No sound on the call. His pulse spiked with a nameless fear.

Shane wanted to move forward and take a closer look, and he'd just worked up the courage to do so when he realized he couldn't move. His limbs were frozen to the ground, out of his control. His thoughts raced with panic, and he tried to fight harder against whatever force was pinning him in place, but he couldn't budge. He was trapped.

"Dad?" Shane pleaded, more desperately. "Dad, what am I here for?"

He still couldn't hear his dad's voice, but there was a new sound now. Screams of terror. The sound was muted, like the voices were barely being caught on a microphone, but the volume was slowly building. He couldn't tell where it was coming from-- all around him, inside his head, the phone, even the screens inside-- but it quickly grew to be deafening, and realization was sinking over him, increasing his panic.

"Dad!" Shane shouted into the phone, not even caring about the level of terror in his voice. "Dad!"

The words came out choked, and he thought he might be about to cry. But just when the silence on the call was getting to be too much, his dad's voice came back.

"Just look." That wasn't how his dad spoke. He was always gentle, always considerate about how his words sounded to Shane. These words were detached, almost bitter. Like he carried a sort of resentment.

With eyes that were stinging with more than just the smoke, Shane did look.

The smoke had cleared just enough for him to see a third body bag, zipped up like the other two. Shane's breath caught in his throat when he saw it. The terrible feeling that he knew what was inside was creeping over him, and now he wanted to run away. But he still couldn't move.

"Why don't you look?" his dad continued. "Aren't you wondering where you belong?"

Shane couldn't think of anything to say. He was shaking too much to get out the words anyway. Just as he was about to consider prayer to get him out of whatever this nightmare was, the third body bag twitched.

It moved. And then... shifted.

Slowly, the zipper began to open from the inside. A hand reached out through the beginnings of the gap, clawing at the hazy air like it was ready to dig its way out of its temporary grave.

Shane screamed. He was still screaming when he woke up where he was supposed to be.

James woke up in a cold sweat. This was the eighth night terror since he'd come to the island; and he'd been having them every night without fail, always a mere hour or two after he'd finally fallen asleep.

If he kept losing sleep like this, he was assuredly going to lose his mind. Maybe someone just needed to knock him out with a hammer. If only that would work. He was the only person on whom it wouldn't work. Maybe he needed to turn to sleep-aids. Surely, they had Nitequil somewhere on this hellish island.

Then again, that could make things worse. More time asleep meant more time trapped in his nightmarish dreamscape, and he didn't know if he wanted that.

Exhausted, James stared at the ceiling. Then he stared at the clock. The glowing numbers were about what he expected them to be: 3:45am. The worst time in the world to be awake without reason. Or for any reason.

Burying the visions of dead family members crushed in his own hands, he forced himself out of bed again.

Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.

He opened his door precisely so that it couldn't be heard opening or shutting. Did it even matter? He padded over softly to the bathroom.

Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.

Going inside, he closed the door behind him and stopped in front of the mirror, flicking on the light overhead so he could stare into his own hollowed out, bloodshot eyes and convince himself to live another day. At this rate, he was getting to dramatic for his own good when it came to his inner monologue. Soon, he'd be rivalling Lyall, and who knew what would become of him if it came to that.

He took in a sharp inhale, and then very quickly slapped himself across the face without withholding. He felt his jaw pop out of place when the metal of his hand clunked against the metal of his face, even with the skin barrier. It stung, but already his jaw popped back, and he could feel his skin already working through the bruise at a rapid rate. It'd be gone by morning.

Well, by... oh, whatever. It wasn't morning until he said it was morning.

Pointing at himself in the mirror sharply, he make eye contact with himself.

"You will pull yourself together," he whispered harshly. "You will make it through this. You are capable. You are strong. You are--"

Very alarmed.

James jolted when he heard a scream carry down the hall. It was muffled through the walls but still loud enough to startle him and assuredly loud enough to recognize where it came from.

Shane.

Abandoning the restroom, James quickly hurried down the hall.

A few things could be happening. It could be a real, physical emergency. It could be something as small as a spider, or something else that spooked him. Or it could have been a nightmare. James had a strong feeling it was the latter.

Biting his lip and not wanting to scare Shane any more than necessary, he called out before he knocked, trying not to shout.

"Shane?" he asked through the door. "Shane, it's James."

No reply.

Well, that wasn't good news. Usually a scream followed by dead silence was bad. Biting his lip, James tried at the door handle to see if it was unlocked. It was not.

"Shane," he continued to speak. "I'm going to come in to make sure you're okay. I heard you and just want to check. Alright?"

Still no reply.

Well, this could potentially backfire, but locks could be repaired and doors could be replaced. Shane couldn't be if something legitimately dangerous had occured, and honestly, James didn't know what the people on this island were beyond doing at this point.

With a small sigh, he grabbed the door handle and rammed the door with his shoulder. That was more than enough for the lock to give, and the wood of the door to crack. The door itself popped open with a squeak, now tilted on its hinges.

The covers on Shane's bed were half thrown off, and the heir was clutching the edge of the mattress so tight his knuckles were white through his skin. Shane's face was half-buried in his pillow, his eyes wide and staring straight ahead at the wall. His chest was rising and falling quickly with panicked breathing, and it looked like he was hyperventilating. He seemed oblivious to Shrimp, who was intently pacing around the bed, meowing loudly at him.

"Hey, Shrimp," James called softly, beginning to approach slowly with soft steps. The cat stopped tearing around the bed, but kept meowing, now looking up insistently at James.

James looked at Shane, then at the cat. Priorities.

"Keep it down," James said softly, coming around to Shane, still not making any sudden movements. He just wanted to get within Shane's line of sight, but he began talking on the way over, hoping not to scare him.

"Hey," he said steadily. "It looks like you had a bad dream. I'm sorry. I know it's hard right now but you've got to get your breathing back to normal, okay?"

Shane closed his eyes, nodding weakly after a few moments. A shudder wracked through him.

He stopped in front of Shane, keeping back a few feet as he knelt down beside the bed.

"Okay. We'll breathe together, alright? Let's take a big, long inhale. Count to five, okay? One--"

Shane took a shuddering breath, blinking teary eyes open. "One," he managed to croak.

James smiled weakly, deciding he should just do the counting. "Now hold your breath."

It took two tries, with Shane needing to gasp for air between the third and fourth seconds the first time. The second, he managed to keep control of his breath for all five seconds.

"Perfect. We're going to hold it 'til the count of three," James instructed. "One. Two. Three. Now exhale."

Shane followed the instructions wordlessly, and the breath he released was still shaky, but steadier than before. Encouraged, James continued to walk him through inhales and exhales until his breaths finally steadied. He wasn't keeping strict count of the time, but maybe two minutes passed before Shane was finally breathing at a steady, normal rate on his own.

James finally sat back on his feet, still seated beside the bed, with Shrimp now accompanying him. James had been trying to ignore the cat for the past minute while Shrimp climbed on him, tried to jump off of him onto the bed, and finally gave up and curled up in his lap.

Keeping his attention on Shane, James glanced around the room, looking for tissues, or something of the like. He couldn't see much in the dark, though, and he had yet to put his contacts in or put his glasses on. Sadly, he had nothing to offer for Shane's tears.

James decided to sit for a moment, content to let the quiet pass as Shane collected himself. He didn't want to force him to answer any questions so soon after what must've been a deeply distressing dream.

At last, Shane cleared his throat weakly, taking another deep breath. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly, his gaze on the floor instead of James.

"Apologies are unnecesarry," James said gently. "It's fine. I'm just glad that you're okay."

There was a small pause, and James glanced over at the broken door.

"How's your heartrate right now?" he asked.

He found it was always a little easier to address practical worries first. It also helped get the mind off of staring at the horror of what preceded the panic.

"Um." Shane hesitated. "...Fast."

"Sounds about right," James said quietly. "It should slow down in a bit, now that you're breathing regularly again."

Shane nodded, although from the distant look in his eyes, the words didn't really register to him. James watched him with empathy.

"So uh," he said. "I don't really know how to tell you this. But I broke your door."

Shane slowly turned his head to it, sitting up as he did to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Ah," he said. "I thought it looked different."

"I can fix it," James said, briefly following his gaze. "Later today. I just... well, it was locked. And you screamed."

He looked at Shane apologetically. "I was already awake, though. So don't worry about that."

"Then don't worry about the door," Shane said, with a slight shake of his head. "I'm sorry anyway. I really didn't mean to alarm you."

"No one means to alarm anybody when they're having a nightmare," James said. "But I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

James looked down at Shrimp, then up at Shane again. He gently pet the cat's head, and the cat nuzzled his other arm.

"Do you need a moment?" James asked quietly. "Would it be helpful to just sit?"

Shane hesitated for a moment, seeming to weigh the decision.

"I guess I don't feel great about just going back to sleep yet," he admitted.

James hummed. That made two of them. Shrimp began making his way up the bed again to find Shane.

"Would you want to talk about it? Or just talk in general?" James asked.

Shane was quiet for a moment, and Shrimp nuzzled his hand. He scratched the cat behind the ears distractedly.

"I could do either," he said. "If you're in the mindset for it."

"I'm fine with that," James said gently. It was considerate of Shane to give James an out, but James really didn't mind. Even though he had many nightmares that plagued him he knew he was capable of handling a lot when it came to others.

"So... what happened?" James decided to ask open-endedly.

Shane took and released a deep breath that sounded almost like a sigh as he rubbed at his eyes, seeming to decide where to start.

"Do you ever..." he began cautiously, like he was waiting to dive into it, "dream in a way where you're reliving something, but it's not how it actually went? Like you're remembering it wrong? Sorry if that doesn't make any sense."

James nodded slowly.

"You're making sense," James said with soft assurance. "I've had a few dreams like that."

Shane nodded, pursing his lips. "It was sort of like that. That usually doesn't happen to me, but the dream deviated from how it tends to go. By a lot. It..."

Shane seemed to be collecting his thoughts, or considering how much to share. He swallowed.

"I'm alive by accident," he said quietly. "I was supposed to be in the car the day everything happened. And in the dream, I think I was. I was dead, but I didn't realize it. Not until I got to the scene and saw one more body bag than there should have been."

Ah.

James was only mildly familiar with the story of Shane's parents death. He knew it'd been a tragic attack that Shane had missed - he said by accident, news stations said luck. James was very well aquainted with survivor's guilt, and he knew it when he heard it, but it still saddened him greatly knowing that this was still something Shane was processing. Considering the loss was all still so recent, he was surprised Shane was holding up as much as he was.

He wondered if the recent onset of extra stressors might've triggered this nightmare. James knew the only recently "resolved" tension between the two of them probably played a great part in Shane losing sleep the night prior, but he knew that everything else happening on the island was just as concerning. The pain and grief of the loss of his parents was still so fresh, and now he had to worry about surviving three months of Maeve's psychological horror show.

It was, perhaps, a bit too dramatic to call it that, but it certainly was not helping. With anything.

"It wasn't all that different from what actually played out, in a couple ways," Shane said quietly after a few moments. "The last time I talked to my dad was on the phone the night before, and I was calling him in the dream too. But it was happening after, not before, so it was like he was calling me from the dead. He kept trying to get me to head downstairs, so I could see what happened. Like he wanted me to see where I should be." Shane shook his head. "He said things I know he'd never say normally, like that I belonged there. But it felt so... real. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was angry at me for avoiding their fate."

James listened with concern, understanding how alarming and disturbing a dream that vivid could be. He understood that Shane was being very vulnerable in sharing all of this, seeing as the dream itself was deeply personal, so he wanted to deal with things gently. Shane wasn't looking for a diagnosis right now. He was looking for comfort and support. James could always bring this up at a later time when Shane felt less like an open wound.

That, and the most present, immediate need was that Shane needed to be able to fall back asleep.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "That sounds horrifying. It's no wonder it affected you the way it did."

Shane pressed his lips together. "It beats being dead," he said quietly, but there was a hollowness to his words. Like he didn't quite have the conviction to back them up.

James was quiet for a moment. It was dark humor, or perhaps it was sincere to some degree, but James was going to take it seriously regardless.

"That doesn't make living with the pain of loss any less severe," James said gently. "It sounds like you're processing a lot of it in your dreams."

He paused.

"Have you talked about it much?" James asked. "With anybody?"

Shane paused before softly admitting, "Not really. At least, never in much depth."

James nodded.

"Well, if it means anything, it doesn't bother me to talk about this kind of thing," he said softly. "It doesn't have to be me, but it might be helpful to let some others speak into what's going on in your head so it doesn't stay there. I find often in my own experience that's when my dreams are at their worst: when I don't have any outlets to process it."

Another pause, and James watched as Shrimp rubbed his head against Shane's knee.

"Have you ever heard of grief counseling?" James asked quietly.

Shane slowly nodded. "I think I know what it means, at least."

"It might be helpful to look into," James said. "Probably after all of this, though. I don't know how many resources they have on the island, but it couldn't hurt to at least ask Dante, maybe."

James looked up at Shane, offering a small smile.

"It's nothing you have to act on it or anything. Just a thought."

Shane smiled weakly back, though it seemed mostly for James's benefit.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said quietly. "Thanks, James."

Another pause, and Shane set his hand on Shrimp's back, letting his fingers sink into the cat's fur.

"You seem like you've had this kind of conversation before," he said softly after a moment. "Siblings?"

James let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sort of," he said. "Mostly, uh... in the army."

He couldn't remember if he mentioned his military history to Shane at all. From the way Shane nodded slowly, it appeared to be new information to him.

"Not a lot of resources when you're out in the field and it's just you and a couple other guys facing the horrors of the wilds," James said. "Someone's got to learn how to keep everyone's heads on straight, I guess. Not-- not to say yours isn't."

He laughed weakly, shrugging.

"I don't know," he continued. "I just try to calm people down. I know you've had a long past two days, and you could really use the sleep again."

Shane nodded along, rubbing at his face again.

"Right now, I'm glad that someone was you, but that sounds like a difficult role," he said softly, sympathy in his voice. "Making up for the lack of support elsewhere in such a regularly terrifying environment-- that's a lot of personal responsibility, especially to take upon yourself as a volunteer. That's very brave and kind of you."

James smiled softly.

"Thanks," he said, forcing himself not to deflect so as to not belabor more compliments or arguing about it. "It's really not a labor for me. I've always felt I've had the capacity, and it's been pretty simple for me. See a need, fill a need."

"It's still a kind use of talents," Shane said, his expression softening slightly, but he seemed to understand James was being dismissive. "Anyway, I'm grateful for it. Sorry again for the suddenness of this."

"Nothing to be sorry for," James said gently.

He got up to his feet.

"Mind if I sit on the edge of the bed? My legs are falling asleep," he said.

"Oh, yeah, go ahead," Shane said, scooping up Shrimp so James could rise more easily. The cat sneezed. "Bless you, Shrimp."

James got up with a small grunt and heaved himself onto the edge of the bed. The bed creaked under his weight.

"How often do you have dreams about your parents?" James asked.

Shane looked down, setting Shrimp between them. The cat quickly gravitated to James's lap again. "I think every time that I've gone to sleep in the three, four months since then."

"So, every night, then?" James asked.

Shane winced slightly. "When it doesn't keep me up instead, yeah."

James nodded, beginning to pet Shrimp again now that the cat was cuddling into his stomach.

"Are they usually reliving events?" James asked.

Shane took a deep breath. "Yeah. I saw the explosion the same way that everyone else did, I guess. By surprise on the TV screen. I've... seen it relived that way over and over, and somehow never know what's about to happen before I see it. The shock feels the same way every time."

"Is it normally this intense?" James asked.

Shane shook his head. "Not in the same way. Normally, it's detailed, with everything that I remember happening during the event, being in the dream. But it's never been..."

He paused, seeming to search for the words. But then he also stiffened slightly, and his hand tensed around the edge of the bed, almost looking a little paranoid.

"Like I had a horror writer in my brain," he finished. "Scary memories become scary dreams, but they haven't... made themselves scarier like this before."

That was good to note. It wasn't good that it was happening, but if there was an unusual increase in intensity, then it meant something was changing. Either the emotions Shane was processing were finally catching up to him, or it was as he suspected before.

"Do your dreams ever get worse when you're stressed?" James asked. "I wonder, what with everything that's happened the last week or so, if that might be a part of what's going on."

Shane rubbed his temples. "That could be, but I've also been stressed for some time now. I don't know, really. It's only the things I'm stressing about that have changed."

Hm.

"Well... I hope it doesn't become a pattern," James said softly. "For your sake. Were you even able to get any sleep?"

Shane pressed his lips into a thin smile for the first part. "What time is it?"

"Almost 4am, now," James said.

"Oh," Shane said, sounding faintly surprised. "Well, nightmare not withstanding, this is technically the best night's sleep I've had in months. I might have gotten an entire eight hours."

James's eyebrows raised in surprise as well. That meant Shane probably fell asleep right away after he left from dinner. He supposed that was good, at least, but Shane still had sleep debt from the night before.

"Are you still tired?" James asked.

Shane considered, blinking slowly. "Tired," he said. "But not sleepy. It feels like I'd rather not go through that again."

James understood how that felt.

"Well... if you're waking up," James said. "I'm not going back to bed, either. Want me to start you some coffee? Tea, maybe?"

Shane's expression turned into relief at that.

"Coffee, please," he said in a quiet, grateful tone. "I'll take care of breakfast in return whenever we get hungry."

"Sounds like a plan," James said with a small smile. "No rush, then. I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

Shane returned the faint, gentle smile. "Sounds good."

Airhorns blared, then the Island Magic theme played overhead as ukulele-playing crabs wearing leis crawled across the screen. Shay jumped into Mel's usual chair, spinning for good measure before pulling up to the desk.

"What's up, weirdos!" she whooped excitedly at the camera.

More airhorns sounded off in response as fire throwers behind her flared up.

"Consider this," Shay declared, "an official Recap Takeover! Mel needs some time off after absolutely crushing it as host for the weekend speed dating event, so I'm going to have to step in for today's segment. Let's see what we've got on tap for today!"

Spinning to face the large screen behind her, she provided her own fanfare via kazoo as a bullet-pointed list materialized through a ripple effect.

• Matches: Yay or Nay?
• Man who flirts with everyone gets flirted with and can't handle it!
• Top Twoot of the day!
• World's meme'iest man gets drunk on speed-date!
• "Today we chat as real men having lunch and a drink the bathroom."
• Commercial Break!
• Guess who!
• Interviews!

"It's not as beefy as last time I was here," Shay mused, turning back, "but these are all hefty points of their own. And, thankfully, I won't have to tackle them on my own! Weirdos, say hi to my other roomie, Mireya!"

And with that, she smacked the big blue button on the desk. A cloud of confetti exploded, then settled to reveal her co-host suddenly in the chair next to her. With a flip of her blue hair, Mireya grinned as she spun around in the chair, waving one hand to the cameras and raising a harmonica to her face with the other.

"Woooo!" she cheered into the harmonica, resulting in a loud, high-pitched WAAAAAAAH sound. "I didn't even become confetti! Love it when that doesn't happen."

Shay cackled. "I'd be out a co-host if it did." Clapping her hands together, she leaned back as she faced Mireya. "So, we got some interesting matches from yesterday."



The screen behind them displayed photos of every mutual match from during the event like a slideshow, complete with cheesy PoowerPoont transitions. Alan, his cheeks dusted pink from a filter, held Lyall's hands as he seemed to profess his undying love for the doctor from down on one knee. For Connie and Robin, the candlelight and soft pink decor around them made what looked like an awkward situation more of a quirky meet-cute. Hendrik sat lazily with an arm slung over the back of his chair, mid-lecture, while Kaz lied face-down on the table between them. Clandestine and Cyrin seemed most comfortable and thoroughly engaged in conversation with one another.

Aaron seemed to aggressively address the ceiling while Jay sat back, arms folded in icy silence. Over this photo, a cat filter had been applied, for the sake of making it visually more inviting. Someone else was in the background, too, but unrecognizeable with a heavily glammed-and-glittery filter set over their entire face. In the final photo, Eve sweetly held out a dandelion to James, who was reaching out to accept it with a faint, almost shy smile. Again, a blush filter was slapped over them.

Mireya eagerly nodded. "Look at all our little lovebirds! We've got some very opinionated people on Twooter rooting for them, and other just as opinionated people arguing for different matches. People are very interested in what this means for the rest of the season!"

"Think any of them will make it past the honeymoon phase?" Shay asked with a snicker.

"Well, this whole island is a perfect honeymoon environment," Mireya said brightly. "I would hope that's conducive."

Shay nodded. "Legit. Nothing sets the mood like a tropical paradise vacay. Got a couple you're rooting for, Mireya?"

Mireya giggled. "Oh, a couple of couples. But it's hard to pick favorites when one person is in half of them-- he knows who he is."



"For real!" Shay agreed with a grin, as the heading changed. "The dude really couldn't lose, no matter who he picked."

"I love these titles," Mireya snickered. "Why is he like that? Like, is he not flirting to be flirted with?"

"I think..." Shay looked up at the spotlights in thought. "...I couldn't say. I really couldn't say. Guy's got to get wise and cool it before he breaks some hearts."

She paused, then leaned forward, elbow on the desk as she squinted at something off-screen.

"Wow, we got a theme for today's recap," she said, breaking out into an amused grin. "'Cause our Top Twoot of the Day is-- hold onto your socks-- also about Alan!"




"Awwww. Poor @urbanhart." Mireya shook her head sadly. "She's one of our top viewers, so her twoots get a lot of attention! Which is great, but unfortunately, it does leave for some embarrassment potential. But honestly, she's not wrong about the typo."

Cackling, it took everything within Shay's power to not completely lose her composure. "The bigger you are," she said inconclusively. Then went on, "I think we've got outselves two fan faves here. Alan, quickly rising to probably second place, then out still-reigning champ, the Potato King!"



The camera zooms into James's scruffy, half-lidded, dead-eyed stare. He looked right into the camera with fierce hostility, especially as the camera slowly pans down to his black FART REVERB FX shirt. The montage went on to James's top moments, which admittedly wasn't quite his best moments, since it showed him being pressured to drink by Tula, and then the disasters that happened after. Silly brassy and percussion music played in the background as he fumbled from one bad decision to another, from running away from Jay, to eating in the bathroom, to having an awkward conversation with Alan as he ate bagels.

Shay watched, really trying so hard to keep a smile on her face. But she really just felt bad for the dude.

"Yo, rewind," she said, drumming her hands intently on the desk. "On the subject of bathroom breaks, there really ain't nothing like a bro-to-bro pick-me-up by the urinals."



The screen behind them then moves into the bathroom scene with Hendrik, James, and Caspar. Specifically, it showed all of Hendrik's moments-- except he seemed to get cut off. Literally. Since he was the tallest out of the three men, his head was cut off in all shots. None of his words were captured, only "hmp!" or guffaws and mannerisms, such as him drinking from his flask or him slap-patting the men. The montage then cut to Hendrik pointing and waving at the camera in the corner, then saying, "You better not cut me--"

There was a brief silence. Shay blinked, then blew an amused raspberry. She turned and smiled fully at Caspar rather than the camera. Their camera guy just sheepishly covered his face with his cap.

Mireya blew a raspberry as well into the harmonica, resulting in a PBBBBBBBDWAAAAAAH. "Oh no, did he get cut out? How sad."

"A real shame," Shay agreed, "but probably for the better. None of this week's montage, short-lived as some of it may be, would be possible without today's sponsor. So, buckle up and give 'em your full attention for a few!"

And she sat back, bracing herself for what would probably be another wild ride. If the last commercial segment was anything to go by.

Hot Guy Summer Commercial wrote:A low electronic beat played in the background as the camera slowly pans up to a man walking. It only showed his shoes at first-- brown oxfords that that echoed with a clack against the pavement, one foot stepping in front of the other like a fashion model. As the camera pans up, it's revealed he's wearing tight, tailored, high-waisted navy slacks, a black shirt, and a long navy blazer that swayed with his hips. The small purse he was holding over his shoulder was black with golden detail.

Finally panning to his face, the man was revealed to be Alan. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and he was more serious with a smoldering expression, his hair swept back. His face was contoured and highlighted with makeup, and he was also wearing smokey eyeshadow and mascara.

Alan was approaching a gazebo, looking to be meeting someone else: Lyall.

Lyall was waiting for him, wearing gray plaid pants with matching suit, a long black-and-yellow tweed coat, a collared yellow shirt, and a gray tie. Upon seeing Alan, his face lit up to a smile, and Alan swooped in, sweeping him off his feet and spinning him around. He only managed to lift Lyall up a a foot off the ground as the low electronic beat continued on, with Lyall bending his legs and holding on to Alan tightly with a warm grin. He was literally sparkling.

After a few twirls, Alan placed Lyall back down and tilted his face down to caress Lyall's cheek with the back of his hand. They looked into each other's eyes with a smoldering expression, their faces an inch away from one another, noses almost touching. Alan's thumb moved to rub his high cheekbones to the inner of his eye, and then, with his free hand, Alan took out a bottle of mascara.

The music swayed with a vocalist going "oooh, aaah" as the beat rhythmically became louder and more upbeat. The camera zoomed in on the mascara bottle, clearly showing the brand: COVER GORL.

Still looking into Lyall's eyes, Alan applied the mascara over Lyall's eyelashes, slowly elongating his lucious lashes as the music continued to play.

The camera zoomed into Lyall's eyes: deep, green, and adventurous. Suddenly the music turned more upbeat, playing major chords as a female vocalist with a rich voice embellished the harmonies. Then the camera zoomed out from the same eyes, but they were not from Lyall. Instead, they appeared to be from Hild.

Hild was dressed in dark denim jeans, a green tweed suit, a blue collared shirt, and a yellow tie. Her curly hair was pulled back into a messy bun, mostly covered with the hat she was wearing. She stayed still as the camera zoomed out, revealing Shane next to her wearing a long, green, ruffly sundress with white polka-dots and puffly sleeves. He was wearing long dangly silver earrings and a white floral headband, pushing his short brown hair back with it.

Alan suddenly came up behind them, arm over their shoulders as he brought them in with a half-smirk. They both placed a hand on his chest, looking at him longingly. In sync, Alan tucked stray strands of their hair behind their ears, and they both adoringly kissed his cheek at the same time before placing their head on his shoulder.

Alan pulled them in closer to his chest so that he could place his hand over theirs, and the camera zoomed into the hands. The three of them were wearing matching nail polish: marshmallow white. At least, that was what the audience could deduce, since the bottle of nail polish floated next to their fingernails, and COVER GORL brand and color clearly showing.

The camera zooms into the marshmallow white color until it filled the screen. The music suddenly turned more upbeat, turning into the tumbao drum playing on a salsa beat as trumpets and a keyboard played along.

The camera zoomed out of the white of a spotlight, revealing Alexander wearing a sparkly white performance outfit full of sequins and glams, his bare chest exposed. He was salsa dancing with Alan, the two of them matching each other's energy against the stage with the spotlight on them. Alexander spun Alan over and over, but Alan kept up-- that was, until the end of the song, where it came to a halt at the downbeat, and Alexander dipped Alan low to the ground.

Alexander precariously held Alan's head, his face inches from him. As the silence stretched on, they both stared at each other's red lips, the camera zooming in as their lips came closer and closer to touching. Before they could touch, the red color then washed away the scene.

White lettering filled the deep red background.

EASY.
BREEZY.
COVER GORL.

Alan leaned against the elegant bold text, pushing his hair back before crossing his arms. In the background, Lyall, Shane, Hild, and Alexander were all standing with their outfits, posed in various model stances. In the tiniest font possible, a scrolling line of text flew by over the bottom of the screen.

figuresrepresentedwerenotcompensatedfortheirimagedon'tlookatthistext pleaseokaywe'reonlythrowingthisinbecauseitwasapparentlyalegalrequirementorwhateverthatmeansjustpleaselookatthesehotpeoplebuyourproductsanddon'tsueusokaybyeeeeeeeeeloveu

As everyone flipped their hair, the commercial then ended.

Mireya was cracking up with laughter while the commercial was playing, but just barely managed to compose herself to be on camera again. "Look, it's all my favorite couples."

Shay had to turn around completely as she silently laughed uncontrollably. Wiping tears from her eyes, she slowly turned back.

"Oh god," she wheezed, "Mir, I can't--" Putting her head on the desk, she cackled some more. "You're going to have to take over the next segments for me. I'm outta here. Can we take a quick recess?"

HOSTS ARE SWITCHING OUT...
STAND BY!

When the montage resumed, Mireya had switched chairs with an excited grin, sprawled out in the host's seat and stretching out her legs.

"Hey, why is this one more comfortable than the co-host one?" she complained. "Rude. Maybe I'll prank Mel by swapping them out one day and see if she notices."

She wiggled around on the chair, swinging from side to side slightly.

"Although, the first one did spin better," she remarked, before sitting up with a bright smile and addressing the cameras again. "Alright! It's time for our game. We'll be teleporting in a contestant at random to sit in the not-so-comfy-but-more-spinny chair and play at it. Let's spin the wheel of names!"

The rainbow wheel reappeared behind her, and Mireya made a spinning motion with her finger. The wheel began to rotate, spinning faster and faster until it began to slow, nearly landing on the section labeled STRAVOS. Mireya quickly but subtly spun her finger another time, and the wheel turned just slightly further, landing on KAZIMIR instead with a flash of light.

"Oh, yes, my fellow lightning magic user!" Mireya exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Let's see what he makes of the game."

She slammed the blue button. Appearing in the seat with an explosion of confetti, Kazimir rapidly gripped the arms of the chair, wide-eyed, and hands sparking with electricity. His hair stood up on end, and his dark v-neck shirt looked wet, for some reason. Then it became evident he was wearing swim shorts.

"HO-LY BLEEP!" he shouted, rocking in his seat for a second, shooting out his legs to steady himself.

Still wide-eyed, his eyes darted around the room and landed on Mireya. His expression immediately turned dreary.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked.

"Not at all!" Mireya said brightly. "Welcome to the montage, Kaz! We've got you here to participate in a fun game."

As if that was all he needed to hear, Kazimir immediately relaxed, letting out a laugh-like sigh.

"Oh! BLEEP. That's a relief."

A tinny five-note theme played as the title banner scrolled across the screen.

Guess Who!

"It's a guessing gaaaaaame!" Mireya said in a sing-song voice! "The following is a list of nicknames that Hendrik has assigned to people. Your job is to guess which nickname belongs to which contestant."

Kazimir blinked.

"I don't know everyone's names," he said.

"Then you get to refer to them by a nickname of your own choosing for them!" Mireya said. "And maybe we'll get to puzzle over that too. You've got a minute, but keep in mind, there might be repeats!"

Kazimir nodded with determination.

"I'm ready!" he said, leaning forward in his seat.

"Fabulous! Here's your list. Time starts... now!"

• Curly -> The short chick with the curly hair that's bossy (Hild)
• Alex-> Alex (Alex)
• Punchy-> Angry face guy I almost killed BUT DIDN'T! (James)
• Zombie-> Creepy dude (Stravos)
• Potato King-> Shane?
• Cowboy-> Angry face (James)
• Crazy Eyes-> Creepy dude (Stravos)
• Wolf Man-> Robin!!!!
• Human Lightning Rod-> Me ;^)
• Barbie-> The blonde chick (Clarity)
• Hairy Man-> Short bouncy fellow (Lyall)
• Cinderella-> Isn't that someone's name? (Clandestine)
• Flannel-> Alex (Alan)
• Fart Man-> Your mom (Not a valid answer)
• Gossip Girl-> That dark haired chick looks gossipy maybe (Eve)
• Pinky-> The super pale guy. He got sunburnt (Aaron)

Kazimir finished with fifteen seconds to spare. He sat back in his seat, arms folded with a smug smile.

"There!" he said. "I did it fast."

"You did!" Mireya agreed. "I find these responses interesting."

"What's that mean?" Kazimir asked.

"Let's give Kaz a round of applause for his incredible participation!" Mireya said instead of answering, and the studio was filled with recorded claps and cheers. Kazimir also clapped for himself and cheered along with them.

"Thanks for joining us, Kaz!" Mireya said, once the applause died down. "Want to be teleported back? It's fun and doesn't turn you into confetti."

"Bleep yeah!" Kazimir said with a pump of his fist. "That sounds sick!"

"Awesome! Have fun on your confetti free-travel!" Mireya pressed the red button, and Kazimir disappeared with a puff of smoke instead.

"Yep, no confetti. Good," Mireya observed. "Wow, he's fun. I'm so glad he didn't almost kill--" She squinted at the list. "--Punchy, Potato King, Human Lightning Rod, Barbie, Hairy Man, Fart Man, and Zombie. It makes it sound like there was nearly a massacre, but nope, those are all just James. Hendrik sure does refer to him as some strange stuff!"



"And now, you know the drill," Mireya continued. "Every montage, we highlight an impactful contestant by bringing them on the show and interviewing them. This week, we're featuring one of our resident girlbosses-- please welcome Hild Ashlund!"

With the press of the blue button, Hild appeared, eyes wide as she white-knuckled the arms of the chair, in a burst of light blue confetti beside Mireya. She was dressed in her running gear and had her hair tied tightly back in a short ponytail, indicating that it was still early morning.

"Hi, Hild!" Mireya greeted her. "I forget if I've talked to you already, but I bet you'd remember. If I haven't, well, this is my chance, because you're about to get interviewed on the montage! Do you know what that's about?"

Still quite shocked, Hild wordlessly looked up and around the set for a moment. "I... I'm sorry to say that I don't," she eventually answered, voice uncharacteristically small.

"Well, it's very fun!" Mireya said brightly. "We feature highlights of island life and special events every couple of episodes, and then hold interviews with contestants to close us out. It's your turn for this montage!"

Hild stared at the camera like a deer in headlights. "Lucky me," she said distantly.

"Yes, lucky! Most people haven't gone yet," Mireya agreed. "We reserve the earlier ones for particular impactful contestants, and you happen to be one. So, you ready for questions?"

"Questions?" Hild echoed, sounding very much unprepared.

"Yep! It's an interview," Mireya said.

"An interview," Hild repeated wiltingly, eyes bleak.

"Yes," Mireya said, only her wriggling in her seat giving away that she was eager and impatient.

"...And this is obligatory, I assume?" Hild asked, finally facing Mireya.

"Aw, Hild, you've got this! Everyone wants to see you do well at this," Mireya encouraged her. "Plus, people are excited to hear from you. You'll be poofed back to whatever you were doing before this as soon as it's over."

Clearing her throat, Hild folded her shaking hands on the desk and squared her shoulders. "Very well," she said stiffly, and gestured to the hostess. "Please proceed."

Mireya beamed. "Perfect! Let's start off with this one."



Hild blinked. "My goals? I don't... really have any so far, aside from..." She glanced off nervously in thought. "...making it through, and getting back to my studies."

"Ah, survival," Mireya said with a nod. "Well, we aren't that kind of island reality TV show where such a thing would be hard, but it never hurts to have basic goals. Here comes the next one!"



Eyes narrowing slightly, Hild pursed her lips with open disdain at the question. "Is this...being aired live?" she asked slowly.

"We do not plan to edit your responses," Mireya said cheerfully, not quite answering.

Hild did not seem reassured by this in the least. Eventually she answered, "...A friend and I once shared in an alcoholic beverage whilst still underage."

"Ooh, using interview privileges for legal immunity! Risky. I like it," Mireya said. "Was it really only the one time?"

Hild's face flushed red from embarrassment, as if that hadn't actually occurred to her until Mireya said something. "Yes," she replied, voice dropping to a murmur, "just the one time."

"Well, it sounds like a fun one time," Mireya said in an upbeat tone. "Oh, speaking of fun one times, this next question is a fun one!"



"I--" Hild squeaked, at this point very closely resembling a tomato. "What-- Who's asking these questions?"

"Your fans!" Mireya said. "Or at least, the fans that are voting on Twooter polls. I should add that, for the sake of proper statistics reporting."

Hild glanced at Mireya and quietly said, "I appreciate the attention to such details, for the sake of statistical accuracy." Then she coughed and looked askance the other way as she gave the question some thought.

"I've experienced...infatuation before, I suppose," she carefully admitted. "But I can't say whether or not it was love, since nothing ever actually...came of it."

A melancholic "awwww" track played in the studio. Hild scanned the ceiling with an indignant look.

Mireya pressed a hand to her heart, pouting sadly. "Oh, that is sad to hear. Especially from a lovely girl like yourself! Luckily, life can be full of many happily ever afters. I believe in yours."

Shifting in her seat, Hild looked more mildly irritated than anything now. "I, uh, thank you kindly."

"Of course! Now, on the subject..."



Sinking back in her chair, Hild buried her face in both hands.

"Aw, don't be shy. You are far from the only person in that boat," Mireya assured her.

Hild peeked out between her fingers. "That's part of the problem," she uttered.

"Why's that?" Mireya asked curiously.

"The fact that--" Hild stopped herself short. Then breathed in deep to recompose herself and sat straghter again.

"That..." Mireya continued for her patiently.

"It's fine, this is fine," Hild said, seemingly more to herself than anybody at first. Then looked to the camera, resolve steeled. "Alan is a kind man, who seems to simply connect very easily with a variety of people. It's a compliment of his character more than anything."

"Alright, yeah," Mireya said in an agreeing tone. "Is that why you picked him, then?"

"Because we connected well," Hild confirmed with a nod.

"Great! Good factor to consider. Here's the next question."



Thoroughly exasperated at this point, Hild threw her hands skyward. "Is this really necessary?"

"The interview?" Mireya asked defensively, even though that wasn't what Hild was referring to. "Well, yes. It's a way of directly portraying the thoughts, ideas and beliefs of contestants that the cameras can't capture."

With a put-upon huff, Hild crossed her arms. "Fine," she said sharply, but not without turning a deep shade of red once more. "If we were to consider the golden ratio--"

Mireya barely suppressed a faint puff of laughter.

Hild cast her a deeply annoyed glance. "What makes one's face the most visually pleasing, purely mathematically..." She tiredly pinched the bridge of her nose. "That would objectively be Constantine. Or Connie, I believe is what he normally goes by."

Mireya nodded, faintly grinning. "Ah, I see it. Is that math's opinion, or yours, though? I felt like I got a calculator to answer the question for me."

Hild narrowed her gaze again. "...No one on the island can view this, correct?"

"Correct," Mireya said.

A beat of silence.

"...Per my personal preference," Hild said, voice dropping to a mere whisper, "James."

Looking excited to have pried out a more personal answer, Mireya nodded. "Ah, yes, James, the star of the show. I'd love to ask why, but I'll let this question-- submitted anonymously by one of our very own contestants-- do that for me!"



"Gah!" Hild said frustratedly, looking about ready to jump out of the chair and simply flee the set.

"Is it the sudden presence of grammatical correctness in the questions?" Mireya asked. "I know, it's a jarring contrast. Most of our Twooter users don't use caps or punctuation."

Gripping the desk, Hild gave Mireya a withering look. "Who sent this? Why can't we talk about, I don't know...our thoughts and observations on comparative mythology? The origins of the very universe! Why must I be inundated by--" She gestured with both arms at the large text behind them. "--inane questions about romance?"

Mireya beamed. "Ah, I appreciate the enthusiasm for those subjects! You and I could certainly talk about that later, but I do have to honor these question submissions-- and the anonymity of the submitter."

Sinking way down in her chair, Hild hid a soft groan behind her hands. There was a short moment where no one moved or said anything.

Eventually, Mireya spun around in her chair with faint impatient eagerness. "You got this, Hild! No one's gonna follow up on your answer."

Sharply inhaling but never moving, Hild finally answered, "Traits I find...appealing, in anyone, are...honesty, decisiveness, sharp wit, and humility."

"Ah, you'll get someone good that way," Mireya said with a nod. "Only two more questions! This next one is based off your previous answers."



Before Hild could answer, the screen behind them lit up with a video. It was slightly grainy, appearing to be from a security camera at the top of a streetlight, overlooking a road that ran along a cliff. Down the road came a motorcycle, which pulled over by the side, and the driver stepped off. They took off their helmet and even though the quality wasn't perfect, it was clear that the driver was Alan. He shook out his hair, then turned toward the sunset view as he leaned against the bike and lit a cigarette.

The screen switched to a video from a much shakier camera, filming James in the middle of battle with huge, monstrous worm-like creatures. The camera tipped and jolted as James raised his sword, swinging the blade at the creature's head with a grunt of effort. Even despite the picture shaking, the muscles flexing in his arms were clearly captured on camera. Flailing and bloody, the worm recoiled, diving back into the earth.

"I'm so proud I found those," Mireya said brightly. "So, what do you think?"

Still sitting low in her chair in a meager attempt to hide, Hild had watched with a blank expression. "...What was the question?" she asked flatly.

"Do you secretly like bad boys," Mireya helpfully repeated.

"Do I..." And Hild trailed off as she covered the lower portion of her face. "...Do I?"

Mireya went back to the screen in front of her. "Hmm. You could use some supplementary material to answer, couldn't you?"

The screen behind them then showed a new video of James, in this very same studio and in what looked like his pajamas, agonizingly answering a question about which Ashlund sibling he'd rather date with Hild's name.

Hild blanched. "I don't... How does this help."

"I mean, it's got you saying more than two-word sentences," Mireya offered.

Hild blinked hard at the paused clip. Then looked helplessly at Mireya. "Insufficient data," she answered. "Get back to me another time."

"Oh, I can always understand wanting good statistical analysis," Mireya said with a satisfied nod. "Let me know when you've collected your data and got your answer! It's fine to have it be a secret from yourself too."

Hild looked confused by that last reassurance more than anything.

"Okay. Last one!" Mireya said brightly. "Hild, this one is from our sponsors for this montage. They're very eager to hear your thoughts!"



Hild heaved a deeply relieved sigh at this one. "I usually don't wear any to begin with, but I suppose I'd prefer darker, neutral to earthy tones."

"Oooh, Cover Gorl, did you hear that? Very important info there," Mireya said. "Thanks for helping collect proper statistics, Hild! Are you ready to go back now?"

Dropping her hands to her lap, Hild sank even lower. "Yes, please," she said weakly.

"Say bye-bye!" Mireya said.

Hild managed a weak wave at the camera, but couldn't bring herself to look directly at it anymore. With a press of the red button, she poofed out.

Mireya clapped her hands. "Alright! We've actually got a super special second interview in store for you today with someone else. You know him already, you've had some burning questions, you didn't get to ask them all-- well, here's your second chance! It's our first repeat interview, with our resident Mr. Romantic, Alan Alvaro!"

She smacked the blue button, and Alan poofed in with warm-colored confetti. This sudden appearance seemed to catch him off guard, however, because his hair was messier than usual and he wasn't wearing a shirt. In a moment of panic, Alan stared down at his empty hands in front of him, then around the room, realization of his situation dawning on him since he had been here before.

"Oops," Mireya said in mild confusion, glancing at a clock behind the cameras. "Our prediction for when you'd be ready was off by about twenty seconds. Well, at least it wasn't forty seconds. Welcome back, Alan! Let's get you something to wear. Sequins or sparkles?"

"...Good morning, Mireya," Alan finally said, sitting up straight, perhaps trying too hard to not seem too caught off guard by the fact he was without a shirt, about to be interviewed. "Would it be possible to get a plain cotton tee? I don't need anything special, but I appreciate the sentiments."

"We could do something more like that," Mireya agreed. "Abbacabba."

A shirt suddenly appeared on Alan's body. It was a cotton tee, but it had a design on the front. It was of Alan in his same outfit from the commercial, looking all glammed up as he leaned on the white bold lettering that said: EASY. BREEZY. COVER GORL.

"Look, it's you! One week on this island and you're already a professional model," Mireya said excitedly. "Thrilling, is it not?"

Alan was staring down at the shirt, pinching it toward him so he could better see himself. He finally shook his head and let go, instead saying, "Thanks. Am I back on Mel's show?"

"For today, it's my show," Mireya said breezily, snapping her fingers and causing tiny blue sparks to jump above her hands. "You're already back on! Normally, that doesn't happen so fast, but you've already left quite the impact. How does it feel to be a star, Alan?"

"I don't know if I'd consider myself a star. I'm really just living a somewhat ordinary life here. But..." Alan flourished his hand in front of him, spinning it like he was trying to get them to move on faster. "Does this mean I'm getting interviewed? Again?"

"Yep! People couldn't get enough of last time, so we've got some brand new questions for you," Mireya chirped. "Feeling ready?"

"Sure. I can answer questions," Alan said as he offered a tired but friendly smile, relaxing back on his chair.

"Fabulous! Here's our first one, from our sponsors-- which, wouldn't you know it, happen to be wearing your face at the moment!"



Alan stared at the screen, slowly reading. "No. I don't wear makeup," he answered simply.

"Really? It seems you'd look good," Mireya suggested innocently.

"I definitely do not," Alan said again. "But I'm flattered anyways."

Mireya nodded, shrugging. "Ah, well, our sponsors will figure something else out. Look alive for your next one!"



Alan paused, squinting his eyes at the question before he looked back at Mireya, who was smiling and patiently waiting for his answer.

"No, we haven't kissed," he said steadily. "For the record, I haven't kissed anyone on this island-- because I'm friends with them. And I know it's your job to ask me questions, but I'd just like to say: even if Shane and I had kissed, it is awfully invasive and rude to even ask this. It's really not anyone's business to know."

"Well, you might not like the rest of this interview, then," Mireya said apologetically.

"You mean to say you're going to ask me invasive, rude questions the entire time?" Alan balked. "Why don't you ask questions that are, I don't know, relating to getting to know me outside a superficial level?"

"Didn't that happen in your last interview?" Mireya asked.

"Depends on if you count the question of which of my two cabin mates is hotter as a superficial question or not," Alan said tiredly.

"Admittedly, it's a bit light compared to some of these," Mireya said. "But you're right, I don't make the rules. Here's your next question!"



Alan stared at the question some more, contemplating. "No," he finally answered. "I haven't."

"Well, there's plenty of time still! Great way to kill boredom," Mireya suggested.

"I'm sure it is," Alan said.

"Alright, next!"



Alan drew his brows together as he read the question again quickly, then with a weak, mirthless laugh, he looked back over at Mireya and said, "What?"

"Play-a," Mireya enunicated. "You know, like player?"

"I got that," Alan said flatly. "No, I'm strictly monogamous. And I'm not dating anyone. This question is misleading."

"Misleading?" Mireya asked curiously. "How would you say so?"

"This question implies that I'm already dating multiple people. Which, again, I'm not dating anyone. Hence, misleading," Alan explained.

She shrugged. "Alright, if you say so. Some things say otherwise. But hey, we gotta take you at your word. Speaking of, people have been clamoring for your input on this one!"



Alan sighed. "I see what you mean now. I'm assuming this entire interview is... themed."

Mireya did a little helpless wiggle shrug. "Hey, this is just what people are wondering about you. You could look at why."

Alan stared at her without commenting further. He sat up straight, but then instead sat at the edge of his chair, readying himself to talk with his hands as well.

"I don't really place limits on myself when it comes to love, so I confess, I haven't taken the time to thoroughly think through a proper label, if it even exists. Simply put, I think love transcends our physical bodies. I'm not drawn to someone's gender or sex. I'm drawn to their soul. And I don't have a word for that."

Looking eager to finally have a more elaborate answer from him, Mireya nodded. "Very romantic! And very valid as well."

"Glad you think so," Alan said, half a smile returning.

Seeing it, Mireya paused for the briefest moment before diving into the next question, as if suddenly a tiny bit reluctant to move on. "For our next question, we're trying something a little new! This was actually submitted by an anonymous contestant on this very island!"



"A... contestant asked this?" Alan sputtered out, his voice growing a pitch. "Who?"

"Well, that's the thing about anonymous questions," Mireya said.

"This is so wildly inappropriate to ask," Alan went on, looking and sounding both defensive and offended. "Isn't this being streamed live? Aren't kids watching this?"

"Actually, we have an M rating!" Mireya said, sounding happy to clear this up. "No kids, unless their parents aren't following guidelines. Just adults and their sometimes-dirty minds."

Alan only stared indignantly at Mireya in response.

"Take it up with whoever you think it is," she said sympathetically. "Or don't, maybe. That seems like a more awkward conversation than just answering this here."

"...No. I'm not," Alan answered another brief hesitation. "A virgin, I mean." He scoffed, the offense returning. "I've been in several serious, long-term relationships. I suppose I haven't openly advertised this to the whole island, so I can't blame them for it, but... no."

Mireya nodded. "See, that wasn't so bad! For this answer, we've got a couple follow-up questions."



"With my magic? No. of course not," Alan said with no hesitation. "That would be... well, that would be morally wrong on so many levels. That's not real consent."

"Ah, good. Looks like you're not getting canceled today," Mireya said with some apparent relief. "Right answer. Finally, our last question is inspired by yesterday's event!"

The screen behind them went on to show Alan and Alex on their speed date, going through clips of them chatting until Alex said, like he'd just figured something out, "You're adaptable." These two words were subtitled on the bottom.

"So!" Mireya said, as the screen froze on this frame. "It seems like some fans on Twooter were skeptical of Alex's interpretation. By popular demand, this question comes from the polls!"



Alan stared at the screen for way too long, his expression still mildly annoyed, but not defensive or offended like last time.

"Hard to say," he finally said.

"Well, take your time!" Mireya said encouragingly.

"And this is with regards to Alexander... correct?" Alan went on, still not answering the question.

"I mean, it could be about him," Mireya said. "But I imagine it was asked more in general."

"You said this was debated?" Alan asked with a soft hum.

"There's a sort of consensus in opinion, actually," Mireya said. "But it wasn't in agreement with Alex's conclusion."

"That I'm adaptable?" Alan asked.

Mireya let out a small snort of laughter. "Yes."

Alan drummed his fingers along the table, humming again as he thought of his response.

"I'd say it depends on the mood and the person I'm with. So maybe I'm adaptable after all," he said. "Like I said, it's hard to say."

"Great! But this is a one or the other type of question," Mireya explained. "So, how about, what do you find yourself deciding most of the time?"

"Ah. Well, if I had to pick just one... I'd say..." Alan pursed his lips, looking to be deep in thought over this. "...Bottom."

There was a long pause, during which some editor was probably considering throwing in some cricket noises just to fill up the tension. Instead, the silence stretched on.

"Ah?" Mireya said, in a tone that was ever so slightly strange.

"Does that... surprise you?" Alan asked.

"Nope! No wrong answer to that one. There you go, Twooter," Mireya said in a bright, upbeat tone. "Well, thank you, Alan, for your patience with these questions! Because you've dealt with twice the amount of questions contestants are asked by this point in the show, we've got a special reward for you. Tell me, how homesick are you?"

That piqued Alan's attention. He sat up straighter, smile and hope returning.

"Very, actually," he said. "Why?"

Mireya grinned. "Well, you'll love this. Everyone, please welcome Alistair Alvaro, the mysterious twin brother you've been wondering about, live from Argentia!"

The screen behind them turned to a live phone footage as Alistair held the phone, placing it down in front of him so it didn't need to be held. He pulled his lips back into a smile, waving.

Alistair closely resembled Alan as his brother, but he was far from being an identical twin. He had floppy, wavier hair that was covered with a backwards black snapback hat, and he was dressed in all black with silver chains around his neck. He seemed tired, but maybe he always had bags under his eyes. Still, he grinned.

"Hey, bro. Haven't seen you in a while. Glad you're not dead," Alistair said.

"Oh my god. Alistair!" Alan exclaimed with a laugh, but then pointed at the screen as he looked back at Mireya. "Wait, can he hear me? Can we talk? Are we live?"

"Yeah, I can hear you, but I literally only have a minute, so I want to show you something," Alistair answered for him, then took the phone with him.

There was a loud clamor as he picked up the phone, and the screen only showed blurry movements. There was some background noise of others talking in another language, but the earbuds Alistair wore didn't pick up specific words.

"So turns out you're, like, super famous. And we're getting gifts every day. I wanted to show you some thing. I think you'll like it," Alistair said as he walked, then showed him opening the door.

He panned the camera into the room, and it was full of Moopet merchandise.

"So this is your room. I helped decorate it. I think it looks nice," Alistair said with a hum as he panned through the posters of Alan being a purple Moopet with various captions. "This one is my favorite."

He panned to the giant body pillow of his Moopet self, sitting on the bed.

Alan stared at the screen, his smile slowly fading and getting replaced to an expression that read: Really?

"Oh, that's not all. Check out all the recent gifts we got," Alistair said as he went through nearby boxes, revealing a big pile of makeup. "You're the new face of Cover Gorl. I knew you'd one day capitalize on your inner diva. I'm proud of you."

Alan briefly glanced down on his shirt. "What...?" he said with a confused laugh.

Alistair set the phone down again, turning the camera around again so he could see his face and cheekily grin.

"Also, I'm learning so much about you on this show. I know far too many intimate details about you now," Alistair said.

Alan facepalmed. "Please don't."

"For instance, I didn't know you were strictly monogamous. I clearly remember all the men and women you've brought in to our room at the same time. You kicked me out to have your night of fun, remember?" Alistair said casually.

And for the first time during the interview, warm, red embarrassment pooled in Alan's cheeks as he rubbed his eyes, staring dead back at Alistair with contempt.

"You are the absolute worst," Alan said flatly.

"Oh, hey. I forgot to show you my new swag. Check it out," Alistair went on with another knowing grin, taking some steps back so he could turn around and point at the back of his shirt.

Turns out he wasn't wearing a black baggy tee after all. On the back was a giant graphic of headshots of Cover Gorl Alan and Lyall from the commercial, foreheads touching, expressions smoldering.

"I'm on team Lylan," Alistair announced proudly, turning back around with the same cheeky grin, picking up the phone and causing everything to shake again.

Alan stared back at the screen with a dead-eyed expression, groaning.

"Anyways, I have, like, ten seconds left. So, here's mom. She's very--"

Alistair got cut off when someone else then grabbed the phone from him, presumably their mother. She was bright-eyed and overjoyed from getting to talk to her son, her brown curly hair bouncing around her face as she adoringly said a string of words in the Argent language. Real-time translations showed up at the bottom as subtitles.

"Hello, my love! I miss and love you so much! I cheer for you on TV every day!"

She tilted the camera down, revealing two things: a sleeping baby bundled up in a pink blanket, and her blue Moopet Alan shirt that she was wearing.

"Baby Camilla says hi! She misses you sooo much! We all do!"

The camera shook again as she focused back on her face, her smile big and bright. "I love you soooooo--"

The screen then cut out. It seemed they had ran out of time.

Alan slowly sat back, his smile having grown big the whole time his mother was on. "Thank you, Mireya. I miss them a lot, so I'll treasure this."

"Of course!" Mireya said brightly. "Now, we'll let you go, but the shirt is yours to keep, don't worry. Got any parting words for your fans?"

"I guess, with the theme of this strange interview, I just want to know: why?" Alan said through a forced smile, obviously still miffed about the earlier questions.

"Ooh, very good question," Mireya said, nodding. "Tell you what: we'll open that question up for commenting on Twooter, and you'll hear the top answers some other time!"

Alan sighed. Deeply. "Right. Well, for both our sakes, I hope that isn't any time soon."

"Just keep doing what you're doing," Mireya said amiably. "Now, are you ready for that portal?"

"Portal?" Alan echoed. "Is that how I got here?"

"And it's how you're going home, too!" Mireya smiled.

With a press of the red button, Alan suddenly poofed into the air. Gone!

"That's it for our montage folks! See you next time Mel needs a break!" Mireya said excitedly, waving to the cameras and taking out her harmonica again. "And now, we close out, me-style."

Flamingos wearing leis appeared around the screen again as chibi heads of Mireya and Shay played their instruments. Mireya played the harmonica, but it was a two-person song, so Shay's floating head poofed in with colorful confetti, there to harmonize with Mireya. They both made the ^_^ face before restarting the song, but floating head Shay seemed to not get the memo, instead playing the kazoo. They were both off beat and off pitch, but at least they somewhat nailed the Island Magic theme song.



WHAT WILL WEEK 2 BRING?

That was... weird.

Maybe. Alan didn't really know what to think about that interview.

He looked down at his shirt, staring at the Cover Gorl lettering.

Yeah. Okay. Not a dream, since he came back with this. He had no idea what was going on half the time during that interview, but he rolled with it, even if he was fairly positive that Mireya was trying so hard to embarrass him. Alan didn't know what he did to warrant this kind of spite, but he was far too stubborn to roll over and let it happen.

Ah well. Nothing he could do about it now.

Alan took off the shirt, throwing it deep in the recess of his too-big closet, hoping that doing so will help him forget about it. He definitely wanted to scrub this bizarre memory from his mind.

Today was a more eventful day. Alan, Lyall, and Cyrin came home later last night, chatting about the speed dating event over too-many glasses of wine. Since they all matched, they were all getting their present this morning, so they cancelled brunch plans for the day.

And of course, kept it a secret from each other over what they picked. Although, Alan mostly suggested this secrecy because he didn't know how to explain his pick to his cabin mates, and he figured he'd think of something by the morning.

Well, morning was here, and he still didn't think of anything. Not that he needed a real answer. He could just say the silly truth. Or shrug and say, "Why not?"

Alan picked out another shirt from the closet that was fully picked out for him since he hardly came in with any clothes-- which was an uncanny detail, by the way, that he consistently thought was strange, but decided not to overthink it.

He put on a short-sleeve collared light brown shirt, pulling it over his head and letting the hem hang loose over his off-white pants. Alan moved more hastily, quickly folding his clothes away, making his bed, and styling back his hair. When finished, he hummed a tune that had been stuck in his head since yesterday, leaving his room and skipping down the stairs.

They still had some time before the presents came. Cyrin was at the gym, and he figured Lyall was still asleep, so Alan was surprised when he saw him reclining on the couch, ankles crossed and with a book held up over his face.

"Good morning, my love," Alan said with a playful grin, stepping into the kitchen to fill up a glass of water. "How did you sleep?"

Lyall huffed a laugh as he let the book drop to his chest. "Good morning, dearest," he teased back. Then answered honestly, "I actually didn't sleep all that much."

"Ah. Really?" Alan turned off the faucet, turning around and leaning against the counter so he could better see and talk to Lyall. "I didn't really either. It's kind of rare for me to wake up at this hour. But hopefully you can get more rest."

Lyall hummed. "What brings you down so early?"

Alan lifted up his glass of water. "Hydration," he answered, then paused. "But also to get ready before the gifts arrive, and also to see you. What about you?"

"So eager to see me?" Cracking a small grin, Lyall rested a hand over the book in a touched manner. "I'd normally believe you, my dear, but I'm fairly sure you weren't actually expecting to see me at this hour."

Alan stared at Lyall for a second before quietly laughing, turning back around to fill his cup of water. When finished, he made his way to the couch Lyall laid on, sitting on the other end, next to his feet.

"Honestly, I've had a weird morning," he said more honestly with a sigh, heavily slouching on the couch, still holding the glass with both hands. "I know we cancelled brunch, but I was going to come downstairs to whip something together before 10am. But I suppose my heart's not in it anymore."

Alan sighed, leaning his head back and running a hand through his hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I got teleported into one of those interviews again. It caught me a little off guard, but I answered the questions. By the end of it, they put on a video call with my family for a minute or two, and I'm realizing now that I miss them so much," he said, dropping his hand.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Lyall reached to set his book on the coffee table, then folded his hands together as he looked at Alan. "Another one of those interviews, hm? So bizarre," he mused quietly.

Then he swung his feet down to the floor and slid over to sit closer by Alan. "Right," he said, tone gentle but determined, "well, we ought to remedy that. I offered you the use of my personal device, and I am nothing if not a man of my word." He slipped his phone from his sweater pocket. "Who'd you like to contact first?"

"Oh," Alan breathed out with a soft laugh, staring at his phone as he sat up straighter. "Like... right now? Here? Now?"

Lyall shrugged. "Why not now, here, now?"

Alan smiled. "Alright. Sure," he said through another small laugh, then paused. "I admit I don't know any of my family's phone numbers, though. But I think my mom is pretty active on social media. I can probably find her through there and send a message."

After typing in an absurdly long password to unlock it, Lyall set his phone in Alan's hands. "Time to stalk the old HeadBook." Before letting go, though, he sternly pointed at him and said, "No rifling through my stuff."

"Don't worry. Your saucy secrets are safe with me," Alan teased with a smile, pulling up the HeadBook app.

It landed on Lyall's feed, but despite Lyall's stern warning a few seconds ago, curiosity got the best of him. Alan selected his profile to give it a quick peek.

He always found it interesting to see what his friends displayed publically, after all.

Alan whistled lowly and grinned, pulling up his profile picture to show Lyall. It was predictably a photo taken with Kaya. The sun reflected off a pair of dark aviators that were up and pushing back some of Lyall's curls. He smiled boyishly as Kaya pressed their cheeks together, her arms wrapped around his neck. The phone had been held up and angled down, showing off their mountain climbing gear, and a very shirtless-- and fit-looking--Lyall.

"Lookin' good, Lyall. No wonder Kaya is all over you," Alan teased.

Face flushing a faint tint of red, the doctor scoffed. "Friendly reminder that I am indeed still taken," he said firmly. "Stay focused."

Instead, Alan swiped to the next photo. Another picture of the couple, this time taken by Kaya. It looked like a sort of costume party, and the two were dressed to the nines in Prohibition era fashion. Kaya smiled brightly at the camera, while Lyall was partially blurry from swooping in to kiss her on the cheek.

"Awww," Alan cooed, but didn't have enough time to make further comments.

Lyall snatched the phone back from Alan, face even redder. "You've officially lost HeadBook privileges," he said hastily.

Alan lifted his hands up innocently. "I thought the photos were nice. And they're cute. Nothing to be ashamed of here."

"Of course not," Lyall said with a still-defensive huff. "So, you said we'll find your mother here, right? What's her name?"

"Should be under her full name, I think. Try Natalia Alvaro," Alan said, then went on to spell it out for Lyall.

It took just a few minutes of searching before they successfully found her profile. It was the same profile picture as Alan remembered, where his mother smiled sweetly with both Alistair and himself sitting at either side of her. It was some photoshoot from around the time they graduated high school. The cover photo was more recent, though it was highly cropped since his mother didn't really know how to upload photos all that well. It was taken from the last Moon Festival with the usual family reunion, although this one was particular big since his oldest cousin recently remarried, and both sides of the family were attending. As usual Alvaro festive tradition, everyone was smiling while wearing a Santy hat and matching colors.

After a short beat of silence, Lyall hummed. "Wow," he said simply, "you didn't mention your mom's so pretty."

Alan stared at Lyall with his nose scrunched. "Well," he said casually, "she is single. If you're interested."

Biting back a laugh, Lyall lightly shoved Alan's shoulder. "Don't tempt me," he joked. "I prefer you and I stay friends, anyhow."

The implication of what Lyall was saying slowly sunk in, and Alan loudly groaned, trying to unscrub the cursed thought that Lyall could be his step-dad.

"Alrighty," Lyall said, sounding mildly victorious, "so...what? Do we message her through my account, or yours?"

"I actually don't have one, but I can message her through yours, if that's alright. She'd know it's me anyhows, since I live with you, and I'd have to type it up in Argent," Alan said.

Casting Alan a mildly distrusting glance, Lyall slowly handed it back to him. "Have at it, then."

"I promise I won't do anything weird or snoop through your stuff," Alan said with a laugh, taking the phone, quick to select the message button next to his mom's name. "Thank you."

"Of course," Lyall said warmly. Leaning back, he rested an arm over the back of the couch behind Alan and loosely crossed his ankles as he watched.

Alan didn't spend too long thinking of what message to craft for his mom. If anything, it was harder to figure out how to type this message without switching to the other language keyboard, but he made it work.

Hi, mom. This is Alan, messaging from my friend Lyall's account. He let me use his phone to message you. Can you call me whenever you have the chance? I'm missing you and the family.

And, send.

Alan handed Lyall's phone back. "I sent a message. I told her to call me whenever she has the chance, so we'll see when she sees the message." He hummed. "It's actually fairly late over there right now. But my family are all night owls, so it wouldn't surprise me if she's still up."

Lyall set the phone out on the table in front of them, then settled back again. "In that regard, I think I'd fit in well with your family. Mine are all early birds, unfortunately."

Alan hummed in amusment, relaxing back on the couch as well. Which he realized too late was occupied by Lyall's arm, but he leaned back anyways. "That's interesting. I'm the only early bird in my family. Maybe we can swap families for a day."

Lyall laughed lightly. "What could go wrong?"

"Let's see," Alan said with a sigh, thinking through the possibilities. "Well. There's always something to worry about, when it comes with my family. Douse out one fire, and two more show up. That type of thing. But hey, you're good with fire, so maybe this won't burn you out."

Blinking, Lyall huffed in amusement. "Okay, out of the rhetorical and into the hypothetical." He stroked his chin in a show of deep contemplation. "You raise an excellent point. But I'll have you know, constantly putting out fires is already in my day-to-day life. Mostly in the workplace, however." He bumped the back of his hand to Alan's shoulder. "Oh, do you consider yourself squeamish at all?"

It was at this moment that Alan realized he was beginning to pick up a pattern about Lyall. Any time the conversation felt like it was puncturing the surface of something deeper, Lyall changed the subject.

Which Alan was fine with, of course. Not everything needed to be talked about right away, or even at all. Alan wasn't really curious or intrigued by the answers he didn't know. Simply put, he only appreciated anything that Lyall did want to openly share.

Trust came with time, but Alan was patient, and he didn't really feel like he needed to know all the answers, anyways.

For now, Alan only noted the talk about burn out and the constant never-ending problems, figuring he'd think about this at a later time and instead enjoy the present with Lyall.

"In what way? Do you mean blood?" Alan asked.

"Ehhhh." Lyall tilted a hand back and forth. "That, among other, occasionally more gruesome things." He set a hand to his own chest. "I only ask, because it's a package deal with my family. You inherit the family name, you inherit the family trade."

"Ah. I see. So you're all doctors." Alan paused. "But not Hild... unless the family business also includes doctoring animals."

"Ah, no," Lyall answered with a slightly hesitant laugh. "No animals..."

The way he trailed off suggested there was more to the subject. Alan was getting the sense that it was a touchy subject.

"...Well," Alan said before the silence could feel too long. "To answer your earlier question: I wouldn't say I'm squeamish, especially if it relates to the body. It's all a natural part of who we are, after all. But if it's more related to graphic or gory subjects, I don't know if I can easily stomach that. Hopefully you don't see too much of that violence every day, though."

"Generally, no," Lyall answered with a nod. "Thank goodness. And usually if there are more serious cases, we either take a patient to the nearest hospital, or my step-father takes point."

"Yeah, that would be a lot to take in." Alan paused. "Do you like being a doctor? I imagine it can be fairly stressful."

Scratching the back of his neck, Lyall gave that some real thought. "It's fulfilling work," he eventually answered. "Stressful, sure. But what job isn't?"

"I'm probably not the best person you should ask, considering I don't have a secure career. But I think it's great if you're able to secure a job, make a decent living, and love what you do. A lot of people forget that life isn't about work, so I always find it a shame when someone realizes this too late, discovering their purpose when it's far too difficult to pivot," Alan said.

"Is there something you'd rather be doing?" Lyall asked, attention fully on Alan now. Somewhat wryly, he went on, "Instead of customer service and the occasional gig?"

Alan let out an amused puff of air, leaning his head back so that it fully rested on Lyall's arm. "Well, yeah. I definitely didn't wake up one day and say, 'You know, I want to spend the rest of my days being a bartender and playing the same songs over and over for vacation weddings.' Of course I have my own dreams too, but another sad reality in life is that you can't always chase your dreams. Reality has a funny way of reminding you that some dreams are meant to stay in your sleep."

Glancing off, Lyall sighed with a faint, rueful smile. "You have no idea how--"

The phone on the table suddenly vibrated loudly. Alan glanced at Lyall, and Lyall picked up the phone, giving it a quick lookover before offering it to Alan. Alan wordlessly took it, seeing his mom's name and picture on the screen.

Finally, she saw the message and was calling.

"Do you mind if I take this?" Alan said as he pointed at the phone, asking for permission considering he was withdrawing from the conversation to use Lyall's phone. A part of him was tempted to call her back in a few minutes since the conversation was getting good.

Tilting his head with a pointed grin, Lyall scoffed, "Don't keep her waiting!"

Alan smiled, answering the call. "Hi, mo--"

He winced, having to pull the phone away from his ear when his mom started to speak way too loudly, and he couldn't hear any of what she was saying.

"Mom, don't speak so close to the microphone," he heard Alistair scold in Argent in the background.

"Hey, I'm going to put you on speaker. And on camera," Alan said, pressing a few buttons, and only giving Lyall a sideways glance. He seemed amused, still sitting next to him, although Alan didn't think he'd be able to pick up much of what they were saying.

It took a few seconds for his mom to accept the new call, but instead of his mom, it was Alistair's stupid face who answered.

"Hey. Long time, no see," Alistair said.

Alan rolled his eyes. "Hey, Alistair. This is my friend's phone. Don't say anything embarrassing."

"Oh." Alistair paused. "Lyall's?"

"Yeah, he's right next to me. Want to say hi?" Alan asked.

"Uh--"

"Here he is," Alan said before his brother could agree. He angled the camera towards Lyall so only the two of them were on camera. "Lyall, this is my younger brother, Alistair. Alistair, this is my new brother, Lyall."

"Oh. Hey," Alistair said, suddenly feeling awkward. Predictably. Alan couldn't help but smile victoriously.

Lyall gave a friendly wave with his free hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Alistair," he said with a sincere smile.

"Hey, you should show Lyall what shirt you're wearing," Alan suggested off-camera.

"I'm good, thanks," Alistair said quickly.

"No, no, I insist. Lyall, my dear brother is wearing a shirt you're absolutely going to love. But now he's being shy. What a shame," Alan said with a disappointed sigh.

Brows slightly furrowed with confusion, Lyall huffed a laugh and said gently, "He doesn't have to, it's alright."

"Yeah, don't make this weird. I only just met him," Alistair said, but then squinted and leaned forward. "Are you both...?" Then he said in Argent for only Alan to hear, "Is his arm around you? Are you for real dating him?"

"What? No," Alan said quickly, immediately angling the camera back to him and then scooting away from Lyall.

"You sound kind of defensive," Alistair remarked.

Alan clicked his tongue and half-rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."

Completely oblivious, Lyall just sat there, his confused grin never changing.

Alan could hear his mom asking about him in the background, so he moved on quickly. "Can you put mom on the line? I can hear her asking about me," he said.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," Alistair said, but then paused. "But real quick. I have a question."

"Oh, god," Alan moaned, preparing for the worst.

"So if you two aren't dating, how many boyfriends and girlfriends do you really have?" Alistair asked innocently.

"I'm hanging up," Alan threatened.

Lyall tilted his head the other way now. "Come again?"

Before either of the twins could respond, Alan heard his mom talk over Alistair before taking the screen from him, the camera being way too close to her face.

"Oh, my stars! It's so good to see you again, love!" she said, gushing with more adoration as if this was the first time they'd spoken in months.

She went on and on, and Alan smiled and nodded, letting out a small laugh here or there, saying yes or no if she asked a question, but for the most part rolling with it and enjoying his mother's presence. Even though he only saw half her face.

She always did this for every call, gushing and raining love on him before talking about the big highlights that happened since they last spoke. But when that was out of the way, she always asked questions about himself. Alan was always glad to listen and let her navigate the conversation since she was quite good at it anyways.

"Have you made friends on the island? You're using your friend's cell phone? Ly-all?" she asked.

Alan nodded, glancing at Lyall who had been listening to their talk the whole time. He brightened up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah, I live with him in the cabin. You'd like him. He's a very joyful man and he makes me laugh and smile. I feel like I can be myself around him. He also sings and plays the piano, like you. He's a man of taste and art. It's a new friendship, but one I already cherish," Alan said sincerely, even though Lyall was right next to him and likely didn't understand him.

The slightly blank stare that Lyall sent him confirmed as much.

"Awww! My love, that is so sweet. He sounds like good man and a good friend. Is he home?" she asked.

"Yeah. He's right next to me." Alan glanced at Lyall again. "Do you want to meet him?"

"Oh, yes! I'd love to meet your friends. I need to thank him for letting me speak to you. I told you you should have brought your phone!" his mom said with love, even though she scolded him at the end there.

"Yeah..." Alan said with a weak laugh, but then turned back to Lyall with a smile. "She wants to say hi. Do you want to talk to her? It's fine if not."

"Absolutely!" Lyall answered without hesitation.

Alan scooted closer to Lyall, angling the camera so that they were both in the picture. "This is Lyall," he said as an introduction, but he said Lyall's name with the common accent.

"Oh!" His mom brightened up, finally pulling the camera away from his half her face as if she suddenly became self-conscious that she was being introduced to his friend. She smiled warmly, waving. "Hi, Ly-all!"

Waving back, Lyall offered his warmest grin. "It's a true delight to officially meet you, Alan's mom!"

Alan translated for Lyall even before he saw his mom's confused smile, repeating back what Lyall said, but making it more concise. She smiled even brighter, going on to speak in Argent, which Alan translated as well.

"She said she's so glad to meet you too," Alan said, but then hesitated. "Well. She basically also said that she doesn't meet many of my friends. So. This is a treat."

Lyall tsked at Alan. "For shame."

"My name," his mom said in common, saying the words slower, but he knew she was trying her best. "Natalia." She let out a small "ah" and lifted a finger, like she had something else to add. "Natalie."

"Natalie," Lyall echoed. "A beautiful name, befitting of a lovely lady such as yourself!"

His mom smiled wide, pausing for Alan to translate for her, but Alan was hesitant. It wasn't that he thought it felt weird to translate-- really, he thought Lyall was being genuinely nice-- but it was because his mom didn't often speak in common. She was always so dependent on him and his brother for this, despite Alan's numerous attempts to challenge herself. But he knew he was letting his own desires get in the way of an otherwise pleasant encounter.

"Lyall said you have a beautiful name. It fits you, since you're a lovely person," Alan translated.

"Ohhh, love! Please tell that that is so sweet, and I find him charming. He has a lovely smile and he's so kind to let you use his phone. Can you tell him thank you? Ah..." His mom trailed off, smiling a little more bashfully. "Thank you," she said in common, which made Alan smile proudly.

"She also said that you're charming, sweet, kind, and have a lovely smile. The thank you is for letting me use your phone," Alan said.

The young doctor's next smile was much softer. Shy, even. "Thank you very much, Natalie," he said warmly. "I'm just happy to help a friend out."

Patting a hand to Alan's shoulder, Lyall then leaned out of view for Natalie, casting him an encouraging smile as he murmured, "You two catch up. Take however long you need, alright?"

"Thanks, Lyall," Alan said with a nod as Lyall pulled away from the couch, giving the Alvaros some space. "I'll finish up by the end of the hour."

Lingering by the bottom of the staircase for just a moment longer, Lyall idly bumped his hand to the railing as he half-listened to the Alvaros diving head-first into some much-needed quality time. There were only bits and pieces that he did catch; a byproduct of studying multiple romance languages throughout his high school and college years. One of the words that stuck out in particular was Natalie's generous use of the term "love" in addressing her son.

Lyall's own mum, Astrid, did that too.

He peeked back out into the living room. Alan's smile, though slightly exasperated at times, was so clearly elated as he tried to get a few more words in edgewise throughout some of Natalie's good-natured fretting.

Faintly grinning, Lyall finally turned away when the ache in his chest and the pang of jealousy grew too deep.

They weren't expecting their...requests for another hour, so he kept busy. Tidied up a bit, skimmed a few books on methods of diagnosis, then skimmed other fiction adventure books. But he mostly tended to the personal miniature jungle the island overlords had staged in his room. As he went around with a watering can, he mentally identified every species of flora. Oddly enough, they were all plants he recalled his mother growing in the greenhouse back at their first home.

Lavender was her favorite. So, no matter where he lived, he made sure to always have at least one bunch growing somewhere.

Hild insisted upon visiting once that he should be far more unnerved that the dungeon masters of this island hell even knew, but Lyall frankly couldn't be bothered. Bending down now to give it gentle sniff, he actually deeply appreciated the small clay pot of lavender that was left on his desk by the window.

He eventually caught a loud chorus of tinny goodbyes from downstairs, and Alan himself wishing his family a fond farewell. Lyall decided then was as good a time as any to descend once more.

Cyrin still hadn't returned, it seemed. That was fine, it was still a little early.

Lyall caught Alan getting up on the couch, and he turned around with a smile as he heard him descend down the stairs.

"Thanks again," Alan said gratefully, meeting Lyall halfway and offering his phone back to him. "You might need to recharge your phone now, though."

"Ah, no worries," Lyall said, slipping his phone back into his sweater pocket. "Anytime!"

Alan flashed him another smile before heading to the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Hopefully I didn't interrupt too much of your morning reading, though. I saw that you were reading Broodgerton. How is it so far? Worth the read?"

Hiding his hands with his phone (they were cold from watering and poking in the dirt), Lyall shrugged. "Very much the brooding romantic period piece it's meant to be. So if you like that sort of thing, then sure."

Alan took out an orange, unpeeling it on the counter as he cast Lyall a look of amusement. "Not a fan of brooding romance, I assume?"

Lyall perched on the island countertop. "It's alright," he said, indifferent tone confirming as much. "In small doses." And he pinched his fingers together demonstratively.

Alan let out a puff of air, finishing up peeling the orange-- which he managed to do in one single spiral. "That's fair. I find a lot of romance books, whether historical or modern, to be more cliche or predictable anyways."

Lyall glanced at the singular orange peel that sat on the counter before Alan tossed it in the trash. Sorcery.

"Which are fine in their own right," Lyall furthered. "There's a certain level of comfort to be found in a predictable story."

Alan leaned on the counter, tossing an orange slice in his mouth. He watched Lyall as he chewed, finally saying, "Do you want a slice?" when finished.

Lyall shrugged. "Sure."

Without wasting a beat, Alan tossed him an orange slice. Lyall caught it the same instant Cyrin at last stepped inside.

"Do you both know what time it is?" Cyrin said, grinning wide, like he already knew the answer.

"Welcome back, Cyrin," Alan greeted, then looked down at his watch. "It's 9:59. We should be getting the knock any minute now."

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door, and the three of them exchanged a knowing look with one another. And then all at once, the three of them ran towards the door like it was Chrysler Morning, racing to be the first one to open it. Of course, Cyrin was not only closest, but they were also the fastest, so they got to it before Alan or Lyall could.

Cyrin swung the door open, but predictably, no one was on the other side.

The first thing that Lyall took notice of-- couldn't not take notice of, was the llama on the front porch. Quite unprepared for the sight of a creature, he ducked back behind Alan.

"Oh god," he breathed out, gripping Alan's arm, "what in the holy hell?"

Alan laughed, glancing between Lyall and the llama. "It's just a llama, Lyall," he said casually.

Lyall sputtered, gesturing in bewilderment at the grazing animal. "What-- But why?"

He looked suspiciously at Alan, who was notably not as nearly as alarmed as someone ought to have been if they weren't expecting it.

"Who ordered this?" Lyall asked indignantly, but he felt he already knew.

Cyrin laughed, stepping out and cautiously reaching forward to pat the llama's head. "Don't know, but I bet I can get it to like me. I've got this." They pointed to the toolbox by the llama's foot, which had a bright red ribbon tied around it.

Which only left Alan.

Alan let out a weak laugh, shaking his arm out of Lyall's grip and instead reaching up for the balloon that was tied on the llama's red ribbon around its neck. Lyall watched as Alan was too careful at snatching the balloon string, like he was afraid the llama would bite even though it stared at them all meekly and curiously.

"Whose is this?" Alan asked instead, holding the balloon. "I think this is the third present."

"Well, by process of elimination," Lyall thought aloud, watching Cyrin for a moment with their requested toolbox, "that one must be..."

Lyall's.

Hm.

Alan offered the balloon to Lyall with a growing grin. "Here you go, good sir. Your own very special balloon."

"Why, how nice," Cyrin said, visibly suppressing a laugh, still patting the llama. "It's so interesting to see your hearts' deepest desires, sitting on our porch."

"We had one minute to choose," Alan said defensively. "I picked the first thing that came to mind."

Taking the small bottle weighing the balloon string between his finger and thumb, Lyall jumped in, "Yeah, it was just one minute!" He shook the bottle, the glittery bits inside it rattling. "I didn't even ask for this."

To add insult to injury, the balloon said in a sad, drooping scrawl, "Sorry," as if it was hastily handwritten.

Cyrin shook their head amusedly. "What did you ask for? A cooler balloon?"

"Looks like an apology balloon," Alan mused, staring at it.

Lyall stared despondently at the "sorry" balloon. Then covered his face with his other hand as he sighed. "I had asked for a hot air balloon."

Alan hummed. "That would have been cool. Why a hot air balloon, though?"

Lyall just gesticulated indignantly at first. He didn't have to explain himself!

"Well, what about you?" he questioned sharply. "Llamas aren't exactly house pets!"

"...Maybe I wanted to be a llama farmer. Could be my island calling," Alan said casually.

There was a slight hesitation, so Lyall was inclined to not believe him.

"They said this island would be transformative," Cyrin teased. "I didn't think it'd work its magic so early, however."

"You're right. Having a llama has always been my heart's deepest desire," Alan said more playfully with a shrug.

"I'm proud of you following your heart," Cyrin said, with deep feeling.

"Why, thank you. What's your heart's calling? To be Bill the Builder?" Alan asked.

"You got me," Cyrin said, lifting up the toolbox and raising his other arm like he was holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm using my moment of clarity and self-discovery to realize I should create a repair business. Starting with fixing that toilet you both somehow managed to break. How do you break a toilet? It's made of porcelain!"

"It was Lyall," Alan said quickly. "Obviously, he sat on it too long and caused it to crack."

Lyall gasped, playfully affronted. "You promised you wouldn't say anything."

"Sorry, Lyall. I had to defend my pride to Bill the Builder," Alan teased.

"Bill the Builder," Lyall addressed Cyrin, "I am pleading innocent. I was framed."

"The court will review your case," Cyrin said, "while the crime scene is examined and the repairs are made."

"Let me know when the court day is," Alan said, then glanced at Lyall. "But you, Lyall-- did you want to float our cabin away with a thousand balloons like the movie Down?"

Tsking, Lyall clicked his heels together as he stood straighter and gestured at the "sorry" balloon. "Perhaps I did find the notion quite fanciful," he said plainly.

"Wouldn't it have been so lovely to carry out our collective deepest desires as a floating llama farm and repair shop," Cyrin said wistfully. "Alas, it's only Alan and I here who get to live out our dreams. I'd say I'm sorry, Lyall, but the balloon has beat me to it."

"Pigeons on the grass," Lyall mumbled despairingly. Looking back at the llama, he shuffled even farther away. "So, what did you really plan on doing with that?" he asked.

Alan hummed, now crouching down to slip on his shoes. When finished, he stepped outside and pulled the llama by the reins, still seemingly hesitant, but taking a few steps back with it. "Top secret. I'm not keeping it here, though, so you don't have to worry about that," he said with a grin, then lifted a hand as a goodbye. "I'm stepping out, but I'll be back later."

"I'm trying to say goodbye to the llama here, not you," Cyrin joked, stretching out an arm as if he were trying to reach for the llama. "I miss it already."

Lyall frowned with even deeper confusion, at the both of them. "What...?"

"See you both later!" Alan said, giving a final wave and turning around, ushering for the llama to follow him down the path.

Strangely, he appeared to be going towards the cabins, not away from it.

"Maybe he's going in search of farmland," Cyrin suggested, suppressing laughter.

Lyall snorted. "All the best to him, but he's not going to find any."

Setting the balloon weight on the rail of the porch, Lyall watched curiously as Alan led the llama down the row of cabins. Really, he couldn't think of any reason as to why he would be leaving, other than to find a suitable living space for the animal. So Cyrin's theory, however joking, was actually their only working theory.

Then Alvaro veered right and stepped up the door where Hild and her cabin mates resided, which raised some...alarm bells in Lyall's head.

Setting the toolbox down, Cyrin poked the balloon with his finger.

"Huh," they said, with mild surprise. "It's warm. They tried to make it hot for you."

Lyall mustered a weak, still-embarrassed grin. "It's the thought that counts, I suppose."

Clandestine sat on the porch with anticipation, holding her cup of orange juice since it was the one thing keeping her from being jittery with excitement.

In all honesty, she really wasn't sure what kind of gift was going to show up at their door. Out of the the four of them, only Clanny and Eve had matched with others for the dating event, and Clanny felt like her gift ask had been a little silly. She was afraid it would be rejected, but then again, they'd done a lot of pretty extravagant things on the island so far - so who was to say they couldn't manage this?

She'd made breakfast with Hild that morning, and they brought some up to Clarity as well. She'd been knee-deep in some kind of project for a few days, and she'd seemed more than a little bummed about the dating event interrupting her progress. The moment she was home she got right back to it and had been pretty holed up in her room. Hild was always good at being mindful of her and Clanny was more than happy to help provide food for Clarity to make sure she didn't forget to eat! Food was important, and it was always nice to have a full breakfast.

Eve had stopped by in the morning too to grab a portion for herself, but after they'd all finished eating together in the kitchen, Eve pulled away to go back to her room. Instead of waiting outside for her gift, it seemed she was waiting by her window, in the comforts of the air conditioned cabin.

It was totally fair, of course, considering this morning was exceptionally humid. Hild, however, didn't seem to mind as much since she'd already gone out for her morning run and had embraced it.

With the two of them sitting on the porch side by side, Clandestine couldn't help but wonder just how close the clock was to 10am.

It felt like she was a little kid again, waiting for Chrysler morning.

Looking over at Hild, Clandestine took a sip of her juice.

"It feels kind of silly," she said. "Getting a prize because I went on a 'date.'"

She set her glass on the table beside her, letting out a small huff through her nose.

"I don't know if that's even what a date's really like, either," she said. "I've never been on one before."

"That would make two of us," Hild replied quietly as she set down her coffee.

"I'd like to think that a real date wouldn't be so..." Clandestine said with a slow twirl of her hand in front of her. "...Forced?"

"It'd ideally be voluntary, yes," Hild agreed. She picked up her book on the political landscape of Argentia.

"I didn't even really feel like they were dates, honestly," Clanny said. "I mean, I had fun talking to people, but it didn't feel like it'd be different. Or like I'd feel different. But maybe my expectations are too high."

After a short pause, Hild set down the book again. "What were you expecting it to be like?" she asked, softening her tone.

Clandestine pursed her lips into a small pout, tucking her legs up onto her chair.

"I don't know," she said. "I guess maybe I just wanted it to feel special. But instead my first 'date' was on TV, and it felt kind of weird, mostly. I know maybe it doesn't really matter that much in the big scheme of things, it's just kind of a bummer, you know? I wanted my first one to be more... not like this."

Hild tilted her head as she gave it some thought. "Perhaps it's what you make of it?" she offered. "None of those were actual dates, since none of us really wanted them to be. It was simply...an opportunity to get to know the others. You can still have your real first date another time."

Clandestine hummed. She guessed that was a better way to look at it. If she didn't want it to count, then it didn't really have to count. She'd kind of forgotten that no one else probably saw all of that as "dating" either, since they were all forced in the same boat. That gave her some comfort.

"True," she said softly. "I'll just call it, uh... a meet-cute. I think that's a thing, right?"

Hild just shrugged. "I really couldn't say."

"Or I can just call it... that one thing we all went to with the hearts and stuff," Clandestine offered. But that's a little more wordy."

Hild looked at the ceiling with a hum. "A...'group hang'? Is that what people say? Though really it wasn't as a group..."

Clandestine laughed a little at that.

"That was the weirdest 'group hang' I've ever been to," she said, smiling. "Maybe I'll come up with a name for it later, I guess."

She untucked her legs and set her feet back on the ground again, tapping her sandals lightly against the wooden porch.

"Did it go okay for you?" Clandestine asked. "I know you didn't get matched in the end, but I don't think that's all a bad thing."

Hild visibly suppressed a sigh. "It...was interesting," she said plainly.

Clandestine's brows furrowed together. Even though they were only getting to know each other, it felt like Clanny could at least understand the pain of rejection, even if it was in the context of a forced speed-dating event. It still felt embarassing. It was like being in school again, feeling like you were the last one picked for the dodgeball team. Except this time, it was even more fragile, because it had the word "date" attatched to it.

"Nothing too weird happened for you, did it?" Clanny asked with concern.

Covering her face with both hands, Hild leaned her elbows on the counter. "No, it was just..." The sigh she breathed out sounded mildly like a deflating balloon. "If it weren't for the end...reveal, it really would have been fine."

Clandestine hummed softly with understanding.

"They really didn't do that in a way that was honoring," she said quietly. "It sucks that they milked it for drama like that with the whole reveal board and everything. Making us all watch."

"It was tasteless," Hild agreed, with more bite in her tone this time. Then she sank down on the counter. "It's fine, it's over with."

Clandestine pouted. From Hild's physical posture, it didn't seem like it was overwith.

"Are you sure?" Clandestine asked.

She hoped she wasn't pushing too much, but she wanted Hild to be able to share if she wanted. Maybe she just needed someone to ask?

Hild mustered a quick, appreciative grin. "I'm sure," she said, idly tapping on the counter. "Well, you 'matched' in the end, right? What was that like?"

Clandestine shrugged a little, looking off to the side.

"It wasn't bad or anything," she said with a small smile. "I guess I was just surprised, is all. Cyrin's really cool and popular and I was surprised they picked me by the end of it. We had a lot of fun talking and sharing stories. It wasn't really anything deep. Just a bunch of adventures. I think that's why we picked each other, maybe. It wasn't even romance related. I just liked talking with him. I think they felt the same."

She looked over at Hild, who listened with a faint grin.

"It really wasn't like what the hosts were making it out to be. With Cyrin it was just chill. He didn't make it weird," she said.

Hild folded her arms and rested her chin on top of them. "I'm glad it turned out to be a nice time for you," she said.

Clanny nodded, looking out at the beach again, and pausing to take another sip of her juice.

She felt like Hild was avoiding talking about the elephant in the room, and she debated on bringing it up for a solid three seconds of orange juice intake. Hopefully she wouldn't be stepping on Hild's toes.

"I assume you had a nice conversation with Alan?" Clanny asked.

Hild stared at her for another solid three seconds. Her cheeks turned pink, and she silently buried her face in her arms.

"Wh-wha--!" Clandestine sputtered, holding out her hands as it to wave away the heat from Hild's face. "It's nothing to be embarassed about, Hild! It's okay! He's a popular guy!"

"I know," Hild mumbled, wilting right before Clandestine's eyes. "This feels so...juvenile..."

"Hey," Clandestine said a little more firmly, putting her hand on her hip. "Look up at me, Hild."

After a moment's hesitation, Hild peeked up at her.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Clandestine said firmly.

It felt like she was channeling her inner Robin. She was hearing her own voice say things she needed to hear too.

"There's nothing wrong with you. You enjoyed Alan's company and he's a cool guy! That's totally normal! Lots of people like him, but that's not a bad thing for you to be one of them too. And you said it yourself, these weren't even real dates," Clandestine went on.

"But just because you weren't picked doesn't mean you aren't special. You should look in the mirror sometime! You're beautiful, brilliant, and you're much better at talking to people than you think. I, as a matter of fact, enjoy you quite a lot, and if I'd matched with you at all I would've picked you first. And I'm not just saying that to be nice. I mean it."

And she really did.

Hild's face only turned pinker with the praise, and she still kept most of her face hidden. But there was undeniably a smile in her eyes as she shyly looked up at Clandestine.

"I greatly appreciate you too, Miss Clanny," she said, voice softer than Clandestine had ever heard it.

Clandestine smiled warmly.

"Aww," she said. "Look at us! It's mutual! We appreciate each other!"

This threw her unashamedly into a small fit of giggles, and she leaned back into her chair with a smile. Untucking her chin from behind her arms again, Hild more openly smiled at her this time.

"As I understood it," Hild eventually said, "you received...a reward? for matching, correct?"

"Oh!" Clandestine said.

She'd almost forgotten that's why she was waiting out her in the first place. She'd been so invested in Hild that the thought of an alpaca almost left her mind.

"Yeah," she said. "It's kind of wild they said you could put almost anything. I'm not sure if I'll actually get what I asked for."

Hild leaned her cheek in the palm of her hand. "What did you ask for?"

Clandestine smiled gleefully.

"An alpaca," she said.

Hild had just opened the bread from the fridge when there came a musical knock on the front door. Curious, since she wasn't expecting company, and she was fairly certain most of her other roommates weren't either. Miss Clanny was quite preoccupied with getting Lolly the alpaca situated out back; Clarity rarely ever left her room at all; and Eve quietly slipped downstairs, accepted her parcel, and then hid away in her room as well.

Hild's next best guess was that her brother decided to spontaneously grace their cabin with his obnoxious presence. Likely to rub in her face the humiliating results of the speed dates (i.e. rejection).

Quickly setting out the avocados from the fruit bowl as she rounded the kitchen island, Hild padded out to the living room, already irritated at the mere thought of Lyall's smug face.

Much to her mortification, it was actually Alan Alvaro himself.

Taking her further by surprise was the fuzzy alpaca standing amicably beside him.

"Good morning, Hild," Alan said with a friendly smile. "This little guy wanted to see you, so I thought I'd have you both meet."

"Oh!" was all she could manage as she looked between the two.

The alpaca flicked its ear in a friendly manner.

"You said you've never seen a llama before. Today, that changes," Alan said with a bigger smile, stepping out of the way and gesturing for her to step up and come closer.

Still too surprised by their sudden appearance, Hild wordlessly obliged and closed the door behind herself. She caught a glimpse of her brother across the way heading inside with Cyrin. A relief.

"I did?" she said, holding out a hand to the happy animal.

Alan nodded, pleased as he watched her briefly pat the alpaca's fuzzy neck. "It's something you've always wished you've done but never got around to doing, correct?"

Oh god, the not-date speed date discussion.

She mustered an amused grin as she folded her arms. "If I recall correctly-- and I always do-- I said an alpaca."

Alan slowly nodded, staring up at the creature. "Yeah. That's what this is, right? An alpaca?"

Her next faint smile was more genuine. "Well, they both hail from the genus of 'llama'. Alpacas are still a species of their own."

"Hm. The more you know," Alan said.

She looked between the two of them again, trying to decipher...how he had one in the first place.

He and her brother were a mutual match, which meant they had requests fulfilled like Miss Clanny and Eve. So the natural conclusion, aside from a hidden herd of alpacas on the island, was...

Smiling knowingly and just a bit more openly, Hild tilted her head. "...Did you ask for an alpaca after the speed dates?"

Alan briefly hesitated, his smile faltering just a little. "Can we assume that I found one in the wild?"

She quirked a brow at that. "And that you suddenly tapped into your inner animal whisperer?"

"Yes," Alan said without missing a beat. "I've been hiding this to impress you later."

Even the alpaca turned an unconvinced look to Alan. Of course, Alan didn't notice.

"So Mister Romantic is in fact a master animal wrangler," Hild mused.

Alan sighed, his smile fading into a neat pout. "I should have told you my trail name is Mister Alpaca instead. Maybe then you'd believe me."

She bit back a laugh. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Though Alan Alpaca Alvaro does have a nice rhythm to it."

Alan repressed a grin, shaking his head. "But in all seriousness, I wanted to reach out to you after the events of yesterday. I'd like to think that my words to you still ring true: that a superficial event shouldn't quantify a friendship between two people, but genuine time spent together does." He paused. "But also, yes. I did pick an alpaca for my gift, but it's not for me. It's for you. I thought it'd make you smile."

Oh. That was quite kind of him.

She didn't believe the..."bad boy" label really applied to him. But what did she know after only a week?

With one hand over her face to cover some of the still-lingering embarrassment, she said with a sincere smile, "I do greatly appreciate the gesture, Alan. Thank you."

The alpaca bumped its face to the side of Alan's head and gave his hair a sniff. Then it licked him. Alan visibly shrunk from this, obviously dismayed.

Hild laughed aloud. "Well, we should bring her around back. I'm sure she'd like to get acquainted with Lolly."

Alan, although still smiling, expressed confusion as he slightly tilted his head at her. "Lolly?"

Hild hummed a confirmation as she lead the way down the porch steps. "Miss Clanny's alpaca."

Alan's smile slowly faded as he processed the implications of this. He quietly followed behind her, leading the alpaca to come along as well. "Clandestine has an... alpaca," he stated slowly, but it was presented more to be a question of confirmation.

Hild cast him a softer smile over her shoulder. She felt a little bad for taking the wind out of his sails.

"It's for the better," she offered gently. "They're social creatures."

"Right," Alan confirmed, but otherwise didn't further comment as he followed her to the back of the cabin.

At some point in the night, apparently, a small stable had been miraculously built behind the girl's cabin, along with a fence creating a moderately sized area around it for the animals to explore.

As expected, Miss Clandestine was still back there with Lolly, an exceptionally fluffy white alpaca who had a remarkable pouf on top of its head that mildly resembled a toupee. It looked like Clandestine was hauling out a small bale of hay and breaking it up so it spread over the ground.

Upon Alan and Hild's arrival, she looked up with a big, surprised smile.

"Another one?!?" she shouted.

Alan only weakly laughed in return, seemingly at a loss of words as he slowly glanced between the two alpacas, still processing the situation.

"Serendipitous, isn't it?" Hild called back, humming an endeared laugh about Clanny's excitement. "Mister Alan just happened to find her nearby."

"Now they'll have company!" Clandestine said brightly. "Oh, this is perfect! Alpacas need friends!"

She waved to Lolly, who happily began to trot alongside her and she and Lolly made their way to the edge of the fence.

"Hey Lolly," Clandestine said. "Look! A new friend!"

Lolly didn't make a sound, but Clandestine seemed to have responded with her face, smile widening.

"Yeah, me too," Clandestine said, then turned to the alpaca beside Alan.

"Do you have a name?" she asked the alpaca.

The alpaca beside Alan, suddenly alight with understanding, lurched forward to Clandestine, wrapping her neck around her into a hug. Clandestine laughed, giving the alpaca a gentle hug in return.

"Awhh, that sounds like a really rough trip," Clandestine said. "You've never been on a boat before? Oh, that's so stressful! It's okay. No more boats, now."

Clandestine patted the alpaca and tried to pull away, but it was rather attatched to her. So instead Clandestine just looked at Alan and Hild with a little shrug.

"She says her name is Lilly. They're sisters," she said.

Hild and Alan fondly watched Clandestine interact with the animals. The novelty of Miss Clanny's gift may have worn off slightly by now, but it was no less a delight to watch her use it with such joy.

"I think it's sweet that you can talk to them," Alan said, then paused. "Will they be alright here? I realize that tropical islands are probably not a typical habitat for alpacas."

"It's definitely not their first pick," Clandestine said, patting the alpaca's head on her shoulder. "But I think they'll do just fine. Did you see their stable has air conditioning! So bougie! It'll help them cool down for sure if they overheat."

"Wow," Alan said with a laugh. "They're also living their best luxurious island life. Are you going to shear them? Maybe you can make some fluffy sweaters." A beat. "Not that you'd need that in this heat, anyways."

"There's some shears in there, yeah," she said. "It'd be helpful for them so they feel better. We can save the wool for later, I'm sure."

"Might need some post-processing before turning into fluffy sweaters. Maybe someone's teaching a yarn spinning class on this island," Alan mused.

Clandestine laughed at that. "I wouldn't be surprised. They have, like, everything else."

"Do you have everything to take care of the alpacas, though? I'd apologize for suddenly springing this on you, but also... it looks like this worked out to be the best case scenario," he said.

"You know, the stable is actually fully stocked," Clandestine said. "I actually thought there was maybe too much, but now that I know Lilly and Lolly are together, it makes more sense."

Alan hummed. "Alright. Well, I'm certainly no expert in alpaca caretaking, but I don't want to just dump this animal on you and not take responsibility. If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."

Clandestine laughed.

"It's okay, Alan!" she assured him. "I've got it. I've been taking care of animals all my life. And Hild will be helping me too! We've got this."

Hild nodded. Sensing Alan's hesitation to simply drop Lilly and run, though, she suggested, "You can come by on the regular, if you'd like, and learn the ways of the alpaca experts."

"And I can tell you what they're saying, too," Clandestine said with a small smirk.

"Alright," Alan said with a warm smile and a nod. "I'll come by more often, then. By the time I leave, I'll be an alpaca caretaker expert."

"You'll at the very least have animal handling experience," Hild said more realistically.

"Maybe I'll actually end up being an animal whisperer after all," he said with a grin.

Hild feigned shock at this. "You weren't already?"

Alan hummed. "I'm going to let Clandestine take this this role instead. She's much better at it than I ever could be."

"I was about to say," Clandestine said. "That's my magic, not his!"

"And no one could better fulfil the role than you, Miss Clanny," Hild said with a hummed laugh.

Alan smiled wide, nodding in agreement. "It really does fit you, Clandestine."

"Why thank you," Clandestine said with a grin. "I do think I've grown into it."

"Well," Alan said as he tapped his hand on the fence post, "Hild and I have some morning plans to attend to, but are you sure you have everything you need? If not, I'll gladly help out and get you anything you need. Just let me know."

Suppressing a surprised look, Hild glanced sideways at him.

They had morning plans? When did she agree to that?

Clandestine gave Hild a small, subtle look that read: is that true? With the subtext of: do you need me to bail you out?

Hild gave her a small, appreciative nod and answered reassuringly, "Yes, if you believe everyone's all set here, then we indeed have morning plans."

Relaxing, Clandestine smiled. "Oh, okay!" she said. "Yeah, I'm good here. Don't worry about me."

Hands folded, Hild inclined her head in response.

"Unless... Hild, what do you think? It doesn't have to just be the two of us," Alan said, seemingly having picked up the silent conversation between them.

That...was actually a very welcome suggestion. She quite enjoyed Miss Clanny's company. And a third party would honestly help ease some of the (likely one-sided) awkwardness surrounding a one-on-one...whatever it was Alan Alvaro seemed to have planned.

Hild cast Miss Clanny a small, frankly excited grin. "If Miss Clanny finds it convenient, I'd actually very much like for her join."

Clanny smiled a little brighter, seeming very excited to have been included.

"I'd like that a lot!" she said, then she turned her attention over to Lilly and Lolly.

"Are you two okay for now? I got you water and hay set up," she said.

And for a moment, Clandestine listened as the alpacas made small moaning noises.

"They say they're alright," Clandestine said. "They're going to go in the stable and cool off, I think. They've had a long day, sounds like."

"I'm sure they'll enjoy the air conditioning," Alan said with a smile. "Are you both ready to go, or do you need a minute? I have a little surprise planned, but we'll have to hike there."

Hild tilted her head, pursing her lips in thought. "A walk should be fine," she said, "but is there anything we should know about this 'little surprise'?"

"Well, that would defeat the surprise, wouldn't it?" Alan teased.

She gave him a slightly flat look at that.

"I think I'm ready!" Clandestine said. "I just have my Chocos and this," she said, gesturing down to her tank top and shorts. "Should I bring anything else?"

"Just your lovely self. And water and food, if you want," Alan said.

"Oh! I can throw something in a bag real quick just in case," Clandestine said, hopping the fence. "Three water bottles and some snacks sound good?"

"That sounds great. Thanks, Clandestine. I can help carry it as well," Alan said with a smile.

"For sure! Okay, I'll be back out in a few, then!"

Running off, she hurried around to the front of the cabin.

Hild tied back her hair, making to head inside as well to at least put the bread away again.

"I know we only have this moment alone together, so I just wanted to quickly ask: are we alright?" Alan suddenly asked, staying still where he was and diving into the subject of the speed dating results. "I'm really sorry if my words or actions impeded our friendship. I enjoy spending time with you, so I wouldn't like the results of the weekend to hinder the rest of our time together."

The hasty spiel glued Hild to her spot. She stared at him, hair tie in her teeth, as she processed his words. She tugged the hair band back onto her wrist then.

"We're alright," she answered, somewhat instinctively just to keep the pause from dragging out too long, thus suggesting otherwise. "I just..."

Found the atmosphere, the comfortable banter, his rapt and unimpeded attention fixed on her, all elements that only served to confuse her and simply cause her to misread what was truly a simple desire for a platonic connection. She knew she was who was admittedly not socially very apt, so the misunderstanding very well could've just been on her end.

Folding her arms self-consciously, she tilted her head as she stared at the backdoor of the cabin. Then finally brought herself to meet his gaze.

"I'm just new to this," she quietly admitted, face flushing from how juvenile it sounded. "To...making friends."

Alan's face softened with empathy and understanding. "There's nothing wrong with that, and that's not anything to be ashamed of. Maybe you're new, but you could have fooled me. I really do enjoy your company, and now we can have the day together with Clandestine as well. You're not alone here. Maybe it's not affirmed every day, but you have friends here, Hild."

She cracked a grateful, if shy, smile. "So, friends?" And she awkwardly stuck out a hand.

Even though it was supposed to be a handshake, Alan playfully fist bumped her palm.

"Friends," he confirmed with a smile.

Laughing, she closed her hand around his and gave it a light shake. Then quickly withdrew to hide her hands in her sweater pockets.

"Now that we have that out of the way: want to see if Clandestine needs any help?" Alan asked, beckoning towards the front of the cabin.

Hild nodded with a small smile, and followed him inside.

It took nearly an hour of walking since it was on the other side of the island, but they finally made it.



They were now on the pebbly beach that overlooked the shallow ocean water. Alan was drawn to this spot because the water was incredibly clear and blue, and big stones were scattered throughout the sea before the waters deepened and became more murky.

He had been aspiring for a bigger adventure on this island, and he figured Hild could use one too.

Hence why there sat a single two-person paddle board on the beach.

Well, had he known Clandestine was coming, he'd have opted to bring an even bigger paddle board, or at least three single boards. He wished he could have brought a kayak, but that was far too heavy to bring in himself. It was already a bit of a hassle bringing this board here by himself.

"Surprise," Alan said as he gestured out to the sea and the paddle board, even though Clandestine and Hild were already taking it in with awe. "Have you ever been on this side of the island before?"

"Not since detention," Clandestine answered.

That was... a time. Alan had nearly forgotten about that. It felt so long ago, now.

"Yeah, that is around here, isn't it?" he mused. "What about you, Hild?"

Hild spun arouns once to take in the tranquil scenery. "I ran a trail that took me through those trees," she said, pointing up a distant cliffside, "but I hadn't stayed long enough to take notice of this beach."

She turned a small smile to Alan. "It's a really nice spot."

"I'm glad you think so," Alan said with a smile, then quietly cleared his throat and then gestured to the paddle board. "So originally, I was going to do this by myself. But then I thought it would be nice if you could come along as well, Hild. Had I known Clandestine was coming too, I'd have brought a bigger paddle board." He paused. "It's a two person board, but if you two wanted to use it, that's fine with me. I'm fine with watching or swimming along."

Clandestine put her hand on her chin in thought.

"Do you think we'd all be too heavy for it?" she asked.

Alan softly hummed, thinking it over. There was a weight limit, but he didn't think it was worth figuring out.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. We could risk it anyways. What do you think?"

"We should be fine," Hild said. She approached the board and tested the weight of the oar beside it. "So long as we're mindful of our centers of balance, and no one makes any sudden movements."

Alan nodded, smiling in amusement. Knowing Hild, she probably ran a quick weight load calculation in her head.

"Alright. Works with me," he said, then paused as he picked up the board with both arms, noting that hild already held the oar. "Have you two ever paddle boarded?"

"Yeah!" Clanny said. "Mostly across lakes and stuff."

Hild just shook her head.

"This will be a fun first experience then," Alan said with a smile. "There's only one oar, and since Clandestine and I have already done this, do you want to row?"

Clandestine looked to Hild, a small question in her smile. Hild already had the oar.

With both their gazes on her, Hild awkwardly looked back and forth between them in turn as she wordlessly offered Clandestine the oar.

"You sure?" Clandestine asked. "We could always take turns if you want!"

Hild visibly brightened a bit at that. "A good plan."

"Yeah, we can just switch when the other gets tired," Clandestine said. "You can start if you want."

"...I'd like that," Hild said with a small nod.

"Sounds like a plan to me. Ready? Last chance on land. No turning back," Alan said with a playful smile lifting the paddle board up higher.

"Let's do this!" Clandestine said with a fist pump.

Alan led the way in the water, and he and Clandestine helped steady the board so that Hild could sit on it first. Alan sat on it next-- Clandestine's suggestion, since she was wearing shorts and didn't mind getting the most wet. He happily obliged and watched as she pushed the board then gracefully sat on the other end. The board shook and sank some more under their weight, but it stayed afloat. Space was tight between the three of them, but it was just enough for them to all sit comfortably next to each other.

Although, admittedly, Alan found it kind of awkward that he was sitting so close to Hild face-to-face. After making brief eye contact and she awkwardly looked askance, he took it upon himself to carefully, slowly, turn around so that they were all facing the same direction.

He sat on the front, and the two women were behind him, but it didn't bother him to make conversation this way. Especially when the scenery was so breathtaking.

"I feel like this is a science experiment," Clandestine said once they were moving. Alan heard the gentle rowing behind him, going steady in a rhythmic pattern.

"It feels more like the beginning of a bad joke," Hild murmured absently.

"How many contestants does it take to sink a paddle board?" Clandestine asked with a smile in her voice.

"We could find the answer to that. Next time we'll have to bring someone new. I'm thinking James," Alan said, settling for the heaviest person on the island, and remembering that he said he always sinks in the water.

Hild snorted. "No."

"Rejected," Alan said playfully as he set his knee closer to the edge of the board, letting his leg dangle in the water. "Who would you suggest, then?"

"No one," Hild said simply. "We've already reached capacity."

"Eve could probably fit," Clandestine suggested. "She's not very big."

"I think we could fit her and still be comfortable, yes," Alan mused.

"But you know who we really should bring?" Clandestine asked. "Buster! He'd love this!"

"He's definitely an adventurous soul," Hild agreed warmly.

"Buster?" Alan asked. "Is that another... contestant? Or maybe staff member?"

"What? Have you not met Buster?" Clandestine asked. "He's Hild's puppy!"

Alan looked over his shoulder at Hild with the beginnings of a grin. "Puppy? You have a puppy?"

Hild blinked at the both of them. "I do?" Then added with confusion, "Miss Clanny, he was specifically put in your care."

"Yeah," Clandestine said. "But he chose you. That makes him yours."

With the faintest, soft smile, Hild tilted her chin up. "...Yes, then. He's my companion."

Alan felt like he just witnessed some kind of intimate knowing in which Hild was unknowingly bestowed a puppy. It was oddly endearing to listen to.

"An adorable companion," Clandestine added. "He's soooooo tiny. And fluffy. He's a poodle pup."

"Aw," Alan said with a smile with his fingers grazing the water, even though the smile was just for himself. "Buster sounds very cute."

"I'll have you two get acquainted, then," Hild said, a smile still in her voice.

"Maybe that'll happen the next time I pay my custody visit for Lilly," he said.

"Speaking of Lilly," Clandestine said. "She had some interesting things to say about you."

Alan blinked. "She did?"

He spent, what? Like, five minutes with the alpaca?

"She said you smelled weird and she thought you didn't like her," Clanny answered. "She was despairing quite loudly until she realized I could understand her and she saw her sister."

"...Huh," was all he managed to get out as he slowly let this sink in.

Wow. He was off to a bad start to being an alpaca farmer, wasn't he?

"I think it was your cologne," Clanny suggested. "I don't think alpacas are fond of perfumes. Or, at least, Lilly isn't."

"That's fair. I don't think many animals do. I'll have to keep that in mind next time I vist," Alan said.

"She also talked about someone else who I assume was either Lyall or Cyrin," Clandestine said. "She said she smelled... fear?"

Alan couldn't help but snicker at that. "That was Lyall. He immediately hid behind me when we opened the door."

Hild barked a laugh, but offered nothing more than that.

"Is he scared of alpacas?" Clandestine asked.

"He did seem a little spooked," Alan said.

"He's scared of most animals," Hild supplied, suppressing a cackle, "that are his height or taller."

Hm. Alan didn't know that, although that did track from what he observed from Lyall. A humorous intrusive thought played in his mind where he would one day scare Lyall by taking Lilly out to his window for him to wake up to.

"Huh," Clandestine said. "That's kind of a sad. Did something happen when he was a kid or something?"

"I honestly can't say," Hild said, sounding like she was reaching back into her long term for any such instances. "If there was anything, it was probably before I could remember. And he's not likely to simply share."

"Before you could remember," Clandestine said like she was in awe. "Is there actually a time before you can remember? Or do you mean before you were alive?"

Alan watched the scene roll by as he decided to take a passive listening role in this conversation. They were a good bit away from land now, and Hild was positioning the boat away from the ocean to be parallel to the land. They were riding over the giant rocks underneath them, glistening below the blue-green waters.

"Yes," Hild said, humming her amusement, "there was a time where I couldn't retain information the way I can now. Our mother assured me I was simply a late bloomer, and that there was nothing wrong with that." Her voice gradually dropped to a soft, uncertain murmur.

"Everyone's powers work differently too," Clandestine added. "I know some people who didn't discover their magic until late childhood or even pre-teens. It's kinda cool how everyone's magic is so different, I think."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Hild said, warmth returning to her voice. She stopped rowing to lightly bump Alan's shoulder with the oar. "I'm particularly curious about yours, and how it manifests."

Alan half-glanced behind his shoulder, offering a small smile. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"What's the depth of the influence you can exert over someone else?" Hild asked, her gaze intensely inquisitive.

"I'm not really sure," Alan said. "I think that's part of the reason why I'm here, honestly."

It was a half-lie, but to be honest, he'd rather not get into it.

"Alright." Hild slowly but surely turned the board back toward land. "When you have used it-- unless you've somehow managed not to all this time-- does it feel like...entering someone's mind? Or do you stay on the outside?"

Alan had to think about this one. Hild was asking some insightful questions. He wondered how long she had been sitting with them.

"I've mostly used it for insignificant things. Like convincing my brother to make waffles instead of pancakes," he said, hand back in the water. "It can be a catch-22 sometimes, though. Because then I absorb all his pancake desires, and suddenly I wish he was making pancakes."

"So in influencing others, they influence you too?" Clandestine asked.

"That's a good summary. I'm glad there's some kind of consequence, honestly. It'd be scary to think that there's people with this kind of magic who can control others without consequences," Alan said.

Hild hummed. "It's certainly good incentive to to use self-restraint."

"So, as you can imagine, I don't use my magic much." Alan shrugged. "But it doesn't bother me. I don't consider my magic to be a part of my identity. I'd like to think I'm more than that."

Clanny hummed.

"That sounds kind of nice," she said a little more quietly. "I think for most of my life I've always been the girl who talks to animals."

"Do you consider that your identity, though?" Alan asked.

"I mean, it's part of it, I think, but it's not the only thing I am," she answered.

"That's right. You're also a park ranger and a paddle board enthusiast," Alan said with a smile.

"And an alpaca lover," she added.

"And maybe soon-to-be knitter," Alan added on.

"I'll have to start watching yootoob videos on it," Clanny said with a laugh.

"And then you can give us lessons," Alan said with a wider smile before pausing. "But what about you, Hild? Surely you're more than that big brain of yours."

Hild scoffed. "But of course."

Alan hummed when Hild didn't elaborate. "Let me guess. You're a puppy enthusiast?"

She hummed a laugh. "That's one facet of me, yes."

"And an avid reader," Alan went on.

"Myes."

"And an aspiring cellist," Alan said.

"That's more of a hobby than anything," she countered.

"Right. You're an aspiring vet instead," Alan corrected.

"That's right," she said more neutrally.

Strangely, Hild didn't seem particularly excited about that. Or maybe he was reading into her tone too much. It was hard to tell when all he had to go by were two words spoken behind him.

It was at this point that Alan recalled the conversation he had with Lyall just that morning when he talked about the family business. He barely had time to connect the dots before the conversation resumed.

"And you," Clandestine interrupted. "Are a persistent list-maker!"

"Guilty as charged," Alan said innocently with a grin. "What can I say? I like to stay organized."

"And you're an alpaca father," she said.

"I'm warming up to that identity, yes. I've always wanted to be a father, and I didn't think I'd be one so soon, but I embrace it anyways," Alan said with a smile as he gazed over the ocean again.

The board floated to a sluggish stop, and Alan looked over his shoulder towards Hild and Clandestine.

"Miss Clanny," Hild said, "would you like to take over from here?"

"Oh, sure!" Clanny said. "You can pass it to me."

Lifting it from the water, careful so as to not splash with the oar, Hild held it horizontally for Clanny behind her.

Clandestine reached around to take it. Alan turned back ahead as he felt the weight shift under him, but it dawned on him too late that the weight shift felt... wrong. Imbalanced.

"No," Hild started, alarmed, "wai--"

He hardly had time to even process what was happening. The board flipped over and they all splashed in the water, all at once.

The cold water send a shiver down Alan's skin, and for a second, he felt too shocked to move, but then instinct took over and he swam up to the surface again. Alan gasped for air and wiped the water from his face, quickly searching to make sure that Clandestine and Hild were alright. He blinked, seeing both their blurry figures beside them.

Wait.

"Your glasses!" Clanny said. And then her blurry head splashed underwater.

Alan groaned. He dove under water as well, squinting through the clear water, but realizing too late that this didn't help. All he saw was a blur of blue and black. How was he supposed to get anything from this? By feeling the floor?

...Well, he could do that too. That seemed to be the only practical solution here.

Someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt before he could follow through, though, and tugged him back to the surface.

"You idiot," Hild hissed, shoving him onto the board.

"What?" was all Alan managed to say with a cough as he had one arm on the board. He used his free hand to wipe his face again, although that didn't help him see any better. "I can swim fine."

"But how's your vision?" she asked sharply.

"Vision doesn't impact your swimming abilities," Alan said, leaning in and squinting at Hild.

God, he forgot how blind he could be sometimes. He didn't like wearing contacts, but in retrospect, that would have been the smart move.

Erupting out of the water with a splash of her long hair, Clandestine raised her hand over her head.

"Glasses!" she exclaimed, sputtering water. "They're okay!"

"Ah... Thanks, Clanny," Alan said with a smile, squinting at her blurry figure as she swam next to him, offering him the frames.

He gratefully put them back on, and even through beads of water pooling on the lens that blurred part of his vision, Alan could still see the mildly concerned expressions on their faces.

"Are you--" Alan began, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that they both seemed worried even though he was perfectly alright-- but he didn't get the chance to say more than two words before he was interrupted.

"What were you thinking?" Hild pressed, an unfamiliar bite in her voice as she clung to the other side of the board. Her curly hair was plastered messily to her annoyed glare.

"I'm fine. Really," Alan said through a reassured smile and faint laugh, his free hand pushing back the wet hair clinging to his face. "I wasn't drowning, but... yeah, that wasn't my brightest moment."

"I'm just glad I found your glasses!" Clandestine said, laughing a little bit herself.

"Yeah, thanks Clanny. I owe you one," Alan said appreciatively. Clanny just waved her hand dismissively, blowing a raspberry.

"Man, this water's cold, though. Do you think we can climb back on, or will it just flip again?"

"Go ahead," Hild said, sighing as her irritation dissipated, "I'll find the oar." And she pushed off from the board.

Alan finally took a better look around their surroundings. They weren't too far from the shore, but they were far enough that they couldn't reach the bottom of the water with their feet. Nearby were a few rocky small ledges that extruded from the ground. Alan let out a soft hum, thinking.

"Are you both good swimmers?" he asked more loudly so Hild could hear over her splashing about to grab the oar that floated off a little ways away.

"We're at least managing," Hild shot back as she loudly splashed away, "clearly."

"I'm an excellent swimmer," Clandestine said with a small smile.

"Well, we're already wet. So..." Arm still on top of the board, Alan peered over the scene in front of them, already forming plans to place this board somewhere. And his glasses so he wouldn't lose them again. "Why don't we keep swimming?"

He turned back towards them, but it was mostly Clanny, since Hild had just grabbed the oar and was doggy paddling back now.

"If you want to, that is. Otherwise, I'm fine staying in the water, and you both can have the board. I wouldn't want to risk flipping over again."

Clandestine laughed, and just began to swim and follow Hild.

Alan grinned, taking that as a yes. He glanced behind him, noting the rock portruding out of the water. It was the other way towards them, but it wasn't far, and it was the closest point to drop off the board.

Letting the girls have their fun, Alan swam with the board towards the rock, taking slower movement since he'd rather not risk losing his glasses again. It took a minute, but when he finally reached the rock, he tossed the board on top first, taking a moment to make sure it was balanced and still since it wasn't quite a flat surface.

Satisfied, he hefted himself on the rock, crouching down and gently placing his glasses on the board. He took a second to make sure that was balanced too, and then he peered up at the highest point of the rock, carefully taking some steps up to get higher. It was slippery, but he was careful-- even though he couldn't see well.

In retrospect, he wasn't really sure why he didn't take his glasses off at the top, since he came here to better see the view point, but it was fine. He could appreciate blobs of color as well.

Alan heard Hild and Clanny nearby splashing and laughing, which was good news. It meant they were nearby.

He pushed back his wet hair again, thinking for a moment. Reflecting.

And then Alan took off his shirt, mindlessly threw it behind him, and canon balled in the water.

He tried to jump far and high, and he had to bite back a giddy laugh as soon as he fell back in the water. It was so cold, and he wished he had better prepared, but he couldn't complain.

The water was so clear. Maybe he should come back sometime, but with contacts.

Did he pack contacts? He didn't think so. And could they even be in the water? Sea water?

Well, no use in wondering that, since he didn't pack them anyways.

When Alan swam back to the surface, he heard the oar clattering onto the boulder he jumped from behind him. With a lingering smile, Alan turned around to see the vague form of Hild looking his way.

Then Clanny came flying over his head in a flash, and she landed in the water a few feet from him, drenching him in a wave of water.

Alan laughed, arms out in front of him too late. "Clandestine!" he playfully scolded.

She popped up out of the water next to him, laughing openly.

"'Brrrr so cold' I must jump in again!" she said teasingly.

"Oh, yeah, that's cold, isn't it," Alan said with another laugh and a shake of his head, squinting at her. "Just like this."

With both arms, he then splashed a wave of water towards her, unrelenting. With a scream of laughter, she backed up.

"Oh, yeah?" she said, and then threw a wave of water back at him, splashing him once more.

"Are you challenging me? Is this a challenge?" Alan asked playfully as a threat as they both splashed each other.

"I don't know but I'm gonna win!" she said with a laugh.

Alan held his breath and then went underwater, acting as if he was shark so he could surprise attack Clanny.

Except Clanny saw him coming. She dove down and quickly passed beneath him, and then reached up and tickled his ribs. Alan wasn't really ticklish, but the absurdity of it made him snort, and an air bubble escaped from his mouth. He wasn't ready to go up to the surface quite yet, though.

Still in shark mode underwater, Alan lunged towards her legs, hugging them and tightingly holding it against his chest so she wouldn't be able to easily swim.

She kicked, but Alan held on, being too stubborn to let go even though he knew this plan was doomed if she kept kicking. Which she did.

Clanny managed to escape from his grasp, but then Alan moved on to the next best backup plan: to grab her ankle and tickle the underside of her foot.

Except when he got to her foot, she suddenly did a flip underwater. Where her feet once were, now her face was. Along with a wall of hair.

If mermaids were real, Alan was convinced Clandestine would be one of them.

Her long, flowy hair wafted up to his face, and he smiled at her, meeting her green eyes and accepting defeat. Lungs now screaming for air, he swam back up to the surface, popping his head back up to gasp for fresh air.

A few seconds later, Clandestine popped up quietly beside him, only sticking her face out above water, peering up at him with a michievous, victorious smile.

"I accept my defeat," he said humbly with a grin and a laugh. "I can't go against a mermaid like yourself."

"Add that to the list of things I am," Clandestine said with a snicker. "Animal whisperer. Monster hunter. Mermaid."

"And alpaca mother," Alan added.

"Happily so," she said, popping up fully, making sure her thick, black hair was out of her face.

With a lingering smile, Alan glanced around, trying to find Hild. "Where's Hild?"

"Sunbathing on top of the rock," Clandestine answered, pointing upwards. "Like a lizard. See?"

Alan had to paddle a few feet back, glancing up at the boulder they were under. He thought he could make out her body lying on the rock, but he mostly saw her skin tone.

"Hey, Hild!" he yelled, waving at her. "Do you want to join us? Or are you enjoying your lizard time?"

Normally, he wouldn't be this obnoxious. But since Hild mentioned that she wasn't used to making friends, he wanted to give her opportunity to join them and make it clear that she was wanted. Maybe all she needed was an invitation, and he didn't really care about his image if it made him look obnoxious.

He sensed a panicked scramble on her end, before she covered herself with the blue of her discarded shirt.

"My what?" she called back.

"Ask Clanny," Alan yelled back.

"Lizards like to warm up in the sun on rocks!" Clandestine said like it was a fun fact.

"Ah." Hild hummed a small laugh. "I, ahm. Thank you, but yes. I am quite enjoying my...lizard time."

"Alright. We're here if you change your mind," Alan said, then swam back to Clanny, glancing between her and the rock. "Do you think we should keep her company?" he asked when he was close enough to her for Hild to not hear.

"Might be a good idea for us too," she said. "You're shivering, bro."

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but instead he looked down at himself. "I am not," he said stubbornly.

"You need your glasses," Clandestine said with a small laugh. "You're a few minutes from chattering your teeth like maracas."

"Maybe that's a good thing. I've always wanted to be a percussionist," Alan said teasingly.

"Come on. Let's go climb up and warm up," Clandestine said with a smile.



It didn't take too long for them to go back up. Alan hastily climbed up without thinking about getting his glasses, so he was grateful when Clanny had grabbed it for him. Of course, she only told him about it after she grabbed it, but Alan downplayed the mildly embarrassing moment, grateful for her anyways.

The three of them laid on the biggest, flattest rock. Hild was in the middle, and Alan and Clanny were on the other side of her.

The rock was stupid hot for the water being so cold, but weirdly, Alan kind of liked how it felt against his back. He sighed, pressing his eyes shut, but the sun still shine through them.

He was never really a beachy or sun bathing person. At least, not by himself.

"Clanny, you said you're a monster hunter, right?" Alan asked, deciding to sit back up, elbow on his knee as he peered over them still laying down. "What's that like?"

"Hmm," Clandestine said. "Fun. Challenging. Sometimes thrilling. Sometimes terrifying. And all the in-between."

"Would monsters be considered animals as well? Can you understand them?" he asked.

"That's the thing that's weird about monsters on Nye," Clandestine said a little quieter. "They don't talk. It's like they don't have thoughts. Just carnal urges."

Alan quietly hummed, peering over the ocean again, hand idly running through his wet hair.

"I suppose there is a line between monsters and animals, just like how there's a line between humans and animals," he said.

"Yeah," Clandestine said. "I guess so."

But it sounded like there was more she wasn't saying. Alan wasn't going to press if she was uncomfortable saying it, though. Maybe it could come back another day, if it came up naturally.

"Do you like your job?" he asked instead.

"Usually, I do," Clandestine said. "I like that it helps keep people safe, and people don't have to worry as much knowing I'm there. I like that it helps people. I just wish there was a way to help the creatures, too. I don't think all of them were always like that."

"I think it's understandable you feel that way. You're a natural empath when it comes to all creatures, especially considering you can talk and understand them. It's a shame that some people see other lifeforms as being lesser than them, but at the same time, it's also the circle of life," Alan said, watching a seagull fly across the sky. "It's sad there's no easy win-win solution."

"Yeah, life's not that simple," Clandestine agreed.

If only it was, sometimes.

Alan let the small silence sit between them. He was in a chatty mood, but he knew when to let conversation meet their natural end.

So he turned to Hild instead.

"Speaking of life," he began, "how has the cello life been going, Hild? Have you been practicing Bock's suite?"

"I have," Hild said with a hum, "but likely not as often as I should." She turned her head to only briefly meet his gaze with the slightest of grins. "Is there any chance of extending the deadline, Professor Alvaro?"

Alan barked a laugh at that, narrowing his eyes at her. "Only if you agree to a 30% grade penalty."

"Damn," she said, looking back up to the clouds. "Nevermind, then."

"Maybe I can make up extra credit, just for you," he said in amusement. "I think we need another duet, anyways."

Hild hummed in agreement. "A fine solution."

"Do you play an instrument, Clanny?" Alan asked.

"Gosh, I wish," Clandestine said with a longing sigh. "I never really grew up with that stuff, though. I've always wanted to."

"Well, you know what they say: there's no better time than the present," he said.

"What instrument would you like to learn?" Hild asked curiously.

"I've always wanted to try piano!" Clandestine said, raising her hands up into the air and twiddling them, like she was imagining playing keys. "It's just so beautiful, and I feel like it speaks to me."

Alan mulled this over, gazing over the waters again. "That could probably be arranged, if you want to learn. I actually teach piano lessons." He paused. "I mean. I usually teach kids. I'm certainly no expert. Just a fair warning."

"I mean, I know nothing, so I'm probably starting at kid level anyway," Clandestine laughed. "But do we even have a piano on the island somewhere?"

"I have a keyboard in my cabin." Alan paused. "There's also a grand piano at the stage that Hild and I practice at in the plaza. So, depends on how bougie and over-to-top you want to go."

"Since the piano is available to begin with, however," Hild piped up, "you may as well practice on that. The feel of real ivories under your fingers is unmatched."

"Wow," Clandestine said in awe. "That sounds so fancy. And I'd just be going doot doot on it."

Alan couldn't help but smile at that. "We can certainly play a doot doot song with the grand piano. Sounds like a good start to me." He paused, Hild's words playing back in his head. "Hild, do you play too? You talk like you've experienced a magical grand experience with the piano."

"I've dabbled," she answered, "but my brother is far more experienced than I. I focused my energies on the cello."

"Ah. Lyall did mention that to me too. It sounds like you have a musical family," he said.

"We rather are," she agreed, a warm smile in her voice. "We try, anyhow. Our mother was a strong proponent of the arts and culture, so she insisted we all learn at least one instrument each."

Alan couldn't help but notice that she used the past tense when addressing her mother. He found it very sweet how fondly she spoke of her, though. It was bittersweet, like she was reflecting on old memories she remembered every detail of. He turned his gaze towards Hild, giving her his undivided attention.

"Lyall took to it the most," Hild went on. Then, flatly, added, "Then had to go and one-up the rest of us by undertaking three."

"I think that's really cool that you guys all got to experience learning music together," Clandestine said with a small smile. "It sounds like a nice thing to share between siblings."

"It is really cool," Alan agreed. "It sounds like a very special way to bond. I think your mother knew that, too."

Hild smiled more openly at this. Then turned back to Alan. "Your mother played piano, and your father violin," she said. "What about your brother?"

"Oh, Alistair didn't play any instrument," Alan said with a smile, amused at the thought. "We did get him to try, though. A lot. But it wasn't for him." He shrugged. "It's not for everyone. There's nothing wrong with that, though. I think everyone is born to create, but it doesn't have to be music. A creative outlet looks different for everyone."

Her smile faded a bit, into something more thoughtful looking, seeming to mull over his words. "Well-said," she hummed.

"What's his creative outlet, then?" Clanny asked.

"Do you want the cheesy answer or the long answer?" Alan asked with a smile.

"Is it that complicated?" Clanny asked with a laugh.

"Well, when I tell people his creative outlet is to love, it usually raises eyebrows," he said.

Clanny snorted. "Okay, that is a little cheesy."

"Yeah, I know," Alan said with a lingering smile. "I think creative outlets are a vague term, anyways. Art is all subjective. And it is so, so human. And so is love."

"So are you one of those guys who thinks that the banana taped to a wall is a piece of art?" Clanny asked.

"I think it's about intention. Is there actually a message or is it a funny gag?" Alan said.

"But if it's artistic to somebody even if not the creator, does that make it art?" Clanny mused.

With a confused frown, Hild lifted a hand in question. "Sorry, what...exactly does he do for art, then?"

Alan softly laughed. "It depends on your definition of art, I guess. Strictly speaking by the defintion, I'm not aware of any artful hobbits that he has. But I have a pretty loose definition, and I think he's really good at connecting and caring about others. Loving deeply."

There was a pause.

"...So you don't know?" she finally asked.

"You really want me to admit that Alistair doesn't have any artistic hobbies, huh?" Alan mused.

She furrowed her brows, even more confused. "I mean, if that's the truth, then why not simply lead with that?"

Alan felt like he was talking at circles at this point. He decided to let this go and not overthink it.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be confusing," he said, deciding to just say the direct facts rather than speculate the subject of art. "No, Alistair doesn't play an instrument. I'm the only one who's taken after my parents in my whole family, actually. So, I think I'm more of the odd one out than he is. There's nothing wrong with not being musical."

Hild nodded, now satisfied that this was cleared up. "I agree, there's nothing wrong with having interests that simply don't intersect with the traditionally defined art mediums."

"Yeah," Clanny agreed. "Otherwise I'd be sooooo wrong."

"Hobbies take the form of many shapes. I think, as long as you spend your time doing what you love, that's all that matters, in the end," Alan said.

"What about the people who can't do what they love?" Clanny asked suddenly, turning on her side to face him. "Some people don't really have control over that."

"I know. I'm aware," he said gently. "Life isn't perfect, and it's never so simple. There's always a lot of nuance, most of which I can't always put into words. We're all given different cards in life. I think the most we can do is try our best and make the best of life."

As if satisfied, Clanny let out an "ah," and laid back down on her back.

"My cards said: you will hear the mice chatting inside your walls," she said.

Alan hummed in amusement. "What do they say?"

"Really simple stuff, honestly," she said. "They aren't like Stuart Little. It's mostly like; stop bothering me! I smell something. I found food. I'm hungry. Shh, I heard something."

"Sounds like it'd be hard to sleep," Alan remarked.

"Yeah, it gets kind of annoying," Clanny said. "I just bang on the wall and tell them to shut up."

"You should have an exterminator look into that," Hild suggested, sounding mildly concerned.

"And kill them?" Clandestine said, like she was appalled. "Then I'd hear their screams for help and betrayal!"

"Maybe you ought to adopt a cat instead," Alan offered.

"My apartment doesn't allow pets," Clandestine said with a sad sigh.

"That's only if the landlord doesn't know," he said teasingly.

"He knows about my magic," Clanny said sadly. "He's more strict with me."

"That sounds kind of mean. Do you think you'll stay there long-term?" Alan asked.

"I dunno, there aren't a lot of options around where I need to live for work," Clanny said. "And I don't make a ton of money, even though monster hunting is kinda dangerous."

"A travesty," Hild said with a deep frown.

"It's ironic, isn't it? To hold such a necessary job that protects other people, but not be properly compensated for it," Alan said with a sigh.

"Yeah, that's a whole other thing," Clanny said with a wave of her hand. "But I've been talking to Robin. He says he could take me in when we both get back and we can be roommates."

"That's great to hear. What are the chances that he's here too? Small world," he said.

"Yeah," Clanny said. "Lots of coincidences."

"It's kind of interesting hearing about your home life, though," Alan said, then flicked his eyes over to Hild. "What about you, Hild? What's your home in the States like?"

She blinked up at the sky. Then idly combed her hands through her still-damp hair. "It's...simple," she answered. "A small apartment, but it has a nice enough kitchen space. I don't need much else beyond the basics."

"Do you have any pets?" he asked.

Hild shrugged a shoulder. "Buster now, I suppose. Assuming I can take him home."

"Ah, right." Alan recalled their conversation earlier while they were on the paddle board. "Hopefully that works out, and that he has enough space to be comfortable."

"He should," Hild said reassuringly. "And I walk everywhere in the city, so he'll have plenty of time spent outside and active."

"Well, the good thing about city dogs is that they get to be super socialized. At least he'll have ample opportunities to meet other people and dogs," he said with a smile.

Hild hummed her agreement.

"What about you back home?" Clanny asked Alan. "Where do you live?"

Alan perched his cheek against his palm. This was a good question, and one he should think through more carefully for after he returned home.

"I'm not sure yet. I might move in with a friend for a bit, or move back with my family until I have a more permanent space. I lived with my ex, but we broke up right before I left for my hike, and I basically got rid of most of my stuff and said I'd figure it out later. So, I'll have two months to think about it," he said.

"Wow, so you're in a big transition at the moment, huh," Clanny said.

"I guess so. It doesn't really feel like it since I've been so far removed from the situation for a while now," Alan said with a slight shrug.

Clanny was quiet for a second, humming in thought with her lips pursed together.

"That kinda sucks," she said. "Do you think your ex would watch any of our episodes?"

Alan slowly let her words sink in.

God, he didn't even think about that.

"No idea. But if she does, that's her business. We ended things somewhat amicably, so it doesn't really bother me." He paused. "It's kind of weird to think about, though."

"That it is."

Alan was having another dream of Maria.

It had to be. She only showed up in his dreams now, although it had been a while since he dreamed of her.

She looked like how he remembered her. Her long chestnut hair draped over her shoulder, her face soft and dainty, just like her frame. She was dressed in a knee-length floral skirt and a red blouse, and as she prepped for a spin, she lifted her arms and spun fast a few times, her skirt twirling with her.

She smiled wide as she spun towards him, landing in front of Alan with her hand on his chest. Maria smiled wide, taking his hands and then pulling him back with a laugh, her eyes bright and innocent, reminding him of last summer when times were simpler.

Alan led Maria into a dance, moving with the music and staying true to his playful style. Maria's musicality was equally playful, consistently keeping up with his antics and somehow being able to predict his own movements. That was why he loved dancing with her, after all. And it was why he loved her, among many other reasons.

Suddenly the song came to an end, but instead of ending the dance with a dip like he usually did, Alan slammed her against a wall that wasn't there before. The music died, and the lights around them dimmed. With a pained yelp, Maria stared back up at him with fearful doe eyes.

"Who were you with last night? I know you danced with another man," Alan said lowly, hands still gripping her shoulders tightly, pushing her against the wall.

"W-What?" Maria stuttered. "I didn't. I didn't dance with anyone else."

"Then why," he said even lower, closer to her ear, "were you wearing this?"

He pulled at her skirt, and as it were some magic trick, it easily ripped away, revealing Maria to be wearing a tight, black mini skirt and a white, low-cut crop top.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't dance with anyone else," Maria said more quietly, voice shaky, unable to hide the shame in her voice.

Alan glared at her, gripping her shoulders tighter, pressing her against the wall even harder.

"Alan," Maria whimpered pleadingly. "You're hurting me."

"You're a fucking skank. A good-for-nothing slut. You're only with me because your father never loved you. You think you can hide all your problems from me? Please. You're predictable," Alan said venomously in her ear, then pushed her to the ground. "Get out of my life. I never want to see you any more, you disgusting whore."

...

What...

What the fuck?

Alan woke up shaking, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

He was tightly gripping his covers, but in a frantic wave of desperation, he suddenly bunched all the covers towards him until it was a big pile on his chest. His heart still rang in his ears, and suddenly Alan felt he had to get away. Move. Do something. Move.

Driven by a crazed panic, Alan quickly sat up and scrambled on all four, his eyes not adjusted to the dark or being able to see anything without glasses. He greatly overestimated how big this bed was, crawling to the end and then falling down with a loud thump.

"Fuck!" he cursed in a hushed voice, now on the floor, tangled in the sheets that had engulfed him.

Alan scrambled to his feet, taking a wobbly step forward, only tripping again since he was still tangled in the covers. He fell again, barely having the time to catching himself from completely hitting the floor.

"Fuck!" he groaned more loudly, swiftly turning around while he was on the ground and violently shaking the covers away from him.

Alan kicked it away, scooting himself backwards so that there was now a sizeable distance away between him and the stupid covers, this time carefully getting to his feet so he didn't have to trip a third time. His heart was still racing in his chest, but the adrenaline still ran through his veins.

Water. He needed water.

To drink and to... wash. Wash his face. Splash his face.

It was dark. He should turn on the light. No. Glasses. He couldn't see. He had to pick that up first. Back towards his bed. On the night stand.

Alan hastily walked back towards his bed, haphazardly feeling around for his glasses that were here laying on this night stand somewhere. One second of searching, however, and Alan knocked over a different type of glassware.

The glass of water he kept by his bed fell over, spilling all over the floor and then shattering everywhere.

Great! This was just his luck.

Ignoring that for now, Alan finally found his glasses and placed them back up to his face, but then realized...

Right. It was dark. He still couldn't see.

Almost embarrasingly, Alan slowly turned on the lamp that was also sitting on the night stand. The soft warm light filled the room, and Alan stared groggily at the puddle of water and broken glass shards in front of him.

He should clean this.

But first, he should... get a broom. Something to clean this up. It was wet too, though. But that didn't matter too much. He'd really rather not step in any glass.

Careful to not move where he was standing, Alan slowly crouched down, figuring he'd pick up the big glass pieces by hand first before he went downstairs to get the broom.

It was silent, and Alan found himself edging closer to the words of his dream. To Maria's fear. Him hurting her. How he--

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Alan?" Cyrin's voice rang out with the faintest note of panic.

Alan wasn't usually a jumpy person, but in this particular moment-- in this moment of deep vulnerability after a particularly terrifying dream he didn't know what to make of, all while he was precariously picking up glass pieces off the floor like it was some game of operation-- yes. He flinched. And the glass shard pierced through his palm, blood immediately dripping to the floor.

"Fffff--" Alan found himself sputtering, almost cursing again and wanting to laugh from the absurdity of events that unveiled from the past minute.

Alan took a deep breath.

"Sorry. You can come in," Alan said assuredly in a softer voice, only hoping that this disaster didn't wake Lyall as well.

"Okay," Cyrin said, a little uncertainly. "Opening the door now."

The door creaked open, and Cyrin's figure appeared in the doorway, lit softly by the lamp. They were in the same silky black pajamas Alan had seen them in before going to bed, with their hair down and falling around their face. He saw they were trying not to look too worried, but as their gaze slowly travel around the room, putting together the sequence of events, he saw their expression turn concerned.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Alan assured, right when he glanced down and saw the blood rushing out of his hand even faster now, pooling on the floor.

"Can I help?" he asked. "I was sleeping with my door cracked open, and I thought I heard something. It looks like there's been an accident."

Alan glanced from his hand, to the mess on the floor, and back to Cyrin. "I... could use some help. If you don't mind," he admitted, gently dropping all the glass he was holding before standing back up. "I'm going to wash up the blood. Can you help me pick up the glass? Careful, I don't want you to step on any or get hurt either."

Cyrin looked relieved that he accepted, stepping into the room and leaning over the mess. "Of course. I'll get a broom for it. Can I take a quick look at your hand first, though?"

Right. Cyrin had healing magic. But...

"Ah..." Alan stared down at his hand, and he realized he was still shaking, just a little. The pressure in his head was preventing him from thinking straight. "Yeah," he finally said with a small smile back to Cyrin. "Should I wash up, or..."

With a thoughtful expression, Cyrin held out their hand, indicating for Alan to do the same, with his palm face up. "I think I can help with that, though you still might need to wash it afterwards."

Wordlessly, Alan nodded and extended his hand out with his palm facing up so that Cyrin could take a better look. His housemate peered over it, scanning how large and deep the cut was, as well as the amount of bleeding. After a moment, he set Alan's hand over his, then lightly pressed the thumb of his other hand to Alan's palm. The gentle pressure caused a brief sting of pain, but it was gone within moments as the cut on his palm rapidly sealed itself up. The only sign that it had ever been there was the dried blood smeared around it.

It didn't end there, though. Alan saw the cut reappear on Cyrin's left hand, with the exact same placement and size on his palm. Unflinchingly, Cyrin only spared it the briefest glance as he dropped Alan's hand.

"Alright," he said. "Now you're good to wash your hand."

Alan closed his hand in front of him, feeling the dried blood caked on his skin. He couldn't stop staring at the new cut that Cyrin gained, realization seeping in what he just agreed to.

Cyrin could only transfer the wound, not heal it. How could Alan forget this? How could he agree to this?

"Cyrin. I..." Alan began, but he felt like he couldn't even form the right words. Not when he was still so shaken up from waking up a few minutes ago.

"Don't worry about it," Cyrin said reassuringly, offering him a genuine smile. "It doesn't bother me to help with small things like that. I get pretty used to it, honestly."

"That doesn't make it okay. It's just a cut," Alan said, still clutching his hand, and then staring down at the glass still scattered across the floor. He should be careful when exiting the room. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have let you looked at it if I remembered."

"No, you don't need to apologize, or say that. I wanted to help," Cyrin said gently. "And you're right, it is just a cut. But it's just a cut to me as much as it was to you. It's something I can help you with, and when you've already got an accident on your hands, adding an injury to the mix, even if it's small, can make the whole situation a lot more unpleasant."

Alan wasn't going to push it. What was done, was done. There was no use in debating what-ifs and should-haves when neither of them could change what happened. Alan was grateful, but the only thing he could do now was make the best of the moment and learn from his mistakes.

"Let's get cleaned up together, then," he offered instead, opting for pragmatic solutions. "I think there's a first aid kit in the bathroom."

"You might be thinking of mine," Cyrin said with a nod. "I use it a lot, so I brought it with me. After that, I'll get a broom and dustpan."

Well that... alright. That was a whole different subject Alan hadn't even began to consider, but he really didn't have the time or the processing power right now to read into that statement.

"Alright," Alan agreed, carefully side-stepping out of the way, trying not to step on any glass. "Let's get cleaned up."

The two of them spent the next minutes being forward-thinking. Alan washed up-- not only his hands, but also his face because he felt he needed someone to dump ice cold water on him-- and afterwards, Cyrin tended to his new cut. Alan tried not to feel too bad knowing that this was what Cyrin wanted, but instead of feeling too guilty, Alan made mental notes of lessons to learn here.

He should stop placing a glass of water by his bed.

Cyrin was quick to tend to himself, so Alan offered to get the broom first, carefully going down the stairs to not make any noise and risk waking up Lyall. He heard him snoring in his room, though-- so it seemed he had nothing to worry about.

By the time Alan grabbed the broom from the utility closet and made back up the stairs, Cyrin was ready and able to help. Together, the two of them were able to clean up all the glass pieces and mop the floor dry.

Relieved and tired from this mildly annoying event that he had caused himself, Alan tied up the trash bag of glass and stood up, giving Cyrin a grateful nod.

"Thanks again. You've been a big help," he said, then glanced at the clock.

Ugh. Of course it was almost 4am.

"Of course," Cyrin said, offering him a smile. "Are you going to need a new glass of water after this?"

Alan couldn't help but let out a weak laugh from the unexpected absurd question. "Yeah. And now we went from a hundred glasses to ninety-nine. I hope they don't charge me when I move out."

Cyrin laughed lightly. "You're worried about that. I'm worried we won't be able to throw one hundred person parties anymore. That's the real tragedy here."

"I don't even think there are a hundred people on this island," Alan said as he sat down on his bed with a sigh.

God, he was tired, but not in a way that made him want to sleep. He was drained.

"Well, if the number is ninety-nine or lower, then there's been no harm done." Cyrin said it teasingly, but as they watched Alan, their expression softened slightly.

"You can go back to sleep. I know it's late. I'm sorry I woke you up," Alan said before Cyrin could say anything else.

"I will," Cyrin assured him. "Just want to make sure everything's okay first. You seem..." He deliberated for a moment, before saying, "Like you had more on your mind than broken glass troubles."

"I know... I'm a mess," Alan said through another weak, forceful laugh as he rubbed his eye from under his glasses.

"For the record, that was not something I was about to say, or thinking about," Cyrin said, with a faint laugh through his nose, but his expression was more serious and gentle. "What happened, though?"

Alan sighed. Cyrin did catch him in a weird headspace, but he certainly wasn't going to go back to sleep now. In that case... it didn't hurt to talk.

"Do you want to sit?" Alan asked, gesturing loosely to the bed and also to the chair nearby that was nested under his desk.

Cyrin nodded as he opted to sit on the edge of the bed. He watched Alan, but his expression was patient. Letting him share what he felt like sharing.

"I don't get a lot of nightmares, but... well, I don't really know what prompted this one. But I guess you could say: it spooked me," Alan said as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Cyrin nodded, watching him with empathy. "And the glass got knocked off," he guessed, finishing the story.

"Oh. Yeah. That was just because I'm an idiot," Alan deadpanned.

Cyrin let out another huff, shaking his head. "The transitions from dreams, especially nightmares or unsettling ones, to reality, are disorienting. It's easy to seemingly 'overreact' in those moments, which does, unfortunately, mean that sometimes you'll end up sweeping something breakable off a nightstand in a moment of panic. But it's not really an overreaction. It's not a bad thing to be spooked after a nightmare, either. It's an emotional response to a situation, and when that situation was scary and felt very real, the natural response is fear. And I'm one to believe that it's the right response, too."

Alan appreciated Cyrin's words. He did.

But these words could only truly sink in if Alan had truly dreamed of something terrifying. That was what most people had nightmares about. Something scary, like a monster, or a tense situation, or someone out to get them.

How was Alan supposed to explain that the monster in the nightmare was himself?

"That helps. Thank you," Alan said softly, tilting his head towards Cyrin to gauge his reaction. "You talk like you have a lot of experience. Are nightmares something you experience regularly?"

Cyrin pursed his lips together in a thoughtful expression, scanning Alan's face as well. "If it might help you to hear..." he started. "Can this stay between you and me?"

"Of course, Cyrin," Alan said more sincerely, sitting up straighter. "I respect your privacy."

"Thanks. In that case..." Cyrin flashed him a smile, before turning his thoughtful expression upwards. "I used to, to answer your question. It's something I'm relieved to have mostly moved away from, since the time I was a kid, but occasionally I'll still get one. You'd think I'd have learned to control my reaction by now, but I still react mostly the same way." They drummed their fingers against the bedframe. "Even though I'm a little stuck in my ways on my response to it, it does mean I have lessons from experience. And I don't mind sharing this when it seems like it might be of some benefit to someone else."

Alan listened intently, giving his undivided attention to Cyrin. "I'm sorry. That sounds horrible," he said softly, feeling like he should say something else, but suddenly his brain was blanking on him.

Cyrin shrugged with one shoulder, smiling gently. "It happens to most kids. Everyone's got some kind of fear they get early in life. Sometimes they manage to shake it, but sometimes they keep it with them. There's adults out there who are still afraid of the dark-- although most of them have stopped believing in monsters under the bed." They hummed. "I would've preferred simpler fears like that, or more standard childhood nightmares, I guess. But the things that scare some people just don't scare others."

Alan slowly nodded. "Yeah..."

For a few moments, a soft silence rested between them.

"You don't have to tell me any more," Cyrin said gently. "I won't ask you to. But I am here if you feel like talking about this, now or any other time."

"Sorry," Alan said with a small apologetic smile. "I think I'm just... tired. And this nightmare is a one-time thing, anyways. I'll be okay. Thank you, though. I appreciate it."

"No problem." Cyrin smiled back. "Do you think you'll go back to sleep? It's morning, but still early enough to fall asleep again."

Alan nodded, even though his heart wasn't in it. "I think I'll try anyways. I don't want to be too tired during the day. You should get some rest too."

"I can try as well," Cyrin agreed, standing up, then looking back at him as they ran the non-bandaged hand through their hair. "Though I could be amenable to getting you another glass of water first."

Alan forced a chuckle. "I had some water earlier as I was cleaning up. But thank you."

That wasn't really entirely true, but frankly, Alan just wanted to be left alone right now. He knew Cyrin was being kind, which he did really appreciate, but he'd rather be left alone with his own thoughts now.

Cyrin seemed to get the message, because he nodded respectfully and made his way back to the door. "Alright. I'll see you in the morning." He stepped through, glancing back through the door from the hallway. "Good night, Alan."

"Good night, Cyrin," Alan echoed before Cyrin closed the door behind him. A few moments later, he heard the creak of a door being pulled and pushed, but not the sound of it closing.

Alan didn't know how long he stayed still, staring at an empty space in front of him. After Cyrin went back to his room, the cabin was dead silent. Alan focused to the sound of the clock on the wall, the mechanical hands ticking with each passing second.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Honestly, the sound was driving him crazy.

Carefully, slowly, Alan got up on his bed, reaching over to the clock against the wall, pulling it down so he could pull out the batteries. Now no longer powered, he rested the clock back on the wall even though it no longer told the correct time.

This was fine. There were other clocks in the cabin. He didn't need to see the time in his room.

With a sigh, Alan placed the batteries on some spot on his shelf before turning off the lamp on his night stand and flopping back down on his bed.

Sleep. He should sleep.

He wasn't going to sleep, was he?

James spent his morning like almost every other. He woke up between 3 and 4am from a nightmare. He tossed and turned for two minutes. He forced himself out of bed, took a short ice cold shower, beat his punching bag to death, and went for a run. By the time that was done, it was almost 5am.

By 5am, he would make breakfast. Oatmeal. Nuts. Fruit. All of it mixed together in a heavy mass with protein powder mixed in. He would consume it slowly, but the moment it was over, he cleaned everything up and proceeded to do his real workout routine in his room, doing several sets with weights and bodyweight exercises. One of the things he was working towards was flexibility and mobility, so he was doing a lot of stretching too. Pilates. Not that anyone was around to see or take notice aside from the cameras he was now sure were somewhere. Hidden everywhere. Always watching.

His second shower of the day was always at 6am on the dot. Usually around that time, Shane would emerge from his room half awake, trudging downstairs to make some coffee. He'd hear some stirring in Connie's room, but the man would never come out until 6:30, when he'd pass through the kitchen with his art supplies, grab something to eat on the go, and leave with a quick nod goodbye. They'd learned that this was just his way of communicating, and James no longer read into it. It was not rude, it was not friendly. It was just Connie.

James always spend a minimum of thirty minutes in the kitchen reading. Shane would sip on his coffee with his own book and breakfast, and in the mornings they would read in the same vicinity in silence. Fortunately, now that things were cleared away, they were quickly back to this routine without tension, and James didn't feel the obligation to break their comfortable silence. It was fine for them to just be.

It wasn't like they could have a wholly open conversation anyway. Someone was always listening.

When he reached a good stopping place, he'd mark his page, have a small conversation with Shane now that he had some caffeine in his system, and then return his book to his bedroom.

Then he would leave for his second run of the day.

He left promptly so that he'd run past Hild's cabin at 7am exactly every morning. This had become their unspoken agreed upon hour to run the perimeter of the island, and then they'd always get breakfast afterwards. James would never tell Hild that he'd already eaten, and he simply enjoyed watching her eat while he ate something semi-smaller than usual (which wasn't much less, all things considered).

By the time he made it back home afterwards, it was 8am. He always showered again, just so he didn't stink.

From there, the rest of his day was open to change. He hardly ever had anything on the "agenda," what with their wide-open schedule most days. The only things they were required to go to were weekly events, per the current trends, which meant they all had way too much time to kill and nothing productive to put their hands to.

James desparately wanted to be back on his family's farm again.

But alas, on this island of hell, his dreams never came true.

Deciding to spend the next hour deep-diving into research on cyphers per Shane's quiet suggestion, James got lost in the book he held, sitting in the living room that morning. Time escaped him until he caught sight of the slightest movement in the corner of his eye, and without hesitation, he slapped the book shut, staring at the piece of paper that had been slipped under the door.

A note.

Paranoia already piqued, he scanned the whole room before approaching carefully, aware of the touchy floorboards that had once swallowed him before. With a ginger touch, he picked up the piece of paper, squinting out of the door's peep-hole to see if the deliverer was still there.

It looked like... Was that Lyall? Running away? No. Not running. Just hustling. The man didn't run.

Looking down at the note in his hands, his worry was assuaged but a little at the thought the note only came from Lyall, as opposed to someone else. But he wouldn't put it past Oliver or Tula to use Lyall as a messenger.

Unfolding the tri-folded paper, he found himself looking at a quite lengthy letter.

Mister James Hawke,

You and I can both agree that I have endured your tasteless fashion decisions for long enough. It has been a whole week now, and I have yet to find you in anything remotely sensical still. I've seen inside your wardrobe personally-- nary a nice thing in sight! I become more and more appalled with every time I see you even in passing.

For our next meet-up, I've decided we should at last remedy the walking fashion disaster that is simply you. I finally found a few shops in the plaza that are up-to-standard. Meet me at the hub's center around noon today.

If you find yourself less-than-amenable to the idea, please refer back to the hellish morning run you put me through and remember: you owe me.

Yours truly,

Lyall Ashlund

Huh.

Lyall was nothing if not dramatic. He literally could've just said he wanted to go shopping, but naturally, he couldn't do so without insulting James's shirts first. James could see the humor in it, however, and he was unoffended. With a small huff of a laugh through his nose, he checked the watch on his wrist, determining the time was 10:20am. That would give him plenty of time to make himself look more agreeable to the Ashlund's tastes to avoid another thorough roast by the time they saw one another in person.

If "fashion" was what Lyall wanted, then it was what James would give him.

So he left in time to be fifteen minutes early, walking up to the plaza at a relaxed pace since he wasn't in a rush, and he wasn't looking to get sweaty this time. He'd already been up and down the hill so many times that he knew how long it'd take on foot at a walking versus a running pace, so he wasn't worried about being late.

He rested his hands in his pockets, looking up at the midday sun through his tinted sunglasses with a small sigh.

At least it wasn't as warm as previous days. It looked like it was cooling down a bit. Maybe in preparation for rain. Though he imagined rain, even, on this island, was still a bit warm. Maybe for the best.

He made it about halfway up the hill before he heard footsteps following behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. Expecting to see a cameraman or someone less desirable, instead he saw Hild, who upon making eye contact, seemed like she only just then recognized him.

"James Hawke?" she addressed him incredulously.

For some reason, her almost shocked surprise had him greatly amused, but he tried very hard to hide his smile and keep a straight face.

"Yes?" he asked, taking off his sunglasses to confirm and show his face.

"No," she said, coming up alongside him. She broke into a pleasantly surprised smile as she glanced him over. "You must be an imposter. The James Hawke I know doesn't own anything even moderately presentable."

James glanced down at himself. Apparently the white, grey-striped linen pants, the crisp white laced shoes, and the loose beige collared shirt fit the bill. Lightly tugging at one of his cuffed shoulder-length sleeves, he let himself smirk slightly.

"I'm far less predictable than it appears," he said, briefly adjusting the clasp of one of his two necklaces to be behind his neck, at the base of his braid.

"So it seems," she agreed. "What's the occasion, if I may ask?"

"I believe your brother has issued me a challenge," James said. "Or rather, has summoned me to the plaza to change my fashion-crime ways. I figured I'd get a head start."

Hild hummed, nodding subtley in invitation to join her as she kept walking. "I'm more surprised that he held out for so long."

"A week is really not that long," James said, walking at her side.

He turned to study her, now curious.

"What brings you to the plaza?" he asked.

"I was actually invited by my brother," she answered, casting him a faint grin. "To assist with fixing your wardrobe. But apparently this mission is for naught."

"Well, not entirely for naught," James said with a small shrug. "I only packed maybe five outfits of this caliber. And about fifty others like you saw last week. So I could use a few more of this level of decency, I suppose."

Hild more closely considered him now, as if still trying to figure him out. "And why did you neglect to show up like this during the 'dating' event?"

"Oh," James said with a weakened laugh, feeling a sting of embarassment still about that day. "That was, uh. Out of spite, really. For the event having occured at all."

"Ah," she said, slowly nodding her approval. "A worthy cause."

"Anything to get back at them, I suppose," he said with a shrug. "Not that a shirt really changes anything."

Hild gestured broadly to the tropical setting around them. "Appearances seem to matter greatly to them. Perhaps it didn't change any immediate outcomes, but it was a good effort."

James offered her a small smile of gratitude.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

And from there, the two of them walked in silence. Hild seemed lost in thought, and James, too found himself adrift in his own mind, pondering what horrors or humiliations this day might bring. The previous day had been tame, coming only with a gift at his door that he asked for. The rest had been restlessly uneventful, but he could only wonder how long that would last. It was hard to relax and let his guard down, knowing that there was no was Oliver ever was.

A small flock of parrots passed overhead, and James, for half a second, feared they might drop something from above. That would be just his luck. But fortunately, their path drifted just ahead, missing them, and instead they only got to see their colorful wings flap in the air before they landed in the palm trees on the side of the path.

A few more minutes passed before they found themselves right at the hub's center, and James pulled out a seat at a shaded beach patio table to wait for Lyall. Hild followed suit.

"So how have you been, Hild?" he decided to ask.

Hild let out a quiet sigh, then hummed a somewhat tired laugh. "Not quite as bad as I could be, I suppose."

James hummed. That was passive code for 'not great' and 'not dying.' Somewhere in between, then. Probably closer to the 'not great' on the spectrum.

"Yourself?"

Maybe James shouldn't have asked. It was bound to come back to him, of course.

With a squint out into the distance, James pondered his answer for a moment. Perhaps the delay was telling enough.

"I'm making peace with it," he said.

"All one can do right now," Hild said with a nod.

"Anything good happen to you lately?" he asked, deciding to focus on the positive.

Hild looked up at the umbrella overhead in thought. She answered honestly, "Well, I'm at least not losing anymore sleep."

That was something. Didn't sound like she was getting more sleep thought. So much for counting blessings.

Hild gestured toward James. "Silver linings?" she asked.

"Silver linings," he echoed with a small nod, briefly scratching at a stray hair around his ear that had fallen out of the braid already. It at least didn't feel like a comically long one.

He glanced at his watch. 11:59am.

"Well," he said with a small sigh. "I hope you get better sleep eventually. We all need it."

Brow furrowing slightly, Hild looked ready to say something else.

Instead, Lyall's voice came from behind them.

"Well, I'll be," he said, a pleasantly surprised smile in his voice. "Our very own James Hawke, finally dressed like a proper man of society."

He dropped into the third chair between them. With an indignant wave of his hand, he went on, "Now where's this side of you been hiding?"

"He died the first day along with my sun's out guns out shirt," James answered deadpan.

Eyes closed, Lyall sighed out a laugh. "Well," he said, tone indicating that they ought to move along, "I organize a meet-up, and still somehow end up late."

"Not late," James corrected. "You're right on time."

"He's late," Hild said flatly.

"He said noon," James said placatingly. "It's noon."

"Yeah, Hild," Lyall jumped in defensively, "it's noon."

James gave Lyall a look that read: 'careful, don't overdo it.'

With a dismissive wave, Lyall jumped right back to his feet. "Alright! All are accounted for. Ready to strut your stuff, Mister James? Show the world you have at least a modicum of class?"

"You can at least give me a little credit," James said, getting to his feet. "I'd like to think I have at least some. It just hasn't been broadcast to the world."

"Fine," Lyall relented, gesturing broadly to James now. "Credit where credit is due."

And so began their shopping spree through the clothing shops in the plaza center. Most of it was more upscale than James was used to, but with things (admittedly disturbingly) being "free," there wasn't really a concern about prices. Just fit. And good grief did he try on quite a bit to see what fit.

Suddenly, Hendrik's "Barbie" nickname felt like it was a prophesy. Feeling quite a lot like a dress-up doll for the Ashlunds, James tried on anything within their whimsy. Thankfully, they were both reasonable and didn't pick out anything goofy or as a joke - in fact, Lyall said he had enough clothes like that. He seemed offended even at the notion that Lyall would suggest anything not-serious.

After what ended up being maybe two or so hours in and out of stores and changing rooms, James ended up with two complete outfits, one in each bag, on each arm. It was a bit amusing how it turned out that one was picked by each sibling, and both had a bit of their personality in them too.

James liked what they picked, though. He was pretty open to a lot of things insofar as fashion went, but he felt like the Ashlund's tastes aligned with his own.

As one final show of "class," Lyall urged James to put on each complete outfit and show them off, so they could all see their final product. He went along with it.

He had, after all, told Lyall that he'd do something he enjoyed. Apparently clothes shopping was it. He stepped out of the dressing room into the waiting area, where the walls were covered in mirrors, and did a little spin. Spreading out his hands, he said: "Ta-da."




Hild sat on a provided bench and Lyall perused hats while they both waited. Hild took notice of his arrival first, and cast James an approving grin.

"One of the more casual looks," she commented. "They're nice colors on you."

Lyall grinned considerably more openly than his sister. "Of course they are. I handpicked them myself. How do you feel?"

James couldn't help but feel a little awkward, now that he was very openly being evaluated. He looked down at himself, not having much of an opinion besides thinking that he looked nice. He could go into the technical reasons why with color and shape theory, but he didn't think that was the answer they were looking for. They were wanting a feeling. Like... 'confident,' or something. He didn't really feel that, though.

"Good," he said, trying not to look as self conscious as he suddenly felt.

He wasn't sure how to express gratitude without slipping in a sarcastic joke. Full sincerity felt out of place for some reason - like it would get taken the wrong way, maybe. Or throw off the rhythm Lyall and Hild already had going on.

Looking down at his feet, he hoped he didn't look too transparently bashful.

"Well, rest assured," Lyall went on, tone a little softer and earnest, "you look fantastic."

James nodded, offering Lyall a small smile.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll, uh. Go change into the next one."

Not really wanting to wait for any more commentary, he turned around and went back into the changing room, trying to be quick about getting into the next outfit - but the one Hild had chosen had more layers involved. There was a button-up, a jacket, slacks... just. More. He didn't know if he'd wear this unless it was a cooler day.

Trying to shake off his awkward, he hurried back out, wing-tipped shoes tapping against the tile floor, announcing his arrival. He committed to doing a little walk out, stopping in the middle of the mirrors with a small pose, one hand holding the inseam of his jacket.

Then he quickly broke character, letting out a weak laugh.




They watched him quietly, expressions more endeared than anything.

Taking the fedora from her brother's hands, Hild set it over Lyall's eyes before stepping closer to James. She lightly brushed off the shoulder of the jacket and adjusted the tie a bit.

"Of course," she said, "I don't ever expect you to actually wear this anytime during our...stay here. I just believe these pieces would make nice general additions to your wardrobe."

"Ah," Lyall piped up, setting the fedora on his own head properly with a small flourish, "I was under the impression you were trying to induce a heat stroke."

James smiled weakly in amusement.

"I wouldn't mind taking them home," he said. "Nye had weather much more suited for this. But I definitely won't be wearing this here. Not outside of heavily air-conditioned rooms, that is."

Stepping back out of his space now, Hild smiled faintly. "Good," she said simply, if a bit awkwardly. "Hopefully you'll find the right occasions for them."

James smiled a little wider, feeling the need to ease the awkwardness.

"I'm sure I will," he said. "Not that I have many opportunities to dress up on your average day of farming, but Larrel and I go out to town pretty often. Plenty of opportunities there."

Hild's smile relaxed a bit at that.

"I'd consider this outing a rousing success, then," Lyall butted in.

"If not for the outfits, then surely for the good company," James added, looking to Lyall with a smile.

Both Ashlunds looked quite pleased with the outcome.

Sweeping an arm back toward the fitting rooms, Hild ushered James back. "Seriously, I don't want you dropping from heat exhaustion."

With a bow of his head, James silently agreed.

"Alright. I'll be right back," he said, and he returned to the changing rooms.

It took him a little longer again, taking off all of the pieces and putting his original outfit back on. He also didn't feel in as much of a rush, now that all that was left was to leave.

He sat on the bench, starting with his shoes.

And then he found himself hearing the Ashlunds distantly outside the changing rooms. Their voices sounded hushed, but they were carrying over.

"What was that?" Lyall asked, tone almost accusatory.

Defensively, Hild shot back, "What this time?"

"You..." There came faint shuffling sounds, and James could picture Lyall gesticulating wildly. "...getting all up close and personal."

Then there was a light whack as she retorted in a harsh whisper, "The tie was crooked!"

"It wasn't!"

Then their voices dropped to inaudible levels, but he could detect the tension of an ongoing back-and-forth just the same. Apparently, not unlike conversations with his own siblings, they were reading into one another's actions and bickering over it. James decided he wasn't going to read into it too much himself, but he hoped that things weren't weird for the Ashlunds on their end.

James tried to tune them out as he finished folding everything up, putting outfits back into bags, and getting his own clothes back on. Eventually, he checked himself in the mirror real quick and briefly fixed his braid, seeing that another piece had fallen out. All of the changing had mussed it a bit.

With a small sigh, he headed back out to see what looked like the resolution of whatever argument had ensued. Hild was sitting on the bench, arms folded, and Lyall somewhat triumphantly smashed a hat down onto her head, covering her eyes. She flailed gracelessly until she found Lyall's arm and shoved his hand away.

One arm hooked with shopping bags, James stood at the dressing room entrance, wondering when they'd realize he was there.

Tilting the fedora up, Hild took notice of his return first. She smacked the hat to her brother's chest as she stood.

"Excellent," she said, "best be on our way then."

With a slight stumble from the force of it, Lyall snickered. Casting James a bright grin, he offered, "How about lunch, while we're here?"

"Sure," James said with a small smile. "Let's do it."