Young Writers Society

It didn't take very long for them to decide on a place to eat. In the midst of a comfortable conversation, they simply gravitated toward a hut that advertised Thai food. There was only outdoor seating for this establishment; they took a table closer to server's counter, that way she didn't have to jog half a mile with food in both hands.

While Lyall took a moment to chat up the waitress, Hild lightly tapped the space between herself and James.

"I completely forgot," she said, "I should have brought a book for another trade."

"Oh, don't worry about it," he said. "Maybe on the way back we can. I didn't bring anything either. You finished that animal husbandry book pretty fast."

She grinned. "It was actually an entertaining read, as much as it was informational. I've taken note to look for more of that author's works." A bit clumsily, she adjusted her grip on her chopsticks. "Any preferences for you next read?"

James tapped the end of his chopsticks to his chin in thought before announcing: "One of your favorites, if you have it with you."

A pause.

"I promise I won't get water on it this time," he added, taking another bite from his noodles.

Hild hummed a laugh. "While not an ideal state for books, there's nothing to worry about. All of the books have been thus far provided by..." She just gestured broadly around them before twirling a bundle of noodles.

Though, she did bring a few from her own personal dorm library back in the States. Those were actually quite dear to her, but she knew she could entrust James. The pool incident, after all, was hardly by any fault of his own.

She recalled he had himself a mystery thriller.

"What kinds of fiction do you usually like?" she asked.

"I tend to like mysteries, adventures, that sort of thing," James said with a shrug. "Though in all honesty, I've read a lot of different genres. Romantic comedy, parodies, historical fiction, fantasy, sci-fi..."

He twirled his hand a bit. "Nothing's really off the table, so long as it's not trash in quality."

Well, that certainly narrowed it down.

She pursed her lips in thought. "Alright. How do you feel about an anthology? Fjelstad has an extensive library of folktales--"

Tapping the ends of his chopsticks together with a mouthful of noodles, James nodded with a closed-mouth grin.

Hild laughed. "It's decided, then," she declared, voice mirthful. "What would you recommend for me?"

After swallowing his food, James prepared another twirl of noodles thoughtfully.

"There's this book that's about rabbits but it's actually a metaphor for war," he said. "Original audience was children but it got taken out of school's because it was considered 'too heavy' of a subject topic. I guess in that way, it has some controversy, but I've always thought it was well written regardless."

Hild finally managed to wrangle her first bundle of noodles. She hummed with interest. "I thoroughly enjoy the controversial ones. I've heard of it, but have yet to actually read it myself." She took her first bite. "Do you have it on you?"

"Not at the moment," he said. "But it's back in my cabin."

She felt mildly foolish for phrasing her question so. "Ah, yes, that's...what I meant."

James laughed lightly. "I can't give you my rabbit book in exchange for whatever you choose," he said a bit teasingly, taking another large bite.

"Rabbit book?" Lyall suddenly questioned, his grin bemused.

"Yeah," James said, mouth semi-full. "You know."

And then he flared his nostrils, kind of like a rabbit.

"Rabbits," James said.

This did nothing to clear up her brother's confusion. Lyall just tilted his head, unsure of how to take it.

Hild wondered if they should bother clarifying, or to simply leave him in the dark.

"You mentioned your family's farm," Hild said to James, deciding on the latter. "It's primarily crops, right?"

"Primarily potatoes," James said. "Though we do grow other roots and sometimes corn. We keep animals mostly for ourselves, not for profit. So we only have a few."

"Did Hild ever mention," Lyall said, grin turning teasing, "that she used to want a farm?"

James looked at Hild, his brows raised with an amused grin. "Like, one of your own?" he asked. "How old were you?"

Face heating up from embarrassment, Hild leveled her brother with an unamused glare. "I was ten," she said plainly.

"She wanted all the animals," Lyall went on, undeterred. "Said she'd marry into it if she had to."

"We never had pets or anything," Hild tried in her own defense, but wasn't actually sure what good that point would do. And so quickly added, "It was a way of overcompensating for that, I suppose."

James laughed lightly.

"I think as kids we all like to imagine things we don't have at some point," he said. "It's cute you wanted a farm though. I can see that being a cool idea when you're ten."

Hild took another bite of noodles in protest of the turn this conversation took.

"She was adorable," Lyall teased. "If it's any consolation though, dear sister, I did want to run off and join a circus around the same age."

"That lasted well into your teens," Hild retorted, a little more snippily than she intended. "In fact, I'm not sure you ever outgrew your clown phase."

Lyall balked. "I wanted to be an acrobat, thankyouverymuch," he said.

James looked like he was holding back laughter.

"Well, if we're talking about what we all wanted to be when we were ten," he said. "I wanted to be a farmer. So I think I'm the only one who ended up following my ten year old dreams."

"Follow through," Lyall declared brightly. "I respect that."

"It helped that I wanted to be in the family business," he said. "Got my foot in the door a lot faster."

"That does help," Hild agreed.

It was more a help, though, when you wanted the family business to begin with. If not, it became more a point of stress than anything.

"Ten year old James," Lyall said, sounding like he was trying to get a clearer picture, "wanted to be a...potato farmer? Like. Specifically potatoes, or just a farmer in general?"

"I just wanted to do what my family was doing at the time," James said with a small shrug. "And that was potato farming."

Hild glanced up from her bowl, unable to fully hide an endeared smile. It was sweet just how dear James's family was to him.

"Eldest of three, right?" Lyall asked.

"Yeah," James answered.

Hild wondered if either of his siblings were likewise drafted for military service. Or perhaps they were spared since he had already served.

She'd already discovered that time of his life to be particularly tumultuous, though, so she didn't bring it up.

"Are they likewise appreciators of literature?" she asked instead.

James laughed lightly. "My little sister likes stories, but she's not as much of a reader as she used to be. Honestly, she'd rather hear them than read them. Petrus, though, he's really not as interested in those things. Sometimes I can convince him to watch a movie, but even then he gets distracted in the middle usually."

"They sound like our brother," Hild said with a warm smile. "Enjoys good stories, but usually just can't sit still long enough to finish them. By no fault of his own."

"You're talking about Viktor, right?" James asked. "I feel like one of you mentioned another brother at some point."

"That's the one," Lyall confirmed. Then added fondly, more to himself than anybody, "The little man."

"He's a fan, by the way," Hild added, pointing her chopsticks at James.

James blinked, his brows quirking up in confusion.

"A fan?" he asked, mouth full of noodles.

Hild shamelessly committed his surprised look to memory. "Regrettably, he's a regular observer," she said, resisting the urge to glare at a camera as though it was Viktor himself.

"And," Lyall added, leaning back with his bowl of soup in hand, "perhaps unsurprisingly, he's quite enthralled with you."

According to some morning show segment, most of the world was by this point. Alas, Hild's steel trap mind could not let go of that utter catastrohphe either.

James looked less than thrilled by this news, and he very slowly swallowed his food, nodding at this information.

"I can't forget that the world is always watching," James said. "But I guess I didn't think about everyone's families watching, too."

Picking up her bowl, Hild dismally sighed into the broth. "Mortifying in its own right," she murmured, praying that her own father wasn't watching.

"I guess in some ways it's comforting," James said, poking at his noodles. "And sometimes... not so much."

Glancing up into a corner of the restaurant, James gave a small wave.

"Hi, mom," he said.

Hild resolutely ignored the camera. She'd prefer to speak with her family over the phone, thank you very much.

Lyall, on the other hand, turned to address family on the other side of the camera as well.

"Viktor," he called, "turn off the television and get some damn paperwork done already!"

"Hey," James said, tapping on the table. "You have a phone that works. Use it."

"As it so happens," Lyall said breezily, "I do not have it on me at the moment. This was easier."

"I have a feeling your command probably didn't work," James said flatly.

"You'd be right," Hild said, cracking an amused grin.

Lyall tsked. "Does being the eldest sibling mean nothing anymore?"

"Not really," James said with a mild smile.

At that, Lyall deflated with a small sigh. Then slurped what remained of his broth.

James reached over and patted Lyall's shoulder.

"Nothing to pout about," he said with a teasing smile. "It is just our burden to bear."

Hild rolled her eyes, but couldn't help her persisting grin. "Please, no," she said, "don't validate his theatrics."

"There once was a time," Lyall went on dramatically, setting down his soup, "in history when there was a heirarchy to these things. An order! A code of honor and respect towards those in authority--"

"You mean parents?" James interrupted.

Bubble sufficiently burst, Lyall deflated again. "Well, sure, but after them..."

"We still don't get to be our sibling's parents," James said. "At least, ideally. There's great nuance with each family, but, especially when all of our siblings are grown, you have to let them be their own person."

Lyall folded his arms and mumbled, "Take the wind out of my sails." Then conceded, "Yes, true. But there's still room for holding each other accountable."

"For sure," James said with a small smile.

"Hence, nudging our youngest," Lyall said, "to simply keep him on task every once in awhile."

"And occasionally knocking you down a peg," Hild added pointedly, "to keep you humble."

With a more good-natured grin, Lyall lifted both hands in a shrug. "A system of checks and balances, as you can see."

"Right," James said. "Are all of you guys like that with each other?"

"Essentially," Hild answered. "I'd say Viktor is the mildest of us, as far as the taunts go."

"Ah. And he's always watching," James said with a small grin.

Like a guard on sentry. Hild was never worried that Viktor watched on the regular, though; he could be trusted with the bigger 'hide from your dad' kinds of things.

"What about your siblings?" Hild asked.

James raised his brows.

"Oh. Well, there's a bit of a bigger age gap between us, so I think that affects things. We get along alright now, but I'm older than the both of them by at least four years. They tend to tease and bicker with one another a lot, and they've never been shy about teasing me, but I don't really have the heart to return it to them," he said with a small shrug.

Hild tilted her head as she briefly looked him over. James continued to prove himself a gentler soul than one would first anticipate.

Suddenly, a flash of the interview from hell reared its ugly head, calling to mind the strange clip of James having to pick between the two Ashlunds.

She firmly trained her eyes on her food.

"Do they likewise play any instruments?" Lyall asked with a hum. "Unless the guitar in your room was just for show."

James blinked slowly, and there was a look in his eyes that made it seem like he was hoping Lyall hadn't noticed. Shrinking back ever so slightly, James smiled a bit sheepishly.

"Oh," he said. "I-- well, I do play. My sister likes to sing, but Petrus isn't the musical type. We all like to dance, though. Not that that's musical."

"Sure it is!" Lyall offered brightly. "There's musicality in performance alongside a song."

"I suppose so," James said, taking a bite of the last of his noodles. "What about you two? Do you play any instruments?"

"Did," Hild answered.

"Cello," Lyall supplied more helpfully, pointing to her. Then gestured back to himself. "Piano. I hear tell Hild has been practicing again though, since our arrival here."

James turned to look at Hild with a spark of interest. "That sounds like a good use of all our spare time," he said. "What got you back into it?"

Hild covered her mouthful-- also trying to hide the warmth in her cheeks. "Myes," she answered after swallowing, "I have, yes. I had been gifted a cello on the first day. It would've been a shame to not put it to use, so."

She shrugged, deciding not to mention her practice sessions with Alan throughout the week. Not in front of her brother, anyway.

"Would you be opposed to playing for an audience?" she asked James. "It's alright if you'd rather not."

James smiled weakly. "I could be... persuaded," he said hesitantly. "Yourself?"

She offered a small, encouraging smile in turn. "It can be another trade?"

Lyall flicked his eyes blankly between the two of them. James clearly took notice. Hild was just trying not to.

"Sure," James said. "I'll have to practice first, though. It's been a while."

"While I don't have a piano currently at my disposal," Lyall butted in, tone playful, "I could provide vocals. Serenade you, if you will."

James looked at Lyall with a small, genuine smile.

"I'm not opposed," James said. "Maybe you can let me know a song you'd like to sing, and I can learn it on guitar."

Perhaps they could a way to fit in a violin too, Hild thought. If Alan was amenable to an entire band effort.

"Perhaps we should just gather all the instrumentalists on this island," Hild suggested, more broadly instead.

"There are more?" James asked.

"By my count," Lyall answered slowly, looking skyward in thought, "we have..."

"Five?" Hild finished for him. "Including us. There could very well be someone else we don't know about, as well."

"Hold on," James said. "Are we about to form a band? Is that what's happening now?"

With a broader grin, Lyall said, laughing, "You know, I like the sound of that. Let's form a band!"

James looked like he suddenly regretted making that suggestion, at least a little.

"It's been a while since I've played with other people," James admitted. "It might be rough at the start."

"Like you said," Hild joined in now, tone gentler than her brother's, "it'd be a nice use of our excess of time here?"

James smiled a little bit again.

"True," he said. "We could give it a try."

Hild faintly smiled back, then turned her eyes back down to her noodles. "We should pitch the idea around, then. I'm sure Alan would enjoy a collaborative project of this scale."

"Oh!" Lyall said suddenly, in a tone that made Hild grip her chopsticks with irritation and dread. "I'd been meaning to ask about you two, actually--"

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Hild sent him a sharp glare. "Refrain--"

"--since Alan had mentioned some one-on-one time," Lyall went on, undeterred, "of 'getting to know each other' earlier this past week. What particularly intrigues me, though, is that you never mentioned it to me in kind in our own chats."

She narrowed her gaze at him. He tilted his head innocently back at her.

"Are you trying to hide so--"

"Hey, guys," James interrupted. "This sounds like a conversation you should have with each other while I'm not here."

"I strongly agree," Hild said, forcing an even tone. Though, ideally, they'd never have the conversation to ever.

Lifting both hands in surrender, Lyall leaned back. "Alright," he relented, "I desist. Save it for another day."

His smirk suggested that that was a promise, which Hild was not looking forward to.

"So, taking it back to siblings," James said, pushing his empty bowl to the side. "My phone's dead, so otherwise I'd just show you pictures of mine, but my sister's pretty active on social media. Maybe you could look her up and I could find some family photos? I don't know, I always like putting a face to names if I can."

"Ah!" Lyall said, "yes, brilliant! I'm presuming we'll find her on Inspogram?"

"Yeah," James said with a small smile. "Her username is 'hawkegirl.' She's not actually into the comics, and hawke is spelt with an 'e' at the end."

Hild looked expectantly at her brother. Who helplessly raised his hands again.

"I was being serious when I said I don't have it right now," he said.

With a sigh, Hild fished her own phone out of her backpack. Then paused when she remembered, that's right, she didn't have an Inspogram account. She found literally no need for it, and she was also maybe perhaps spitefully avoiding it.

She held it out to James. "I don't have an account," she said simply.

"Ah," James said, taking the phone a little hesitantly. "Well. Let's see if I can log in. Lately, the internet's been a bit testy with me."

"Maybe it's just where you've been standing," Lyall suggested.

James cast Lyall some brief side-eye, and then pulled up the internet browser, pulling up Inspogram. Scooting her seat closer, Hild leaned sideways a bit to get a better view of the screen. Lyall got up entirely and rounded the table to lean over James's other shoulder.

For a moment, James tapped the table with his fingers as a loading sign rolled. And rolled. And rolled again. Finally, instead of opening to his account, an error message popped up.

Incorrect password.

"Well," James said with a sigh, like he knew that his would happen. "Can't say I didn't try."

Already handing it towards Lyall, he shrugged.

"Try yours," he said.

"Sure." Lyall leaned on the arm of James's chair as he obliged. A brief moment passed as they listened to him enter a password the length of a novella. Then he victoriously declared, "I'm in," as he handed it back.

"I knew you could do it," James said, deadpanning, going straight to the search bar to type in his sister's username. Her Inspogram quickly popped up, and her profile picture was of her in a field of sunflowers, looking up at a camera, smiling brightly. She bore a great resemblance to James, just with softer features.

Flipping to her account, a bunch of pictures came up. A lot of them were landscapes of what Hild assumed was the family farm, or perhaps property around it. There were lots of photos of beautiful, colorful sunsets and sunrises, with white, bulbous clouds catching the light in them. James began to scroll.

There was a big, red barn. A large, white farmhouse, with a dirt road leading up to it. A picture of a few horses in a corral. Fields of what Hild presumed were potato plants.

Then a family photo.

James pulled it up with a quiet "Ah-ha."

It was a picture of all of his siblings, it looked like. Wedged between her two brothers, Larrel held her arms around both of their shoulders and pulled them in tightly. Both James and Petrus were kissing her on each cheek, and Larrel was beaming like she was mid-laugh. They were all dressed in overalls, looking like they'd been working on the farm.

Hild noted that Petrus looked significantly different in appearance. He had long, curly black hair and more of a light brown skin, freckled and tanned. His facial structure seemed a lot more round and soft, and it looked like he might've been adopted.

"So that's Petrus," James said, pointing with his finger. "And that's Larrel. It was her idea to pose like that. That's why she's laughing."

Hild felt herself smile faintly as she studied them.

"Well, aren't you an adorable bunch," Lyall said with a slightly teasing tone as he bumped James's shoulder.

"We are," James said simply, with a small smile. "Thanks for noticing."

He left that photo and scrolled to another, finding one of Larrel with what looked like their parents. When it was pulled up, it looked like a selfie that Larrel was taking. Her face was a little closer, and her parents were in the background, looking up with sweet smiles.

Immediately, Hild could tell which parents were whose biologically. Their mother had the same eyes and smile as Larrel, and their father had the same curly hair as Petrus, albeit with much darker skin. They looked like they maybe weren't the most photo-ready people, seeming a little awkward, but their smiles were genuine.

"Mom and dad," James said, though Larrel's caption already gave that away.

"They seem sweet," Hild said with a sincere smile. She gestured to the phone and asked, "May I?"

"Sure," James said, handing her phone back.

Taking it back, she slowly scrolled through the photos. Just skimming the candidly captured moments (the best, most natural way to take photographs, in her opinion) and glimpsing the beautiful smear of colorful landscapes. Some were reels of horse riding, of which James was usually found in the backgrounds consistently mounted on a golden stallion. There were posier pictures too, such as this one where the Hawke siblings lined up along the fence with their steeds poking their heads in between their riders.

One that almost made her laugh was where Larrel and Petrus had tucked themselves into a wheelbarrow as James ran them across a field. The laugh that came from behind the camera in the video must have been their mother. She had to twist around to follow as they all whizzed by. Larrel eventually wiggled her way out of her own predicament and safely fell over the side. Petrus clung for dear life, whooping as the brothers careened toward the fence in the far distance.

Lyall reached over Hild's shoulder and quickly hit a bookmark-shaped button on the bottom corner. James chuckled, but gingerly reached for the phone.

"Can I see your family, too?" he asked.

With a wordless grin, Hild held it out for him.

"Ah, yes," Lyall said, plucking it from her hand first. "Allow me to simply..." He trailed off as he tapped cryptically around the thing. "...switch accounts."

"How many do you have?" James asked.

"Just two," Lyall said defensively. "Three if you count the one purely for the practice."

"No judgement," James said with a smile. "Just asking."

"There." Scooting in between the two, Lyall pulled up what was listed as a private account and then handed it back to James. Looking a little hesitant, as if to make sure it was okay, James gave Lyall a small questioning glance. Lyall just raised his brows in invitation to look freely.

With a small nod, James began to scroll. Hild leaned the opposite direction to look askance.

"You look like you guys have a lot of fun," James said with a fond smile. "Are you all pretty active outdoors?"

Glancing over, it looked like he was referring to some photos and videos from hikes or fishing trips.

"We try to be," Lyall hummed, "since we work primarily indoors."

"How did you all get into fishing?" James asked.

Hild shrugged. "Our father decided that would be a fantastic hobby to take up." She grabbed her unfinished noodles. "I don't think he was entirely wrong."

"Well, did it work?" James asked, looking between the two Ashlunds with a smirk. "Do you guys enjoy it?"

"It's a good opportunity to sit in the sun with a book," Hild offered.

Simultaneously, Lyall strongly objected with, "It's terrible, I'm bored out of my mind, and it's always in a boat on the water!"

"For finding it such a bore I'm surprised you've posted about it as much as you have," James said, looking amused.

Lyall returned to his seat with a huff. "It's inevitable when it's a weekly family endeavor. And Geoff likes to record his catches, whenever he can actually manage them."

"Is his icon on social media of him holding up a fish?" James asked with a smile. "Biggest catch style?"

Lyall laughed, and Hild grinned.

"It should be," Lyall said.

"And what about these videos," James said. "You're all performing together. Do you do this often? It looks like a while ago."

Hild hummed, a bit sadly. "Not very often. And we essentially dropped practice once college started up for Lyall. After that, we all got too busy to pick it up again."

She really quite missed performing with her brothers. Even if it was only for themselves, they never felt quite so synced with each other than when they lost themselves in music.

James looked back at the phone, watching the video play on loop.

"That's a shame," he said. "You look like you're in your element, especially, Lyall."

"Oh." Lyall blew a raspberry in fake modesty as he waved a dismissive hand. "Well, I certainly enjoyed it."

James, instead of responding, just paused the video and zoomed way into Lyall's bright smile, and then looked up at Lyall with a straight face.

But before Lyall could say anything, he exited out of the video.

"Hopefully with our new band we're creating now, you can get a taste of that again," James said.

What Hild knew was a deflective smile on her brother's face, softened into something more sincere and hopeful at the thought.

"I look forward to seeing what you're made of, James Hawke," Lyall said.

James looked over to Hild with slightly widened eyes, suppressing a smile.

"He hasn't even heard me play yet and I feel like the standards will be very high," he whispered in a manner not quiet.

Lips pursed and brows furrowed with play-seriousness, Hild nodded. "You've got your work cut out for you."

"I guess the rest of my free time will just be spent practicing," James said with a decisive nod, handing Hild her phone back to her. "I wouldn't want to disappoint performers of your caliber."

"Ah, nothing to worry about there," Lyall offered with a reassuring grin. "It's just for fun, anyway."

Scraping the bottom of her bowl, Hild shook her head slowly and mouthed the word, "No."

James looked between them again, squinting.

"So... for fun or... not fun?" he asked.

"For fun, of course," Lyall answered, while Hild said flatly, "You'll see soon enough."

"Well," he said. "I guess we'll all continue to discover things about each other, then."

Hild hummed. "It'll be fun," she said more sincerely this time.

Peeking out from inside his room, Aaron scanned the hallway. When that came up with nothing, he listened intently for any activity downstairs. Complete quiet, save for the fluttering of a curtain by an open window. Excellent.

Easing his door shut behind him, he slipped out into the hall and padded up to Jay's door. Which was locked. The spectre always had it locked, likely because of their other ca--

"Who is it?" Jay asked through the door.

"The postman," Aaron answered snippily.

Jay phased through the door, floating above him. Aaron flinched, still unused to when the man made such entrances unannounced.

"What do you want?" Jay asked, still floating overhead, defying gravity as he 'laid' on his side.

Straightening, Aaron cleared his throat. "My log still needs time--"

"Your log," Jay said flatly.

"Don't judge me," Aaron snapped. "My log is not yet in ripe condition for the growing of molds and fungi. I don't anticipate needing them in the very near future, however I don't think it'd hurt to have at least something on hand until then."

Jay watched Aaron for a solid few seconds, unmoving as he floated. Then he sighed, and as if gravity was working once again, he fluttered to the floor on his feet, poncho catching air as he did so.

"Fine," Jay said. "What do you have in mind?"

Looking both ways down the hall once more, Aaron scurried over to the window at the end and threw it open.

"I'm not sure how curated the flora of this island are," he said, "since I haven't been very far past the hub yet. The corners of this wretched tropical prison ought to be explored. We might find something of good use."

He checked the ground. No one in sight or within smelling distance. Only faint traces of that obscenely upbeat animal lover-- Clara, or something?-- and some of her larger pets, who passed through at least an hour ago.

Gracelessly, Aaron fought with the screen in the window until it admitted defeat and fell to the sand. Then he swung a leg over the sill, pausing momentarily to check if Jay was indeed coming.

"You know there's a door, right?" Jay said from right behind him.

Caught by surprise, Aaron flinched violently, yelping when his grip on the windowsill faltered. Jay caught the back of Aaron's coat, yanking him back in just barely. Aaron braced himself with both arms against the side of the cabin, heart hammering in his chest.

"And have everyone know that we're heading out to begin with?" he eventually shot back. With more caution, he lowered himself out of the window this time and clung to the vines that crawled along the siding. "We may as well personally invite them inside at that rate, tell them all our secrets and tactical weaknesses!"

As Aaron began the slow climb down, Jay stuck his head out of the window, watching him descend with his ever-present look of judgement.

"They already live here," Jay said.

"Not them," Aaron hissed. "Everyone else!"

His foot caught on an unexpected knot in the vines. He fell the last few feet, face down into the sand. He quickly flipped onto his back with a dismayed frown.

For the first time since he'd seen Jay, the man's expression briefly shifted into one of amusement. He let out a short, singular laugh before staring back down at him in disappointment.

Spitting and hastily brushing the sand from his face, Aaron wobbled back to his feet. Then he impatiently glared up at Jay, bristling at the man's fleeting amusement. "What're you waiting for."

Taking a step out of the cabin, Jay effortlessly climbed down the side of the cabin far faster than Aaron had, and he landed on his feet.

"Was just watching," Jay said. "Best thing I've seen the whole show."

Aaron narrowed his gaze at the spectre.

"Anyway," he said darkly. Then spun on his heel and slipped into the bushes behind the cabin. "This is the most opportune time to leave. Our neighbors are either 'out and about' being social or what have you, or inside wasting time on things such as video games or ingesting fluids."

"Alright," Jay said plainly, ducking into the bush with him. "I'll follow your lead, then."

Aaron nodded, pleased with his cooperation, and lead the way through the undergrowth. The landscaping eventually grew wilder and more brambly. At which point, the tropical vegetation spat them out onto what looked like one of the more obscure trails through the jungle. As desired.

When they had made significant headway in making distance from the populated areas of the island, Jay broke their prolonged silence.

"Do you ever change your clothes?" Jay asked.

Aaron frowned in offense at him. "What? Of course I do."

"You always have that same jacket," Jay said. "When was the last time you washed it?"

Stopping abruptly, Aaron dove down to examine moss at the base of a tree. "I don't need more than the one," he answered instead. "It has all the pockets I could need."

"Uh huh," Jay said. "And it smells."

Aaron looked from the moss to glare at Jay. "It does not."

"That's because you're used to it," Jay said.

Looking back down, Aaron poked at the base of the tree.

"I just think you ought to improve your personal hygiene," Jay continued. "You're grossing me out."

With a low grumble, Aaron dropped his forehead on the tree's roots with a small "thump".

In actuality, he truly felt disgusting. And he hated that he was only feeding into Alexander's assumption that he was a hopeless slob of a human being. But he hated more the thought of ever being vulnerable within the confines of a living space shared with strangers.

Tula seemed to understand Aaron's ways of reasoning and logic. And she gave him sandwiches. But that was it. She cared far too much about things such as 'sticking it to the world' or some other such nonsense. And he just hated Alex with every fiber of his being; the showboating sleaze.

He trusted either of them about as far as he could throw them. Which was, not far at all. Not in this form, anyway.

With a deeply tired sigh, Aaron said, "I'll find a way to properly cleanse myself, away from the prying eyes of our cabin mates. But not for your sake, mind you."

"I'm not asking you to do it for me," Jay said. "You should hold yourself to a better standard."

Aaron clenched his hands into fists. "And I do!" he shot back defensively. "I just...needed some time to adjust to having house mates."

Jay was quiet for a moment.

"If you need me to... I can... make sure Tula and Alex are gone," Jay muttered faintly. "When you need to... you know."

Aaron blinked at the moss. Then glanced curiously over his shoulder at Jay. Jay was looking off to the side, avoiding eye contact as he stood with a stiff awkwardness a bit unlike his usual prickly nature. He looked like he was on the verge of recanting his words just because Aaron was leaving him waiting.

"Fine," Aaron finally answered, looking back to the root of the tree. "I'll... I accept this...offer."

"Good," Jay said more brusquely.

The spectre then knelt down beside Aaron, inspecting the moss and flora in front of them.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

Sinking lower so that it was at eye level, Aaron lifted a hand and slowly patted the soft growth on the tree. "It won't be of actual help," he admitted. "...I just like it."

Jay blinked.

"You're serious?" he asked.

Aaron half-heartedly glared at him again. Why wouldn't he be serious? After another moment of rubbing the moss, focusing intently on the texture under his palm, he jumped to his feet again. Jay got to his feet beside him.

Aaron declared, hands set on his sides, "I was hoping to find a manchineel in this climate, or something of that ilk, but plants of that toxicity level were probably removed from these premises."

He cast Jay an intensely inquisitive glance. "You received...what? for our..." He frowned with distaste and applied finger air quotes. "...'mutual match'?"

"Nutmeg," Jay said. "Depending on the dose it can cause hallucinations, heart-palpitations, feelings of impending doom... make you feel nauseous, drowsy, or delirious."

Steepling his hands under his chin, Aaron looked up at the tree canopy as he considered this. He liked the possibility of causing Alexander hallucinations, particularly for the fact that man could essentially do the same with one's nightly subconscious.

"Alex eats the food I make all the time," Jay said. "I figured I'd just make something interesting one day."

So they were on the same page. Aaron nodded approvingly.

Tula had that...intrusive vision ability. He could think of a few plants that might directly effect the vision upon ingestion, but what might they find here...?

He triumphantly snapped his fingers. "Euphorbia!"

Jay blinked slowly, like he was waiting for an explanation. Aaron blinked back.

"Oh!" He cleared his throat and supplied, "Euphorbia tirucalli. The sap of which can cause skin irritation and, more poignantly, temporary blindness upon exposure."

Again, it was possible euphorbia was a plant exterminated from the island, if it indeed was a native growing species to begin with. He had hopes, though, that this vaguely aforementioned staff area (from a conversation he was not part of) might not have been scrubbed so clean of the more interesting flora.

After a beat, he added, "We'll need to wear protection for ourselves, if we plan on handling any part of it."

Jay glanced back the way they came.

"How much protection?" he asked.

"Goggles," Aaron answered, "and gloves."

Jay reached into the depths of his poncho and pulled out a pair of gloves.

"Though..." Aaron drummed his fingers together in thought. "...we'd have to find a way to actually get the sap directly into her eyes for it to take the desired effect."

"We could put it on something we know she touches, maybe," Jay said. "Put it in her makeup. She wears mascara and eyeliner all the time."

Right. It was the sap that was a hazard, and that could be dried and thus scraped for a powdery form.

"Do you have goggles? Or are we going to have to go all the way back home?"

Aaron did not have any on him, neither here nor at the cabin. But he did know of someone with all sorts of protective equipment at the ready...

Hands clasped together, he slowly pointed to his co-conspirator. "Any qualms with minor theft?"

Jay raised a brow.

"No," he said plainly, like it was obvious. "Who has goggles to steal?"



"There are too many names that start with 'c'," Aaron groused from the bushes.

Having wandered back to the resident's beach, he parked them in some plants again to first gauge the activity level of the womens' cabin.

"I can't recall," Aaron went on, "if we're looking at a Clara, or Cathy, or whatever. But one of them is a chemist with a personal lab. She has--"

"Clarity," Jay said.

Aaron blinked at him. "Okay, fine. Clarity is a chemist, with the protective gear we need."

He pointed to the upper window, left of the front door. "That's her room."

"I'm curious how you know this since you never leave your room," Jay said.

He narrowed his gaze at the spectre. "Don't question my methods."

"I am well within my rights to question your methods," Jay retorted. "And I know I'm also the one who's going in there, risking my magic being exposed for a pair of goggles."

"You don't have to help," Aaron hissed back. "I can retrieve them myself, and then go find the plants on my own. You won't know what I bring back, and I don't have to tell you, and you'll only find out by some accident, all because you didn't--"

"Nice," Jay said flatly, patting Aaron's shoulder. "Threaten your partner. Calm down. It's daytime. Let's do this later when it's nighttime. I don't want to get caught in broad daylight."

Glancing off with an incoherent grumble, Aaron had to concede as much. "Very well, we'll mee--"

"See you later," Jay said suddenly. And then he vanished.

Eyes widening, Aaron frantically scanned the bushes. He wasn't done speaking! They had to coordinate!

"Poison," a man suddenly snarled from the bush behind him, with only his face extruding out of the leaves. "You're going to poison!"

"Gah, no!" Aaron screamed, arms flying up to shield himself from the new voice behind him as he tucked into himself. "I just like leaves!"

Through his bush and the other nearby, he finally located the source of the hostile-sounding voice.

"You're going to poison her!" the disheveled man barked, saliva flying in the air, his eyes nearly bulging out of his sockets.

Breath short and hands trembling, Aaron blinked. Then fell limp, a mix of relief and irritation. It was the same mind reader who'd snuck up on him at the food table when they first arrived. Though unsettling to gaze upon directly, the man was no more than a harmless annoyance. At that time, anyway.

Now Aaron had something to immediately hide from his house mates, and he did not need this nuisance giving anything away.

Aaron frantically waved the man down and harshly whispered back, "This is my spot! Go find your own!"

"You're a monster!" the man yelled.

That made Aaron flinch back. Not just the lack of discretion in the volume of his voice, but to be called 'monster'. It dredged up quiet taunts from a dark corner in his mind, and it made him panic.

What else was this man reading within his head? Could he see into Aaron's memories?

He was now scrambling to get out of the bush, but struggling to free himself from the twigs and leaves holding him back. He only managed to get his head and one arm out, but still writhed for free dome.

"You turn into a wolf and suck their blood!" the man now said with a howl of laughter. "Like soup!"

Nose scrunched with disdain, Aaron scanned the beach around them for a clear getaway. "That is objectively false," he whispered back, "in a number of ways!"

Suddenly the man stopped writhing, his head and arm still the only parts of him out of the bushes. He stared at Aaron with too-wide eyes and a darkly serious expression, his face somehow growing even paler.

"You hear voices too," he said more lowly. "You're like me."

"You're like me," the lilting voices in his head insisted too. The image of a predator's smile burned itself into the backs of Aaron's eyelids.

"They agree!" the man howled again, his pale eyes once more looking like they're about to bulge out of his sockets with every heave he took.

"You're a monster like me," the gaunt, smiling creature in his memory sang.

Curling in on himself and clutching his head, Aaron fought to steady his breath.

"What do you want from me," he whimpered at the man stuck in the bushes.

And then he heard another voice in his ear.

"Don't scream or I'll drop you," Jay whispered harshly.

"Who's there?!" the man said with sudden alarm and urgency, now frantically clawing the dirt to free himself. "I hear your head!"

But Aaron didn't have time to panic over the new entity, because he was being grabbed by an invisible force, and suddenly being lifted into the air. In the blink of an eye, the ground below him was just gone. Behind him, all he could hear was the bush man's pitched, maniacal laughter.

"Your fake power is that you can fly," Jay whispered into his ear. "Own it."

"My fake...?"

Aaron didn't fully find the presence of mind to convincingly 'own it'. All he could manage in the midst of his panic was some weak arm waving as they ascended.

Shrimp was getting in the way of reading the history books on Shane's shelf, because the lovable but silly cat had made up his mind to walk across the pages as he paced the desk, and he seemed to get upset when Shane had tried pulling the book into his lap instead, so he let it happen. Every so often, the cat would just sit on the book, looking at him with wide eyes and meowing, and Shane had to pay a petting tax before Shrimp would move. It reminded him of how he would try to get his attention over studying, and he was starting to miss those times.

Grad school had been some hard years, but they were hard years he wasn't ready to let go of yet.

He heard a sudden thumping sound, and he jumped slightly, leaning back from his book. Shrimp hopped off the desk with an urgent meow, going to the window. Turning, Shane examined the room, wondering what had caused it.

"It's okay, Shrimp," he said. "Probably just a--"

The sound came again, along with something at the window. Shane saw a small pebble thumping off the glass, and Shrimp leapt up on the sill, swatting at the spot it had hit.

"Oh, maybe you're right," he said to the cat, moving over to the window and unlatching it.

When Shane opened the window, he noticed someone holding a large white sign over their face. Letters were bolded, displaying a handwritten message.



Whoever was holding the sign then dropped the sign in front, revealing another message.



It seemed they had run out of space for that last word. Again, the message was dropped, revealing another sign behind it.



The message dropped once more, revealing one last sign.



Just based on the figure of the person and the style of khaki pants and neutral colored shirts they wore, Shane had a feeling he knew who was holding the signs. His suspicions were confirmed when the sign was lowered, revealing Alan smiling apologetically up at Shane.

Shane couldn't help but smile back.

"Is this Alan I spy with my little eye?" he asked teasingly, leaning out the window a little.

"What? Can't hear you. I think the distance between us is far too great," Alan said too loudly, cupping his hand around his ear with a teasing smile.

"Hold on. I think I need a second opinion," Shane said, picking up Shrimp and holding him up where Alan could see him.

Shrimp let out a meow that was probably loud enough for Alan to hear, despite his jokes about distance.

"Alright, he approves," Shane said, setting Shrimp down and smiling at Alan again. "I guess you'll have me."

Alan grinned victoriously. "Meet you at the front door?"

Shane laughed. "You'll find me there."

He stepped back from the window, closing it and hurrying out of his room and down the stairs. When he got to the door and opened it, Alan was already there, waiting for him.

"Hello again," Alan said warmly with a smile, waiting for him outside the porch. "Hopefully my tacky entrance didn't disturb you from anything important."

"Just a book that my cat was already keeping me from reading," Shane said, with a faint laugh. He felt his earlier anxiety creeping in, standing face to face with Alan again. What was this, exactly? "So the competition wasn't too fierce."

"Glad I can win you over," Alan said with a small laugh, then glanced behind them. "To be honest, I've been meaning to talk to you since after the event, but I've been waiting since I wanted to do this right. So I've been waiting and thinking, but the answer of a perfect day didn't come to mind, and it still hasn't-- and I apologize for that. So, I suppose if you're up for it, we'll see where the day takes us." He paused. "Is that alright?"

Where Alan couldn't see it, Shane's hand tensed around the interior of the doorframe. The explanation didn't really make any more sense-- or if it did, it raised an equal amount of questions as the ones it had tried to answer. He'd remembered their plan to meet again and answer the final question, among probably other things, but waiting for that hadn't weighed on him nearly as much as the mortified feeling the speed dating event had left him with. When Alan said he wanted to talk, what did he mean?

Shane scrambled to answer before he overthought it any further.

"Yeah," he said, with a shy smile. "We can do that."

Alan smiled and nodded, almost looking relieved. "Okay. Do you want to stay inside or go outside? It doesn't matter too much to me, as long as you're with me."

The last words hit Shane in some way, but he didn't want to read into them. Not yet. Not until he knew what was happening here.

"I'm fine with either," he said, still smiling. "But it is a nice day, and I haven't really been out since the event."

"Outside it is," Alan said. "Have you been to the plaza yet?"

Shane shook his head after a moment. "I don't think so. What's over there?"

Alan smiled warmly, nodding and already leading the way, beckoning for Shane to follow. "No spoilers. I'd rather see you experience it for the first time."

Huh.

Shane was already more mystified than he wanted to be, but he decided to turn the curiosity into a good thing. He followed along, catching up with Alan, chuckling slightly. "Alright, I'm successfully intrigued."

"Glad to hear it. I think there might be some places there you'd like," Alan said as he cast Shane a friendly smile.

Shane had questions, but he had the feeling he wasn't getting them answered, so he smiled back. "You can be my guide, in that case."

Alan nodded, and there was a natural pause here, like Alan was readying himself for a change of subject.

"I hope it's alright if I mention the events of last weekend. I want to open a dialogue and talk about whatever is on our minds. I'm always an advocate for open transparency," Alan began gently. "I first want to preface all this by saying: I'm sorry. I'm sorry if my words or actions have hurt you in any way. I truly value our time together, and I really do want to get to know you better since I genuinely like to be around you, but I apologize if that comes across as more-than-friendly. I think the events from last weekend were superficial in nature, anyways. I'd like to think it doesn't-- and shouldn't-- dictate who we spend our time with. Fortunately, I choose to be here with you right now, and I'm glad you chose to be here with me now, too."

Shane felt his thoughts fading into blankness. Ah. So this was what this was about.

He didn't know what this meant to him. Disappointment? Embarrassment? The simple awkwardness of a misunderstanding? This was... hard to hear, for some reason, and he couldn't name why.

He fought to keep a neutral face.

"I--" Wherever that sentence was going, it didn't lead him anywhere. He started over. "Yeah. Yeah, we can talk about this."

By this time, they had just started walking down a cobblestone path away from the cabins, but Alan stopped in his tracks, his attention fixed on Shane.

"Are you sure? I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable. Forgive me for being rash. I should have brought this up later," Alan said, voice still gentle.

"No, I'm fine," Shane said quickly, trying not to panic. "You're right, yeah. The thing was just by design."

Alan slowly nodded. "I can't say that it's all bad, though. I think our conversations were intriguing, and it gave me a better appreciation of you."

Shane laughed, but he couldn't keep it from sounding forced or nervous. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction. "Likewise. I did enjoy them too. But yeah, I see why..." He trailed off, the rest of his thoughts coming up blank.

"That doesn't have to change, you know," Alan said more quietly when Shane didn't finish his sentence. "We can still having engaging conversations. We can still see each other. We can still be friends. As I said, I enjoy your company, and I'd hate for a meaningless event to get in the way of our time together. We still have the rest of the summer ahead of us, and I want you in it."

Shane's smile was more genuine, even if weak. "Thanks. I appreciate it, and I'd like that too. I really do enjoy your company as well, and I want to have more of it."

It was true, and it did help to hear this. But something still bothered him. He didn't understand the hurt that felt like he'd been jabbed in the ribcage. Why should this bother him? It wasn't like he'd gone into the event trying to make something out of it. He shouldn't care about rejection if there was nothing he was being rejected over.

...So why did it feel like he cared?

Alan mirrored his smile. "That I can do." He paused, still watching Shane, like he was reading into his body language and the words he wasn't saying. "Are you okay, though? I want to make sure we both are. I'll gladly listen to whatever is on your mind. I won't be upset. I don't want you to hold back."

Shane hesitated, for a long time. He felt like he was being scrutinized, and it only made his panic worse, with him getting distracted from responses by the urgent desire to monitor every little reaction to Alan's words.

"I don't really know what there is to say," he said at last, which was at least true. "I mean, you're right."

"It's alright," Alan said reassuringly. "I don't think anything needs to be said. I'm fine with moving on if you are. I thought it would be considerate if I offered you a chance to speak, but if there's nothing to be said, that's really quite alright." He paused. "I'm sorry if I've made this awkward or uncomfortable. We can talk about something else, if you'd like."

Shane knew that five minutes after they parted ways, he'd suddenly have a million things to say. But right now, his thoughts were buzzing uselessly, and he couldn't come up with even one. It was hard enough to keep his cheeks from burning again.

Were there cameras here too, eating up their every word? How many people would be watching him get rejected-- which, again, he didn't know why it felt this way-- when this day's episode aired? Would he have to face this moment later in front of too-bright spotlights and questions that were greedy for his shaken, panicked thoughts?

Shane realized he wasn't looking at Alan anymore, but instead staring at a palm tree past him and just to the left of his ear. His gaze snapped back to his face.

"We're good," he said finally. "Everything's clear."

Alan was quiet for a moment, but then nodded and gestured ahead. "Ready to keep walking?"

Right. They were... going somewhere before Shane's mind had frozen over.

"Yeah," he said, more convincingly with a nod. "Let's keep going."

They both resumed their walk, and a short silence stretched on. But Alan broke it before it could feel too long.

"Have you been catching up on reading the last few days?" Alan asked.

Shane slowly nodded, deciding this was a good thing to have him believe. "Yeah, just that and recharging my social battery. It took some time."

"I understand. Reading is a good way to do that," Alan said, then looked ahead and sighed. "I've kind of had a weird last few days. First, I had way too much wine with my cabin mates and feel like I now know too much about Lyall and Cyrin's life, and I tossed and turned all night. And then I had to figure out what to do with an alpaca at my door. I've seen alpacas and have even ridden one, but I've never had to take care of one. As luck would have it, Clandestine has a stable with another alpaca in it. I didn't want to be an absent father to this alpaca, so I think we agreed to share custody. The responsibility must be weighing on me, because I had some weird dreams that has been keeping me up, and I had a disaster of a morning cleaning everything up. Anyways, that was yesterday, so now you know the story of how I became a part-time alpaca farmer."

Just when Shane had adjusted to one new piece of information, another plot twist came along, and he was left to process that one too. When Alan finally finished, he let out an amused, surprised laugh. "I... have so many questions. Can I ask them?"

"Yeah, I've been told I nutshell a lot," Alan said with a little laugh. "Go for it."

"Well, where to start," Shane said, shaking his head and smiling faintly. "How does an alpaca show up at your door? Did it want something?"

Alan barked a laugh at that, hand up to his face from the surprise of the question. "Sorry. Just the--" He shook his head, grinning through another laugh. "Just the thought of a random alpaca showing up at my door wanting something is so funny to me. What could it want? A treat?"

Shane laughed as well, unable to suppress a matching grin. "I don't know, but from the way you described the event, it sounded like it knocked at the door out of the blue and demanded to enter into your custody."

"That would be something, wouldn't it?" Alan said, still with the grin as he glanced back at Shane. "Maybe it did. There was a knock on the door, after all. But no, it was the present I requested from being matched. I don't know how much you know about that, but we were all brought into a random room to get a mysterious potion bottle and request any item we wanted. It had to be approved, of course, and we only had one minute to choose. Honestly, I panicked because the countdown started before I could even begin to think of what I wanted. I just went with the first thing that popped in my head." He sighed. "In retrospect, I should have gotten something much more useful and practical... like a phone. Oh well."

"Well, maybe an alpaca has its uses," Shane suggested. "Emotional support, possibly. Fluffy hugs. Or maybe the same purpose as a horse but cuter, if you can ride them. May your career as a llama farmer be fulfilling."

Alan hummed. "You're right. The alpaca's name was Lilly and she was pretty cute and fluffy. Both of them are. This could be the beginning of something new."

"If the farmer thing doesn't work out, you'll still have a fluffy alpaca," Shane said with a smile. He then remembered the other thing Alan had shared, and he glanced at his face. "You said you were feeling stressed and dreaming weird...?"

"Ah, yeah," Alan said with a dismissive wave of his hand, swatting the thought away like it was no big deal. "I jest, but I'm not actually stressed about the alpaca situation. I think Clandestine has a good grasp of taking care of them. It's not a big deal."

Shane nodded, but couldn't help but notice that Alan hadn't responded to the second part. He could leave him some space to go back to it, but he also understood if Alan would rather pass it by.

"I've had some weird dreams recently as well that also kept me up. Could be that I just wasn't sleeping enough before that, though, and I'm just a little more sleep-deprived and delirious than normal," he said, although he didn't feel like that was the reason. "I'm sure it doesn't surprise you to hear that Shrimp has the attention-seeking habit of meowing at all kinds of times at night. I love him, but why does he do that?"

"Maybe he's upset that you're not petting him while you sleep," Alan suggested with a silly smile.

"I wouldn't even be surprised," Shane said, letting out a small laugh. "He could've decided the only way to make up the handful of days he was away from me is to beg for pets in the night hours."

"Yeah, that must be it. I'm glad you have him, though. He sounds like a good companion," Alan said with a smile.

"He is," Shane said, smiling back. "He seemed excited to see you at the window. I warn you, he might not stop at my attention."

"I think he just wants attention, period," Alan said with a small laugh.

"He does," Shane said with an amused shake of his head. "I'm calling it now. One day, he'll be at another one of those events, and he'll go--" He paused. "--bonkers. He'll be so offended that I didn't tell him there were so many other people on this island."

"Maybe it's best that he doesn't know, then," Alan said, smile growing, but out of intrigue and amusement.

"We'll see how long I can keep the truth from him," Shane said, meeting his gaze with another smile. "Anyway. I hope you get some more sleep and fewer demanding alpacas showing up unannounced at your doorstep."

"You too." Alan paused. "About the sleep part, I mean. I hope there aren't demanding alpacas showing up at your doorstep."

"Let's hope not. That probably means there's been a stable breakout," Shane said, chuckling. "Clanny would be worried."

"Well, apparently alpacas are social creatures who should be around other alpacas. So, not impossible, and maybe it's not a bad thing," Alan mused.

Shane rubbed his jaw, still smiling. "Wow, you sound more like a full-time alpaca farmer than a part-time farmer. Are you sure you're not new to this?"

"Please. I wish I could take the credit, but the only farm I've ever stepped foot on was a vineyard. And that's only to pick up local wines," Alan said with a chuckle.

"Well, you're learning fast," Shane said, chuckling as well. "Maybe you'll be full-time by the end of our stay."

They kept up their talk as they got to the end of the cobblestone path, and Shane saw the plaza coming into view. A gallery of stores and shops were scattered around the center of the island, and the variety he saw was surprising. He'd have expected the essentials, not two of everything. How did the DMV do it?

The island had a lot of surprises. At least this wasn't a terrible one.

"I take it you've been here before?" Shane asked, glancing around.

"A few times before, yes," Alan said with a nod. "I think there are a few cafes here, actually, although I haven't been in any of them. Do you want to check them out?"

Shane perked up a little. "I could use a third cup."

"Third cup?" Alan said incredulously. "How are you functioning?"

"I only function with one or more cups," Shane said, with a slightly self-conscious laugh. "You haven't met uncaffeinated me. Let's hope you don't."

"Hm. I feel like I shouldn't be enabling this," Alan said with a laugh and shake of his head. "Yet..." He gestured to the line of shops ahead of them. "Here we are, with me asking you to pick a place that catches your eye."

"You probably don't want to hear me say all of them," Shane said, grinning a little. "Oh, well. There's other days."

After some examination of the three coffee shops within view-- three. Not even his campus had had such a high density of cafes-- Shane indicated a cozy-looking one with a brick interior, incandescent light bulbs glowing in the window, and a poster of a coffee with latte art.

"That one calls to me," he said.

"Alright," Alan said with a hum and a nod. "Let's check it out."

They made their way over to the cafe, and Shane opened the door for them, wrapping his sleeve around his hand again. A bell jingled as he did, and instantly, he was hit by the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, which was almost overpowering. He looked back to Alan.

"They've got coffee here, alright," he said, with a bit of a laugh.

They went up to the counter, looking over the menu of options. Shane looked the closest at the lattes, but there were a wealth of other options.

"What are you thinking you'll get?" he asked Alan curiously.

Alan quickly glanced through the menu. "What's your usual go-to order?" he asked.

Shane hummed. "I like lattes with some kind of flavor. Like lavender. Or caramel. But not both together," he added with a slight laugh.

"Do you have a favorite flavor?" Alan asked.

"It's often those two," Shane said. "But if a place has a unique or distinctive flavor, I like to give it a try."

"What are your thoughts on rose flavoring?" Alan asked as his gaze rested on the large line of syrups and flavor enhancers available.

"It's delicate and light, but uniquely distinct and floral," Shane mused. "Like the bouquet of flavors. I like it."

What he didn't mention was that he'd first gotten introduced to rose water by his mom. It had become a favorite as a result of her liking it first, but he hadn't tried anything rose-flavored since her death.

"Sounds perfect. I think I'll try a rose latte, then," Alan said with a smile.

Shane smiled back. "I'll have one too." He turned to the barista with the nametag saying Shaniece, who was just moving over to the counter. "Hey, can we please get--"

The barista went from melting on the counter from boredom to chipper in the blink of an eye. With a click of her tongue and finger guns, the barista said amicably, "You got it, Cover Girl, Cinderella."

And before either could question, she turned and got straight to work.

Shane glanced to Alan, frowning slightly and giving him his best What? expression.

Alan was stared at the barista slightly aghast until he slow-blinked and shook his head, mustering a small smile. "No clue," he muttered.

"Someone else already called me Cinderella," Shane murmured. "It was Hendrik."

"Why would he call you that?" Alan asked with a raised brow.

"I..." Shane rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I don't even know. He didn't explain, even when I asked." He paused. "He called Lyall 'cowboy', too."

"Weird. That doesn't make too much sense, but he does seem to call people nonsensical names," Alan said.

"He had to come up with them somehow," Shane said, a little worriedly. "And they've caught on, apparently."

"Maybe you could ask the barista for answers, if you want them," Alan suggested.

Shane glanced at the barista-- Shaniece-- who was just finishing up a first drink, bopping her head to the beat of a song playing overhead. Suddenly, he felt very nervous about the idea of asking.

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Maybe."

Alan hesitated as he glanced between Shane and Shaniece, then back to Shane, then back to Shaniece, before finally saying, "If it bothers you... I can ask for you, if you'd like."

Shane let out a quiet, nervous laugh. "I mean, only if you really don't mind. I don't want to make you do anything for me."

"I don't mind," Alan said with a smile. "I'll ask when she's done."

Shane smiled back gratefully, feeling relieved. "Thank you."

A minute later, Shaniece came back with their identical drinks, setting them in front of them.

"Anything else I can get ya, dudes?" she offered, tucking her hands in the pockets of her waist apron.

"Thank you, Shaniece," Alan said with a smile, sliding both drinks towards him. "I'm saying your name right, right?"

Shaniece grinned. "As if you've been saying it all your life."

Alan mirrored her grin. "Do you usually work in this cafe?"

"Only sometimes," she answered. She took off the cap with the cafe logo emblazoned on the top to look at it. "If you're paying close enough attention, you'll find me with the boom mic most days."

Alan hummed, offering one of the drinks to Shane while she spoke before turning his attention back towards her. "I thought I recognized you. There are a lot of faces on the island, so it can be hard to keep track." His smile widened, more playful in nature. "Part time barista, part time video editor. You keep things interesting."

She winked playfully. "You know it."

Shane put on a faint smile, glancing sneakily at Alan out of the corner of his eye while wrapping his fingers around his drink. Well, it was good Alan was asking instead of him-- he wouldn't have done so well with the conversation and charm. It was fascinating to see him talk as an outsider to the chat.

Alan laughed through his nose, then lifted his hand up high as if he was mirroring someone's height. "Have you ever talked to Hendrik? Big, tall man, yay high. Uses a lot of nicknames." He brought his hand down, still smiling. "I figure you see a lot of contestants since you're around them a lot."

Shaniece's face lit up with recognition. "Aw, no, not directly," she laughed, "but I watch my buddy edit a lot, so I've seen Henny plenty. Guy's a riot!"

"He is funny, isn't he? But also confusing at times since he doesn't give much context," Alan said with a nod. "Is that where the Cinderella nickname came from?"

Shaniece bit her lip, trying to suppress a wider, knowing smile. "Hope you like the drinks," she said instead, waving them farewell with her hat as she walked backwards to the counter. "Tell me honestly if they suck, I ain't done this a ton."

Shane slowly blinked, biting his lip as well. Ah. Why was everyone being so weird about this?

"I'll make sure to leave a message during a random, unsuspecting time for you to edit out later," Alan joked, giving her a small wave. "Thanks."

"Better be strongly worded," she insisted with a laugh, then hopped the counter to clean up.

"Thanks," Shane called softly.

With Shaniece having dismissed herself from the conversation, Alan turned to Shane instead.

"Do you want to stay or drink this somewhere else?" he asked.

Shane put on the faint smile again. This kind of cafe normally had just the right ambiance for him, but the awkwardness of the exchange left him feeling like he wanted to leave.

"Either one's fine by me," he said instead.

"Let's go to another one, or at least sit outside," Alan suggested with a smile. "It's a beautiful day."

Shane laughed softly. "Are you suggesting a fourth cup of coffee?"

"Should I start putting limits on you?" Alan teased.

Shane let out a puff of laughter through his nose. "How would you restrict me?"

"One word," Alan said with a playful smile as he held the exit door open for him to leave first. "Decaf."

Shane instantly made an exaggerated expression of disgust as he passed through the door, scrunching up his face. "I have one word for you too. Vile."

Alan laughed, gently shutting the door behind him as they stepped back into the plaza. "Then I have a proposition for you. We go to another cafe, but we get food instead of more coffee, and then we eat outside. How does that sound?"

Shane smiled at him, more brightly now. "Much better."

The cafe Alan guided him to happened to be the next place down, and again, Shane marveled at the variety of options this plaza had. This one seemed to have more bakery options, and as they walked in, the smell of break and baked goods was stronger than the smell of the coffee.

As they stood in front of the bakery display, examining their options, the porthole doors to the kitchen swung open. A very tall, very muscled man came out in a tshirt and a while apron, smiling at them brightly. He had a huge trio of scars where one eye used to be, which directly contrasted the vibes of the man's croissant stud earrings. This must've been Bo, the head caterer that Eve had talked to. It was confirmed by his nametag, which just read: "Bo."

"Hey, guys!" Bo greeted, coming up behind the counter. "See anything you like?"

Shane's expression brightened a little. He hadn't met Bo before, and he hadn't been expecting this to be his appearance, but he pretty much owed James's party to this man.

"Bo!" he said. "It's good to finally meet you. Thanks again for your catering."

"Oh!" Bo laughed. "Dude. Of course! It was my pleasure. It's good to finally meet you, too."

"James really appreciated it," Shane said-- at least, that was what he figured. "Do you usually run this bakery?"

"Eh, I have a few different shifts," Bo said. "Kinda depends on my workload elsewhere. What are you two up to today?"

Shane glanced at Alan, taking a sip of his coffee and holding it up for Bo to see. "Just coffee so far, but we planned to complement it with food."

"Sounds like a good plan," Bo said with a smile. "What're you hungry for?"

Shane turned towards Alan. "Anything in particular you were thinking of? We did get the same coffee, so we could get the same thing here too."

"Only if you want to. I only want you to get food you'd like," Alan said with a smile, then turned to Bo with a nod. "It's nice to meet you, by the way, Bo. Did you do most of the baking here?"

"Yes," Bo said with a smile. "All of it was made with love and care. And dough. Except for the things that aren't bread."

Shane let out a light laugh. "It all looks very good. Especially the pastries."

"I love that," Alan said, still with a smile. "What's your favorite bake? I know it must be hard to pick one, but I'd be curious to hear what you recommend."

Bo hummed, tapping his chin as he looked down into the long display case of various tasty pastries.

"I'm a sucker for a good lemon tart," he said. "I'm particularly proud of those."

"I do love a good citrusy treat," Alan mused. "Alright, you've convinced me. May I have one of them to try?"

"For sure," Bo said, putting on some gloves and grabbing a pair of tongs. "What about you, Shane?"

"I'll have the chef's choice as well, please," Shane said with a smile. "I'm also a fan of lemon tarts."

With a smile, Bo pulled out two of them, setting each on their own paper plate. Passing them across the counter, he nodded.

"Forks are over there by the napkins and cups," he said. "Let me know if you need anything else!"

"Thank you," Shane said, giving him a warm smile before grabbing forks and napkins for two.

When they left the bakery and stepped into the plaza again, the sky overhead had gained some darkening gray clouds, rolling in over the blue. Balancing his coffee in one hand and the plate, fork and tart in the other, Shane looked up at the sky, an idea occurring to him.

"If you don't already have an idea of where to go," he said to Alan, "I might have a suggestion."

"Oh?" Alan said with a raised brow and intrigued smile. "And what might that be?"

"I think I mentioned that islands are a great place to watch the weather roll in," Shane said, smiling back a little shyly. "The clouds form over the sea and blow over to the land. There should be a cliff towards the nearest shore that would be a good viewpoint for it."

Alan grinned, beaming at the idea. "I love that idea. Let's do it. Do you have a specific cliff in mind? How long would it take to get there?"

Shane laughed and grinned back, relieved that Alan liked the plan. "I've seen one to our right, facing the same way the wind is blowing from," he said, lifting one finger from his coffee cup to point in the right direction. "I'd assume maybe five minutes walking."

"No better time than the present," Alan said with a smile, then gestured for Shane to walk in front of him. "Lead the way. I'd love to see this place of yours."

Shane met his eyes with a smile for a moment longer before he did lead the way, turning to take them in his best guess at the direction.

Luckiky-- because he would hate to lead Alan the wrong way-- his memory of the cliff's location was correct, and so was his estimation of the time it took to get there. It was a slight uphill path over a grassy meadow, each step leading them higher and closer to the ocean. When they reached the edge, Shane stood over the drop for a moment, scanning the dark rocky cliffs and the seaspray crashing against them with awe. The sky had turned a new shade of gray since they'd left the plaza.

"Yeah," he said finally, turning back to Alan with a smile. "This is what I was picturing."



"It's beautiful," Alan said with awe as the grass gently billowed in the wind and grazed their legs. He gazed with wonder over the ocean, allowing himself a moment to take it all in before he turned to Shane with a warm smile. "Thank you for taking me here. It's perfect."

Shane let out a laugh, feeling shy all of a sudden. "I'm glad you like it. I've been thinking of going here for a bit, and this seemed like a good time to see it."

"You've seen it from a distance, but never came here yourself?" Alan asked with surprise, but then let out a soft smile, his smile widening. "Then I'm glad I can experience it here with you now."

Shane dropped his gaze bashfully for a moment, laughing softly again, but the smile on his face came easier to him, brighter than it had been in a while. "I'm glad too," he said sincerely, waving Alan over with a full hand while still smiling, then lowered himself to the ground and set the coffee and plate beside him in the grass. "The view is best sitting close to the cliff. You get to watch the clouds roll in comfortably and simply be."

Alan followed his lead, sitting next to him and setting his coffee beside his so he could brush his hand against the breezy prairie grass. "Every day I discover something new and beautiful on this island. It's such a joy and blessing to feel awestruck with wonder daily."

Shane took his own coffee again, cupping it in both hands and letting it warm his palms. He'd considered getting it iced, but with the wind blowing in over the ocean with little cover, he was glad for the warmth. "This island feels like the cover of a travel magazine for a place you'll always want to go to, but can't ever see yourself getting there," he said. "There's a stunning perfection to its appearances. It adds to the feeling of doubt that what you're seeing is really you being here." He cut off a piece and took a bite of the lemon tart, which was the perfect blend of sweet and sour-- he appreciated Bo's recommendation.

"I think a lot of aspects of the island is fabricated and artificial, and they don't need to fabricate nature's natural beauty," Alan said, gaze resting over the ocean and sky. "It does feel like a dream, though. Personally, it's felt like a dream since the first day. I know not every day is perfect, but being here has been a nice change of pace."

Shane nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. The latte had a flowery fragrance, almost like perfume, and it hurt his heart a little at how familiar it was. "It does keep things from feeling monotonous," he agreed, looking over to Alan. "Does life outside the island feel a bit that way?"

Alan leaned back with his arm extended behind him to balance his weight, briefly getting distracted by the grass again before he relaxed and rested his gaze towards the sky again. The sun was completely covered by clouds now. It had been since they exited the first coffee shop, and more clouds were rolling in from the horizon.

"A little," Alan said after thinking about it for a few seconds. "Well, maybe a lot. It's easy to get lost in the noise of life. It's one of the reasons why I decided to go on the recent hike. It's a different change of pace, and one I welcomed and looked forward to. Island life here isn't any different from that concept, except I didn't exactly willingly come here. But it certainly is a refreshing change of pace."

Shane hummed softly. "I can see why it'd be nice to get the feeling of a fresh start, even if it's just for a few months. I'm still a little conflicted overall, however. It's a relief to get away from the world's demands; however, I don't know that I wanted to leave the world behind."

"I think of it more like... a rest. Some time to breathe, self-reflect, and grow before moving on. We're not entirely disconnected, although if you need to disconnect, that's fine too. The world keeps spinning whether or not we decide to play in its symphony. It's up to us to decide when that is, though," Alan said, then paused. "That's how I view it, anyways. I know everyone's story is different."

Shane dropped one hand to run his fingers through the grass, thinking of how he was expected to keep the world spinning. Of James, disconnected from the world without wanting to be. Of the enigmatic ways the island wanted them to let down their guard and take advantage of it.

"Has it felt... restful here?" Shane asked. "I don't think I've known peace since I got here, exactly."

"I think it's too soon to draw definite conclusions." Alan turned his focus back on Shane, offering a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry that you haven't felt at peace since coming here, though."

Shane let out a quiet laugh, brushing windswept hair out of his face. "Maybe I'm not patient enough. I don't know. I've always been caught being playing the optimist and the pessimist."

"Nothing wrong with that. You are who you are, and you feel what you feel," Alan said.

Shane gave him a soft, solemn smile before he turned his head to the cliff again. A gust picked up, and there was a short silence, with only the hiss of crashing waves and the wind.

"I'll still work on it," he said. "Getting more hopeful, I mean."

"That's all we can do, at the end of the day, isn't it?" Alan mused. "Hope. It's such a human emotion, and one that fuels us to strive to live another day. The absence of hope is despair, after all-- and there's only so much despair a heart can take before it chips away at our humanity."

Shane was silent for a few moments, his smile beginning to slowly fall as he stared into the waves. The contrast between the sky and ocean was becoming stronger as the clouds brewed a deeper gray.

"I think so too," he said finally. "Which is-- one reason I'll make the effort. It's one of those things that feel like they're easier said than done, but--" He shrugged, a faint, helpless smile spreading over his face. "I don't know what I have if I don't try. I've had enough people try to drag me out of despair, and despite their best efforts, it seems like it's up to me most of all."

"I'm sorry," Alan said more quietly after a brief pause, sitting up straight and giving him his full attention due to the sudden heaviness of the topic. "I know it must be hard. You're strong for not giving up."

Shane smiled sadly at him. "Thanks," he said quietly. He was aware he'd darkened the mood-- he didn't know how he managed to always do that. It was like all his thoughts led him back to the same thing, so that no matter where he started, he'd end up there somehow. He was tired of it happening, and he felt like others were too. Maybe it was best to stop this subject in its tracks.

Turning partly to Alan, Shane had another sip of his coffee, taking a deep breath.

"So," he said, with a little more of a smile and after enough of a silence had passed for the change of subject to not seem jarring, "I've been wondering about the third question we didn't get to answer. What's something you've always wanted to try but haven't gotten around to doing?"

Alan cast Shane a small smile before finally reaching for his coffee, taking a drawn-out sip. "Do you want a silly or serious answer?" he asked when finished.

Shane smiled slightly more. "I'd like both, if you don't mind sharing."

Alan nodded, carefully setting the coffee back down, hand out in front of it as a cautionary measure since the grass wasn't completely flat. Satisfied when it stood still, he then fell flat on his back with a soft thud, now laying on the grass.

"I interpreted this question to be a regret," Alan said more longingly, staring up at the sky with his hands folded together on his chest. "What's something you wish you could have done in the past, but didn't? At least, that's how I interpreted it for a serious answer."

Shane nodded. "I think that's a deeper question to ask."

There was a long beat of silence, and he wondered if he should've reacted more. But Alan spoke again before he could.

"I wish I went to music school," Alan finally responded, breaking the silence. "I did apply to places. I had some rejections, but I also had some acceptances. It didn't matter in the end, since I decided not to go. I denied all the offers." He sighed deeply. "I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if I decided to go, but I try not to dwell on the past. I can't say that it hasn't been a regret that follows me every day, though."

Shane nodded, looking at him with empathy. "It's difficult to consider closed paths in life, especially when they come to personal dreams. It can feel like grieving a loss that never quite existed." That, at least, he understood. "I do believe that some paths don't close off entirely, however. They can still be taken later in life, even if it's with different opportunities. You're a musician, so you can correct me on this if it sounds false-- but something I've heard is that it's never too late to learn an instrument, for example. It might not come with the same ease as it would to someone younger, but the pathway and the option to learn isn't closed from you forever once you've reached a certain point in life."

You were denied from every school. Stravos' declaration came back to Shane. He now knew for sure it was false, but the truth didn't seem any less painful to Alan.

"I know. You're right," Alan said with another sigh. "I often say this too, especially when others are hesitant to experience the joys of learning music. I teach music, too, so I'm a big proponent that it's never too late to start." He paused, hesitating. "I'm mostly referring to the gap between playing as a hobbyist and playing as a professional. Of course, I'll always be a musical hobbyist. But I lack the challenge of a professional setting to grow every year, and I often hit walls where I feel uninspired and uninterested. The regret isn't that I wish I could play more music. The regret is about lost potential. It's about lost dreams. It's seeing yourself grow into mediocrity and forced to be okay with it-- all because there isn't another path. And if there is another path, it's equally or less fulfilling than the one you're on now. And I know. I know this is a cliche of every struggling artist trying to make it big in the world. It's frustrating, but it's a reality of life. We can't always chase after dreams and do what we love. Reality comes crashing in sooner or later."

That hit a little close to home for Shane, and he had to think for a few moments, finishing a bite of the lemon tart.

"It's okay to mourn that loss," he said softly. "It really does hurt to see dreams go away. I'm still grieving mine, and I don't see a new path opening up for me. But I hold hope for you. You might find a new dream that you're free to pursue-- and if you can find it, I hope you can pursue it as far as you want to."

"Maybe," Alan said as he brought his arm up his face, resting the back of his forearm on his forehead, still focused on the sky. "Opportunities are limited, but it's one of the reasons why I think I needed a change of pace. Start a new chapter. Seek new opportunities. Do something different and make something of myself. I'm not ready to give up yet."

Shane smiled gently. "That seems like a good choice. Even if it feels more out of necessity than desire, starting anew can be a chance to get somewhere better."

Alan paused again, reflecting. "Maybe I need to live a humbler life. I'll sell all my things and save up my money. Then I'll move in the mountains and live the rest of my life as a monk," he said in a more deadpan voice.

Shane let out a surprised laugh. "Is that your sillier answer?"

"Or maybe I'll join the circus. People join the circus when they enter a mid-life crisis as a young adult," Alan dryly said instead.

"Ah, now that's more silly," Shane said, equally seriously. "Clown or acrobat?"

"Neither. I'd be a juggler," Alan said, but then hummed. "Although maybe I could pull off being an acrobat. That's basically like dancing in the air. But I don't think I have the strength or balance for it."

"Never too late to learn, remember?" Shane let out a faint laugh, then sipped his coffee again. "Although I'm assuming your sillier answer is, in fact, something different."

Alan let another lingering pause pass.

"I've always wanted to dance in the rain," he said. "Most people would rather run to get out of the rain, but something about taking an otherwise gloomy situation and turning it into a dance feels special to me."

Not expecting that, Shane smiled, watching Alan's face. "That does sound special. Liberating, even. To be among the elements and not even care because you get to turn it into a beautiful, freeing, creative moment-- or welcome the rain, even, because it adds something to that moment that wouldn't be there otherwise. It's a lovely idea."

Alan sat up half-way, using his elbows to prop himself up so he could turn to smile at Shane. "I'm glad you think so. That's exactly my thought process, too. I haven't done it yet, but all things come with time, and I'm patient."

"It takes the right moment," Shane said with a nod, still smiling at him. "Maybe I'll add it to the things I want to do when the time is right."

"How long is that list?" Alan asked.

Shane laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. "It's not exactly quantitative-- and I wouldn't call it a bucket list, either. When I come up with a goal-- which I do at least every new year-- I try to give it a time frame, even if that time frame is ten years. It keeps me aspiring to those things, and it means I won't run out of things to do, because I keep making new ones."

Alan softly hummed, sitting up all the way. He smiled warmly at Shane, quickly running his hands through his hair to push away strands of grass.

"Alright. So what's your nearest and farthest goal, then?" he asked.

Shane smiled a little wider, glancing out toward the horizon for a moment before looking back at Alan.

"My nearest one is in six months," he said. "I made it when I was twenty-three. It's to write a poem. I've grown up reading poetry, and I've had family members who wrote poems as well-- I've been told I could do the same. I'm not sure, but I'm looking for the chance to try. I've had the inspiration, but mostly, I need the confidence."

"That's always half the battle, isn't it?" Alan said, his smile growing wide. "That's such a lovely goal. In fact, I challenge you to be more ambitious. You have six months to write it, but what if it's condensed to three? There's so much inspiration on this island, I know you can write one before you leave. It's the perfect place to find your inner muse."

Shane laughed, pressing a hand to his face. "Did you just hijack my goal? Alright. Challenge accepted."

Alan laughed as well, his grin lingering brightly. "Really? I can't wait to hear about it." He paused. "If you're willing to share, that is. You don't have to if you don't want to. I always love hearing any story about art."

"If I'm brave enough to write it," Shane mused, "I could be brave enough to share it with an encouraging audience."

"Are you giving me permission to hassle you about it, then?" Alan asked playfully.

"I might regret this," Shane muttered, chuckling and shaking his head. "Yes. I give you permission."

"I need to bask in this glory. One moment," Alan said teasingly, holding up a finger. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, letting two seconds pass in silence before he dropped he nodded and focused again, dropping his hand. "Done. I'm basked."

Shane grinned. "Just don't make me regret it," he joked.

"I could never," Alan said, meeting Shane's gaze in the natural pause that followed. "But you also haven't shared your long term goal yet. I'd be interested in hearing that as well."

Shane tapped his fingers on his coffee cup, pondering. It was strange to him how this goal came from less than half a year ago, and yet it felt like everything had changed in his life since then.

"It's from the start of this year," he said. "I gave myself ten years for it. It was to go on an archeological expedition-- nowhere in particular, but probably for a historical region I studied-- and perform research there. Nowadays, I wish I'd given myself more like fifteen years, but I'll find some way to make it work before then."

"I admire how goal-oriented you are. That's a good goal to have. Even if you never set a time frame on it, I'm sure you'd get around to doing it anyways, because it's very you," Alan said with a sincere smile.

Shane's own smile softened at that. "Thank you. It would be a dream, and I can see it happening. It's just a matter of working for it."

He felt something soft and cold fall on his hand, and he looked up. The clouds overhead and above the ocean were now storm gray, looming heavily. The next drop of rain fell, and then the next, and the next. Soon enough, the two of them were sitting in the rain, getting showered with water.

"Ah," Shane said with a laugh, tilting his head back while watching Alan. "It looked like it might lead to rain."

"Perfect timing, hm?" Alan said with a small laugh, now crouching to grab his cup and the lemon tart he hadn't eaten yet. "Let's get out of here before it gets too wet."

Alan then took a giant bite of the tart, eating half of it at once as he stood up, multi-tasking as he brushed away the grass and balanced the coffee in his other hand. Shane got to his feet as well, finishing the remainder of his tart quickly, but by the time he had eaten the last bite, the rain was considerably heavier.

"Might be too late for that," he remarked, with another slight laugh.

Alan managed to somehow smash the rest of the tart in his mouth, almost comically, having to chew it with full cheeks as he held a hand out in front of him. He didn't otherwise move, because the rain was heavier now. The skies were graying, but there were no signs of a thunderstorm. Just an onslaught of heavy rain with little warning, completely soaking their clothes.

"What is up with us somehow always getting wet together?" Alan asked more loudly with a laugh when he finally finished through his tart, trying to carry his voice through the downpour.

"I have no idea," Shane said loudly with a laugh of his own. "I'd call it coincidence, though the both of us weren't exactly buyers on that idea."

Alan grinned through a laugh, looking up at the sky and letting the rain wash down upon him. "So you think it's fate."

Shane grinned back, now drenched as well, but not minding the heavy rainfall. "Could be."

And, as neither of them minded, they stood in the rain without making any attempts to get out of it. A comfortable silence fell between them, filled only with the sound of rushing rain.

Until, finally, Alan rested his gaze back to Shane with a big grin. "Do you want to dance?"

A strange delight filled Shane, and his grin widened. With Alan having mentioned the aspiration in this conversation and with Shane having decided to do it as well, it felt like the perfect time to do it. He had the thought of saying that he couldn't dance-- or rather, that he didn't know how to. But that wasn't a concern at the moment. He would be dancing in the rain, and that was not a time to worry about appearances or skill. Only seeking the joy and thrill of the exciting moment.

Meeting Alan's gaze, Shane nodded decisively, still smiling wide. "Yes."

3:21am. The clock glowed with white light, burning into his irises the cursed hour of his waking, and he found that this time, he hadn't even woken up from the nightmare. It'd played through in its entirety, and he'd fallen back asleep. Now the memory of it was dim, making him feel like he'd walked his soul through mud, but he couldn't remember why. His eyes were stinging, and after lying in his bed with aimless stillness, he eventually got up and got his eye drops.

Sometimes James wondered if one day he'd just fall over.

He knew all of the practical statistics about long-term sleep deprivation. It wasn't like he didn't want to sleep, but the consistent struggle to stay asleep was almost as exhausting as the lack of sleep itself. He was tired of being tired, but he was tired of sleeping just as difficult.

In the bathroom, James took a moment to wash his face, tie up his hair, and brush his teeth. Sometimes waking up when the sun was still down reminded him of shift sleep, back in the army. He sometimes wondered if that was part of the reason why he could never stay asleep for longer than four or five hours at most. Even when he'd been at home, it was the same. It was like he was still on guard, even when he didn't have to be. He wished there was a way to rewire his brain - to retrain it so it didn't feel the need to keep an eye out for monsters at all times. He wasn't working to protect the borders anymore.

He was... well. Maybe it came in handy, now. But even on the island, there was no one gunning for his life.

At least, not yet.

Trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom and the paranoia that never left, James went back to his room and put on his running shoes and shorts. He didn't bother changing his shirt. Every night he woke up sweaty, and then he got sweaty again running off the stress. He didn't feel like adding more to his pile of laundry.

Maybe it was gross, but it was 3am, and he didn't care. He hardly ever ran into anyone outside at this hour.

So he ran again. Around the entirety of the island, this time, because he never once took the same route. It took him a little longer, but he kept up a fast pace, and he ended up back around the cabins by no later than 4am.

Too tired to head inside immediately, and enjoying the cool of the night, James decided to sit out by the oceanside, just within range for the waves to pass over his bare feet. Lying down, he looked up at the stars.

He wondered what his family was up to.

Were they okay? Were they worried about him? He imagined when they couldn't get a hold of him that they might've tried everything, to no avail. Watching Isalnd Magic was probably their only window into his life, right now, and it was limited. Recontextualized. Who knew how things changed with just the right amount of editing and snipping things out?

The waves began to crawl up his legs, beginning to get his shorts wet. The water was cold, and he could feel it seep into his bones. But he didn't really care.

It was quiet. And for once, it felt like he had the whole island to himself without another soul--

"Mrow," a cat meowed from behind him.

James blinked. Before he could react, the cat jumped onto his stomach, kneading his skin. He didn't really have the reaction time to process what was going on as he stared at the bald, hairless cat in bewilderment, wondering where the hell it came from.

It was... wearing a shirt.

He squinted. The cat walked in circles and then curled up, purring against James's chest.

Then a shadow fell over him.

"Ham, leave the hairy man alone. He's trying to sleep," Hendrik's voice said above him.

"Uh..." James stared up at Hendrik, who towered above him, looking down.

For a second they shared very awkward eye contact.

"Is this... your cat?" James asked.

"Ham," Hendrik said again, like that was an explanation. "I think she likes you. Must be because you're warm and sweaty."

That. Okay. James didn't really know how to respond to that.

"Oh," he said simply, looking down at the cat. He hesitantly reached out and patted the cat's head. She purred loudly, nestled on his chest and setting her head down on him.

Ham. So that was it's name?

"Just takin' my cat on a walk at 4am. As a responsible cat owner does," Hendrik went on, hands on his hips while still staring down at him. "What are you doing up at this hour? Trying to drown?"

"I wouldn't have to try that hard," James said. "I sink."

It wasn't an answer to his question, and it wasn't helpful either. He continued to pet the cat's head.

"Is that what you're doing, then? Trying to sink?" Hendrik asked, taking the joke seriously.

"No. I went for a run. Then I laid down to look at the stars. I like the feeling of the water on my feet," he answered more honestly.

Hendrik let out a "hmph!" and then finally stepped more out of view, at least for a moment. His tall, shadowy outline moved to walk past James, closer to the water. It seemed that Hendrik heeded James's words and was went closer to the water so it could also lap over his feet.

"It is nice, isn't it?" Hendrik said.

James craned his head slightly so he could look at Hendrik, his figure shadowed and turned away.

"Only to those whose opinion is so," James answered, essentially adding nothing to the conversation.

"Nothing like a good man's talk in the middle of the night, feet in wet sand, cat on your chest," Hendrik went on.

James blinked.

"Yeah," he said blankly.

"What's on your mind, punchy? Thinking deep thoughts?" Hendrik suddenly asked.

For a second, James wondered if Hendrik was actually sober.

"I was just wondering how my family's doing," he answered, a little quieter. "I haven't been able to contact them since I got here."

"Why's that? It's important to keep in touch with your folks while you're away," Hendrik said.

"I've tried everything I can think of," James said. "Nothing goes through. And my phone is dead."

He didn't think he should mention it was likely Hendrik's fault that his phone died.

"There isn't a shortage of phones on this island, lad. Have you tried borrowing someone else's phone?" Hendrik asked.

"Yes," James answered. "The messages fail every time. Calls won't go through either."

He understood that Hendrik was trying to be helpful in some way by asking James if he'd explored all of his options. But that was the thing: James had already explored all of his options that were reasonable. Anything else would look like trying to leave the island or break into the main mansion, where restrictions might look different for communication.

"Well, that can't be right," Hendrik said, hands back on his hips. "What about the internet? Have you tried contacting them through there?"

"I have," James said with a small sigh. "I... I really have tried everything, Hendrik. I think the DMV just wants to keep me isolated."

In an attempt to sit up, he grabbed Ham gently, trying to pry her off his chest. In protest, she shot her claws through his shirt, into his skin, meowing in displeasure. He flopped back down on his back.

"Okay, okay," he muttered to the cat. "Sorry. Nevermind. Lying down, it is, then."

"We're going to be here for a while. She's chosen you," Hendrik said with a deep chuckle.

"I can see that," James said. "She's quite persistent."

"It's because you radiate warmth like a space heater."

James piched his brows together. "Did you learn that watching the morning show?" he asked.

"Hmph. Did I not learn it from you?" Hendrik asked instead, turning his head towards him, but the darkness of the night still overshadowed him.

James hesitated.

"I... really don't remember," he said. "But I guess it doesn't matter."

"Must have learned it from TV, then," Hendrik said. "Been learning some interesting facts about everyone that way. You should give it a watch sometime."

James was beginning to wonder just how much Hendrik was interacting with the others on the island. It almost felt lke he was talking to someone sheltered from the events that had taken place, or like Hendrik himself was just another viewer, placed inside this competition as the only one with access to the stream like some kind of experiment.

"I would," James said slowly. "But we don't have access to the show from our cabin. Even our internet blocks any websites about Auslanii or Island Magic."

"Maybe you need to give your TV a whack. Sometimes mine acts up on me too," Hendrik said.

James pressed his lips into a line.

"Act up how?" James decided to ask.

"Those damn bunny ears, I swear. Giving me damn static," Hendrik grumbled. "The hell they're thinking installing those? What is this, the caveman era? The nerve of the staff. It's insufferable, always cutting out when things are about to get good."

"Always?" James asked.

"Not always. Comes in and out," Hendrik corrected.

"Hm," James hummed. Maybe Hendrik's viewing experience was being curated after all. It made sense that they wouldn't just let him know everything. He wondered what determined what was filtered and what wasn't.

"That sounds very troublesome indeed," James empathized, deciding not to voice his observations.

Hendrik didn't seem to catch on to James's earlier implications that his inability to contact his family was a deliberate move on the DMV's part, so he didn't expect Hendrik to quickly jump the wagon into what would probably sound like a conspiracy theory to him.

"I'm sorry it's been frustrating," James said.

And then he had a thought.

"Do you think I could come and watch the morning show with you sometime?" he asked. "What time does it usually air?"

"The most popular contestant wants to spend time with his buddy Hendrik?" Hendrik said with a grin in his voice. "Hah! Of course you can come by. Usually airs twice a week, on the weekend at 8AM."

Ah. Well. James could manage that. He was already up several hours before 8am, anyway.

"I'll try to make it, then," James said. "I'll bring coffee, if you drink it."

"No need. I've got my morning vodka," Hendrik said with a shake of his head. "Come by over more, if you want. Maybe then I won't be cut from the footage."

That gave James pause. If anything, at least to sigh. Was that really something Hendrik cared about? Why did he want to be on TV anyway?

"What does being on TV mean to you?" James asked after a small delay.

Hendrik scoffed. "To be famous, of course. I have a brand to advertise."

James understood where Hendrik was coming from, and there genuinely was not judgement towards him, but he couldn't help but sigh a little. He and Hendrik were coming from very different backgrounds and approaches to this situation. He also imagine that, aside from, perhaps, Hendrik not getting along with his wolven roommate, that the man's stay on the island had been relatively seamless. Not too many bumps in the road, aside from perhaps a lack of "exposure" due to his decreased popularity as a contestant.

Their priorities were in two very different places. James couldn't really blame him. It didn't sound like Hendrik had too much at risk in being here, but he did wonder if Hendrik worried at all how his life might change after the DMV.

Did he not worry that they might change the course of his life? The DMV had that power.

That was the reason the DMV existed. It was to help "place mages into where they belonged in the world." So that their magic could (allegedy) be used to enact the most good for both the user and the world.

Or so the saying went. James had little hope for the DMV actually having any of the contestant's best interests at heart.

James found himself falling silent, lost in thought as he idly pet the purring cat lying on top of him.

"So you really can't contact your folks out home, hm?" Hendrik said, breaking the silence when it dragged on too long. "Why do you think that is?"

Pressing his lips together faintly, he tried to think of a way to answer that didn't sound too self-pitying. He really didn't want a lecture right now.

"I have a suspicion," he said quietly. "That, perhaps, after my innapropriate outburst towards Oliver on the first night, that cutting off contact to my family and others back home may have been enacted on me as a punishment for my behavior."

"Of course the man would be upset. You punched him. What were you thinking? That's like punching the president," Hendrik scolded. "Cutting you off from your folks sounds like too-shady behavior, though. It must be something else."

Right. Because the DMV was never beyond doing anything shady before. As if the DMV hadn't already stalked them all to kingdom come, digging up everything they could about their lives just to obsessively personalize their bedrooms. Hendrik seemed to still have a level of trust in the system, it seemed. Unlike James, who was, perhaps, a little too jaded in that regard for his own good.

Looking up at the stars, he focused on the northmost constellation he could identify. Atlas.

"When I lashed out," he said in a quiet, tired tone. "It was out of anger. I'm aware that it was rash, impulsive, and harmful. What triggered the anger was Oliver's deep condescenscion, and ultimately what propelled me to punch him was when he - for no justifiable reason but to demean her - greatly insulted Clandestine's intelligence and character. For a man of Oliver's alleged caliber I would have expected far more class, as opposed to cutting down someone as sincere as Clandestine is in front of a group of strangers, on live TV no less. It wasn't until later I was made aware that his hushed speech towards us was not televised, leaving out the context that preceded my punching him im the first place."

He paused, then added.

"I do not like to condone violence," he said. "And I know that first day did not paint me in such a manner. Regardless, what's done is done."

And though he wouldn't say it out loud, he really didn't regret punching Oliver.

For reasons far beyond insulting Clandestine, James belived the man deserved it.

"I'm no judge, but I can see why you'd want to punch him. Still, it wasn't right to do, though sounds like you know that." Hendrik paused. "But you paid your time, didn't you? You went to jail."

For some reason, for half a second, James wondered if Hendrik was referring to something else.

A beat.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I did."

"Don't think the DMV will be after you any more, then. They might sue your ass, though," Hendrik said with a guffaw.

Oh, they were doing more than that, for sure.

"They won't get much money out of me," he said quietly. "I don't have much to offer. But if they want to put me in debt for the rest of my life, I suppose there's nothing I could do to stop them."

"That, or prison. Don't think a pretty face like yours would survive in the slammer, though," Hendrik said.

James flashed Hendrik a short look of disappointment. Sometimes Hendrik's commentary could be supremely distasteful.

"You're very presumptuous," James said. "Are you like this with everyone?"

Hendrik turned his head out sharply towards him. "So you've been in prison, eh?"

"In having answered my question, with a question, I'll take that as a yes," James responded.

"What'd you do to get in? Punch the president?" Hendrik asked anyways.

"Nye doesn't have a president. It's--"

"Drunk driving then?" Hendrik went on.

"I'm not that irresponsible, and frankly it's--"

"Crushing a man from your weight?" Hendrik interrupted again.

"You jump from drunk driving to manslaughter--"

"War crimes?" Hendrik said, unrelenting.

James sighed, mildly irritated.

"No," he said firmly.

"How long were you in there?" Hendrik asked instead, running with this assumption.

James began to sit up. Ham bemoaned the movement with a mrowl, but eventually rolled back into James's lap when she could not stop him. James sighed and used the back of his wrists - the least sandy part of him - to briefly rub his eyes.

"Some things are better left unsaid in the eyes of the public," James said. "But I'm sure anyone with an invasive curiosity about my life could do enough digging without ever having to ask a question to my face."

With that, Hendrik pulled out his phone from his back pocket, the bright screen illuminating his face. James could just barely make out his sharply focused expression as he furiously tapped away.

"That... wasn't an invitation to.." James couldn't even finish the sentence. He sighed in defeat.

A silence passed as Hendrik went to searching. And then--

"Found your mug shot," Hendrik said proudly, turning his phone around to show James.

"I don't need to see it," James said wearily.

He knew what he looked like.

Hendrik turned his phone around, and James could see him actually brightening his screen since the blue light reflected brighter against his face.

"You could have smiled," Hendrik said dryly.

"Not much to smile about in my life at the time," he said.

"You hardly smile now, either," Hendrik commented as he scrolled through whatever article he pulled up, clearly now reading about the details of his arrest.

"Bad habit," James said dryly.

"Hmph! Some saucy things in here," Hendrik commented after a lull in silence, still reading.

"That's possibly the worst word you could use to describe it," James commented.

"Let me rephrase," Hendrik said, then paused to puff up his chest. "Hmph! Some yummy things in here."

That was even worse. Of course Hendrik would pick an adjective that was worse. Cringing, James facepalmed, rubbing his forehead.

"Well... good for you," he said. "You can... read all about it."

And that was what Hendrik did, painstakingly taking a full minute to read about James's life while standing next to him.

"So what's this scandal about? What'd you expose?" Hendrik asked when finished, clicking his phone away.

"Did you not read?" James asked, looking up at Hendrik with a squint.

"Do you want me to keep reading while I'm here? I was planning on scouring the web later when I get back," Hendrik said, sounding insulted that James would assume he would take the time to read everything in detail right now.

Ah. Right. Sure. Of course. Add Hendrik to the list of likely innumerable people who would be doing the same all across the globe. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he sighed, waving one hand semi-apologetically while occupying his other hand with petting Ham, who was being needy and asking for attention.

Water crawled up the shore and nibbled at James's feet, washing up to his knees. It was no longer comforting now that he was having to dredge up old memories. Not that they were, in actuality, really all that old.

He just hadn't imagined Hendrik to be the first person he had this conversation with. But, considering how persistent of a question asked Hendrik was and how little he seemed to care out personal boundaries in regards to privacy, perhaps it was inevitable.

"It was... well, it's a long story. My time in the army was tumultuous, and I stumbled upon a lot of corruption in the system. Before my mandatory service was up I used what small amount of resource I had to expose it, and it consumed the larger portion of my life for almost two years. I honestly prefer not to discuss the details," James said. "But hopefully that satiates your curiosity..."

...Enough so that Hendrik wouldn't ask any more invasive questions. But James didn't have high hopes for that.

"What type of corruption and other secrets did you uncover?" Hendrik asked.

James sighed. All of this was public information, anyway. It didn't hurt to say, it was just tiresome to repeat.

"Some of it was misuse of military funds," he said. "There were several cases where the military blackmailed and coerced people and families into military service. Abuse of magical powers -- unethical practices. Many instances of coverups for breaking international humanitarian laws."

There was more, but... it was a mess. That list alone was sufficient. He'd risked a lot to get the information to the press. There were several attempts on his life when he was in jail. The only thing that kept him alive had been his magic. It was the only time in his life where being unkillable had actually done him any favors.

All that to say, they'd tried being creative because of his powers. But no matter what they tried, he always came back.

"So you're a whistleblower," Hendrik deduced.

"Yes," James said simply.

"Did your actions end up helping people, in the end?" Hendrik asked.

"Eventually," James said. "It took some time. Many powerful people were involved and tried to cover up their tracks, but it helped to create much more structured accountability in the military and many people were arrested that deserved to be."

Hendrik hummed. "You're a good man, lad. It takes courage to step up and do the right thing."

James sighed. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the sentiment. He just... wasn't really expecting to have this conversation. He didn't feel quite mentally prepared for it, but then again, he hadn't been for a while. He was still dealing with the consequences of how his life had forever changed since.

He'd made a lot of enemies. Many of which were still very unhappy. He had protections in place through government agencies for him and his family, but there was only so much that could be done.

And of course, here he was again, creating more enemies in the Trieus. He didn't want to acknowledge that this was potentially a recurring pattern. Was it even a bad one?

"Thanks, Hendrik," he said after a small pause.

"So what was prison like?" Hendrik went on, back to asking intrusive questions.

James frowned slightly, looking up at Hendrik with weariness.

"Have you never been yourself?" he asked.

"Not me. My old man has, though. It's why the company is under my name now," Hendrik said.

"That's unfortunate," James said. "That's your father, then?"

"Mmmhmm. Good for nothing sap that was, though. He almost ran the company to the ground with his alcoholic ass," Hendrik said dismissively with a click of his tongue.

James had to force himself not to cock his head in mild surprise there. For someone who was clearly an alcoholic himself it was surprising to hear Hendrik speak of his father in such a manner. It sounded like there was some cognitive dissonance in how Hendrik viewed himself and viewed his father in regards to their personal choices with alcohol consumption.

"I'm sure it's in good hands, being left in your care," James decided to assume. "A shame about your father though. Did he ever receive help for his drinking problem?"

Hendrik let out a brisk "hah!"

"Did you ever receive help for your heavy ass bones?" Hendrik asked curtly instead.

Well. That was one way to dodge a question. Dissapointed that Hendrik wasn't willing to reciprocate the same level of openness to what James thought were similarly mirrored questions about vulnerable topics, James looked off to the side with a sigh.

"Yes, actually," he mostly mumbled.

"The hell? You did? What'd they do? Put you through an x-ray?" Hendrik asked.

"Well, because my bones are metal, x-rays actually are rather dangerous for me," James said. "My entire life has been an experiment in healthcare, essentially."

"So you're a Frankensteen," Hendrik deduced. Wrongly.

"Nope. Not... not that," James said with a shake of his head. "That's... I don't believe you've actually read Frankensteen if you think that. The creature was created, for one. I was born. So let's make that distinction."

"So, what are you saying? That you're born a Frankensteen?" Hendrik asked more sternly.

A bit shocked that Hendrik was apprarently this dull, James found himself staring at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes squinted.

Maybe Hendrik was drunk, after all.

"Hendrik," James said more steadily. "Do you intend to insult me or are you being sincere right now?"

"Can't a man express his concern over another man who confessed that his whole life he's been an experiment?" Hendrik said with an annoyed sigh.

"Okay. Forgive me for not giving you the benefit of the doubt. I was not following, but I understand now," James said. "The concern is appreciated, Hendrik."

There was another long silence that comfortably sat in the air between them. The sound of the ocean waves peacefully filled the air, but of course, the peace was broken when Hendrik initiated conversation again.

"You're Mister Popular. Why don't you try talking to your family by talking to the cameras?" Hendrik asked. "They've got to be watching. The whole damn world is."

"I believe there's an editing team that chooses what clips to include," James said. "I'm sure I could try, but there's no telling how much will actually end up on air."

"Never hurts to try. Plus, am sure there are internet support staff somewhere so they can help you connect back to your folks," Hendrik said.

James didn't have high hopes for that, but he supposed Hendrik wasn't wrong. It didn't hurt to try.

"I'll look into that," James said. "Thanks for the idea."

"Editing and film crew does a shit job at capturing everything, though," Hendrik grumbled with a disapproving shake of his head. "They didn't catch the flying man soaring through the air yesterday."

James blinked.

"The flying man?" James asked, looking at Hendrik in confusion.

"Mmhmm. Twiggy was floating in the air in broad daylight. Did you not see? I swear, no one on this island sees anything," Hendrik said disapprovingly.

"I may not have been in that area when it occured," James said. "I believe the man you're describing is Aaron. I've only met him briefly before."

"What's his magic? To float?"

"I didn't get that information from him upon first aquaintance, so I can't say," James said. "Perhaps that is part of his abilities, but I can't confirm that. If you saw him floating, though, I think it's safe to say it is."

"Man looked like he was about to shit his pants," Hendrik said with a scoff.

Huh. Well. Maybe it wasn't Aaron's power to fly if he was so terrified about it.

"Had anything occured to scare him prior?" James asked.

"Heard some kind of yelling. I went outside to hear the drama. I saw a man flying instead," Hendrik said matter-of-factly.

Hm. Well, there wasn't enough information for James to draw any founded conclusions. Only hypotheses. James didn't know enough about Aaron, nor had he learned much about probably half the contestants on the island. There was still a lot he didn't know, so he decided to simply hold on to this information for later. Perhaps things would make sense in time.

If he saw Aaron, he could attempt at asking questions. But the man did seem hyperavoidant of any kind of interaction, from what little he'd seen.

"Well," James said, deciding to get to his feet. He picked up Ham into his arms, and she snuggled against him persistently. "This has been an enlightening conversation. Hendrik, thank you for your company. Here's your cat."

He held out Ham. Hendrik gladly took her back, cradling her in his arms like she was a baby. She loudly purred, nestling in his thick arms.

"Let's do this more often. Next time, I'll bring vodka," Hendrik said before making baby cooing noises to Ham.

And 'next time,' James would not drink it.

"Sure."

Waking up in the early mornings really wasn't so bad. In fact, he became accustomed to it back home once he started working under Geoff more regularly. Lyall considered himself adaptable, after all.

It really was only since arriving at the island that he fell back into the bad habit of finally waking up closer to 9 or 10 in the mornings. There was a bit of a time change from here to Fjelstad. Which by now he was used to, of course! But Kaya wasn't. Obviously due to the fact that she was still back in Fjelstad.

Lyall's days were basically wide open, but Kaya was in the midst of juggling both a day job and her newest commission. Thus, their window of shared time in the evenings was a rather short one. Or, would have been, if Lyall retired nightly at a more decent hour.

He just hated being so far away and seeing so little of her. They could chat until the wee hours of the morning, and it still wouldn't be enough.

Anyway. All this to say, he was no longer an early riser by necessity. Now brunch was his breakfast, dinner was a late lunch, and snack foods sustained him well into the early hours of the next day, all for the sake of talking more with Kaya.

Alan always insisted on preparing brunch. Cyrin had managed to talk him down from seven days of the week to five, just to prevent breakfast burnout for the many weeks to come. They were still devising a way to convince him to relinquish a third.

Lyall, not wanting to push their luck by tag-teaming, let Cyrin take point in that battle, and had procured for himself the glamorous duty of clean up crew.

None of this meant anything this day, however. Lyall descended to a completely empty kitchen. The radio where Alan usually set to play something jazzy was silent, there was no smell of bacon-- the lights over the stove weren't even on.

Which didn't never happen, but it was still odd. Especially since there wasn't a note to indicate Alan might've gone out instead. And Cyrin still wasn't back from their morning routine. Their shoes and usual gear were gone, so they of course weren't able to provide any explanation or theories.

Figuring that Alan might just have forgotten to leave a note, or simply slept in, Lyall rubbed his hands together as he padded into the kitchen to prepare the usual breakfast fixings himself.

There was a miniature pile of waffles stacked neatly by the time Cyrin returned. The braid of hair told him it had been a climb, rather than a trip to the gym.

With a bright smile, Lyall bid them, "Good morning! I hope mother nature kindly accommodated you today. Sunny skies, absence of pests, and all."

"Morning," Cyrin greeted, taking off their shoes by the door. "Is it a waffle day? Smells heavenly."

"If it were up to me, every day would be a waffle day," Lyall said with a small laugh. As he set the tray of bacon from the oven on the counter, he cast Cyrin a questioning look over his shoulder. "Hey, you didn't happen to run into Alan outside, did you?"

Cyrin shook his head, glancing around the kitchen. "No, I didn't. Has he not been downstairs? I thought this was one of the days he was taking it upon himself to cook, and I didn't think he'd give it up easily."

Lyall hummed as he considered this. "True, he wouldn't have."

Maybe he should've been more concerned than he had been. He slapped the oven mitts onto the counter as well.

"Well," he said, "I'll check for him upstairs. It's possible he just got wrapped up in practice late last night."

Cyrin hummed. "If he slept in-- which he doesn't seem to make a habit of-- he's probably almost awake. I can watch the waffle iron and keep cooking on your behalf if you want to check on him, but there's going to be a few waffles missing when you get back."

Lyall snickered, and playfully jabbed a finger Cyrin's way. "Don't you dare!"

"I didn't say it would be me stealing them," Cyrin said innocently. "There's a waffle thief lurking around here, and they could be any one of us. I didn't say I was a good guard."

"Bah!" With a wave over his shoulder, Lyall started up the stairs. "I ought to demote you from waffle guard to post-brunch clean up."

"Wow, that's uncalled for," Cyrin said in fake shock, pressing a hand to his heart like he was offended and taking a step back.

"What can I say? I run a tight ship!"

Sliding to a stop by Alan's door, Lyall gave it a few musical taps to announce himself. When no response came, he knocked again, louder and with more urgency.

"I'm looking for a mister Alan Alvaro," he called, leaning on the doorframe. "Tall, dark, handsome, usually awake by the ass-crack of dawn, makes the best bacon this side of the island?"

Silence.

Hm. That was odd.

Testing the handle, he peeked in when it gave way. Nothing was out of order. All of the recording equipment was still stowed neatly, the desk was clear of late night compositions, thus disproving Lyall's theory.

The bed was a messy mountain of blankets, though, and the top of Alan's mussy hair poked out from under it. Or. Lyall hoped it was Alan.

Slipping inside, Lyall silently padded up to the side of the bed and hesitantly poked the mound of blankets.

"Alan?" he whispered.

No response. Just deep breathing from under the blankets.

Bending over, Lyall peeled back the sheets to find, to his relief, just Alan. Though... Alan didn't really look quite himself. Asleep, his hair stuck to his sweaty, flushed face, and his breathing was audibly hindered.

Pursing his lips, Lyall pressed his wrist to Alan's clammy forehead. Man was burning up.

Well, shit.

Kneeling down, Lyall gently shook Alan's shoulder. "Alvaro?"

Alan didn't react right away, but his face tensed from the touch. "Mmm..." he moaned lowly.

"Alan," Lyall softly tried again, "I promise you don't have to stay up long. I just wanted to check on you."

No response.

Lyall gently rubbed the disease-ridden man's shoulder. "Earth to Alan," he sing-songed, "just need confirmation you're still alive."

Alan lightly stirred, nestling his head deeper into his pillow. He said mumbled something, but it was hard to decipher since he was mumbling into his pillow.

"Didn't quite catch that," Lyall said, tilting his head to match the angle of Alan's face.

Alan slowly curled towards himself, his face finally moving away from the pillow, clearly still only half conscious.

But finally, he said his first decipherable word.

"Maria..." he said softly.

Maria?

With a small, confused grin, Lyall shook his head. "Mmmno, not... Just no."

In the brief lull, Alan seemed to slip somewhat back to dreamland. Lyall stayed where he was, idly rubbing small circles on Alan's shoulder, debating how badly he wanted to talk with him at the moment. He was starting to lean toward-- well. He did want to, but he didn't need to. The musician ought to simply rest if he was this out of it.

Just when Lyall was about to commit to letting him rest, however-- Alan slowly opened his eyes. Half-lidded, he gazed up at Lyall, unfocused, like he was still processing that he was waking.

"Hey, Alan," Lyall greeted softly, offering a slight grin, "you with me now?"

Alan stared up at him, slow blinking before he mustered a faint groan and laid on his back, his gaze now unfocused on the ceiling.

"What time is it?" he murmured lowly.

"8:40 PM," Lyall answered without missing a beat.

Alan breathed out a sigh, almost sounding relieved. Maybe he believed him, despite his window letting in the bright sunlight that filled the room.

Lyall looked from the window back to Alan, clearing his throat. "Sorry, I only jest," he amended sheepishly. "It's almost 11 in the morning. I don't believe you'll be making it for brunch."

In a half-daze, Alan slowly sat up, the blankets peeling off him as he did so. He wearily rubbed his eyes, squinting at Lyall as his head groggily hit the headboard behind him.

Never had Lyall seen him so grumpy looking. His hair was a floppy mess, and his expression was somewhere between annoyance and a flushed pout. Despite the heavy respiration under the heat, Alan seemed comfortable under the mountain and blankets and his long-sleeve shirt.

"Why are you in my room?" Alan groggily asked, still squinting at Lyall, like he was trying to focus intensely on his figure, even though he wasn't wearing his glasses.

Reaching sideways, Lyall grabbed Alan's glasses and held them out for him. "Because that's where you are, my friend," he answered easily. "Which was a point of concern since you're usually up and at 'em by now."

Delayed in his response, Alan stared at the glasses before finally reaching for them, putting them on. Now able to see, he focused back on Lyall and stared at him.

It took everything within Lyall's power to not let his amusement show. He perched on the side of the bed. "If you don't mind my prying, what were you up to yesterday?"

Slow processing, Alan's eyes widened in recognition. "What time is it?" he asked again, but there was a sudden urgency in his voice.

Brows furrowing, Lyall's amusement morphed into open concern. "Almost 11," he repeated. "Did you have an appointment to keep? If so, I'm sorry to say you'll simply have to postpone--"

Alan openly groaned as he weakly pulled away the covers and scooted towards the edge of the bed. "Shit. I'm late," he mumbled.

Taking him by the shoulders, Lyall gently guided him back again. "No, Alan--"

"Don't touch me," Alan said with sudden panic, now focused on swatting his hands away.

Lyall recoiled, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture.

"Alright," he said placatingly, though he felt his heart sink at how startled he'd made his friend. "I apologize. No touchy." And he folded his hands together as further reassurance. "But, Alan, I strongly advise that you rest for the day. You're not well."

Alan sat still on the bed, staring up at Lyall as he slowly processed his words. He seemed more conscious, at least, but he was clearly still not fully himself.

"Sorry," Alan said more defeated, and then sighed as he pressed his head back against the headboard, hand partially on his forehead, partially through his hair. "I think I'm just... tired."

Lyall suppressed a sigh, and offered a faint, reassuring smile instead. Getting to his feet, he gestured to Alan. "Case in point. I apologize for disturbing you, I only wanted to check that you were indeed still with us."

Instead of answering, Alan took this as an invitation to go back to sleep. He laid back down, diagonal to the bed and his head barely on the pillow as he pulled the covers over his head again, only half his face poking out. He seemed to have forgotten that he still wore his glasses, since it was set crooked on his face against the mattress.

"Can you tell him I'm late?" Alan asked softly.

Clasping his hands together to fight the urge to reach out now and take his glasses off for him, Lyall tilted his head in questioning. "Of course. To whom is this message addressed?"

But Alan didn't respond back, his deep breaths returning. It seemed he went back to sleep in record speed. It was almost impressive.

Hesitating for a moment, Lyall knelt down again. He held his breath as he very delicately tried taking back the askew glasses. It made the job much easier when Alan turned his head from the subtle movement, allowing Lyall to easily pry it straight up. When Alan didn't stir again, Lyall nodded once, pleased, and set the glasses aside once more.

It was likely just a cold, so there was no need to really hover all day. But Lyall figured he had nowhere else to be, and decided hanging out in the cabin for the most part would be fine.

He added to his mental list:

• Find "him" and tell him "Alan's sick"; can't meet up.
• Check in periodically throughout the day, ensure Alan hydrates.
• Ask about Maria when Alan's less loopy.
• No touchy the Alan when he is weakened; does not respond well.

It was at this point he caught another voice downstairs. One, of course, that he recognized, but not as a fellow cabin mate.

Going around the room, Lyall half-closed the shades before slipping out and easing the door shut behind himself.

By his estimate, Shane had been waiting at the beach for Alan for an hour now. It didn't really bother him if he was late-- he knew things happened. But it had been long enough since the time they'd agreed to meet up, and Shane couldn't help but feel like something wasn't going according to plan.

Alan could've forgotten, he could've gotten the time wrong-- although hadn't they clearly agreed on 9am, not 9pm?-- or something could be wrong. Whatever it was, Shane had been sitting with his thoughts for too long, and they were driving him to worry.

It wouldn't be impolite to show up at Alan's cabin, would it? He'd waited for long enough that he was probably justified in wanting to know what was going on, but it felt demanding. The last thing he wanted to seem was impatient, even though he was starting to feel that way. An hour was a long time to wait without explanation, and he had to wonder how much longer he could be standing here.

Shane glanced towards Alan's cabin along the beach, wincing in anticipation. He really didn't want to have to do this and maybe seem like a jerk.

...He just had to trust Alan hadn't actually meant to not show up.

With a sigh, he started towards the cabin.

He kicked the sand off the soles of his shoes at the porch in case he had to step in, then timidly knocked at the door. Shane wasn't surprised to see Cyrin, exactly, because he knew the gymnast lived here-- but nonetheless, the feeling that came over him when they opened the door and started speaking in Aphiran to him was akin to shock.

"Oh, Shane! It feels like it's been a while since I've seen you," Cyrin greeted him, speaking with a light Northern accent. The faint smell of waffles drifted through the open door, and Shane felt a little hungry. He'd rushed through breakfast to make it on time to see Alan, and he hadn't dared leave their meeting spot to get more food, so the smell was very tempting. "How have you been?"

"Hello, Cyrin," Shane said, letting out a faint, awkward laugh. "I'm doing okay. I'm just, well--" He cleared his throat. "Do you know where Alan's at?"

Cyrin glanced over his shoulder. "I'm kind of wondering that too. Technically, I don't know, but Lyall went to his room to check and is still upstairs, so I'm guessing he found him there."

"Ah." Shane slowly nodded. "Thank you."

"Are you looking for him?" Cyrin asked.

"Sort of. I mean, we made plans to meet up, but he didn't show, and--" Shane waved a hand around, not wanting to explain the deep awkwardness it had left him with. "It's been an hour," he said finally.

Cyrin's expression shifted into sympathy. "That's a long time to wait," he remarked, and Shane tried not to feel worse about it. "I get the feeling he didn't bail on you, though. To the best of my knowledge, he hasn't left his room at all, and he's usually well awake by that time. I'm sorry you had to wait so long, but I'm sure you could've stopped over earlier."

Well, there was no point thinking about that.

"So, there's nothing to worry about, and yet, that's worrying?" Shane concluded hesitantly.

Cyrin let out a huff of laughter, waving him inside. "Oh, please don't worry. I think you need a waffle after that worrying, in fact. Would you like one?"

Shane paused. "If it's all right with you, maybe," he said, smiling faintly.

"I'm sure Lyall won't mind a guest," Cyrin assured him, beckoning him in again and stepping out of the way. "And we can always make more. Waffles are meant for eating, after all."

As Shane stepped in, he saw a plate of waffles stacked high on the kitchen counter, with a waffle iron and toppings out next to it. Cyrin took down another plate and set a waffle on top of it with a fork. He passed the plate to him, gesturing at the selection of toppings.

"Thank you," Shane said gratefully, still speaking in Aphiran, as he scooped some blackberries onto his waffle.

"Of course," Cyrin said, smiling as he went over to his own waffle plate, which was topped with strawberry syrup and whipped cream. "So, what were you planning to do with Alan?"

Shane shrugged, cutting himself a bite. "I don't know, we just made plans yesterday to hang out by the beach today. I don't think we had anything particular in mind."

"Yesterday?" Cyrin asked curiosity between bites.

After a beat, Shane nodded, but he wasn't really sure what was meant by the question.

"Alan was soaked to the bone when he got back yesterday," Cyrin explained. "I was wondering why he was out in it. He didn't quite explain."

"Oh," Shane said, nodding again. "Yeah, that was with me."

"So you rescheduled time to hang out after a rainy day cut it short," Cyrin concluded, smiling slightly. "That makes sense."

That wasn't what had happened, but Shane laughed, taking another few bites of his waffle. "Yeah."

"He's here," Lyall's voice called from the stairs. He hopped the last step. "But he's not-- Oh, Shane!" He offered a bright, if surprised smile. "What brings you here?"

Shane perked up. "Hi, Lyall," he said, switching back to Common. "Did you mean Alan? I was wondering where he was at."

Lyall's grin morphed into a sort of grimace. "Well, wonder no more, my good sir. He's still in bed, with a wicked fever."

Shane's eyes widened slightly. "Oh," he said, with more guilt than disappointment.

Cyrin looked up from their waffle, something strange and uneasy in their eyes. "Sick?" they asked, with gravity.

"Yes," Lyall confirmed calmly, catching onto Cyrin's hesitation. "Just a cold. But I'm leaving him to rest for now, he was a little out of sorts."

Cyrin nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows slightly. He didn't look entirely reassured.

With a slight grin, Lyall flicked his gaze to Shane's waffles as he swept into the kitchen.

"My friend," he said lightly with a tsk to Cyrin, "I turn my back for ten minutes, and you've already failed your waffle-guarding duties!"

Shane let out a timid laugh, looking back to Cyrin, whose expression had shifted-- just like that-- to a carefree teasingness. "Why are you saying that?" they said. "Clearly, I've caught the elusive waffle thief!"

Shane laughed slightly again. "Is that me?"

"Once the jury gets here, it will be," Cyrin said, smirking light-heartedly.

"For now," Lyall agreed, "you are only allegedly a waffle thief. So, please, kick back and simply enjoy yourself."

"What a fair and just system," Shane said, smiling, but he didn't go back to his waffle. "Is Alan alright?"

Lyall's grin tamed, and he inclined his head. "Again, just a cold. Given some rest and decent hydration, he should be alright within the next couple days, give or take."

The doctor went and began piling food onto a new plate. "He mentioned something about being late, though," he went on. "Was supposed to meet with a 'him' somewhere sometime today? I don't know, he didn't specify."

Shane felt Cyrin looking at him as he cleared his throat. "I, uh, think that was me. We had plans to meet up at the beach an hour ago, and I've just been waiting."

Lyall cast Shane an apologetic look at that. "I don't think I would've had your level of patience-- Scratch that, I know I wouldn't have." Picking a fork from a drawer, he rounded the island and took one of the empty seats by Shane. "Well, regrettably, I don't believe Alan is in much a state to meet up today."

Shane smiled thinly. "I know, it's fine. Being sick is a good reason."

It was... a shame, though. He had a feeling being out in the rain had given Alan the cold, and he felt bad for that. He didn't regret the moment, and he doubted Alan would either-- the breathless, freeing feeling of them dancing together in the rain had been almost dizzying-- but he did feel guilty for causing it.

Well, if he'd gotten his schedule cleared...

"Can I use your kitchen?" he asked. "I could make him some warm soup. It might help him."

Lyall tilted his head with a bright grin. "That'd be very kind of you," he said. He gestured broadly to the kitchen. "Once we're cleaned up from brunch, what's ours is yours."

"Looks like Alan just got prescribed some soup," Cyrin commented, smiling again. "The best cure. Do you like cooking, Shane?"

Shane shrugged with one shoulder. "I guess I find it fun. I got into the habit of cooking in university. A soup's not the most exciting thing I can make, but it's probably best for a cold."

Cyrin nodded at that, but they still had a vaguely curious look at their face. Shane wasn't sure what it meant.

Pointing his fork at Shane, Lyall nodded and swallowed a mouthful. "Something with vegetables, maybe a protein, in a clear broth."

"Does the typical chicken noodle soup work?" Shane suggested.

"Usually does wonders, yes!" Lyall warmly confirmed.

Cyrin drummed their fingers on the table thoughtfully. "I have a suggestion, but I probably need our resident doctor's opinion. Lyall, Clarity off-handedly mentioned to me that she's able to make vitamin shots in her lab. Do you think that's worth asking about?"

Taking another bite of waffle, Lyall hummed as he mulled it over. "Something to boost Alan's immune system couldn't hurt, I suppose." He stared off into the middle-distance and added in a murmur, "I'll need to review some...crucial details with Miss Clarity before anything, however..."

"Understandably," Cyrin agreed. "I don't quite think I gathered how she made them."

Shane chuckled. "I don't think this island has an FDA. You could become the head of it, Lyall."

"You know," the doctor agreed, puffing out his chest a bit, "for the sake of keeping this place from descending into utter madness, I think I shall."

"Then it's fulfilled in my sight," Shane said. "Let's just pretend I have any authority here."

"You, good sir, likely hold the highest authority in this kitchen," Lyall said with a snicker. Then he bowed deeply with a grand flourish of his fork. "I thank you for your blessing."

Shane laughed good-naturedly, but it all felt a little strange to him. While it was true that he had the most power in the kitchen, it didn't feel that way, and he almost disagreed out loud. It was surreal to see Cyrin, who had already made more headlines than Shane likely would in his entire life, nod in agreement to the first statement.

"Don't mention it," he said with another faint laugh.

Straightening again, Lyall moved onto the bacon on his plate. "What were your plans for the beach meet-up, if you don't mind me asking?"

Shane took another few bites of his waffle, thinking. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Usually, we just meet up and see where it takes us. It could have been swimming, though I wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out into something different."

Lyall grinned as he listened. "You two are quite spontaneous! Sounds like that would've been a great time."

Shane smiled faintly, laughing quietly. "I guess we are. That might have been why he got sick, though. The two of us stayed out in the rain yesterday."

Cyrin chuckled faintly. "But you're not sick, are you?"

"I feel fine," Shane answered honestly. "If I start feeling sick, I'll go back to my room. But I think I dodged whatever he caught."

Lyall hummed at that, seeming to make mental note. Jokingly, he said, "Well, if we catch even the slightest hint you might fall ill, expect to be promptly quarantined with Alan."

Before Shane could say anything, Cyrin set their fork down on their suddenly empty plate.

"I think I'll go find Clarity for that vitamin shot," they said. "Can you both run the hospital from here?"

Lyall blinked, taken slightly aback by Cyrin's new urgency. "Well, sure. But before you go, I really do need to ensure this will be safe." He scanned the counter for something, then shrugged and settled for, "I'll text you a list of questions to ask Miss Clarity."

Cyrin nodded. "Of course. I don't want Alan becoming a fucked up guinea pig."

Shane coughed on his waffle. "Did it sound like she makes Frankensteen chemicals?"

"No," Cyrin said quickly. "In fact, I'd say she's very capable. But her work seems somewhat homegrown, and everything's in need of a peer review, regardless of who made it."

Shane nodded, relieved.

Inclining his head, Lyall waved to Cyrin. "Be on your way, then. Much to review on my behalf. Thank you kindly."

"I'll return with the cure, hopefully." Cyrin smiled, offering them both a playful salute before he left, slipping out the door swiftly. Shane noticed that despite his haste, he stepped with barely any sound, even though he should have heard him. Well, maybe that came with being a gymnast.

"So," Shane said to Lyall, a few moments later once he'd finished his waffle, "when you're ready, could you please direct me to where you keep the right ingredients?"

Lyall nodded again, and answered after swallowing, "Of course." He pointed with his fork. "Most of the fresh ingredients will be in the fridge, and seasonings are in the upper cabinet left of the stove area. Pots directly below, and the cooking utensils are on the counter."

Shane stood, nodding as he stood to first set his plate in the sink, then to open the fridge. "Alright. Let's see just how much homemade soup can do for a cold."



Shane decided to make a large portion of soup, just in case Alan needed it for a while, so he used the largest pot in the cabin. It took a while to make, partly from how long it took to heat fully and partly from the care he put into it. In that time, Cyrin returned with a vial of bright orange liquid that Shane narrowed his eyes at. Lyall had his reservations as well, but after reviewing the notes and specifications from Clarity that Cyrin produced, he confirmed it was safe and agreed to its use.

After that, Cyrin seemed to slip away again. Shane wasn't sure where they went, only knowing that he'd been at the stove talking with Lyall for a minute and that the next time he looked, the celebrity wasn't there. Shane wondered if the topic made him uncomfortable somehow. Maybe he just didn't want to get sick on a training schedule.

"I think it's ready," he said to Lyall, lifting the lid from the pot. Steam rose from the hot soup, filling the kitchen with a salty, savory smell.

"It smells wonderful," Lyall agreed as he unrolled his sleeves from helping with clean up.

Shane smiled faintly, getting out a bowl that he ladeled the soup into, then setting out a spoon for it.

"Do you think it's okay if I bring this up to him?" he asked, raising the bowl.

Lyall shrugged. "We can check if he's awake again," he agreed. "We'll see how cooperative he's feeling by now, after some rest."

Shane wondered what he meant by that, but he nodded, taking the bowl and spoon as the two of them went upstairs. After Lyall indicated which door was Alan's, Shane carefully knocked on it.

"Alan?" he called softly. "Are you awake?"

No response.

Furrowing a brow, Lyall tapped on the door too. "Alvaro?"

Still no response.

Lyall hummed. "We'll just..." And he opened the door himself, and swept an arm inward for Shane to lead the way.

Shane peered in the room first before stepping in. Alan's bed was a mess of rustled covers, and he could just barely see the dark of his hair poking out from underneath. He seemed very still.

"Is he..." Shane started to say.

"Quite out of it," Lyall answered.

"Hopefully awake," Shane murmured, stepping closer.

"Not very likely," Lyall mused.

Shane set the bowl of soup on the nightstand, then rested the spoon on top, before he knelt by the bedside, giving it some space.

"Hey, Alan," he said, quietly but clearly. "Are you awake?"

Alan didn't move or react, his body moving with deep breaths under the covers.

Shane glanced to Lyall. "Should I... tap him?"

With a vague gesture, Lyall nodded affirmation. "But be warned," he added, "he may or may not be a little grumpy."

Hesitantly, Shane reached out to tap Alan on the shoulder, gently but firmly. "Alan?" he tried again.

That seemed to do the trick. Alan lightly stirred, pulling the blanket down just enough for his eyes to be revealed. He squinted at Shane with half-lidded eyes.

"... Hey," he greeted with a low voice.

"Hey," Shane said softly, smiling gently at him. "I'm here with Lyall. We wanted to make sure you'd eat, so I made you something." He reached for the bowl, holding it up. "Soup. Hope you like chicken noodle."

Delaying in reacting, Alan kept his vacant gaze on Shane before he weakly pulled up the blanket over his head again.

"You should eat, Alan," Shane reminded him.

"No, thank you," Alan mumbled under the covers.

"Please?" Shane asked softly. "It'll make me happy."

There was a short pause, but his words must have gotten through to him, because Alan was slowly beginning to sit up. The blanket flopped away from him as he sat up against the headboard. Now that Alan was no longer covered, it was obvious just by looking at him that he was sick. His face was flushed with both heat and perspiration, and his hair and clothes clung to his skin. Judging by his slow movements, it was apparent he was weak. But that didn't stop him from being half-engaged, blankly staring up at Shane with a half-squint, not having yet acknowledged Lyall.

"Thank you," Shane said in the same soft tone, offering him a gentle smile. "Do you want help eating, or do you want to do it yourself?"

Alan let out a soft moan, rubbing his eye as his gaze finally shifted to Lyall. It took him a moment to recognize him.

"Hey, Lyall," Alan said instead, still rubbing his eye.

With one hand in his pocket, Lyall waved with the other and flashed him a grin. "Alvaro."

"How long...?" Alan began, but trailed off without finishing.

Shane hummed softly. "It's about noon. That makes it a good time to eat."

That sent Alan to let out another moan, this one sounding more annoyed. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"It's okay," Shane reassured him. "I'm still seeing you this way. I would like for you to get better, though."

"...I think I'm sick," Alan admitted lowly.

Shane let out a quiet, soft laugh. "Yeah, you are. But soup will help."

"Doctor recommended," Lyall added with a wink.

Alan only sighed in response, otherwise not reacting.

Shane lifted the bowl a little again. "I know you're tired," he said gently. "And rest will help you. But so will this. Please?"

"I don't mind sleeping. I usually sleep it off," Alan said softly.

"You'll get to go back to sleep after this," Shane promised, giving him another gentle smile. "You'll get better faster if you've eaten before you sleep, though." He paused, meeting Alan's tired gaze. "Can you eat this for me?"

Alan slowly nodded. "I'm always hungry."

Carefully, Shane passed him the bowl, still smiling. He was about to pass him the spoon as well, but Alan had already brought the bowl to his lips to drink.

It wasn't entirely a drinkable soup since there were bits of chicken, noodles, and vegetables, but Alan managed to somehow do it. And in one breath, too.

Wordlessly, Alan handed it back to Shane when finished.

"Thank you," Shane said softly, taking it and setting the unused spoon on top. "Are you still hungry, or is that enough for now?"

"I'm always hungry," Alan repeated again, somewhat distracted as he intensely focused on wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Shane smiled at him again. "Alright. I'll go and get you some more."

"In the meantime," Lyall said, striding over to the other side of the bed, "I'd like to offer you, Alan, an immunal boost...let's say elixir, made by our very own Miss Clarity across the way."

As Lyall talked, Alan slowly laid back down, stirring as he kept adjusting for a more comfortable spot. "My immune system sucks. There's no saving it," he mumbled.

Lyall snorted. "I promise you, you're not so far gone."

He pulled over the chair from behind the keyboard and perched on it. "Mind you, while it has been assessed and approved by yours truly, it is still a rather experimental substance. End of disclaimer. Would you like to give it a try?"

"Try what?" Alan asked, still mumbling.

"Miss Clarity's vitamin tincture," Lyall patiently reiterated, while Shane stood and took a step away.

"I can take vitamins," Alan said as he pulled the blanket close to his head again, muffling his speech.

Lyall cast Shane a briefly concerned look, before addressing Alan once more. "...I'm afraid you didn't quite process the full disclaimer."

"Alan, Lyall wants to give you something else besides soup," Shane explained softly. "He's not sure exactly how it'll work, but he thinks it'll help you feel better. Will you let him?"

There was another short delay before Alan answered with an, "Okay. Yeah."

Shane smiled, giving Lyall a nod. "Thank you. He might need you to sit up again, please."

That made Alan deeply sigh, but he wordlessly followed Shane's suggestion, undoing his progress as he sat upright again. This time, Alan cast Lyall an annoyed look, but it looked more like a red-faced pout.

Lyall then gave Shane an appreciative grin as he unvieled the vial from his sweater pocket. "Thank you, nurse Hawking," he said.

Alan flicked his eyes to Shane. "Are you really a nurse?"

Shane let out another soft laugh. "No, he's kidding. I don't have any medical training. I was going to be a doctor, but it wasn't that kind either."

Alan smacked his head against the headboard to rest. "You could be, though. A nurse."

Shane hummed, making sure he hadn't hit his head too hard. "Maybe. Being able to help you is good for now, though."

Scooting closer, Lyall took an empty plastic cup from the nightstand and meticulously poured the bright orange concoction from the vial. Then he held out the cup for Alan. Alan stared at the cup, taking it after a brief hesitation. But then he stared down at the bright orange liquid some more, mystified and suspicious.

"Is this..." he began, but trailed off.

Shane had to wonder why it couldn't be clear. But he wasn't about to question the way chemistry worked.

"...Phanta?" Alan said after a long delay, looking back up at Lyall with confusion.

Lyall bit back a laugh. "No, it's not Phanta," he assured him.

Alan swirled the cup. "It looks like Phanta." Then he leaned in towards the cup and audibly sniffed the rim. "And smells like it."

"Maybe give it a taste," Lyall suggested, tone half-joking, "to check if it is in fact Phanta."

Alan hesitated again, mulling this over. Perhaps wondering why he was given Phanta in the first place, since he didn't seem to understand what was given to him. But instead of questioning it some more, he heeded Lyall's advice, bringing the cup to his lips to drink.

And to immediately spit out.

With wide eyes, Alan spat out the neon liquid away from him, the misty projectile spraying towards Lyall's direction. Shane jumped slightly. Recoiling a bit, Lyall looked down at his now-misted sweater with vague disappointment.

"Euuugghhhh!" Alan moaned with a look of disgust, arm extended out as far as possible with the cup in hand. "What is this shit?! It tastes like garbage!"

"Alan," Lyall started, tugging off his sweater over his head, "it will help your immune system."

"I think you gave me gasoline," Alan grumbled, setting the cup on the nightstand beside the bed when Lyall didn't take it from him. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Lyall rolled up the sweater and set it aside. Then picked up the cup and held it out to Alan again. "I promise you, I wouldn't give you something if I had even the slightest suspicion it wasn't safe. Trust me."

"Alan, he's a doctor. He's literally sworn an oath to do no harm," Shane said softly. "He's giving you something that'll help you, not hurt you."

"I swore an oath," Lyall echoed, vindicated.

This seemed to steele Alan's nerves and apprehension, although from the way he was intensely staring at the cup, he was still unconvinced to drink it.

"Alan, please," Lyall went on in earnest, "my darling, the light of my life--"

Shane blinked, giving him a confused look, but if Lyall saw it, he didn't react.

"--the cup's not even half-full," Lyall continued to plead. "Just picture all the healthful days you have ahead of you. You're still so young, with so much to live for! Think of all the sunset walks you haven't taken yet, think of..." He seemed to grasp at straws for a moment, then emphatically gestured to Shane. "Of nurse Hawking, who cares deeply enough about your recovery to have cooked you a week's worth of chicken soup. Think of all of this, then please..."

He gently took Alan's hand and closed it around the cup. "...just take the damn vitamin shot."

Alan's hardiness slowly melted away, but at the last part, he furrowed his brows and stared incredulously at the contents.

"This is alcohol?" he incorrectly assumed, misinterpreting the word shot. "Don't you think I should stay sober?"

"You should, but that's not alcohol," Shane said, shaking away his thoughts on the strangeness of Lyall's little speech. "It's all vitamins. Drinking that will help your immune system fight off whatever you're sick with faster." He paused, trying to meet Alan's gaze. "And we want you to get better faster. Please, can you drink it?"

"...All of it?" Alan asked thinly.

Shane gave him a sympathetic smile. "If you do, I'll get the next bowl of soup for you really fast. It'll get rid of the bad taste."

Alan hesitated again, but then he wordlessly relented, bringing the cup to his lips again.

And just like the soup, he drank it down fast in just a few gulps.

When finished, Alan made a sour face and slammed the cup on the nightstand before bringing the covers back up and quickly turning around so his back was towards them.

"I feel dead inside," he deadpanned, laying back down with the cover over his head again.

"You'll feel better faster afterwards," Shane promised, hurrying out of the room with the bowl. "Thank you for doing that. I'll get you that extra serving of soup now."



After Alan drank down the second bowl of soup, Shane thanked him for his cooperation, and he and Lyall left him to go back to sleep. Alan was either already asleep by the time they closed the door to his room, or he was very soon to be. The empty bowl and spoon in his hands, Shane made his way down the staircase.

"Hopefully he won't be sick for the week," he told Lyall over his shoulder, "but if he does stay sick that long, you're right that there's enough soup for it."

Lyall grinned. "I thought I was mildly exaggerating when I said that." He lightly bumped his hand to Shane's arm and offered, "I'll clean that. You've already gone above and beyond, helping with the patient."

"Oh, thanks." Shane let out a slight laugh. "I was only helping, though. Being partly responsible for how he got sick and all. There's not much to soup."

Gently taking the dirty dishes from Shane, Lyall hopped over to the sink. "On the contrary," he said. "No fault in having a good time in the rain. And a bowl of soup can truly go a long way."

Shane gave him a small smile. "Well, if you ever need more soup, I can help with that."

Lyall cast him a bright grin over his shoulder. "I'll definitely take you up on that, thank you." He turned back to scrubbing the dishes. "You really would make a fantastic nurse, by the way. Your bedside manner is amazing."

Shane chuckled in surprise at that, while he put the lid over the pot again. "Really? I guess it fooled Alan. That's not saying very much when he's that sick, though." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I admit, I haven't heard that from anyone before."

Lyall hummed a laugh. "This is truly a place of firsts," he mused.

Shane cracked a smile. "Honestly, I was just hoping that if I was gentle enough, it'd work. I guess it was effective enough."

"I suppose," Lyall lightly agreed. With his back still turned, he set aside the clean things and flicked the water from his hands. "That, and he's potentially just especially soft for you."

Shane laughed faintly again, but there was a weird feeling in his chest. "I don't know about that."

Looking over his shoulder again, Lyall cast him a questioning grin. "Oh?"

Shane waved a hand around in casual dismissal, lifting the pot off the stove and moving it to the counter. "I mean, you'd know he gets along with everyone. The two of you look like you've known each other for months already."

Turning around now, Lyall leaned back with his hands set on the counter's edge, studying Shane. "Alright, sure," he conceded breezily. "But I found the treatment disparity from his end up there rather damning."

Shane blinked, with one hand paused in the middle of reaching for the fridge door. "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I mean, what did you mean?" Lyall asked instead. "You're clearly important to him."

Shane double-blinked. That didn't feel like the right thing to say I don't know about that to, and yet, it was again what came to mind.

"I mean..." he started, and then trailed off, laughing helplessly as he opened the fridge. "I mean, I don't know. Maybe. We've had some good times together, but he's kind of hard to read. So I don't really see it."

That third interview question of the ones about Alan was coming back to him now, and Shane hid a wince behind the door of the fridge as he placed the pot of soup in there. He didn't know why that still bothered him, but he didn't want to think about it right now.

Lyall hummed, then relented, "I suppose there is that. The...hard-to-read characteristic."

Shane nodded, seeing a quick memory flash of Alan himself reaching for the fridge as he closed it up again. "Yeah. So I try not to read into him."

That was going great, at the moment.

"Fair enough," Lyall said gently. Then he pushed off from the counter. "Well, you're welcome to stay for as long or as little as you like," he said with a warm smile as he made his way to the closet door under the stairway.

Shane returned the warm smile, although he still wasn't sure what to make of the doctor's words. None of them had rubbed him the wrong way, they just... didn't match at all with his existing conceptions. And he wasn't sure which none of them knew more.

"Thanks," he said. "I might head out to see what's going on back at my cabin, but thank you so much for your hospitality and the waffles." He paused. "If he's not better by tomorrow, is it alright if I stop over again then?"

Lyall re-emerged from the closet with another, clean sweater in hand, and smiled brightly at Shane. "Of course! Please, come over anytime it suits your fancy. You're always welcome here."

In turn, Shane's smile brightened a little as well. "Thank you. I'll remember that."

Alan felt like he hadn't opened his eyes for a full week.

... Maybe that was an exaggeration.

Alan felt like he hadn't opened his eyes for two full days.

Head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton, he groggily rolled over in his bed, feeling so hot and so cold at the same time, while also being itchy all over with his heart beating too fast.

But at the same time, he felt so... energized. Awake, aware, and itching to move. His body felt stiff from staying so still for so long.

Alan groaned, finding himself frantically wiggling out of his partially damp shirt, struggling to peel it off, but finally managing to pull it over his head. He threw the shirt across the room, panting as he felt his heart thump in his chest and his vision blurring.

God, why was he so itchy?

Feeling almost manic, Alan found himself writhing out of his sweatpants, blaming his clothes for making him feel so hot.

He felt almost insane, now only in his boxer briefs as he crawled under the covers to lay on the other side of the bed where it was cooler. With a sigh, Alan rested on the opposite side, snuggling under the covers as he pulled the edge of it over his chest, feeling a wave of peace and contentment wash over him.

...

No, he was still uncomfortable.

Why was he so itchy?!

Groaning, Alan hastily threw the covers away from him, deciding he needed to leave this bed. It must be full of bed bugs. Or ants. The creepy crawlies.

He should take a shower. He was so sweaty anyways. Why was he so sweaty? Maybe he forgot to take a shower after being out in the rain so long. God, did he really forget? He really laid in his bed encrusted with nature's grime?

Shower. A shower would do him good.

Alan crawled out of his bed, nearly falling off, and-- nope, he fell off. He landed on his hands with a soft thud, quickly scrambling back on his feet.

Towels. Did he have a towel in his room? No, towels didn't go in his room. Or...? No, they were in the bathroom. Bathroom.

Alan frantically opened his door, bolting out of his room and into the bathroom across the hall. It was empty, thankfully, and he closed the door behind him, taking some steps back as he leafed through the hung towels.

Which one was his? He couldn't remember, but that was fine. He could grab a new one.

Alan bent over the tub, turning on the faucet and turning it to the hottest water setting. He nearly forgot to remove his clothes-- which he realized was just his underwear, somehow-- but did so before stepping in. Hissing in pain from the heat hitting his skin, Alan sharply ducked away from the water and turned the knob the other way. It felt nice against his skin, but it was cold. Too cold.

But the itchiness was gone. Finally. Finally.

The cold water cascaded down his face, and with a deep sigh, Alan cupped his cheeks with both hands, then moved on to rub his eyes, then run his fingers through his hair. Finally, his heart rate was calming down.

That was... weird.

Alan didn't know what that was about, but at least he was better now.



Alan felt like he was finally getting his bearings, but it only really felt like that after he stared at himself through the foggy mirror while gripping the sink with both hands.

He needed to get a hold of himself. Be more aware. More mindful. Present.

Wash, done. Dry, finished. Shave, complete. Thinking, in process.

It was always in process, but at least he had more time now to vaguely remember the events the past few days.

For instance, Alan just realized that the toilet was fixed. Somehow. But that wasn't important.

What was important was that he had been sick. How did that happen, it didn't matter; he gave up trying to find a reason for unexpected fevers a long time ago. What he was curious about was how he recovered so fast. Normally, he slept off sickness for at least four days, but sometimes it stretched to a week. But it had been... how many days?

Actually, he didn't know. Maybe it had been a week. But it didn't feel like it.

Alan recalled memories of Lyall checking in often, getting him to drink water and eat. He also couldn't forget Lyall giving him a cup of some liquid that made him cough like crazy.

There was soup. More blurry voices. And a literal fever dream of him about a horse made out of hairbrushes.

Or maybe that was an actual discussion?

He couldn't remember. But it didn't matter. Now that he was better, Alan wanted to thank everyone who was there for him. It really did warm his heart that he was checked up upon.

Problem was, he wasn't sure who was all involved, and to what extent. And he also knew he had a lot to catch up on now that he missed days of planned events.

Finally feeling like he had calmed down, Alan sighed and dried his hair with the towel again before wrapping it around his waist, leaving the bathroom he felt he had spent far too long in.

Alan walked out of the bathroom and into the hall like he had countless of times before, but realized with a delayed reaction time that Lyall was right in front of him, maybe on his way to the bathroom as well. Or to his room. Alan didn't know.

"Oop!" Lyall stepped back in time to keep from fully colliding with him. "Well, if it isn't Alan Alvaro, finally back on his feet," he exclaimed brightly. "Welcome to the land of the living, my friend!"

"Hey Lyall," Alan said with a little laugh, scratching the back of his head, feeling kind of awkward that this was how he ran into him. By nearly running into him wearing only a towel. "I feel a lot better now. Thanks for checking up on me. I really appreciate it."

Bouncing a little on his heels, Lyall hid his hands in his pockets and bowed his head. "Of course! Glad to have been of service."

Alan smiled and nodded, flicking his eyes between Lyall and his room, which he loosely pointed to. "I've been meaning to talk to you first, actually. But do you mind if I go... change first?"

Lyall looked to be biting back a grin. Then averting his gaze completely, he quickly stepped aside and swept an arm toward Alan's door. "In fact, I insist. I don't mind up close and personal, but there are lines that we needn't cross."

Alan felt like he should have piled on the playful banter, but his brain blanked on him, and instead he only nodded slowly in agreement.

"Right. Okay. I'll knock on your door in a bit."



Finally dressed-- which was simply linen khaki pants and a knitted navy shirt due to the strangely neutral closet that the DMV gave him-- Alan took another minute to make himself presentable. Despite staring into foggy bathroom mirror for so long, Alan didn't realize his hair was a floppy mess, so he took some time to style and sweep back. After applying a spritz of cologne and taking too long to find a sock that matched, Alan was finally ready to leave his room again.

He didn't need to knock on Lyall's door since it was already open, but still, he hovered by the door, taken back by how green his room was. It was lush and bountiful with an insane amount of plants.

Alan whistled lowly, leaning against the open door as he peered around, while Lyall watered his plants.

"This is your room? I can't believe I haven't noticed it yet," he said, mildly impressed as he rubbed one of the leaves of a plant with draping vines against the wall. "Your room is basically a green house without the heat."

Lyall looked up and around until he found Alan, then cast him a mildly sheepish grin. "I honestly don't know what possessed them to fill the room to the brim like this, but... I don't dislike it."

"Well," Alan began with a smile as he invited himself in the room, bee-lining towards his swivel-chair by the desk, which he sat on backwards with his arms crossed on the top of the back pad, "I think it's because you maybe, sort of, possibly like plants."

Lyall snorted. "They're growing on me." With a flash of a grimace, he set the watering can aside, then came over and perched on the desk by Alan. "So, what brings you here today, my good sir?"

Alan drummed his fingers along the back of the chair. "Three reasons," he said with a hum. "First, to once again express awe that you live in a jungle. Second, to thank you again and enjoy your humble presence. And thirdly-- and most selfishly-- to ask you what the hell happened while I was sick."

Crossing his arms, Lyall leaned back with a hum. "A list," he murmured to himself. "It's a full meeting ahead of us, then."

Alan grinned and shrugged. "Guilty as charged. I like to stay on top of things."

Lyall clapped his hands together. "Right, well. First, your lungs will thank you. The air is fantastic in here."

Alan loudly sniffed, exaggerating the movement. "You're right. Why didn't you let me sleep in your room instead? Awfully selfish to keep this to yourself."

Lyall huffed a laugh. "Even if I had offered, I don't think you'd have been amenable to a change in location. We were barely able to convince you to eat, you were so out of it. In fact--"

He reached over and lightly pressed his wrist to Alan's forehead, brows drawing together with contemplation. Alan sat still, blinking once. Lyall then withdrew to jot something down on the paper pad beside him.

Curious but also weirded since he had no idea what Lyall could be writing down, Alan didn't hide himself from squinting at his notes, staring.

"What are you writing?" he asked, knowing he couldn't read this doctor's illegible notes.

"Never you mind that," Lyall replied breezily, setting aside the paper. Without missing a beat, he went on, "Second, your compliments only serve to stroke my ego. You must desist."

"Oh, but Lyall, I insist," Alan went on with a fake begging voice and a playful smile. "You are such a good caretaker. What would I do without you, friend? Your constant presence was the remedy to me feeling better."

Grinning wide, Lyall conceded jokingly, "You are right, my presence was key to your recovery. You surely would have perished without me."

Alan nodded eagerly. "Agreed. I wither at the thought of not having you around. I'd rather die."

Lyall snorted. "No need for such drastic measures." More sincerely, he added, "You're welcome here anytime."

Alan smiled at that, appreciating the sincerity. Despite their constant banter, it was nice to hear Lyall's genuine affection and care shine through.

"Thank you. I am feeling better, though." Alan paused, itching his arm. "Although, it's only been two days, right? I'm usually sick for longer, so I'm surprised with how fast I recovered. But I feel a lot better, so I'm certainly not complaining."

"Ah, yes." Clasping his hands together, Lyall nodded. "Which brings us to the third point of this follow-up visit: 'What the hell happened while you were sick'."

He tucked his legs up on the desk. "Cyrin connected me with Clarity for a homemade remedy-- an actual remedy for your illness. Not to worry, we extensively reviewed the materials used, her methods and process, her credentials; everything. Like a true woman of science, she graciously obliged and provided us every detail we needed to properly greenlight the elixir for safe consumption."

Lyall shrugged. "It was more of a... as Cyrin put it, a 'vitamin shot' than anything. It gave your immune system a much-needed boost. In turn, I am paying Miss Clarity in one of the most sought-after currencies within the scientific community." He tapped the paper next to him. "A thorough record."

Ah.

Alan slowly nodded, connecting the pieces and making sense of events now that he had more information. That was why Lyall was taking notes. It still felt a little strange, though. Like he was a part of a science experiment he didn't wasn't even aware of.

"Is that the orange liquid you gave me?" he asked, the memory coming back to him now. He grimaced in disgust, recalling when he spat it back out. "I only remembered it tasting awful. I nearly gagged."

"Unfortunately, flavor was not prioritized," Lyall said with a hum.

"I assume you managed to have me consume it, because I only remembered spitting it out," Alan said.

Lyall cracked an amused grin. "I essentially begged you until you choked it down."

Alan's grimace deepend as he quietly groaned and rubbed the side of his neck, trying to appease the itchy spot that was persistent earlier that morning. "Well. Thank you." A pause. "Seems that begging is effective."

"Apparently you're a sucker for puppy dog eyes and a well-performed pout," Lyall said.

"Please use this power wisely," Alan said with a faint laugh.

"I will not," Lyall replied simply.

Alan groaned in response. Lyall just hummed a laugh. Then he lightly bumped his hand to Alan's shoulder.

"You headed somewhere today?" he asked. "A walk in fresh air will do you some good."

Alan nodded. "Yeah. I was thinking I'd thank everyone who came by for me. Who all visited?"

Sliding off the desk, Lyall picked up the watering can again. "Well, Cyrin bid you better health from the hallway," he answered as he addressed a few unwatered plants, "my sister dropped in a couple times, and Shane generously made you enough soup to last you a whole week."

Alan nodded again, mulling this over as Lyall talked and continued his watering. He listened intently, but he also couldn't help but rest his gaze over the items on his desk. Lyall had a closed laptop on the middle of the desk, sleek and gray with the Banana logo on it. Next to it was a notepad with a lot of illegible notes. Behind the laptop were a few frames of his family, and for the first time, Alan saw the other Ashlunds. He couldn't devote too much to memory since he still wanted to stay engaged in the conversation, but it was easy to tell who Viktor was, as well as his parents.

"That's really nice of them," he said with a smile, returning his attention back to Lyall. "I'll have to speak with both Shane and Hild today, not only to thank them, but to apologize for not showing up during our scheduled time together. So, that'll probably take a good chunk of my time today."

It went without mentioning, of course, that Alan planned on spending more time with Lyall as well. He sincerely, truly appreciated him being present with him the last two days, even when he was being difficult. Alan would have to think about how he could make it up to him, which meant he'd have to spend some time figuring how to make the day special and memorable.

Lyall hummed as he carefully tipped the watering can over a pot of aloe. "I'm sure they'd appreciate it, and like seeing you well again." Bending over, he inspected the dirt. "I've been meaning to ask about you and my sister, by the way. She's been rather avidly avoiding the subject when I try to touch on it with her."

Alan swiveled the chair, following the direction of Lyall's movements. He sat up straighter, confused. "The subject... of me?" he asked.

Standing upright once more, Lyall very directly met Alan's gaze. "You and Hild," he repeated.

"Ah," Alan hummed, although that didn't really clear it up that much more since there wasn't much to talk about. Still, Lyall seemed serious in wanting clear and direct answers. "We're friends. We practice playing three times a week. I visit to take care of the alpaca, if needed. I also visit check up on her, as friends do. Was there something specific you wanted to ask about?"

Lyall nodded slowly as he seemed to mull it over. "Alright," he eventually said, putting on a slight smile that still managed to look quite serious. "I'm glad to hear it. I really only..."

He put his hands together in thought. Eyes softening and voice gentler, he went on, "I want to be sure that she knows. That there isn't any confusion about where you two stand with each other. You're my friend, and I don't assume any ill-intent by any means, but I'm...concerned for her, is all."

Alan sat up straighter, nodding along as he intently listened. "I understand. You're my friend, and you're her brother. I can see how this could be a delicate situation, and I appreciate you letting me know. I don't want her feeling confused, either. The alpaca was an apology gift to her since I did feel bad about what happened during the event last weekend, and we had a conversation where we walked away agreeing that we're happy to be friends. And if it helps, Lyall-- I'm not looking for a relationship right now, so that's not even in my radar of intentions. I really do want the best for her, and I think it's a shame that friends don't come easily to her. Hild is genuine and sincere to the core of her heart: someone who is fiercely reliable, honest, and trustworthy. I'm quite honored that she enjoys spending time with me, and I'll treasure every moment with her, just like I do with you."

There was an oddly silent moment where Lyall simply searched Alan's gaze, as if picking apart his every word. His shoulders eventually relaxed again, though, and he nodded once more. "Good," he said, offering a warmer smile. "I appreciate you humoring an overly-concerned elder brother. Thank you."

"You call it humor. I call it a genuine, valid concern," Alan said with an understanding smile. "I don't want this to drive a wedge between us, so I welcome any types of questions or concerns. It doesn't bother me. I'd rather overcommunciate than undercommunicate."

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Lyall huffed a laugh. "Well, I believe we can consider this sufficient communication."

"I agree with that," Alan said, deciding to transition to a lighter subject. "But on that note, do you mind if I ask you a question that you've been avoiding?"

Shrugging with one hand, Lyall nodded. "Sure. Hit me."

Alan smiled, meeting his eyes. "How have you been doing? The focus has mostly been on me, but I'm curious to hear about you too."

Lyall blinked, as if he hadn't expected that. Then huffed a laugh. "Well, my friend," he answered, his voice light and playful once more, "that's not exactly how the doctor-patient dynamic usually works."

Alan hummed. "Are you my doctor or are you my friend?"

Tilting his head back and forth with his nose scrunched, Lyall considered this. "Depends."

Intrigued, Alan decided to play along. "How so?"

Rejoining Alan at the desk, Lyall leaned back against it and folded his arms. "You visited during my office hours, and we discussed your time spent on bedrest. Among other things, yes. But that was the main point of this visit, was it not?"

Alan quirked a brow, mostly out of confusion because he didn't realize until now that they were on two different pages.

"No," he said with a lingering smile, shaking his head. "Sorry. I should have made my intentions more clear. That's the secondary point of the visit. The main point is because you're my friend, and I care about you."

Lyall's playful grin softened at that. "Well, I appreciate that."

"So?" Alan said with a laugh and a flourish of his hand. "How are you?"

Lyall grinned wider again. "Fine, yes, I'm..." He scratched idly at his chin, then sighed a little. "Just tired, honestly. I might nap as soon as you're out of here."

Alan had a feeling that Lyall was still avoiding the question, although he couldn't fathom why. Regardless, he wasn't going to push it since he was tired.

Another day, then. Alan didn't mind waiting.

He nodded, tapping the chair with his hands before finally getting up. "You've had a rough past two days, no thanks to me. I'll let you get some rest. Thanks for chatting with me this morning, though."

Waving a hand, Lyall shook his head. "Yeah, no, don't even worry about that. I am sincerely glad I was able to help." Then he waved Alan off with a grin. "Go let the world know you've recovered! Mostly, anyway. I'm sure they're dying to know."

"I will," Alan said with a smile, slinking back to the door. "I'm sure they're dying to know I'm not dead."

After a shower and breakfast, James started coffee for Shane at around 6am. Predictably, the man came trudging sleepily down the steps not long after, eyes half open. What was different, though, was that he quietly slipped James a piece of paper on the way to the coffee maker.

"I think I'll head out at five," Shane commented, though 5am had already passed. "Just getting a cup before I go."

Curious, James raised a brow, but decided not to respond. With that, Shane filled up a coffee mug, added milk and sugar, then left the kitchen and went upstairs with a nod to James.

Upon his departure, James set his former book aside and opened up the note, seeing the expected gibberish written in a neat print. If it wasn't clearly written in pencil, James might've mistook it for a typed font.

Aware that Shane already had hinted at using a cypher to communicate in return, James realized that Shane must've been tipping him off how much the alphabet had shifted over for the cypher. That would aid James in decoding the message. "Five" was the key.

Smart.

He went upstairs to grab a pen and paper, breezing through his broken door.

After the morning he broke Shane's, he ended up switching their doors as a last resort. He thought Shane deserved a lock, and it was his fault for breaking the door, so he would put up with the lack of security. The gesture had surprised Shane, but he had been quietly grateful, and it seemed as though it meant more to Shane than he shared.

The door swung loosely on its hinges behind him as he found a notebook, a pencil, and the drawing pad he'd been gifted as a reward. He didn't care anymore if he looked silly carrying it around. It was the only reliable thing he had that he could assure no one would really be able to go back and read what he wrote on it, so it was perfect for working out the message from Shane since it was supposed to be private anyway.

Returning downstairs, James sat at the counter in the kitchen, keeping the note and the drawing pad side by side as he began to painstakingly work through it.

He knew that the more he worked this muscle of translating the letters in his brain, he'd get faster at it, but it was slow at first.

He wrote small so he had space, erasing a paragraph once it was read in full and done.

Entering a deep focus, James was only vaguely aware of the morning sun pouring in through the half-opened blinds. At some point, Connie passed through and left as usual. They only exchanged quick nods before James looked back down at his work in progress.

James--

I'm both relieved and grateful that you found a way to communicate with me. I know I had no way of knowing at the time, but I am sorry for being upset with you when you couldn't speak your mind. I now know that must have been an agonizing moment, and you didn't need the pressure I was putting on you. Please know that I hold no hard feelings towards you, and never did.

I do still want to help you. It's horrible that they would act this way over petty revenge, and it's worse than I imagined. Whatever you think I can do to help you, I will do-- and this includes the use of my magic. I hope there will be something it's good for.

I've felt strangely like I'm being--

A knock at the front door. Head shooting up after having been engrossed in decoding, James slid the eraser down the board rapidly, erasing all of his progress. Ripping the note off the table, he stuffed it in his pocket.

Silence.

Turning his attention back to his board, he realized he needed to look like he was doing something, so he started drawing.

The first thing that came to mind was cats. That was probably because Shrimp was on the floor, by his feet, looking up at him.

Lying on his back, Shrimp wafted his tail across the floor and stretched out his paws in an endearing, adorable manner. With a faint smile, James quietly asked the cat to stay like that for just a second so he could try to capture it. The cat blinked up at him with wide, green pupils, holding the pose whether he understood the direction or not.

Then there was another knock, as if the first hadn't been heard.

Shane was probably still in his room. Getting up from his seat, James silently apologized to Shrimp with a blown kiss and he answered the door.

Upon opening it, he saw Alan standing in wait.

Alan. Right. Shane and Alan hung out frequently. He must've been here for Shane.

"Hi, James. How are you? I hope your morning has been going well so far," Alan said with a friendly smile, although he seemed mildly surprised to see James, so it was obvious he was only making small talk.

James didn't know how to describe his morning. He was deciphering a cypher, and that had just been interrupted. With a small nod of his head, he offered a small, polite smile, opening the door wide for Alan to come in.

"It's been alright," he said. "I think Shane's still getting ready, if you're here for him. You can wait inside if you'd like."

"Ah. Thank you." Alan nodded and pulled his lips back into an appreciative smile, stepping inside to hang around the entrance.

James closed the door behind them, briefly glancing at the small drone that had been following Alan.

When Alan left the doorway, James quickly shut the blinds of the adjacent window, and decided he was mildly content to have the others half-open. It was good to have some light, at least. Unless he saw a camera directly through the blinds, he'd leave them open.

For now.

Leaving Alan to get comfortable, James returned to the counter where Shrimp was waiting, rolling on the floor in an exceptionally adorable way. Looking down at the cat with a small, affectionate smile, James looked back at his drawing, and back at Shrimp, deciding he had nothing else better to do but continue it. He was committed to the bit.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could sense that Alan was silently watching him. Perhaps, even, looking over to see what he was working on.

James was at least self aware enough to know how this probably looked. He was drawing cats on a child's drawing toy. He also was dressed in a other horrible meme shirt that read: SOAKED AND PROUD. He understood this could be taken in way too many directions, but he had no reason to defend himself anymore. People were going to think what they thought anyway.

Was he adding fuel to the fire? Maybe. But it felt like no matter what he did, it was fuel anyway. So why try?

Glancing up at Alan once he'd sufficiently finished Shrimp's sketched portrait, he noticed Alan quickly looked askance.

Still holding his gaze on Alan, James lifted the drawing for him to see so he didn't have to be weirdly secretive about it.

"It's Shrimp," he said.

Alan slowly nodded, making a "not bad" expression, although he only said, "Nice."

Hm. It felt like... Alan was uncomfortable.

James didn't know how to alleviate this.

Conversation?

"Sorry," he said. "I just wanted to finish it before Shrimp moved."

At hearing his name, Shrimp did move, lifting his head and flicking an ear. He meowed in a friendly way to Alan.

"No need to apologize. It's quite good, especially given the medium," Alan said with a reassuring smile. "I admit, though: I'm curious why you're drawing on a toy. Is there a reason why you're drawing on this instead of paper?"

"The impermanence of it takes off any pressure for performance," James answered, completely bullshitting a believable lie.

A pause. He looked down at the toy, then set it down.

"I also wanted to make use of it. I didn't think they'd give me anything worthwhile as a reward, so I asked for something trivial. It was the first thing that came to mind."

Alan hummed, setting his hands in his pockets. "What would you have asked for instead, assuming it was approved?"

James knew his honest answer was "a gun." But he didn't think he should say that aloud.

"A new phone," he said instead.

"Hm. That's funny. That's also what I would have said," Alan said with an amused smile. "Instead I asked for a llama."

James raised an eyebrow.

"You mean alpaca?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Alpaca," Alan said with a nod. "I admit I still don't know the difference."

"Why didn't you ask for a phone?" James asked.

Alan hesitated. "Great question. It didn't even occur to me until the following morning. The countdown made me go with the first thing that popped in my head."

James nodded.

"I'm sure that's why they gave us the time limit," he said. "So we wouldn't have much time to think."

"Yeah. I'm sure that intentional." Alan leaned against the wall, pausing for a moment. "Did you think phones wouldn't be approved, and that's why you didn't request it?"

James had to pause for a moment.

He was being listened to. He couldn't shift any suspicion to Tula, and it would be unwise to shift any more blame onto the Trieus. He had a feeling they wouldn't appreciate him defaming them any further, and he didn't want Alan to get caught up in their petty vengeance.

Pursing his lips in thought, James let out a sigh through his nose.

"I guess I had low expectations," he said. "But that's in my nature. Despite their extravagant spending, I was under the impression the prizes were meant to be small."

He shrugged.

"Maybe I'll ask for a phone next time."

He wouldn't. It would be bugged.

"You're a humble man," Alan said with a small smile, his full attention on James. "I think the prize you selected is refreshing in its own way, anyways. Maybe it's silly, but it is nice to have a medium to freely create without limits."

James had to keep himself from narrowing his eyes at Alan. He didn't want to assume Alan meant to be condescending. If anything, this was the exact response he'd been hoping for from his gift - it would be so ridiculous that he would hopefully be free from suspicion. Still, he didn't know if Alan was being sincere or not.

It was better to err on the side that he was. Just in case.

"And it's waterproof," James added, lifting the pad slightly. "Unlike... paper."

"Perfect for bringing to the beach," Alan said.

Yeah, right. He was wearing shitty shirts on camera, but it'd be a cold day in hell before he voluntarily walked out in front of all of the cameras with this stupid toy for no reason other than to draw. Give the world something else to make fun of him for? He'd think not.

"True," James said anyway. "I was thinking more about the pool party splashing incident, but the beach is wet too."

Alan quirked a brow with a curious smile. "Pool party splashing incident?"

"Yes," James answered. "Hendrik did a cannon ball right next to me. Very considerately. And I was, unfortunately for the book I had at the time, in the splash zone."

"That is unfortunate. Did the book survive?" Alan asked.

James shrugged.

"Not entirely. It's wrinkled and some of the words bled. Water damage left parts of the story an incomprehensible mystery. I had to fill in the blanks with my imagination," he answered.

"That is unfortunate, both for the book and for not being able to finish the story," Alan said, but then smiled brighter as he stood up straighter. "I think there's a library in the plaza, actually. Have you tried seeing if the book is available there? Maybe you can complete it after all, if that's something you're interested in."

"I haven't checked," James said with a hum. "But that's a good idea."

"Hopefully it's a hard cover. That way, it's a little more water proof," Alan said.

There was a faint creaking of the floor upstairs, and then Shane slowly started walking down the staircase, looking more alert now that he'd had some coffee. He stopped halfway down, looking first surprised to see Alan, then his face brightened a little.

"Alan!" he said. "How are you feeling? You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."

Well, this was the happiest James had seen Shane in a while. The poor man appeared exceptionally fatigued when they'd seen each other earlier. At least Alan's presence cheered Shane up.

Though he did wonder if Shane was a bit infatuated with Alan. Even though Alan matched with many people at the accursed speed-dating event, Shane had chosen Alan. And still hung out with him afterward.

Alan smiled, finally peeling away from the entrance to meet Shane in the middle. "Good morning, Shane. I'm doing a lot better, especially thanks to you. I wanted to drop by to express my thanks and make sure you're okay too. I don't know if what I had was contagious."

Shane gave him a reassuring shake of his head, smiling softly. "That's good to hear. I think I'm alright, and I don't feel sick. Either you were unlucky, or I was lucky. Possibly both."

Huh. So Alan had been sick. With what? The common cold? The flu?

"Those are some strong odds," Alan said with a teasing smile. "Speaking of which, what are the odds that you want more coffee?"

Well, now they were just lowkey flirting. Or something of that nature.

"It's constantly high odds," Shane said, with a quiet laugh.

"Then it's your lucky day," Alan said brightly. "Do you want to walk to get a cup now? I feel terrible that you waited so long the last time we scheduled time together. Lyall caught me up on everything. I hope you'll allow me to make it up to you."

Shane's smile brightened a little more. "Don't worry about it at all. I'd forgive you without coffee, of course, as being sick is a very valid excuse, but I'd never pass up the opportunity for more coffee."

Oh. Shane was down bad. And Alan was oblivious.

While the two men got friendly, James decided to sketch them like two talking heads. They weren't acknowledging his existence, so he occupied himself with drawing and idly petting Shrimp with his foot.

"Please. I insist. Let me bribe you with coffee and pretend you're not suffering from caffeine dependency," Alan said playfully.

As the corner of Shane's mouth ticked back in a slightly wider smile, his gaze flicked to James for a brief moment. Whether Shane seemed to realize what he'd been using the drawing tool for or not wasn't quite obvious, but the flash of something soft in his eyes told James he wasn't being ignored.

A bit awkwardly, James just stared back, too slow to respond with any meaningful expression.

"I've been successfully tempted," Shane teased back, walking down the rest of the stairs. "James, are you okay watching Shrimp there for a bit? He should be on good behavior for you."

At that, James offered Shane a small, genuine smile. He liked Shrimp quite a lot.

"I'll take care of him," James promised.

Shane's smile softened a little further, and he met James's gaze with silent gratitude for a moment before he turned his smile back to Alan. "Alright. You can choose the place I'll have too much coffee at this time."

"I know just the place," Alan said as he lead the way out towards the door. He finally glanced back James's way with a friendly farewell smile. "Good luck on your drawings, James. It was nice chatting with you."

Yes. His drawings.

"Thanks," James said with a small, admittedly stiff wave. "Have fun getting caffeinated."

And at that, the two men left, closing the front door behind them. James waited a total of two seconds before he hurried to his feet, shut all the blinds, and carried his drawing pad over to the couch. Shrimp followed him with a needy meow, and James knowingly sat down, patting the space beside him.

The cat instantly reacted, gracefully leaping up on the couch and walking in a circle before he laid down and curled up against James. With a small smile, James reached down and massaged the cat's head and neck for a bit. Shrimp eagerly soaked in the attention, purring until James stopped, pulling out the note in his pocket again to finish decoding the message.

"You're good company, Shrimp," James commented quietly, as he picked up where he left off. The cat nuzzled his hand he was holding the note in. Holding the note steady regardless, James began to write. Shane was saying that he felt like he was being...

...watched, too, especially that early morning that we talked after your first note. I do know it's a feeling, but I take it you meant that you-- and maybe we-- are being watched in the literal sense. If Tula is a spy, we have to learn what kind of spy that makes her. I will try to stay out of her suspicions, but I have the feeling that it might be too late for that. Whether it is or not, I'll be more cautious from here on.

I'm with you. Whatever new issue arises, please know you can come to me with it.

P.S. In future notes, you could use the hour that you reply at (in military time) as the shift number for the alphabet. I've found the fire pit in the back makes for a good disposal.

Erasing the completed message promptly, James sat with it for a moment in thought.

They had a plan moving forward, now, at least for communication. But now they had to put together a plan for gathering and keeping track of information.

Petting the top of Shrimp's head, James tucked the note away again, so he could burn in later.

In the meanttime, he resolved to commit Shane's message to memory, and to start by catching Shane up to his present plan.

The next couple mornings after Alan's recovery were starting to feel... different, simply put. Not worse nor better. Just different.

...Maybe a bit lonely.

By the time Lyall finally roused himself for the day, the cabin was empty. Cyrin, he knew, was likely just still out for an early morning climb. So it wasn't unusual for them to miss each other first thing.

But Alan, who was usually around by this time of the morning, had only left a note in the kitchen of this time. He was apparently meeting with Hild first thing today, and promised to make up for the cancelled brunch as soon as humanly possible. Even made a point to use as many pet names as he could fit on the slip of paper as he pleaded for Lyall's forgiveness, which made him chuckle.

He wondered briefly if Alan would've been so absurd had he anticipated Cyrin would find the note first.

Amused as he was, the note gave Lyall some pause. He squinted closer at his sister's name, written out in Alan's loose, relaxed scrawl.

Alvaro had reassured him of his intentions, which were purely platonic. But intentions were one thing, and what actually resulted was another. And with the musician's current flirty forwardness with anybody who so much as breathed the right way in his general direction, Lyall couldn't rule out the possibility of Hild eventually catching something more than mere infatuation.

In the quiet of the cabin with just his churning thoughts for company, he eventually found himself discontent with the thus-far empty morning-- as well as the strangely numerous insect encounters. they still hadn't been able to rid of the fruit flies. So he found his way outside. Third cup of coffee in hand, he stood pondering the beach view from the front porch.

However, he had little time to actually ponder anything before an unexpected guest showed up.

From the corner of the porch, slightly hidden behind the railing, the face of the man known as Kazimir poked out between two poles. Comedically, the man was hunched over to do so, since he could easily look over them at full height.

Kazimir was staring at him. How long had he been waiting there? To...what end?

"What are you drinking?" Kazimir asked.

Lyall blinked. "Coffee?"

Kazimir's eyes widened with a mildly crazed curiosity. Or perhaps it was mere excitement.

"I like coffee," he said. "Can I have some?"

Lyall glanced sideways to see if Kazimir's, uh, friend was anywhere nearby. Hendrik, was it? He didn't care for Hendrik...

"Uh--" Lyall began.

"Can I have a sip of yours?" Kazimir went on. Instead of waiting for an answer, Kazimir reached up and grabbed the top of the railing, vaulting himself over with ease. With the height of a towering giant and the eyes of a pleading puppy, Kazimir inched closer with small steps.

Blankly, Lyall shrugged and mustered a polite, "Sure. It's just-- oh--"

Kazimir eagerly and gracelessly took the mug from Lyall's hand and took one long slurp before he pulled the mug away, his eyes squinting in thought. He pursed his lips with a hum.

"Not as good as the gas station," he said, plopping the mug back in Lyall's hands.

Lyall huffed a laugh, more out of surprise than anything. "I may have added a little too much sugar this time," he suggested.

Kazimir stuck out his tongue with a small "blegh" noise, scrunching up his nose.

"That gives you cavities," he said. "That's what my dad said anyway. Do you have cavities?"

Setting the empty mug down on the bistro table, Lyall hummed in thought. "I don't believe I do. But sugar eventually does that, given enough time and negligence."

Kazimir pointed at Lyall with a grin, as if Lyall had made an excellent point.

"Hey," he said with a small laugh. "If you don't believe you do then you never do."

Well. That was decidedly untrue, but Lyall found the heart of it hard to argue with.

"Kazimir, was it?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Kazimir said, smile brightening immediately. He reached out and grabbed Lyall's hand, shaking it vigorously. "And you're Lyall!"

"Uh, yes!" Once he was sufficiently jostled by the larger man, Lyall gestured to the table in polite invitation. "What brings you here today, Kazimir?"

Sitting on the edge of the table with a rough plop, Kazimir sat a little stiffly.

"Why do I feel like now I'm at the doctor's office?" he asked flatly.

Lyall shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Uh, force of habit? My bad. We don't have to sit if you don't want to...?"

Standing up as if he was shaking off the heebie jeebies, Kazimir let out a small sigh and smiled.

"I'm tired of Hendrik," he said. "He's always trying to lecture me about life, and I already beat all my video games. I need new friends."

After a beat, Kazimir tilted his head, spiky hair slightly flopping to the side.

"Do you like building sandcastles?"

This...was entirely unexpected. Unwelcome, though? No, not really. It's not like he had anywhere to be this morning.

"I guess I do," Lyall answered, smiling with a mix of confusion and amusement.

Kazimir smiled wider.

"Sweet! Okay. I found a good place over here. Follow me!"

Without much more than a wave of his hand, Kazimir hurried off the porch, looking back at Lyall to make sure he was following.

Lyall hesitated on the porch. He didn't have shoes, and he was still in his pajamas basically--

"Come on!" Kazimir said.

"O-oh!"

It was fine, shoes on the beach were just a hassle anyway.

Tossing his coat over the back of one of the porch chairs, Lyall hopped down the front steps. Shoeless, and not properly dressed for an outing with someone who he now could say he'd had all of five minutes of interaction with, for reasons unbeknownst to even himself. It was probably what was admittedly an excess of caffiene.

All 6 foot 3 of Kazimir kept bounding ahead, occasionally stopping and waiting to make sure all 5 foot 5 of Lyall was keeping up. Lyall found himself endeared by the waiting and the little head tilts, and frankly the aimlessness of this all. He rarely did things for the simple sake of doing them anymore.

They didn't go terribly far, but Kazimir had led them aways from the cabin's view, into a wide cove with a grand moon-shaped pocket of sand and slow-lapping waves. He plopped down right in the middle, bare feet digging into the sand as he began scooping up piles with his hands.

"See," he said as soon as Lyall caught up within speaking distance. "This sand is perfect. Soft and wet. Keeps its shape, like mud. Good for building. But not too close to the waves."

Hands set on his hips, Lyall stood a moment, grinning as he listened. "You have it down to a science, it seems."

"I'm not good at science," Kazimir said plainly, starting what looked like some kind of foundation. "But I can build things alright. That stuff makes sense to me."

After a moment's hesitation, Lyall settled on the ground beside him. "Well, building can be scientific in its own right."

"Are you good at science?" Kazimir asked.

Lyall tried to not let the wetness of the sand underneath him bother him. "I like it," he answered, "but I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm good at it. It's challenging for me, too."

Kazimir hummed, piling up the sand into a very matted down brick.

"You seem like a smart guy," Kazimir said.

"...Thank you," Lyall said, despite all the times throughout his life he felt very much the opposite.

He watched curiously at first as Kazimir slapped together his foundation. It felt mildly like watching a great master intently focused on his work.

"I need sticks," Kazimir said quietly, rubbing his chin in thought. "Makes it stronger."

"Sticks?" Lyall glanced behind him to the underbrush nearby.

"Or leaves. Rocks, maybe. Something..." Kazimir made a motion with his hands like he was bending something, and frankly Lyall didn't completely understand.

Hm. Lyall spotted a particular plant with particularly dried up little woody branches. Perhaps there would be suitable materials to be found there.

"Just a second," he said, scramnbling to his feet.

After a quiet moment of fighting the little bush, Lyall returned with what apparently were going to the bones of this structure.

"Just what I needed!" Kazimir said pleasantly, grabbing some out of Lyall's hands. He proceeded to lay them around the foundation in a somewhat woven pattern. It was surprisingly complex. Kazimir began to layer sand over it. Sand, then sticks. Sticks, then sand.

Sitting down cross-legged, Lyall tilted his head as he watched. "I never thought to use sticks for structure before," he thought aloud.

"Saw it in a utoob video," Kazimir said.

"Ah, yes. The handbook to life," Lyall mused.

Slowly but surely, Kazimir's sandcastle took form. It wasn't a particularly elegant structure, as far as aesthetics went. But it was no doubt more solid than the stereotypical, basic sandcastle that did not utilize sticks. And it was quite large, which made it grand in its own simple right.

Seemingly out of the sandy ponderings of his own head in the silence that followed, Kazimir said without prompt: "Kinda sucks that you ended up out here."

Lyall blinked, then looked up from the sand to the man with confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Kazimir looked up at him. "Huh? Why?"

There was an awkward pause.

Lyall coughed. "No, I mean... Come again? Why does... Why does it suck?"

"Because you've got brains," Kazimir said like it was obvious. "And it sucks that you'd get forced out here and told what to do by the DMV. Smart people already have lots of ideas and know what they want to do. They don't need that. That's... for people like me."

With small shrug, Kazimir continued to build, this time working on fortifying a wall.

Lyall felt himself frown, quite...saddened by the sentiment.

"Well," he replied slowly, "perhaps brains are accounted for. But that doesn't necessarily mean I know what I want to do." He gestured to the now-sandfortress. "And I disagree. You don't need any life twaddle dictated to you. Look, you're a technological genius, and you simply...take initiative. You know what you like, and so you just go for it."

Kazimir paused in his creation, looking up at Lyall with his brows drawn together.

"You... think I'm a genius?" he asked.

And for some reason, from the way he said it, it felt like Kazimir never heard anything like that before. Which Lyall decided was a thing that needed immediate amending.

He offered Kazimir an encouraging grin. "Well, of course! Look at this architectural marvel you have on your hands."

Kazimir looked down at his creation, which already had three towers and two and a half walls. Something in the large man's face softened, and for a second, Lyall thought Kazimir might cry.

Instead, he reached over and pulled Lyall into a near-bone crushing hug that Lyall wasn't prepared for in the least. Sputtering a laugh, he managed to extricate an arm to give the giant some warm pats on his bicep. Kazimir mumbled something entirely incomprehensible and pulled away.

Clearing his throat as if to brush off his sudden outburst of emotion, Kazimir sat up straight.

"Now you have to help," he said gruffly. "You can't just watch."

Lyall chuckled as he tried brushing some of the sand from the back of his shirt. "Right, of course."

He considered the wide expanse of the cove. Then turned back to Kaz. "Well, we have a fortress here... How do you feel about a whole town?"

"A city," Kaz said, looking up into the sky dramatically. "Made by angels."

A pause.

"Sand angels."

Lyall laughed, already on his feet now to help plan out this sand angel city. "Naturally."



"What..."

Lyall straightened and turned to the sound of his sister's voice with a bright smile. "Hild! Just in time for our city's debut."

Hild approached, bewilderment written clearly on her face, and her shoes in hand. "Your...city," she lamely echoed. Then, more confused, "'Our'?"

Kazimir got to his feet, gesturing proudly to their actually quite elaborate connection of buildings, streets, and other structures on the sandy beach in front of them. Kazimir was practically covered in sand, but he was smiling wide.

"The City of Sand Angels!" Kazimir declared.

"City of..." She scanned their complex network of sand structures, her eyes finally landing on the fortress in the center of it all. "Is this where you've been all day?"

Carefully stepping over the food service district, Lyall stood beside her to admire it from her perspective. "Isn't it marvelous?"

Side-eying the sand on his clothes and in his hair, she discreetly side-stepped away. "It's 1:45 PM," she said simply, "and you're still not dressed for the day."

"Bah!" Lyall waved both arms dismissively.

"It's 45 pm and you haven't built a city," Kazimir retorted.

Hild initially cast him a mildly offended look. "I..." Then deflated, conceding, "Fair enough."

"Is that your sister?" Kazimir asked, looking between Lyall and Hild.

"Oh, yes!" Lyall then hopped the business district to stand by Kaz, patting a hand to the man's arm. "Kaz, meet my sister Hild. Hild, meet Kazimir, the architectural mastermind behind our grand accomplishment."

Hild inclined her head politely. "A pleasure to officially meet you, Kazimir."

Kazimir carefully took two very long strides over the corner of their city with much more ease than Lyall. Closing the gap between him and Hild, Kazimir offered his large, sandy hand, presumably for a shake.

"Your brother is cool," Kazimir said. "I like him."

Lyall patted a hand to his heart, touched.

With a second's hesitation, she gave his hand a light, quick shake. "I'm glad to hear it."

"He thinks pretty highly of you, too," Kazimir said. "Says you've got the biggest brain around."

Hild blinked, then smiled very faintly at that. "Glad to hear that, too. Thank you."

Smiling in a way that scrunched up his eyes, Kazimir nodded.

"Okay. Well it's nice to meet you. I've had to go to the bathroom for the past two hours so I'm going to do that now," he said. "Lyall, can you take a picture of angel city?"

"Of course!" Lyall said, stifling a laugh behind his hand. "Godspeed, friend!"

Waving goodbye, Kazimir wasted no time running away the moment he was released.

"See you tomorrow!" Kazimir said before dissapearing around the cove's rocky wall.

Both Ashlunds waved back. Hild considerably more reserved than Lyall's whole arm-wave. Once the man was out of sight, she turned back to Lyall.

"How long were you two out here?" she asked.

Lyall just threw his arms to the sky again, unable to see the importance of time. "Bah!"

"Good morning everyone," Carter said with a polite smile as the last of the staff trailed into the board room. Everyone gathered around the table, taking a seat while he stood at the far end in front of the display screen. He waited until everyone was seated before tapping the button on his remote to dim the lights so the screen could be seen properly.

"Thank you all for making it," Carter went on. "I know it was a 24 hour notice, so I appreciate your flexibility. Per the directives of our superiors, we have a new policy I'd like to cover with you to ensure we are all on the same page. If you'll all take a moment to address the packets in front of you, I've done you the favor of printing it all out for you so that you don't have to take notes."

Because he knew some of them wouldn't, and some of them would forget.

"As you'll see from the header, we have a new policy for staff members in regards to their relations with contestants. This will apply to all of you, regardless of your role. Across the board, we'll be enacting a Do-Not-Interact rule for our contestants. Now, before any of your feathers get rustled, please understand this is not a hard and fast rule. I understand some of your jobs require interaction with the contestants, and some would not make any sense without it. This doesn't mean you will never interact with them at all; that would be unreasonable. We simply don't want you to seek them out. Please prioritize your DMV duties and let the contestants fraternize amongst themselves, and interfere as little as possible."

He started the presentation, and it lit up the screen behind him. With a lazer pointer, he pointed to the top of the list.

"The DNI rule is not applied equally to all contestants. You'll see here that we've arranged a ranking list for those who you should make exceptional efforts to avoid and those whom our superiors care less for. Please understand that any intentional or repeated breaking of this policy will result in disciplinary action, so do pay attention as I go through this list."

"Please also understand that these rankings are all per the Trieu's discretion, and if you have any personal qualms with their final decisions on this matter, you will have to address them yourselves," Carter went on. "I am merely delivering the news of their decision. If you do, however, have any questions after I'm done, I will field them at the end."

With a small sigh, Carter finally circled James's name with the laser.

"James Hawke is off limits," Carter said. "He is top priority to avoid. Keep interactions short, do not seek him out, and do not interfere with his experience on the island."

Moving on quick to avoid any commentary, Carter then circled Stravos.

"For your own sanity, prioritize avoiding Stravos as well. Outside of mandatory food deliveries, do not speak with him. You will be better off for it."

Next. Tula.

"At this rate you are all aware that Tula is a repeat competitor. I'm aware most of you were on staff during her first run through the DMV. You are not to reveal this to anyone, and you are not to interact with her unless she seeks you. She is here on official DMV business and you are not allowed to interfere."

And, of course, Kazimir.

"And again; for the sake of your own protection, you are required to stay away from Kazimir," Carter went on. "He is unpredictable, dangerous, and frankly, still inexperienced with his powers. It is not your responsibility to help with this matter, so do keep your distance."

Afterwards, Carter began to breeze through the others. Next was Aaron - whom he gave little explanation for - and Jay, who didn't really deserve the screentime anyway. He then went on to discuss the royals: Connie and Shane, who were of greater importance.

"Shane and Connie are both figures of great influence in the world," he explained. "We'd like to avoid causing them any negative experiences so they don't throw their weight around, and I don't want to get involved in any legal fiascos trying to cover for you. For all our sakes, be as polite as possible and don't engage them in any unnecessary conversation. They get enough of that anyway."

And, moving on.

"As for Hendrik--" Carter said with a small sigh. "I could care less about him. Interact with him at your discretion. He can be rude but he's essentially harmless."

And then he breezed past the Ashlunds, who were just as harmless as Hendrik, if not more so. Lyall had fire magic, but his temperament was so mild he posed very little threat to them as an organization. After them came Robin, Clandestine, and Alexander, who Carter barely even paid attention to - that was how little an impact they had on the game.

Next was Alan, who was so oblivious to everything that Carter was sure he'd be an idealist until he started using his powers. Following him was Clarity, who was far too engrossed in her own experiments to truly notice anything anyway. After her was Cyrin, who was famous, but not in a way that mattered.

And then, at the very end of the list, of course, was Eve.

"Most of you are friends with her anyway," Carter said dismissively. "And we all know she's Oliver's favorite. So it's whatever. Talk to her all you want. But she's the only one that exception applies to."

Turning off the presentation and turning back up the lights, Carter turned his attention to the employees around the table.

"I will now open it up to questions," Carter said, pocketing his remote.

Around the table, many of the staff sat, staring at him. Carter took a headcount of them all: Ivar, Dante, Mel, Ethan, Caspar, Shay, Mireya, and Bo. Of them, Dante was the first to raise his hand. He had been watching him impassively behind the sunglasses, but it was a given that he would have concerns, or at least needed clarifications.

"Dante," Carter said with a nod of his head.

Dante sat up a little straighter. "What is the extent that these... restrictions would apply in an emergency?" he asked. "For example, if there's an issue where to respond appropriately, I would have to spend significant time around a person near the top of this list or need to find them myself, does that go against this policy?"

"As long as it's within the scope of your current job description and you're not seeking them out for any other reason you will be operating within the boundaries of the policy," Carter said diplomatically. And vaguely. "If superiors determine that your services are not needed for those of a higher priority on the DNI list you will be informed of that personally when the need arises."

Dante nodded to both parts, but his nod for the second was much slower. He didn't have to hide his reluctance. Carter, however, could no nothing for him. He had no qualms with Oliver's petty ragefits against James, and if Oliver wanted to isolate the fellow, Carter was simply going to go with it. It made it easier for Carter to pin the "blame" on the Trieus, though. That way he could circumvent the complaints to his bosses.

"Any other questions or concerns?" Carter offered.

Mireya's hand was next to shoot up, but she hardly waited for Carter to call on her before she spoke.

"Can we all be friends with Eve, even if our role wouldn't call for it?" she asked in her usual bright tone.

"Sure," Carter said neutrally. "You can pursue friendship with her at your choosing."

With a murmured "yessssss," Mireya pulled her hand down as a triumphant fist.

"Hi, Carter!" Mel sing-songed, waving instead of raising her hand to ask for permission to speak. "Question: what do you mean when you said Eve is Oliver's favorite, exactly?"

Carter didn't know why everyone was raising their hands like they were in school. They were adults in a meeting. They could just talk.

Carter turned his attention to Mel, keeping his face neutral, just as he had this whole time.

"They know each other personally," Carter said. "So she's landed in the Trieu's favor. That's all I'm at liberty to disclose at this time."

Mel hummed, grinning wide. "So they had history, huh?"

"That is a given when two people know each other, yes," Carter said dryly.

"Friendly history? Or... sexy history?" Mel asked innocently.

"I believe it would be inappropriate to speak of my colleagues' personal matters any further than I've been given permission," Carter said.

Mel whispered something to Shay, covering her mouth so no one could read her lips. She giggled and Shay snorted.

"Why is James at the top?" Ethan asked curiously. "Seems weird he's above Stravos. I had to feed him once. I would not recommend."

"James is the only one who's physically assaulted anyone on the crew," Carter answer. "Putting him out of the category of speculation into proven action. If he's done it before, it's possible he could do it again, and because of the nature of his magic in particular, we especially wouldn't want any of you to be on the receiving end of such violence. He seems already to be wary of staff, so it's best you keep your distance so as not to feed into any existing hostility."

At that, a good amount of curiosity seemed to be dispelled. He could see the disappointment in many of their eyes, but there was nothing he could do about that. Everyone knew Oliver was petty, but none of them were willing to risk their jobs to say so when they knew this meeting was being recorded for "posterity."

"But," Caspar eventually said, brows furrowed with genuine confusion, "he's not hostile?"

Carter forced himself not to look annoyed at Caspar's question.

"How is punching a guy over a tshirt not hostile?" Carter objected.

"Well," Caspar quietly conceded, "sure, that was...less-than-friendy. But can you blame him? Trieu--"

Shay quickly smacked his arm, and he wilted back.

"I just don't see him as a general threat," he continued. "Wary sure, but he's really not violent by nature."

"You presume a lot about the character of a guy you've barely spoken to," Carter said. "But regardless. I'm not the one who put him at the top of the list. If you have an issue with it, take it up with Oliver. Otherwise, you are required to stay away, whether you find him 'hostile' or not. So no more bathroom talks, understand?"

Sinking back in his chair, face turning red at the reminder of the bathroom encounter, Caspar fell quiet again.

"Well, if--" Carter began.

"You said if this policy is broken that there may be disciplinary action," Bo spoke up at the same time.

A bit miffed about being interrupted, Carter gave the oversized cyclops his attention.

"Yes," he confirmed simply.

"What kind of consequences are we looking at? What if the policy is 'broken' on accident?" Bo asked.

"We will not penalize anyone without reason," Carter said. "And as for what kind of consequences there are to come, it depends on the severity and the frequency of any infractions. If it's minor, you will likely only get a warning. If it's recurring even after receiving a warning, you could be looking at a termination of your contract with the DMV, after which you'll be sent home."

Bo looked at Carter carefully, but didn't speak his mind. Instead, he nodded, and simply answered: "Understood."

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Carter nodded in turn.

"Well, it sounds like that's it for questions," he said. "If any more come up later you may message me for clarification. You also know where to find me. Thank you all again, for making time in your schedules to come. You are dismissed now."

With a click, the doors unlocked, and everyone slowly filtered out.

Rewind. Pause. Play.

And, again. And again, and again.

Laying on her bed with her laptop on her stomach, Eve played the clip over and over again, one finger on the mousepad and one finger on her lip, biting her fingernail and an amused smile.

Caspar really did it. He actually gave her the clip of James punching Oliver.

She watched the scene play for about the hundredth time, slowing down the frame rate so she could see how James's fist hit Oliver's face, breaking his nose. She eyed the small splatter of blood that flew through the air frame-by-frame before it went out of frame.

After memorizing that needless detail, Eve sighed and slowly closed her laptop before removing her AirPids, carefully placing them back in its case. Not wanting to leave the comforts of her bed, she pushed the laptop aside and slumped back, her hair splayed across the pillow as she stared up at the ceiling.

She couldn't believe Caspar actually gave her this video. Couldn't he get fired for this?

Eve thought back to that morning when she was sitting outside on her balcony, watering the flowerbed perched against the railing. At least, that was what she planned on doing. Her plans were delayed when she noticed Hugo sitting by the side of the cabin, his tail wagging as she came into view.

He held a parcel in his mouth, and it had her name on it.

Eve drummed her fingers on against her sweater, thinking. Deciding she had to read it for the tenth time now, she abruptly sat up and reached over towards her desk, stretch out so she could grab the note he left behind, written with a shaky, almost laughably childish handwriting.

hi Miss Eve,

here's the promised footage (please!! don't share this with anyone!!!)
also bo made cookies :)) they're in this box too
and ethan and dante say hi
plus hugo can't see well. please just point him in the direction of the path where we fell. thank you!

- cc calderson

And indeed, inside the parcel was the CD of the 15-second clip, as well as a small box of sugar cookies. Each cookie was decorated with unique frosted designs, and Bo left behind a short and sweet note for her as well. It was very nice of them. Too nice, really.

Now Eve felt bad, considering how she treated Caspar beforehand. She didn't even know what she did to warrant special cookies that clearly took a lot of time to make.

Maybe she ought to pay another visit. Eve hadn't gone back since last week, especially since she had been preoccupied observing others from afar, learning about microelectronics, and sketching. Not that sketching was important. But it bothered her that she had notes about everyone but not any visuals, so she felt like she had to balance it out.

Sighing, Eve sat back up, slowly placing her bare feet against the cold floor again. She always thought it was ironic that she could be wearing the thickest sweaters in the summer, but if it wasn't for thick or fluffy socks, the cool floors would send a chill down her spine.

Picking up her laptop, AirPids case, and sketchbook, Eve piled it on top of one another before carefully setting it neatly on her desk. Her eyes drifted to the box of cookies Bo left behind.

She wasn't particularly hungry, but she hadn't eaten anything yet today.

Another cookie would do.



After dressing into more summer-appropriate clothes, Eve was on the move again, managing to slip away from her roommates' eyes, although that wasn't particularly hard to do since everyone was busy. Clarity was always in her room performing some kind of experiment, Hild was always out of the cabin practicing with Alan at this time and day of week, and Clandestine had left to walk Jimbo.

Eve decided to take the more public path towards the staff cabins this time. It was a simple cobblestone path that was between the beach and woodsy terrain, separated with a short fence on both sides. This path circled the whole island, so as long as she followed it, she'd get to her destination eventually.

At the entrance, she noticed that Dante was sitting on a tree stump, a sketchpad and pencil in his hands. He seemed to be capturing a quick sketch of something rather than making a full drawing, judging by the way the tip of his pencil flew over the paper and how he looked up and down between it and the sky.

Eve had only really talked to Dante a few times, and it was mostly in passing or in a group setting. She didn't know him too well, other than that he was the groundskeeper of the island. Why he decided to work here, she didn't know, because he seemed to hate his job.

She wondered how often he sketched, or what he was sketching, but she didn't want to stare. Eve was only passing through, after all.

It was curious, though. He was drawing with his sunglasses, which was not only difficult but also odd-- but he was always wearing them.

That didn't stop him from reacting to her approaching, though. Even though Eve pulled her lips back in acknowledgement and averted her gaze, Dante stood, tucking the pencil away. He started to turn down the path like he was about to go in the same direction as her, but he must've seen her, because he turned back to her with a polite, warm smile.

"Eve!" he said. "Good to see you. How have you been?"

"Dante. Hello," Eve greeted politely, slowing down, but not quite stopping. "I'm doing okay. Just going on a walk."

"Are you bound anywhere in particular?" Dante asked lightheartedly, with a nod.

Eve was close to passing him now, but she didn't quite want to stop, which implied that they'd stop to chat. She slowed her brisk walk some more, delaying the inevitable. "Just visiting Caspar and Bo. I know it's their day off."

"It is," Dante said, starting to walk down the path slightly ahead of her. "The two of them usually play with Hugo around this time."

Eve nodded, pausing in responding so she could time her next words with her steps now that she was about to pass him. "It's nice to see you, Dante. Hope you have a good rest of the day."

"And you too," Dante said amiably.

His pace was brisk as well, a march that felt a bit military-like, so she didn't pass him right away. Just as she started to, however, he slowed ever so slightly, with a thoughtful expression.

Eve had to hold back a sigh. Of course he'd be going in the same direction as her despite her already saying her farewells.

"While we're both headed this way, there was something I meant to ask you," Dante said. "Are you in need of any more art supplies than the ones you have already? I have plenty that are still new, and we're able to get some delivered to the island if we don't have it here."

Eve glanced at Dante, trying not to give him a pointed stare.

So, that meant he'd been watching her. Or studying her. How else would he knew that she also sketched?

Perhaps this was part of groundskeeper duty. Dante had access to everyone's files, after all. It was thanks to Dante that she was able to learn about James's food preferences, among other many other facts she learned. He did so barely giving the file a glance, implying that this was extra information he had laying around, perhaps because he stored all of this in his head.

It made her wonder what he had on her, though.

And it now made her needlessly paranoid.

"I'm good. They gave me more than enough supplies in my room, and I brought enough for myself. Thank you, though," Eve responded with mustered sincerity.

Dante hummed. "I'm glad. Just let me know if you want to practice a new art technique and need different supplies for it, though. A lot of people are using their time on the island to do something differently than they normally do, and art in particular is a great thing to experiment with."

Eve tried not to let her annoyance show from the arrogance of his comments. He could be a bit pompous sometimes.

She pulled back her lips into a half-smile. "It's a good way to pass the time," she said in agreement, doing the mental math to figure out how long they'd have to walk together.

"Yeah." Whether Dante noticed her annoyance or not, his smile turned a little softer and warmer. "There's a lot of artists on this island, come to think of it."

"Is there?" she mused. "How many, and who?"

If they were going to talk, it didn't hurt to at least gather information. It wasn't like she had been talking to everyone here, and she doubted Dante would openly allow her to read everyone's files.

Dante tilted his head slightly skyward, like he was recalling information. "In terms of people who paint or draw, we have Constantine, Cas, and James, besides you-- and I guess myself, so that makes five. We have other sorts of artists, here, though, like musicians, writers and dancers."

Interesting. Eve already knew about Constantine's art since he was a public figure and she already did a deep dive into his history and persona. Some of his paintings have been sold, although she learned that that was against his wishes. That alone certainly revealed a lot about his character, considering he was a royal.

She didn't know about Caspar and James being artists, though. It was a pleasant surprise, especially for James, since this hadn't come up at all in the few meetups she had with him.

"That is a fair amount," she affirmed. "Do you think this was done on purpose?"

Dante paused in his answer, and although his face was harder to read than the average person due to his sunglasses, he seemed to be giving it genuine thought.

"That is possible," he said, tucking his sketchpad tighter under his arm. "I hadn't thought of that, and I can't think of a confident reason why it would be done that way. But there was a lot of planning that went into this cast, so it's possible they wanted a lot of creative souls around."

It was true. Everything was intentional. Every decision, every detail, every moment planned was put into deliberate action. There was reason and logic behind every small thing, and Eve felt this was no different.

And she knew that this also applied to the persistent shades Dante always wore. She thought perhaps he was vision impaired, and perhaps it was presumptuous to assume that this couldn't be true since he was an artist, but Eve couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something obvious here.

"Dante, if you don't mind me asking: is there a reason you wear sunglasses every day, indoors and outdoors at all hours of the day?" she bluntly asked.

Dante first looked mildly confused at the change in topic, but not annoyed. He let out a slight rueful laugh, appearing slightly less relaxed all of a sudden.

"I thought I'd be asked eventually," he said. "There is a reason, yeah. It keeps my magic controlled. I can see people's memories by making eye contact with someone, but it happens whether or not I'd like it to. So in the last few years, I've been wearing these to look at a different part of a person's face without it being strange for them." He paused, and a couple steps passed in silence. "I do it to respect people's privacy, but also, I genuinely don't wish to see other people's pasts. There's many painful things to witness."

Eve was quiet for a moment, taking in the depth of his words. She asked this question because she knew there was a hidden truth to uncover, but she didn't anticipate this. Her heart sank in empathy, not able to imagine how hard it must be to carry the burden that Dante had to hold every day.

"That's awful. I'm sorry. It must be so tiring and difficult to have to consider the consequences of your magic every day. I can't even imagine how burdensome this must be," she said more quietly, but sincerely. "I don't know how you do it. I'd have blinded myself a long time ago. I wouldn't think the gift of sight would be worth the risk of pain. Although, I suppose this could also be solved by isolating yourself from others. I can't say one option is better than the other, though."

Dante smiled sadly. "The sunglasses aren't perfect, but I chose this option over those two because I don't want to give up seeing everything else around me, or lose human connection. Both of those could easily lead to pain of a different kind. While this isn't the easiest adjustment to make to my life, I prefer it because it means I can still have those things, and it means other people don't have to adjust to me."

"Understandable. I can't imagine it's easy, though," Eve said with a sigh. "Maybe you ought to consider finding tinted glasses that are for the vision impaired. That way, there'd be less people like me asking you difficult questions."

"I've thought about it," Dante admitted. "Although, I'd rather have to share this than inadverently end up confusing someone into wondering whether I'm able to see them at all. I've learned people value honesty over this matter." He let out a soft sigh of his own. "I imagine there are plenty of other cast members who are wondering this same question, but I don't mind that you asked, or that anyone else would. In fact, I'm grateful for your understanding. Not everyone takes it well."

"Thank you for letting me know," Eve said sincerely, resting her gaze on him longer than usual before focusing on her steady pace again. "I'm not sure why people wouldn't take it well, though. You don't have control over the situation. You didn't ask for this nor want this. There's no point in shaming you for that. Anyone who would doesn't deserve your time or attention."

"In an ideal world, no one should have to face problems for their magic," Dante agreed. "But there are still people who fear rather than understand. I think it's one of the reasons I'm on staff here in this role, honestly. Not everyone here feels comfortable about their magic, and if there's anything this island can do for them, I hope it's that they walk away feeling more secure in it."

"Is that why you applied to this role? Because you want to help others feel comfortable about their magic?" Eve asked.

"I asked for it, once I was already with the DMV," Dante said. "I didn't have anything to do with them until they enlisted me after my own testing, though. By that point, however, it was the mission I realized that I wanted for myself."

What did that mean? "Once I was already with the DMV?" Dante made it sound like he worked with the DMV for something else, but it wasn't easy to get a job in the DMV.

Island Magic was only associated with the DMV. It wasn't particularly difficult to get a job for the show. But to work for the DMV...

"What did you do before you took on this role?" Eve asked.

"I first worked as a counselor of sorts," Dante said. "The DMV needed someone to sit down with students of magic who weren't comfortable about their powers and had a troubled past as a result. They expected me to use mine, though, and I just... burnt out, I guess. I stayed as long as I could, but at some point, I suppose I saw too much. I then requested to be moved to a role like this where I had useful knowledge in assisting people who struggled with accepting their magic, but where I wouldn't have to use it myself anymore."

That must have been the role the DMV gave him. It was a good application for his magic. It made sense, although it was unfortunate there weren't safety nets in place to accommodate for the effects of Dante's magic.

"Do you like your role now?" Eve asked with a nod.

Dante considered the question, before smiling slightly again. "Usually. It's not always easy, but it is fulfilling, and I guess that's what I need."

"You're still young. Perhaps new opportunities will come your way if what you need doesn't match what you have," Eve said.

Dante nodded, first a little distantly, then more certainly. "There's always time," he agreed.

For awhile after breakfast and running circles around the living room, Buster crashed for about an hour. This gave Hild plenty of time to clean up after cooking, tidy up around the cabin a bit, and read up a bit on an experimental procedure headed by a young eye surgeon in Candidia. It was a successful surgery, until it wasn't; the patient soon after acquired an infection that required a follow up surgery.

She didn't have a chance to read whether or not the patient's eyesight was ultimately restored, even if only partially, before Buster roused himself again for another zoom around the house. At which point she decided it wouldn't hurt to take him on a second walk. The small dog was so exceptionally hyper, it was astounding.

Hild grabbed a small bag of treats first; she was hoping to be able to train him to walk off leash, and figured they'd only benefit from starting him young. Hearing the bag, however, only made Buster turn his speedy trajectory from the circles around the couch, straight out the cracked front door. He whizzed by before she could even look for her sandals.

Alright, not a great start for today's training session, but she supposed this was on her for having the door open prematurely.

Stuffing the treats into her sweater pocket, Hild rushed out after him. Thankfully, she didn't have to look far.

Not fifteen feet away from the front porch, Mister Alexander stood with a wiggly Buster in his hands.

"Oh, my," Alex said with an awkward laugh. "I don't think you're supposed to be out here," Alex said to the puppy, holding him out so Buster couldn't slobber all over him.

With a breathless, somewhat embarrassed smile, Hild took Buster in her arms. "Ah, thank you kindly, Alexander," she said.

"No worries," Alex said with a more genuine laugh. "Were you about to take him on a walk? Or did he escape?"

"Well. Yes," she answered, humming a laugh. "Both."

She shifted the pup to one hand so that she could dig through her pockets for the leash and harness with her other.

"Do you want me to hold him while you do that?" Alexander asked.

"I, ah--" she began, but Buster began squirming out of her grasp. She held him out to Alexander. "Please, and thank you," she said quietly.

Alexander took the puppy from her quickly, letting the little dog wriggle in his arms. Buster began to whine with anticipation, clearly overexcited to be outside.

With urgency and another hummed laugh, Hild at last fished out the harness from the depths of her sweater pocket. She held it up with a quirked brow, silently asking for Alexander to hold out Buster.

Holding him out while Buster was still squirming and wiggling, Alexander laughed.

"I'm afraid if I put him down he'll run off," Alex said.

Hild grinned faintly as she strapped the harness onto the tiny dog. "He most certainly will," she agreed, "and has." Hastily, she clipped on the leash as well, and took Buster back with a bow of her head, and a quiet, "Thank you. Again."

"No worries," Alexander said with a smile, turning his attention to the puppy who was now yapping, begging to be put down.

Hild finally obliged, and set Buster on his paws. As soon as his toes touched the sand, he tried taking off. Hild allowed herself to be pulled along a bit, just to keep the leash from roughly yanking him back.

Alex watched Buster with amusement, then looked back up to meet Hild's eyes.

"Would you and Buster want company?" Alexander asked. "I'm not doing much at the moment."

She hadn't planned on having any additional company. But she didn't want her hesitation to be too obvious, and politely answered in a timely manner, "By all means," with a sweeping gesture out to the beachside ahead of them.

It couldn't hurt, after all. They got along well enough during the 'speed date'.

The brightly colored shirts seemed to be...his pattern. Not that that was inherently bad, per say, but she found it hard to face directly in the sunlight. So she shielded her eyes as she turned toward him.

"How are you cabin mates treating you?" she asked with genuine curiosity. She'd only observed them from afar, really, and they seemed...mostly intriguing.

Alex glanced over at his cabin with a small smile.

"Oh," he said with a laugh. "Well, Tula and I get along great, but Jay and Aaron... well, Jay's fine, I guess. They both keep to themselves, really. Aaron doesn't seem to like me though. I don't know why."

Hild pursed her lips in thought. "Perhaps it's simply part of what seems to be...a general disdain toward everyone," she suggested.

On a couple of occasions, she'd caught the smaller man casting her brother mildly resentful glances when he didn't think anyone else was paying attention.

"Yeah, he doesn't really get along with anybody from what I've seen," Alex said. "Which is kind of sad. But he and Jay seem to have this... weird... bond, I guess. I don't know if they're friends. But they don't bite each other's heads off."

Hild hummed an acknowledgement, but found her attention quickly drifting from the conversation to the little dog three feet ahead.

Buster had slowed, panting as he stayed in the lead. He appeared completely content with life, now that they were actually walking.

"So, what's life like with a dog?" Alex asked after a beat. "I know you said you were studying to be a vet, so I imagine it's kind of nice."

"It is," Hild agreed, very faintly smiling at Buster as he looked at her over his shoulder. "My family never had animal companions in the house, so it's still rather new for me. I've enjoyed it so far."

She tilted her head to look up at Alexander. "You spoke of a distinction between the animals you hunt, and the animals people keep. Do you only speak from a hunter's experience?"

"Well, I guess, I have had pets before," Alexander said. "But I've never really quite understood pampering animals as pets, personally. Like, I take care of them, but... I don't know. Feels like there's a line, you know? Not that you do this, but once people start treating their pets almost like people, I feel like that's just wrong. Why not give that energy to real people?"

She hummed, glancing back down at the sound. "I concur."

"Buster seems like a good little guy, though," Alexander said. "When he's not running away, I guess. Have you been training him?"

With a huffed laugh, Hild shrugged a shoulder. "Trying," she admitted. "Miss Clandestine has been very helpful, though, so not completely failing, I suppose."

Before she could ask if he'd had a chance to meet Miss Clanny, her brother of all people slotted himself into the space between them. She audibly groaned.

Lyall offered Alexander a bright, if out-of-breath smile and a hand to shake. "Mister Alex!"

Alexander looked a bit surprised, but pleasantly so. He smiled at Lyall, taking Lyall's hand to return the shake briefly.

"Did you just run here?" Alexander asked with a faint laugh.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Lyall nodded. "You two are practically running."

"Ah," Alex said with a smirk. "I'm not running. Hild is merely hastening, and I easily match her pace with my long legs."

"I evidently didn't hasten quickly enough," Hild murmured, shooting her brother a polite smile.

"Why have you graced us with your presence, sir Lyall?" Alex said, putting on a bit of a posh voice. "Is it to join us on a walk with our dear friend Buster?"

Alex gestured to the puppy in question. Buster had paused in his walk to excitedly spin around and ram at Lyall's feet, jumping up at him in greeting.

With a stiff smile, the doctor only spared Buster a glance. "Ah, no. I came for the human interaction. The dog is a...side-effect."

Buster jumped a little more insistently. He was demanding to be acknowledged, but his tail was wagging wildly.

"Well, you're in luck," Alexander said. "There are two humans here. At least one of which is glad for your company. Hild, however, I cannot speak for."

"Why, thank you," Lyall replied, pointedly. But his smugness was fleeting.

Hild watched with amusement as her brother willed himself to stay in one spot as Buster jumped about him. It ultimately wasn't proper behaviour on Buster's part, though. So once she'd had her fun, she gently prompted for Buster to sit patiently for acknowledgements instead. After having to tell him a few times, he finally sat obediently, but watched Lyall with clear anticipation.

She cast Lyall a likewise expectant look, and nodded Buster's way. Lyall visibly wilted a little.

"Must I?" he whined.

Her gaze hardened. Lyall sighed, and bent down to hesitantly pat Buster on the back. Buster's tail went wild, and upon being touched, he reached around and licked Lyall's hand in gratitude.

Recoiling, Lyall brushed off his hand as he quickly straightened. "There," he said to the dog, "you've been acknowledged."

Buster was satisfied. He turned around, ready to walk again.

"Do you not like dogs?" Alex asked Lyall, watching with amusement.

"They're fine," Lyall said, "at a distance."

Smirking, Alexander raised a brow.

"From a distance, huh," he said, looking beyond them. "How much distance?"

Lyall furrowed his brows. "As far as possible, why do you--"

"Oh, hey guys!" Clandestine shouted, running up to them from behind.

With her was Jimbo, her massive black dog, and he was bounding beside her, tongue out, and sand flying. When they slowed to a stop a few feet from them, Jimbo obediently stopped at Clanny's side, tail wagging happily. Clanny gave him an affectionate pat on the head.

Hild had to bite back an audible laugh when she noticed her brother had disappeared.

"We were just sniffing out sea shells on the beach!" Clanny said. "Well, Jimbo was doing the sniffing. I was doing the digging. Team effort. What are you guys up to?"

Hild felt herself smile more openly. "Miss Clanny, good of you to join us." She gestured toward Buster patiently waiting beside her. "We were just practicing proper manners for greeting new friends."

"Unwittingly becoming props," Lyall answered in the same moment from behind Hild, "in the world's insane dog-elevating scheme."

"Oh, psh," Clanny waved Lyall off dismissively, kneeling down to Buster to greet him.

Buster excitedly tapped his toes in the sand, but obediently waited for Hild's cue this time. Once she gave him a silent go-ahead, he bounded over to Miss Clanny.

Clanny happily welcomed Buster, who seemed to treat her with a great deal of respect (as opposed to maybe Lyall).

"Good to see you too, Buster!" Clanny said, rubbing and petting him all over. Buster yapped in response, and Clanny laughed.

"He is very happy right now," she giggled. "All the people excite him. He thinks we're all here for him. He says he feels special."

Hild glanced down at Buster fondly. "I'm glad we've found you in good spirits today," she said to the dog.

"I wouldn't say we're all--" Lyall began.

Hild cut him off with a light swat near his face. Alexander openly laughed.

"You don't like animals much," Clanny said, standing to her feet, with Jimbo still obediently sitting beside her. "Right?"

"I..." Lyall shrugged. "I'm not a fan, no."

"Then I'll tell Jimbo to give you space," Clanny said. "He'd love to meet you, but if it makes you uncomfortable, he understands. He's a good dog."

He glanced at Jimbo to study the gigantic dog. Jimbo had contentedly plopped himself down by Miss Clanny, almost smiling as he panted. When his and Lyall's eyes met, the dog happily thumped his tail in the sand.

Lyall nodded to Clanny. "I appreciate that, thank you."

"Okay, buddy," Clanny said, patting Jimbo's head. "We'll give Mr. Lyall some space. He's shy about animals, okay?"

In apparent agreement, Jimbo gave a small woof in reply. Clanny smiled.

"He says no worries, Mr. Lyall," Clanny translated in turn.

He inclined his head to Clanny and warmly echoed, "Thank you."

Hild elbowed him. Lyall glared briefly at her in questioning, then groaned audibly when she nodded toward the dog.

"This is ridiculous," he argued, "I'm not talking to the dog."

"Yes," Hild said firmly, "you are."

Clanny frowned a bit at that.

"I talk to dogs all the time," she said more quietly. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," Lyall hastily backtracked, "absolutely nothing wrong it. It's a wonderful gift of yours."

"Alright," Hild cut in, "then thank Jimbo for his consideration."

"He's being very patient with you," Alexander commented.

Looking out over the ocean as he inhaled deeply, Lyall bit his tongue. Then sharply let out the breath and slowly turned back to Jimbo.

"...Thank you," he said, looking the dog straight in the eyes, "for your kindness."

"He says thank you for your kindness," Clanny softly repeated to the large dog.

At that, Jimbo's tail wagged, and he let out a soft bark, looking to Lyall.

"He says of course. You're very welcome," Clanny said.

Lyall inclined his head in acknowledgement at Jimbo, then turned back to everyone else. "Are we good? May we move on now?"

"Yes, I do believe we were going on a walk," Alexander said. "Though it appears, now with more company."

Hild managed to not sigh out loud. She'd hoped to simply walk in silence, and figured only Alexander joining at first wouldn't be so bad. He was just one person, but now--

"Oh, I don't want to impose!" Clanny said quickly. "I just came over to say hi. Jimbo and I already went on a walk anyway."

"It wouldn't be an inconvenience in the least," Hild said warmly, and eyes somewhat pleading for her not to leave her with a near-stranger and her obnoxious brother.

"Oh, well in that case," Clanny said with a bright smile. "I think we've got another walk in us! Lead the way, Hild!"

Nodding, Hild gave her a grateful smile. Buster didn't wait for her cue, though, and took initiative himself. Which was alright, he'd waited long enough by now.

"Where did you two go this fine morning?" Lyall asked conversationally.

"Oh, we went down to the cove!" Clanny answered with a smile. "You should see it. Someone built like, a whole sand city there! It's really cool! Jimbo and I admired it. We didn't want to disturb the art, so we went a little further and searched for shells instead."

Hild cast her brother a faint, pointed grin over her shoulder. "Oh, so you found 'the City of Sand Angels'?"

Lyall met her smirk with a withering expression of his own.

"Is that what it's called?" Clanny said. "That's so cool! Do you know who made it? Did the staff put it there?"

"The man named Kazimir built it," Lyall answered. Then, quieter, added, "I helped."

Clanny's whole face brightened at Lyall's admission, and she reached out and grabbed his arm, shaking him slightly.

"Lyall, that's amazing! It's so big! How long did it take you guys to make it?"

Lyall mustered a sheepish grin in turn. "It was an all-day project," he admitted.

"Wow," Clanny marveled. "That's dedication. That sounds really fun. Do you think I could add something to the city? Maybe a park or something?"

Hild glanced at Alexander beside her. With a slight smile, he seemed content to simply listen. He occasionally looked down to Buster ahead of them all, his grin turning fond.

"I don't think Kazimir would mind," Lyall answered, brightening. "But we should check with him first, just to be sure."

"Oh, right, right, of course!" Clanny said. "I like Kazimir, he's really fun. I haven't hung out with him much but we had a fun talk at the last event. He likes talking about wolves for some reason."

A look of realization passed over Clandestine's face as it dawned on her. She smacked her face in a face-palm.

"He was asking about wolves because of Robin! Wow. You'd have thought the 'Do wolves drink milk?' question should've given it away. Wow, I feel like an idiot," Clanny went on.

Brows furrowed, Lyall grinned as he mulled over, "Wolves drinking milk...? That is oddly specific, yes."

"Robin likes milk," Clanny added to clarify. "I don't know why it's like, his favorite thing to consume. Aside from meat. He's a funky guy, but I love him regardless."

Lyall lit up with curiosity. "You know him well?"

"Oh! Yeah," Clanny said. "We both work at the same park. We're coworkers - ish. We don't work in the same division, but our jobs overlap a lot. I do monster hunting, he does rescue, and sometimes people need rescuing from monsters. We go to the same staff meetings and all. We've been friends for years."

"So your jobs are very complimentary," Lyall commented, with an open look of awe. "Did you first meet at work, or did your friendship precede it?"

"We met at work!" Clanny answered. "He's been working for the park a lot longer than I have. I've only been on for the past two years."

Lyall grinned warmly. "It must have been a very nice surprise to find each other here, then!"

"Yeah!" Clanny said. "Well, Robin was less pleased about it. Not being here with me, but us having to be here in general -- but it is what it is."

"I can imagine," Lyall said empathetically.

While they chatted to their hearts' contents, Hild glanced back to Alex once more.

"I don't believe I've asked about your powers yet," she eventually said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to inquire now."

With a small smile, Alexander obliged.

"Sure," he said. "It's not super useful or visible, so most people don't really know unless they ask anyway, I guess. My magic is pretty simple, though. I can relive any moment of my past in my mind, but only up to a minute of it."

Hm.

It was remarkably similar-sounding to Eve's magic, if suffering from far more severe limitations. But statistically, such subtle memory-related magic was indeed far more common than, say, the extreme end of it. For example, Hild's own. Or even certain strains of shape-shifting magics.

"Quite useful," she said politely. "I know some rather forgetful people who could benefit from such an ability."

Alex chuckled.

"It has helped keep my memory sharp, I suppose," he said. "But sometimes it feels like cheating."

Hild hummed. "A natural inclination in a certain field of study or skillset can often feel that way," she said.

In fact, she was quite familiar with the phenomenon. She had some professors thus far who didn't care for instructing a student who they felt they could never...'properly challenge'. It must have cheated them some sense of pride or self-worth or whatever.

Clearing her throat, she awkwardly offered, "I can assure you, it's not."

Alex huffed a small laugh.

"Do you just say that because of your perfect memory?" he asked, looking at her with a small smirk.

"Perhaps," she conceded with a faint grin.

"That said, I can't argue with you," Alexander conceded with an amused smile. "I don't think it should be considered cheating either."

She hummed. "Any ambitions for your stay here?"

Alexander looked up into the sky in thought.

"I don't know if there will be any real competition at any point like a normal DMV," he said. "But I guess, at a very base level, I'd like to not end up with a completely shitty life after this. So... not losing? I guess?"

A standard response. One that she was guilty of divulging herself, yes.

She quirked a brow at him. "Nothing like self-discovery, or improvement? Things of that ilk?"

Alexander glanced at her, like he was studying her for a moment.

"Well, if you must know," he said. "I was hoping to make friends here. But it feels a bit juvenile to admit it out loud."

She scanned his face, trying to find any hints of...teasing or mockery. He appeared sincere enough.

"I have friends, mind you," Alexander added, a bit defensively, as if he thought she was judging him. "It's just. You know. They're not that deep."

He shrugged, like he was trying to play it off as less awkward.

"It's hard to make friends as an adult after school," he said. "Harder than I'd like to admit."

"You're right," she said, "we probably overcomplicate things the older we get." Quieter, she added, "I'm still not entirely sure how to overcome it."

"I think you just have to start putting yourself out there," Alexander said. "At least, that's what I'm trying. Even if it feels weird at first."

Hild suppressed a frown at that. It was an expected response, she supposed, but she somewhat hoped for a different, perhaps more helpful bit of advice. One with more immediate results.

She'd watched her brothers do it so effortlessly throughout their entire lives, and still couldn't find out how to replicate their success. She now witnessed Alan effortlessly inserting himself into half the island's days. How? Well, hell if she knew.

"Have you..." She pursed her lips in thought. "...'clicked' with anyone quite yet?"

Alexander shrugged a little.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I guess I'm trying not to evaluate it too much. Otherwise I overthink it."

She grinned wryly. "Unfortunately, that's all I can do. Overthink, that is."

Alexander laughed lightly at that.

"Is it really something you can't turn off? Does your mind just... constantly remember? All of time?" he asked.

"Well, my magic is distinct from the usual meaning of 'overthinking'," she answered. "It's not like video or audio recordings constantly playing and overlapping one another. But rather like... that sensationalized concept of the 'mind palace'. Because there's so much information, I have to more intentionally to access it all. My retention and success rate at data retrieval are simply...enhanced, as the name of the gift suggests."

Alexander hummed.

"Has there ever been a time you couldn't remember something?" he asked.

"There have been many times, in fact," she confirmed with the faintest of grins. "When I had less practice with effective data retrieval."

"I guess that makes sense," Alexander commented. "Even with a memory power like yours, there's still ways to grow in it."

Hild just nodded.

"What's it like?" he went on. "Retrieving a memory? How does that work, exactly?"

She pursed her lips in thought. "It's...rather like a filing cabinet, I suppose. Or a bookshelf. That's a visual I much prefer." She tilted her head. "Yourself?"

"Since my memories are more visual relivings, I kind of see it like... a shelf of DVD's," he said with a small chuckle.

"Fascinating," she said, and meant it.

In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to perhaps find a way to test his ability.

"Do you find yourself using it often?" Hild asked.

"Not super often," he said. "Honestly, really only if I forget something. Or if there's a really good memory I guess that I'd like to relive, in a selfish way."

"Fair enough," Hild said simply.

She'd hit her limit as far as the pursuit of carrying on conversation went, and was happy to let it naturally peter out now. Alex seemed comfortable doing the same, and the two of them continued to walk side by side while Lyall and Clanny chatted away.

"Hold it lower," Lyall said, leaning in to squint closer at the laptop screen. "Keep going, keep going-- No, that's too far." He waved both hands with mild frustration when Viktor over-corrected, pointing his camera up to the top of the diagram again. "Gah! You're the world's worst camera tripod!"

"Hey now," Viktor retorted defensively, turning the camera back toward himself, "at least I'm trying to help. Unlike Dad!"

Lyall sighed and quickly relented, "Yes, you're right. And I appreciate it."

Vik grinned victoriously, then softened with open concern. "He's right, though. You're just having...work withdrawals. I don't know, but you're supposed to be on vacation. So just...chill!"

"It's not a vacation," Lyall gently corrected, scrubbing both hands over his face. "It's a three-month long test."

With a snort, Vik fell back into his office chair. "They could've fooled me."

Well, yes. That much was true, it certainly hadn't felt or gone the way Lyall anticipated it to thus far. Everyone had yet to receive official assignments still, so much of the island experience had been so sensationalized that it still felt half like a fever dream, and the thousands of miles of ocean surrounding them felt like an impending watery grave. All it would take was just a tropical storm or enough siesmic activity to just wash the tiny place completely from existence.

With no immediate way out that wouldn't directly result in the complete overturning of one's entire life, it really felt like a prison.

Hence, trying to not dwell on the logistics of the place. Keeping as busy as possible. Though with everyone in the thus-far-dubbed "Rizz Cabin" branching out lately to make acquaintances with other contestants, he found himself with time in the day he didn't know how to fill. Aside from keeping current with the medical world, or checking in on the family practice.

So that's what he did.

"I don't know," Viktor piped again, "I think this could be good for you. Both of you. You guys work wayyy too much."

Lyall cracked a wry grin at that. "Says the slacker."

With an affronted gasp, Vik smacked a hand over his heart. "You wound me so..."

Then he suddenly sat straighter, and waved as he switched to Common. "Hullo, Lyall's friend!"

Lyall likewise stiffened, then twisted around. Alan was at the door, leaning against it with his his hands in his pockets, smiling at Lyall. He lifted a hand as a wave.

"Sorry. Don't let me disturb. I can come back later," he said.

With a huffed laugh, Lyall shook his head as he waved Alan in. "No, no, please. You may as well meet our youngest while you're here!"

Alan grinned, happily bounding inside to meet Lyall at his desk. He bent down behind Lyall, his head hovering over his shoulder as he joined the video call stream.

"Am I talking to the Viktor Ashlund?" Alan said playfully with a lingering grin.

Viktor beamed. "The one and only! You're Alan, right?"

Alan gasped, feigning surprise through this grin. "How did you know?"

"I may have done a little bit of research," Viktor said, stroking the whiskers on his upper lip like a cartoon villain. "Mayhaps employed some espionage-esque methods."

"Is that so? Lyall didn't tell me you're a detective and a spy. I'm impressed," Alan said.

"Don't be," Lyall said with an amused grin. He folded his arms as he leaned back. "It's merely code for 'I have too much free time on my hands'."

Alan tried a few differnet new positions to get more comfortable, find slouching, then crouching, then quickly glancing behind him as he realized he went off camera.

"Tis but a cry for help," Viktor agreed woefully, then broke out into a snicker. "Oh hey, did you tell Mister Alan about the kroks com--"

"No!" Lyall harshly shushed him, waving both hands frantically. "That's on a need to know basis." He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the camera. "And he never. Needs. To know."

While they spoke, Alan briskly stood back up to across the room, taking a stool that was previously used as a plant stand, but he moved the plant to the dresser before coming back with it.

"Are you talking about the kroks we bought?" Alan asked after he sat down on the stool perched behind Lyall, still looking over his shoulder. "We helped pick each other's, all because your brother lost his shoes to the ocean."

A wide, knowing grin grew on Viktor's face, but he relented, "Ah, yes. The krok shop. That is indeed what I meant."

Lyall gave the youngest Ashlund a withering glare. "Well, you don't have to be strange about it," he muttered.

Alan flicked his eyes between them with a raised brow and a curious smile. "I feel like I'm missing important context here."

Lyall waved dismissively, while Viktor only tilted his chin up with a very irritating smugness.

"Mister Alan," Vik started up again, "I'm hereby enlisting your help in saving my dear elder brother from himself--"

"I will hang up," Lyall said sternly.

"No!" Viktor pulled his camera closer so that they had a fisheye view of his face from the nose up. "Please, Mister Alan!" he said with over-exaggerated urgency, and shook the device. "He's suffering from work withdrawals, and you're his only hope of overcoming it!"

Alan stifled an amused laugh, leaning forward so that his head came into Lyall's side view over his shoulder. "Is that true?" he mused. "That I'm your only hope, I mean."

Leaning away slightly, Lyall was tempted to give Alan a warning tap to the cheek. "All is quite well in my world," he argued, folding his arms instead. "No need for any rescuing, thank you."

"That's what they all say!" Viktor despaired. "He's already got one foot out the door..."

"Tell you what," Alan said as he leaned away, patting Lyall's shoulder. "I'll teach dear Lyall here how to have day of fun, but I first humbly request to hear your favorite story about him."

With a sigh, Lyall rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Please, no."

Setting his camera down again, Viktor rubbed his hands together. "Ohoho, it's a story you want! Then a story you shall have."

"Take it away, Viktor. The floor is yours," Alan said with a bright smile.

Viktor steepled his fingers under his chin, like some impish mastermind. He hemmed and hawed, which made Lyall nervously wonder what he was reaching for.

"Oh!" Viktor broke into a laughing fit-- not very reassuring in the slightest. Once he recomposed himself, he held out both hands before him.

"Okay, to set the scene: The time? I don't remember exactly. A couple years ago, so we weren't very drastically younger or smaller then. The place? The sunny island of Crit, just off the southern coast of Talia."

Lyall set both elbows on the desk and groaned loudly into his hands. Alan leaned in with amusement, taking in every word.

"I think it was a college trip or something," Viktor went on, grinning even wider, "to some sort of cultural hub. A place for all the arts. Great food, music, fashion, architecture-- you name it! One day we're in town, and this really sharp-looking lady comes to us and asks us where we're from. We looked like tourists, I'll give her that. We talk a bit about the town, ourselves, she's super cool and friendly. Really into my brother, though. Like, she was getting really cozy, you know?"

Lyall sank further down onto the desk.

"And then she says really randomly, 'Hey, have you guys ever considered being models?' And we're significantly dumber at the time, and Lyall was primed and agreeable from all the flirting. It is sudden and weird, but we don't think twice before saying, 'You know, we think we could be.' Mostly joking, but then she takes us super seriously. It feels legit when she hands us a card for some school for design. We figure fashion people are weird anyway. Didn't see the harm in checking it out, though, so we go the next day.

"It's a real art school. Big oil paintings, sculptures, the classical stuff. And it's not so bad when she actually meets us there as promised. But then it's suddenly real sketch when she brings us to some secret basement level. Almost felt like we were about to get mugged or something below an art museum. But again, we were stupid, so we go.

"Turned out, it was just some art class. There was just a ring of people with palettes and canvases, all facing a platform in the center of the room. We almost shat ourselves for nothing.

"Lyall finally asks, 'So what's really going on?' And she's like, 'You're going to model for today's study?' Like it was obvious. And so we're like, 'Oh, okay, sure,' because suddenly it makes some sense. Lyall goes to stand on the platform first, but then she stops him and says like he's stupid, 'Not like that.'"

Viktor smacked his hands together as he cackled. Lyall wanted very badly to slink under the desk and simply disappear altogether.

"We got bamboozled into modeling nude for some broke artists overseas!" Viktor fought to recompose himself. "And they never paid us like they said they would!"

There was a short pause, filled with Viktor's soft laughs. Now that Viktor finished, Alan huffed out a laugh of his own, greatly amused.

"You can't just deliver the punchline and not tell me what happened after," Alan said with a teasing voice. "How did you all fare? Did you feel like models after?"

"Not one bit," Viktor answered brightly. "Though I'm pretty sure my brother thought he was going to get--"

"Aaaaaaaaahh," Lyall finally cut in with a fierce blush, "no! Thank you, but no thank you. Goodbye, Viktor, this has been quite delightful, give Geoff my love and everything, goodbye."

"Consider my story craving satiated," Alan said, clearly biting back a laugh. "Don't worry. I'll take Lyall away from the cabin, away from work-- but our clothes will stay on."

Whatever deities were other there, Lyall prayed for them to strike him down now.

"I do highly recommend that," Vik said with a happy wave. "Maintain the TV rating. Nice meeting you, Alan! Cheers!"

"Cheers, Viktor. Can't wait to hear more stories from you. Until next time," Alan said with a wave and a smile.

And Lyall finally was able to hang up and slap the laptop shut. Burying his face in his hands, he spun his chair away from Alan. Trying desperately to scrub this whole affair from his mind.

Alan laughed, patting his back. "Sorry. I didn't think it was possible to see you this flustered. I didn't mean to embarrass you, though. I'll ask for a more wholesome story next time."

"Well," Lyall said, mustering a still-embarrassed laugh as he rallied himself to his feet, "consider yourself far too enlightened. You can always count on Vik for the winding, more ridiculous anecdotes." He grinned with more humor now as he went on, "As retaliation, I may reach out to your brother. Politely request some dirt on you in turn."

"Well. I suppose you do have a direct line to Alistair, don't you? Although, my brother can be a bit awkward at times, so let me know if you manage to break that barrier before the summer ends. I'll personally congratulate you if you do," Alan said with a chuckle, standing up as well, walking away with the stool to put it back where he found it. "What are your plans for the day, anyways?"

Lyall followed, and re-placed the planter from the dresser back on the stool. "Well, none now, considering it's been hijacked by my--" He gestured broadly to Alan with a huffed laugh. "--knight in shining armor. Which. Apparently I needed."

Alan hummed, rubbing the leaf of the plant between his fingers. He let go of the leaf, smiling warmly at Lyall. "Alright. Are you ready to leave now?"

Lyall tilted his head in questioning. "And where exactly shall you be whisking me away, may I ask?"

Alan grinned, keeping his lingering gaze on Lyall for a moment before he teasingly backed away towards the door. "Why don't you join me and find out?"

"A man of mystery," Lyall mused with a grin as he obliged and followed close after.



So, maybe... Viktor did have a point. The fresh air was nice, and so was the care-free company.

They idly chatted as Alan lead the way along the beach. There was a refreshing breeze as they went along, and the tide was far out enough for Lyall to comfortably follow at Alan's heels.

Off in the distance somewhere, Lyall caught sight of one of the many cameras. He fell back two paces from Alan.

Eventually, Alvaro stopped them at the beginning of a pier.

This gave Lyall some pause, but he mustered a light grin and said, "So, this is sort of...your thing, huh?"

"Appreciating others by creating a memorable day?" Alan said innocently, peering over the pier before grinning at Lyall. "Yes."

Well, that was... a rather oblivious response. Or just cheeky.

Furrowing a brow, Lyall tilted his head with a more pointed smile.

"...You are in fact aware I'm quite taken, right?" he asked, unable to help the tinge of real concern in the back of his mind.

Alan barked a laugh, half-rolling his eyes as he moved forward, beckoning for Lyall to follow. "Don't worry. I'm not trying to woo you. I'm not a homewrecker." He glanced back with a smile. "The timing is uncanny, but I planned this because you spent a lot of time and energy taking care of me while I was sick. I know you don't expect it, but I wanted to make it up to you. It's the least I can do." He paused. "It sounded like you needed it, though, so it must be fate."

So, it was a gesture of gratitude. While the chosen location was already a smidge stress-inducing, Lyall firmly insisted with himself that it was the thought that counted. Because it truly was a rather kind thing to do.

After a second's delay, Lyall fell back into step behind him. "Now all I'm imagining is a very loopy and feverish Alan Alvaro, scheming for ways to say 'thank you' in the most grand and absurd ways possible."

Peering over the edge of the dock, Lyall glimpsed the sand through the ever-darkening, crystalline water. When his heartbeat began pounding in his ears, he fixed his eyes firmly on Alan's back once more.

Alan huffed out some air as he took them to end of the pier where two fishing poles were stationed, along with bait, tackle, and other fishing equipment stacked in containers.

"Please. I don't think the feverish, loopy version of me could say two straight sentences. But at least you can hear it from a sober, healthy version," Alan said.

Lyall glanced over the fishing tools with a growing sense of dread.

"Can confirm," he said teasingly. "You were nothing short of melodramatic, too."

Alan came to a stop in front of the fishing poles, turning back to Lyall with a wide smile. "Do you remember our very first conversation together?"

Folding his arms tightly, Lyall hummed. "Our very first conversation?" He shrugged and had to honestly admit, "To be perfectly frank, we've already exchanged enough words to fill a novella. I really can't recall."

"Understandable. I confess I'm sentimental, so I remember first impressions well," Alan said with a chuckle. "But you, me, and Cyrin made a toast to try something new on the island. And just seconds before that, you admitted you never fished before, despite living in a fishing town. I humbly requested you try it so your father could proudly see you attempt on television." Alan smiled proudly, gesturing the the fishing poles in front of them. "And so, here we are. I thought today could be that day."

Oh.

Oh no.

"Ah," Lyall managed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Had I actually said that?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah." He paused. "Unless you have fished before?"

"Well, no." Lyall glanced at the low tide beneath them. "Not personally. I was only accompanying my family while they fished."

Alan paused, still smiling, but seemingly studying Lyall, like he was detecting the subtle hesitation. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to, though. It's just an idea."

He... he felt bad, since Alan had clearly taken time and energy to prepare this himself. Lyall didn't want to just abandon the original plan. Plus, there was that whole concept of exposure therapy. Maybe this could be good?

"No, we should definitely try," Lyall said, feeling suddenly way overdressed as he shrugged off his suit jacket. "I just have my reservations about how well I'll do."

"That's alright. I'm certainly no expert. It's not a competition, anyways. At the end of the day, this is only an activity to enjoy doing together," Alan said as he then gestured with his head for Lyall to follow his lead. "Let's give this a try, then."

It took a little bit of time, and their inexperience certainly showed. Alan eventually managed to wrangle some tackles onto the lines. Lyall found the fishing reels quite unwieldy. But they got set up, and settled down on the pier to wait for a first bite.

Lyall sat with his legs crisscrossed, fiddling with a pocket pen as he gazed out to the shoreline, near where the cabins sat in their two rows. Alan sat beside him with his legs dangling off the edge of the dock.

"So," Alan began, quick to drum up conversation as they waited, "I have a question to ask you."

Blinking, Lyall turned an intrigued look to his friend. "Go for it."

Alan returned his gaze with a smile. "Now that you're rested, I want to know: how are you doing?"

Oh. Huh.

"I'm quite well," Lyall answered, humming a laugh. "Sleep really does wonders for the mind and body. Yourself?"

Alan hummed, leaning back with his arms extended behind him. "I've been doing alright, I think. Although, maybe I should say that I feel pretty good, all things considered. Whatever concoction Clarity created really helped. It's a miracle that I feel this healthy after being so feverish." Alan sighed. "It's been a busy last few days, though. I felt bad that I inadvertently stood people up by being sick, so I talked with them and sorted everything out. I also practiced a lot, although I admit I haven't really been practicing violin, outside of sessions with Hild. Lacking creativity, I suppose. But I think it's coming back, slowly but surely. The island is full of inspiration, after all."

Lyall nodded slowly as he listened. "So... you have or haven't practiced? I'm not sure I follow."

"I suppose there's different types of practicing. Practicing with another person is different than practicing by yourself. I lack the latter more than the former," Alan said.

Ah, that made more sense.

"You're coming dangerously close to overbooking yourself," Lyall said with a huffed laugh. "As your doctor, I recommend you take it easier, since you're still in the recovery stage."

Alan hummed. "And as my friend? What do you recommend?"

Turning his head, Lyall looked Alan over. "That you take it easier," he repeated with an amused grin, "since you're still in the recovery stage."

"I do feel better and don't feel like I need to recover, but I appreciate the sentiments. And I'll keep it in mind. I'll try to relax," Alan said with a nod and a smile. "But what about you? Seems that your brother thinks you should relax."

Alright, so Alan was in fact trying to get somewhere with the 'how are you' questions.

Looking down at his hands, Lyall absently tapped the tips of his fingers together. "He is the king of 'chillaxing'. Of course he'll think that."

Viktor would probably go so far as to suggest the same for Kaz, the youngest Ashlund was so laid-back.

Alan let out a soft hum. "I suppose he's not wrong. I've also noticed you've been more absorbed in your work lately."

Lyall rubbed the back of his neck. "That noticeable, huh."

"I don't think it's a bad thing. You're passionate. It's easy to get absorbed," Alan said gently.

Hence this little getaway. Checks and balances, and whatnot.

Lyall leaned back on his hands, somewhat mirroring Alan's more relaxed posture. A beat passed, and he grinned fondly at his next thought.

"Kaya does this too," he said, only briefly looking sideways to meet Alan's eyes. "Drags me out of the office, drives us out with nary a plan. Just generally keeping me from getting too hung up on the...ultimately unattainable standard of 'perfect productivity'."

Alan beamed, still mostly keeping his attention fixed on Lyall rather than the rod in front of him. "Oh, really? I can't say I think of it that way. I suppose that's part of the charm when seizing the moment." He paused, smile softening. "It sounds like she makes you very happy, though. So unexpected surprises to change up your day-to-day is the key to your heart." Another pause. "Or at least one of them, anyways."

"She does," Lyall agreed softly, looking down at the worn wood of the pier. "It's only been a little over a week, and I miss her terribly."

"I can imagine. Being long distance from someone you love is so hard. Have you ever been apart this long?" Alan asked gently.

"Once or twice." Usually family-related business that took Kaya from the Ashlunds' end of Fjelstad, to the far opposite side of the country. "But I anticipate these three months will be the longest we'd spent apart thus far."

Alan nodded in understanding. "Luckily, it's only a few months, but I know it doesn't make it any less difficult. I wish she could be here, too. I'd love to meet her."

"Oh--" Lyall bumped his hand to Alan's arm. "You still can! I don't think your schedules usually align, but there's bound to be at least one time where you can get acquainted. I think you two would really hit it off."

Alan sat up straight, grinning. "I'd love that. I've already met your brother, and obviously, I've met your sister. It's about time I meet your fiance."

Lyall nodded and happily agreed, "Yeah, it's settled then! We'll have to coordinate something."

"How late do you usually stay up to talk to her?" Alan asked. "The time zone disparity is quite large from here to Fjelstad, isn't it?"

Lyall gave a slight grimace. "It's... I stay up 'til 1...3 in the morning sometimes? We usually start a call around 11 pm. But you don't have to talk for that long, of course. Being an early bird and all."

Alan waved his hand out in front of him like he was swatting away the thought. "I usually get up early to make the most of the day, but I'm sometimes up at that time anyways. I sometimes hear you talk through the walls at the later hours, though I figure it's you chatting with Kaya. Next time I'll have to stop by while you're chatting."

Oh, oops. Lyall hadn't realized the walls were so thin. Or maybe they weren't, and he was just that loud. He'd been told that before.

He rubbed the back of his neck, flashing a quick, apologetic grin, before saying, "Well, I truly meant it when I said you're welcome in anytime."

"Then I will," Alan said sincerely with a warm smile. "Nothing would make me happier. After all, I think happiness is infectious. If my happiness is your happiness, then you being madly in love with Kaya brings me joy. I love hearing stories about love." Alan pursed his lips, pausing as he glanced from the fishing rod back to Lyall with a playful smile. "I admit it: I'm a sap. But we often hear more stories about heartache and failed relationships, so it's so refreshing to hear and learn about steady, happy relationships."

Lyall nodded emphatically. "Glad to provide a ray of light in an otherwise bleak and unfeeling world."

There was a pause here, like Alan was waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, Alan narrowed his eyes at him, his smile turning more playful. "You know that was an invitation for you to share a sappy story about Kaya, right?"

Lyall blinked. Then barked a laugh. "Oh, was it? You didn't...directly ask."

Alan drummed his hands against his lap, letting out a soft hum. "Alright then. How did you both meet?"

Lyall hummed. "At a party, back in my hometown. Some friends introduced us. We talked a bit about some of her artwork that was on display in the building, about work, family. We danced a while, I got her number, and we met up for breakfast the day after."

He shrugged, and grinned fondly at the memory. "She sat huddled in the booth across from me, hat and scarf still on, and both hands wrapped around her coffee mug to keep warm. I asked to hold her hands for a minute, which. Was forward, even for me. Despite, ah, dancing the whole night prior. Anyway, she took it in stride, I guess, put her hands in mine."

Lyall lifted and waved both hands demonstratively. "I used my magic to warm them up. Like... it was a subtle, space heater effect, so it wasn't immediately alarming. But when she realized how I was doing it, she wasn't...scared. Just curious."

Letting a beat pass, Lyall realized he was just rambling at this point. He coughed lightly and finished, "Anyway, yeah. Nothing big or dramatic. We simply clicked, and there was this immediate sense of feeling safe with one another." He shrugged again, and finally looked back to Alan. "That's our story. Well. The beginning of it. Rest is history, and all that."

Alan listened intently the whole time. By the end of his story, Alan had to sit up straight again, not realizing he had been slowly leaning forward with each passing sentence. He grinned, the smile warm and sincere, reaching his eyes.

"I love that. It's such a sweet story. Thank you for sharing," he said. "Now I have to know: how did you propose? And when did you know she was the one?"

Scanning Alvaro, Lyall faintly grinned. "No no," he said teasingly, "that's enough on me for today. Now it's your turn to spill." Sitting straighter himself, Lyall turned to fully face Alan. "You were quite out of it, so I'm unsure of how much you can recall, but you did mention a 'Maria' once in your feverish ramblings. Would I be crossing a line if I inquired about this person?"

Alan's bright-eyed smile faded quickly, clearly caught by surprise. Instead of being stunned to silence, however, Alan was quick to react. He let out a faint laugh and ran his hand through his hair, gazing longingly up at the sky.

"No," he said more softly though a bittersweet smile. "It's alright. It's not like I'm harboring information from you. I wouldn't mind talking about Maria, although I hope you can be patient with me, because we broke up a little over a month ago."

"Ah," Lyall said, expression softening in an instant, "of course. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright," Alan said with a reassured smile, placing his hands back on his lap as he turned his full attention back to Lyall. "I broke up with her because I didn't think we'd be happy together long-term. It's one of the cruelest ironies of life, isn't it? You can love someone with your whole heart, but still be unhappy."

Alan sighed, a contemplative gaze resting over the ocean again.

"It was a hard decision to make," he continued. "I felt like I was at a crossroads. We were together for nearly two years, and I was considering marrying her. But I felt like our love slowly poisoned the other person, and no matter how often we made up, we couldn't fix what we have-- because fixing the relationship meant changing an aspect of yourself, and it's outside our rights to ask the other to change for the relationship. So I did what I think was best for the two of us."

Alan paused again, reaching out to idly touch the base of the fishing rod. "I broke it off and left," he finished, then sighed again, hand swirling in front of him, bobbing his head along with the movement. "Then left for the hike. Then came here. It's been a long journey, although it has been going by fast so far."

Lyall hummed quietly as he took this all in. He wondered what Alan meant by changing oneself for the sake of a relationship. A matter of semantics more than anything but Lyall believed semantics was everything.

"Sometimes it is best to let a thing go," Lyall agreed gently, looking back down at the dock beneath them. "Even if it started out a good thing."

Times and circumstances changed, and so did people. Or sometimes they didn't. And depending on which ways they changed, it might have been to their detriment. A principle in life that Lyall was all too familiar with.

"Are you feeling like you'll need to settle into some place again soon?" Lyall asked.

Alan nodded, still with a deeply contemplative expression as he gazed over the sea. "Yeah. I'm still figuring it out. We lived together, but to make the process easier, I decided to move out." He paused. "Which, technically, I did. Kind of. I just didn't move in somewhere else yet. I basically let her have all the furniture and threw my belongings at my mom's place before leaving for the hike. I have about two months to figure it out, though. I'll probably live with my family for a little bit until then. I'm not too worried about it. I'm just trying to take advantage of the situation now. You know, to use the money I have to go somewhere new. A new change of place. Something or somewhere to shake things up."

Lyall, in contrast, kept his gaze firmly trained on Alan. "I'm sure your mother would love to have you back for a bit," he said warmly.

"Maybe. She lives with my uncle and a few of my younger cousins, and I don't really want to introduce any more chaos in their lives right now. Although I know if she heard me say this right now, she'd insist I'm wrong," Alan said with a faint chuckle. "I might live with my brother for a bit instead, although he has a girlfriend who's over a lot, so I want to give him privacy."

Alan hummed, another playful smile tugging his lips, although it was clear he was still thinking through past heartbreak.

"Maybe I'll be homeless for a little while longer. It's quite humbling, actually," he finished.

Lyall chuckled dryly at that. "To each their own."

He did have the fleeting thought that, maybe if they had lived on at least the same continent, he could put up his friend for a bit. But he let the thought pass him by. It would have been far too forward to offer.

"Perhaps," Lyall suggested instead, "simply talk it over with your family. They all seem to love you dearly, and would be willing to help you out."

Alan laughed at that, slightly grininng at him with a raised brow. "You're one to talk, Mister Don't-Pull-Me-Away-From-My-Work."

Furrowing his brows, Lyall put on a very put-upon pout. "I'm trying to be helpful here," he said.

"If you want to be helpful, you could at least indulge me by answering my previous question," Alan teased. "How did you know Kaya was the one?"

"How would that be helpful?" Lyall asked, tilting his head. "Aside from...sating your sense of curiosity."

He was more than happy to perhaps brag on his brilliant, talented, kind, beautiful fiance, so he really wasn't trying to withold anything from Alan here. He just was finding it too easy to make a game of dangling information just out of reach.

Alan hummed. "Should I beg?" he mused.

Pressing his eyes closed, Lyall breathed out a quiet laugh. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Please, Lyall?" Alan went on anyways. "Won't you indulge a broken-hearted, hopeless romantic about your one true love? It's my dying wish."

"Your dying--" Lyall bit back a laugh. "Well, how could I deny a man on his deathbed?"

His smile tamed as he quietly thought it over. Alan smiled victoriously, patiently waiting for his answer.

"It was...a gradual realization, I think," Lyall slowly answered. "All the little ways we almost effortlessly fill the little empty spaces in each other's lives. How she's pretty much grafted into the family now. The fact that I strongly believe we can stand the distance for three months, and not drift apart even then."

He leaned forward again, folding his arms against the slight chill of an ocean breeze. "We both woke up late once." He chuckled. "Then she promptly turned over and slept for another two hours. It was as I made coffee that I simply decided, I wanted my every morning to be like that."

"That's beautiful. I can tell you love her deeply," Alan said softly with a smile, gazed keenly fixed on Lyall. "You realized this slowly over time until it dawned on you, like a quiet revelation."

Lyall nodded and mustered a faint grin. "That's an accurate assessment."

But dammit. Now he wanted nothing more than to be back home with Kaya.

"How did you propose, anyways?" Alan asked, repeating the same question as before.

"This feels mildly like one of those bizarre morning interviews," Lyall said, casting Alan a playful glare. "How many more questions until I am released back to land?"

"Oh, god," Alan said with a muffled laugh, rubbing his face as he shook his head. "You've been interviewed too, then. Maybe we should stop talking about this. There's no use in giving them more fodder."

Lyall glanced about them, assessing the privacy of the pier, at their close proximity, then gave Alvaro a pointed look. "'No more fodder', you say?" he said flatly.

"Or maybe not. I live to entertain," Alan said with a little laugh.

"Likewise," Lyall said, quirking an amused brow. "However..."

He trailed off, then merely shook his head with a laugh. "So how do we tell if you got anything?" And he gestured to the pole by Alan.

"There's usually a tug on the line. It's pretty obvious. There'll be a lot more applied pressure," Alan explained, glancing back at Lyall. "I'm surprised you don't know or have fished much, though, since it sounds like a common activity done with your family."

"I confess," Lyall said, patting his hand to his chest, "I don't usually pay attention to Geoff's fishing-related ramblings."

"Geoff," Alan echoed. "A family member, I presume?"

"Ah," Lyall said, "my stepfather, yes."

Alan nodded. "Fishing is a very dad activity, isn't it? It's a little comical and cliche to hear of the father-son dynamics being built upon fishing."

Lyall gasped with mock offense. "Cliche-- The nerve!"

"Maybe it's because the stillness of fishing forces you to wait, which in turn, forces you to bond," Alan mused, then wore another silly grin. "I can't say the concept doesn't work."

Humming, Lyall had to concede it definitely got a person results in that sense. "And you know from experience?"

"Well, we're fishing now, aren't we?" Alan said with a smile.

"Ah, yes," Lyall mused, "you draw from all one hour of experience."

"I draw fast conclusions. Maybe I'm impatient," Alan said, still with the playful voice. "Or maybe I'm not. I can be here all day."

God, Lyall hoped they didn't end up sitting here all day.

Glancing only briefly at their lines, Lyall idly drummed on his knees. Just when he was considering jumping back to the topic of Alan's ex, Alan beat him to it in asking a completely different question.

"What type of dancing did you and Kaya do, by the way?" he asked out of the blue.



Lyall hummed in questioning, response delayed as he rewound their conversation for the context. Then went, "Ah!" He grinned. "Our first dance was a Lindy Hop. Maybe more of a jitterbug, thanks to the drinks." He shrugged. "West Coast Swing would've been fun, but she wasn't familiar with that style at the time."

Alan hummed, pursing his lips for a second. "Are you familiar with that dance style?"

"I rather prefer it, to be honest," Lyall said with a nod of confirmation.

"And why's that?" Alan asked curiously.

Tilting his head, Lyall furrowed his brows with a hint of friendly suspicion. "Why do you ask?" Though he felt he already knew the answer.

A playful grin crept up to Alan, and he innocently shrugged. "Maybe I'm just curious to hear what your preferred dance styles are."

Lyall gave him an exaggerated squint. "And what of yours? I only presume you might have one, if you're inquiring about mine at all."

"I do have preferred dances and preferred styles, yes," Alan affirmed, though still kept it vague. He tapped his fingers against his lap, thinking before continuing on with, "Dance is merely a creative expression of your body interpreting the music. In my opinion, West Coast Swing has one of the highest calibers of creative expression and musicality. That's what I like the most about that dance style. It encourages you to connect with your partner and become one with the song."

Lyall raised both brows with a mildly impressed grin. "An artist of multiple mediums, then," he concluded. Then pressed, "So. Favorite?"

Alan tilted his head. "Favorite what?"

Lyall cast him a somewhat dry look at that. "Cheeky," he muttered. "You can't not have favorites. Maybe they change from time to time, but." He raised both arms in a broad shrug. "Come on, give me something to work with."

Alan lifted both arms for an innocent shrug. "I love all art mediums. But if I had to pick one dance style, then-- well, that depends on the person I'm with."

"No," Lyall insisted, laughing incredulously, "that's not how it works. If it were up to you." He poked Alan's shoulder. "What would you choose?"

Alan smiled, slightly narrowing his eyes at his friend. "What if I said it depends on my mood?"

Lyall threw his hands skyward in a show of exasperation. "Fine. Your current mood, right now." He gestured emphatically with both hands at his friend, enunciating, "What would you choose?"

Alan huffed out a laugh, gaze drifting over the ocean. A few quiet moments passed before he finally answered, "I would choose West Coast Swing."

Still grinning, Lyall huffed a doubtful laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah." Alan turned back towards him with an amused smile. "Why the doubt?"

"This has nothing to do with the fact that I mentioned it a mere moment ago?" Lyall pressed.

Alan shook his head. "Nope. I just truly like the dance and am in the mood for it."

"Then prove it," Lyall said, feeling his grin turn silly.

Alan kept his amused stare on Lyall for a moment, smiling. "Did you just indirectly ask me to dance?"

Lyall paused, tilting his chin up as he studied Alan. "...Depends on your answer."

"I do like to be the follower sometimes," Alan said with a growing grin.

Eve tapped the back of her pencil against the blank page, thinking. Reflecting. Contemplating.

She had to be more strategic.

Eve made plans with James to meet twice a week practicing Vietese and Talian. They had already met once, just outside her cabin near the beach where the chairs were. She would have proposed to meet inside, but frankly, she was tired of staying inside all the time. She figured it would be more refreshing if they both had fresh air.

The whole time, however, James seemed on edge. Like he didn't even want to be there.

Was it her? Was he frustrated? Did he not want to practice language? Was it because he didn't like beaches? The ocean? Sunny days? Something?

It had to be something.

It wasn't her, was it?

Eve kept tapping the pencil against the page, staring out the cafe's window, not realizing until now that she her zoning out resulted in a natural glare to whoever could be passing by.

Which was Shane. Again.

Eve realized her hostile resting expression too late, quickly looking away after they made brief eye contact. She fiercely stared down at her empty page, readying the pencil in her hand like she was about to write or draw something, even though nothing came to mind. She heard the bell ring as Shane came inside, but she didn't look back up, not really wanting to instigate conversation.

Ever since James showed her the plaza last week, she had been coming to this cafe every day, setting up a routine where she could drink tea, listen to music, read, and sketch. There were at least a dozen other cafes in the plaza-- which was so needless, but that was a whole other topic-- and out of all of them, Shane seemed to like this one too.

At least, that was the conclusion Eve was making now, since this was now the third day in a row that they saw each other this way.

It was fine. It didn't matter. They were free to roam the island as they pleased. It wasn't like she owned this cafe or anything. Shane was free to spend time here just as she was. He was allowed to prefer the same cafe too, even though she was here first. It was fine.

Eve repressed a sigh, stealing a glance his way when he sat down. Just like her, he always picked the same seat, and they chose to sit at the opposite ends of the room. He was angled enough that he wouldn't notice if she stared.

Not that she'd stare at him. That would be uncomfortable.

Shane looped the handle of a canvas bag over the shoulder of the chair, taking out a few items-- a stack of hardcover books, a fountain pen, two notebooks. He left them on his table, before going up to the counter to order a latte with rose syrup in a soft voice, then thanked the barista and returned to his table.

He didn't look at Eve, but something told her he was consciously aware of her there.

Averting her gaze, Eve squished her cheek against the palm of her hand, slouching forward a bit as she leafed through her sketchbook with her other hand.

She had to do a better job of organizing the sketchbooks. She didn't like the idea of the sketchbooks having no organizational structure, especially since she was going to observe the same people for the whole month.

The egotistical island overlords gave her way too many empty sketchbooks, a detail she found annoying, like they knew she would want that many to choose from and fill. They weren't wrong, exactly, but Eve felt unnerved in thinking that it was either Maeve or Oliver who made sure this detail was followed upon.

Eve was tired of their petty games. If they truly wanted to talk to her, they ought to reach out to her directly.

She continued to turn the pages, eyeing the very few sketches she had of Constantine.

Eve ultimately decided to divide the sketchbooks by cabin. And today, she wanted to focus on what everyone called the "Bird" Cabin, which was where Constantine, Shane, and James lived.

Her sketches on Constantine were mostly guesses of various poses she wanted to practice drawing. She found ample information of him online, and considering he was not only a literal prince but also an actual magazine model, he was an interesting person to study. Eve found him especially intriguing because he seemed quite repulsed by other people's company.

It was strange, considering Constantine had always been in the public eye. He had to be highly socialized. Right?

Then again, a life of luxury and fame could strip away the authenticity of any relationship.

Eve kept flipping through the sketchbook until she landed in Shane's section.

Shane was also a royal, but at quite a different level than Constantine. He was one of five Aphiran heirs, and practically brand new to the role. His family had held power for centuries, but it was common knowledge that he'd been flung into power just recently, rather than set apart for it from birth. Until the assassination of his parents last winter-- the tragedy that had made the headlines globally for weeks afterwards-- he'd been relatively out of the spotlight. Then he'd been pushed into it, suddenly famous.

Eve couldn't imagine how deeply that would affect the psyche of a person. With a tragedy that deep, and to be expected to move on due to political expectations he likely wanted nothing to do with, considering he picked history over political science as his university major... Eve could only imagine the deep despair that overshadowed him every day.

Or perhaps she didn't need to imagine. Eve could recognize the hidden expression of sadness.

The beginning of Shane's section was mostly filled with guesses. They were extrapolations of pictures she found online, just like Constantine. Unlike the Talian Prince, though, Shane didn't have as many pictures that were a reliable reference.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Shane did not model with numerous magazine photoshoots.

And although Eve did mostly keep to herself, she often sat close enough to the cabin view that she noted when people left their cabins. Some left at specific times, others left with no pattern, and some hardly left at all. Shane fell in the latter group.

So she didn't really see him around. That was, until now.

Eve flipped through the new pages she had of him, which consisted of him sitting, studying, pondering. She didn't particularly feel inspired to draw him now since it would be the third day in a row that she'd do this, but she flipped to the first page of his section where she compiled notes and observations about him. It was mostly a bullet point list of his history, mannerisms, specific physical features, and working theories about his character.

Pencil in hand, Eve wrote a new bullet point under the list.

• pretends not to see me (reactive? copying me?)

She sat still, reading the same notes again and again-- at least, until the song playing in the cafe ended. Satisfied, Eve quickly went through the rest of her pages until she was in James's section.

She had a lot of information on him. At least, more than the others.

James was a mystery to her. It was almost comical, really; he was a random potato farmer from Nye who punched her ex-boyfriend and now had to suffer through petty consequences on this island hell. And to make it even more comical, she became friends with him. Somehow. Naturally.

Or perhaps it wasn't natural. Perhaps this was planned the whole time. ALthough, if it was, Eve didn't know why the Trieus would orchestrate this. Her friendship with him seemed to go against everything they wanted.

Whatever that was.

Eve flipped through his sketches first. The first sketches were mostly the same across the books of different sitting and standing poses. The more she understood the person, the more unique they became on paper.

So naturally, James became more and more grouchy with each passing sketch. He seemed so angry at the world, like he had a vendetta against it.

Maybe he did. After all, she read about the whistleblower case about him. It was impressive that they got along thus far without him revealing a single detail about this. Then again, she didn't quite open the floor for him to simply say, "Why, yes, I've served military time, willingly chose to become a traitor against my country, then served very real jail time. Why do you ask?"

Eve turned back to the beginning of his section, staring down at her large list of observations.

It was growing long. She should have devoted two pages to it instead. She ought to start writing smaller.

She did exactly that, writing a new bullet point with a smaller font.

• constantly on edge (is it me? or something else?)

Eve had more questions than answers right now, but this was only the second week of her time on the island.

She had to be strategic. She had to gather all her answers now when the days were calm. All signs point to the reality TV show being a true reality of psychological warfare. If anything unexpected were to come up involving other people, at least, now, she'd be prepared.



It was ten minutes to the end of the hour until James would meet her here for the language lesson, but from what she knew of James, she expected him to come sooner. This was confirmed when she caught movement at the corner of her eye, sensing someone arriving.

Eve inconspicuously watched as James squinted at the numbers of the cafe doors, almost entering the wrong cafe. It didn't take him long to realize his mistake, quickly striding inside as if he was trying to not be late despite being nearly ten minutes early.

At the ring of the bell, Eve looked up, her eyes landing on James. Immediately, she could tell that he tried today. His long, thick hair was pulled back in a simple, single braid, and there were short wisps framing his face. His beard looked exceptionally sharp, like he'd just trimmed it, and he was wearing his glasses today instead of contacts, like he usually did. The larger frames were a soft silver, and they sat neatly on his nose.

Today was more humid than usual, so James was wearing a clean-cut tank top that fit a little more loosely, patterned with thin, pale grey stripes. His toned arms and shoulders were exposed, revealing faint, fading scars that Eve had already memorized the locations of. Paired with the soft, cotton shirt were simple grey linen shorts and gladiator-like sandals, wrapping up his ankles.

He seemed to scan the entirety of the shop before his eyes landed on her - like he was searching for something - but when he looked at her, he offered her a small smile.

Something about it felt forced though. She could see the tension in his shoulders - his whole frame, really - like he was hyper-aware that they were being watched. Something was on his mind, and even as he sat down across from her, he continued to hold all of the tension he'd walked in with. She could feel his stress just by looking at him.

"Good morning, Eve," James greeted her in Vietese.

She once again wondered what it was. Perhaps the cameras. There was one at the corner of this cafe, after all. Or perhaps it was Shane. They both gave each other a smile and a look of recognition, after all.

"Good morning, James," Eve greeted back, but in Talian.

She already prepared for this meeting ten minutes ago. Her iPad was in front of her, already on her language notes app, ready to go. They had both been following lesson plans to touch on specific grammar rules that were too nuanced to more easily explain, using the notes as a reference point in case they didn't know an answer for certain.

Maybe he could use a different change of pace, though.

"Do you want to follow the same method as last time? Or change things up?" she asked in Vietese again, diving right in and skipping the small talk.

"I'm fine with what we've been doing," he answered in Vietese.

"Maybe we'll keep it more casual instead. Just have a conversation. Talk," Eve offered anyways, already putting the iPad away. "One less thing to stress about."

James quirked a brow at that.

"Has it been stressful for you?" he asked.

Eve almost said no, but paused to think about it for a moment.

If she said no, then he would also admit that it hasn't been stressful, and they'd continue as usual. But she was sure that something had to change for him to not be on edge.

"Structure can be stressful sometimes," she said instead, still answering in Vietese. "Sometimes it's better to keep things simple. We'll fully converse in Vietese today. Next time, we'll do the same, but in Talian. It may be slower since I'm not as fluent as you, but immersing yourself in the language is the quickest way to learn."

With a small smile, James nodded.

"Sure," he said. "That works for me."

It then dawned on Eve that she had essentially proposed that they start with small talk, but in a different language. She hesitated.

"... How have you been?" she asked.

"Alright, I suppose," he answered, looking down at the table between them. "It's been... quiet. This week."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" Eve asked.

James pursed his lips, looking off the side.

"It's..." he hesitated, then switched to common. "What's the word for 'neutral?'"

Eve sounded the word for him, and James nodded, repeating it. Still, that didn't really give her much context or answers.

"Did you do anything... fun?" she asked, trying not to cringe from how absurd this question felt.

James let out a weak laugh.

"I, uh... went shopping?" he said with a shrug.

Eve slowly nodded. "For... clothes?"

"Yeah," he said. "The Ashlunds said I needed more 'acceptable' clothes."

"Ah." She flicked her eyes down to his shirt, which didn't have any silly phrase on it. "I thought your previous attire was acceptable. Wearing it has become akin to a political statement here."

For a moment, James looked up and made brief eye contact. His expression softened, and a small, somewhat timid but genuine smile graced his features, replacing his usually more severe resting face. He looked back down at the table.

"Well," he said. "I'm glad you think so."

"Your current attire is acceptable too, though," Eve said, not really knowing how to fill the short silence that followed. She paused, grimacing at her words. "I mean, it's fine. It's you. Yours... Fine."

James's smile grew as he watched her fumble with her words.

"Thank you," he said simply. "Your attire is fine, too."

"I..." Eve began, not even knowing how to respond to that. She looked down at her oversized cream-colored t-shirt that had a pastel lemon on it, feeling her face go warm from sudden embarrassment. "...Thanks."

James laughed lightly.

"Do you like lemons?" he asked. "Or did you just like the shirt?"

"Yes," Eve said simply, pressing her lips together tightly.

James grinned again. Did he think she was funny?

"You know," he went on. "I knew a lemon farmer once."

"I presume they're not your potato farm neighbors," Eve said, more flatly than she meant to convey.

"No, he lived several miles away," James said with a wave of his hand. "He died when I was a kid, but he was a family friend for a bit. We'd take our produce to the farmer's market and see each other there. He always had a booth by ours."

"That sounds peaceful. Did your family buy his lemons?" Eve asked.

"Yes," James answered. "And when life gives you lemons--"

Suddenly there was movement from the window. A lens slowly lifted from under the window, a camera coming into view pointed straight at them. Someone clearly wanted to capture this without being seen.

The moment the camera was visible, James's entire attention was ripped away. His fist flew up rapidly, and with a jolting movement, very narrowly avoided smashing the window before stopping himself. Stiffly, he clenched his hand and shot a pointed glare to the camera.

Even though he'd managed to smile during the conversation, it was clear that all the tension was still wound up inside of him. All it took was a too-close camera to bring it out.

James's brows twitched together in a line, and he looked away, shaking his hand out beside him in what seemed like embarrassment.

"...God, I wish they wouldn't do that," he muttered. "Sorry."

Clearly, James was holding back a lot.

Eve glanced back at the window, the camera still pointed at them. Perhaps the person holding the camera didn't even know what almost happened, blissfully unaware as they continued to point the camera their way.

She abruptly stood up, the chair screeching behind her. "Let's go somewhere new," she said, placing her laptop and iPad back in her tote, along with her phone and sketchpad.

A bit stiffly, James stared at her, clearly trying to avoid looking at the camera directly.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Eve paused in her movements to stare at him. "Do you want to stay here?"

There was an awkward moment of hesitation. James stared at her. She stared at him. And it was clear he was processing something that was hindering his ability to make an immediate decision - at least, until he finally (more abruptly than her) got to his feet. The chair screeched behind him far louder than hers had.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go."



Eve led the way, and they walked in silence the whole time. She was hyperaware of any and all cameras on them.

After seeing his reaction today, the cameras had to be why James was on edge. She knew that he disliked being recorded, but she hadn't realized how angry he was over this. Eve knew he was annoyed, but she hadn't seen this level of anger since he punched Oliver.

If they wanted to talk, it had to be somewhere without cameras.

Maybe the cabin?

But... what if that wasn't safe? Even when they had gone in the cabin together for the language lesson, he still seemed on edge.

Was any safe place on this island? Where could they get true privacy?

Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere isolated.

Eve knew a spot.

She briskly walked, rounding the perimeter of the island and taking him deep into the woods, thick with weeds and vegetation and trees. She half-expected James to say something-- anything-- but he simply followed without questioning where she was taking him, even when nearly half an hour passed without either of them saying a single word as she took him deeper into the woods.

Finally, they reached the destination.

A cave. A place that was so far and isolated and would not be able to let the drone in, which followed them above.

When it came into view, Eve wordlessly glanced back at James for confirmation. He glanced up, then nodded, gesturing for her to go in. She carefully walked in first, careful to step in since there were loose rocks she could slip on.

The cave was deep, but it was dark, and they didn't need to go far. After a few strides inside, she turned around as James stepped in as well. Before stepping in, he'd grabbed a giant boulder. He was dragging it quickly across the ground like it was a race, and it wasn't until she saw the drone flying overhead that she realized what he was racing. When the drone began to dive down, James smacked it away, pulling the boulder over the entrance of the cave, blocking its path.

And, effectively, blocking pretty much all light from the cave.

There was a moment of tense silence in the darkness.

"...I assume you wanted privacy, right?" he asked.

In the blind darkness, Eve dug through her tote, careful to rummage through her items since she didn't want to clumsily drop anything when the cave was dark, wet, and slippery. She found her phone, taking it out and turning on the flash light, the light revealing James across from her. The hardness of the light still cast a deep shadow on his face.

"I assume you wanted privacy," she corrected, watching as he squinted at her with the sudden light that she briefly shined his way.

"...Right," he said, eyes barely open, evidently blinded by the light. "Well. This works. I guess."

"Is that why you've been so on edge lately? Because of the cameras?" she asked bluntly, deciding to just ask now that she had him without anyone else watching.

"That," he admitted, drawing a little closer to sit down on the ground. "And I don't know when I might fall through the ground next. It's happened twice, now."

Eve stared at him, fully aware that her stare was flat and unamused. "What?"

Throwing his hands out in front of him in a tense, frustrated gesture, James looked off into the cave.

"I feel like I'm always being watched!" he said. "Nothing I say or do goes unheard! And I've already been threatened but suddenly the past few days there's just been... silence, and I don't know when they're going to pounce on me next. I know they're not just going to leave me alone. It feels like I'm walking on eggshells, just waiting for the storm to hit again. I hate it. I can't talk to my family. I can't have a normal conversation. I can't do anything without an audience. I'm trapped in TV hell and I don't understand how everyone's acting so goddamn normal about it."

Rubbing his eyes under his glasses, he let out a deep sigh, falling abruptly into silence.

"...I shouldn't have... ugh," he muttered. "Sorry. Sorry. I just... dumped all of that on you. God, I'm losing my mind."

Eve stayed still as she listened with mild surprise that he said so much, but when he finished, she slowly sat down next to him, hand lightly pushing the boulder she sat on to make sure it was stable. Flashlight still on, she placed the phone against the rock, away from them so the light wouldn't blind them. They didn't need to see each other well, anyways. The light was for their own comfort they wouldn't be completely enveloped in darkness.

Eve took a moment to better think through her words since she didn't want to say anything rash, studying James. He still held his hands over his face, glasses over his fingers, and he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"No need to apologize. You were clearly holding something back, so I took you here so you could dump it all out," she said calmly. "Do you really feel that trapped and alone here?"

Dragging his hands down his face, James finally turned to look at her, his eyes finally revealing the deep level of exhaustion he was carrying.

"Yes," he said lowly.

Eve met his eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion exude out of him. James didn't ask for any of this, and she wished there was something they could do.

Maybe there was.

"It's true that you are trapped here. We all are-- at least until the summer end. But you're not alone. You feel like you're not being heard, but how can we listen if you don't even speak? Now, though-- now you're not being watched. If you want to speak-- if there's anything I can do to help-- you can say so now, without a camera watching you."

Eve sighed, voice still stern as she furrowed her brows and stared back at him. "This isn't a way to live, James. You need peace, and you need rest."

James let out a wry laugh, shaking his head and slouching forward.

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "I need a lot of things. But I'm not going to get any of them on this island of psychological torture."

"So, what-- you're going to give up? Roll over, let them have their way, and not do a single thing about it?" Eve said cooly, glaring at him. "You're not in prison, James. You still have the freedom of choice. Not all is hopeless. If it was, this wouldn't be televised. Fear and drama sells, but you're only a product for sale if you let them make you one."

Eve sighed, wondering if she was too curt with her words. At this point, it didn't matter, because she already said the words out loud. It felt almost freeing to freely speak her mind, but being in the dim light so isolated from everyone else certainly helped. But if it helped her, then the new environment certainly helped James.

"Stand up for yourself and rest," she finished with a calmer steady voice. "You need it."

James looked down at the ground, resting his forehead against his hand, leaving the rest of his face in shadows. He was silent for a moment. Eve was tempted to keep talking, giving him more demands. Instead she waited in agony.

"So, what," he finally said slowly. "I should just... throw my weight around? I tried standing up for myself and..."

"... And?" Eve repeated when James trailed off.

James didn't respond right away. He was shrinking down, hiding his face behind his hand.

"I don't want to deal with the consequences," he said quietly. "Not if I don't have to."

"What consequences?" Eve pressed.

James was delayed in responding again. It was agonizing.

"They threatened... my family..." he said, barely audible.

Eve stared at him for a moment, processing. "'They,'" she echoed. "As in, the DMV?"

"Tula," James said, still barely speaking above a whisper.

Eve recalled what James had told her about Tula. Ever since he punched Oliver, Tula had come on the island purely to harass him. If she was working for the DMV, then she may not even be a real contestant. Of course, she had no way to verify this, and from her observations from Tula, she gave no hints that made Eve believe she was a double agent.

It wasn't like she could trust James either, though. But why would he lie about this?

"Do you think her threats are real?" she asked softly.

"I don't want to risk the chance that they're not," James said, and though it was clear he was trying to collect himself after his initial spill of admissions, she could hear the desperation in his voice.

There was a small pause, but before Eve could respond, James added quietly: "I've already put them through enough."

"There has to be something we can do. The answer isn't to do nothing," Eve said, trying not to sound too stubborn.

"I'm not willing to put my families' well-being at risk just to avoid three months of discomfort," James said more firmly. "If I have to endure the stupidity of a man's petty revenge on an island, trapped in the middle of the ocean, I'll do it. I don't want to fight if it hurts other people in the process. I'll survive, okay? I just needed to talk about it. I'm not looking for solutions."

Eve was at a crossroads. James didn't want solutions, but she knew that was just another way of saying he was giving up. This was only their second week. How could he give up so fast?

If he wasn't going to do anything but despair, perhaps she could take matters into her own hands.

"You'll survive," she said slowly. "But at what cost?"

"You think I'm giving up," James said, turning to look at her. "Don't you?"

"Am I wrong?" she challenged back.

"I'm working on things," James said. "I just--"

"How? What are you doing?" Eve pressed.

"I'm trying to be smart about it," James said. "And involve as little people as possible. I'm gathering intel, first. I don't think this is going to get worked out through direct reason. You already told me to play Maeve's game. That's what I'm trying to do. It's just... it's going to take time."

"And you really think this is best if you work alone?" Eve asked incredulously. "You think you can go against two clairvoyant figures-- who know everything, by the way-- all by yourself?"

James took in a long, sharp inhale, bringing his hands together as if in prayer, and he set his nose against them, letting out an equally long sigh. Again, he paused, appearing deep in thought.

"...Fine," he finally relented. "What are your ideas?"

Cyrin waited until Lyall and Alan were out of the cabin to finally take out the toolbox and go through it. It was a full set, like he'd hoped-- hammers, wrenches, several types of screwdrivers, other more specific tools that he didn't even know the purpose of-- and it took a while to search through. But Cyrin was patient, checking each layer of tools for the one he wanted.

He didn't necessarily need his cabinmates to be out for the plan, but he felt better with it. On the off-chance that one of them were to do their random knocks on his door to see what he was up to, he didn't want to explain what he was doing. He was proud of the repair excuse he'd given them before, but his actual idea was a lot harder to spin in a non-suspicious way.

The last time the two of them had been out at the same time, Cyrin had planned to use it to fix the toilet. Instead, they had looked at it, decided there was nothing they could do with a toolbox to fixed cracked porcelain, and called Dante for help. The grounds manager had been a little baffled by the problem, and Cyrin had no way of explaining except that one or both of his other cabinmates were responsible, but it had gotten magically repaired by the time Alan and Lyall were back.

They still didn't know how the fuck it had happened. But it was lucky for them that it had.

Cyrin laid out the tools on the floor as they rifled through the toolbox, now starting to wonder why they hadn't seen the one they needed yet. Finally, they got to the bottom layer, and Cyrin stared into the bottom of the box. This layer was lined with tools, and Cyrin scanned them, starting to feel a little desperate. It was only when he resorted into peering into the shadows that something white caught his eye, tucked away in the corner.

Sitting in a pliers-shaped cutout was a note.

Frowning, Cyrin reached for it, unfolding it in his hands. He read the handwritten text over and over, until it sunk in. Even then, it didn't make sense to them.

Enjoy your new tools! 💖

Cyrin suddenly had the acute feeling of being watched, like eyes were staring into their back. The hairs on the back of their neck rose. He spun abruptly, just to check if someone was there, with a sharp intake of breath as he scanned the entirely of his room. When the paranoia wore off, he realized his hand was on his hip, just over his belt. But there was no knife to throw there.

And no target, either. He wasn't being watched. Only...

Predicted.

Cyrin hurriedly threw the note back in the toolbox, then piled the tools he'd laid out back on top of it at random. Due to the disorganization, it didn't close completely over the mound of tools, but Cyrin forced the list over it as best he could, then kicked it away. The toolbox slid over the floor to slip under his bed. He had the feeling it would stay there for the rest of the summer, unused.

He'd requested the whole toolbox just so he wouldn't appear suspicious for asking for pliers. This was supposed to allow him to fly under the radar. And yet. And yet.

Cyrin took a deep breath, running his hands up the back of his head to curl his fingers into his hair, pulling slightly out of frustration.

He should've just requested the damn jetpack.

It would've gotten rejected. That was fine. At least then he wouldn't have the sneaking feeling someone had to be figuring him out.

Why say someone, though? They knew who it was. Either Maeve's or Oliver's clairvoyance magic could've predicted something about their requested item and vetoed it. That was easy enough to conclude. But it still sparked a thousand worries.

Did they know he'd wanted to use them for lockpicks? Did they know why he even knew how to use lockpicks?

Cyrin stared at the toolbox until they realized their fists were clenched, and they opened their hands. Even with their manicure, their nails were digging crescents into their palms. Their cut, already a little painful from their earlier climb, was stinging.

With another deep breath, Cyrin shook out their hands, weaving another a new, albeit more difficult, plan on the go.

Alright. Plan B. They could come up with a whole alphabet if they needed.



By the end of the painstaking creation of the lockpicks, Cyrin was itching to get out of the cabin. The work was precise and careful, and it was mind-numbing to bend the bobby pins into just the right shape with tweezers when there was a buzzing in his thoughts that would rather have him up and about than hunched over his desk in his room. They'd left the window open in addition to the door so they didn't feel so enclosed, but it wasn't nearly enough. Every instinct they had was telling them to get up and leave, but Cyrin stuck to the task until they had a set of lockpicks that were just as good as the ones they could have made using pliers.

He knew the gap through his door wasn't wide enough for Alan and Lyall to see him through, even if they were the nosy types, but he still checked over his shoulder before he slipped the lockpicks into two pockets, splitting them between the hip pocket of his pants and the inner sleeve pocket of his coat, which he wasn't wearing out. The sleeve pocket was far more subtle, and it was a bit annoying that it was too warm to wear a long-sleeved coat here most days-- but then, Cyrin hoped not to need these at all. He couldn't even think of an emergency situation where he would have to use them, but it brought him relief to know he had them anyway.

They left the cabin quickly, feeling better the moment they were out of the structure and in the open air. He hadn't made a plan for where to go or what to do, but he found himself striding quickly across the sand, away from the cabins. Maybe that meant he should go for a second climb today. He'd cut his morning one short on account of feeling hungrier for breakfast than usual, so this would give him another chance at it. Yes, he'd do that.

Cyrin decided to climb somewhere new, just to make things interesting. He walked past his usual climbing spot, going a little further around the island until he reached some cliffs that he'd only observed from a distance before. The cliff in front of him was more vertically steep than the ones he'd scaled here before, but it was also more chiseled, with more small indents and ledges that would make good holds. If he fell because he got too tired-- though really, that hadn't happened to him in ages-- he'd just hope he fell into the ocean instead of the beach sand.

With that thought to reassure himself, Cyrin put his hand on the sun-warmed rock face, then a foot. He pushed himself up, then quickly scaled the first twenty feet up.

Even this distance above the ground felt liberating. He'd forgotten to braid up his hair, but he found himself not caring when it flew in the wind, even though it got in his eyes at times. He tilted his head back as he got higher, closing his eyes and letting the breeze envelop him. It was so much easier to forget their problems whenever they were climbing. It didn't feel like they were above them, exactly. Just far enough removed from them that it seemed they got further from their mind with every foot of ascension they gained.

They did always take a moment to look down on the climb, however, just to observe their surroundings. It just so happened to be that they saw James wandering the beach when they looked below, when they were halfway up the cliff.

He looked like he was rubbing chalk on his hands, assessing the bottom of the rock wall for hand holds. Cyrin removed one hand from the cliff to give himself the range of motion to turn outwards, scanning the cliff James was in front of.

"There's a good one just above and to the right of your right hand," they called down in a warm tone.

Frozen in place for a moment, James stiffly scanned around before finally spotting Cyrin. He looked perplexed for a moment until a look of recognition passed over his features.

"Oh," he called out. "Sorry. I didn't see you."

"No worries," Cyrin called back, waving a hand around to gesture over the cliff. "There's plenty of space for two here."

"Is it sturdy?" James asked.

Cyrin knew it was, but to demonstrate, he dug his feet against the rock face and leaned back, keeping just the one hand on the wall to show that the hold could bear his weight without risk of breaking off. "It seems so to me."

With a small huff, James merely nodded his head.

"Do they provide chalk here?" Cyrin asked, holding up his palm to indicate it had none on it. "I've been climbing without."

"I have some of my own," James answered. "You can use some if you'd like."

"If you have enough for future climbs, that would be pretty great, actually. Thank you." Cyrin didn't really need it, but they probably should be using it for safety anyway. They were already gearless.

Looking down into his hands, and then up at Cyrin, James hesitated.

"Should I leave it down here for you?" he asked.

Cyrin gave him a slight smile. "That'd be great. I trust your throwing skills, but not my ability to catch it if you tossed it up here."

Another nod. James moved along the base of the rock wall, evidently searching for a route that didn't intersect with Cyrin's, and then began to move.

Cyrin glanced at the top of the cliff. It really wouldn't be too hard to keep going upwards, but now that he'd been offered the chalk, he felt like he'd be tempting fate for an accident if he didn't use it. With that thought, they quickly scrambled down the rocks, then jumped when they was about fifteen feet up, tucking into a flip before they landed solidly on their feet. He helped himself to James' bag of chalk, watching the man's progress as he rubbed it over his palms.

James was moving pretty fast, and his movements were confident, but there was something about every hold that seemed heavy. Cyrin might've blamed it merely on inexperience until one of the holds cracked under James's foot.

The moment James pulled his foot away, the ledge that was once there crumbled off and fell into the water below.

"Hm," Cyrin heard James hum faintly. And before Cyrin could call out the question of whether he was alright, there was another crack.

The hold James had his hand on gave way, and with only his other foot on a hold at the time, he went falling. Pushing off from the wall, James fell rapidly into the water with a giant splash that soaked Cyrin from where he was standing.

Cyrin froze for a moment, dripping wet with his hands still in front of him, the chalk all washed off. It was only a moment, however, and the instant he realized James wasn't resurfacing, he leapt into the water. The ocean sent a cold shock through him, but he ignored it, diving under to find where James had gone.

Floating at least 15 feet below the surface, James was drifting, looking up through the water with a bit of a vacant stare. His hair, previously tied back in a ponytail, was now floating around his face. Cyrin swam down to his depth, wrapping his arms between James's chest and arms on either side and up to his shoulders before he started to kick upwards, but the weight he was carrying felt immovable. James was heavy, way more than someone of his frame should be. They heaved, trying to push the both of them upwards, but he only sank down with James. A faint note of panic was building in their head as their lungs burned, their thoughts screaming for them to escape, escape, escape. But they didn't let go of James, even as they struggled to kick to the surface again and a few air bubbles passed their lips from exertion.

After a moment of struggle, James seemed to come to. Beginning to kick upon waking, James seemed a bit confused by Cyrin's presence, but didn't stop.

James propelled the both of them up towards the surface, and Cyrin let go of him once he seemed he would manage it, falling back in the water before he swam upwards again.

As their heads broke above the waves, Cyrin let out a gasp for air, keeping his head above the surface as he treaded water next to James. He swiped away dark hair that was plastered to his face so he could see better. James was swimming to land, and now had his back turned to Cyrin. Cyrin took another deep breath, filling their lungs with air again before they joined him. He didn't know how much time they'd spent under the surface. It felt like it had only been a few seconds, but the burning in his chest made him think that his perception of time was distorted, and that it had actually been much longer.

"Are you okay?" he asked, when he'd gotten his breath back.

James seemed to be swimming slowly, and he made to the sandy shore the same time as Cyrin. Dragging himself onto land, James flopped face-down with a grunt.

"I'm okay," he said, voice muffled by sand. "Just give it a minute."

Now that James's back was exposed, it looked like his shirt had gotten tattered by the impact of the water. Cyrin's gaze lingered on it for a moment. That... shouldn't happen. It could be serious to land on water, but a fall from that height shouldn't deal that much force.

"Your shirt is..." he began slowly.

"Shirts can be replaced," James said, turning his head to the side.

"I'm not really speaking about the shirt--" Cyrin started to say.

It was at that moment that James's arm visibly popped back into his shoulder, as if on its own. Just starting to get out of the water, Cyrin took a step back in surprise, splashing as he did.

"My body heals itself," James said with a sigh. "Sorry."

Realizing there was a tension in his shoulders, Cyrin forced himself to physically relax, then step forward to the shore. It felt like they'd heard of James's power before, probably from Alan or Lyall, but hadn't remembered in time for this. Well, he'd never forget now.

"No need to apologize," they said, slumping to sit on the sand nearby. "It's fortunate. If I'd known you were injured, I would've stepped in to heal you without knowing you can do that yourself."

James hummed, but it sounded more like a moan.

"Glad I let you know before you did, then," James said, still lying on the sand, unmoving.

Well, apart from his skin, that was. Through the tears in his shirt, it looked like his body was rapidly processing a very large bruise. It was changing colors gradually before Cyrin's eyes. It wasn't the strangest sight, given that they saw it whenever they transferred a bruise away from someone. But it was still something to see it happening on its own.

"Yeah," Cyrin said, a little quietly as he watched. This... still didn't really make sense. The rock shouldn't have broken off for James. He shouldn't have hit the water with that much force. And he shouldn't have been so difficult to lift, like they had been trying to drag a boulder to the surface.

Those three things pointed to something very strange. But damn, he couldn't just ask James how much he weighed. That was sort-of an off-limits question.

"Sorry to worry you," James said after a small awkward silence. "I was hoping that wouldn't happen."

A beat.

"You're probably wondering why the cliffside gave out," James added.

Cyrin hesitantly nodded. "I have... a guess. But yes."

"Bones of steel," James said blankly. "I'm heavy. Maybe I should stay away from climbing, but I don't always make the best decisions."

Cyrin hummed softly, sympathizing. "That does explain it," he said, more softly. "I don't think it precludes you from climbing, though. When I said the cliff was sturdy, I had a different amount of weight tolerance in mind, but there are cliffs around here that have more firmly attached, larger holds and ledges. I've climbed those-- I can show you a better cliff, if you like."

With a small sigh, James pushed himself up onto his elbows, and flopped onto his back. His long, wet hair was covered in sand, along with his face.

Looking over to Cyrin, James showed no emotion as he said: "I'd like."

Cyrin nodded, another pang of sympathy hitting him. James seemed... weary. They had no idea what he'd been up to since the jail party, but his time on the island had gotten off to a rough start, and it was possible it hadn't gotten much better.

A thought occurred to them, and they reached in a pocket, hoping the small cloth towel they carried for climbs was still there. It was, although it was dripping wet, like the rest of them. Cyrin kept it to towel off sweat at the end of the climb, but he hadn't used it, and so it was clean-- as clean as the ocean water, at least.

"Here," they said, offering the towel to James. "You can get the sand off your face and hair with this." They paused. "It's clean. I haven't used it."

"Very kind of you," James said. "I'll... do that in a minute."

His other arm suddenly popped back in place.

Apparently both of them had dislocated. Now that he knew why James had landed so hard on the water's surface, it didn't surprise him that it had happened, but James's pain tolerance was... shocking. Their own was rather good, as they were used to constantly having a handful of minor injuries at any given point-- they'd only just been able to unbandage the cut they'd taken from Alan-- but they knew they wouldn't have dealt with two dislocated arms anywhere nearly as stoically as James had.

Instead of commenting this thought, Cyrin nodded patiently, lowering the towel slightly so James didn't feel pressured to take it until he was ready.

"Sorry to interrupt your climb with my accident," James said when Cyrin didn't respond right away. "You can keep climbing if you want. I'll be fine in a bit."

"There's no need to apologize," Cyrin said sincerely. "It was my second climb of the day, anyway. I'll go back to it, but I can show you those better cliffs first."

James hummed faintly.

"So, uh..." James said after a pause. "Cyrin, right?"

Cyrin cracked a small, amused but reassuring smile. It had been a while since anyone hadn't been sure of who he was, but honestly, it was refreshing.

"That's me," he said, positioning his arms behind him so he could lean back a little while sitting. "It's good to see you again, James, even though I wish it had been a better circumstance. It feels like it's been a while since the party."

James stared at Cyrin with a transparent look of confusion. They guessed he had taken a hit to the head.

"You know, a week or so ago," Cyrin clarified. "I think I've only seen you in passing since then."

"Ah," James said quickly. "Right. Yeah. The party."

Cyrin scanned his face for a moment.

"If your head hurts, you can try closing your eyes for a moment," they suggested. "It's bright, and that can make the pain worse."

James pressed his lips into a line.

"I will keep my eyes open," James stated.

Cyrin blinked. He found that a little strange, but he wasn't going to press it.

"That's fine, you don't have to," he said. "You could also face away from the water. The rocks and beach reflect less light."

"I can't be bothered to move at the moment," James said. "And I don't want you hurting yourself trying to move me, so... I'm fine for now."

Cyrin simply nodded, pressing his lips together. Alright. It seemed like that was that. It was fine.

James took in a small inhale before completely changing the topic.

"You said this is your second climb of the day?" James asked.

"It is," Cyrin said, glancing up at the top of the cliff. "I suppose my earlier climb wasn't really a complete one, though, so maybe the two together add up to a full one."

"What cut your first one short?" James asked.

"I got hungry when I was about halfway through," Cyrin said, before adding with a slight chuckle. "Maybe I shouldn't have gone out right around breakfast time."

James hummed.

"You stopped climbing... because you were hungry?" he said slowly.

Cyrin winced slightly. "I mean, it does sound a little silly when you put it that way. But I knew I'd have another chance if I wanted one. I've been climbing every morning here."

"Fair," James said. "We all have time to burn."

Cyrin hummed in agreement. "What have you been doing with yours?"

James stared off into the sky for a moment. It was unclear if he was in thought or if he was having any thoughts at all.

"Sometimes I read. Sometimes I run. Sometimes I run again," he said.

Cyrin followed his gaze upwards just to make sure there was nothing of interest there. Sure enough, there wasn't. He was just... staring. It was probably best to take it easy on him.

"Those are good uses of time," he said amiably. "How far do you usually run? I've been wondering about completing a circuit around the island, but it seems a long distance."

"Running around the island takes me about an hour," James answered. "If I take the long route. There's ways to cut through that shave off time, but they take you away from the coast."

Cyrin hummed. "And you like the coastal scenery, I take it."

James didn't respond right away.

"...Yes," he said, like he had to think about it.

Cyrin nodded, deciding that maybe any sort of conversation right now could be awkward at best, and at worst unpleasant for James. Deciding to wait it out, he looked up at the sky, staying silent until James spoke again a few minutes later.

"I'll take that towel, now," James said, moving to sit up. Cyrin noted that James seemed more present already, as he directly met Cyrin's eyes.

"Here you are," Cyrin said, leaning over to pass him the towel.

James took it and wiped his face, rubbing off the many grains of sand. When he shook of the towel, he turned to the side a little, spitting.

"Sand in my mouth," he said with a few more spitty blows through his lips.

Cyrin winced knowingly. "Take as long as you need."

Wiping his face one more time with the other side, James got most of the sand off his face and hesitantly offered the towel back.

"You might want to wash that now," he said apologetically.

Cyrin gave him a reassuring smile as he took it again. "It would be getting washed anyway," he said. "Sorry I couldn't be of much more help than this."

James scoffed lightly.

"I should've been smarter," he said, looking down into his lap. "I should know better than to be this close to deep water. I become a human anchor."

"Wanting to do something and not thinking about every detail of it happens to the best of us," Cyrin said, with a shake of their head. "Climbing here today might've been a bit of a mistake for me too. I have a cut on my hand, and the rock face here has more sharp ridges. I did it anyway, and my hand feels worse for it. But I don't think either of us need to be hard on ourselves over it."

James tilted his head, eyes flicking to Cyrin's hands.

"How bad is the cut?"

Cyrin flipped his palm over. The cut over his thumb had long stopped bleeding, but it was a bit of an angry red currently.

"It's from broken glass," he explained. "I got it from Alan."

"You know," James said, observing the wound. "I'm pretty sure there's an island doctor who could heal that for you. Even though it's not large, it looks irritated."

Cyrin hummed, turning their hand over. "I pretty much always have a few of these at any given time, like now, and they don't bother me enough. If it seems like infection, though, I might stop by."

James pointed at Cyrin's thumb, looking up at him blankly.

"I've seen infection," James said plainly. "Go get that looked at."

Cyrin blinked. Maybe he just didn't want to spend any time in the infirmary, or maybe it was a point of pride that he could bear injuries on his own. But if James was serious, and he did sound serious...

"Alright," he said, glancing down at his hand again. "I guess it serves me right for not thinking things through."

But of course they didn't think things through when it came to injuries. He'd taken Alan's cut without a second thought, and while he didn't regret it, it was one of many spur of the moment uses of his power. It was starting to become a constant way of living, always some small bruise or cut or scrape that had been on someone else's skin first. It wasn't something they wanted to say no to.

James huffed.

"I think we should both be more gracious to ourselves," James said. "But yeah, go see the doctor. I'd heal it myself if I could, but unfortunately my powers only affect me."

"I will," Cyrin promised, tucking the towel in his pocket and standing. "Since I won't be healing myself."

James was quiet for a moment, then asked: "What is your magic anyway?"

Cyrin ran a hand through their hair, ready to launch into their usual explanation.

"It's sort of healing, but it's really more like... wound transfer," he said. "This cut was Alan's, and it looks just the same in shape, placement and size as when he had it. I healed it on him, but I have to do by transferring it to myself. Technically, it could go to someone else, and the process also works the other way, but--" Cyrin shook his head. "I don't do that. Healing small or medium injuries on other people is all the use it gets."

"If you transferred it to me, my body would heal it in under a minute," James said.

Cyrin frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, that... doesn't feel right. Even if it would be fine."

James nodded slightly.

"...I understand," James said.

Cyrin flashed him a slight, humorless smile. "You're probably right about the doctor. It seems the best choice, morally."

James nodded.

"Agreed," he said.

Admittedly, Cyrin's hand was stinging, even though they'd been mostly ignoring the sensation this whole time. If it weren't for the recommendation, they probably would've gone back to their first aid kit, but now that they'd agreed to the doctor visit, it really only made sense to go there. James did not look to have been joking.

"I'll head over there," Cyrin said, with a bit of a smile again. "Do you want to see the better cliffs first, though? I think I'll live until then."

"Sure," James said with a faint grin.