Young Writers Society

This wasn't really where he imagined things going when Eve demanded to be involved.

Lying on the beach, just a few yards from the rolling waves, James laid buried under several feet of sand with only his head sticking out. Eve had spent a solid twenty minutes burying him, meticulously focused on covering every inch of him in the foot-deep crevice they carved out for him to lie in, like some strange kind of sandy coffin. Or "bed," as Eve tried to frame it. She said it would be "relaxing." Like some kind of weighted blanket.

Because that's what she'd landed on after their whole conversation. Instead of masterminding their way into reworking the Trieu's game, she became convinced one of James's urgent needs was "rest." Well, sleep, in particular. That, of course, he couldn't logically disagree with, but he did feel like this wasn't exactly the most helpful... solution.

What was this supposed to do again?

He felt like this was just an excuse to bury him. Like maybe this was something Eve had just always wanted to try.

"There," Eve said after she pushed the last bit of sand over him, patting it down firmly. She sat up, hands on her hips as she looked down at him with satisfaction. "Now you know how it feels to be a potato in your farm."

Blinking at her slowly, James stared up at her.

"Hah," he said flatly. "Call me a spud."

They stared at each other for a few seconds as she pulled her lips back, biting back a smile. "Don't tempt me."

"You planted me already," he said. "I'm halfway there. Just give me three months and I'll be ready."

"I'll check in often in the meantime. Give you some water. Maybe extra sandy fertilizer. Make sure the ocean doesn't harvest you too early," Eve said.

"I think I'll make a good potato," James said. "Think of how many fries you could make."

"I don't think I want to want to eat you," Eve said stoically.

"Ah. Yes. Probably best to discourage cannibalism for the sake of the children viewing," James said straight-facedly.

"If this is cannibalism, and you're a potato, does that mean I'm a potato too?" Eve asked.

"I think you are worthy of being called a potato," James said. "I bestow upon you the honorary potato title."

Eve half-rolled her eyes with a hint of a smile, crouching down before sitting next to him. "Oh thank you, humble Potato King."

James blinked slowly again, squinting at her curiously.

"Huh," he said faintly. "I didn't know that nickname was getting around."

"I have no clue if it is. What I do know, however, is that Hendrik's voice is loud," Eve said flatly, squinting over the beach.

"His voice does carry," James agreed. "Through walls, it seems."

"Does he know how to speak at a normal volume? I've only ever heard him yell," she murmured.

"I've had some non-yelling conversations with him," James said. "So it's certainly possible."

Eve glanced at him. "Does he call you Potato King to your face?"

"Oh, he calls me a lot of things to my face," James huffed. "None of which are my name."

"I'm willing to wager that he doesn't even know your name," Eve said with a sigh.

"No, he definitely knows my name," James said with a faint laugh. "He just chooses not to use it."

"Well... that's a shame," Eve said after a brief pause. "It's rather belittling to be called absurd nicknames instead of your real name."

"There is a level of condescension that Hendrik seems to operate on at all times with all peoples equally, at least, from what I've observed," James said. "So at least I know it's not personal. But it doesn't make it any less disrespectful."

"Either he's truly like this for everyone, or only to the people he doesn't respect. I'm not sure which is worse," Eve said.

James sighed, squinting up at her as the sun started to peek out right from behind Eve's head. It was glaring off his glasses.

"Well, for better or worse, I'm getting used to it," he said with a sigh.

"Or you don't. You could always tell him to back off if it bothers you," Eve said neutrally.

"There's only one nickname I'll fight him on," James said. "The rest are fine."

Eve paused, turning her head towards him. "And what's that?"

"Fart man," James said.

She stared at him.

"If he calls me that again," he said. "I'll kill him."

A beat.

"Metaphorically," he added. For the lawyers watching.

"You did wear your fart shirt on the day of your party and speed dating event," she reminded him.

"The first time was an accident!" he said, suddenly feeling the restriction of the sand keeping him from gesticulating. "I didn't know there was a party! It was practically a sleep shirt. I wasn't expecting to see anyone."

Eve hummed. "And the second time?"

"...I was... mad," he said in a bit of a mutter.

"At the rate you're going, you're going to wear this shirt to the next public event, and Hendrik will continue to make up new fart-related nicknames," Eve said with the hint of a teasing voice.

James huffed through his nose.

"I most certainly will not," he said. "I'll wear an equally horrible but different shirt."

"Like what?" she asked.

"I have a shirt that says 'poopoopeepee,'" he said straight-facedly.

"You do realize that the potential nicknames to come from that will be worse, right?" Eve said, staring at him.

A small, very tired, but equally self-amused grin began to grow on James's face. He huffed a small laugh through his nose in reply. A few seconds passed in silence.

"So, do you feel more relaxed?" Eve asked.

James took a moment to properly evaluate how he was feeling. There was no discernable difference.

"I feel... still," he answered.

"Is that better or worse than relaxed?" Eve pressed.

"Perhaps it is merely a transitionary state," James answered. "On the pathway to relaxation. Or claustrophobia. I'm not sure which will come first."

"So you're not relaxed," she deduced.

"Well, making stupid jokes is helping," James answered. "If it's any consolation."

"...I'm not sure it is," Eve murmured.

James huffed at that.

"At the very least, I'm very impressed with your ability to thoroughly bury," he said. "Thanks for leaving my head out, though. Much appreciated."

"I'm leaving your head out so far," Eve corrected. "There's still time."

James stared at her for a moment.

"Well, if you do," he said. "At least take off my glasses first. I don't want them getting scratched by sand."

"I suppose it wouldn't be terrible if it did, though. Since you have contacts," she said.

"Glasses cost money!" he defended. "And contacts run out."

"Is that why you wore glasses today? Because you ran out of contacts?" Eve asked.

"No," he said. "It... my eyes were just irritated. It's more comfortable to wear glasses sometimes."

"At least it'll shield your eyes from sand," she mused.

James squinted at her, unable to make out her expression since her head was backlit by blinding sunlight. Before he could react or say anything, however, she lifted her arm above his head, sprinkling water on top of him.

"I'm watering you," she said as a simple explanation, pulling back her arm with a faint smile.

James closed his eyes as the sand hit his face. Some of it got on his mouth, and he sputtered, spitting to the side. He could feel the grains of sand getting stuck in his beard and hair.

Sticking out his tongue, unable to fully get rid of the sand feeling, he scrunched up his nose.

"I don't think that was water," he said.

Eve hummed. "Maybe it's pesticide. Keeps away the stressful bugs. Forces you to relax."

"True. There's nothing like getting sand in my mouth to make me relax," James said. "I feel so relaxed now."

Eve let out a huff of air through her nose. "Do you want real water?"

"If it's ocean water, the answer is a hard no," he said.

"I'm not that salty," Eve said neutrally.

"Woooow," he drawled with a small laugh.

"Hm. The stupid jokes do help," she said.

"Distracts from the fact that I'm going to get the weirdest face-only tan after all of this," he said.

"You have to balance out the farmer's tan somehow," Eve said with a casual shrug.

"Please," James said with a huff. "I don't have that bad of a farmer's tan."

"Perhaps. But you still have one," Eve said.

"I guess it can't be helped," James conceded. "It comes with the profession."

Eve shook her head, laughing through her nose as a small silence passed.

"I've been meaning to ask you about that," she said more slowly before turning back towards him, her head now covering the sun's glare. "Why farm? Especially after your degree in linguistics."

James hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden swing back into real conversation after so many back and forth jokes. He let out a small sigh, feeling a bit odd having an even slightly more conversation while entirely buried in sand of all things. With only his face visible, he still felt like everything he said, regardless of how sincere, was tainted with a bit of silliness.

"It just seemed like the better option," he said, knowing that he was in no way expounding on what that meant.

"Than... working with languages?" Eve pressed.

"I finally got to be with my family again," he said. "And... I liked that it was... quiet."

More hidden.

Eve nodded slowly. "If those factors are important to you, I can see how that would influence your decision. I suppose it's a little unexpected, but everyone should do what's best for them."

It was a relief that someone at least expressed some level of understanding on his choices to go home to his family, but he knew that Eve was still only getting a fraction of the story. He didn't really want to get into why his priorities had so drastically changed at the moment - it wasn't a human-sandcastle conversation. But he had a feeling that Eve was smart enough to pick up on the subtext even if it wasn't spoken aloud.

He mustered up a small smile.

"It did help," he said. "To be with family."

"Are you happier?" she asked.

"I'd like to say so, yeah," he said.

"Then I think you've made the right choice."

James tried to nod, but his head was restricted by sand, and he kind of just ended up squishing his chin against his sandy prison.

"You know," he said. "I feel like I've talked a lot about myself. But I don't really know much about what you were up to before this island."

Eve studied him for a moment. "What do you want to know?"

"What were you doing before coming here? Work? School?" he asked.

"School," she confirmed. "I graduated with my Master's in the spring."

"Ah. Mathematics, right?" he asked.

Eve nodded. "Correct."

"Did you enjoy your schooling experience?" he asked.

"It was... alright," Eve said slowly. "I learned a lot, which was the point of the degree."

James had to keep himself from laughing at that. Obviously she learned a lot. It was school. That was what school was for. Clearly, she wasn't thinking of giving more than surface level answers. That, or she needed more guided, specific questions. Eve didn't seem like the kind of person to freely give any kind of information about herself, whether she meant it to be that way or not.

"Did you make any friends in college?" he asked.

She gave him a more pointed stare. "Of course I did. Did you think I didn't?"

"It was a question to lead into: who are they and what are they like," he said with a small grin of amusement.

That only somewhat alleviated her near glare. She sighed, finally turning away. "I'm not sure I feel comfortable sharing since we're being recorded. I'd rather respect their privacy."

Either this was a genuine response, or she was using that as an excuse not to share. James wasn't sure which it was, but he understood not wanting to talk about more personal things on camera.

Tempted to nod again, he ended up squishing his chin down again without really thinking about it, and he let out a small sigh.

"A shame," he said. "But I understand."

"What about you? Did you make any friends?" Eve asked, turning the conversation back on him.

"A sandy tater like me?" he asked. "Of course I did."

"I assume they're not spuds like you," she said.

"No, I'm one of a kind," he said. "They were other vegetables and roots."

Eve hummed. "Like what?"

"Cabbage," he said.

That would be Carter. Carter was a cabbage.

"What's a potato like you doing befriending a cabbage?" she asked.

"I don't want to overextend the metaphor," he said. "But sometimes two very different people can become friends on accident."

Eve mulled that over for a moment. "You said I was a potato earlier," she said. "Would you say that's still true?"

James huffed faintly through his nose, grinning faintly.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm still getting to know you."

"I think I need a book on your vegetable classification algorithms," Eve murmured.

"I could also see you as a carrot," James offered. "Or a zucchini."

Eve stared at him. "I have no idea what that means."

"It's based solely on vibes," he said.

"Are you saying I have carrot vibes?"

"Carrots have good vibes," James said. "Good eyesight vibes."

Eve hummed lowly. "I can see why you wouldn't be a carrot," she said, then paused. "No offense."

At this point, that made James genuinely laugh. It was low, and shory-lived, but he felt it in his chest.

"None taken," he said.

And yet, at the same time, the exhaustion he'd been feeling all week was starting to creep up on him.

He had been still for too long. Without having moved anything but his head, his body was left with nothing to do. Movement was usually what kept him awake, or got him tired enough to sleep. He wasn't accustomed to being forced into stillness like this.

For a moment, he considered breaking free from the sand. It wouldn't be difficult, but it might disappoint Eve after all her hard work. She knew it was inevitable he'd have to get out eventually, but he did feel obligated to put up with it for a while.

He just wasn't sure just how long that while would be.

He let out a small sigh, staring up through his slightly sand-ified lenses and Eve's now obscured face.

He felt the small temptation to... rest his eyes. Just for a second.

"Are you getting tired?" Eve asked.

"A little," he answered honestly. "Maybe we should get moving."

"We can." Eve paused. "But if you're feeling relaxed enough to sleep here, that's fine too. You don't need to entertain me. I can wake you up before the tide sweeps you away."

James's eyelids were feeling heavy. He debated on it, not sure if he wanted to move but also unsure if he really wanted to fall asleep out in the open.

It wasn't like he had any better luck in the "privacy" of his room, though. The horrors still found him in his mind no matter where he was, so it wasn't like the location affected his sleep. It was difficult to sleep anywhere.

His eyelids began drooping, a little under half open.

Exhaustion was beginning to hit him like a truck. He hadn't realized just how tired he was, but it was like now that he was finally unmoving, it was all catching up to him.

He hummed, trying to voice the thoughts in his head out loud, but it felt like he was getting swept away anyway. Not by the tides, but by the weariness that was pulling him in.

Before he knew it, his eyes were closing.

Over and over, he thought to himself: he would open his eyes again, and actually respond. It would be just a second. Just one.

But several seconds passed, and before he knew it, everything was washing away. By the time he opened his eyes again, Eve was poking the side of his head.

Sleepy and disoriented, James squinted up into the setting sun, his vision bleary.

"...Wh..." he mumbled. "How long is it?"

The question didn't make sense. His brain combined: 'what time is it?' and 'how long was I asleep?'

"You've been asleep for about an hour," Eve answered anyways. "We should leave soon, though. The tide is getting closer."

James moved, almost forgetting his hands were buried in the sand. He pushed through the sandy walls, bringing his arms up so he could scrape the sand away from his neck and chest.

An hour. He'd been asleep for an hour?

He started sitting up, feeling completely coated in sand from head to toe. The sensation was far less enjoyable now that the sand was falling away, and when he squinted down at himself, he looked just as crusty as he felt.

"That was..." he started to say, but couldn't think of words to finish the sentence as he rubbed his hands together, tying to get rid of some of the sand.

"Relaxing?" Eve offered, an amused smile tugging her lips from where she was standing, watching him dust the sand out of his clothes and skin.

James still felt groggy. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, and he couldn't fight the yawn that forced its way out.

"Yeah," he said, once he managed to force his mouth shut again.

"Are you still tired?" she asked.

"I think I'm just... waking up," he said slowly, lifting his hands to rub his eyes before thinking better of it, and instead lifting his legs out of the sand, rubbing off the chunks sticking to him.

Eve hummed, still looking down and watching his every movement. "I'd suggest you eat. But perhaps a shower should come first."

"There's always the ocean," James suggested, popping his sand-caked feet out and kicking them a little.

Eve raised a brow. "You want to clean yourself up with the cold, mineral-rich ocean?"

"It'll get the sand off," James said. "Never said it'll make me clean."

It would also wake him up, which he needed.

Eve nodded before turning towards back the ocean. "Well. At least it's not a far walk."

With a hum and a quick nod, James forced himself to his feet. He took off his glasses and held them out to Eve for her to hold.

Still feeling severely drowsy as he walked over to the ocean, he walked over and let the frigid water pass over his feet, ankles and his knees. He went as deep as his waist before a bone-deep shiver ran up his spine, and he gave up, turning around to face the beach as he fell backwards into the water.

His weight pulled him under with a large splash, and he could feel the sand washing off of him as the waves pushed around him, unable to fully move him from where he'd let himself fall.

He caught himself with his hands, sitting under the water for a few solid seconds before he pushed himself back up, poking his head and shoulders out into the sunshine.

He couldn't really see Eve well aside from her blurry shape waiting several yards off where it was dry, but he could imagine her amusement. She seemed entertained by his sleepiness, even though James didn't really like feeling so out of it. Fortunately, though, the freezing cold water was doing what he'd hoped: it was waking him up quite alarmingly, and he shook his head out, some of his loose hairs falling out of his braid and thwacking against his neck.

Looking down at himself, he was considerably less sandy. Not completely clean, of course, but no longer covered in it, which was about all he expected.

Hurrying to walk back out, James shook his hands beginning to shiver slightly from the sudden shock of cold. He hadn't been in there long enough to adjust to it and he could sense that his body was a little less than happy with the experience.

When he walked back up to Eve, he was now soaking wet, dripping down onto the sand with each step until he landed right beside her, looking down.

He extended his hand to take his glasses back. Wordlessly, she placed it on his palm. He lifted them gingerly and wiped the water from his eyes before putting them back on.

"Do you need a towel?" Eve asked.

"Do you have one?" James asked.

Eve shook her head. "No. But the cabins are right there."

James looked up, squinting out at his cabin which wasn't far off.

"I can get one in a bit," he said. "It's hot out. I'll warm up fast."

Eve silently gave him a look over, expression more amused, but she didn't voice any of it.

"Well," he said. "Thanks for, uh... well, we didn't end up practicing, but. This was nice."

Eve nodded. "This was more important. We can practice later. I'm glad you got some rest."

James offered a small smile.

"Yeah," he said, a little quieter, feeling a little awkward now that he didn't really know what to say.

"Well I'll catch you later," he said. "I should go... wash up. Eat. You know."

Eve nodded. "You do that. I'll see you around, James."

He offered her a small nod.

"See you," he said, and with that, began walking over to his cabin. He glanced over his shoulder to see Eve still standing where she was, watching him. But upon the brief eye contact, she immediately turned away to walk the other direction, towards her cabin.

He grinned.

Hopefully she would get some rest too.

Alan awoke with a jolt, abruptly sitting up with heavy breaths, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

Was it? Practically panting, Alan set his shaky hand against his chest, his fingertips digging into his shirt.

Fast. His heartbeat was beating fast.

How... what...

Alan groaned, pushing his hair out of his face, which was clinging to his forehead thanks to the perspiration. He felt like he should change. Change to something dryer.

Lightheaded, Alan carefully tossed the covers away from him, not wanting to trip over them like he did last time. Taking deliberate, unpanicked movements, Alan quietly sauntered to his closet, idly picking a new outfit with little thought.

What was that? he asked himself as he changed out of his shirt.

Why did I dream of Maria again? he asked himself as he changed out of his pants.

What time is it? he asked himself as he stared at the dead clock in the room, still stuck at the 3:34 position since the day he woke up from his previous nightmare.

This had to mean something. This couldn't be a coincidence. What was his subconscious trying to tell him?

Water. He had to get water.

In a daze, Alan left his room, stepping across the hall to enter the bathroom. He softly closed the door behind him then immediately turned on the faucet at the coldest water postition, splashing the cold water repeatedly over his face, over and over.

He needed to get a grip on himself. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Why did he have another awful dream of Maria? Why did he dream of the two of them together? Of opening their relationship? Of fighting? Of breaking up? Of gaslighting her? Manipulating her? Hurting her?

What did this all mean?

This had to mean something.

Was his subconscious punishing himself? Should he feel shame? Should he feel more regret than he felt? Should he miss her more?

... Did he still like her?

Alan turned off the faucet, still crouched over the sink as he stared into the mirror, staring back at the blurry, dripping wet version of himself.

If this all meant something, then he had to do something. He had to act.

Alan quickly patted his face dry with a towel before he opened the door the switched the lights off, hurrying back to his room to quickly formulate a plan. After he put on his glasses, it was like he could visualize the plan in the making now.

It was only just this week when Clandestine first asked him, "Do you think your ex would watch any of our episodes?"

Everything clicked into place now.

Hurrying out of the room again, Alan quickly rushed down the stairs, skipping every other step and nearly losing his balance towards the end. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, he hurried out of the cabin, not bothering locking the door behind him. One step outside the porch, however, and Alan realized the sandy feeling against his bare feet meant that he wasn't wearing any shoes. He quickly backtracked, rushing back in the cabin to fumble through the shoe rack, finding his loafers after far too many seconds.

And with that, Alan left the cabin again, briskly walking and bee-lining towards the plaza, feeling his heart beat against his skull again.

He had to right his wrongs.

The walk there felt like a daze. It simultaneously felt like no time had passed and that hours went by, yet he was going nowhere. It felt like he was going nowhere, stagnating in place-- but his vision said otherwise. He had made this walk numerous times before, violin in hand with Hild by his side.

This time, he was alone. This time, he only had the clothes on his back. This time, he was listening with his heart and his head.

He often listened to his heart, but clearly, his head was trying to tell him something here.

Alan needed to reach her again. Maria.

Feeling like he was on the brink of losing his touch with the present day reality, Alan quickly hopped up to the stage, eyes fixed on the grand piano he hadn't even touched yet. Now, all signs pointed him to this moment.

Maybe he had been doing this all wrong. Maybe the heartache was needless and self-inflicting. Maybe he could undo it all.

And if she was listening...

If she was listening and watching him live, on camera...

He looked up, seeing a cameraman sleepily pointing the camera towards him, along with someone else holding a boom mic. His head was so frazzled, he couldn't remember if he recognized them or not, nor spent any time on dwelling on that thought.

With a shaky breath and a shaky hand, Alan softly ran his fingertips along the ivory keys.

Taking in another deep breath, Alan briefly closed his eyes, begging his heart for the words and inspiration to come.

If Maria was listening, then maybe he could play her one last song.

After another long call catching up with Kaya, she sweetly told Lyall he looked half-dead at his desk and that he ought to sleep. They exchanged soft "miss you's", then finally hung up.

In time for Lyall to hear someone stumbling out in the hallway. Half-dead as he was, he sluggishly concluded that it simply couldn't have been Cyrin. They were so sure-footed on literal cliffsides, there was no way. And Lyall himself was sitting here, so by process of elimination, it had to be Alan.

Man, he hoped Alan was alright. It didn't sound like he actually fell down the stairs. In which case, that would've been really bad.

Lyall figured he ought to check on his friend first, then go to sleep.

The stairway was empty. And he reached the living just in time to catch the door closing as probably-Alan swiftly left with nary a word.

Lyall sleepily squinted out the window from his spot by the stairs. It was dark out, but he was pretty sure that was Alan. Odd. Grabbing his own shoes and donning a warmer layer, he slipped out of the house after the musician.

As he followed a distance behind, he picked up a sense of urgency in Alan's pace. Alan didn't glance behind him one time, indicating that he didn't know Lyall was following. The brisk fast-walk up the hill to the plaza shook Lyall into a slightly more wakeful state. Regardless, he still couldn't fathom what could have possibly spooked Alan to flee the residence area like this.

Then he was even more confused when they wound up at a sort of amphitheater Lyall had never seen before.

At one corner, the shy cameraman and his companion with a mic were set to film. Lyall hunkered down by the bushes at the other end of the outdoor theater.

Alan swept out onto the darkened stage, making a beeline for the grand piano. There was a moment's hesitation when he reached for the keys with a slight tremor in his hand. Then he began to, not only play, but also sing. Like a musician, not with any sheet music to guide him, but with his hands playing on their, as though by second nature. Soulfully pouring every ounce of feeling he had into the song, lending to the melody weight and credence like a true artistic spirit. And with such sorrow in his voice, communicating a terrible heartbreak in a language Lyall barely knew.

As silently as he could, he slipped out from the bushes and stood behind the outer-most row of the theater. He slowly walked along its edge until he had a clearer view of Alan's face.

If he hadn't believed in the tragedy of the performance already, he certainly did now. Reading a terrible sadness in his friend's moonlit face stirred in Lyall's heart a deep empathy as he settled on the stone bench to watch.



The song only lasted a few minutes, and Alan finished with a progression of melancholy chords, letting the last note ring out until it faded into the background. When silence overtook the melody, Alan sat still, emptily staring down at his hands in deep contemplation.

For a second, Lyall considered clapping. Then thought better of it, and simply began making his way down to the stage.

"This is quite the hour for a show," he eventually said, aiming for some lightness.

The sudden movement and noise visibly startled Alan. He briefly rang out an unharmonious discord of notes, flinching as he snapped his head up in Lyall's direction.

"Lyall," Alan called with visible shock in his eyes and voice. "What are you doing here?"

Stopping at the base of the stage, Lyall mustered a weak, apologetic grin. "I was concerned for you, was all," he said gently, "you left in such a hurry. I can go, however, if I'm intruding."

Alan hesitated, glancing between Lyall and the cameraman in the shadows. "No, you're not intruding," he said as he played a short, soft melody with his right hand.

"Oh, good," a voice sighed in relief, echoing around the amphitheater until it was impossible to tell where it came from. Alan stumbled on the piano again, ending at a sudden discordant note. "I felt like I shouldn't be here either."

This time Lyall jumped at the new voice too. "Good go--" he breathed, setting a hand on his chest. Then he spun around, scanning everywhere with utter confusion as he called, "Cyrin Bridger?"

"Oh. Yes." Cyrin's voice laughed, now sounding like it came from vaguely above. "Hang on."

There was no sound for a few moments, except for the stuttering of Lyall's own heart in his ears. Then something black flashed above, falling from the amphitheater cover where it curved down at the sides. Cyrin landed almost soundlessly on their feet by the edge of the stage, holding up their hands as if in surrender.

"Sorry," they apologized. "When both of you left, I thought something might have been up. I passed you on the way here, Lyall, but I figured saying something then would have been more alarming."

"I appreciate the thought," Lyall said with a nod of thanks. He vaguely wondered how on earth Cyrin had passed him without a trace. It felt like Lyall was already running to begin with just to keep up with Alan. He simply tucked away this bit of information for later assessing, and turned his attention back to Alan, who still seemed like he was processing that both of them were here.

"Are you alright, Alvaro?" Lyall asked.

Alan forced a half smile, hands over the piano, beginning to play again. This time, he played the classic Baethoven song, Fur Elise.

"I'm alright," he said, eyes focused on playing. "Just wanted to play."

Lyall tilted his head, trying his best to hide an unconvinced look. "It sounded like you almost took a fall back in the cabin," he pressed.

Alan shook his head, still playing. "Nope."

Huh. Lyall was willing to let it go, then.

Cyrin's expression softened a little. "Do you need to play here a while before you can get to sleep?" he asked gently.

Alan's only response to that was to play louder. He pressed the piano pedal with his foot and hit the keys loud enough that it would be difficult to hold a conversation without asking him to stop.

Cyrin did something between pressing his lips together in acknowledgment and thinly smiling, then gestured at Lyall. "Let's head back," he suggested, just loud enough to be heard over the music. "The nightingale needs his moment."

Scanning Alan, Lyall internally debated on whether to go with Cyrin, or to simply take a seat and...wait, he supposed. Provide company if needed.

Cyrin was right. They'd caught Alan by surprise, so he must have been seeking someplace to process whatever was on his mind, on his own.

Lyall needed to sleep anyway. Trailing close behind, he let Cyrin lead the way back. Which, since neither of them were traveling in near-secret anymore, was a more direct, paved path.

As the music slowly faded out of earshot, Cyrin spoke up.

"I'd usually be more stubborn about sticking around, but I got the message he wanted to be alone," he explained. "Didn't want him waking the island with loud music, either."

Lyall nodded slowly. "Perhaps I shouldn't have followed him all the way out here."

"We were both concerned," Cyrin said. "Rightly so, I think. I still might be."

Lyall felt the same. His concern probably wouldn't be fully appeased until they had a chance to actually talk with Alan, when he was in a better headspace for it.

Hopping a few steps forward to walk beside Cyrin, Lyall asked, "Is he prone to nighttime wanderings? You seem more familiar with his patterns than I."

"Funny of you to say that when he's your soulmate," Cyrin joked, faintly grinning, before following it up with, "He's left the cabin at night before. But it wasn't in a rush like this time."

Lyall huffed a laugh. "Soulmate of mine that he is, there's still room for secrets." He tilted his head at a new thought. "You yourself awake with the sun. And yet you're up late enough to catch onto his evening patterns. Do you even sleep?"

Cyrin smirked playfully. "Sleep? Now, what's that?"

Lyall cast him a flat grin, but pressed, "I'm being quite serious, it doesn't seem sustainable in the long run. Unless that's a secondary power of yours? Or, I don't know... You secretly recharge via cable? Sunlight? Wind?"

Cyrin pressed the back of their hand to their lips to muffle a laugh. "As fun as that would be, the honest answer is that I actually just have a bad habit of forgetting to take my ADHD meds at the right time of day, nearly every day. So they usually don't wear off by the time I should get to sleep."

Lyall hummed in understanding. "Has coming here thrown off your schedule at all? What even is the time difference from here to your side of Aphirah?"

"About seven hours," Cyrin said. "Usually, if I hear anything from someone back home, I see it in the morning. But I think my schedule is about the same-- aside from very different things to do here, of course."

Lyall grinned faintly. "It must feel like checking your mailbox in the morning, then. Only. Better than an actual mailbox, since you're less likely to find junk mail amidst your personal messages."

Cyrin chuckled. "You'd think so, but I still get spammed by my younger brother. Hold on." He took out his phone, unlocking it, then showing Lyall the screen of his messages app. A text conversation from a contact titled "✨Magnus✨" had 26 unread messages, the latest of them sent at 2AM.

Lyall blinked as he studied the screen. Then snorted. Wordlessly, he held up his own lock screen for Cyrin to see too. From Viktor in the past hour, there were 14 messages Lyall had yet to address.

Cyrin let out a laugh. "Oh, so you know how it goes. How old is he?"

"Just turned 19 recently," Lyall said fondly as he pocketed his phone again. "What about Magnus?"

"He's 12," Cyrin said, with a soft smile. "And an angel. The most devilish angel out there, sure, but an angel nonetheless."

Lyall grinned broadly. "Ah, a very young man, then. He sounds like a delight!"

Cyrin grinned back. "He is. He has a lot to say about this show, and now I need to figure out which of our siblings is doing something wrong by letting him watch."

Lyall barked a laugh. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Oh god, someone save him. No one, never mind a 12 year old, needs any of..." He waved vaguely. "...whatever this is. TV drama."

Now all Lyall could imagine was Cyrin on a group call, giving a clan of Cyrin lookalikes a stern talking to. Which. He actually couldn't really too clearly imagine, he hadn't encountered a sterner side of the athlete. Yet.

Cyrin shook their head with a chuckle. "That's what I'm saying. I don't know for sure which of my siblings it is, but I'm betting on my older sister. She knows all about TV drama."

"Allison, right?" Lyall asked. Then shrugged with an apologetic grin, feeling slightly like an obnoxious internet fan. "This is her industry?"

Cyrin nodded, smiling again and not seeming to mind. "It's her thing. Although, she usually has a script for the drama she likes and an agent for the drama that she doesn't. We're on our own here."

"Very true," Lyall said, trying not to sigh at the reminder. "An adjacent genre, then." He lightly nudged Cyrin with an elbow. "Think you'll dive into scripted drama alongside your sister after this?"

Cyrin huffed a laugh. "Let's wait to see if this show scars me first."

Waving dismissively, Lyall blew a raspberry. "It's been nothing but clean, innocent fun," he joked. "Have faith yet, Cyrin Bridger."

"Why, Lyall Ashlund," Cyrin said, turning to him with a playfully raised eyebrow, "are you considering a career on the silver screen if it's only innocent fun?"

Lyall snickered, then composed himself as he tilted his chin up and gestured to himself. "I believe I've got a good face for it. What do you think? A good fallback career, should my life's plans go awry?"

"Could be a solid Plan B," Cyrin agreed. "You've already got your fame. Soon enough, studios could be rushing to get the rights to that love story of Alan's and yours."

"Oh, sh--" Stopping abruptly, Lyall burst out laughing. "No, never mind!" he said, wheezing. "I need to fall off the face of this earth after all this. Live in complete obscurity, I can't."

"Are you having an allergic reaction to the spotlight?" Cyrin asked innocently, folding their arms over their chest with a cheeky grin.

"I suppose I'm not cut out for a life of fame after all," Lyall playfully agreed, still chuckling.

"Tragic," Cyrin said, pressing a hand to his heart like the loss hurt him. "My sister's fans could have been yours."

"What could have been," Lyall said with a rueful nod. He broke out into another grin. "As it stands, I think I'm better off with some good friends, rather than a fanbase."

Cyrin's own grin turned a touch softer. "I agree, that would be nice. Especially amidst the drama happening elsewhere on this island. Better to have friends than participate in the chaos."

Lyall tamed his own grin in turn, and nodded his agreement. "We'll stick to the sidelines, then," he said warmly as he just managed to bump shoulders with Cyrin. Looking amused, Cyrin bumped his shoulder back with only a little more force.

"I'm surprised to have been mostly left out of it," Cyrin said, with a chuckle. "I have to say I like it that way, though. Maybe the drama can't reach me because I'm always climbing."

Lyall hummed his own amusement. "Keep it that way," he said. "Nothing good can come of sinking down to where all the drama is."

"I recommend it," Cyrin agreed, glancing up at the dark sky. He looked thoughtful for a few moments before asking, "Did I ever actually invite you on one of those? We haven't been doing the evening workouts like we agreed as a cabin."

Ah, yes. That was a thing they'd agreed to do.

Lyall had forgotten, since he'd been so keen on filling his evenings with calls to home to combat the homesickness.

He hummed. "I don't think you have. Had you planned on extending an invite? In which case." Lyall set a hand over his heart in a touched manner. "I'm honored to be your first pick."

Cyrin grinned. "Least I could do to rescue a friend from the reach of drama."

Laughing, Lyall dropped the act and hid his hands in his pockets. "Well, I graciously accept your generous offer. Thank you."

Lights. Camera. Action!

Dramatic upbeat music started to play, and like a magical anime girl, the cameras spun around Mel's glowing with pink sparkles in the background. Mel posed with every new part of her outfit, from her glowing feet turning into red heels, to the blouse on her chest, to the short flowy skirt, the bracelets on her wrists, the glamorous hair on her head, and bright smile she wore on her face-- Mel beamed and sparkled. The cameras spun around her several times until she landed with a peace sign over her eyes, a hand on her hip, and foot bent at an angle, toes pointing out.

"Hellooooo, beautiful world!" Mel said brightly with a big smile, illusory sparkles still dazzling beside her as the background faded into the studio and the music died down. She grinned, waving her arms above her. "Welcome back to the Week Two Montage of Island Magic!"

The Island Magic logo magically floated above her arms, but it looked like an insanely pixelated jpeg logo. Clearly, someone was bad with Photoshoop.

"I've missed you so much, sweets! I was working overtime last week and couldn't run the show," she said with a pout, sturtting to the host desk to sit down on her chair. "Mireya and Shay rocked the show, though. You'll see them sometime again, for sure! I love them so much. But I also love you, my dear audience!"

Mel beamed again, an illusory pink heart floating by her head.

"We have a lot to cover today, so let's dive right in! Normally I bring in a co-host before starting, but first, we have footage coming in live!" she said as he gestured to the screen behind her.

The word "LIVE" was shown in bolded red capitals on the upper right corner. The camera was showing a cabin-- Hendrik's cabin specifically, which was obvious since the camera was zooming into a window, showing Hendrik continually smacking the side of the TV that only showed static. Hendrik's voice carried loudly as well, heard through the walls.

"(BEEP) this TV! Why is it not working? (BEEP)!"

The camera then slowly panned to James standing nearby, who happened to be looking through the same window, staring straight into the camera with half-lidded, dead eyes.

"Wait," Hendrik said loudly again, the camera quickly panning back to him to show that he was staring towards the upstairs area, over his shoulder. "Did you hear that? It's the (BLEEP) wolf again! It's back! That (BLEEP) milk thief!"

The footage then cut out.

"Phew! Wowee, crazy times, isn't it?" Mel said with a laugh, waving her hand in front of her. "Looks like our meme man can't tune into the montage hour. Shame! That's one less audience member watching! However, with no contestants being able to tune into our show, that means we can bring in a special co-host this morning!"

She smiled, swishing her hair over her head. "Now, if you're watching this, it means you've purchased our exclusive content after the show. The montage episode you're familiar with was heavily edited to not include spoilers. Now you get to see the full, spoiler-free version!"

Mel brightly grinned again, arms out to welcome the soon-to-not-be-empty chair next to her.

"Everyone, say good morning to our favorite nightmare gossip girl, Alexander!"

She pressed the blue button in front of her, poofing in Alexander on the chair. Dropping into the seat like dead weight, Alexander went from what looked like dead asleep to fully awake. Eyes snapping open and popping up, alerted, Alexander sat in the chair in nothing but a silken bathrobe covering him up.

Squinting into the lights for a moment, Alexander quickly collected himself with a charming smile, and he adjusted his robe to be more suitable for the screens.

"It's my favorite nightmare man!" Mel announced enthusiastically, clapping her hands with a big grin. "Welcome, Alex! My name's Mel. You're on the morning montage show as my co-host. Isn't that exciting?"

Alexander brightened, a full, mischievous smile forming on his face.

"What a pleasure!" he said. "I'm happy to be here, Mel."

"I'm happy you're happy!" Mel chirped. "How are you doing, Alex? You must be tired, after such a late night!"

"Well, I can't lie to you, Mel," Alex said with a limping of his wrist. "I did have a busy night. Some coffee would do me wonders."

"Coffee, you say? Say no more! How do you like it?" Mel asked enthusiastically.

"I like some cream and sugar," he said. "Sweet."

Mel snapped her fingers, and coffee magically landed in front of Alexander, landing from the ceiling with a soft thud.

"Here you go! Just how you like it," she said brightly.

With his brows raised, Alex looked over to Mel with pleasant surprise.

"Fantastic," he said, picking up the mug. "Thank you very much."

"No problem!" Mel chirped. "We have a lot to cover today, but before we dive in, do you have any questions for me? Best to get those out of the way before we tackle the agenda."

"How are you this fine morning, Mel?" Alex asked.

Mel beamed. "Oh, I'm doing great, thanks for asking! It always a fun time hosting, especially with a fun co-host. How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine," Alex said, pausing to take a quick sip of coffee. "I'm sure I'll be more awake in a few minutes of course."

"Of course! I certainly have questions for you, mister. I can't wait to go over your crazy life. But first, let's go over the agenda!"

Mel waved a hand in front of her, and bullet points appeared on the screen.

• How did the rizz cabin toilet break?
• Presents galore: mini-game edition!
• Sexy paddle board trip gone wrong!
• The ships have sailed!
• Unlikely friendships?
• Commercial break!
• Who's the flying man?
• In sickness and in health...
• The top trending twoot!
• A love song?
• Interview!
• Fan art!

"Feel free to let me know if you have any comments of questions, Alex!" Mel continued. "But for now, let's continue to our first segment."



The screen behind them showed clips of a conversation between Lyall and Alan, asking about how they'd fix their toilet before Cyrin found out.

"Funny how their toilet broke, huh?" Mel mused. "We took it to Twooter to see what the public thought. The leading theories are hilarious!"

How did the rizz cabin toilet break?

• Cyrin tested it for percussive qualities - 17.4%
• Lyall clogged the toilet and tried to fix it (with fire) - 22.8%
• James sat on it - 46.7%
• Alan played his violin at the resonance frequency - 13.1%

"What do you think, Alex?" Mel asked, eyeing the top results. "Do you agree with the top voted answer?"

"I don't think James has ever used their toilet before," Alex said. "Trust me, I keep track of who goes where. It's more likely it was Lyall who clogged it. I can't see him trying to fix it with fire, though. Though that'd be quite the sight: a flaming toilet."

Mel giggled. "It would, wouldn't it? What I'm hearing, though, is that you keep track of who goes to what bathroom. Is that right?"

"Not bathrooms, more like cabins," Alex corrected. "James usually does things outdoors with others from what I've noticed."

"Observant! You've got a keen eye!" Mel said. "Speaking of, do you have keen intuition of what everyone's intentions are for the gifts they requested? It's time to do a mini game!"

A tablet then poofed in front of Alexander, the same screen mirroring the one behind them.

"In front of you is a list of the matches' items they requested and/or received. Can you guess why they requested them?" Mel asked.

Lyall:singular helium balloon with a bottle of confetti inside (modified from hot air balloon)
Alan: alpaca
Constantine: did not request item, received dog whistle
Robin: warm milk every day
Kaz: a 4-by-4
Hendrik: $5k bottle of tequila (modified from $1M bottle of tequila)
Clandestine: alpaca
Cyrin: toolbox
Jay: 10 lbs of nutmeg
Aaron: a log
James: dry erase toy
Eve: video camera

Alexander raised his brows, humming in thought as he looked over the list.

"Alan got an alpaca for Hild," he said. "And Clanny got an alpaca because of Hild. Probably more subconscious on her part. Hild was reading on alpacas. I remember seeing her with an alpaca book."

Mel hummed. "You sure do know a lot about Hild!"

"Well, we're getting to know each other, you know," Alex said with a grin. "Friendship growing and all that."

"Ah yes, we have a segment on you later!" Mel said with a wink. "What about the other presents? Why do you think they picked them?"

"Hm," Alex rubbed his chin, tilting his head in thought. "I'd say Robin's request is pretty simple. My guess? He likes warm milk - like some kind of psychopath, sure - but that's the only reason I see behind that request."

"Well, he is a werewolf," Mel said.

"Since when do werewolves drink milk?" Alex said.

"Since when do humans drink milk?" Mel shot back playfully.

"Exactly! That's what I'm saying!" Alex laughed.

"I take it you don't like milk," she said with a giggle.

"Lactose intolerant," Alex said, resting a hand over his chest.

"In that case, I'll lay off the cheese."

"Much appreciated," Alex said with a snort, turning his attention back to the list again.

"Right. Okay. Eve probably wants a camera because she's a creep. Let's be honest. That woman's staring at everybody," Alex said. "She probably doesn't think we all notice. But I notice. It's creepy. She stares at the dudes from the bird cabin, especially."

Mel hummed in amusement. "Don't you stare at the dudes from the bird cabin too?"

"Not in that way!" Alex said with a laugh and a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm not really interested in them, honestly. Connie's a beauty, don't get me wrong, and Shane and James are easy on the eyes in their own ways, but their personalities are such a turn-off. They're all so stiff!"

"Interesting! I'd love to keep talking about what you think of everyone, but don't worry, king, I'll ask you soooo many questions later. For now, let's get back to that list," Mel said, watching as the list auto-updated with his answers.

"Right, right," Alex said. "Sorry. I'll move through the rest of these quickly."

He started from the top.

"I'm guessing Lyall wanted a balloon to travel," Alex said. "Maybe to get off the island. Not that he'd get very far in an air balloon - so not a smart choice. A silly one, though. As for Connie - well, he didn't ask for anything, but they definitely gave him a dog whistle for Robin, obviously. The two of them are basically inseparable. They're together all the time. And Kazimir; he probably just picked something expensive and fun. He does not seem the kind of person to think ahead. I imagine he wanted a 4by4 to roam the island chaotically."

He scrolled, moving along.

"Hendrik? He's an alcoholic. Wants expensive vodka for expensive taste. Easy. Next."

"Wow! These are great guesses!" Mel exclaimed. "What about Jay and Aaron, though? They're your cabin mates. Did they tell you anything about their mysterious gift?"

"God, no," Alex said with a huff. "They're barely cooperative. They don't even tolerate my existence. They just put up with me. It's so rude! I try to hold a conversation with them and Jay just straight up ignores me! He'll just leave the room without a word! And all Aaron does is berate me for my existence! For all I know he wants a log to eat it! The man eats everything he sees! And I don't know what Jay would even do with that much nutmeg! Snort it?"

"Huh! You know so much about the others but it seems that you're struggling to learn about your cabin mates," Mel commented.

"Yeah, well, they barely even leave their rooms!" Alex defended. "How am I supposed to get to know them if I barely see them?"

"Fair enough! Some people are just rude!" Mel said brightly. "We have two others we haven't talked about, though: James and Cyrin. What are your working theories?"

Alex huffed, leaning back into his chair as he looked at the screen in thought.

"A tool box is a practical ask, but I feel like it wouldn't really be that hard to get a hold of. There's stores in the plaza, so I don't know why Cyrin felt the need to ask for it. Maybe Cyrin wanted a particular tool? But I don't know what for. They're a gymnast and go climbing all the time. Unless they foresaw the toilet breaking, maybe it was just to cover his bases. I don't know," Alex said. "He's a celebrity, but I don't actually know that much about him outside of what's vaguely public."

"Maybe that should change. You never know, maybe Cyrin would think you're a fun guy!" Mel said.

Alex grinned. "I like the way you think, Mel!"

"Well, I want to know what you think of our last item here. Why do you think James requested the item he did?" Mel asked.

Alex squinted at the screen, pressing his lips together.

"You know, Mel," he said. "I really have no idea with this one. James is freakin' weird."

Mel giggled. "So you really think he just got a toy just 'cause? You don't think it's suspicious at all? You've been targeting him, after all! Surely you must find that a little suspicious."

"Oh, it is suspicious, I'm just not sure what he'd use it for," Alexander said. "Drawing hieroglyphics?"

"Looks like you're going to have to do some detective work on this one!"

"I guess I have my work cut out for me."

Mel nodded. "Let's move on to the next segment, then!"



The screen behind them then showed clips of Alan, Hild, and Clandestine together. It was a montage of them walking and chatting to get to their beachy destination where the paddle board awaited them. The three of them sat on it together, rowing across the still ocean and scenic background. Then they fell over, and the montage went on to show clips of them laughing and having fun underwater and on the rock, sunbathing.

"Awww! They look like they're having fun!" Mel commented with a bright smile, watching the montage continue on.

Alex watched with interest, a small grin growing on his face.

"They certainly do," Alex commented. "Looks like Alan's getting comfortable."

"That's certainly a way to put it! Look at the way he looks at Clandestine and Hild. Isn't it sweet?" Mel cooed.

A few different scenes played out. One was an underwater clip of Clandestine and Alan wrestling with one another, ending with them face to face with Clanny's hair floating around them. The others were several different clips of Alan looking at Hild closely with a smile, whether on the boat, in the water, or when they laid next to each other on the rock to sunbathe.

"Yes," Alex said. "Very sweet."

"And now for some much needed context!" Mel sing-songed.

The montage then rewinded fast, back to when Alan and Hild were outside the cabin, next to the alpaca stable. This time, audio played with cuts, showcasing their conversation about how Alan apologized for what happened at the speed dating event, and Hild then revealed that she was new to making friends. The clip ended with their fist bump handshake, both saying the word "friends."

"Ah... so they defined the relationship," Alex said with a hum.

"Are you surprised by what happened?" Mel asked.

Alex pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at the paused clip of their fists bumping together.

"Sure," he said slowly. "Surprised."

Mel hummed, grinning. "This topic is a perfect segue to the next segment!"



"There are quite a fair number of pairing ships that fans are not only rooting for, but are actually, maybe, totally happening. We have five main pairs right now. Want to guess who they might be?" Mel asked enthusiastically. "I'll give you a hint. All pairings have spent a considerable amount of time together so far."

"I'm going to vote that at least three of them involve Alan," Alex wagered.

The screen updated with Alan's name three times, a ding ding ding ringing for the correct guesses.

"Alan's three matches are: Shane, Hild, and Lyall," Alex guessed again.

Next to Alan's names populated Shane, Hild, and Lyall's name with three more songs.

"The other two matches involve James," Alex said, only a tad less confident.

Yet, the dings sounded again, with James showing up below the Alans.

"Eve and Hild?" Alex guessed.

Their names populated next to James's name, and confetti sprayed everywhere across the screen and the room. A roar of applause filled the room as a 💯 emoji filled the entire screen.

"You did it! You guessed all of them!" Mel squealed in glee. "How did you know?"

Alex turned to look right into the camera with a slightly unsettling, knowing grin.

"I had a feeling," he said, smirking.

"Well, your gut feeling is on point! Which pair do you want to talk about first? We have footage for all of them!" Mel said.

"I want to see Lyall and Alan," Alex said. "I already know that relationship is bullshit. Lyall's got a fiance, unless he plans on cheating on live TV. Which isn't a classy move if you ask me."

"I hope not! She's totally watching this, by the way, so say hi to Kaya, Alex!" Mel said with a wave and a smile.

Alex looked into the camera with a charming wave. "Hi, Kaya!" Alex echoed.

The screen then went on to show a montage of Lyall and Alan. It was mostly smaller scenes sewed together, but without context, all of it seemed strangely intimate. The two of them often sat close to one another, made too-long eye contact, and often bumped into each other. Some audio played, mostly of their friendly but flirty banter that only exacerbated since they matched.

"You think it's bullshit?" Mel asked with a teasing voice.

Alex frowned in disapproval, then looked back into the camera.

"Kaya," he said, addressing her through the screen. "You better get your man."

Alex circled his finger, pointing at Lyall on the screen. "He's got shitty boundaries."

"Ah! And here's their date!" Mel said, gesturing back to the screen.

The montage showed clips of Alan and Lyall by the pier, fishing. At least, that was what they were supposed to be doing, considering they had set up the fishing rods. But they mostly focused their attention on each other, deep in conversation about love.

"Nothing more romantic than two men fishing and talking about love," Alex said.

The montage then slowed to the scene where Alan asked Lyall what he danced. They both stood up, and the dialogue between the two of them bantering about asking each other to dance played out, ending with Alan offering his hand.

Alex looked into the camera with bombastic side-eye.

"Kaya, I'd be getting nervous if I were you," Alex said.

"Any other comments you want to make before we move on to the next pairing?" Mel asked. "The floor is yours!"

"I just hope they're playing around and not being serious," Alex said. "For Kaya's sake."

Mel hummed, slightly tilting her head with a smile. "So do you still think it's all bullshit?"

"Well, I'm not sure, now!" Alex said. "Look at all this damning evidence!"

"We'll see what happens! Seems like Alan is staying busy, though. Who do you want to talk about next: Hild or Shane?" Mel asked.

"Shane, for sure," Alex said, grinning again.

The screen then showed the montage between Shane and Alan. It started with Alan throwing pebbles at his window to get Shane's attention, which he did through a series of signs. Brief dialogue played where Alan attempted to define the relationship, but it wasn't very productive. Clips then played of them going into the plaza, getting coffee and treats together, smiling and laughing.

"Why do I feel like Alan doesn't know how to communicate clearly despite saying a lot?" Alex said, rubbing his chin. "I feel like this has happened several times, now."

"Could be! Do you think he's just bad at communicating?" Mel asked.

"You know, that's probably the better conclusion," Alex said. "He's just so... vague? Somehow he says so much and yet says so little."

Mel hummed. "Maybe it depends on the subject? We've seen him communicate effectively a few times."

"You know, you're right," Alex said. "I think we need to see more."

The screen then played clips of Alan and Shane walking to a more secluded spot together with their coffee and treats. Overlooking the ocean near the cliff side, the two of them talked about deeper subjects about their goals and regrets in life. The montage slowed to a stop when it started to rain, and just like Alan did with Lyall, he asked Shane for a dance.

"How's that?" Mel asked.

"So this dude's dancing with everybody, huh," Alex said flatly.

Mel smiled innocently. "Does that upset you?"

"I just think it's messy," Alex said. "If this is him trying to define relationships after that dating event, he's doing a pretty terrible job of it."

Mel hummed. "Maybe Alan wants to date. He said he doesn't want to date, but who knows!"

"Maybe he doesn't know what he wants," Alex offered.

"Is that what you really think?" Mel asked.

"I think he needs to learn self awareness," Alex said. "Or he's going to get in trouble."

"Maybe you can help!" Mel offered brightly.

Alex smiled slowly. "I plan on it."

"More on that later," she said with a nod. "Let's see what Alan and Hild have been up to."

A montage between the two of them played. Some of the scenes from the paddle board trip were repeated, but it mostly focused between the two of them, like when Hild held him back and yelled at him when he tried to grab his glasses underwater. Scenes of them practicing also played. Their constant banter always ended in smiles, and after they ended a duet together, they'd get food and continue conversations together. There were also scenes of Alan and Hild together in the alpaca stable, caring for the two alpacas together.

"Looks like Alan is giving Hild his undivided attention wherever possible," Mel commented. "Not unlike you, though!"

"I guess the line between friendship and something more can easily be blurred," Alex offered.

"Do you think that's happening here?" Mel asked. "You think there's romantic potential?"

"Hard to say," Alex said. "Is there more to see?"

"From this week? Nope!" Mel said cheerily.

Alex huffed.

"Seems they've landed on friendship from what I'm seeing right now," Alex said.

"We'll see how that progresses! Since we're talking about Hild, let's move on to James and Hild," Mel said, gesturing back to the screen.

A montage of James and Hild played, showing them going on their morning runs consistently every day before grabbing breakfast today, hardly speaking a word. There were also some clips of Hild and James with Lyall as they took turns picking outfits for James to try on. The one clip that was especially drawn out was Hild adjusting James's lapel and tie very closely.

Alex squinted, a small grin on his face.

"Well, Hild's definitely got a crush forming," Alex said with amusement. "It's harder to say if it's mutual, though. James is difficult to read."

"And you think Hild is?" Mel asked.

"She's far more transparent," Alex said. "Even though she tries not to be."

"Perhaps this is another one of those blurred lines of friendships and romance," Mel offered.

"Seems so," Alex said. "I can see it getting messy further down if they don't decide where they want things going."

"And that's assuming James even catches on!" she said. "You're totally right: he's hard to read."

"He just looks so... angry all the time. Even when he like, tries to smile. I didn't think it was possible to look angry and smile at the same time," Alex marveled.

Mel hummed, grinning. "Do you think Hild likes bad boys?"

Alex huffed in amusement.

"Oh, I can definitely see that," he said.

Mel giggled. "Let's transition more to this bad boy, then!"

The montage went on to show clips of James and Eve. It began with their conversation after the speed dating event, which took them into the woods together for privacy. Then the scene shifted to James and Eve abruptly leaving a cafe together to-- again-- go into the woods. The montage showed them aggresively hiking together for nearly an hour, focused and hardly talking or giving each other attention. It ended when they both entered a cave together.

Mel let out a curious, high pitched hum as she grinned and waggled her brows at Alex. "Whatcha think they're doing, all the way out in the woods, together and alone?"

Alex raised his brows suggestively, looking into the camera with a grin.

"I don't know," he said. "But if they just had to get alone... well, I can only imagine it got a little steamy."

Mel giggled and playfully shoved his arm. "Alex!" she scolded. "You really think so?"

"Come on!" Alex said. "What else would they do in there! They clearly have something going on. They're so weird with each other!"

"They're adorable weirdos, though!"

The montage went on to show only James's head sticking out of the sand after Eve spent so long burying him. He coughed when she scattered sandy water on top of his head.

"See? Adorable weirdos," Mel said.

"I guess so," Alex conceded. "But still very weird."

"Seems so!" Mel said cheerfully. "All this talk about our main ships is making me think about other friendships forming on the island. Let's see some footage on them!"



The montage split into six even sections, with each square showing clips between: James and Hendrik bonding on the beach at night, Jay and Aaron sneaking behind bushes, Alex and Hild walking with Buster, Eve and Dante walking and talking, James and Cyrin climbing the seaside cliffs, and Lyall and Kazimir building sand castles.

"Here we go! Looks like you made the list!" Mel chirped.

"Finally," Alex said with a small laugh. "I thought I was being overshadowed by all the couples."

Mel giggled. "Maybe you should be one of the couples, then!"

"I would!" Alex said. "If I hadn't been so rudely denied!"

"Mmm! More on that later!" Mel said brightly. "First, let's see the friendships forming on the screen here. Anything or anyone catch your eye?"

"Jay and Aaron somehow doesn't surprise me," Alex said tiredly. "And yet, I still don't believe it."

"Oh! Perfect transition for the next segment!" Mel said with a smile.



The screen showed Aaron flying through the air, flailing his arms and staring out with wide eyes, aghast.

Alex burst into laughter, leaning back into his chair and holding his side.

"Oh my god, that's hilarious!" he laughed.

"Isn't it?!" Mel giggled. "So does he fly now or what?"

"God, no! Obviously not! Don't you guys know our magics?" he asked. "Jay must be carrying him in his ghostly form! Aaron can't fly!"

"Oh! So you know Jay's magic. Do you know Aaron's?" Mel asked.

"Unfortunately, I am sworn to secrecy," Alex said with a forced pout, crossing his heart with his finger. "Or Aaron would be very upset with me. Not that he isn't already."

"Totally understandable! Don't want to disturb your already fragile friendship with him," Mel said with an eager nod.

"He's a wendigo," Alex blurted.

"Secret's out of the bag!" Mel cheered as the screen then compiled dozens of pictures of wendigo photographs and drawings. "Have you seen his wendigo form yet?"

"Not personally," Alex said. "But I imagine it's terrifying! Honestly, the thought of it thrills me. I'm sure he's far more powerful than he lets on."

Mel let out a cheerful hum. "Does Aaron know you're a hunter?"

Alex laughed. "Considering how much he avoids me? I don't think he knows much about me at all. He probably only knows my name so he can say it with visceral hatred."

"I see! Hypothetically, if given the chance: would you hunt a wendigo?" Mel asked. "Purely hypothetical, of course, and speaking in generalities."

"If I was getting paid," Alex said with a small shrug. "Sure."

"Interesting! Food for thought!" Mel said brightly, then looked straight into the camera with a grin. "We'll be right back, folks! But first, a word from our sponsors."

Henny & Sons & Weird Commercials wrote:A parade was marching through the scenery of a quaint Germaknee village, with celebrational music playing all around. People in floral dresses and lederhosen spun through the street, all holding beer steins that miraculously didn't spill from all the twirling. The camera zoomed in on the logo on the glasses, revealing the company the beer was from: Henny & Sons.

The camera then switched to James, boldly walking down the street with fistfuls of beer steins. The muscles in his arms showed as he held them high overhead, passing through the crowd with ease. The servers, all of who had five or six glasses to a hand, looked at his twenty glasses with envy and admiration. James hefted the beer glasses higher for a few moments, then suddenly tipped them all back, drinking all the beer in seconds without spilling a drop.

James slammed the mugs back down with a long "Aah," and smiled uncharacteristically bright.

"That's the most refreshing drink I've had in ages," James said with a small slur.

Clanny came in, sitting beside him. "I'll have what he's having!" she said, and a comically large mug was slid over to her. She caught it in her hands, keeping it from sliding off the bar into her lap.

"Perfect!" she said with a laugh, somehow hefting the giant mug up and beginning to chug.

In the background, all of the surrounding patrons began to chant: "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

When Clanny finally finished, she slammed the giant mug down with a huff and raised her hands in victory while everyone cheered. James clapped beside her.

"Do you want to be that guy?" a deep voice suddenly asked, and the camera slowly panned to Hendrik who was buffer, younger, and more manicured with a perfectly pearly smile and oiled mustache. He was wearing lederhosen as well-- at least, for tight pants. His shirt was missing, only revealing his ripped eight-pack.

Hendrik lifted his giant mug of beer, brow raised to James.

"Oi! Drunkie! I'm talking to you!" he yelled.

James whipped around.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"The world wants to know why you're popular and loved. Why don't you tell 'em your secret?" Hendrik said.

James looked into the camera with a smile. "It's because I drink Hendrick's gin!"

Hendrik grinned. "And Hennyson's bourbon?"

"You know it!" James said, lifting up another glass that somehow appeared in his hand.

"Oi! Clan! Other drunkie!" Hendrik called, waving over at Clandestine who just finished chugging a beer. "Come over here and tell us your secrets!"

Clanny skipped over, plopping down beside Hendrik with a cheery smile.

"Henneken always brightens my day!" she said.

"Fantastic choice! Cheers to that!" Hendrik said with another grin.

All three of their mugs filled with Henneken beer, magically filling to the top with a frothy finish. They clinked their classes and chugged it in front of the camera.

When finished, Hendrik tossed his mug behind him, the glass shattering in the background.

"Real men and women drink Hendrick's, Hennyson's, and Henneken," he said with a deep narrator voice, then wrapped his arms around James and Clanny. "This message has been approved by your favorite alcoholics!"

"Yeah!" Clanny chimed in. "Ain't nothing wrong with a good drink!"

"It isn't over 'til you're not sober!" James laughed.

The three of them waved at the camera with big tipsy smiles as the camera zoomed out, revealing a synced dance mob behind them, dancing with their Henny & Sons's sponsored drink. A long list of credits and a too-fast narrator spoke several sentences that were hard to hear. It sounded suspiciously like Clarity's voice delivering a report on the properties of ethanol for the legal disclaimer.

"Welcome back, folks! Wasn't that a fun commercial?" Mel said brightly as the commercial faded out, focusing back to the recording studio. "Didn't you think that was fun, Alex? I think I saw you in the background drinking Henneken!"

"Kind of a bummer they didn't make me a main character in it, but sure," Alex said.

"You'll get your chance, Alex! You just have to make a splash one week, and I just know our AI overlords will make you the main character of our amazing commercials," Mel said enthusiastically. "Let's move on to our remaining segments, then! Let's see the top trending Twoot for the week!"




Mel giggled. "Good thing Hendrik isn't watching! He'd for sure be calling James a horegirl."

"Maybe I'll take it up in his stead," Alex said with a grin.

Mel giggled again. "You're hilarious! He'd be so confused. I dare you."

"That's all I needed," Alex said with a grin. "Dare accepted."

"I'll be sure to specifically request the footage of this during the montage," Mel said with a big smile and nod. "In the mean time, let's move on to the next montage!"



Another montage played, this one centered on the rizz cabin. A lot of zooming in was done through a window or people (specifically Lyall, Cyrin, Shane, and Hild) coming in and out of the cabin. Most of the focus was zooming through the window of Alan's room, getting clips of Lyall opening the curtains in the mornings and sitting by Alan's side, getting him to eat and drink. There were variants of this with Shane and Hild as well, with Alan sitting up or laying down, having a conversation or sleeping.

"Looks like Mr. Romantic got sick this week. It's nice that he's got plenty of people supporting him, though!" Mel said.

"Looks like he was really laid out," Alex commented. "To need that many people waiting on him."

"Or maybe they visited because they care about him," Mel offered.

"I'm sure there's that too."

Mel smiled, studying him for a second, but then briskly nodded and waved for the next segment. "Looks like Mr. Romantic recovered to sing about romance, though!"



Footage of Alan practically running out of his cabin to briskly get to the amphitheater in the plaza played, transitioning to him playing and singing on the piano. His melancholic, bittersweet song played in real-time, the lyrics automatically translating on the bottom of the screen. It was a love song, expressing regret about leaving a past lover after constant dreaming about her.

"Do you ever feel like having a late night serenade at 3:30am to a past lover?" Mel said with a giggle.

"Can't say I've had the unction, but I also don't sing."

"Totally fine!" Mel said with a nod. "What are your thoughts on all this?"

"Seems like Mr. Romantic's not over his ex, whomever that may be," Alex deduced.

The screen then went back to the scene with Lyall and Alan fishing, in which they had an open dialogue about Maria.

"Maria," Mel answered. "Not sure if she's watching this, but maybe she is!"

Alex looked into the camera with a small smirk.

"Interesting," Alex said.

"It is! I'd like to move on to the next segment."



Mel smiled, their chairs now facing each other, the desk having shrunk so that the scene was more relaxed for an interview.

"As you may have already guessed, Alex, I know quite a bit about you already! Since you're already here, I'd love to interview you. You should know, though, that this entire montage is not filmed live. Our editing team will be editing out any clips that the audience should not know. That includes your magic, your alliance with Tula, and specific plans regarding the other contestants. So you are welcome to be open and transparent with me. Do you have any questions for me before we begin?" Mel asked.

Alex smiled more naturally now, and he inclined his head towards her in a nod.

"Thank you for your transparency," he said. "I'm curious as to what exactly your role is here on the island. Do you normally work with the DMV?"

"My role is to interview you, silly!" Mel said with a playful wave of her hand. "First, can we talk about the elephant in the room? Your magic is the stuff of literal nightmares! How does it work?"

With a small huff of laughter, Alexander crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair.

"Well, Mel, I think my powers make me comparable to Sandman. Though he's a work of fiction, the function is similar. I have the ability to influence people's dreams. Part of that entails wandering through their subconscious, which I always describe as a very spiritual experience. I can plant ideas or pull from existing ones in someone's subconscious and, more or less, press play and start a dream, letting their mind run with it. If I'm feeling creative, however, I have the option to have a more direct role in the dream's creation."

"That is so interesting! That isn't what you told Hild, though. Is there a reason why you're hiding this?" Mel asked curiously.

"I'd like to be able to influence people's dream-lives without suspicion," Alex said with a smirk. "I'm sure you understand."

"Understandable! Your secret is safe with me!" Mel said with a wink and a smile. "Speaking of which, let's talk about your victims. Who have you been targeting these days?"

"In order of priority," Alex said. "James, Shane, and Alan, mostly. Sometimes I'll toy with Aaron just for fun, but he's too predictably disturbed, you know? It feels too easy with him."

Mel hummed. "Let's talk about them in that order, then! What kind of nightmares has James been seeing?"

"It depends on what I'm feeling," Alex said with a small shrug. "At Tula's request, I do try to make them as horrific as possible, so I'm not sure you want me going into grotesque details. Let's just say I'm playing with all of his worst fears and having a hayday. And -- well, the funny thing about roaming someone's subconscious is, well, you get pretty well aquainted with someone's psyche. James? That man has so much trauma. Lots of material to work with."

"That is sooo interesting! Do you ever feel bad for the man? He's going through so much, and already has so much trauma!" Mel said.

"I don't really have much of an emotional connection to him," Alex said. "So not really."

"Fair enough! Do you even want to give him nightmares? Or are you doing this because Tula requested you to?" Mel asked.

"It's a bit of both, really," Alex said. "He's admittedly fun to mess with. But yes, at first, it was at Tula's suggestion."

Mel nodded. "What about Shane?"

"It's a bit of the same," Alex said. "Shane seems to be one of James's closest friends so far, and he's also been trying to poke his nose into Tula and I's plans, so it's more precautionary than anything. If I mess with his sleep, he's got less of a head about him to notice things we don't want him to."

"What kind of nightmares have you been giving him?" Mel asked.

"Well, he's been really easy," Alex said. "The man already has nightmares every night about his parents, so I've just been amplifying those. Adding some twists."

"Ooh, you are so evil!" Mel said with a laugh. "I want to go back to what you mentioned earlier. You have plans with Tula, but what does that mean, exactly?"

"Well, big picture, we're trying to mess with the other contestants as much as possible to eliminate competition," he said. "Small picture, we're trying to cause drama with those who are most popular so that they're sure to not succeed, but really, it's all about improving our odds at the end. We both understand, of course, that the alliance won't last forever, but for now things are working for us."

Mel nodded, intrigued. "Is that why you are messing with Alan? He is quite popular!"

Alex's smile spread a little more menacingly.

"That's certainly part of it," he said. "But it's not the only reason."

"Oh?" Mel tilted her head with a smile. "Care to share?"

"I just think he could use a little push in the right direction," Alex said. "The man doesn't seem to really know what he wants, you know? And his powers - what a waste! If he actually made use of them, he could easily be one of the most powerful contestants on the show."

"So are you influencing and pushing him in his dreams?" Mel asked. "What nightmares are you giving him?"

"Let's just say I'm heavily encouraging him to use his magic," Alex said. "And to embrace... hm, let's call it his 'dark side.'"

"Villainous! This will be quite a show," Mel said with a nod. "Speaking of, we caught footage of you sneaking near his cabin minutes before he left to play at the plaza. Would you say the events are related?"

Alex raised his brows, giving Mel an innocent smile for a second before he dropped the act and burst into a fit of unsettling maniacal laughter.

"Of course you're watching me!" he said. "Yes, I'm sure the dream I gave him propelled him to process through song."

The latter phrase was said exceptionally condescending.

Mel raised a brow. "Anything else you'd like to share about Alan? You seem to have a lot of opinions. I'd love to hear them before we move on!"

"I'm sure it's no secret that he rebuffed my advances after very obviously initiating flirtation," Alex said. "I've seen this become a recurring pattern - he's a flirt, and though he thinks it's harmless, I can only see it going up in flames. I don't care for that kind of misleading behavior."

"I see, I see. It does hurt to be rejected," Mel said with a nod.

"Exactly," Alex said with a nod. "So I'm going to get back at him by making him suffer."

"By giving him nightmares?" Mel asked.

"That's how it's starting," he said. "Yes."

"You've seen clips of him getting cozy with the other contestants. What do you make of that?" she asked.

Alex huffed in transparent jealousy, crossing his arms.

"It's unfair," he said.

"You're just as fun and easy to talk to as the others," Mel said with sympathy. "Why do you think he rejected you?"

"I don't know!" Alex said. "I think he just couldn't handle it when someone treated him the way he does everyone else. It's like he has to be the one wearing the pants. If he's not the one in control it's like -- he just freaked out! Went from friendly to so stiff like a flip of a switch!"

"Do you like to be the only one always wearing the pants of a partnership?" Mel asked.

"I think people should be fine with sharing," Alex said.

"Very true! Pants can be shared!" Mel said with a smile. "Let's talk about some events last week. You had the privlige of watching Alan and Hild's interviews last week and even submitted anonymous questions for them! Why did you ask the questions you did?"

"I wanted to see their responses more than I wanted to know the answers," Alex said with a grin.

"And? How did they fare?" Mel asked.

"Swimmingly," Alex answered.

"Intriguing! Any last comments about this before we move on?"

"Let's see what's next," Alex said, looking to the screen for the next question.

"The next set of questions are the top audience questions from Twooter," Mel said as she waved in the next questions. "Unfortunately, since this isn't filmed live, there aren't as many. But it's enough to spark a Q&A, and hopefully we'll have you back next time for a true love montage! Are you ready?"

"Always am," he said with a smile.



Alex looked off to the side with a small grin.

"You know, I started when I was about 18. It was a small hobby, at first, but I came to really enjoy it. It's one of my favorite ways to exercise, honestly," he answered. "It's a workout."

"It definitely is! You previously mentioned that you don't usually have an audience. Do you typically dance by yourself?" Mel asked.

"Usually, yes," Alex said. "But sometimes I'm willing to share it with others."

"Oh!" Mel said with a giggle. "Other pole dancers?"

Alex smiled easily.

"Yes. Other pole dancers," he said in a way that clearly indicated he was not talking strictly about pole dancing.

Mel giggled again. "Let's bring in the next question!"



"Oh! Finally. I like this one," Alex said, brightening. "What are the parameters? Are we talking objectively hottest by overall standards or is this about my personal taste?"

"It's completely up to you, so your personal tastes!" Mel answered.

Smiling wider, Alex laughed.

"Perfect. Then I'd say my top three are Cyrin, Connie, and Tula. That's, of course, if we're going purely on aesthetics. If we're taking personalities into account, then it's probably Alan, Tula, and Lyall."

"Tula made the list both times, and considering you work and live with her, I can't help but wonder if anything already happened between you two," Mel said with a waggle of her brows.

"The only problem," Alex said. "Is she's not interested in me at all!"

He let out a sad, dramatic sigh.

"I don't know why! We could be perfect partners in crime! But for some reason whenever she's just around me she's all business no fun! I wish it wasn't so."

Mel pouted. "She needs to lighten up! You are so fun, Alex!"

"Thank you, Mel," Alex said, resting his hand on his chest. "That means a lot coming from you!"

"Of course! And with that, this topic is the perfect segue into the next question," Mel said with a grin.



Alex smirked, looking into the camera with an eyebrow waggle.

"Why? Who's asking?" he joked.

"The whole world, of course! They want to help you find love!" Mel said excitedly.

"Well I'll readily receive it!" Alex said. "I am single and happy to mingle."

"Then let's bring in the next follow-up question!"



"Oh! Of course!" Alex said. "I mean, if the feelings were mutual and we got something going, I can totally see that happening. I'm open!"

"Awwww!" Mel cooed. "You deserve the love of your life, Alex!"

Wiping a nonexistent tear, Alex smiled meaningfully.

"You're right," he said. "I really do."

"So let's talk about it! Next follow-up question, please!"



"Good question," Alex said. "I'd say I look for a mix of that romantic spark that's hard to define and some practical similarities. There has to be chemistry, you know? And that's so ethereal. But I feel like we have to have some common ground, too. It makes sense to enjoy some of the same things, and have some shared core values."

Mel sat up from leaning forward with each passing word, her eyes sparkling and her smile growing brighter. "Absolutely! I think it is so sweet that you put romance high on the list of priorities. Men these days seem to only want one thing, and it's certainly not romance!" Mel said with a huff.

"Tell me about it!" Alex said with a wave of his hand. "Like, don't get me wrong. I still want that too! But without the romance it's just... ugh! It feels so empty, you know?"

Mel nodded enthusiastically. "Totally! There's got to be an emotional connection!"

"So true, bestie," Alex said.

Mel giggled and waved in the next question. "Alright, this one is the last question!"



Alex let out a loud: "Hah!"

He held the sides of his chair.

"People know about that?" he asked. "I thought the rooms were off limits."

"Not if the cameras can see it through your windows!" Mel said as a reminder.

Alex pointed at her with a grin.

"Sneaky," he said.

Mel smiled and shrugged innocently. "Don't look at me, I'm not on camera crew."

"Well, I guess it doesn't hurt for people to know. I've just always liked hunting and throwing knives. Ever since I was a kid I've been collecting them, so the collection is very dear to me. Almost every knife has a memory attatched to it."

"Aw, so it's sentimental," Mel said.

"Very much so," Alex answered.

Mel hummed, sitting up straighter. "You know, Alex-- you're a sweet, affectionate man with a sensitive soul! It really is a shame that you aren't getting as much attention, whether that's by friendship, romance, or screen time. I see through you, and you really are a lot of fun! I know it's frustrating, but hang in there. Someone will come around and hold your hand eventually. You really do deserve it!"

Alex's expression softened into something genuinely touched, and he pouted slightly.

"Aw," he said softly. "Can I give you a hug? You're so nice to me."

"Of course!" Mel said with her arms extended and a big smile. "Come in here!"

Reaching over, Alex embraced her, and an "aww" voice track played in the background.

"Thanks, Mel," Alex said, pulling away. "I really needed to hear that."

"If you ever want a friend on the island, you know where to find me!" Mel said with friendly smile. "Well. Maybe I'm a little hard to find, since I'm not a contestant. But with your hunting skills, I'm sure you can track me down!"

"I'm sure I can figure it out," Alex said with a wink. "I like a good challenge."

"Sadly, I have a too-easy challenge for you," Mel said as she gestured to the red button beside her. "Do you want to do the honors and poof yourself back to your room?"

"Challenge accepted," Alex said with a wide grin.

"Any last words before you press the button?" Mel asked.

"This was fun," Alex said. "We should hang out again sometime!"

"Definitely! Say bye, Alex!" Mel said with a wave.

"Bye!" he said, smiling into the camera.

He pressed the red button in front of him, sending him off with a burst of colorful confetti.

Mel beamed and looked into the camera. "It was so lovely talking to him, but now let's bring up an uninterviewed contestant who has made the biggest splash! Please welcome Lyall, our favorite dapper camera-ready man!"

Mel pressed the blue button, poofing in Lyall on the seat next to her. Like the first time he was called in, a mug of coffee crashed to the floor between them. Caught in only sleepwear yet again, he lifted a hand as he squinted against the studio lights.

"Oh no," he uttered with a look of dread.

"Oh yes!" Mel said with a cheerful smile. "Welcome back to the montage show, Lyall! I've missed you! How have you been? Do you want more coffee?"

"Uhm," he stammered, slowly gathering his wits about him and plastering on a grin, "hullo again, Miss Mel! I..." He looked down at the spilled coffee. "If it's not too inconvenient, please and thanks."

"Not at all!"

Mel snapped her fingers, and a cup of coffee magically floated down from the ceiling, gracefully landing in front of Lyall with minimal spilling.

"I love Mary Poopins magic. Don't you?" Mel said with a giggle.

"Mary...?" Blinking sleepily, Lyall trailed off as he carefully picked up the coffee.

"So anyways, I have super exciting news for you, Lyall!" Mel said instead with a bright smile, waving her arms around. "You've been selected for this morning's interview! Isn't that exciting?! You made quite a big stir this week!"

After taking a long sip, Lyall mustered a small but sincere grin. "I'm indeed quite honored, Miss Mel. How shall we begin?"

"Easy enough! Let's just dive right in! These are all from Twooter, by the way."

The first question then appeared on the screen.



"This one's our most popular question!" Mel said with a smile.

For a long beat, Lyall stared intently at the text, as if he couldn't quite process it. "It is?"

Mel nodded enthusiastically. "Yup! What do you think? Would you date a man?"

"I." He looked from Mel back to the displayed question. "I haven't before, nor have I... ever actually considered it." He shrugged. "I suppose if it were the right man, then sure?"

Mel hummed. "Interesting! So the answer is yes, since it's not a hard no?"

Lyall gave a wobbly, unsure grin. "Uh, I guess so."

"Perfect! Let's move on to the next question, then!"



Brows nearly shooting up to his hairline, Lyall set down the coffee cup with a loud clatter. "I beg your pardon?" he said, voice cracking with his indignance.

"This is our second most popular question," Mel said enthusiastically.

"What-- But--" Lyall spluttered helplessly. "With whom?"

"Twooter, of course! Everyone loves the dynamics you both share! In fact, there's a popular theory out right now that if you were single, you'd make a great couple with Alan!" Mel said.

Lyall firmly faced the camera. "Desist, immediately! He and I are friends. I am engaged to Kaya. There is no 'throuple'." He waved both arms emphatically. "I am sorry, Twooter, but this is how the world is."

"You heard it here first, folks! Nothing suspicious happening here!" Mel said with a smile. "Let's move on to our next question."

"Yes, let's," Lyall agreed with a conclusive nod.



Immediately, a look of terrible regret fell over him.

"Marvelous Miss Mel," he said tiredly, clapping his hands together, "may I ask in advance if this is the running theme for this interview?"

"Yes! All the questions are hot!" Mel said brightly.

"Brilliant," he mumbled. Then sighed and closely contemplated the question at hand.

"In what sense of the word?" he asked. "Their characters? Physiques, though that's a terribly shallow way to assess a person. Fashion senses?"

Mel hummed. "Good question! Why don't we bring up a past clip to answer this? Your cabin mates were asked the same question, after all!"

The screen then showed the interview clip of Alan from the end of week one where the same question popped up for him.

"This one is hard, but I'm going to have to go with Lyall," Alan said with a friendly smile. "He's so charming, inside and out. I love how he smiles and carries himself, but most of all, I love how he's true to himself, confident and comfortable in the person he is." He paused, nodding with a wave of his hand in front of him. "That, and he's a good looking guy as well. I admire how he dresses too. Anyone would be lucky to date him."

"Does that help?" Mel asked, the frame pausing right at this last sentence in the subtitles.

There was another long silence as several different conflicting emotions flashed across Lyall's face.

"So," he said slowly, "in every sense of the word, hm. Well." Lyall turned back to Mel. "...Is opting not to answer an option?"

"Sorry! All interviewees are required to answer. Take your time answering, though!" Mel said.

Lyall did not look reassured. After a long sigh, he hastily answered, "Cyrin. Next question, please."

"Oh! Unrequited hotness opinions!" Mel said with a giggle.

Lyall buried his reddening face in both hands.



"Oh, I like this question! I also want to know what you find hottest about yourself!" Mel said excitedly.

Folding his arms on the desk, he forced a smile. "We're really digging deep, aren't we, Twooter? Under duress, I shall honestly answer I do rather like my hair. Usually I go great lengths to straighten and style it, but this humid tropical climate has been less-than cooperative. Thus, I went natural these past weeks, and it hasn't been all that bad."

"Aw, really? I think your curly hair is so nice! It looks so good on you!" Mel said, then threw her curly locks behind her shoulder, winking at him. "But maybe I'm biased."

"On the contrary," Lyall replied with a more genuine grin, "that only makes your opinion more qualified."

"If I ever see you with straight hair, I will personally harass you until it turns curly again!" she said playfully.

"I welcome it," Lyall said with a gracious nod.

Mel giggled. "Let's see the next question! The next ones are still hot themed, just in a more literal sense."



Lyall hummed, nodding sluggishly. "An honest enough question, I suppose." He turned to the camera for this one. "No, I have not. We were always exceptionally careful as soon as my magic manifested itself."

"I can see that! You're very careful," Mel said with an eager nod. "Speaking of your sister, I have this clip to play for you."

The screen showed a clip of James's interview from week one, being asked which of the two Ashlunds he'd prefer to date. He thought about it for a moment then answered with Hild. The clip paused here, with Hild's name subtitled below.

"That was also from a different interview!" Mel said cheerfully.

Lyall stared blankly at the paused clip. "...From how long ago?" he asked, gaze narrowing ever so slightly.

"Not long ago at all!" Mel answered.

"...Right, it's only been two weeks," Lyall murmured, voice bordering despairing.

"Let's move on, shall we?"

He only stared at the screen and went on to himself, "I must re-evaluate... everything..."



The change in question made him blink. Then the change in topic, it seemed, visibly caught him off-guard again. He looked down at the desk, wilting right before the camera.

"No," he answered weakly, and left it at that.

There was a short silence as Mel smiled at him and considered digging deeper, but then shook away the thought since he answered the question.

"Ah! I'm just getting word that this one has a follow up question from Twooter," Mel said, still with a smile.



The question appeared right as Lyall took another long swig of coffee. Which he promptly spat out to the other side, away from Mel.

"Sorry," he said, brows raised in intense questioning, "my what."

"Your body count!" Mel said unhelpfully.

For the next beat of silence, someone edited in beside Lyall an ellipsis as he struggled to make sense of the question.

"Oh! I'm getting another follow-up to the follow-up," Mel said as she waved in the next question.



At that, he looked downright insulted. But he finally obliged and sternly addressed the camera, "Dear people of the internet, that is none of your concern. What I do or don't do within the privacy of my own house, stays in my house. Thank you, and good day."

Mel aggressively clapped. "Yeah! You tell 'em, Lyall! That's no one's business!" With a lingering smile, Mel set her hands back down. "Unfortunately, we do need an answer to every question now. New policy, sorry! But if you don't want to answer this, I can put in a filler answer."

He cast her a deeply appreciative look. "What does a filler answer entail?"

"Pull the lever, Ethan!" Mel cheered from across the room.

The cameras quickly panned across the studio room, showing Ethan saluting to Mel with a grin. He pulled an obnoxiously large lever on the wall. It was hooked up next to a slot machine, but instead of icons, numbers quickly rolled through the screen one-by-one. The first number was a zero. The second number was also a zero. The third number was, again, a zero.

When finished, the numbers lit up with a ding ding ding!

"Wow! Lucky, you got three in a row! Your body count is zero people!" Mel announced.

Dumbstruck, Lyall watched this all unfold. "I don't--"



He sank back in his chair, visibly reeling from the onslaught of questions at this point. "Unfortunately, yes," he answered distantly.

"Oh, really? Do you have a story to share?" Mel asked with a waggle of her brows.

"Sadly," he answered, casting her a weak grin, "no. It happened when I was much younger, so I hardly remember the circumstances surrounding the incident."

Mel's smile softened into a look of understanding as she smiled. "Understandable. I'm glad you have better control now. And hey, if you ever need an unburnable super suit, let me know," she said with another wink.

Brow furrowing slightly, Lyall grinned with intrigue. "You're able to do that?"

"Maybe we should get lunch sometime and work something out! Platonic, of course, as we talk about supersuits!" Mel said playfully.

"I think I'll take you up on that, Miss Mel," Lyall said, finally beginning to relax a bit.

"Good!" she chirped. "Okay, last hot-themed question for you."



"...Do I--" Lyall looked at the camera. "Do I strike you as a criminal of this degree? Does this feel like a legitimate question to you, Twooter? Do you know you're asking this to someone who has sworn an oath not to cause harm?"

He flung both arms skyward. "Does the world think so little of Lyall Ashlund! That they would ask me if I have committed arson! That they would presume I would deliberately set fire to another's property! That I am weak enough in moral character to give in to the primal urge to play with such deadly forces for the sake of, what? Pettiness? Revenge? For mine own enjoyment? Why ask me these things? At such an ungodly hour, too! Where has the sanctity of the mornings gone anyhow? My sleep! My coffee! How many cups shall I lose to the insanity of this morning show? When will the hungry beast that is the internet ever be sated? Will it never have its fill until we've all suffered at the hands of the cursed Twooter?"

While Lyall talked, meme filters were applied, pixelating his face and voice until it sounded distorted. A red tint washed over his highly pixelated self as fire burned in his eyes, with steam coming out of his ears. A fiery word art caption with displayed underneath him, reading, "HOW DARE YOU CALL ME AN ARSONIST, MORTAL!"

"Wow! That's a long speech for saying no!" Mel said with a giggle. "My confetti timer is going off, so I'm going to move on to the next question before we run out of time."



Mel giggled innocently. "Oh, who put that there? What a nice question!"

Sucking in a breath, Lyall breathed out slowly, deflating as he calmed. "If I could-- Oh!" He looked back to the camera. "Kaya, my love, I promise you have my whole heart. We'll talk more soon, I don't want to die right now."

"Huh! Interesting words," Mel mused. "Anyways, Lyall, we have one last question for you! Are you ready?!"

He just looked back at Mel with a helpless shrug.



"I like..." He scratched his chin. "Who is this? Hen--" His face fell. "Oh."

The logo displayed on the screen, along with the Hendrik from the commercial, arms around James and Clanny with a thumbs up as they both held their pitcher of beer. The logo also displayed under the three of them.

"Henny & Sons is our sponsor this weekend!" Mel said.

"Ah." Lyall raised a hand in weak celebration. "Yay."

"What's your favorite liquor?" Mel asked. "Sorry, I know I need to be sending you back soon!"

"Mead," Lyall answered. He fidgeted and drummed his hands on the desk, looking very much ready to be sent back.

"Now let's move on to the next segment!" Mel said brightly.



"Unfortunately, we've run out of time to actually go over fan art, but have no fear, we'll do this next time! Instead, Lyall will be taking his fanart home."

Mel then pulled out a letter from under the desk, giving it to him.

"A parting gift!" she explained. "Any last words before you head back, Lyall? You have three seconds!"

"Thank you, Miss Mel," he said, mustering his most sincere smile to her as he accepted the letter.

"Say bye, Lyall! Byyyyyyye!"

Before Lyall could react, Mel pressed the red button in front of her, poofing him out of his chair. A comical amount of confetti took his place, which usually indicated that he was thiiiiis close to turning into confetti.

"Well, that's all, folks! Hope you've enjoyed this special edition segment! I'll see you next time!" Mel said with a wink and a wave.

The Island Magic logo then faded into the screen as magic anime girl outro music played, credits rolling.

END OF WEEK 2!
WHAT WILL EVENT 2 BRING?

In a blur of glittery bits and flashing lights, Lyall fell back on his bedroom floor. The coffee in his hand once again spilled on the ground next to him. Lying back limp and tired, he let out a long sigh. Staring up at his plants and the ceiling, the interview already felt like a distant fever dream. Which he did not have the wherewithal to properly pick apart right now.

It took him a few solid minutes to rally himself to update the weekly to-do list on his desk, as well as his personal notes on his friends.

• meet up w Ms Mel
• invest in a travel mug

Pursing his lips, he tapped his chin with his pen. He thought there was more to do, but... He shrugged, then opened his notes. Under James's name, he scribbled in:

• intentions w my sister??? must observe more closely

Then he wondered if that should've gone on the to-do list instead. He couldn't be bothered, though, it was now there in ink. And it was at least written down somewhere, that way he didn't lose the thought once the day got going.

There was something else, though... Oh!

He slipped the letter from Mel from his back pocket, and turned it over to assess the envelope. It was a normal, standard envelope that was unmarked with the exception of the red waxy DMV seal on it. He took a letter opener to the top edge, and tugged out the message itself.

Your first-ever fanart was gifted to us by the Universal College of Liberal Arts (UCLA).

Congratulations! You can find it in your match's closet.

Lyall's mind blanked. Fanart? Of what? Him? But he never attended UCLA. His match? What did any of this mean? He was not nearly awake enough for puzzles or mind games of this calibre--

His and Viktor's trip to Crit whacked him out of nowhere like a boomerang.

Oh shit.

Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.

He never attended UCLA, but he did visit an art college in Crit. The "fanart" had to be one of the sketches from that cursed study session, "his match" was of course (and much to Lyall's horror) Alan, the sketch was in Alan's room, and Lyall most definitely felt awake now.

Without even bothering to change into day clothes, he rushed out into the hall. Then screeched to a halt in the space between his and Alan's doors.

Was Alan even home right now? Lyall could simply knock and find out. Alan dropped by Lyall's room often enough, it felt, that the reverse was bound to happen at least once in the near future, so there was probable cause for him to simply. Appear.

Okay, yes. This wasn't a totally terrible idea then. How shall he explain himself, though?

'Oh, hullo, good morn. Yes, I have a question for you: didst you happen to find this fine day a nude sketch of me in your closet?'

No! No one had conversations that started that way!

Lyall spun on his heel to slink back to his room in defeat. Then thought, wait. He just needed a reasonable enough sounding ruse. Something like... a perimeter sweep for pests. That could work.

He turned back around-- But wait. That would require a lie. Such as the fact that he did those to begin with. Which, for the record, he didn't. He always relegated pest control to either his siblings or paid for professional pest removal services. And he didn't want to sound alarms on a falsehood such as this. They'd have to thoroughly decontaminate the cabin, when there was absolutely no need to waste the time and energy and resources!

Pivoting once more, he faced his own door. But wait--

After a short, arduous eternity of weighing every perceivable option, Lyall found himself tapping his knuckles on Alan's door. Then waited. Silence.

After another internal debate with himself and ultimately deciding he really didn't want Alan to find the sketch first, he tested the door handle. It gave way. He waited for any response. When none came, he very slowly peeked in through the crack.

And made direct eye contact with Alan, who sat behind his keyboard with earbuds in and a look of confusion on his face.

Alan slowly removed his earbuds. "Hey, Lyall," he said, still looking like he was processing that Lyall was unexpectedly entering his room.

Lyall simply wanted to drop dead from the sheer embarrassment of this new predicament.

Willing himself to appear normal (achievable) and collected (less so), he offered a small, "Alvaro, good morning," and a smile that felt way more like a grimace. "Apologies. This is rather forward, I know, but I simply..." He took a millisecond to wrack his brain. "...wanted to check on you. After...last night."

"Right," Alan said with a nod. "Right. Yeah."

Standing up, Alan turned off his keyboard, shuffling some papers that were on the stand and placed them on the desk next to the keyboard all in one pile. With his free hand, he rubbed his eye under his glasses and then gestured for Lyall to come in with a tired but friendly smile.

"Do you want to come in?" he asked.

"I..." Lyall scratched the back of his neck and looked askance-- the door off the side must have been the closet. "I do realize I'm jumping this on you. We don't have to right now."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Alan said assuredly. "I appreciate you checking in. I didn't mean to worry you last night."

Right, well. Lyall started this, so he had to see it through now.

Plus. With the next second, a feeling of genuine concern for Alan did begin to come over him.

Still feeling awkward for having actually opened the door without invitation, and remembering that he had not made himself presentable first, Lyall slipped in and quietly found his way by Alan's desk. For lack of a better place to stand. Regardless, Alan wordlessly offered the seat for him, instead opting to sit at the edge of his bed.

"You seemed really..." Lyall started slowly, taking the desk chair. "...quite hurt last night, during the song."

Alan slowly nodded, letting a short silence pass. "I can see how you'd think that. But... no," he said with a small smile. "I'm not hurt. Just felt inspired. That's all."

Lyall nodded in a similarly thoughtful fashion. So it was that characteristic of some artistic spirits who drew very directly from their personal experiences. Like those pop song artists who wrote about breakups just weeks after the breakup. Nary a moment to let either party sit with it. Just straight to a very public call-out.

Maybe it was a rather cynical way of putting it, but that was the only way he could mentally frame it.

Also he would like to emphatically put out there within his own thoughts, that he didn't think nearly as little of his friend.

"And your urgency," Lyall said slowly, "was...in an effort to not lose that inspiration?"

"Ah... yeah," Alan said with a faint laugh rubbing the back of his neck as he looked off to the side of his wrong. "I suppose that's one way to put it. I really didn't mean to worry you though. It was kind of a random burst of energy and inspiration that took over me. I'll have to be more quiet next time. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

Raising both hands, Lyall shook his head. "No, no worries. I was already up."

Alan hummed, dropping his hand and offering a smile. "Late night talks with Kaya, I presume?"

Lyall huffed a fond laugh. "Yes, always."

"Wow, you do stay up pretty late," Alan commented. "Are you tired?"

No. After the letter? Not in the least. Lyall glanced at the closet past Alan. Alan watched him, following his gaze, but not commenting.

"I probably am," Lyall conceded, "even though I don't..." He gestured vaguely. "Feel it completely."

He felt like he was on the verge of sweating. He had to get out, this was quickly going south.

Alan seemed to be studying him. Or at the least, watching him for a brief silence.

"Do you want me to speak as a friend or as an unlicensed doctor?" Alan asked with a smile.

Lyall looked back to Alan. Then tilted his head, mustering a curious grin. "I have yet to meet unlicensed doctor Alan Alvaro, so I'm...intrigued what he has to say."

"Well," Alan began, now studying him more closely like he was giving him a proper examination. "The unlicensed doctor Alan Alvaro thinks you should get more rest. Are you feeling okay?"

Lyall sat a little straighter, trying not to fidget too much. "Perhaps I should," he conceded, deciding some honesty wouldn't hurt. Because he was apparently far too transparent to not be. "I'm feeling a bit off, honestly. I was...popped into one of those morning interviews."

"Oh, really? You just came back from that?" Alan murmured with his brows pinched together with concern, giving Lyall his undivided attention. "That's understandable. Sorry you feel off. They ask awfully intrusive questions that should be no one's business but your own."

The undivided attention thing was very nice usually, but he really couldn't handle it when he knew he was overanalyzing everything.

Lyall nodded at the floor between them, gesturing to Alan. "And a statement of the straight facts manages to feel like the understatement of the decade."

Alan sighed. "Yeah. Part of me wonders if answering is truly a requirement. What if we lie or don't answer? What are they going to do, kick us off the island?"

"You know, that sounds like a potential solution," Lyall mused. "I might try that if it happens again."

"For your sake, I hope it doesn't," Alan said with a smile. "But if you ever put that to the test, let me know, and I'll do the same for you."

Meeting Alan's gaze again, Lyall grinned appreciatively. "I wish and offer the same to you, my friend."

Alan nodded, smile lingering before he paused and looked away, towards the door. "Well, I appreciate you coming by even after a weird morning. You said you wanted to check in on me, but..." Alan turned back to Lyall, sincerity in his expression. "Maybe I should be checking in on you. Are you getting enough sleep? You haven't caught any sickness from me, have you?"

Leaning back in the desk chair and bouncing a leg, Lyall nodded. "Yeah, I've had enough sleep. Maybe not this past evening, since it was cut a little short. No signs of sickness, so I think I'm in the clear."

Alan nodded back. "I know you're a doctor, but even doctors need patience to be a patient. I'm certainly not qualified to make statements, but I can speak as your friend." Alan smiled at him more warmly. "And your friend says: get some rest and get dressed."

Lyall pointed playfully to Alan. "I do strongly believe friendly advice can carry almost the same weight as doctorly advice." As he stood, he brushed off nonexistent dust from himself and said with a sincere smile, "Noted and appreciated. I'll, ah, get out of your hair now."

"Well, you know where to find me. Just right across the hall," Alan said, mirroring his smile as he also stood up. "I'll come downstairs soon, if you want to eat brunch together."

Honestly, Lyall wanted to skip brunch for the day.

"I'll see you, then," he replied instead, and forced himself to exit as calmly as possible.

As he eased Alan's bedroom door shut behind himself, Lyall let out a silent, shameful sigh.

Mission failed successfully.

If life were a comedy, James would be the star. He'd barely begun to process that he was awake when he realized he was covered in sand. In fact, his head was buried in it.

Lifting his head, chunks of sand fell off and around him, and he could barely open his eyes for fear of sand getting in them. Why this was a recurring problem of his at this point, he didn't know. Or rather, he did know, but didn't want to blame it irrationally on this hellhole of an island. Some things were better left unexplored.

He sat up slowly, realizing that he'd been face-down in the sand for quite some time. Unfortunatley, he couldn't remember ever having laid down, nor could he recall ever leaving his house. Maybe this was all orchestrated, but James had an unnerving feeling that, perhaps, all of this was a bit more natural than he wanted to admit.

How long had he been out?

And... good grief. What was he wearing?

The sun was up. The sky was clear. And somehow, between waking up and passing out, he'd been changed out of his regular clothes into a pair of lederhosen.

Wiping his hand over his face, he rubbed as much sand away as he could manage, hoping this was some kind of bizarre dream. But when he opened his eyes again, he found he was still in the same outfit, even though he couldn't remember ever having put it on.

Suddenly a shadow passed over him.

"The hell? Did you pass out drunk?" Hendrik's voice came from behind.

James turned around, staring up at the tall man only to find that Hendrik was also wearing lederhosen. Except he wasn't wearing a shirt, unless the suspenders counted as a shirt. They held up his too-short and too-tight shorts, even though it was not needed.

James stared in deep bewilderment.

"What?" he asked. "I... no. No!"

He hadn't been drinking.

Hendrik let out a deep bellow of a laugh. "Sounds like you have the day ahead of ya, Barbs. Welcome to Ooktoberfest!"

Blinking slowly, James slowly began to look around, realizing he'd somehow woken up in the middle of the beach cabins, but now the entire setup had been completely transformed. It quite literally looked like an entire festival had been set up on the beach-front, and between every cabin there were different carts, booths, and stages set up with everything James might've expected to see at Ooktoberfest - except it was a tradition in Germankee, not here. Evidently, it didn't matter, though, and the tradition was being carried out in front of his eyes.

Banners and decorations were strung between cabins, waving Germankee's flag colors. Staff were walking around in full dress - either in lederhosen or flower dresses with corsets - and were carrying handfuls of alcohol in every kind of receptacle imaginable.

Every other contestant, too, was no exception to the costuming, and he saw that everyone else was already awake, present, and staring at his half-conscious self sitting wide-eyed in the sand. Several of them had drinks already.

"What's your favorite drink, sandy? I'll deliver a mug just for you," Hendrik asked, still standing behind him and casting a shadow over his face.

Music played in the background. The band consisted of an accordion and a yodeler. James couldn't understand a word that was being said. Sung. Yodeled.

James stuttered as several contestants began to turn their attention away, while others still watched from afar, all of them standing amongst the festivities.

"...Water," he finally answered, forcing himself to get to his feet even though he still wasn't quite sure if all of this was real."

"Hmph! Just water? Not even a juice? A tropical cocktail?" Hendrik persisted.

"Just water," James answered again.

"I'm not delivering water to you," Hendrik grumbled, then briskly walked away right when James was getting to his feet.

Unoffended, but still perplexed, James scratched the side of his face, still brushing sand out of his hair and away from his face. Hendrik was departing, and James found himself wandering towards the nearest empty table he could find. There were several of them spread out between the cabins, and he intentionally sought out the one furthest from everyone.

He needed a moment. He didn't know what was going on.

Sitting heavily on the bench, he heard the wooden seat beneath him creak under his weight. Wincing, he hoped it wouldn't give. After waiting a few moments, it seemed like it was going to hold up, at least for the time being.

Leaning onto the table, he rubbed his face once more, tiredly trying to piece his morning together.

The last thing he remembered was waking up. Then he got dressed, and... oh. That was right. He'd gone to Hendrik's cabin to watch the morning show with him, and the screen cut out. Hendrik had heard something upstairs and thought it was the wolf again, and started going on a crazy witch hunt. At some point in Hendrik's panic, James had decided to leave without a word, knowing that if Hendrik hadn't figured out who the wolf really was by now, that he probably never would.

James just couldn't remember ever making it home.

Maybe he hadn't.

With a sigh, he lifted his head to scan the crowd again. For half a second, he processed others gathering around different tables. In the half second following, his heart skipped a beat in panic when he saw Tula sliding in to the seat beside him.

"Hello, James. I like your outfit," she said with a smirk.

James hardly had a moment to really look at himself, but he was wearing a plain white tshirt. The lederhosen, however, were embroidered with colorful flowers. So were his socks.

He blinked slowly, looking up at Tula, who was wearing a flowery dress of her own, except it was mostly black. And a bit more revealing.

"...Thanks," he said a bit distantly.

Tula leaned forward with her elbows on the table as she perched her head on top of her clasped hands, eyeing him carefully with a smirk. "Did you get your water?" she asked,

"No," James said, flicking his eyes around the area. "I... don't know if they have any."

"Do you want me to get you some?" Tula asked innocently.

For some reason, James did not trust Tula to get him any kind of drink whatsoever.

"I'm fine for now," he said. "I'm still..."

He winced slightly, trying not to give away the depths of his confusion, but he was sure it was already transparent. He was, after all, still pretty covered in sand.

"Uh. When did all of this start?" he decided to ask.

"This morning, of course. But you wouldn't know, since you buried yourself in sand. Why do that, anyways?" Tula asked innocently, still watching him closely.

James wished he knew the answer to that question.

"It's... calming," he said blankly.

"Are you stressed?" Tula asked.

James pursed his lips, slowly shaking his head.

"No," he said. "Nope. I'm fine. Just sandy."

"Is that so? Do you often bury yourself in sand?" Tula went on.

"No," he said, pitch rising a bit. "Not really."

"One could argue that that's a trait for being clinically insane," Tula said with a fake smile and a shrug, still feigning innocence.

"Burying yourself in sand?" James asked.

"Hi James. Tula," a voice cut in before Tula could answer.

Eve stood on the other side of the table, wearing a white and blue flower dress tied with a lacey white ribbon. This one was more modest in comparison to Tula's, especially since the dress went past her knees, and her sleeves went past her elbows. He long, dark hair was worn down, a white flowery and lacey ribbon pulling back the strands of hair from her face.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked with a forced smile.

Suddenly James began to feel that all of this was very real, and he realized he probably really had passed out in the sand on his way home. And apparently buried himself in the sand one way or another.

That did not put his heart at ease.

"Of course," he said, admittedly more weakly than he would've liked.

Now that Tula and Eve were both on either side of him, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortably hedged in by an ally and an enemy.

"Feel free! The more the merrier," Tula said with a bright smile that James knew was fake.

Eve nodded, keeping her eyes more on Tula than to James. She slid into the bench, sitting next to him.

"How are you doing, Eve? It's weird to wake up and go: oh! We're dressed for a full day of drinking! Isn't it?" Tula said, making light conversation.

"A bit," Eve answered.

"How long have you been up and about?" Tula asked.

"Not long. I think I got here shortly after you."

Tula nodded. "Have you drank anything yet?"

Eve shook her head.

"There are a lot of drink options. It's really insane. It was like Hendrik and the staff knew what I like, and so I admit I'm a liiiittle bit tipsy. I can't believe it. It's only the morning," Tula said with a giggle.

James didn't know how long he could put up with this. This all felt so fake. Tula was constantly putting on a show, and Eve was clearly only putting up with it to try and keep Tula's attention away from James. They kept going back and forth a few more times before Tula tried to loop James into conversation, but James didn't give her anything more to feed on than Eve did.

It went on like this for a few minutes before Tula seemed to finally have enough of it.

"Well," Tula began after a stiff silence, tapping her hands against the table. "I'm going to grab another drink. Do you two want anything?"

"No thanks," Eve said with a small, forced smile.

"I'm good," James echoed.

Tula nodded. If she was annoyed, she did a good job at hiding it.

She stood up, giving both of them a wave. "Okay. Nice chatting with you. I'll see you both later!"

James and Eve watched her walk off, a few seconds passing between them. Eve then turned to James.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

James hesitated. He swallowed, still watching Tula as she walked away.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

"Did she say something upsetting?" Eve asked more quietly with concern in her voice.

"No," James said, keeping his voice low beside her. "I just... I think I fainted or something. This morning."

Eve stared at him with deep concern. "How? Why?"

James frowned slightly, furrowing his brows as he looked down at the table.

"I don't know," he said. "I... I didn't think I was that tired, but... maybe I am?"

"Have you not been resting? Sleeping?" Eve asked.

"I've been trying to," he said. "I just can't seem to stay asleep longer than..."

He hesitated, afraid to admit to how little sleep he was truly getting aloud. It would only make Eve more concerned, but he didn't think he could bring himself to lie either.

"Um," he swallowed. "Usually I can't get more than two hours a night. Maybe three if I'm lucky."

And he hadn't been lucky.

A second passed as Eve kept staring at him with even deeper concern. "Is this... normal for you?" she asked.

James held his hands together on the table, idly scratching at his knuckles.

"Not all of the time," he said. "It was getting better, for a while. It's just... since coming here, it's been getting worse. Sleep, I mean."

"What's keeping you up?" Eve asked softly.

"Nightmares," he said faintly. "And it's hard to calm down. I'm always thinking."

"I'm sorry. That must be so tiring, both in the mental and physical sense," Eve said quietly. "This isn't very sustainable. It's worrying. Are you looking for solutions?"

Well, he'd been trying different things. Teas, calming exercises, and trying to tire himself out with exercise were all usually helpful tools. But ever since coming here, it felt like all his old coping mechanisms weren't working anymore.

"The things I usually do haven't been helping," he admitted.

Maybe that was why he'd apparently buried himself in the sand, probably half-asleep. It was embarassing to think his subconscious reached for the only thing that had helped him sleep recently.

"Have you tried medicine?" Eve asked.

James shook his head.

"Is that an option here?" he asked.

"I'm sure it is. There's a medic here. I think she may be able to help. I'm sure there's something that can help," Eve said.

"Do you know where her office is?" James asked.

"I don't know if she has an office, since she's a medic for the staff. If she has one, I don't know where it is. But I know where her cabin is. Maybe we could pay her a visit. I'm positive that she wouldn't mind," Eve said.

James didn't think it would hurt - or he hoped it wouldn't - at this point, so he nodded. At this point, he was willing to try anything to get a decent night's sleep.

"Okay," he said.

"We can visit her tomorrow. I'd say today, but I have a feeling that we're not allowed to leave this event," Eve said with a sigh.

Before James could further comment, a staff member-- also dressed in lederhosen-- marched up to them with two big mugs of water.

"Two waters, specially delivered!" he said with a grin, sliding it their way. "Anything else I can get you two?"

Upon a closer look, James recognized the man to be one of the alternating cameramen around the island. It seemed that he was on server duty today instead. His nametag said "Ethan".

James received the water glass with a small squint.

"Delivered from whom?" he asked.

Confused, Ethan smiled and glanced back at the main booths where the alcohol was being poured. "Uh. The bartender?"

James glanced back at the booths. He didn't have his contacts in, or his glasses, so he couldn't really make out who was over there.

"...Who's bartending?" he asked.

"All the staff, of course!" Ethan said with a wider grin. "And Hendrik. He thinks he's staff, though. But he's not."

Right. Okay.

"...Thanks," James said. "I don't need anything else."

He glanced over to Eve.

"Is Elise available to visit tomorrow?" Eve asked him instead.

Ethan was visibly taken back by the question, but he recovered quickly, beaming. "Yeah, she is. Are you thinking of stopping by?"

Eve nodded. "If that's alright."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll give her a heads up. She should be around," Ethan said with a lingering smile, pausing here like he wanted to ask more, but glanced at James and seemed to think better of it. "Anyways, it sounds like you both are taken care of. Let me know if you need anything!"

Ethan trotted back towards the bartender booth, leaving them by themselves again.

James glanced back at Eve, nodding.

"Thanks," he said, looking down into the cup of water.

Alan had no clue why they were celebrating Ooktober fest in the middle of summer. But considering stranger things have happened on this island, he wasn't going to question it.

Case in point: everyone was wearing lederhosen.

Alan couldn't explain it. It was some kind of strange magic. As soon as they stepped outside, they all magically transformed to this outfit. It seemed that the outfits were tailored for everyone's personality, although his seemed sort of plain, so he wasn't sure what that meant for him.

Although, he also wasn't going to complain. He was just glad he was wearing something.

Since leaving the cabin together, Alan, Lyall, and Cyrin had been drinking and eating for the morning. It felt ridiculous that they were drinking so early in the day, but everything was free and the party was rolling, no one seemed to mind.

At least, no one in their table did. People came and went, but Alan, Shane, Cyrin, and Hild stuck together for most of the event. It was nice, actually, to hang out with all his friends like this.

Alan was glad to partake in the festivities, drinking only one stein of Henneken, which he wasn't that fond of, but it was given out like free candy. He wasn't especially tipsy since Alan had to drink a lot to truly get drunk, and he'd been pacing himself for the morning. Meanwhile, Hild didn't drink, but she was happy to drink water and juices. Like Alan, Shane had opted for a single stein of beer, while Cyrin was starting a second glass of ale after not finding any wine.

An obnoxious clock tower with glockenspiel bells suddenly chimed, playing twelve long bongs. The music quieted down when Mireya walked across the stage, her frilly blue dress swaying with her steps. She tapped the microphone to grab everyone's attention.

"Hello, everyone!" she said, clapping her hands above the microphone and sending off a flurry of blue sparks. "Hasn't this been fun? I'm sure the answer's yes. But what's this? The fun gets funner?"

The director grinned, striking a fun pose.

"There's magic!" she exclaimed to the crowd. "Of course there is. I'm sure you've noticed it's noon, if you have a good ear. Now that you've had your drinks, we'll share the surprise that's activated with the clock. You've all been drinking-- yes, drinking-- magic!"

There were a few murmurs in the crowd, which included Alan's table when Cyrin whispered, "Surely, not an enchantment?" in confusion. Alan didn't know what she was going on about, watching as she continued on, intently listening.

Although, he found himself strangely fascinated with her dress, in awe over how well it fit her small, curvy frame.

"I mean, you are also most definitely drinking whatever you did request. Your beer, your water, your mead, or whatever-- shoutout to the one of you who requested a beer of a rival brand, that was a ballsy move," Mireya continued. "A Carona? Really? Everyone knows they don't hold up to the special brew of Henneken." This comment went with a wink to the cameras.

There was an obnoxiously loud applause from the side of the stage. Hendrik was loudly clapping, then brought his hand to his mouth and sent out a piercingly loud whistle.

Mireya grinned again. "But of course, you all knew that. Each of you has ingested, through your drink, a spell that is unique to you. If you get another drink, or trade with someone else, you will still only get that spell. The effects last until sunrise, and they began..." Mireya checked a shiny blue watch on her wrist. "Oh, fifty-one seconds ago already? Wow, time flies during speeches. You're be figuring them out any moment now!"

Mireya raised her glass high.

"I'll be over here with my beer in case anyone needs me. Enjoy the festival! Cheers!" she said, before walking off stage.

She hustled down the steps, and as she passed by their group, Alan heard her muttering, "Fuck, I don't know how to say 'cheers' in Germaknee."

Alan had to pry his eyes away from Mireya, which admittedly wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, since conversation erupted within his table.

"That's odd," Shane remarked, holding up his glass to scan its contents with a close eye, but he didn't seem very worried about the announcement. "I guess there's always a twist."

"Indeed, it is perturbing to a most extreme degree," Cyrin agreed. "One could even chance to suggest that this scheme was conceived far ahead of our fated arrival at this fine festival, in the intent to heighten the intrigue and theatricality of the events to follow."

It was hard to keep track of the conversation, not because of Cyrin's sudden change in vernacular, but for the first time, Alan felt like he was fully conscious of what Cyrin was wearing.

They were wearing black lederhosen, and it fit them well. Black was a flattering color, but it was very flattering on him. The black collared shirt wasn't buttoned all the way, revealing a deeper v-neck and showing part of his chest, going all way down to the mid-part of the suspenders. Eyes drifting up to his face, Alan watched him talk, seeing the words leave his lips effortlessly.

"What was that?" Shane asked, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

"How do you mean?" Cyrin asked, baffled. "It would not be an inconvenience for me to repeat myself. I commenced by declaring, it is perturbing to--"

"No, not like that," Shane interrupted, holding up a hand, interest flashing in his eyes. "You're talking like you're out of a novel written two centuries ago."

In the background, Alan couldn't help but notice that there was... well. There was a lot going on. He briefly glanced away from Cyrin, noticing that Robin was breaking into song, dancing on top of the table. He barely had time to register this as Kazmir zoomed past everyone, mumbling words fast with his arms held high above his head, shaped into a triangle.

"Is this how you perceive my speech?" Cyrin asked, baffled. "I insist that it is of the greatest normality to my own ears. I am simply speaking, the words departing from my lips as they always have, from the first syllable I uttered to the last I shall breathe."

Shane pressed his lips together in a barely suppressed laugh, smiling instead. "Come on, Alan. Tell me you hear it too. Is Cyrin impersonating Ostrain Wilde, or Lord Byeron?"

Upon hearing his name, Alan ripped his gaze away from Cyrin and back to Shane, but he felt frozen when he made eye contact with him.

Shane's smile caught all his attention, and an explosion of emotions erupted in his heart as he stared at his lips. Alan felt his face grow hot, and although he wanted to keep staring, he knew he had to answer. With... something.

"Uh... yeah," he agreed, slowly nodding. "Yeah."

A little embarrassed, Alan grabbed the beer stein and began chugging it.

God, what was wrong with him? What had gotten into him?

He was only a few gulps in when suddenly a scream pierced through the air. Startled, Alan set the the nearly-finished mug down, glancing over at the source of the noise with worry. Across the beach, Aaron was loudly whimpering under the table while Clarity was crouched over, cooing for him to come out. Jay sat nearby, laughing. But not at Aaron. It sounded... joyous.

This was the magic's doing, wasn't it?

Alan stared at the beer he was drinking just moments ago, biting back a groan.

"There you go, Cyrin. Two witnesses," Shane said teasingly.

Cyrin huffed. "I do not bestow my trust in your testimonies. I have continued in my regular speech habits!"

"You just said testimonies," Shane said, grinning brightly, "for a situation in which we're going, hey, you seem to be talking weird."

Oh, god. Alan couldn't take this anymore. Something about Shane made him want to whisk him off his feet and... he didn't even know what. He wasn't going to find out.

Alan abruptly stood up, trying not to stare at Shane anymore and trying to control his beating heart. Except when he stood up, he realized he hadn't thought ahead of what he was going to say.

"Um," he said, feeling his face go hot again.

Thankfully, their attention was stolen when James suddenly ran across the beach, loudly crying and hiccuping. He zipped past everyone, heading straight into his cabin. Eve followed with worry and confusion in her expression, giving him space but going after him by entering his cabin.

Alan watched the door slam, staring at it for a second before averting his gaze away from the group, towards the bar area.

"I'm going to get another drink," he said, dismissing himself from the table with a half-smile.

"Okay," Shane said, still smiling at him. "We'll save your seat."

Alan beelined towards the bar area, keeping his eyes down and trying to think.

Clearly, these drinks were spiked with... magic. Apparently. And they couldn't swap drinks, so... what was this? A curse? A spell? Did that even exist?

And what did Mireya mean by it being "unique"?

Clearly, Cyrin's unique magic effects were to speak like he lived in a past century, as Shane put it. What was Shane's?

God, Alan didn't know. He was trying so hard not to pay too much attention.

What was his?

At the bar, Hendrik slammed a mug down, grinning at Alan as he looked him up and down. Then he spoke in some language Alan didn't recognize. He blinked.

"Uh..." Alan stammered, feeling like his brain was loading from the sheer amount of information that was happening so fast around him.

Hendrik said more gibberish. Eyes widening, he then waved his arms around, yelling more gibberish. Frankly, Alan was just trying to keep his gaze on his face, not his chiseled chest.

It didn't take long for Hendrik to throw a little tantrum and then storm off, though. Alan sighed, rubbing his face and his eyes, wondering if he rubbed hard enough, he'd wake from this fever dream.

It only worsened.

Past the bar on the shoreline, Kazimir flopped down onto the sand and wriggled toward the water in a desperate fish-like manner. It wasn't long until the tide washed over him, and he began to swim aimlessly out into the ocean.

"No, my god!" Lyall shouted frantically as he bolted past the bar. "Kaz!"

There was a long moment where, once he reached the water's edge, he paced with hesitation. Audibly despairing about the "wretched sea" trying yet again to claim a life. Then at last threw himself into the water to give chase.

At the back of Alan's mind, he knew he should be helping. Although, he didn't know why that was a quiet thought since he thought perhaps Kazimir was simply going for a swim and didn't need any help.

It dawned on him, though, that he felt more compelled to help Lyall over Kazimir. Though Alan didn't really dwell too deep on that thought since he was busy watching Lyall swim. Sensing his movements. The way his head bobbed up and down in the water, and the way his hair straightened and cascaded around him.

Except... was he even swimming?

Whatever trance took a hold of Alan was suddenly broken, and he immediately bolted forward, panicked for his friend. He didn't really know what got into him. He just started to move.

A burly cameraman and staff member abandoned their post to jump in to the water before Alan could even reach it, and he found himself helplessly standing by the shoreline, wondering if he should be doing more considering that two men may be drowning, but he didn't want to add any more work than necessary if the two men were already on it.

The staff member who dove in for Lyall first was quicker to come around, dragging out a wet, coughing Lyall. Alan immediately went to his side, and the staff member-- Ethan, per his name tag-- quickly assessed the situation, peering over the ocean where the cameraman was trying to wrangle Kazimir.

"Can you make sure he's okay?" Ethan asked as Lyall weakly rolled over, still hacking away.

"Uh--" Alan began, but then he bolted away, diving back in the ocean.

It seemed they had lifeguards on duty after all.

Alan quickly crouched down beside his friend, shaking his shoulder with worry and concern. "Lyall. Lyall! Are you okay?"

Lyall flopped onto his stomach and pushed himself to his knees. "I'm--" Another, shorter coughing fit took over, and he wheezed, "I'm just stupid. Don't worry."

Alan let out a light laugh, still concerned, but understanding since Lyall likely didn't want to blow the situation out of proportion and embarrass himself. He took the liberty of brushing off the sand from the backside of his wet lederhosen. The white shirt was soaked, so it was now sheer through to his skin.

"No, you're not stupid," Alan said assuredly with a smile. "I think brave is a better word."

Huffing a wry laugh, Lyall heavily sat back and scrubbed his face with both hands. Leaning sideways on Alan, he groaned, "I've been told they're synonymous."

Suddenly whatever adrenaline propelled Alan to take action and be there for his friend was entirely and unsuspectingly replaced with a flurry of intense emotions Alan couldn't even begin to describe. Just like when he was at the table, it was like his heart exploded like fireworks and his vision wasn't seeing straight.

Was he wearing new glasses? Did he need new lens? Why did he look... different?

Feeling his heart beat faster, Alan felt all words leave his head as he stared down at him, letting Lyall lean against him. He quietly and gently brushed more sand off his back for him instead.

"Gah," Lyall eventually said, letting his hands drop to his lap, "this whole day's been a complete mess. First the interview, then the letter, I couldn't get the sketch back, now whatever the hell is happening here--"

He abruptly straightened and quickly scanned the ocean behind them. "Oh god, Kaz! Is he okay? Did they get him?"

Frankly, Alan didn't know what was going on either, nor did he completely understand what Lyall was stressing about, but Alan turned his gaze over the other side of the shore. The men were still swimming after him quite far from the shoreline, but it seemed that they were close to trapping him to pull him to land again.

"I think he's... fine?" Alan said, because he was still quite unsure.

What was "fine," anyways?

It wasn't long before Kazimir was successfully nabbed, and the staff began steadily towing him back to shore. Only then did Lyall breathe a sigh of relief and sink back against Alan again.

"Lyall... are you sure you're alright?" Alan asked more quietly, attention fixed on his friend, hand gently placed on his shoulder.

He found himself softly rubbing his thumb against his shoulder. Just like Lyall did to him when he was sick.

It was hard to forget.

"Yeah, of course," Lyall said faintly.

"Are you sure?" Alan asked, almost a whisper.

"I..." Lyall ran his hand through his wet hair as he glanced off. "It felt like almost drowning again. In hindsight, it was a deeply flawed plan. I maintain that I am stupid. I just need a second, I'll be okay."

"You are not stupid, and I disagree that it's synonymous with brave," Alan said more firmly, still focused on Lyall. "We all do crazy things sometimes. You acted out of impulse because you listened to your heart, not your head. And it felt right." Alan paused, then said more softly, "And I don't think that's a bad thing."

There was a long beat of silence, as his words hopefully sank in for Lyall.

"Thank you," he eventually murmured. "I appreciate that. You're..."

Then, broadly waving both hands, Lyall exclaimed, "Bah! I can't-- You are literally far too kind, and very warm, but I insist you desist!" And he shakily threw himself to his feet. "I can't!" he repeated as he paced.

Blinking, Alan slowly stood up, watching Lyall pace back and forth. He bit back his urge to comment a playful compliment, instead watching him pace sloppily across the sand, still with wet clothes. He looked intensely focused, not a care in the world that he was soaked and his hair dripped beads of water around his face.

"You want me to... stop? Stop being kind?" Alan asked, slowly trying to process his words when he was still mildly distracted with the buzz of thoughts and emotions he didn't quite understand or had the time to think through right now.

Lyall faced him, brows furrowed with confusion. "What? Of course not! It's a wonderful trait! Just do it... I don't know! Quieter? Not at me?"

"I... I don't want to," Alan said with a weird amount of stubbornness he didn't know he had.

"You have to!" Lyall strongly insisted as he resumed his aggressive pacing. "And, for that matter, I think I have to as well! With you! Things have been so severely misconstrued, and we're not even a quarter of the way into our stay on this cursed island prison." He gesticulated indignantly. "What is the DMV even trying to accomplish here? What are anyone of us trying to accomplish here? This all feels so aimless and out of our control! We're all just pawns in some convoluted game seemingly designed only to make us suffer." Lyall pointed his whole arm at Alan. "And yet you're still so...light and breezy about it! Doesn't any of this bother you?"

Alan was listening. He was. At least, he thought he was. It was hard to pay attention when he found himself completely mesmerized by the way Lyall spoke, clearly so worked up over... something. It was...

It was...

...

Cute?

Was that the word? No. No, that couldn't be right.

He wasn't attracted to Lyall. They were friends. Friends! And he was already taken!

And he was probably not even interested in men!

Not that that was even an option he should be considering.

Was it?

It then dawned on Alan that he had to say something. God, why did he keep doing this? He always knew what to say, but it was like Lyall's mere presence made him stupid.

Lyall turned to stare out over the ocean, hands set on his sides. "God, I hope Kaya isn't watching. But she probably is. Because she's..." Throwing a hand skyward, he laughed. "She cares. Because she's a wonderful person like that." His shoulders drooped as he sighed longingly. "God, I love her so much. I miss her."

Right. Yeah. Kaya. Alan knew this. It never bothered him. Yet...

"Um..." Alan stammered, feeling like he should be saying something at this point. "Yeah. I know."

He wanted to facepalm from that low effort answer. Instead he felt embarrassment pool into his cheeks instead.

God. Maybe Alan needed a drink after all.

Thankfully, Lyall didn't even seem to notice any of Alan's own inner turmoil. Sinking back down to his knees in the sand, Lyall heaved another sigh and murmured, "I want to go home."

Alan swallowed thickly, taking in a shaky deep breath to collect himself. "I'm sorry, Lyall."

"I'll be okay," Lyall quietly repeated, never moving.

"I know," Alan said, matching his volume and tone. "I'm sorry anyways."

Bowing his head, Lyall looked almost on the brink of actual tears. There was a long moment where neither of them moved.

Alan kept bouncing from one confused state to another. He had no idea if he inadvertently caused Lyall to be this close to tearing up.

What did he do? What did he say?

Or maybe it was what he didn't say or do?

"Lyall..." Alan said softly, crouching down next to him, about to set his hand on his back.

But suddenly Lyall shot up to his feet in the same instant, eyes fixed on a commotion now off to the side.

"Kaz!" he yelled, and dashed off to where the staff members carefully dragged the flopping man up onto the sand. His voice grew faint with the distance as he frantically asked, "Dear god, please tell me he's still alive!"

Alan stayed where he was, watching from a distance. He half paid attention to the conversation, feeling like he ought to push himself to help as well, but instead he was frozen in place.

What.

Was.

Wrong with him?

He needed to get a grip on reality. No more thoughts of Lyall. Of Shane. Of anybody. He just needed...

Bah!

...

No!

Now he was stealing Lyall's words!

Heart still racing, Alan turned around in a panic, bee-lining towards the bar again.

He needed a drink.

No.

No, he needed two drinks.

No!

He needed none!

He needed to get himself together. Maybe take an ice cold shower. Slap himself awake. Swim away. Live with the fishes. Run away into the forest. Become an island forest nomad. Beg the DMV to let him leave. Become a monk. Live a mindful life. Never see another person again. Become humbled.

Alan groaned at the bar, leaning forward and burying his hands in his face.

This was weird. And embarrassing. And...

"You look like you're going through an actual existential crisis, my guy," someone behind the bar said, a mix of laughter and concern in her voice.

Alan immediately perked his head up, finding himself face-to-face with Shay, the barista and person holding the boom mic with the camera. He stared at her for a full two seconds, processing.

"Yup," Alan finally said, voice sounding more tired than he realized. He sighed, standing up straight, hands flat against the counter. "I'm having a mid-life crisis in my 20s. Don't mind me."

Leaning on the counter, Shay snorted. "Oh, my bad. I totally misinterpreted your crisis there."

Alan gave her a quickly look over, this time trying to be more conscious about staring. Shay was wearing lederhosen like the other bartenders, and it was a more of a relaxed fit. It actually looked like it was men's lederhosen, but fitted more for her body. Her dark hair was up in a small bun, and she smiled at him with a mix of amusement and lingering concern.

"Are you a... bartender?" Alan asked.

She nodded. "For one night only," she answered lightly with a wink. "And you're my first customer."

"Ah. Lucky me," Alan said with a weak smile as he drummed his hands against the counter.

"Can I get you anything?" Humming, she scanned his face. "Liiike...water?"

Alan breathed out a sigh of relief. "You read my mind."

Although, part of him wanted to order a drink since he felt like he was wildly lacking confidence for... literally anything right now. But water would be smarter.

With a nod, Shay reached under the counter. She reappeared with a glass tumbler and a frosty plastic bottle of water, which she flipped in the air before cracking open to pour.

Alan hummed, watching her with intrigue. "Nice trick," he said as he picked up the glass, examining the water.

Shay bowed slightly with a flourish. "Thank you, thank you."

Internally declaring that the water was, in fact, just water, Alan then abruptly and quickly brought the cup to his face, purposefully splashing the contents over him.

Ah. That was better.

Cold and refreshing.

A reset.

Alan wiped the water off his face, but the annoying yodeling and banjo sounds reverberated in his ear, and it felt like the reset only lasted a good two seconds, and he was back where he started.

Which was at Ooktoberfest. On the island. With the DMV. With weird drink magic. Acting... whatever the hell he was acting.

Dammit.

Shay stared at him, trying and failing to bite back a wide smile. She quickly broke down laughing.

Alan sighed, swishing away the water and trying not to let it drip down from his face to his clothes.

"How does this work? This magic. Is it..." he trailed off, waving his hand in front of him, hoping she'd be able to complete the sentence in her own head.

"Shady AF?" Shay said, finally recomposing herself. "For sure."

"But like--" Alan pressed his lips together, trying to think of something more comprehensible. He didn't know how to explain himself. "...How does it work?" he asked again.

With a small sigh, Shay leaned one elbow on the counter as she looked past Alan at the slowly-settling chaos behind him. "I really don't know, man," she answered honestly, "I ain't magic myself. But my best guess is, it works different for everybody."

Alan loudly groaned again, burying his face in his hands once more. He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, now regretting having flung water at himself.

"Seriously, you look really out of it," Shay spoke up again, voice softer this time. "Maybe don't drink anything else, if you can help it."

"It's too late," Alan moaned, now running his hands through his wet hair, pushing it back. "I'm already affected."

"Oh, boy." Shay took the rag from her shoulder and idly wiped down the counter. "I can only imagine it'd get worse with more of that stuff, though. Consider this a friendly warning, Cover Girl. Take it or leave it."

"Oh my god," Alan said through another groan as he stared at her tiredly, so over this situation. "Why am I getting targeted like this? Is there something about me that screams, 'He's a walking sex symbol! Let's make this his whole identity!'" Alan facepalmed himself, feeling like he was this close to running into the ocean himself. "I swear to god. What is wrong with the world? Maybe they're trying to get me to understand."

Lips pursed, Shay quietly considered him for a moment. Then huffed a wry laugh through her nose. "Yeah, it really sucks," she said, voice softening. "I'm sorry, Alan."

Alan paused, frozen for a bit as he then lifted his head back up at her. It felt kind of... nice. To be called his own name by her, even though he didn't really know her that well.

"It's fine," he said with a sigh, standing upright again. "I'm being dramatic. This is such a bizarre day." He glanced back towards the shoreline, where Lyall and the others were still comforting Kazimir. "At least I don't think I'm a shark."

"Hey hey," she said, casting him an easy grin with a fingergun. "Silver linings!"

"Yay," Alan said with fake enthusiasm.

Snickering, Shay refilled his glass. "Keep your head up, man," she said encouragingly. "It's really rough right now, but you've at least got some people here looking out for you."

Oh, yes. Rough. That was totally how Alan would describe it.

Because suddenly he thought everyone was... sexy? Hot?

And he was, what?

Lustful? Turned on? Wanting more?

He didn't know! This was super weird!

But, oh, the horror. Whatever should he do. Maybe he should lock himself up in horny jail. Never see anyone again. Because clearly his brain decided today was the day he'd understand all innuendos and dirty thoughts, and now that was all he could think about.

God. He didn't want to think that about any of his friends. He'd rather go back into thinking that they were intriguing and interesting and wanted to spend more time with them.

Right?

Right.

"...Thanks," Alan said, realizing he was blanking again.

But not because he had been too caught up marveling at Shay. If anything, things felt normal between them. He just needed some time to... think.

Shay smiled at him in response but then resumed her normal duties in cleaning and taking orders, leaving Alan lost alone in his thoughts.

Suddenly, it dawned on him: did this magic only make him find some people attractive in that way? Not... everyone? What was the criteria?

He wished he knew what the hell was going on, but so did everyone. Alan just had to take this one step at a time.

He just had to survive until morning.

Eve had a feeling that the event came with a twist, but she didn't anticipate appalling magic to be the twist.

Before noon, everything seemed normal. She and James caught up some more. They had an impromptu language session together, and it was nice. It was laid-back considering the strange environment, but they both still learned a lot.

And neither of them were drinking. At least, they weren't drinking anything except water.

Clearly, that didn't matter. Ooktoberfest was an event that heavily showcased alcohol, but the DMV seemed to extrapolate their magic across all drinks.

Upon the announcement that their drinks were quite literally spiked with magic, Eve sharply turned to James, her anxiety already rising since she didn't know what exactly this entailed. She couldn't get a single word out, though, since her worries about the magic suddenly shifted to worries about James.

His eyes were watering and his face was red. James was very obviously holding back tears.

"James," Eve said softly, her anxiety now returning for a completely different reason. "Are you..."

Whatever force of will held back his tears was suddenly broken a stream of water flooded his eyes. He stared at her with wide eyes, lips quivering. Shaking, he shook his head and bit his lip, covering his face with his hands.

Surprise and shock from the sudden onslaught of events took over her-- especially since there was also so much going on around them-- and Eve was too slow to react. James suddenly sprung out of his seat, quickly darting across the beach towards his cabin.

What was happening? This had to be the magic's doing. There was chaos erupting around them, with cheers and song and screams.

But Eve didn't have time to process this. Not when James was suddenly crying and running away with no explanation.

She had to help him.

Recovering from the shock, Eve quickly got up on her feet and ran after him, hearing him loudly sob into his hands when he was halfway across the beach. She thought about pleadingly yelling his name for him to stop, but thought better of it.

A half-second glance around them, and she knew that whatever environment they were in was not a suitable one for comfort.

James had the head start and had slammed the door to his cabin, but that didn't stop Eve from chasing him. With light feet, she hopped up to his porch and briefly hesitated at the door.

She didn't want to intrude, but...

Eve set her arms around the door knob to push, but it then dawned on her: the door was broken. It was only partially hanging from its hinges and therefore didn't close all the way.

With how hard James slammed the door, it seemed he didn't hold back his strength. And broke the door.

But that was a different concern.

Eve quietly pulled open the door just enough for her to squeeze through, not wanting to risk breaking it off the hinges completely. She slid right in, stepping into his living room.

The living room was about in the same state as when she last stepped in, weeks ago after James came back from so-called jail, except now there were several paintings lining the walls. From her research on everyone on the island, she recognized the oil paintings to be Constantine's.

There was a small trail of sand that led to the stairwell. Eve stared at it for a half second before following it like breadcrumbs, her eyes fixated on it as she followed it up the staircase and into a room. James's room. Not only was this confirmed from his sand trail, but she could see the plaque of his name on the door as well.

Which was... also broken, it seemed. It was completely off its hinges, so the door was more like a... cover.

Clearly, James had a pattern of breaking doors.

Behind the door-- which had many open gaps, considering it didn't even close properly-- Eve could hear James sobbing. Loudly.

It wasn't any normal sobbing. It was a deep, gut-wrenching, pained sob of loss and despair. There was anguish, and sorrow, and misery in his cries-- one that she'd only imagine could originate from true tragedy, like death or sudden loss.

Eve brought her knuckles up to the door, knocking against the wood. "James?" she called. "May I come in?"

There was no answer. At least, no other answer besides sobbing.

Eve hesitated again. She didn't want to intrude, but this was especially out of character for him, and frankly, she was getting more than worried. He broke two doors and was crying uncontrollably. He was not okay.

"I'm coming in," she announced, carefully opening the door again, which proved more difficult than she thought considering it was completely off its hinges.

Still, she managed to squeeze in through the small gap she made, and for the first time, she saw James's room.

She didn't know what to expect. But she didn't expect this.

A gym. James lived in an actual gym.

There were features of the room that made the room more into a bedroom. For instance, there was a large dresser that lined the entire wall, but it was completely knocked off on its side and was partially smashed, the open wood spilling out colorful t-shirts.

And just like the giant broken dresser, everything was overall disheveled and tossed around. A circular rug was tossed to the side. There was an actual hole on the floor that was foot-shaped. Or perhaps Eve was only extrapolating this story in her head since it were merely foot-sized. Bedsheets, clothes, and decor were strewn around the room. Contents of a big suitcase spilled out across the floor.

There was a punching bag in the middle of the room. At least, Eve was sure that was what it was supposed to be, considering sand was pouring out of the seams and there was a chain hanging from the ceiling. Just like the door, it seemed that the punching bag had been torn from its hinges.

Most notable, however, was James collapsed on top of the sandbag-filled punching bag, his face buried in the largest gaping hole. His sobs were muffled against the sand as he held the bag tight, warping its shape as he brought it closer to him, causing more sand to spill out of it.

"James," Eve said quietly as her heart sank from hearing his cries. She took a deep breath and tried again, speaking more loudly this time. "James. Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Again, he didn't reply, and only squeezed the punching bag tighter, drawing it closer. His sobbing softened though, like he was now trying to control it and was aware of her presence.

Eve pinched her brows together, feeling her heart rate increase. She glanced back at the smashed dresser, then down at the nearly-destroyed punching bag, then back at James-- all the while thinking about the two doors he smashed.

She didn't know how volatile or violent he was.

"Can I come closer?" she asked, voice steady.

James nodded, his face still buried in the fallen punching bag. He sniffled loudly, mumbling what sounded like an: "Mmhmm."

Eve slowly and quietly drew nearer, eyes fixed on him as she carefully monitored his every movement. She took a deep breath to calm her rapidly beating heart, crouching across from him.

She was still several feet away and was positioned to run if need be, but she chose to trust him now. To trust that he wouldn't hurt her.

"I don't know what's happening to me," James finally said, his voice warbled with crying.

Eve drew her brows together even more, her heart sinking from how hurt he sounded. "I think it's the magic," she said quietly.

"I'm trying," he said through tears. "I can't stop crying. I don't know why!"

"I think..." Eve began, but then had to stop to take a shaky deep breath, thinking back to the brief glances she took at the beach while she chased after him. "I think everyone is affected. Some broke into song. Into dance. Into madness. It's not just you. This is the magic's doing. I don't know how it works, but there's nothing wrong with you. It's a magical effect. I think it's making you... sad."

Slowly, James lifted his face, looking up at her. His eyes and face were red and his cheeks were stained with tears. Snot had begun dripping down his nose and he sniffed, but it didn't help much. He looked like he was desperately trying to keep it together, but his lip was quivering terribly as he pouted deeply.

"Why?" he asked, voice cracking. "Why?"

But he didn't wait for an answer before he brought his hands up to his face, hiding it again as he broke down into another fit of sobs.

"I... I don't know," Eve answered, wishing she knew more than she did. "I don't know. But it's not your fault. The whole beach is in chaos. It must be the event's twist, or... I don't know. The DMV is messing with us. We both know that. They put us through bizarre situations for the world's entertainment. This isn't any different."

"What kind of test is this?" James said through tears. "What does the world benefit from any of this?"

He fell back onto the punching bag, no longer holding himself up anymore as he cried.

"I don't know!" Eve said again, not knowing what to say to console him, if it were even possible. "I don't know why they want to see you sad. It's inhumane, I agree. I'm sorry you feel this way. I don't know if there's anything either of us could do. I'm sorry."

James continued to cry for a moment, and she could hear his struggle to hold it back - to swallow it down so he could speak again. It was horrible, hearing him take in shaky breath after shaky breath. It sounded agonizing.

"You... you don't have to stay," he said, his voice cracking on the last word. He began to cry again, but spoke through the tears. "I'm sorry. I'll wait it out."

"No," Eve said quickly, fiercely shaking her head. "No. I don't think you should be alone. I'm going to stay."

She paused, trying to relax her posture. She hadn't realized how tense she had gotten.

"Is that... alright?" she asked, trying to be more gentle.

James sniffled loudly, then glanced up at her from behind his arm, looking up with watery eyes in the most out of character, pleading sort of way.

"Yeah," he said, voice cracking again.

Eve stood up and quickly glanced around the room, vaguely remembering seeing tissues somewhere. She locked eyes with it on the floor next to his bed. It sat on its side, seemingly knocked over when James knocked over the side table from panicking.

She briskly strode over to it, picking it up in one swoop before sitting back down across from him, setting the box next to him.

"Tissues," she said simply.

He nodded, once again revealing his snotty, teary face as he reached for them and quickly pulled one out to blow his nose.

Clearly, there was a lot to be blown. He used up several tissues in the span of a minute until it seemed he'd finally cleared his nasal passages and managed to wipe his face at least of past tears.

"Do you want to talk?" Eve asked after he cleared that out of his system.

"About what?" James said quietly, his lips still slightly trembling as he sat up, slouching over the tissue box now in his lap.

"Do you feel sad?" Eve asked, diving right into the topic. "I'm wondering if the magic just makes you..." She hesitated, trying to find the right word. "...cry."

"Well yeah," James said, sniffling, throwing his hands out in frustration. "Yes, I feel sad."

"Okay," Eve said, realizing too late that it was a bit of a ridiculous question. "Well... Do you want to talk about it?"

Furrowing his brows together, James frowned, looking down into his lap while fresh tears began to roll down his face again.

"Won't that just make it worse?" he asked faintly.

"I think talking would help," Eve said quietly.

"But what if--" he said, gesturing around the room. "They're listening! They're always listening! They probably have this room bugged! I don't want to-- to say--"

James began to cry harder, and he was fighting to finish his sentence between hicupps and shaky inhales.

"I don't want them knowing things they haven't earned."

Eve wished there was something she could do. It wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibilities that his room was bugged. The DMV had a vendetta against James. She wouldn't put it past them to truly make his life miserable and give him no privacy.

And if that was what he was truly concerned about...

"Do you want to go to my room?" Eve asked, then quickly added, "There aren't any bugs. I can promise you that. You can trust me. It's safe. You'll have privacy."

James frowned again, biting his lip and then rubbing his eyes for a moment. He looked like he was thinking it over. After picking up a tissue and blowing his nose again, he finally responded.

"...Okay," he said quietly.

With the festivities and chaos in full swing, Hild opted to sit on the sidelines at the tables first. Just to observe, really, once it was revealed they were secretly fed magic through their drinks.

Miss Clarity showed signs of change first. Usually a calm, calculated young woman (if a bit socially awkward, in Hild's opinion), she was notably more...cheerful. Bubbly. She even asked what everyone's favorite flowers were before skipping off, for god's sake.

Miss Clanny was next, though the change was a little more subtle. There was something in her demeanor that felt almost too confident. More...presumptuous, as she struck out to mingle more with the contestants she never seemed to gravitate toward before. Challenging them to games and/or drinking.

Miss Eve remained unchanged. Hild likewise didn't feel any different, though she didn't assume herself in the clear either. It was too soon to tell. But then she lost her point of reference when Eve promptly left their table in pursuit of James. Who seemed to be in deep distress when he bolted past them.

Brow furrowed with concern, Hild watched them disappear into what had been dubbed the Bird Cabin. It eventually occurred to her that perhaps she should also follow to ensure James was alright, but she just. Sat there. And then the moment passed her by, and it felt too late to act now. Her timing was off, so it would've been odd for her to appear in his house too.

Right? Right.

So Hild stared into her glass of juice, head bowed to the point of her hat falling off onto the table.

"Oop," she giggled.

She picked her hat and idly played with the little feather as she contemplated the glass. Why was it filled with juice? Did she ask for juice? She couldn't recall if she had. But she liked to drink, she was grown! This was patronizing. She scanned the festival for the bar.

"Hey," Alexander's voice came from behind her.

She spun around in her seat and offered a small smile of recognition. "I know you. Mister..." She pursed her lips in thought. "...Alex."

Alex offered a small smile in return, huffing a small laugh through his nose.

"You okay?" he asked, raising a brow. "I think everyone's getting affected differently."

"I'm fine," she answered easily, waving for him to sit with her. "You seem quite unaffected, as well. Lucky you."

"It seems there are a few of us with more subtle effects," Alex said, taking a seat at the table beside her. "Maybe we'll realize what ours are in time."

Hild hummed in agreement. "Perhaps, perhaps." She waved a hand in Clanny's general direction. "Like Miss Clanny. She's less, uhm..." She narrowed her eyes in thought.

"Self-controlled?" Alex offered.

"...Yes," Hild agreed, "that. Far more forward."

Alex hummed, and his gaze drifted to her cup. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked.

"It would seem not," Hild said, glaring mildly at the glass of juice. "I was, in fact, on my way to grab a real drink. Care to join?"

Alex, however, showed worry at that confession. It seemed genuine as his brows creased, and the look in his eyes softened.

"Are you sure you haven't been drinking?" he asked again.

She blinked up at him. "Technically," she amended, "I have consumed drink. But it's just fruit juice."

Alex pursed his lips and reached over, taking her drink and sipping it himself to confirm. He set it back down, looking at her with more concern than before.

"Hild," he said her name slowly. "Please take no offense, because I say this while holding you in very high regard. But I thought you were already quite a bit drunk from your manner."

She frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"I guess..." Alex said, looking her over with a small frown. "You seem quite a bit more... ah, I can't think of a better word than... loose. Than usual."

His observation was entirely lost on her, however, when it occurred to Hild herself that certain things had been slipping her mind. And things never slip her mind.

"I'm not drunk, though," she said, panic creeping into her voice.

"I mean, there's nothing wrong with being relaxed," Alex said, keeping his voice calm. "If that's all it is."

"It's not just feeling relaxed!" She looked to Alex pleadingly. "What did they say during the announcement? I can't remember!"

Alex's eyebrows shot up, and he stared at her for a moment.

"You can't remember?" he asked in surprise.

Digging her hands into her hair, she squeaked in horror. "Oh my god," she uttered with realization, "I can't. Remember..."

Alex held out his hands, motioning them up and down slowly like he was trying to calm her down.

"Hey, hey," he said, his voice softer. "It's okay. Don't freak out. I can-- just give me a second to remember what they said."

At that, he nodded slightly and closed his eyes. He looked like he was in deep focus, and then his eyes opened a bit wide a few seconds later.

"Right," he said. "Uh. Okay. Mireya made the announcement that they'd magically enchanted our drinks and the magical effects would kick in at noon. No matter what you drank - be it juice or alcohol - everyone has received their intended enchantment. Stealing someone's drink doesn't cause enchantments to be exchanged. The effects last until sunrise, so they're not permanent."

Right. Okay.

Right, yes. Alex had memory magic. Of course he'd remember to the letter.

Hild nodded slowly. "Alright. Good. No, not good. Workable, rather."

She looked questioningly at Alexander. "How do you think you'll be affected, then?"

Alex pressed his lips, looking off to the side.

"I... hm," he said, pausing in thought with his brows furrowed. "I guess... well it's odd that I've had a few drinks already and I don't feel tipsy anymore."

Alex's expression turned into a grim frown.

"Well that sucks," he said with more realization. "It's Ooktober, things are crazy, and I can't even get drunk."

Ah, yes. Drinking.

"Well," Hild said, spinning around in her seat to stand up, "let's see if I can."

"Are you sure that's a good idea with everything going on?" Alex asked, getting to his feet beside her. "They said no matter what you drink you'll have the same effect. We don't know if that means if you drink more that it'll get worse or not."

She gave the strap of his lederhosen a small tug in invitation. "Well, we need more data for a sure conclusion, of course."

Alex hesitated for a moment, and then flashed a small smile.

"Alright," he said with a small laugh. "Lead the way."

Not before she could take one more step toward the bar, did Alex's cabin mate Tula aggressively intercept them. Something had her deeply irritated. Hild couldn't imagine what.

Tula's irritability put a crack in Alex's own composure, and they devolved into what felt like an argument under the guise of a cordial (if slightly curt) exchange between coworkers. With a sincere apology, Alex excused himself as Tula practically dragged him aside for a private word.

Hild waved them "ta" with the assurance that she'd still be here for when he got back. Which left her to her own devices for the next moments to come.

Sunlight flickered above her head. When she looked up, she quickly realized it was not in fact sunlight, but a string of twinkling lights. Their rhythmic pulsing was quite hypnotic. She found herself unable to tear her eyes away until a new distraction arrived in the form of Alan Alpaca Alvaro.

Honestly, once he was gone like the social butterfly that he was, she didn't remember a lot of their conversation. She only really remembered things like how he wasn't fuzzy but definitely soft, and that he had fantastic skin and an amazingly kind gaze.

Most importantly, she recalled simply feeling warm with him. Alan felt safe and comfortable. Cozy. And she was overcome with a sense of gratitude for having found a friend in him.

Second-most importantly, she remembered him smiling a lot. Which was nice, since that meant she'd done something to make him happy. And he had a nice smile. Sometimes it was goofy when he was being silly and/or melodramatic, and it almost reminded her of Lyall. Almost.

Ah. Perhaps that was part of why Alan's presence felt safe.

Just as she was concluding she should tell Alan he had a nice smile the next time they saw each other, Alex at last reappeared in Alpaca's stead. After a quick review of their earlier plans, Hild was back on track, ready for her first taste of real alchohol for the evening.

As they approached the bar, Hild wondered if they were switching out bartenders throughout the event. She didn't recognize the young lady with the undercut. Or mayhaps that was the forgetful juice talking.

"Everything's free, right?" she asked as she leaned on the counter. "That's still in effect?" She looked off to the side as she added, "Wait, I can remember that. How does this work...?"

"Maybe it's your short term memory that's affected?" Alex suggested. "Like, remembering anything since the timer started."

She tilted her head. "The timer?"

"I rest my case," he said with a faint grin. "I already mentioned it started at noon."

Hild nodded slowly. "Right. Noon-time timer."

Alex tapped at a non-existent watch. "Uh-huh," he said in mild amusement.

The bartender, Shay, wandered over and offered them drinks. But slid them two filled glasses before even taking their orders, and quickly turned back to wrangle Hendrik as he climbed in behind the bar too.

Alex offered Hild her drink, and then lifted his in a toast.

"To all of this being over by morning," he said. "May it come swiftly."

Hild took her cup and tapped it to his with an optimistic, "Cheers," and took a swig. Maybe if she drank enough, the evening would pass in the literal blink of an eye. Morning would come before she knew it, and things would be back to...relative normalcy.

At some point, she vaguely registered her brother swooping in to fret. As he did. Which was kind of him, she supposed, he tended to worry for family. But she truly did not need it right now. Or. Rather, she didn't want it in the least. It was annoying.

Also, Lyall was drenched head-to-toe with ocean stench and had kelp stuck to his ankle. What, did he take a swim? He despised swimming.

Oh, maybe he tried ending the night sooner rather than later. If it dragged on any slower for Hild, she just might try that too.

Though, it could've been worse, she supposed. She had Alex.

Lyall eventually disappeared, leaving them to drink in peace.

Leaning on the counter, Hild tilted her head back to look up at Alexander's face.

Alex grinned, raising a brow.

"You are like..." She slowly poked his arm. "...a tree."

"Riiight," he said. "Because I'm tall. Good one."

She scrunched her nose. "Well, it's more flattering than, say, a giraffe."

"Ah. Because then that would be implying the majority of my height is in my neck," he said. "Which is simply untrue."

"Right," she agreed. "And giraffes have...sticky legs. I mean. Twig-like. And you, sir, do not have twig-like legs."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Alex said with a laugh.

"Though I guess," Hild went on, gazing out at the horizon past the bar, "trees aren't as accurate either. That would imply a, ahm." She waved both hands in a circular motion around his head. "Big hair, right?"

"Not all trees are bushy," he said. "I wouldn't think too hard about it. I'm a tree, and I guess that makes you a bush."

He smiled, and reached over to gesture around her head, though he didn't touch her.

"You have the hair for it, I'd say," he said.

Hild giggled. "I'll concede, that's an apt comparison."

"Now that we've successfully categorized ourselves as common plants," Alex said. "Perhaps we can attempt conversation with more substance?"

She tilted her head curiously. "Like what?"

This was a hellish event.

Tula should have been relishing this. She should have been laughing at everyone suffering, feeling uncomfortable in their own skin and grossly misrepresented. She should have been taking this all in with only minor effects, but yet...

Why did she feel sorry for everyone?

This was horrifying. Tula hated this. This couldn't be right. She was given a list of everyone's lists before hand. Maeve let her see through her eyes. She showed it to her. It was on official lettering. She was supposed to basically be immune!

No. This couldn't be right.

Tula was confused. She must have been feeling... lust. This was her libido talking.

That was normal. The alcohol must have increased her desires. She was only human, after all, and it had been a while since she fulfilled her needs. After all, business came first, and Tula was always working.

Absolutely irritated that this had to come up now, Tula scanned the beach for her next victim to test this theory. Assuming Maeve's list was right, then...

Clandestine. She would have been a good contestant to target. Her new effect was to openly take on more daring risks.

Eyes locked on Clandestine who was finishing a nearly-empty stein of beer, Tula stormed up to her, determination aflame in her eyes.

"Clandestine," she called harshly to get her attention.

Clanny whirled around. "What's up?"

"Kiss me," Tula ordered, watching her closely.

Clanny looked confused for a moment, but then shook it off with a small smile.

"Okay!" she said.

Clandestine leaned in, and their lips touched for a few seconds, but Tula pulled away, now feeling like she had to barf.

Eugh! That was absolutely disgusting.

"Ew," Tula snarled with her face scrunched up in disgust, stopping herself from spitting out the spit they exchanged.

That didn't work. Clearly, she wasn't into this.

Then what the hell was going on?!

"Are you okay?" Clanny asked, looking at her with concern.

This was stupid. This was needless. Clandestine was useless. This chatter was not valuable.

Tula ignored Clandestine, walking away and looking for the person that really mattered.

James.

That good-for-nothing, stupid, ugly, foolish, laughable, useless potato farmer. If her hate were to return, it would boil at the sight of his hideous face.

"Hi, Tula," a voice said behind her, causing her to jump from the suddeness of it.

No. She knew that voice. It was--

"You seem distressed," Stravos said with his brows drawn together in concern, giving her a lookover.

What the fuck?

"If you're looking for a kiss, perhaps we can share one," Stravos went on, thumbs under his lederhosen suspender as he puckered up for her.

Tula groaned and pushed him away, walking past him. She hardly even pushed him with any force, yet it was enough for him to whimper and fall back against the sand.

"Tula, my love, come back!" he cried, arm out towards her to reach her, even though she was already walking away and he seemed to make no effort to get up.

"No! Go away!" she said with thick annoyance over her shoulder, rolling her eyes.

Focused. She had to stay focused.

Ah.

There he was. James. With that annoying Eve she wasn't allowed to harass. Ugh!

It was fine. All rules seemed to be off-limits now.

Smirking, she briskly jogged after them, already thinking of ways to tear this man apart... but not in a way that would make him cry.

Yet.

"Tell me he's still alive!" Lyall pleaded, panicked as he ran up beside Kaz and the filming crew.

"He's still alive," the cameraman answered, sitting on his knees as he tried catching his breath. "Just..." He tiredly waved a hand. "I honestly don't know."

Lyall knelt down beside Kaz. "My dear friend," he lamented, "you brilliant technological mastermind! Why?"

Instead of saying and kind of words as reply, Kazimir laid out on the beach, arms at his sides, rolling over onto his back. He gnashed his teeth.

With a deep frown, Lyall sadly concluded, "He must think himself some sort of aquatic creature. Perhaps that was the intended effect of whatever he drank."

The cameraman leaned over Kaz from the other side. "Is he breathing okay?" he murmured. "He knows he can at least breathe, right?"

Kazimir was indeed breathing, but he seemed to be... exaggeratedly wheezing, as if he didn't believe he could.

"He truly looks like a drying up fish," Lyall said despondently, resting a hand on Kaz's shoulder.

Unexpectedly, Kazimir lashed out and tried to bite Lyall's hand, flopping over. Yelping, Lyall fell back, tucking his hands out of chomping range. The cameraman likewise drew back, visibly perturbed.

At the same time, Clandestine had started running out to the beach, skidding to a stop a few feet from them in the sand.

"What's happening?" she asked worriedly. "Is he okay?"

"I really don't think he is," Lyall answered honestly. "Something altered his mind to the point of making him believe he's...something else." He shrugged. "An aquatic carnivore, perhaps."

"Like a shark?" Clanny asked, tilting her head as she looked down at Kaz.

"Oh." Lyall blinked and studied the way Kaz bared his teeth. "Yes, probably that."

"Don't get too close," the cameraman warned Miss Clanny. "He's a biter."

Not heeding his warning, Clanny knelt down close to Kaz, looking down at him.

"I'm the bigger fish," she said challengingly. "No biting."

"You're really not," Lyall murmured. He looked to Kaz to see if he'd registered the challenge.

Kaz narrowed his eyes at Clanny for a moment. Clanny, in response, held his stare, unblinking. For a solid few seconds, they continued their stare-off until Kaz finally looked away, wriggling to the side with the side of his face against the sand. Still wheezing despite breathing, Kaz seemed subdued, at least for the time being.

Clanny huffed in victory.

"That's right," she said. "We treat our friends respectfully, even if we're sharks."

Lyall looked up at Miss Clanny with open awe. "Amazing," he said. "You truly are a tamer of beasts."

He glanced back down to Kaz. "So it seems he is still processing everything just fine. He just can't respond in his usual pattern."

"That's kind of messed up, if you ask me," Clanny said with true empathy. "What kind of magic curse is that? To think you're a shark until sunrise..."

"A terrible curse," Lyall agreed somberly.

When he reached to touch the giant man who thought himself a shark again, he managed with his current cotton head to think better of it and simply lied parallel to Kaz, at an arm-length away.

"A tragic fate has met you on this miserable day," he lamented as he folded his hands over his middle. "To have been made to believe yourself a shark. How despicable of the world to strip you of your wonderful, creative, human qualities. Your carefree spirit, now trodden by the unnatural, singular desire to only ever swim endlessly. To what end? None, it would seem, aside from the primal instinct to merely preserve yourself. Your hands that have built marvelous structures of sand, now to you good for nothing more than pushing water.

"And for what?" Lyall asked, throwing his hands toward the sky. "All for the scheme of the DMV? For the sake of terrible scheme-making? For 'character development'? Who are they to decide our fates in such a manner?"

Sitting upright, Lyall looked expectantly to the openly concerned cameraman. "Alright, seriously," he said, "why Ooktoberfest? What were they hoping to accomplish by turning the DMV into a party island?"

The wet, scruffy man only shrugged helplessly.

Heaving a great sigh, Lyall lied back down. "Leave us," he groaned, "to wallow in our drenched and drunken misery."

With a nod, the cameraman made to stand back up.

"Gah," Lyall said, waving him back down, "no wait, I might still need you if Kazimir decides to take another dip."

"Do you want me to stay?" Clanny asked, still sitting on Kazimir's other side. "To keep him in check?"

"That may be necessary as well," Lyall agreed.

"Okay!" Clanny said, looking to the cameraman with a smile. "We can stay and watch Kazimir together!"

The cameraman mustered a small, if unsure smile. "Uhm, yeah."

Clanny, however, responded in extravagant confidence.

"We got this," she said, nodding.

And it was probably the incredible confidence she exuded that best assured him that they indeed "got this". So it was with a heartfelt thanks to both Miss Clanny and "CC Calderson" as the cameraman's staff badge dubbed him that Lyall at last excused himself to survey the full breadth of Ooktoberfest's chaos.

The event, truly detestable at its core for the utter chaos it wrought upon them, was actually really quite fun on the surface. Amongst the mix of stands of varying food and drink and the main bar closer to the shoreline, some fair games were scattered throughout. And amidst the fair games were all the milling contestants, all in worryingly adnormal states compared to their defaults.

Past the strength game with that big mallet, Lyall caught sight of Cyrin at a booth with darts in hand. They didn't seem to be acting nearly so strange as everyone else, so Lyall found himself gravitating toward him first as the athlete took aim.

He needed some sense of normalcy here.

"Cyrin Bridger!" he greeted warmly and with visible relief. "You are a sight for sore eyes! How goes it, my friend?"

Cyrin turned away from the target, grinning at him. "Ah, who should chance to bid me greeting here but my own dear companion Lyall. Have the happenings of this fine fair been treating you well and with grace?"

Smile never ceasing, Lyall paused for just a second. Was he being mocked?

No, Cyrin Bridger was not one to mock. There was such lightness in his voice that Lyall then easily concluded this was just playful imitation.

"No," Lyall answered. Then hastily amended, "Yes. I mean-- I lied. Not-- not lied, it's... It's been strange, and there was a rough patch." He mustered a grin in turn. "But it's far better now that I've happened upon you."

"An unsatisfactory beginning? This is a shame that wounds my heart deeply," Cyrin said, again with strange casualness, given the drastic change in his speech patterns. "However, I rejoice that my presence has lifted your spirits. I bid you-- no, I pray you-- to linger and participate in a round of the long-celebrated carnival game known as darts."

Tilting his head, Lyall's grin turned utterly amused. "It would be an honor to play against you. Though I shan't hold out hope that I have any chance at winning, I'm a bit..." He made small circular motions beside his head. "...compromised."

"Nonsense. The art of throwing darts is an art open to all," Cyrin declared, placing a dart in Lyall's hand. "Furthermore, I implore you to have the first throw. May fortune shine her face upon you."

With a nod of thanks, Lyall tested the weight of the dart in his hand as he took position before the target. "I thank you kindly for your blessing," he said with a laugh. "May the Fates steady my hand, and guide my dart to meet its mark."

As expected, his aim was thrown from the drinks prior. His dart hit the outer-most ring of the target. He hissed a curse under his breath, then smoothly stepped aside with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I rest my case," he said.

"The form in which you contort your hand is steady, but the Fates are playing a cruel trick on you, deceiving you in their promises by unfairly not providing enough speed to the dart," Cyrin explained. "Perhaps your chances shall return anew upon a second attempt?"

Lyall raised both brows, smile now entirely delighted. Cyrin was truly committed to the bit. They had not faltered once in maintaining this level of eloquence. Bordering verbose.

"Mayhaps," Lyall suggested, "you could demonstrate for me on your turn, then? I learn best through observation first."

"I would be most pleased to, if it be at your bidding," Cyrin agreed, picking up a dart and giving it an experimental flip in their hand. "As you witness, remark upon the way a more rapid dart flies. It soars through the distance, in a far more direct trajectory, less tugged by the grip of gravity. Failing this, it is also a possibility to merely aim higher."

He stood in front of the target for his turn, pinching the dart between his fingers as he brought it up to eye-level. A focused expression settled onto their face, just before they flicked their hand. The dart shot through the booth in the blink of an eye, burying itself in the center circle with a thunk.

With open awe, Lyall glanced back and forth between Cyrin and the target with the dart lodged dead-center.

"The mark of a true athlete," he exclaimed approvingly. "Deadly accuracy!"

"You flatter me too much, you kind soul," Cyrin said, smiling with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Perhaps it was only the Fates resolving to take a chance on me."

Lyall stepped closer again and picked up another dart. "The Fates had nothing to do with it, I'm sure," he said warmly as he carefully took aim again.

"I beg of you, please," Cyrin said with a laugh. "The entire span of my life has been an extended stroke of luck."

After mentally mapping this dart's intended path to success, Lyall tried his best to imitate Cyrin's form and technique. Flick of the hand. He made some progress, landing the dart in the second-most outer ring this time.

"Most excellent!" Cyrin exclaimed. "Observe, victories being made before our eyes as we speak."

Lyall huffed a laugh. "It is you who flatters now." He made room for Cyrin to take their turn again. "It's more likely that luck has carried my darts to the target at all. For you, it could only be actual skill, a result of intentional practice and a natural athletic inclination."

He ruminated a moment on Cyrin's comment, which felt rather off-hand for something pertaining to "the entire span" of their life.

"Though I won't deny that luck-- happenstance; chance, if you will-- plays a part in all of our lives," Lyall went on, tone softening a bit. "It rarely ever feels like I've made it anywhere meaningful by my own merit."

Lyall blinked, the weight of his own words hitting him with the force of a runaway train.

Cyrin paused, the dart raised in their hand as they turned to look at him. With an unexpected understanding, they said, "Verily?"

Another silent beat passed where Lyall should've answered. Instead, he barked a surprised laugh.

"Is there something of humor?" Cyrin asked, sounding more confused than anything.

"Oh my god--" Lyall broke down into a fit of very undignified giggles. "I can't! Cyrin!" Wheezing, he raised both hands in a shrug. "I'm-- I'm not even trying to have a serious conversation here, can you please...!"

"I assure you, it is not even remotely my intention, any more than it is yours," Cyrin said, the dart now forgotten as he stared at Lyall, baffled. "What is this you speak of, and laugh so about?"

"Oh god--" His grip on himself entirely lost, Lyall laughed until he nearly cried as he sank to his knees. "What in the actual bloody hell--" He gesticulated broadly at Cyrin. "Why are you talking like that? Are you trying to make a point? Are you mocking me? Why?!"

Cyrin groaned, dropping his lifted hand as he seemed to realize something. "Why is that everyone seems to perceive my speech as abnormal? I insist that I am conversing with the same regularity as always, unchanged and unaltered! No, I demand to know why the common opinion would believe otherwise!"

Still unable to rein his hysterics in, Lyall shrugged again, helplessly. "'Conversing with the'--" he began, but simply did not have the presence of mind to think clearly anymore.

This was all too much, frankly. Literally everything.

"I nearly drowned myself trying to save a 'shark' man twice my own size," Lyall finally managed to articulate, "I can't even begin to pick apart what I could only describe as a near-break down with Alan, my sister has absolutely no tolerance for even the slightest taste of alcohol which has left her an utter mess, and I can't even unintentionally bare my soul to you because you sound like you are a living breathing Shookspearean character!"

He buried his face in his hands and let out a long, woeful groan.

Maybe he was a bit drunk too. Which only served to amplify his stress, no doubt.

"These are... predicaments," Cyrin eventually said. "Is my language-- which, I re-emphasize, is quite normal to my ears-- truly an obstacle to the baring of souls between us?"

Letting his hands drop to his lap, Lyall looked up at Cyrin, feeling like a pathetic, soggy train wreck of emotions held together by nothing but the straps of his loathsome lederhosen. And he wasn't sure if he still wanted to laugh, or just cry now.

"...It kind of is," he answered honestly.

"My deepest apologies," Cyrin said, before pausing, frowning thoughtfully. "Was even that simple statement strange to your hearing?"

Lyall just nodded slowly, now additionally feeling sorry for his slightly oblivious friend.

Wait. Oh no...

Sighing once more, Lyall sank down further as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, god. Cyrin, it must be the magic you drank."

"Are you speaking of the... enchantment?" Cyrin asked. "I recall the announcement. Within seconds of its conclusion, every guest in attendance was running loose, as though possessed by something, even those in my company. Only I have not been affected, to my observance."

Lyall frowned slightly as he gave it some thought. "How many people have told you thus far that your speech patterns are askew?"

Cyrin paused. "In my recountance, that number stands at a bold five, present company included." They groaned again, as if realizing something. "I believe I understand your meaning presently."

Humming, Lyall nodded slowly. "General consensus suggests it's true, then."

Cyrin shrugged. "Most peculiar," they murmured, before turning back to the target and launching the dart in the time it took for Lyall to blink. The dart landed alongside their first throw.

"If this enchantment has fallen over each person competing on this notorious broadcast," Cyrin said, speaking before Lyall could say a word, "how has it bewitched you?"

Lyall blinked. "I don't... I don't know."

So far, no one had said anything about his own behavior. Though, surely, it was noticeable. Lyall did not feel in control of himself in the least, so the natural conclusion there was that everyone else was too distracted by their own disasters, or too polite to say anything about his.

Cyrin so far seemed to fall into the latter category.

Lyall pushed himself back to his feet and leaned against the table of darts. "I can't tell if I'm just disaster drunk due to regular alcohol consumption, or the enchantment has brought my inner turmoil to the surface." He shrugged despairingly. "Perhaps both."

Hiding his face in his hands, he groaned. "I fear I scared Alan off completely with my outburst. Today's just been one stressor stacked upon another, and I can't get a grip--"

Realization dawned on him, and he threw his hands skyward. "It was the interview! It threw me off entirely. I cannot start my day half-awake without a proper cup of coffee trying to play social damage control whilst also being honest, then being thrown back into my current bizarro island life to immediately scramble to maintain my sense of dignity amidst my friends, and then going straight into drinking mead all morning like I haven't a care in the world."

He waved both hands emphatically as he paced irritated circles. "I have cares! Too many to count! Because not only are there immediate repercussions for my actions here, all of my mistakes and stumbles and inner-most thoughts are being broadcasted to the world. To my family! To Kaya! How does one handle this level of pressure?"

Lyall turned back to Cyrin, whom he knew he was probably overwhelming with his Life's Woes dump, but he just couldn't seem to put the lid back on it. "How do you do it? How do you stay so...calm and collected, even when the world is overanalyzing your personal relationships, voting you as the most attractive as if this is some shallow beauty pageant, and all around spiraling out of control, downward into an absolute dumpster fire around you?"

Cyrin hesitated, seeming at a slight loss for words. Then, they pushed themself up on the barrier, perching on it despite the sign that said DO NOT SIT OR LEAN ON THE COUNTER, swinging their legs back and forth.

"I may not be in full understanding of every comment you have made known to me," he began, "but it appears to me that the slings and arrows of misfortune are overwhelming you. If I may be perfectly frank with you, I do not know how I manage to suffer through them myself. Neither would I describe myself as calm and collected. I have simply stopped caring about the world observing me through a lens. They shall see what they shall see. If I can never urge them to look away from my life, then they shall have to live with their perception of me."

"So." Lyall blinked, feeling himself deflate as he slowly took in Cyrin's words. "You just... 'stop caring'? Ignore them?"

He honestly wasn't sure what he'd hope to hear from Cyrin. But definitely something more than basically just waiting it out.

Again, Cyrin hesitated. "Indeed, undeniably."

Lyall frowned slightly at that. He sensed this was the kind of advice that was easier said than done, yet also really the only bit of reasonable bit of advice one could offer. And that perhaps it wasn't a perfect solution all the time for even Cyrin, despite their familiarity with both the glamorous and ugly sides of fame.

"And," he asked slowly, "when that doesn't work?"

"In the eventuality that the attention is both unwanted and inescapable," Cyrin began, "I do put on an act. It's horribly annoying to have to do, but if it is not me I wish for the world to see at that moment, then it will not be me that they see. It becomes a mask that is easy to slip into."

Huh.

"Right," Lyall said faintly, turning this over and over in his head and letting it sink in. "Yes, a mask. I can do that. I've done that." He shrugged with a tired sigh. "Well. Not right now, obviously, I'm. Compromised, I have no brain at the moment."

Cyrin let out a small chuckle. "It would seem your brain is manifesting in your very speech at this moment."

With another despondent sigh, Lyall nodded his agreement. "I'm deeply sorry," he mumbled, putting his head in his hands again. "We came for darts, and I just proceeded to spew all sorts of nonsense at you. I can leave you to play in peace."

"Nonsense. You are most welcome to remain," Cyrin said quickly, with a shake of their head. "We may continue our game, should you wish. If it would aid you, I could even assist your throw. The entertainment is far lesser alone."

"Since you insist my presence is not an inconvenience," Lyall relented with a grateful, if shaky, smile, "I would much prefer not to be alone right now, either." He picked up another dart. "That said, I really am quite unsure of my ability to throw at the moment. While assistance might be best for even a mildly successful throw, the fact that it may necessary to begin with is a sign. So." He set the dart back down. "Perhaps I shan't. Even though I would like to."

Before Cyrin could reply, Lyall impulsively went on, "Maybe water. I should have water. That might help clear my head a bit. And provide an excuse to get distance. Distance should be good." He rubbed at his temples with both hands. "Gah, wretched Twooter and their cursed questions, getting into my head! And I'm only adding fuel to their fire. Acting as if I'd never seen another man up close before. Is the universe trying to start something here? Why?" He looked up at the sky. "Is it loathe to see a successful relationship continue to thrive? Does it think it must put an end to all things good?"

He dropped his hands to sides again in defeat. "Anyway. Decisions were made, I suppose, and words said that can never be taken back. I must move on with my life." He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Ah, yes, that was what the darts were for. Though I really should have water--"

Cyrin paused. "Please rewind for me," he said, then frowned like he was in deep focus. "Another... man?" He seemed to have difficulty quoting Lyall, as if his brain were trying to replace the words with fancier ones.

Lyall blinked hard at Cyrin, likewise confused. "Uhm," he said, suddenly panicked again. "I-- Shite. No. Ignore me. I didn't-- I need water!"

He had no other choice now but to turn and flee the scene entirely. So he turned and began to flee the scene.

"Lyall?" Cyrin called after him in confusion, the only normal statement he'd uttered that afternoon.

"I need to hydrate!" Lyall called back over his shoulder as he kept pace. "I shall return shortly! Or maybe I won't. Leaning toward 'won't', actually. It's not you, it's me, I'm sorry!"

Cyrin only looked more baffled. But he didn't have a chance to say anything more as Lyall sped around the corner.

James had experienced many forms of pain in his lifetime. He'd endured things he would never speak of. He'd put up with things he never should've allowed. But never in his life had he felt so deeply humiliated; to be rendered so utterly useless in the face of the public.

There were already enough rumors about him floating around the world. He really didn't need anyone thinking he was so pitiful and emotionally turbulent. Normally he was able to keep a lid on his emotions, and he'd learned how to regulate them. But now it was like everything erupted in an unstoppable storm and ever internal wall he'd built to keep things from spilling out broke in an instant. He hated feeling this out of control. He hated being so transparent, and he hated being the focus of anyone's concern. Everything inside of him desperately wanted to hide away in his room and let this storm pass over. He wanted to let it be, to stay hidden until the next day came and he could finally recover. He'd rather never speak of it. Pretend like it never happened. Pretend like none of it ever happened, and keep pressing on until these hellish three months were over and he could finally go home and hide away on a farm where no one could bother him.

But now, out of the most wrangled sort of obligation, he found himself forcing himself out of his room to flee from one cabin to another.

Unable to determine whether it would be more shameful to cry openly the whole way there or to hide it, he decided to take his blanket and embrace the burden of humility. He wrapped the blanket over his head and held it over his head, deciding that if everyone was dealing with the same kinds of chaotic curses, perhaps no one would blink an eye at him covering his head.

At least, that was what he hoped. He already looked silly enough in lederhosen.

Eve led the way out, and James followed at her side, managing to keep his crying to a minimum - which looked like a fountain of tears leaving his eyes, but at least he wasn't audibly crying and he could breathe again. The knot in his throat had loosed enough that he could at least stop thinking about the constant tension.

Hiding a tissue box under the blanket around him under his arm, he matched Eve's pace, quietly wishing she'd just walk faster.

Things looked horribly chaotic outside, and frankly, he didn't think he was capable of processing any of it. It looked like Robin was dancing. Aaron was hissing in Clarity's arms while she cooed him like a baby. Jay was drinking and smiling while Hendrik blabbed to him in what sounded like gibberish.

James stopped looking. He kept his eyes on the cabin.

"And where do you think you're going?" a voice called behind him at his blind spot, which James immediately recognized to be Tula.

James hesitated, turning around to see where she was. All he could make out through his blur of tears was her crossed arms. Swallowing nervously, he only slightly slowed, not sure if he should just ignore her or try to pretend he wasn't having an emotional break down.

"Tula," Eve spoke for him, stopping at her tracks despite being close to her cabin now. "What do you want?"

"What do you want?" Tula asked instead.

"Can you please leave us alone?" Eve asked, clearly losing patience. "Just this once. Leave us alone."

Tula scoffed. "What are you going to do with him? Are you taking him to your cabin?"

Eve stared at her, but she didn't get the chance to respond.

"Are you both going to fuck?" Tula sneered.

James felt like his soul left his body in that moment.

Eve stared at her some more, this time quickly turning around and grabbing James's hand to pull him with her. He was frozen in place, and his body did not give at all until he felt the pull, and he hesitantly stumbled with her, eyes immediately dried as deep, horrific embarassment rendered his mind useless. He couldn't think of a singular thought. All he could feel was his face burning.

"James--" Eve said with a grunt, confused and struggling to pull him quickly with her, giving him a few tugs before she almost lost her footing from being unable to pull him with her.

"Relaaaax," Tula said with a half-roll of her eyes and annoyance as she sauntered with them. "I'm not going to watch. Although, I can if you want me to."

If it were possible, James's soul left him again. He forced himself to turn around, wordlessly finally following Eve's pace as she pulled.

"Okay, so you're not going to fuck. What are you doing, then?" Tula asked, sounding more curious than malicious in her questioning.

"Just leave us alone, Tula," Eve snapped, pulling James up to the porch with her.

Except Tula hung around them, watching as Eve fumbled with her keys to unlock the door.

"Can I come?" Tula asked.

Eve paused to glare at her. "No."

Tula pouted. "Why not?"

Her glare turned aghast as she fiercely unlocked the door, once again trying to shove James in, but failing, her legs instead sliding against the wooden floor.

She quickly stood upright again, visibly flustered as she faced James. "Please go in," Eve said impatiently, dramatically gesturing inside as she held the door open for him.

Choosing not to question it, James hurried inside, fleeing the outside world.

"Hey--" Tula began, but Eve then slammed the door on her face, and Eve was quick to lock the door.

"I don't know what's up with her. She's clearly dropped her act and acting different," Eve said with thick annoyance, deadbolting the door.

It could be the magic, but James couldn't find words to say it aloud.

Tula was banging on the door, but her voice muffled on the other side.

"It seems that she's not immune to the magic," Eve said with a sigh, taking a step back and satisfied that the door was fully locked.

That was, until the knocks subsided and Tula instead popped into the nearest window, squinting at them and then knocking the window with her fists. Her voice was muffled and James couldn't make out what she was saying.

"She's clearly still obsessed with you," Eve said with an irritated groan as she then closed the blinds, one window at a time since Tula kept moving down the row, knocking and yelling.

James frowned.

"Where should we go?" he asked.

Eve stopped, taking a deep breath as she eyed Tula rounding the corner, likely to peek through another window.

"You're right. This is unproductive. Let's go upstairs," she said instead, beckoning for him to follow her.

He did, letting her lead him up the steps and up to a door with her name on it, which she eventually opened after a moment to reveal her room. It was simple and orderly, a tidy bed overlooking the large window with a cushioned sitting area. There was a desk with a closed laptop, earbuds, pencils, and a journal that he had seen her carry around before, all of which were straightened and placed in a tidy, orderly fashion. The bookcase held a small library of books, but the binding of the books on the top row all looked to be the same, similar to the journal on her desk.

It was calm and clean, without a single item out of order. Either she was expecting guests or Eve was an incredibly tidy person. James suspected the latter, considering Eve hardly spent time with the other contestants aside from her cabin-mates. And when she spent time with staff, it was never in the cabins to his knowledge.

Immediately, Eve locked the balcony and closed the curtains of all windows, darkening the room. She marched back to the entrance to flip on the lights, taking a deep breath as she gave the room one more glance, lightly nodding.

"Okay," she said, satisfied. "It's safe to talk now."

James didn't know what was wrong with him. But for some reason the words "it's safe" hit him in a way he hadn't expected, and he felt his throat tightening up again.

Good grief, this was obnoxious. James nodded weakly, plopping down on the edge of the fluffy white rug, afraid he might break the furniture in the room if it wasn't made with him in mind. He let the blanket fall off his head and around his shoulders and set the tissue box back in his lap, resuming his former slouched posture over the box.

"Do you want to sit?" Eve asked more gently.
I
James shook his head.

"I don't want to break your chair," he said with a sniffle.

Eve glanced between James and her desk chair, hesitating. It was then that James realized Eve had no context for his comment.

"Do you... normally break chairs?" she asked slowly.

"...It happens way more often than I'd like to admit," James said. "I'm. Um."

He pushed down the lump in his throat, taking a second to wipe his eyes again, annoyed by the buildup of tears on his cheeks.

"I weight a lot because of my... bones," he said.

"Is that why you were impossible to push?" Eve asked, quietly making her way to the chair to sit.

James nodded, still dabbing his eyes.

"Is that how you broke your doors, too?" she asked.

"I didn't mean to," he said with a small pout.

"I think you're going to need to get that fixed. They're off their hinges," Eve said matter-of-factly.

"I know," he said, already feeling a pang of guilt for ruining the cabin front door. It was a security risk - if at the very least to keep other contestants out.

"I think Cyrin has a tool box. They requested it from the event last week. Maybe they can help," Eve said.

James only nodded, not really wanting to think about fixing the door right now. He had a feeling he might just need a new door, but he didn't know how much he'd damaged it and if it'd be a quick fix or not.

Eve sighed. "Okay. No chairs." She paused. "Are you feeling better?"

James nodded again, finally feeling the overwhelming urge to cry start to subside. But the deep, piercing sadness still remained. It ached painfully in his chest in a way he couldn't shake.

There was a short pause as Eve watched him, observing. "Do you want to talk?" she asked again.

It felt like a waste of energy if he said no after coming all this way. But he still didn't want to.

"Not really," he admitted, looking down, unable to shake the feeling of deep shame and embarassment.

"Maybe it would help if we talked about something else. Not about your feelings," Eve suggested.

"What do you like to talk about?" he asked, crumpling a snotty tissue in his hands.

"Truthfully, I don't like to talk about meaningless things. I find it mundane and needless," Eve said, then paused for a short moment. "But there are other productive conversation topics. For example, the magic in our drinks is something we can talk about. Do you remember the announcement?"

"Yes," he answered.

"The effects are present until sunrise," Eve said anyways. "Do you think you can survive until then?"

"I can survive," James said quietly in resignation.

He'd have to survive either way. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter.

"Are you sure?" Eve pressed. "Do you want to stay here? Would you be comfortable the whole time?"

James didn't know why, but all of the questions suddenly left him feeling quite overwhelmed, and he couldn't seem to pull himself together to come up with an answer. For some reason, all of his thoughts were running together, like he was thinking all of them at once, and he felt his chest tighten with anxiety that pained him.

Good grief, was this an anxiety attack? No. Gosh. Normally he was able to control and suppress these things. Why was his curse to have no lid for his emotions anymore? This was horrific. He hated this. It didn't matter that he was hidden in Eve's room; nothing was going to help him escape the rollercoaster of emotions that he normally pushed down.

Scrunching his eyes shut, James tried to pull himself together again, but all it did was make it worse. It was like the harder he fought it, the harder his anxiety raged in his chest.

He didn't want to see Eve's expression. He didn't want pity. He didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted this to be over.

Maybe he should've just waited in his room. He should've just insisted. He should've put his foot down, but instead now he was stuck in Eve's room, and he didn't know if he'd be able to handle Tula on his own in this state. He didn't know what was up with her, but it was clear that she was motivated to follow him and bother him more than usual.

"I don't know," he finally said, lifting his hands up over his face.

His hands were shaking. This was stupid.

He fell forward onto the floor in frustration with a groan, and his forehead hit the carpet with a thunk.

"I don't know," he said again, this time with his nose smushed into the carpet, and his heart racing.

"It's okay. It's alright," Eve said softly after a longer pause. "It's okay. You can stay here. I don't mind. You can stay here as long as you'd like."

Aaaaaand James was crying again.

He felt pathetic. This was pathetic.

He didn't know how long he was crying. Eve let the silence sit between them this time.

That was, until there was a knock. Not at the door, but at the window.

"Hey!" a muffled voice said behind the window. Tula. She knocked many times aggresively. "I can see you! Let me in!"

Oh no. What on earth did she want?

"Is he crying again? What'd you do to him?" Tula asked loudly, still with the incessant knocking.

Eve's solution was to close the curtains on the balcony, darkening the room.

"I know you're in there! Let me in! I won't hurt him!" Tula said, still with the nonstop knocking.

Looking up, James still had tears in his eyes and couldn't really make out anything beyond shapes and colors. Eve was by the balcony window, still standing near the closed curtains.

Tula was still knocking and whining.

"How long do you think she'll do that?" he asked, accepting that his voice was just going to sound stuffy for the rest of the day.

"I don't know," Eve said tiredly with a sigh. "Until she gets tired. But I have a feeling that won't be for a long while."

They thought the same.

"It's like her potion was to bother me," he muttered, rolling onto his side with the blanket still pulled around him.

"I don't think she needs a potion for that," Eve muttered back, heading back to her seat, but keeping her glare at the balcony where Tula was still knocking at.

"Can she hear us?" he asked.

"I can hear you!" Tula said in response.

Eve groaned, facepalming. "We can go to the hallway. I don't think she'll climb down, but at least you'll have more privacy. No one else is in the cabin right now."

James pulled the blanket over his face.

"Maybe she'll give up," he said.

Like poetic irony, there was a click on the balcony door, and it quickly swung open, revealing Tula on the other side. She grinned victoriously, one hand on her hip and the other holding a bobby pin.

"Aha!" she sneered, inviting herself inside. "Your lock sucks. Anyone with a brain can break in."

Any of James's hopes for Tula giving up were proven to be wishful thinking. The moment Tula closed the door behind her, Eve angrily scolded her, and the two women sparred snappily back and forth for quite some time, neither letting one another fully finish a sentence until Tula simply began talking over Eve, imitating her mockingly.

Eve looked fed up, and James could sense that she was nearing the end of her rope. He knew this wasn't going to last long before one of them blew up.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Room!" Eve yelled in annoyance.

"GeT oUt oF mY RoOm," Tula mocked back, mimcking her mannerisms. "What are you going to do, send the crying man after me? Ooooh, I'm soooo scared!"

Eve looked like she was seconds away from lunging after her, but instead buried her face in her hands, holding in an irritated groan.

He needed to speak up for himself. This was getting out of hand.

Forcing himself to sit up with tears still flowing down his face, James sniffled and looked over to Tula. He pulled the blanket off of his head, holding it around his shoulders.

"Tula," he said. "What do you want?"

Tula scoffed, offended by the question. "What the hell do you want? You're the one crying your eyes out."

"You're the one who put all of this effort in to get in here," he retorted.

"Yeah, and I'm getting no appreciation for it," Tula said with a roll of her eyes.

James huffed slightly, reaching up to wipe his eyes with the blanket.

"Ew," Tula sounded out with a look of disgust. "That blanket looks disgusting. Have you ever heard of tissues?"

She then reached into her chest, where apparently was where she stored a wad of tissues. And then she threw it at him, the ball hitting his head before it unrolled in the air, landing around him.

James stared down at the tissues on the floor before slowly picking them up and blowing his nose into them.

"Did you get that for James?" Eve asked, her brows furrowed as she stared at Tula.

Tula scoffed again, sitting on the edge of Eve's bed with a little bounce. "Yeah, because you apparently suck at hosting. You're welcome."

"So you came... to see if I was okay?" James asked hesitantly, still wiping his nose.

"No, you idiot," Tula snarled with annoyance. "I came to make sure that that psycho skeleton isn't going to make you cry. What, did she beat you up? Please. You could literally crush her if you wanted to."

James sniffled, not really sure how to interpret Tula's "tough love," since he knew almost everyone seemed to be under some kind of magical influence. For all he knew, this was only because of some spell, and the moment morning came, Tula would be back to her usual manipulation and deception.

He glanced over at Eve, who looked more bewildered at Tula than anything. Of course, she was still clearly annoyed, but now that James had taken initiative, she seemed to step back a little.

It was weird that they were both being protective of him, and both trying to push each other away from him. It felt like some kind of twisted sitcom.

James wadded up a snotty tissue and picked up a clean one, blowing his nose again.

"She didn't make me cry," James said. "It's whatever magic they put in our drinks."

Tula snorted at that, but then her face fell back to seriousness. "Oh, I thought you were joking."

James frowned.

Tula scrunched her nose. "Don't look at me like that."

"I don't know what I look like right now," he said, a little quieter.

"Ugly," Tula answered for him.

James sighed, looking down into his lap. Normally, petty insults like that wouldn't sting that much, but for some reason, it felt like it was just adding insult to injury.

"Right," he mumbled, hating that his eyes were tearing up again when they'd only just stopped.

"You wanted to comfort James, correct? I don't think insulting him is adding comfort," Eve said cooly, her eyes fixed on Tula the whole time.

"Seriously? You're crying because I called you ugly? I thought you had thicker skin than that," Tula grumbled.

"Normally I do!" James said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Then why don't you thicken it some more!" Tula yelled, just as frustrated.

"I would if I wasn't-- I don't know!" James yelled back. "It's like I'm feeling everything all at once and I can't stop it!"

"I feel like that too! I fucking hate it!" Tula yelled in exasperation.

"Me too!" James shouted back, feeling his own frustration reaching a boiling point. "But that doesn't mean I take it out on other people!"

"There's nothing wrong with that! I kissed Clanny and she didn't give a fuck!" Tula said.

"You--" James stuttered. "What does that even have to do with anything?"

Tula groaned, now throwing even more tissues wads at his head that she stored from her chest. "Shut up!"

James reached up and rubbed his hands down his face.

"This is ridiculous," he groaned. "I can't be allowed a single moment's peace."

Tula rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop being such a crybaby. You have everything you need to have peace."

James pressed his lips together into a line and looked up at the ceiling, gesturing helplessly to whatever being above was listening to this comically horrible conversation.

"Why me?" he squeaked helplessly.

No reply.

"Why are you a crybaby? Great question," Tula snarkily said back.

Was Tula just here to ridicule him? Did she take pleasure in his humiliation even when she "felt everything at once?" What did that even mean to her?

"Tula," Eve said cooly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Thank you for your time. Thank you for your tissues. If there's nothing else, please take your leave."

Tula scoffed in offense. "I'm not leaving him here with you!"

James's exasperation finally reached a tipping point. Unable to keep any of it at bay, the tears began to bubble up out of his control. Fed up and tired of fighting it, he covered his face and rested his head against the carpet once more, letting himself sob. It wasn't like he could stop it, anyway.

"Boohoo," Tula mocked. "Let it out, big boy. I'm sure it will make you feel better."

It was obnoxious, but eventually James resorted to blocking Tula out as she and Eve bickered over his tears. He no longer had the energy to appease Tula's bizarre, incessant desire for attention from him. Focusing on tear control, he ended up drawing from the tissue box Eve had left by him earlier, desperately trying to clear his nose and eyes of the never-ending fountain.

Finally, Eve pivoted the unproductive conversation to be away from James and about Tula's behavior.

"What did you mean, you feel everything all at once too? What do you feel?" Eve asked unprompted, voice still curt.

"Ooooohhhhh, now you care about me! I thought you wanted me to leave two seconds ago!" Tula wailed with dramatic exaggeration, waving her arms around.

"Do you care about James now? Is that it? Is it just James? Or do you care about people? Perhaps the magic no longer made you a sociopath," Eve went on.

But Tula was loudly talking over her, hands on her ears and saying, "La la la la la, I can't heeeeeaaaar you!"

James was not convinced that feeling emotions would stop Tula from her sociopathic tendencies. No matter what Eve said, no matter how level-headed, Tula continued to be unreasonable. James didn't know how much time passed between the two of them talking uselessly, but he noticed both of them finally fell to silence when he found himself staring into an empty tissue box.

Nose dripping regardless, James sniffed, trying to keep it in.

"Look what you did," Tula mocked, pointing at the empty box as if this were all Eve's fault.

Eve stared at her. "I don't know what you mean. I didn't do any--"

"I'm going to fix this!" Tula interrupted, abruptly standing back up. "Because you're useless!"

And without another word, Tula dismissed herself from the room, going back out the balcony. She climbed down one step at a time, indicating that she must have brought a ladder to get here. Proving James's point; that woman was not sane, even with "emotions."

Eve sighed in exasperation, rubbing her temples. "I think she gave me a headache," she said dully.

"I'm sorry you had to put up with her," he said quietly, sniffling loudly again.

He wondered if he should resort to blowing his nose into the box.

Eve wordlessly got up, rummaging through her closet and reaching up at the top shelf, pulling down another tissue box. She placed it next to him before going back to her chair.

"She didn't need to know that I had more," Eve said with another sigh. "She'll probably be back, though."

"At this rate, she's probably going to hunt me down no matter where I am," he said, blowing his nose into a new tissue.

He had a pile of used tissues gathering around him. He glanced around the room, looking for a trash can.

"Agreed," Eve said with a nod, getting the trash can for him. "Tula is insufferable at this state, but... she's not harmful. Just an obsessive, awfully annoying nuisance."

Sitting up fully, James picked up his pile of tissues, plopping them all in once Eve set the can down beside him. It was at that moment that James finally realized that, this whole time, Eve seemed to have been unaffected by the "spell."

Looking up at her, tears still streaming hopelessly down his face, he frowned.

"Are you not... feeling any different?" he asked.

Eve stared back at him, but then dropped her gaze, attention back on the balcony like she was expecting Tula to come back any second now. "No. I don't think the magic affected me."

James watched her, slowly piecing things together.

If Oliver was still pulling the strings alongside Maeve - and James knew he was - then he was probably trying to protect Eve. He'd assumed they had some kind of connection, but even Eve seemed under the assumption that she was, to some degree, immune to the level of psychological torture and invasive prying that he was experiencing. She'd said herself that her room was "safe" from any bugs - something she'd given no explanation for or proof.

She'd also insinuated indirectly more than once that he might be targeted more if he was associated with her.

James had thought that maybe Eve and Oliver were friends. Colleagues, maybe. Possibly they knew each other from childhood, since they happened to grow up in the same country. All of that would've been chance. But the level of shielding Eve was recieving from Oliver at this point seemed almost excessive. Even Tula was affected by the magic, and James was convinced that she had been hired by him or Maeve. Maybe both.

Yet, out of everyone, Eve was the only one left untouched.

A friendship possibly had the strength to stretch that far, but Eve had also implied more than once that she and Oliver were no longer on friendly terms - or at least, whatever relationship they had before had ended poorly. Eve seemed not only highly cynical about the DMV but very bitter towards Oliver and Maeve.

The only thing that made sense was that she and Oliver had had some kind of romantic relationship prior.

Making Oliver Eve's ex.

This was all getting far more convoluted than James had bargained for, and suddenly he felt like he was going to regret this moment and every other moment spent with Eve. Especially those alone.

Oliver was petty. Eve had made that clear, and Oliver had already proven it so.

If Oliver still had feelings for Eve, and James was the only person close to her besides her cabin-mates, then...

Good grief.

This was just his luck. He'd become the punching bag of an ex who was clearly not over his break-up. Really? Really?

His vision got blurry again, and Eve turned into a blob.

"I'd ask if you're okay, but I already know the answer to that," Eve said, speaking up when when James only stared at her with teary eyes again.

James didn't know what to say in response. Eve had no idea what was going through his head, and he had no idea what he was going to do. The two of them had tried to come up with a game plan - but if she was involved wouldn't that just sabotage everything? Her mere association with him put a target on his back because Oliver clearly couldn't take a no without having a hissy fit on the side.

It wasn't that James thought it was in any way reasonable to cut Eve off. That would only be giving Oliver what he wanted. But he also had to consider that things were not going to be easy or getting easier from here on out.

He hated feeling helpless, and he knew Eve wouldn't want to hear it, but he really didn't think this was a game he could win.

How could he? He was playing against two of the most powerful, influential people in the world. They had all the resources of the world at their disposal. All he had was a body that wouldn't let him die.

It was like the only thing he had control over was what was literally within his grasp.

And he didn't want to resort to violence.

Was all of this orchestrated? To see how far he'd push himself? To see what he was capable of? It had to be. They wanted to see the limits of his magic. This was one hell of a way to go about it.

"You really can stay here as long as you'd like. I can take care of Tula when she comes back. She's irrational, but strangely malleable. I'll try to reason with her to leave you alone," Eve went on when James didn't respond back.

James realized he was still openly crying and sniffling, but he'd accepted this was his constant state for the time being.

"You don't have to," he said, voice still wobbling. "I don't want you to feel like you have to. I can deal with her if I need to."

"It's fine. Really. I don't mind dealing with her. It's not an obligation," Eve assured him.

So she was doing this out of... the goodness of her heart? No. It was probably out of pity.

Frustrated by that thought alone, he reached up and covered his face, feeling another wave of tears welling up.

"Sorry," he said, knowing it didn't make sense to apologize, but not knowing what else to say.

"You don't need to apologize. You can't control your tears, but it'll go away in time," Eve said more gently.

"I could just go," he said, voice cracking.

"No," she said quickly. "It's fine, James. You don't have to worry about me. I don't mind that you're here."

"I've already gotten snot on your carpet," he said with a small sob.

"It's not my carpet. This isn't my home," Eve said as a gentle reminder. "It's the DMV's. Add more snot if you'd like. I don't mind."

James flopped over onto his side, but he landed on the fuzzy carpet with a heavy thud, hands still over his face.

"I don't know how I'm still crying," he went on. "I'm going to run out of tears eventually."

"Let me get you a glass of water. I don't want you getting dehydrated," Eve said, standing up but hovering by the door. "Are you hungry? Do you need anything else?"

James had to admit he was hungry, but he didn't want to eat her food.

"Water's fine," he mumbled.

"I'll get you food and water," Eve said anyways.

But before she left the room, she locked the balcony again, setting another chair against the door as an anti-Tula lock. She pulled the curtains again, then set aside a pillow and blanket for him.

"Alright. I'll be right back," she said, giving him one last glance back before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

When she left, the silence left behind suddenly felt so loud next to the sounds of his own cries.

He pulled his blanket tighter around him.

Feeling this vulnerable wasn't something he was used to. He'd put up with a lot of physical pain, but even then he'd always heal up fast. Everyone around him used to look to him as a stable support, and even back home he was that for his family. But now it felt like he'd been demoted to a useless sack of tears, and he hated that it was televised, forced, and out of his control.

More than anything, he missed his family. Moments like this, all he really wanted was to hug his mom and cry into her shoulder. Somewhere he felt safe.

Eve's room was secure enough from cameras, but it still felt so foreign. Even though he'd been welcomed in, he still felt like he was imposing.

He just wanted this day to be over.

Curled up in his own puddle of tears, James felt the exhaustion from the past week starting to creep up on him as sobs shook his chest again. His body was starting to ache, and his joints were hurting. The lack of rest was coming back to bite him, and suddenly its claws were reaching out for him.

He hit a wall of weariness, and suddenly he felt heavy. As if he could sink into the floor at any moment.

His sobs started to subside as he fought just to keep his eyes open, but they felt so painfully dry. It was then that he realized he'd finally run out of tears, and all that was left was the weighty feeling of sadness and exhaustion in its place.

James finally let himself close his eyes.

Alan really did his best to not do anything rash. For the next few hours, he wafted in and out of groups, talking little and trying to get a grip of himself. He made a couple stops to the bathroom just to adjust and have a place to quietly think. He felt like perhaps he shouldn't totally withdraw from the event since, unlike many others, he seemed to be of clear mind.

At least, he thought so. It wasn't like he was thinking differently... People just looked different. It did make Alan freak out a little at first, but as the hours passed and he adjusted to his new self, he'd be remiss to say that he didn't like this.

Put simply, everything just made more sense now.

And it was why Alan didn't really want to hole himself up for the whole day. He felt nervous, but also giddy. It was a bit like experiencing love for the first time. He was enjoying its depth, and beauty, and messiness, and all things in between. It was exciting, and even though Alan did feel a bit awkward navigating these new perceptions for the first time, he didn't want to let go of one of life's natural joys.

And so he kept cycling back between public and private spaces, thinking and reflecting, talking and smiling. He did his best to not outright stare at people, but it was hard not to sometimes. There were people on this island who seriously looked like a drop of heaven.

One of the people he was watching from a respectable distance was Tula, who had been running up and down the beach, pacing and intensely focused. Her curly hair bounced with every step, along with her dress, and along with her...

Alan felt a little embarrassed, forcing his eyes to drift back up to her face. Tula really was quite beautiful, with full brows that expressed her olive eyes, full lips that constantly pouted, and immaculate tan skin that looked soft to the touch. Maybe it was her smokey makeup, or maybe it was her expression, but she had a mysterious air about her that allured Alan.

He had been marveling at her beauty, getting so lost in his thoughts that Alan hadn't realized she was staring right back, marching up to him. He quickly looked away, trying to play it cool, but feeling his heart beat up from the internal panic.

"Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer," Tula said as she drew near, giving him a look-over as well.

Alan couldn't help but blush from feeling so seen, but he laughed it off, distractedly looking over the rest of the beach. "I would, but I don't have my phone on me. Or on the island at all, actually. I didn't bring it."

He wanted to smack his face from the stupid answer, feeling the embarrassment deepen-- especially since he could feel Tula's eyes on him.

"Where were you when I needed to kiss someone? You'd have been the better option," Tula said with annoyance, still fiercely staring at him.

Alan couldn't help but sputter at that, feeling his face grow even hotter as he stared back, baffled. "Wh... What?"

Tula rolled her eyes, clearly still annoyed over... something. Alan didn't know if it was him or something else. Maybe both.

She groaned, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration. "Ugh! These stupid thoughts won't go away! Stupid, ugly, idiotic, dumb farmer! Ugh!" Tula groaned up at the sky, visibly angry and upset.

Again, Alan didn't think she was referring to him. He wasn't even a farmer.

Suddenly, she turned to him like she had a revelation, drawing near with a glint in her eyes. Feeling uneasy, Alan took a small step back, begging his heart to slow down and not panic or give him mixed feelings.

"Hey. Want to fuck? We can help each other out," Tula said with unwavering seriousness.

Alan felt like his brain short-circuited. He felt hot inside and outside, feeling like he could melt from... whatever this was. Embarrassment? Was he embarrassed? He honestly didn't know. He couldn't even think straight right now or say anything. She was way too close to him.

"Um..." he stammered, mind emptying of all words as he briefly wondered if it would be way too inappropriate to say yes.

"Ugh. I change my mind," Tula said boredly with a face of disgust. "You'll be useful to me another day."

Whatever interest Tula had over him suddenly and completely vanished, replaced with her looking past him at someone else. She squinted, and Alan hesitated, about to look over his shoulder to see what she was staring at, but then she scoffed and brushed past him, hitting his shoulder with hers as she walked past.

"Move aside, lover boy. I have to talk to someone who's actually important," she said dismissvely.

Alan stared at her walk away, taking a deep, shuddered breath to take away the color on his cheeks. He felt more confused than anything else. And embarrassed. A tad humiliated.

But also, admittedly... a bit intrigued.

In the distance, Tula approached Alex and Hild. There was quarreling between Tula and Alex, but eventually she dragged him away, leaving Hild by herself. Alan wondered where she was taking him, and also, a tiny bit offended that she clearly thought Alex was more important than him, but he decided to not think much of it since they were cabin mates, after all.

Alan would say the same as well. That Lyall and Cyrin were very important to him right now.

In a daze, Alan realized that Hild was now idly standing next to a table, in awe over the Ooktoberfest-themed string lights that hung above her. They flashed an array of colors, blinking in a mesmerizing pattern. Grinning, Alan decided to approach her, keeping her company.

He had been meaning to talk to Hild today, anyways.

Alan had always found her cute, especially since she was so small. He wanted to pick her up and spin her around, holding her close. It was tempting. Instead, he took her in as a whole, noting her curly hair wrapped in a pretty braid and her lederhosen that consisted of a looser cream-colored shirt and chocolate brown leather suspenders holding up her well-fitted shorts up to her thighs. She also wore long white socks, but it was encrusted in sand, which Alan found oddly endearing. Like she had been at the beach all day.

Then again, they had all been at the beach all day.

"Hi, Hild," he said as he slid in beside her with a smile. "The lights are pretty, aren't they?"

Hild blinked, seeming to snap out of a trance, and offered him back a slightly delayed grin of her own. "Alpaca," she greeted happily. Then pursed her lips and slowly tried again, "Sorry. Al... Al. Greetings and salutations."

Alan couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I can be your alpaca if you'd like. I accept this nickname."

Folding her arms, she actually giggled at that. "You're not fuzzy enough," she said simply.

"Really?" he mused, his smile turning into a grin as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Are you sure? I think I'm a little fuzzy."

"Really?" she asked, smile fading again as she seemed to more seriously consider this. "Well, let's assess." And, standing on her toes, Hild reached up and lightly tousled his hair herself, her brows drawn with concentration.

Alan couldn't help but watch her face contort in deep focus, feeling butterflies in his stomach. He smiled, bending his knees to match her level, meeting her eyes.

"What's the verdict?" he asked playfully.

Since he bent down, Hild was able to set her heels back on the ground. Fingers still tangled in his hair, she faintly grinned. "Not fuzzy, as suspected," she concluded, "but you are...soft enough, I suppose."

Alan hummed, staying at her eye level. "I think I like that better. I don't mind being soft. Do you?"

"Normally," she answered, letting her arms drop lazily onto his shoulders, "I'd say you're too soft. But I'm...quite charmed by it. It's not a bad thing."

And if Alan was being honest... he felt like he was charmed too.

He smiled softly at her, realizing for the first time that Hild had beautiful green eyes. Specks of gold glittered from the dazzling rays of the sun, making her eyes look like a whole new world to explore.

"If that's how it makes you feel, then I also don't think it's a bad thing. In fact, I can be even softer, if you'd like," he said with a teasing voice, still not standing up straight.

With a hum, Hild studied his face. "If you were any softer," she whispered, "then you'd just be a pile of goo."

Alan couldn't help but bark a laugh at that. The absurdity of her words didn't quite ruin the moment; it just changed it.

"Pile of goo?" he repeated with a grin, standing up straight again as he looked down at Hild with intrigue and amusement. "I don't know if I'd call that soft. More like... squishy."

As he straightened at last, Hild let her arms slide from his shoulders completely and giggled. "Squishy, mushy, soft. All the same."

Alan hummed. "So you think I'm squishy too?"

She poked his chest. "Squishy in here," she agreed. Then added, expression melting with affection, "Soft-hearted."

Alan smiled, glancing between Hild and her finger. "Do you like it?"

Head tilted the other way, she looked up at him with slight confusion. "Of course," she answered, like that was a ridiculous question, "that's what makes you Alpaca Alvaro."

Alan smile grew, feeling completely endeared by her presence. He felt like he could melt into her gaze, but he didn't want to lose the moment between them. He wanted to keep it going, even when he was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

"I will say I'm a little surprised, Hild," he said softly, still mesmerized by the way the sun glinted in her eyes. "Don't get me wrong. I enjoy every second with you. But sometimes I think you think I'm a little much. It's nice to hear that you actually... like it. That I am soft-hearted."

"You're a lot," she quickly agreed with an emphatic nod and wave of both hands, "make no mistake. It's...a lot. But I'm adjusting. And don't want you to change anything."

"I won't. I promise," Alan said with a warm smile. "I don't want you to change anything either."

He reached over and tucked a strand of loose hair behind Hild's ear, smile growing as he met her gaze. With a warm grin, Hild bounced a bit on her heels as she loosely held onto his wrist. Pleasantly surprised, Alan flicked his eyes between Hild and their hands. She only smiled back, beaming.

There was a short delay in processing as Alan gently uncurled his fingers, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. Smile never ceasing, Hild's gaze turned slightly curious now, but she didn't draw away. Suddenly feeling a little shy, Alan smiled softly and took a step closer to close the gap between them, hand now half-cupping the side of her face. He felt his heart thud against his chest as he again gazed into her eyes.

Her eyes flicked up and down, intently studying his face before meeting his eyes with open affection once more. And so Alan seized the moment.

He leaned in, closing his eyes and kissing Hild's cheek for a few drawn out seconds, suddenly feeling drawn to hug her and pull her in.

This felt right to him. He couldn't really explain it. Hild was beautiful, and he still wanted to pick her up and twirl her around, but in the same way that he wanted to do that with his baby cousins.

Alan opened his eyes and pulled her into his chest, leaning into the embrace.

"I hope this is alright," he said softly, her head under his chin. He got a whiff of her shampoo. It smelled like apples. "I just really wanted to hug you."

There was just a second's delay before she brought her arms up around his back. Hild leaned into him, tucking her head fully under his chin with a content sigh. "You're not gooey," she concluded. "More...cozy than anything. It's nice."

"If I'm cozy, then you're gooey. Like caramel. Hard, until you're warmed. Then you turn gooey," Alan said as he then let out a peaceful sigh, pulling away with a smile.

He felt a little silly. But this once again felt right.

She grinned brightly at him, then schooled her features as she shushed him with a finger to his lips. "Sssssh, no one can know," she whispered. "I have a...reputation. Must maintain it."

Alan grinned, swatting away her finger. "Nonsense. I'm going to tell the whole world. I'll sing it from the stage as loud as I can, and I'll say it loud and proud." He booped her nose with his fingers, unable to suppress his silly grin. "You're as sweet as caramel."

"Noooo," Hild whined with a silly smile of her own, this time swatting at his hand. "I'll have no choice but to expose your true identity." She poked his arm. "As a secret alpaca. Disguised as an Alan."

Alan raised a brow at her, amused. It occurred to him that she was acting a little unsual, but then again, who wasn't?

"You're on to something here. I've been an alpaca the whole time. One day, I'll wake up in the stable with Lolly and Lilly, and you won't even know it's me," he said playfully through a silly smile.

With a laugh, Hild pouted playfully. "Then who would I practice cello with? No, we must keep your cover at that rate."

Alan scoffed, feigning deep offense as he slapped his hand over his heart. "Hild. That's species-ist. You think alpacas can't play the violin? Shame on you."

Giggling, she took both of his hands and waved them about. "With what thumbs?"

"These ones," Alan said with an even sillier smile, lifting up both thumb for her to see, only to then use them to tickle her neck.

"Ack, no!" she said, dramatically flopping back, still holding his wrists.

And thus commenced a tickle fight.

Alan sighed, leaning against the counter and letting some time pass by him as he stared off at the other side of the festival.

Well... Now he was by himself. And he was still wet, since he splashed another cup of water on his face to stop himself from staring at Cyrin too long, who was well across the beach.

"Hey," Clanny said, suddenly appearing beside him. "Are you okay? Everyone's acting so weird."

"Yep. Yeah, I'm fine," Alan said with a mustered smile, feeling like he had to play this cool now. He let out a weak laugh, pushing back his wet hair as he leaned against the counter.

"You just splashed water on your face," Clanny said, pouting slightly as she studied him.

"Maybe I like to be wet," he said with an innocent shrug.

Clanny blinked slowly at that.

"Maybe you should try drinking water instead of splashing it," she said.

"Great idea," Alan said with an enthusiastic nod, waving a hand for the bartender's attention. "Can we get two waters?" He paused, looking back at Clanny. "Unless you wanted something else?"

She shrugged. "That's fine with me!"

The waters appeared fairly fast, although they were slid tiny stein mugs. It seemed that whoever was leading this event really didn't want them to hydrate.

Pretending the mugs weren't comically small, Alan smiled and picked them both up, offering one of them to her.

"Cheers," he said as he clinked her mug with his.

Alan took it back like it was a shot, and to his surprise, it was a shot. The vodka burned his throat since he wasn't expecting it, and even though he drank it, he still hacked and coughed.

Well, that explained why the waters were served in tiny cups. How did he not realize that this was a shot glass? Did the staff member not hear him right, or was water not being served now?

Clanny threw back her shot with ease, setting the cup down on the bar with a small laugh.

"Guess we got shots instead!" she said.

Alan let out a last cough, setting the cup down on the table with mild annoyance. "I love getting vodka-flavored water," he said with thick sarcasm.

"Aw, come on, it's Ooktoberfest," Clanny said. "This is part of the whole experience."

"Have you celebrated this event before?" Alan asked, standing back up straight and fixing his attention on her.

She was really pretty.

No.

Clanny was beautiful.

Her bright green eyes seemed to sparkle in the sun, her smile growing even brighter. The flowers in her hair matched the colors on her dress, which was frilly with a wide neckline, showcasing her shoulders.

"No, but I'm excited for firsts!" she said with a smile. "I always like trying new things!"

Alan hummed. "You know, we didn't match at the speed dating event. So unfortunately, I never got to hear your answer of what you'd like to try, but never got around to doing."

"Well I don't know if Ooktoberfest would be at the top of my list," she said. "But I've always wanted to try it! It seems like a fun event! Especially when you get to do it with friends."

Alan smiled, gesturing around them. "Your wish has been granted."

Clanny's eyes brightened.

"I guess it has," she said. "I guess, in embracing the spirit of Ooktoberfest, maybe I should try one of their big drinks. What should I get?"

Alan hummed again, glancing above at the too-large drink menu in hard-to-read font since it was all squished together tightly. "Well, what do you usually like to drink?"

Clanny put her hand on her chin, looking over to the bar menu on display.

"I don't know, I don't usually drink super heavy," she said. "But let's go for the strongest Hennesons brandy!"

Alan let out a small laugh, wondering if this was the best decision considering they had just taken a shot. But clearly, Clanny wanted to go all in for this event, even though she didn't usually drink that heavily.

"Sure," he said. "Let's make it a double."

He didn't even know what he was doing. This entire experience felt a little surreal, but at the same time, it felt right.

The drinks were poured fast, and the bartender slid two shots of brandy. Alan handed hers to her, but didn't quite let go when she grabbed it.

"This is a strong drink," he warned.

Clanny leaned in with a small smile. "Yeah," she said. "That's why I picked it!"

"I'm quite a baby when it comes to strong drinks," Alan said with a smile, the lie feeling smooth like he had said this a hundred times before. "Do you mind if we link arms as we take it?"

He wrapped his arm over his elbow, guiding her arm to go under his.

"Like this. And then we take the shot together," he said.

Clanny nodded with determination, linking her arm more securely.

"Let's do it," she said.

Alan counted down, and they both clinked their glasses and took it together. This time, the drink went down smoothly for him, although it did burn. He hadn't ever been a fan of barrel-aged liquors, anyways.

He didn't unlink his arms when finished, though. Instead, Alan smiled softly and gazed at her, watching for her reaction. Her eyebrows shot up and she let out a small huff, shaking her head.

"Wow! That really is strong!" she said with a small laugh.

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"Yeah!" she said. "I like the taste."

"What else do you like the taste of?" Alan asked, still not having unlinked his arm.

Clanny seemed a bit confused, but smiled anyway. "I don't know," she said. "A lot of things, I guess!"

Finally, Alan let go, offering another smile as he leaned against the counter. "You said you've been wanting to try something new. I think that doesn't exclude tastes. I'm sure you'll find something you'll like here."

"Yeah," Clanny said in agreement, and then her eyes wandered past him. "Oh! It looks like they have one of those strongman games where you hit the thingy with the mallet! I wanna try!"

Alan chuckled. "I'll be rooting for you over here. Good luck. You've got this."

With a small laugh, Clanny nodded and ran off, her skirt bouncing as she headed for the game booth. Alan watched her leave in a daze, and he hadn't realized he had been staring until someone else grabbed his attention.

"Well, this is certainly interesting," Alex said, approaching from his side and leaning back on the counter beside Alan.

Alan slowly ripped his attention away from Clanny's now-small figure in the distance, facing Alex. He gave him a quick look-over, trying not to stare at his awfully flattering red and gold lederhosen that was practically made for him. Because it was. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe Alex had always been this attractive.

God, was he attractive? Alan forced himself to look up at his face, but by then it was too late.

Alex grinned, raising a brow.

"You're looking a little tispy, Mr. Romantic," he said.

There was a lot to take in here. But Alan chose to focus on the last two words.

"Ah," he said slowly with a nod, leaning against the counter again, trying to play it cool. "So you heard about that."

How did Alex hear of his trail name? He only told a few people.

This was very low on the priority of things to think about. Alan decided not to overthink it.

"Rumors spread like wildfire," Alex said. "Especially amongst the staff, it seems."

Alan shrugged innocently. "Maybe I fed you false information on purpose. I wanted to send you on a hunt. Congratulations for passing my test."

"A test, huh?" Alex asked. "Is there a reward for my efforts?"

"I can't say I've thought that far ahead," Alan mused. "But I'm open for suggestions."

Alex smirked, his eyes briefly scanning Alan up and down. Although Alan tried to play it cool, he couldn't stop the soft blush from warming his face from feeling so seen.

Or maybe it was the alcohol. It was hard to tell. His head was feeling fuzzy.

He needed to get himself together.

"Would you like to share a drink?" Alex asked.

"What's your poison?" Alan asked with a smile.

"I always enjoy a good cosmopolitan," Alex answered.

"Is that so? I'm more of a dark and stormy man," Alan said back.

"Dark and stormy, hm?" Alex asked. He leaned in towards Alan ever so slightly, looking down at him. "Then maybe we should go somewhere a little less festive. Dark, for a dark and stormy man."

It was like his heart was saying no but his head was saying-- no, yelling-- a loud yes.

"Now, now, Alex. Patience is a virtue. Don't you want to finish a drink in the open sunlight with me before we venture into the dark?" Alan said, the words smoothly rolling off his tongue.

"I would like that," Alex said more softly.

Alan turned around, ordering their two drinks. But it seemed the bartender was one step ahead of them, having heard their preferences before they even ordered. The two drinks were placed in front of them, all ready to go.

Alex took his, and looked to meet Alan's eyes with a small smile.

"To patience," he said, lifting his glass for a toast.

Alan smiled warmly. "I can drink to that," he said.

They clinked their glasses, and Alan took a few gulps of his drink. It was easier to down now that he wasn't drinking straight liquor.

And, perhaps unsurprisingly... the alcohol did help.

He was really testing his limits here, with his third drink in less than ten minutes. But at least he felt less like a confused idiot when he wasn't sober.

"So, Alex, how have you been? We haven't talked in a while," Alan said, deciding to delve right into conversation.

"We really haven't," Alex said. "I've been doing well, though. I--"

"Hey, Alan!"

Shane was leaning on the counter around the corner of the bar, eyes bright. He seemed to be more unaware of their conversation than intentionally interrupting, judging by his excitement. There was a wide smile on his face, causing his dimples to show in his cheeks. Alan's heart skipped a beat.

"They've opened up the food tents for dinner," Shane said cheerfully. "Want to go get a pretzel? It'll be easier to keep drinking on a full stomach."

Alan realized too late that he had been staring at Shane for too long. It was hard not to stare, especially since he looked dashing with his tight lederhosen worn over a green collared flannel shirt. And his adorable dimply smile... was that why he was drawn to his lips?

It felt like magnetism. Like an unstoppable, physical force that drew Alan to Shane, and it emptied his entire brain, because the only thought that filled his mind was of Shane. Shane. Shane.

Oh god, he needed to say something, but it felt like it was his tongue that was tied like a pretzel. Shane was approaching closer now. Alan needed to do something more than just smile and stare longingly at him.

"You have had quite a lot to drink already," Alex said beside him.

Alan finally tore his stare away, looking down at his half-finished drink... which he realized just now was half-finished. He thought he only took a single sip of it.

"Yeah," he said slowly, setting the glass on the counter and then smiling at Shane. "That's a good idea. Pretzels sound great."

Shane beamed. "Awesome. See you around, Alex!"

"Yeah," Alan said again, offering a smile at Alex. "See you around."

"Have fun," Alex said with a smile.

Shane led the way to the pretzel stand, and Alan only briefly glanced behind him, getting a blurry image of Alex watching them leave. They parted ways without delving too much into conversation, and Alan wondered if he'd get to see him again.

The wonder didn't last long, though, since Shane's entire presence quickly filled his head again, leaving him both speechless without a single decipherable thought to say as they walked.

Thankfully, they were passing the chiming clock tower, loudly filling the silence between them. It rang seven times, indicating that it was 7pm.

What? How did it get so late?

"How's the festival going for you so far?" Shane asked, still smiling. "Seems like everything got more interesting since the clock struck noon."

Alan let out a weak laugh, staring straight ahead and trying to focus on whatever was around him. Beer. More beer stands. A staff member. A camera.

Oh, right. They were being filmed. Nice!

"Interesting is a good way to put it," he finally said, racking his brain for something reasonable to say back.

Conversation felt easy with Clanny and Alex. Why was he getting so tongue-tied now? It was like all words left his head.

Shane laughed as well. "It's strange to watch. I don't know what's happening with everyone else, but I feel... great. Just really great. I think it's going to be a good time." He flashed Alan an eager grin.

Alan glanced at Shane, and it occurred to him that his words felt strangely out of character. Then again, who wasn't? There was literally a contestant who thought he was a shark.

"Well... I like it. Whatever this is," Alan said, going with the first thought that popped in his head.

He tried not to grimace after he said those words out loud, though.

Shane gave him a slight lookover. "Did you only get one drink when you were gone?" he teased, sounding vaguely amused.

"Oh," Alan said with a defeated smile. "Uh... no." He shook his head, squinting ahead of them as he counted up on his hand. "I had... three. Well, two and a half, since I didn't finish the last drink with Alex. So..." Alan nodded slowly, not sure where he was going with that last sentence. "Yep."

This was going poorly. Was it the alcohol starting to be absorbed in his system? The magical effects? Or something else? Alan had no clue, but he needed to pull himself together.

"I didn't mean to pull you away from your drink," Shane apologized. "Some food in your system will mean you can handle more of them, though, so you can have fun longer this way. Plus, Bo made them, so they have to be good."

Alan took a deep breath.

Alright.

He could talk like a normal human being.

"No need to apologize," he said with a more sincere smile. "You're right, food is something I need. This is a good idea, and I'm sure it will be delicious. If anything, I should thank you for pulling me away. You're always looking after me. I appreciate that about you, Shane-- among other things, of course."

Shane looked touched, beaming a little brighter. "Of course. I'm always happy to do anything for you, Alan."

Alan let out a puff of amused air, stil with the lingering smile. "Shouldn't I be the one who should be happy to do anything for you, your majesty?"

"Please," Shane said with a lighthearted laugh, waving his hand. "I'd much rather be a person who could connect with you than some heir who could only speak to people as subjects. You're someone I want that connection with."

Alan felt his chest tighten, but he nodded casually, staring straight ahead at the pretzel stand that Bo was at. He was hardly processing any details around him as he got lost in his own head, trying far too hard to not say anything stupid. Just like Lyall, it was like being in Shane's presence made him turn to a complete idiot, and all words left his head.

"Connection," Alan echoed. "What does that mean to you?"

Shane hummed in thought, reaching up to sweep some hair out of his face with his fingers. "I think it's crucial for everyone to have people they can feel at ease with and accepted by. It's liberating to know you can share your heart with someone, and that they'll be glad to see what's inside it, rather than them trying to get you to be anything else. I guess to me, it's about being yourself, but being yourself with someone else, and them feeling the same towards you."

Alan nodded slowly, still sharply staring ahead at the booth, trying to hold on to every word Shane said. "Do you feel like yourself now, with me?" he asked.

"Now?" Shane asked, with a slight laugh. "I'd say even in general."

"But what about... now," Alan said with another faint laugh, strangely feeling insistent on this manner.

Was it the booze talking? He didn't even know. Frankly, he was afraid for the alcohol to hit even harder soon, since he was acutely aware how he acted when he was drunk.

"Well, yeah," Shane said, offering him another smile. "It's been every moment. That includes these ones."

Alan hesitated, breaking his fierce stare ahead to glance at Shane and feeling like he was immediately melting from his smile.

"That's, ah..." Alan began, begging his brain to think of something to say now that he was staring again during mid-conversation. "That's a good thing. Right?"

Shane broke into a gentle grin. "I'd think so."

Alan slowly processed the conversation, blurting out, "We're talking about us, right? Or just you?"

Shane tilted his head to the side curiously. "Before I answer, what do you mean?"

Oh no. Shane didn't know that he was just saying the first thing that popped in his head. He wished he had a deeper answer.

"It's... just a feeling," Alan said with a smile, instead trying to play it cool. "It's hard to explain."

"If this answer doesn't make sense, I might have misinterpreted the question," Shane said with a chuckle. "If you mean whether I feel like I've connected with people in general, the answer is not really. Maybe it's just me, but I find it to be a rare thing. So if you're asking if I was talking about whether I feel myself around people in general, or in our specific case, the answer is us."

Alan kept his gaze on Shane, listening intently and holding on to every word. He felt his chest tighten again, his heart swelling with another burst of emotions.

It was weird. Alan had been in love before. Quite a few times, actually.

But this was way more intense.

He had some things he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure how to say it yet. Alan didn't want to fumble on the words. He wanted to put thought and consideration into this, just like what Shane was doing with him right now.

He just... had to breathe. And be himself. Like Shane mentioned.

Although, this hardly felt like himself.

They reached the pretzel stand before Alan could think of a proper reply. He watched with intrigue as Shane delved into conversation with Bo, smiling and genuine. He was always so genuine. It was a rare trait.

Before Alan knew it, they were walking away with two giant, soft, salty pretzels. Alan stared down at it, feeling like this was a weird metaphor. Like he was holding his heart. That was shaped like a pretzel.

He was far too gone to create meaning out of this.

"This is perfect," Shane declared after he'd finished his first bite, turning to Alan with excitement in his eyes. "Come on, you've got to try it."

Alan smiled, watching him eat with that curious yet fearless innocence that he found endearing. He softly chuckled, finally deciding to take a small first bite as well.

He nodded, smiling warmly at Shane as he finished eating it. "It is good," he agreed.

"Perfect," Shane said, grinning gently at him. "Then the party can go on."

They kept their gazes on one another for a few moments, but Alan found himself averting his eyes first, faintly laughing.

"Can I say something?" he blurted out, although he wasn't sure why he was asking for permission.

Shane nodded, and Alan saw him smile warmly out of the corner of his eye. "Of course you can."

Alan smiled back, letting a short silence pass between them first. "I just wanted to say that it's a shame that you haven't connected to many people in the past. You truly could have fooled me. I find you easy to connect with, and if I'm being honest, connecting with you has been a gift. I enjoy spending every second with you, whether in the past, or now in the present. And if connecting with you is a gift, then I hope I continue doing so in the present, treasuring every moment together."

Shane's smile stayed warm, and the softness in his eyes deepened. "I've treasured every moment of that too," he said, every word sounding genuine. "You're a special person, Alan. It's been only two weeks and I can tell that. And if you would like to keep spending your time with me, I would be honored."

Alan felt himself getting more lightheaded, but maybe that was the alcohol. It was hard to tell anymore.

But he kept going.

"I should be asking you that," Alan said, still keeping his attention fixed on Shane, even though it felt like they were melting into the background. "You're the special one. You're the gift, remember? A treasure. So if you wanted to spend your time with me..." Alan softly smiled, still meeting his eyes. "Honor doesn't even begin to describe how it would make me feel."

"Alan," Shane said, with a gentle laugh, "I don't find myself any more special than you."

"You don't have to. I already have," Alan said.

Shane smiled softly, dimples flashing again. "And you're special enough to me that you're the gift in my eyes," he said. "But if it brings you some relief, I truly do want that. And it'd bring me relief to know you wanted it too."

Alan matched his smile, lost in eyes that beckoned him in like a siren. Whatever spell Shane put him under... well, it was working.

Now feeling more confident from a light head and the sudden boldness of the conversation, Alan reached over and gently caressed his cheek with his fingertips, smiling warmly.

"More than anything. I want you, Shane," he said softly, still captivated by his eyes.

Shane's smile only grew, even though it stayed just as soft and warm, and he didn't look or move away from Alan.

"I want you too," Shane said softly. "So if it's me you want, you can have that."

Alan stood still, with only his hand having moved, now cupping his face. "What else can I have?" he asked softly, maintaining eye contact.

Shane barely hesitated, still looking him in the eyes, before softly saying, "Just name it."

Alan let out a soft hum, looking down at their hands, noting the short distance between them.

"Your hand?" he asked, meeting his eyes again.

Without looking down, Alan dropped his unfinished pretzel, only hearing it drop on the ground with a soft thud.

Shane smiled again, moving his free hand just barely forward, so that his fingertips brushed Alan's. Alan firmly took it, taking this as an invitation to intertwine his fingers with his.

"You may have that," Shane confirmed.

"Your other hand?" Alan asked, even though he didn't have any more free hands.

With a faintly chuckled apologetic murmur to Bo, Shane let his own pretzel drop to the ground. "And that too."

Without looking away, Alan guided his now-free hand to reach up over his own shoulder, gently placing Shane's hand behind his neck. Letting go, Alan returned to cup his face, this time with his thumb running over the edge of Shane's lips.

"Your lips?" he asked, almost whispering now as the background melted around them until it was just the two of them.

Shane didn't break eye contact as he nodded, barely moving his head. "Yes," he whispered back.

Time seemed to slow. If there were noise, Alan didn't hear it. Just the sound of his own heart.

He had been waiting for this moment for so long. The intensity, the fireworks, the unexplainable desire to close the gap between them and meet each other's lips.

For the first time, Alan could say with confidence that this felt right, in a way that was intrinsically unexplainable. It just... was.

He leaned forward, feeling Shane's hot breath in his face. Their noses touched, and Alan hovered here for a moment, their lips a mere inch away.

Alan squeezed Shane's hand, and with his other hand, he set his palm against his cheek, more firmly holding his face.

He wanted to savor this moment. To feel the electric spark, drawing the moment until it felt painful to be apart.

And it did. It did feel painful, because his body yearned for Shane.

Finally, Alan closed the gap, leaning in until their lips touched. It was a gentle kiss at first, but as Alan slid his hand out of Shane's, sliding it up his arm, across his shoulder, and to the other side of his face-- they kissed more heavily and passionately. Shane's hand on the back of his neck seemed to be pulling him in tighter, closer, leaving even less space between them, and his now-free hand drifted to his back. And with Shane's body language telling him he wanted more, so did Alan.

Alan held Shane's head in his hands, hands moving to pull him in closer to him, or erratically push back his hair, or cup his cheeks. In response, Shane's hands only pressed more firmly against him, fingers curling into the space between his shoulder blades and keeping him close.

Alan didn't know what got into him. He was just following his heart. He was chasing the emotions. And everything was pointing to this moment feeling so, so right.

He had no idea how long they kissed. He had no idea who was watching. And frankly, for a second there, Alan forgot where he even was.

Finally, they pulled away, faces red and feeling out of breath. Alan softly laughed, a strange giddiness overtaking him as he kept his eyes on Shane, pushing back a strand of hair that fell across his forehead.

"Fun fact," Alan began. "When I get tipsy, I have this unexplainable desire to cuddle."

Shane let out a laugh as well, between deep breaths. His cheeks were deeply flushed, and seemingly, not only because he'd been holding his breath. "I think I know what you mean."

Alan couldn't help but grin, searching his eyes. "Do you want to cuddle?" he asked, feeling silly for asking, but it felt right to say.

Shane grinned back, wrapping both arms over Alan's shoulders. "What do you think?" he asked, mouthing a Yes.

Still grinning, Alan reached down to sweep his legs off the ground, his other arm across his back for support. He lifted Shane up bridal style, suppressing a grunt since Alan wasn't exactly made of muscles. Shane let out a surprised but gleeful laugh, keeping his arms around him and tilting his head back to look up at him with a grin.

He couldn't carry him that long, but it was still a silly and fun spur-of-the-moment action, though.

"Let's go, my prince," Alan said with much enthusiasm, beaming at Shane. "Our castle awaits."