Young Writers Society

"You said you wanted to talk?" Ingrid asked.

James nodded. There was a beat of awkward silence as she looked at him expectantly.

"...Do you want to do it here?" she finally asked.

James hadn't really thought through the where, but, out in the open like this was a much better option to going anywhere private. Out here, at least, there was the accountability of cameras to keep them in check.

He nodded again.

There was another tense silence as James tried to think of how to begin, but he could tell Ingrid was growing impatient.

"Why are you here?" James decided to ask.

Ingrid's eyes widened a bit, and she looked almost offended by the question. But it was a valid question.

"I... I thought you'd want to see me," Ingrid said quietly.

Ohhhhhhhkay. Wow. She was taking this route, huh? James had to keep his face from looking more pissed than he normally did.

"Just answer the question," James said.

"Fine," Ingrid said, frowning. "I wanted to see you. Is that not enough?"

James let out a loud exhale through his nose.

"Not when I haven't heard from you in three years and this is the first time I see you," James said. "What, you couldn't have waited two months until this show was over? Why come to me on a TV set? Why come during my DMV? Why now?"

Ingrid bristled, once again looking hurt at his tone, like maybe she'd expected him to be soft after all these years.

"You think I came here just to be on TV?" she asked. "Is that what you're accusing me of?"

"I'm not making any accusations," James said. "I'm asking questions."

"Yeah, but you already implied it," Ingrid retorted.

"Is it that hard to give a straight answer?" James shot back.

"God," Ingrid huffed. "It doesn't have to be this difficult. You're the one coming at this like it's an interrogation. Can't we just have a conversation?"

"What do you think we're doing right now?" James asked, lifting up his hands in exasperation. "Did you come here for your fifteen minutes of fame or not, Ingrid?"

"I could care less about he TV show!" Ingrid said curtly. "And it's insulting you would think so. Don't act like you didn't block me and change your number after we broke up. And then you went to prison, and no one was allowed to talk to you except your lawyer and your family. And then you went fucking off-grid. I didn't have any way to find you until now."

"I've had private investigators track me down," James scoffed. "What, you couldn't dig for my information online if you wanted to see me that bad?"

"I'm not a stalker, James," Ingrid argued, gesturing out towards where the goolf cart had disappeared, now. "Unlike some people on this island, apparently."

James rolled his eyes. That was besides the point.

"Why not just wait two months until this was all over, then?" James asked. "The whole world practically knows where I live, now."

"As if I could be assured you'd be going back home after this at the rate you're going," Ingrid shot out.

James opened his mouth with another scoff, but he didn't have a retort prepared for that.

"Wh--what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Read between the lines," Ingrid said, frowning.

James stared at her, his brows furrowed deeply. Was she implying that she thought he was suicidal again?

"I'm not going off the rails," he said, lowering his voice.

"Hell of a lot you're doing to prove it," Ingrid said, frowning deeper. "You're not convincing me."

James pinched his eyes shut, rubbing his face for a moment before he let out a frustrated sigh.

"So what," he tried again, asking in mocking disbelief. "This is all to make sure I'm 'okay?'"

Ingrid didn't respond right away at that, and when he looked up at her again, she was looking at him with her brows knit together, and her eyes began to look misty.

God, not again.

"Take a good look at yourself in the mirror," Ingrid said.

"I already do that every day," James said flatly.

"Well, I'm sorry for caring that you don't end up in some sandy ditch somewhere," Ingrid said. "You might not want my help but I'll be damned if I don't at least try. I don't know why the DMV reached out to me instead of anyone else, but the reason I said yes to coming is because I've been following Island Magic ever since it started, and all I've seen these past three weeks is you repeatedly digging yourself several graves while the rest of you falls apart. Everyone can see that you're not doing well, James. I don't know what it's going to take for you to admit it for yourself--"

"I know I'm not okay!" James cut in, raising his voice and throwing his hands out in front of him. "I don't need another self-awareness lecture! This is about you--"

"No it's not--" Ingrid tried to interrupt.

"Yes it is!" James ran her over. "I don't know if you forgot this, Ingrid, but you're the one who ended it! Not! ME!"

And at hearing his own raised voice carry loud over the silence that fell between them, James suddenly felt like havin this conversation outside was a bad idea.

He felt himself shrink under Ingrid's stare as her expression only grew more heartbroken, and he wished he could just slink away and pretend he never tried to start this. But it was far, far too late for that now.

"You want to know why I really broke up with you" Ingrid asked. "You really want to know?"

James didn't know what this was leading to. Was she just being dramatic? He thought she'd already told him. She'd already given him her piece.

"Alright, I'll tell you," Ingrid continued, even though James didn't give her an answer. "It was because I had to. You were already cutting off everyone close to you because you were so deep in your paranoia you wouldn't let yourself trust anyone. And at the same time, I knew you were worried to death that something would happen to me by being associated with you. I knew you'd never have the heart to fully push me away, but you were doing it anyway, and it hurt too much to watch. I thought that if I gave you distance you could at least be at peace knowing I'd be safe, and then maybe - just maybe - after the storm blew over, we could try this again."

Ingrid was on the verge of tears, but at her last words, her lips began to tremble, and tears started rolling down her cheeks.

"That might be too much to hope for," she said. "But I wanted to at least try. Because I--"

She got choked up on her own words and had to swallow the knot back down.

"I really wish I didn't have to do this with the whole world watching. And you don't know how humiliating this is for me, but I still love you, James," she said. "And I'm sorry that I had to push you away. I didn't know what else to do. You were self-destructing and you wouldn't let me in anymore."

She looked to the ground, tears plopping onto the sand at her feet.

"And you still won't," she muttered. "So... I guess it's pointless."

James stared at her.

He...

He let out a shaky breath.

This... no. No. This was too much. It wasn't real. It-- he didn't know what to believe. She hadn't said any of this three years ago. Where was this coming from? Why was she only saying this now?

He lifted his hands up to his face, steepling them around his nose and lower half of his face as he squinted at her - pained, and knowing that she was nonverbally asking for comfort. But he was not going to touch her. Not now, not ever. He still couldn't trust that she wouldn't alter his emotions, and he desperately didn't want that to happen.

Still, the very human part of him that still very much saw her as a person and still cared about her as a friend - former friend - hurt to see her like this.

How the hell was he supposed to respond to this in a way that didn't make him look like an asshole? Did she plan all of this to emotionally manipulate him, cornering him into crawling back to her again? Or was he actually in the wrong in all of this? He'd acknowledge his paranoia and trust issues, and he was trying to be better. But she wasn't telling the whole story. She was leaving out all of the parts where she made him feel small. Where she belittled him and cut him down. Where she didn't let him choose, and she pushed any boundaries he tried to set like they were merely suggestions. She was leaving out the part where she actually discouraged him from bringing the corruption to light, where she urged him to pursue comfort and safety instead of justice. She was leaving out the part where she was complicit, where he protected her when he shouldn't have, where he made it so the charges against her didn't send her to jail, and merely ruined her career. She was leaving out the part where she'd been resentful about it, and she didn't want to stick around with a partner who, at the time, could've potentially been in prison for the rest of his life.

But even if he explained all of that, there was always going to be someone who didn't believe him, and he knew that Ingrid was only going to deny it. She already had before - over and over again - and even in this, where she could've acknowledge it, she chose not to.

Instead she made it sound like he was the only one at fault, and she was just trying to "do the right thing."

She was making herself the hero of the story, like she always did.

"I can't do this again," he finally said after too long a silence of Ingrid standing there, crying to herself.

She sniffled.

"It's fine," Ingrid said with a croak.

But James shook his head.

"No. I don't just mean that," he said. "I... I don't think we should talk to one another while we're on the island. I think we need to leave this behind us. If you want to talk more about this, you can seek me after this DMV is over. I don't want to talk about this now. Not... not here."

And really, not at all. But he was giving her space for it, even if he didn't need it. Auslanii was just not the time and place.

Ingrid was silent for a moment, reaching up to wipe her eyes, patting her cheeks dry. She sniffed again, as if it were the last one.

"So you're just... going to pretend this never happened?" she asked sadly. "And we ignore it for the rest of the week?"

James clenched his jaw, letting out a sigh.

"I'm not going to ignore it. But I need there to be boundary lines between us. I won't control what you do, but I need you to know that there will be consequent actions I'll take if you cross them," he said, forcing his voice to be steady.

"You always had a way of reasoning away your emotions," Ingrid muttered.

And she knew that it would hurt. It was a weapon she used to use a lot in the past - one that hurt because it was true. But he was a different person now. He'd grown, and still had a long way to go, but he didn't keep it all inside. He was at least trying to invite people into it now. That's where he was starting, with some encouragement from his therapist.

But he was letting people in that he trusted. And Ingrid just wasn't that. He didn't think she ever would be again.

He didn't address her comment.

"If you try to touch me," he said. "I reserve every right to walk away without explanation, and to do what is necessary to avoid it, no matter how awkward or bizarre."

Ingrid let out a pained scoff.

"You're seriously doing this right now? Giving me a list of ultimatums?" she asked.

"It's not an ultimatum," James corrected. "It's an if-then statement. If you don't try to touch me, then that won't happen."

"That's if you even let me talk to you," Ingrid said with a pout.

"Which brings me to what I wanted to say next. You can interact with others, and even me, but if you bring up our past relationship or try to engage me in restoring it in anything more than a surface level capacity - i.e. with romantic pursuit - I will also reserve the right to disengage from the conversation in any way I see fit. Be it ending the conversation altogether, changing the subject, or bringing someone else in to keep it from going that direction."

Ingrid's brows furrowed deeply.

"Why do I feel like you're going to interpret everything as an advance towards you?" she said quietly.

"You know, a great way to avoid that, then, is to not seek me out alone. Group interactions do a lot to mitigate those misinterpretations," James offered. "Which bring me to my last request: please do not seek me out alone. I think it's the wisest decision for this week for both our sakes'."

Ingrid stiffened, letting out a shaky huff through her nose.

"Now that sounds like an ultimatum," she murmured sadly.

"I'm just letting you know ahead of time," James said with a sigh. "Which I hope you will see as a kindness so you don't think I'm ignoring you outright when I don't seek you out alone either after this."

Ingrid took in a deep breath, shuffling in place for a moment as if she felt like she'd been backed into a corner. She'd probably been hoping to work him up emotionally so that the conversation would never reach this point, but James was determined to put his foot down.

This was a test of his mettle. If he couldn't do this, he wouldn't be able to stand up to Constantine.

Ingrid brushed a hair behind her ear, looking off to the side with a folorn look about her, as if he'd kicked her while she was down.

"You said... after all of this is over," Ingrid asked quietly. "And the DMV is over. That you're open to talking about it again?"

James took in a sharp inhale.

Give her an inch, she'll take it a million miles.

"I'm open to discussion," James said. "But not reconsideration."

Ingrid frowned, as if confused.

God, she knew what he meant. Did he have to spell it out for her? Fine.

Before she could speak - because he saw her opening her mouth - he spoke instead, with pain in his words: "Please just let me go."

Her face fell.

"I just want to move on," James said, softer.

And Ingrid would just have to accept that her future would not have him in it.

A tense silence followed, and Ingrid held her hands in front of her, staring at the sand at her feet as a few more tears escaped her eyes, adding the faint puddle of wet sand by her sandals. He wished he could understand her, and at the same time, he didn't know if he really wanted to. It wasn't that he didn't empathize with her. He knew her pain was real. But he didn't approve of the way she was going about this.

The worst thing he could possibly do right now in this stage of his life was rush into something. Especially if that something was letting Ingrid be involved again.

Ingrid would have to rebuild all of the bridges she'd burned. She'd have to regain his trust, because she didn't have it anymore. And all of that would take time, if it even happened at all.

"I guess I should go before I make myself look like more of a fool than I already have," Ingrid said, wiping her eyes once more.

James sighed. She was fishing for support again. To turn this all into something where he ended up comforting her, and she forgot about everything else he said.

"You still have to settle in," James said. "It's not a short walk to the mansion. I'd get going now."

And that was the softest way he could've told her to leave.

Flinching as if he'd yelled at her, Ingrid nodded, but didn't move.

James stared at her for a moment, feeling the weight of some kind of unspoken expectation without anything explicitly said. Not knowing what she wanted, nor wanting to give it, he decided if she wasn't going to leave, that he was.

Letting out a tense sigh, James shook his head when Ingrid glanced up at him. Alright. He'd go.

"Goodybe, Ingrid," he said, and finally stepped away.

He felt his hair raise on end when he saw her reach out for him, but she stopped herself short of doing so, and pulled her hand away, biting her lip. He glared at her hand for but a second before he sped up, pacing away quickly and leaving her behind.

He only glanced over his shoulder once to make sure she wasn't following. When he saw she had turned to start up the hill, he was relieved, and hoped that she stayed on that course and didn't change it once he wasn't looking.

He still had one more conversation he needed to get out of the way while he was out. He needed to do it before he forgot.

Seen running into the mansion at a semi-dramatic speed, Ingrid, in all her glory, tried to hide her tears as she passed through the hall, following the directions a confused Dante offered her before he realized she was crying.

Making a bit of a scene, Ingrid fled into her assigned room, but instead of finding a place alone to cry, she was immediately met with another face.

Kaya, also known as Lyall's fiancee, stood in the room and stared at Ingrid with alarm.

Ingrid sniffled. Stunned, she didn't move for a moment as she stood with her back to the closed door, clearly no longer trying to hold back the tears streaming down her face. He eyes were already starting to get red from crying, and her normally pale skin was flushed from the flood of emotion.

In a poor attempt to compose herself, she patted down her skirt and awkwardly looked at the floor.

"Oh, gosh," Kaya said, frantically scanning the room, "I-- Am I in your room? I'm so sorry, I can just--" She reached for her bags on the bed.

"No, no," Ingrid sputtered, her throat clearly still tight from tears. "It's-- I think we're sharing."

Her eyes flickered to the other two beds, seeing Alex's stuff had been left behind at the foot of one of the beds.

"Sorry," Ingrid said, sniffling loudly as she tried to wipe her nose and eyes with the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to... to scare you."

Kaya slowly set her bags down again, her surprise melting away with open empathy. "No, it's alright," she assured her, looking around the room again. She reached over to the nearest night stand and made her way to the door to offer a tissue box. "Here. I can just step out, if you need a few minutes."

Ingrid took the tissue box and ripped one out, immediately blowing her nose.

"Thank you," Ingrid sniffled, her voice wavering. "I just... god, this is the worst decision I've ever made, coming here."

Glancing off, Kaya shuffled in place, looking a bit trapped. "I-- I'm really sorry," she offered.

That alone seemed to get Ingrid worked up again. She let out a small cry, blowing her nose into another tissue. She seemed beside herself, really.

"There's a chair," Kaya hesitantly offered, stepping back. "You should... maybe sit?"

Ingrid nodded, walking over to the loveseat that sat along the wall nearest them. She plopped down with the tissue box in her lap, dabbing her eyes.

Even though the way to the door was now clear, Kaya awkwardly lingered, throwing Ingrid a look of concern. "Are... Will you be okay?" she asked uncertainly.

Ingrid shook her head, letting out a sad sigh as she held her head in one hand, leaning against the couch's arm.

"I don't know," she said. "I'm afraid this is all a bad idea, but I'm stuck here for a week now. I don't know how to fix this. It's already a trainwreck."

Folding her arms, Kaya flicked her eyes back to her escape route. Then shuffled back into the room anyway to stand a few paces away from the loveseat. "That sounds... really hard, I'm sorry," she tried offering again, by way of some comfort or just acknowledgement of Ingrid's vaguely presented pickle.

Ingrid nodded slowly, but then leaned back into the chair, as if giving in to an unspoken question to explain more even though it wasn't asked.

"I came to see James," she said with a frown. "But as it turns out he doesn't want to see me. At all."

Kaya's face fell. "Oh. That's... I'm sorry."

It seemed Kaya was running out of things to say. Her slight wince after indicated she knew she was floundering too.

"I'm sorry," Ingrid said with a sigh, shaking her head. "I... I don't even know your name, and I'm dumping all of this on you. God, I feel terrible. I swear I'm not always such a mess..."

Ingrid wiped her eyes and sniffled once more, but looked over to Kaya more squarely.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Kaya Olsen," the smaller woman answered, with only a touch more confidence than before. Only because that was actually an easy answer.

"Ingrid Prosch," Ingrid offered, offering a sad smile. "I... god, what a way to meet. I didn't expect anyone to be in here. I thought everyone would've gone out to explore the island already or something."

Kaya shrugged. "Don't worry about it," she assured her. "I was just about to head out to explore and stuff, yeah. So..." She mustered a gentle smile. "...the room's yours for now."

Ingrid nodded.

"Thanks. And thanks for the tissues," she said, lifting up the box slightly.

Kaya nodded. "Yeah, of course." Padding back to the door, she offered an awkward, "Take... take care, then. I guess I'll see you later, roomie."

Ingrid nodded again, sniffling slightly.

"I hope you have a good time," Ingrid offered. "I'll see you later."

Marching up to the cabin where Aaron and Jay lived, James knocked on the door, praying that Tula wouldn't answer. He didn't want to knock more than once, so he didn't, and instead waited by the door for a minute.

Normally, he wasn't one to feel antsy, but if Tula - who was the last person he wanted to see right now - was still be home apparently sulking about her sister? That would open up a whole different can of problems he'd really rather avoid.

After standing on the doorstep for what felt like two minutes, James considered knocking again. Or just leaving a note.

But then the door opened silently, revealing the small private man's eye through a crack. Jay didn't open it any further.

"What are you here for?" Jay asked.

"You," James answered plainly. "Aaron asked me to talk to you."

The way the man's eye stared right through James for a moment was unsettling. But then Jay popped the door open a little more, revealing his face.

There was a... ferret? Sitting atop his head? It's tiny beady eyes stared at him.

"Uh..." James said.

"What did Aaron want you to tell me?" Jay insisted.

"He wanted you to know that he's going to be withdrawing to the jungle for the week. Or... potentially the undetermined future. He urges you not to look for him, but wants you to know he'll be alright."

At least, James thought he got all of that right. He should've taken the note with him, but it was too late now.

Jay seemed to slowly process this information. He looked at James with an unblinking, empty stare, and then nodded.

"Nothing else?" he pressed.

"He... wants me to keep you in the loop. About Constantine."

And he figured he'd leave it at that. If Jay really was Aaron's friend, he wanted to assume Jay knew the wendigo's name by now.

"I'll let you know if there's anything new that develops," James added.

Jay nodded once more. Stiffer, this time. His eyes flicked about the beach, looking past James.

"Come to this cabin at 1am," he said cryptically.

James blinked.

This was... an invitation. To talk more in private, evidently. It seemed Jay didn't feel safe to discuss these things now.

Hesitant, but feeling obligated to oblige him, James nodded.

"...Okay," he said.

But before he could ask any clarifying questions, Jay shut the door in his face. James could hear the door lock with a click.

James let out a small sigh, shaking his head as he turned and stepped off the porch.

Right. He'd have to have another conversation about all of this. That was fine. He'd mentally prepare for it... later. Just not right now.

He felt exhausted. But finally, he could go back to his cabin and rest.

As a small 'fuck you' to the DMV, Alistair decided to smoke under the no smoking sign at the entrance of the giant mansion.

Leaning against the stone wall, he exhaled the smoke, grateful for the relief that the nicotine brought him. Finally, he could be alone with his thoughts. At least, for a little while.

Alistair slipped his phone from his back pocket, dreading to see how many new texts he received from Andy. It was late at night in Argentia, but no doubt she was still up since her sleep schedule was all over the place. Plus, she was probably waiting to hear back from him.

Alistair had been stressed out, so he hadn't had the time to give her the attention she deserved, which was his fault. Sometimes she called him a bad boyfriend, but you know, maybe there was some truth to that, since he sucked at texting back anyways.

Twenty-one total messages from her.

Alistair took another inhale of the cigarette, scrolling to the top to see the first text he missed. It was... a lot. A long wall of text. A few walls of text, actually. He barely had time to even digest the first two messages before his phone automatically scrolled back down with a slight vibrate.

A new text.

mi amor 😘❤️ wrote:hey! finally you see my texts

mi amor 😘❤️ wrote:ive been waiting all day :/ stressin me out

mi amor 😘❤️ wrote:dont you still love me?

Alistair let out a long sigh, trying to think of a proper response. Maybe a... "yes"? No, she'd freak out on him because it wasn't detailed enough. He had to put more effort into this.

Alistair wrote:Hey babe sorry for not answering. I'm getting pulled in for stuff. I'll call you in the morning okay?

That took way too long to type out, but this felt like it would suffice. He sent the message, but then pursed his lips, deciding to send one more, just in case.

Alistair wrote:Of course I still love you, Andy

He set his phone back to do not disturb, deciding he'll check it later when he had more time to deal with her.

Alistair bumped his head against the wall and tilted his head up towards the sky, wondering what this week will bring him. It seemed like he had learned so much within an hour of being here, and he couldn't help but feel dread sink in, unable to shake the feeling that this was just the awful beginning.

He had always disliked the tropics. Now he was going to forever hate the tropics.

At least the people he had met so far were nice... so far.

Alistair tapped on the cigarette so the ash would fall off, noticing off the corner of his eye that someone was approaching. He had came in fairly late due to his mystery hunt of finding Alan, so he missed most of the other visitors, but that was probably for the best since they seemed like a handful. His mom was still inside, bonding with some other mom as well.

Was someone else coming late?

He stole a quick glance at the person approaching on the goolf cart, immediately recognizing it was empty, save for the driver. Dante, the groundskeeper-- or so he heard from hearing his introductions to others.

They briefly made eye contact-- or maybe they did, since the sunglasses he was wearing made it hard to tell-- and Alistair only gave him a bare nod of acknowledgement, before turning away and resuming his time to brood about how much this place sucked. That was something he could do alone.

The goolf cart came to a stop a short distance away, parking next to another, and Dante turned off the engine.

"Hey, Alistair," he greeted. "How are things so far?"

Groundskeeper... What did that even mean? Apparently, it must also mean counselor. Then again, it seemed that most people on the island were pretty chummy.

It was weird that he hadn't needed to introduce himself once yet to anyone here, but he supposed Dante had a list of all the visitors like a high school class roster.

"Hey," he greeted back, lowering his hand and pointing the cig away from him. "It's been fine. I'll go back inside in a bit."

Dante nodded, stepping out of the cart. "Have you seen the refreshments in there yet? There's some food out too."

Alistair glanced at the door. "Not yet, but that's good to know. Thanks."

To maybe take somewhere else, because there was no way in hell he was going to be chatting with the drama visitors.

"No problem," Dante said, offering him a smile. "While I'm here, are there any questions you've got? Or anything I can help you with?"

Alistair knew that Dante was putting on a service worker smile and checking out the boxes of things he had to say. It was a little strange, since he had never been on the other side of these things, but he knew that Dante was asking in regards to his visit here, pertaining to his stay.

No, Alistair did not have any questions about the refreshments, the rooms, the stupid mansion. He didn't really have questions about logistics, or scheduling, or basic needs. What he did have questions about really had nothing to do with him as a visitor at all, though he was unsure if it was appropriate to ask since Dante was literally just doing his job.

"It's alright to ask any questions you have," Dante assured him, after he'd been thinking for a few moments. "I'm happy to help."

Alistair quietly sighed, staring down at the cigarette that was still burning. He tapped it again so the ash would fall off, though he was tempted to throw it away completely. Then again, if Dante was the groundskeeper, maybe he'd have to clean it up, so he didn't want him to have to deal with that.

"I'm mostly confused about the DMV," he admitted after another few moments. "I thought it was a place to train and strengthen your magic. But it seems more like a soap opera instead."

Dante chuckled, shrugging in a way that looked like he half admitted to it. "The DMV is that place, yes. The soap opera is mostly the show, though. I participated in the DMV's regular program, which is basically three months at some unexciting academy where they test you on every possible use of your magic. But Island Magic is more like a typical tropical reality TV show that just happens to have the DMV running the operations."

So Dante had magic. Alistair filed that information away for now, though he also wondered what other staff members had magic.

"But... why?" Alistair spat out, trying to grasp this bizarre concept. "Why bother making a show? Why not stick to an unexciting academy?"

Dante hummed thoughtfully. "There might not be a clear-cut answer for that one, but I figure it's a popularity boost strategy. Maybe people will get excited about the unexciting academies if they see people testing on a tropical vacation."

Alistair softly bumped his head against the wall again, disliking that things made more sense now. Of course the DMV would bring in legit batshit crazy people. Drama sells. It was insanity, but when it was only a screen separating the contestants from the rest of the show, it was more entertaining than sad to see the dumpster fire play out. It certainly didn't help that the show was so heavily edited that it really did look like trash TV rather than reality.

"Sounds like this show is one big advertisement for the DMV," Alistair said with a long sigh.

"Close to that," Dante agreed, with a trace of what sounded like sympathy.

Alistair hesitated again, idly tapping his cig. "What are your opinions?" he asked.

After all, Alistair wouldn't want to talk smack about the DMV if Dante was loyal to them since they were lining his pockets.

Rather than responding, Dante frowned very slightly, tilting his head back to look at something several feet above Alistair's head.

That was... weird. But Alistair followed his gaze, and right away he understood what Dante wasn't saying.

There was a hidden camera on the wall, a glass orb perched between hung planters. It was subtle, but Alistair had worked enough in security to recognize it.

Huh. Maybe he shouldn't have smoked out here after all.

"There's a lot to say about it, and I know you wanted to get back inside," Dante said. "But if you did want to hear, I'm happy to go on a walk and talk some more."

Alistair nodded, understanding. So, Dante had opinions. He just didn't want to say them in front of cameras.

That or this was a trap. But, fuck, man, if this was a trap, then it was done out of mercy, because this island seriously sucked.

He stood up more upright, shaking off the embers and ash from the cig before pulling out his pack to throw the cigarette butt inside. At least, temporarily.

"I don't mind walking," he said. "Just haven't done a whole lot of it yet since I don't know where I'm going."

"There's lots of nice sights around," Dante said. "It could be a good use of a first day to look around more."

"And you're groundskeeper, yeah?" Alistair said, wracking his brain to think of something normal to say so they could smoothly transition away from here. "You probably know your way around."

"I do," Dante said, with a quiet chuckle. "I could give you the tour."

Alistair lightly shrugged. "Only if you don't mind. I'm only one person."

Dante gave him a faint, lighthearted smile. "Of course I don't mind. I'm here to welcome and connect with people."

Yyyyyeah... sure.

"Alright," Alistair said, then loosely gestured towards him. "Lead the way?"

"Sure thing," Dante said, tucking the goolf cart keys in his pocket and waving him along. "We'll go through the jungle."



Alistair was glad that Dante was comfortable with silence as they talked. It was a peaceful walk, and it was way cooler here thanks to the shade of the looming trees overhead. Fortunately, there was a trail, though they did have to take the beaten path. Alistair trusted that Dante knew where he was going, but he was still making a map in his head in case he had to take a swift exit.

Finally, Dante came to a stop. Alistair perked up, recognizing the solemnity in his expression, though admittedly it was a little hard to take him seriously since he was still wearing stylish sunglasses.

"This spot doesn't have any live cameras," Dante explained. "The mansion is swarming with them, though. I figured here was a better spot for a conversation like this."

"Alright," Alistair said slowly, wondering if he would say whatever he was building up to.

"You asked what opinions I had," Dante said, glancing up at the treetops. "And currently, I'm not all that happy with the administrative choices that are being made here. There's been a lot of strife for the contestants, and I'm tired of being complicit."

Interesting. This aligned with Shay's opinion as well, though Dante was far more eloquent in his words.

"What kind of choices?" Alistair asked.

Dante grimaced faintly. "You know about James Hawke, right?"

The guy with the neon dad joke shirts and resting bitch face? Same guy whose mugshot became a meme because he fucked up his whole country by pointing out that his government were all crooks and liars?

"I know of him," Alistair said, wondering where this was going.

"He's been the target of various petty revenges from our powers that be," Dante said. "Mostly in humiliating ways. Just this last week, his water's been drugged, and he was sent bath bombs as a 'gift' that ended up turning his skin pink. It's... They're hellbent on getting him in particular to have a terrible time here."

"What the fuck?" Alistair sputtered, not able to keep that thought to himself.

"I know," Dante said bitterly. "Worse than people imagine, isn't it?"

Completely flabberghasted, Alistair struggled to find words to say. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again, letting out a faint, mirthless laugh as he stressfully brushed his hand through his hair.

Just. What the fuck? Why? Why pink skin? Why drugged water? Why James? Why humiliate and torment him in this way? And who else was involved?

"Why?" Alistair asked, keeping tabs of his questions for now. "Why do this?"

"As far as I can tell, it's because they can do it," Dante said with a sigh, "and they don't have to answer to anyone with their administration. The staff here hates it."

Alistair gritted his teeth. Typical. Of course the DMV admin would dehumanize the people on the island this way, toying with everyone like animals. This truly was a zoo put on display for the world's entertainment. Because if the world wasn't angry due to how normalized this treatment was, how could the DMV ever be held responsible?

"Can anything be done?" Alistair asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Dante was quiet for a moment before eventually sighing.

"I... try," he said. "But my ability is limited. And it ends up making my regular job more difficult too. I'm supposed to be the 'helper' who people can go to when they need assistance, but this... casual torture makes building trust an uphill battle, since everyone's so wary of anyone working for the DMV. Being the bridge between administration and contestants is walking a tightrope, and many of the ways in which I want to help aren't allowed for me. We all want to help, but we don't have that power."

This was so... awful, but it was a helplessly sad reality that was common. Apparently, that extended to faux luxurious islands as well.

Alistair knew what he wanted to say back, but he forced himself to be careful and properly think this through.

He didn't completely trust anyone on this island yet. After all, everyone here was a stranger, and apparently, this island was all about deceit and psychological warfare. However, Dante's story checked out with what Shay told him. It wasn't like Alistair completely trusted her either, though if she put on an act of being his pal, it was an awfully good one.

Still... it seemed defensible, especially considering what Alan was going through. Not that he could even see Alan. He made a mental note to talk to him about all this later and get a feel of what he knew since he was the only person from this island he could truly trust.

But even without Alan's reference, Alistair wanted to believe that the situation was dire, and they were in need of help. At the same time, he didn't want to be naive. He was aware that he sometimes couldn't tell the villains apart from the heroes, and everything laid out in front of him seemed suspiciously too easy. Like it was painfully obvious who the bad guys were supposed to be.

Wasn't the DMV all-knowing? He read about that. They were run by a bunch of clairvoyants. So was this all designed for him, too?

God. Alistair was overthinking this.

He should just say what felt right, even if he had a track record of losing.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Alistair asked, quietly slipping his hands in his pockets. "I'm not a contestant, and I'm not part of staff. I'm just some guy. Maybe I can help in some way."

Very faintly, Dante gave him a thankful, sad smile.

"You can, I think," he said. "If you see or notice anything you think shouldn't be happening, or is causing harm... Please bring it to me. The more I know about what's happening, the more I can take action against."

Alistair hesitated. "Is that all I can do? I thought you guys had eyes and ears everywhere."

"Not in the same way that they do," Dante said. "And that's no small task, either. It really would help a lot to have more information about what's taking place on this island."

Alistair didn't think he could be of great help in this way, but he nodded anyways. "Okay, yeah. I'll let you know if I come across anything suspicious." He paused. "Thanks for telling me, by the way. It's not right, what the DMV is doing. I'm sorry you have to go through this, man."

"I appreciate it," Dante said sincerely. "I'm glad other people are seeing it and care about it too. Maybe if enough of us do, it'll make some sort of difference."

Yeah. A strike could work. Though Alistair did wonder...

"Can you not quit?" he asked.

Dante ran a hand through his hair. "Not really," he said. "I'm contracted, so I'm in an agreement with them. They could still fire me if they decided to, however."

"Are there any repercussions to getting fired? Or speaking out?" Alistair pressed.

"Probably," Dante sighed. "Which are never helpfully defined, so they're a looming threat."

Alistair hesitated, unable to shake away another bad feeling. "Are you being threatened?"

Dante paused as well.

"I... haven't been," he said. "But I'm sure if they wanted to, they could. Right now, the threat I'm facing is losing my job, which could happen to any of us."

Still... that didn't sound good.

Alistair quickly ran through his plan of attack. He would prioritize Alan, of course. But whenever he inevitably went off to do his own thing, maybe Alistair could scope out the crazies: Stravos, Tula, and Alexander. Perhaps also talk to Lyall, figure out what happened when he won the event, and if noticed anything out of the ordinary. And of course, talk to James to tell him that the staff was on his side.

Somehow. He didn't have any tie to James whatsoever. If James didn't trust staff, why the hell would he trust Alistair? Plus, Alistair vaguely read a headline about Alan and James bumping heads. If James didn't trust Alan, why would he trust his brother, who was a complete stranger?

Maybe the connection point could be Shane? They did live together.

Though... yeah, that was weird. Too weird.

"Be careful," he said soberly and sincerely, meeting Dante's eyes. "Seriously. And for what it's worth, I trust you and the staff. They told me a similar story. So you're not alone in this."

Dante nodded, looking relieved but solemn. "Thank you. Try to stay safe as well. I hope you and the other visitors will be protected, but I don't know what they have in mind for you. Stay cautious and alert."

Alistair let out a faint huff of air through his nose. He was used to staying out of trouble and laying low, so that wasn't much of a concern.

"I'll be okay, but thank you," Alistair said, then paused. "And... feel free to interrupt me smoking any time. I don't mind."

Dante smiled, just the tiniest bit. "Noted. If you ever need anything, don't be afraid to reach out. I'm usually by the beach in the mornings in any of a few places, but I always tell the other staff where I'm headed first, and I'm at the staff area most afternoons. I'm always happy-- and I actually mean happy-- to help."

Dante was altruistic, especially since he had continually persisted that he was here to help. Alistair had thought it was an act-- and maybe it still was-- though they were outside the camera zone now.

In a way, Dante reminded Alistair a little of Alan. He, too, was painfully altruistic and selfless, a strong and kind presence who only wanted to be there for other people. And just like Alan, Alistair wondered how much Dante was giving up to put his foot forward for someone else.

"In case we don't bump into each other again, how about we exchange numbers if we want to meet?" Alistair offered, slipping out his phone from his back pocket. "I don't know what restrictions you have on texts, but I'll keep it on the down low in case they're monitored. And I already have Bo's number, who has been giving me updates on my brother."

"Sure," Dante said with a nod. "That should work."

When James opened the door to the cabin, he was hit with the aroma of cooking steaks, as well as something that smelled like pastry and honey. Shane was over the stove, seasoning some green beans with garlic as he checked on the steaks from time to time. The oven appeared to be on as well.

Why was Shane not a professional chef? It smelled amazing. James lifted his nose, taking a few intentional sniffs.

Shane glanced over his shoulder, smiling faintly at James when he entered.

"How do you like your steak done?" he asked.

"Medium's good," James said, drawn by the smell into the kitchen. He came up alongside Shane, looking down at the steaks in the pan.

"Man," he said. "I need to learn how to cook like this."

Shane laughed quietly, stirring at the green beans. "It's fun. I'm no chef, but cooking's probably my favorite household task. Especially if it's not just for one." He glanced at the steaks. "I thought I'd have these ready, but I spent a while on the baklava and ended up behind schedule. Sorry for that."

"Please, don't apologize," James said with a faint laugh. "Baklava is a labor of love. I'm excited to eat it."

Shane grinned slightly. "It's my mom's recipe. Hopefully it turns out."

"Well now I'm really excited to try it," James said, leaning against the counter as he looked down at the sizzling meat.

"Do you want help with anything?"

Shane hummed. "You can take over on these greens if you want. Thank you."

Stepping in, James took the tongs from Shane that he'd been using to turn the vegetables from time to time.

"You really went all out," James noted.

"It's a good way to escape the horrors," Shane explained. "There's no room for thinking about that when making pastries. Filo dough can sense fear."

"The horrors," James murmured, looking intently at the vegetables in front of him. "Is that what we're calling them now?"

"It doesn't have the same ring as 'the terrors'," Shane said. "I'll take other name nominations, though."

James hummed. "No. Horrors is a good descriptor. Apt."

"Horrors it is, then," Shane said, plating one of the steaks, but leaving the other-- probably James's-- to grill a little longer.

There was a little lull that occured as Shane busied himself with setting out the food, and James flipped the vegetables. When said vegetables were ready, he grabbed the pan and took it off heat, emptying them onto a serving plate. In the meantime, Shane took James's steak off the pan and plated it.

Without any words exchanged, they began serving themselves. James always let Shane go first - a rhythm they'd developed, now, since they both knew James would eat everything left. Leftovers weren't a commom occurence in their cabin unless they cooked in bulk or didn't share.

James sat down with a plate full of food, and he eagerly dug in, briefly looking over to Shane with a nod of approval and an "okay" sign with his fingers when he had a taste. Shane smiled faintly in return, cutting a bite into his steak.

They proceeded to eat in comfortable silence. James was grateful for it, and for the first time that day he felt like his mind was finally able to shut down, just a little, and he could simply enjoy the food.

It was when he was about halfway through his meal that Shane spoke up.

"If it's okay to ask," he started gently. "How did it go?"

James paused mid-chew. Not to be dramatic, but just to think. He hadn't really taken a moment to evaluate it, and honestly, he wasn't sure how to.

After swallowing, he let out a small sigh.

"I... don't know," he said quietly. "I think I was clear on my end. She was upset, but I didn't budge on what I was asking for. Which... was really hard, but. I think I was prepared for this moment, even though I'd rather it not have to come at all."

Shane nodded, his expression softening with empathy.

"That much is good," he said. "I'm proud of you. Boundaries aren't easy at all."

James mustered a faint smile.

"I think it helps that I've had a lot of time to think over our relationship when we'd been together," James said. "I was able to acknowledge what had and hadn't worked a lot more easily when I wasn't in the thick of it. And... even though it was painful at the time, I'm actually glad for it, now. I think her leaving me helped me to grow more than I ever had before. In good ways."

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure if Ingrid had gone away from it and done the same.

Shane returned the faint smile.

"I'm glad for that," he said softly. "And glad that it got better after a dark time."

There was a short moment of pause, where Shane's expression turned a little sadder.

"I hope not all of your relationship was a dark time, though," he said softly.

James's expression softened in turn, and he smiled just a little, but it was a sad one. Looking down at his half-empty plate, he poked at a piece of steak with his fork, but didn't move to eat it.

"I... feel different about it now," he said softly. "Significantly different than I did three years ago, when we split. I've had a lot of time to reflect, and... well."

He let out a sigh.

"It's really hard to say, with Ingrid," he said. "We knew each other all through our schooling and military training. We were in the same friend group. Our lives were so inter-connected, and we were friends long before we'd become partners. There were many, many moments of genuine mutual enjoyment. There are plenty of positive memories I have of her, but so many of them pre-date our relationship. I still don't know all that changed, but... she turned into a different person. Different than the one I first knew. I don't know how much of it was by choice and how much of it was influenced by her magic, either. It just got... messy."

As people were wont to do.

"You were probably wondering why I slapped your hand away from hers at be dock," he said, a little quieter, to which Shane nodded. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. I... I panicked."

"It's okay," Shane said gently. "I figured it was for my safety, and something to do with a magic I didn't know about yet."

James nodded.

"She... she has the ability to alter and influence people's emotions through touch," James said quietly. "I don't know that she would've done anything to you, but... it... I didn't want her to get a chance. You can never tell it's happening. It's like your emotions get rewritten altogether."

Shane was quiet for a moment.

"Did that... ever happen to you?" he asked softly. "When you didn't want it?"

James poked idly at his food again with his fork.

"That's the thing," he said quietly. "I... I still don't really know. Not for sure. It's one thing to charm someone into a different idea or believing something different. Those things usually come out in conversation eventually. But emotions are like the layer beneath. They... they influence and inform everything. She'd always promised she never would, but I can remember moments where my actions and reactions significantly changed... but it was only after the fact. And it-- it'd take a lot of painful, focused remembering. It felt like I couldn't even trust my own emotions. I would overthink everything."

Shane's expression had slipped into deeper, more empathetic sadness.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "If that was happening, that wasn't healthy at all. You deserved to feel whatever you were feeling, regardless of whether it was desirable to her or not."

"The problem is she would always deny it," James said faintly. "And it's... it was difficult to confirm internal emotions with my other friends. They often couldn't really notice a change."

James swallowed, setting his fork down.

"Everyone always thought our relationship was perfect because we never argued," he said. "But the truth is our arguments just never lasted. They'd resolve almost as quickly as they began... until I started avoiding her touch. That's when I realized something might be wrong."

Shane nodded, seeming to realize what he meant.

"And then you did start having lasting disagreements all of a sudden," he guessed quietly.

James nodded.

"It's ironic that my detainment resulted in the start of our relationship's end," James said with a sigh. "I was stuck behind a wall of glass, and we weren't allowed to touch. It was like everything she'd been pushing down was coming up to the surface, and she wasn't able to control me anymore."

He looked over to Shane, putting on a joyless smile.

"So I guess it took going to prison to realize I was in an abusive relationship," James said. "I guess that's the silver lining of it, since I got out of it. And it's even more ironic that she pulled the plug first. But I realize now, after talking to her today, that she might've been expecting me to crawl back to her after that."

Shane shook his head from side to side, his gaze on the table between them.

"I'm glad you got out," he said softly. "If that's what she thinks, she's underestimating you. You know what's better for you, and it's not her. I'm sorry that even after all this time, she can't see that ending things was the most helpful thing she could have done for you."

James huffed through his nose, but his smile faded as he looked down at the counter, more serious.

"I just... I pity her," James said. "I don't know if she knows how to be secure in a relationship she can't control. And if she's coming back for me, I don't know what her other relationships are like back home, and if she's burned through those too. It feels like a desperate move."

Shane nodded. "You can feel bad for her," he said. "Just... don't let her guilt-trip you if she tries to play that card."

James let out a deep sigh at that, lifting his hand to rub the side of his face.

"She already did," he said with a joyless, singular laugh.

"Guilt-tripped you?" Shane asked with a frown.

"Tried," James clarified. "And of course it was all on camera, too. She just took out all my trash and dumped it out for the world to see."

"That's not very respectful," Shane murmured. "Let alone fair."

"I could've done the same to her, but despite all of this, I don't and didn't want to do that to her," James said. "I still... care, even if interacting with her literally feels like I'm dying inside."

"I'm worried she knew that," Shane said. "Was counting on it, even."

"I'm sure she was," James said with another sigh and a shake of his head. "Made me feel like the asshole when I told her not to touch me or single me out anywhere on the island. I really didn't think it was that big of an ask."

"It's really not," Shane said. "I mean, if you've got very probable cause to assume she'd try to influence you, or attempt to guilt you again, you were asking for the bare minimum."

James nodded, but he rubbed his face again, this time with both hands.

"Do you think it was stupid that I left it open for her to talk to me again after the DMV is over?" he asked, scrubbing his eyes.

He really only did it because he thought it'd help her to at least stop fighting him on everything. Just a sliver of hope.

"Not stupid," Shane said. The oven beeped, and he stood up to get it, talking as he did. "There's a lot going on right now, and if you want to do it, but think you would be able to handle it better at a later time, it's a better option than jumping into it now. But if you only did it to appease her now... maybe it'd be best to say that you reserve the right to change your mind about that too."

James held his face in his hands.

He was so, so tired.

"Do you think it's too late for that?" James asked. "I already said it. I hate going back on my word."

Shane glanced over his shoulder uncertainly as he took the baklava out of the oven, setting it on the stove to cool.

"You don't owe her this," he said softly. "Even if you did promise her it. What she's asking for is a way back into your life, and if that's a door you want closed, it's your right to have it that way. Reconciliation isn't mandatory. You don't have to place yourself in the path of possible additional grief for her sake."

James held his head.

It hurt to open this wound up again.

"I just feel like... she's turning into the kind of person she always feared she'd be. I remember when she used to be genuinely kind. But... what if she never used to be?"

Was it really like Carter all over again?

"What if it was all just to... to get something out of me? To get something for herself? I hate that I can't know anymore..."

He slouched forward with his arms on the counter, groaning into his hands.

"Sorry," James muttered.

He heard the shuffling of a stool as Shane left the stove, sitting next to him again.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's not your fault who other people are. Not when they change into someone worse, and especially not when they turn out to be that someone all along. A lot of people aren't who they seem. Sometimes they'll even fool themselves into believing it. And whether she really was kind back then or not, you don't have to act like that's still her. If she's not kind to you now, that's the version of her you should be responding to now."

James knew Shane was right and he needed to hear it, but it still hurt. James looked up again, seeing that Shane had brought over the baklava beside James's unfinished plate of food.

"You're right," he eventually acknowledged aloud. "I'm just not looking forward to any of this."

James plucked up a slice of baklava.

"Except this," James said, giving the dessert a small sniff before taking a big bite.

And in that moment James found himself immensely grateful for comfort food. Because it was really, really nice.

Not quite moved to the point of tears, but just about, James nodded earnestly as indication of his enjoyment.

Shane just barely smiled as he took a piece for himself.

"It's normal that you aren't," he said. "But I know you're strong enough to get through it."

"It's my non-fatal flaw," James joked through a mouthful. "Doctors hate me for it."

Shane chuckled faintly.

"Guess the doctors should know better," he said.

"Okay, but really," James said. "Doctors actually do hate me. Mostly because I confound them and normal medical rules don't apply to me."

"Oh, so you really are a walking meme," Shane said.

"Dude," James said flatly, turning to Shane and pointing to the bold lettering on his shirt that read: FART REVERB FX.

"You're right," Shane said. "It was apparent from the first T-shirt. I miss it sometimes."

"Same," James said with a wistful sigh. "That one was my favorite. But now it has a huge hole in it right here."

He patted the center of his chest.

"And I'm trying not to feed the shipping wolves by adding any more fodder if I can help it," James muttered. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if they transported me last night without a shirt just to please the depraved minds."

"Oh, God," Shane muttered with a heavy sigh as he shook his head. "They could stop that anytime and it would be great."

"I don't think I've ever felt so much like an object in my life," James laughed weakly.

Shane groaned in agreement. "No, that's so real. It's gross, plain and simple. It figures that there's plenty of depraved minds out there tuning in, but nothing about that means they have to play into that here. Which they gladly do."

"I think they just like to watch us squirm," James said. "As if we're an experiment in a petri dish."

Shane sighed. "I don't have the stomach for it."

"I'm not sure I do either," James admitted. "I wish I could keep a straight face and not give them the pleasure of a reaction, but I just feel so violated every time."

Shane nodded through a bite of baklava. "And then if you don't give them the reaction or answer they want, they act disappointed, like it was in some agreement that you had to be okay with being probed and asked like that."

"I'm positive that wasn't in the paperwork we had to sign before we came here. There was a whole lot of other legalese bullshit but definitely not that," James agreed.

"I do wish I'd really read the terms and conditions," Shane said. "But that couldn't have been part of it. Just all other sorts of violations."

"I don't know if there's any level of privacy they haven't breached yet," he muttered.

But maybe his context was a little jaded by his experience with Constantine. At least everyone else could at least be at peace in their thoughts and bodies. Well... aside from Aaron.

But he was hoping he could help change that.

"The lawsuits must be wild," Shane murmured. "If even half of this has ended up on TV, they're probably getting slapped with them left and right."

"Have the publicized DMVs always been this dramatic?" James asked with a sigh. "I feel like I don't remember them being this way..."

Shane hummed. "Five hundred years ago, one of the DMV tests-- though obviously not on TV-- ended up in the history textbooks for being the first successful widespread transmogrification when someone's magic turned half of the contestants into kittens. I guess this is the most dramatic it's been since then."

James opened his mouth with a small, surprised exhale, and then let out a laugh.

"Being turned into a kitten sounds nicer than having fanfics about your love life on AO3," James said. "But maybe I need a different perspective."

"No, that is definitely nicer," Shane said. "No buts about it. I wish that were me instead."

"Then we could be kittens and Shrimp would take care of us," James joked.

But it actually sounded nice.

"Oh, where'd he go?" Shane said, glancing over the counter. No cat. "Huh. Guess he's not ready to be a dad yet."

James glanced arond the room, eventually spotting the cat curled up in the blanket nest in the living room. James pointed.

"He has to take a nap to prepare," James said.

Shane blew the cat a kiss. "Look at him, lounging in the comfort of his blanket empire," he said enviously before taking another bite of his baklava.

"And we," James added. "The lowly peasants. We're just lucky to exist in his world."

Then he too took a finishing bite of his baklava.

"And unlucky enough to be non-kitten subjects of fanfiction," Shane said with a sigh.

James snorted.

"Truthfully, I can't say all kittens have nice lives," James said. "The reason Shrimp's so comfortable is because of you. So maybe you can stay a human and I can be a kitten and you can just take care of both of us."

Shane groaned good-naturedly. "And leave me behind to do human things like pay taxes? Come on."

James couldn't help but laugh lightly at that.

"And rent. And food bills. And utilities," James added in amusement.

Shane shook his head, eyes wide like the horrors of those were getting to him. "I'm going to be sick."

James huffed, letting his smile fade naturally. He knew they were just joking around, but he had a feeling there was some truth to that. James couldn't lie - he felt the same.

After a short pause, he decided to reciprocate the care. He wanted to know how Shane was holding up, too.

"Are you still processing everything from this afternoon?" he asked softly.

Shane shrugged, his own amusement slowly fading as he sighed. "I guess so. Or really, I'm not sure I've started. The cooking's been a distraction."

James nodded with a small hum. He'd suspected that might've been the case.

"Do you usually need time to think about things?" James asked. "Before you're ready to talk about them?"

Shane rubbed his face. "It's not a need," he said softly. "Sometimes... I don't know. There's been a lot of things today, and I think I'll process them at slower rates. Some of them I could probably breach now. Others might take more time."

James nodded again with understanding.

"I'm not sure which parts you want to talk about," James said. "But I'm all ears. What are you thinking?"

And at that, he threw the ball into Shane's court.

Shane paused slightly for a moment-- probably yet again weighing how much James meant it, as he usually did. But he seemed to decide that he did.

"I know I'll have to talk to Alex," he said. "She deserves an explanation, at least, even if she won't believe me. I don't want her to hate me, even if I don't know her, and probably won't see much of her after this, either. I'm just... worried it'll turn into some argument where I can't defend myself because I know so little of what's happening."

"Are you afraid that she'll argue with you, or that she won't believe you?" James asked. "Or... well, it sounds like both."

"Both," Shane confirmed. "Either as separate parts of the conversation, or worst, arguing with me because she won't believe me."

"I don't know if there's any real way to convince her without proof," James said sadly. "I don't think she'd be inclined to just take your word for it."

Shane nodded defeatedly. "I can't even blame her for that. It sounds absurd, and she'll probably take me for an idiot who thinks he could convince her of that in some terrible attempt to get away with it."

James looked at Shane with deep empathy.

"I know she might not see it this way," James said. "But it's really not your fault, Shane."

Shane took a few moments to nod.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "But even though I've really only had a few minutes to base this hunch off of... I feel like it might not matter, whatever I might say. She might just want to be right."

And even though James didn't know Alex at all, he had a feeling Shane was right.

"Do you think it'd be a good idea to talk to her alone, with your current gaps in your memory?" James asked. "If she catches on that you actually do have memory loss, I'm worried she might try to leverage that against you, since you wouldn't be able to tell if she was lying."

Shane's expression turned more worried.

"That's... true," he said slowly. "She'd have the power to lie about a lot of things."

"I don't mean to worry you more," James said. "I just... don't have a lot of high expectations for her based on the first impression she set at the start. From her point of view, she's entirely validated to be angry. But phsyical violence like that is immature and petty."

Shane looked down at the counter.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "And I don't know if that was a one-time thing she just wanted to get out of her system, or..."

"At least she's backed off for now," James said. "But I have a feeling she probably will try to find you eventually, hopefully once she's cooled off."

Shane sighed again.

"I think so too," he said. "She probably didn't come here just to shove me in the ocean."

"I imagine that was just to make a point," James said.

"She's made it," Shane muttered. "I don't know if she meant to scare me too, but it worked."

"If you were going to talk to her," James said. "What do you think you'd say?"

Shane was quiet for a moment.

"I'd explain to the best of my ability what I think has happened," he said. "That all of my memories of her seem to be gone, that I only know all of this through you telling me recently, and that I think Flint is responsible. If I get that far, I think I'll... apologize. For the way she's feeling right now, and for how it makes us strangers now."

James hummed faintly. It was a good summation, and they were all things she at least deserved to know by way of explanation for what happened. What James worried about, though, was that Shane couldn't recall how and why their breakup happened in the first place. There was another bomb waiting to get stepped on, and not only could it be devastating, it was also unreliable, since Alex was an unreliable source.

So was Flint, for that matter. He knew there was truth in what Flint had said, but he couldn't say how it may have gotten twisted or leveraged towards Shane. Flint was still interested in the stability of Aphirah, which also meant he was going to try to do whatever he could to keep Shane stable, too.

He'd already erased Shane's memories in an attempt to do so.

"That sounds good," James said after a small delay.

"Does it?" Shane asked uncertainly.

"It's straightforward, honest, respectful, and kind," James said. "And I don't think you owe her all the details. That in itself covers it. From there it's her choice to believe you or not. That part, you won't be able to control. She may prefer to stay angry, but that's not on you."

Shane nodded vacantly, absently finishing the last bites of his baklava. James felt no pressure to fill the short silence.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll try that script."

James watched Shane for a moment, understanding the dread he probably felt for this conversation to happen. What he couldn't imagine were the levels of confusion, fear, grief, and anger he'd have to wade through in light of knowing a massive piece of his life was just gone.

James reached out across the counter, not touching Shane, but resting his hand on the counter in front of him.

"I know this must be terrifying," he said softly. "But you're not navigating this alone. I'm here, and I want to be a part of it. As much as you'll let me. You didn't deserve this - to have Flint make a decision this life-altering for you. I'm so sorry now you're having to pick up the pieces."

A very faint sad smile passed over Shane's face as he dropped his gaze to the counter again.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I can't say how much I appreciate having you around for it."

James offered a small smile.

"The feeling is mutual," James said. "Thank you for your friendship and support through all of this. I don't know where I'd be without it."

And he really meant that.

Shane's smile brightened, just the tiniest bit.

"I don't know where I'd be either," he said. "But I'm much happier to be here instead."

"Me too," James said.

Alan drew his finger along the firetruck on the blanket he was laying on, wondering for the hundredth time: why firetrucks?

The thought anchored him. It made him think of Alistair, back when he used to be a firefighter, which felt like a faraway dream that happened a long time ago, now. Things were happier for him, back then. Things were simpler. This was before he settled into becoming the cynic he was today.

It made him think of Bo announcing that Alistair was here on the island. Alan still couldn't believe he was here. He wondered if, perhaps, this was a faraway dream. A whisper of a fantasy, like the voices in his head.

It made him think of Bo, who was still in the room with him now. Just sitting against the wall, respecting Alan's wish for silence, while still providing safe company.

It made him think of him not trusting himself. Alan needed someone strong and capable like Bo because he was afraid of what he'd do when left by himself. He'd even gone as far as begging Bo to tie him up like a prisoner. Instead, he was effectively put in jail with parole, which translated to being put in a room with Bo while wrapped up in a half-dozen blankets.

It made him think of turning Alistair away, because the voices in his head were screaming that he was going to hurt him like he had in his dreams. He was going to hurt him, inside and out, and it would be his own fault.

Because most of all, it made him think of the voices.

The voices. They were... gone now, for some reason. They just vanished. But what were once urgent whispers of violence and madness were now whispers of insecurities and self-critcisim.

Alan wasn't sure what was worse. They both hurt in different ways.

Alan stirred in the layers of blankets wrapped around him, withdrawing within himself more as he took in a deep, shuddered breath. He rolled to lay on his back, blindly staring up at the ceiling.

It was strange. He was without his lenses, but for the first time in a while, it felt like he could truly see now.

Alan lifted his left hand closely over his face, admiring his healed wrist. Bo's wife, Dr. Mel, was a healer. She healed his broken wrist and sprained ankle, being so kind and gentle while he was being an absolute demon, thrashing under her grasp and screaming for her to get away.

He tightly closed his eyes, hand falling on his face.

It felt surreal. He didn't know what came over him. It almost felt like he was possessed. But it also felt...

He didn't know how to describe it. Cathartic?

Alan rolled to his side, staring at his left palm again, outlining the old, faint scars over his hand.

Yeah. Cathartic.

"Want another blanket?" Bo asked, his voice cutting in his head like a knife.

"No, thank you," Alan said evenly.

Alan sighed, bringing the firetruck blanket over his head. He had been stable for... he didn't even know, now. A while, because he had learned to ignore the voices in his head.

But he didn't really have the heart or energy to update Bo that they were gone.

But was it gone? Was it actually gone? Maybe now he was no longer resorting to violence or perceiving everyone as a looming threat, but now it just felt... muted. Quiet, but not gone. And it was so, so loud before. Alan couldn't help but listen to the voices now, even if it was a whisper.

This is all your fault.

Alan knew that everyone was worried sick. He could hear it in the staffs' voices when bringing him in. He could see it in their body language. He could understand it from context alone.

He felt terrible at how he handled his own panic. How he treated Shane, immediately after waking up... and the bruising he undoubtedly caused. It was wrong. Mean. Violent. And yet, Alan did it anyways.

And what about everyone else? Alistair? His mom, who was also here, apparently? They must be worried sick. And Lyall and Cyrin? They must be worrying where he went. They were all so worried.

Alan shouldn't have reacted the way he did. He should have been calmer. He should be there with them right now, not lock himself in a room because he couldn't trust himself. And yet, even if he was now more right-of-mind, he still selfishly decided to stay here. This was his fault.

You should have listened to the warnings.

Alan should have listened to the doubt in his heart. He should have let the dread sink in. He should have analyzed his bad dreams more, taking it to heart and learning from it. He should have listened to himself when he concluded that something was wrong with him.

Why did he keep doing this? Why did he keep falling? Was he stupid? Was he doomed to always fall? Was he a failure? Why did he keep doing this?

Why couldn't he listen to himself?

He had to listen to himself more. He had to hold himself accountable. He had to be better.

You deserve this.

Alan had it coming. He had been hurting Shane, and Hild, and Cyrin. He wasn't dependable. He was a bad friend, a bad influence, a bad person. He had to be better. He kept disappointing them, turning them away. He could see the hurt in their eyes, their voice. Alan had it coming. He deserved this.

Not even just his time on the island. This was bigger than the events of the last month. He had broken Maria's heart, and he caused such a big rift in his friendships and newfound connections he made with her family. His homelife was torn upside-down, and it was all Alan's fault. That was why he ran away. He couldn't face the consequences of his actions. He was a coward. He was a disgrace. He deserved this.

Alan thought about everyone he cared about. With every new face that piled on to the list, he felt the looming pressure and guilt that he had not atoned for the heinous acts he had commited. He hadn't been punished yet. He deserved to suffer, because he himself had caused so much pain to others. He deserved this.

Alan wanted to ask himself: why me? But the same answer kept repeating in his head, over and over.

I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.

He said this enough times that Alan truly began to believe it.

He needed to stop fooling himself. He needed to peel back the layer of naivety and wake up. He had to stop being so stupid. He had to hold himself more accountable. He had to listen to himself. And most of all, regardless of what happens, Alan had to trust that he deserved whatever came his way.

There was so much to think about. So much to process. He really didn't even know how to begin. There was so much. So, so much to consider that he hadn't spent the proper time to think though yet.

The stubborn, dying naive voice in his head told him to stop. Stop listening to himself.

He should listen to others. They know what to do. He could trust them.

Alan tensed up, tightly closing his eyes as he bit his tongue so hard, he could taste blood.

Okay. If he was already stupid, then he could make one more stupid decision.

"Hey. Bo?" he called uncertainly, slowly lowering the blanket from his face.

"What's up?" Bo asked.

"I..." Alan took a deep breath, blankly staring up at the ceiling. "Voices told me to not talk to you. But... I don't want to. Do that, I mean. I think I should talk. To you. Or... someone."

Bo offered Alan a small, soft smile.

"Sure," he said. "I'm down for that. What's on your mind?"

Alan was quiet for a moment, trying to think through the murky, muddy waters of his mind. "Why firetrucks?" he asked dumbly, going with the first thought that came to mind.

Bo raised his brows with a hint of amusement in his smile.

"Ah, yes," he said. "I believe that blanket belongs to Ethan's son. He's one of the camera-men. I think he forgot to pack it before leaving temporarily for the night."

Alan stared at the blanket, recalling Ethan's face. There were only a few cameramen who captured live, so it was hard to forget.

"I didn't realize there were children on the island," he said quietly.

"Well, they're not meant to be on camera," Bo said. "For the kids' sakes, but yeah. Ethan has a son and I have a daughter. They're both six years old and a little insane, but I love them."

Alan turned towards him. He didn't realize that Bo had a daughter too.

"What's her name?" he asked.

"Maya," Bo answered. "Ethan's son is named Finn."

"You say they're both insane. I'm guessing they tire each other out with all the energy they have?" Alan asked curiously.

Bo laughed. "Yes," he said. "They're both highly energetic kids. I'm glad they have each other to play with."

Alan brushed his thumb over the blanket, in thought. "What is Maya like? Can you tell me about her?"

"Sure," Bo said with a warm smile. "She's a really intelligent little girl. Very shrewd, and very athletic. For someone her age she has exceptional hand-eye coordination and motor skills, which means I'm constantly having heart-attacks any time she climbs something precarious. She also is in her ask-a-million-questions phase, which means she is never at a loss for conversation."

"She sounds like a real treasure. A handful, but still a precious treasure," Alan said softly.

"She definitely is," Bo said. "I love her. She definitely takes after me when I was a kid, though. I too, was a bit of a menace. I think my favorite thing to do was run so fast in circles that I could run up the walls."

Bo spun his finger in circles to imitate the motion.

"But she took that a step further and is climbing the walls," Bo said. "The Petrovs are evolving."

Alan lightly smiled, a bit amused at the thought. "She'll grow up so fast, I'm sure. You'll have to record her climbing the walls so you can show her when she's older."

"Oh, we've got plenty of videos," Bo said with a little laugh. "She's too cute not to."

"I wish I can meet her. Though I'd still be happy to see an album you have of her," Alan said.

"You want to see a photo?" Bo asked with a smile.

Alan perked up, intrigued. "Sure. I'd like that."

Bo smiled. "Mind if I come sit by you so I can show you?"

Alan rolled to his side, sitting upright while still wrapped in blankets. "That's fine," he said, appreciating the sentiments considering he had been screaming for him to get away just some hours ago now. "Thank you for asking."

Bo nodded, approaching slowly before sitting on the couch about a foot from him.

"No problem," Bo said as he pulled out his phone, opening the photos app and finding a folder labelled: "Baby Girl."

"Alright," he said. "Here we go."

He opened up to the first photo - which seemed to be one of Maya as a newborn - and she was wrapped in a pink blanket, with a striped pink and white hat on. She was sleeping, but surprisingly cute and developed for being right out of the womb. Her little hands were up at he sides in tiny fists as she slept.

"There she is," Bo said with an adoring smile as he looked at the photo. "Six years ago. One of the best days of my life."

Alan felt his face soften, touched by how much pure, unadulterated love radiated out of Bo. He could see it in his eyes with the way he looked at Maya, and this was only a photo. He could only imagine how even more adoring he was with her in person.

And she was so... so cute. Small, and precious, and so beautiful. To be protected, so new to this world.

"She's so cute," he said softly, admiring the way her little hands tucked in to her side.

"Here's she is a few months older," Bo said, swiping through several photos until he landed on one of Maya, looking a little older and a little rounder, laughing with a big smile as Mel, Bo's wife, held her up in the air. "Once she was about a month old, she was such a smiley baby. She'd laugh at everything. It was contagious."

Alan smiled, sensing the joy and love that was expressed by his wife as well. "That month must have gone by so fast."

"Tell me about it," Bo said. "I still look at her and I'm like - has it really been six years? It feels like just yesterday she was in diapers. Time goes by so much faster when you have kids, but it's so full of joy. I treasure every part of it."

This warmed Alan's heart. If he were already a father, he was sure he'd feel the same way.

He scrolled through a few more photos, stopping on one of Maya, now with a full head of wild, curly dark brown hair. She looked to be maybe two years old, and she had some teeth coming into her smile. She was dressed in a little tutu and was looking up into the camera with a cheeky expression.

"Ah. The age in which she starts settling into her personality," Alan said, smile growing.

"They call it the terrible two's," Bo said. "But I think that does toddlers a disservice. She was a terrific two. Sometimes terrifying two. But also terrific."

He scrolled to another photo.

"Ah. This was when she dumped all of the orange juice on the floor. She called it 'oram shoosh,' and splashed around in it. That's what I got for looking away for like, ten seconds," Bo chuckled.

"Maybe it was terrible at the time. But it's now a terrific memory to look back upon," Alan said, endeared by the photo.

The photo was of a juice-stained Maya, sitting in a puddle of orange. She looked elated.

"Exactly," Bo said with a small laugh.

He scrolled through a few more photos, skipping way ahead. Alan saw flashes of Mayas - each getting a little bigger. In seconds, Alan was seeing her grow up. It almost made him sad, like he was getting a glimpse of her life through these small snapshots, and it was happening so fast.

"Aaaand here she is now," Bo said, stopping on a picture of a little girl who was clinging to his leg like a monkey and squishing her cheeks against Bo's knee. Her hair had gotten bigger, curlier, and fuller, and now poofed out to her chin. She looked like she was having the time of her life using her dad's leg as a ride.

"She is so beautiful," Alan said with a full smile. "She has the beauty of her mother and the strength of her father."

Bo smiled warmly at that.

"She does get her looks from her mom," he said. "And her smarts. I think she got the best of both of us."

"She is incredibly blessed to have two strong, smart parents who absolutely adore her. I have a feeling she will eventually grow into her teenage years still keeping the two of you in mind, opening up and staying present," Alan said warmly and sincerely.

"I certainly hope so," Bo said with a smile. "We really are trying our best with her. It's all you can do, really."

"That's the thing," Alan said. "I don't even think you need to try your best. You do this so naturally, to father her with all the love you have, that you hardly need to try. I think it's beautiful that you and your wife uplift each other up so effortlessly. Little Maya will see that and learn so much about love from you."

Bo let out a little laugh through his nose.

"You're really sweet, Alan," he said with a teasing smile. "You've known me for a day and already I'm getting a love letter."

Alan also let out a puff of air through his nose, deflating a little. "I know you didn't need to hear that. But I wanted to say it anyways."

"No, I appreciate it," Bo said. "I think your sincerity is really special. Don't lose that. It's a rarity in our world."

Alan slouched back on the couch, slouching a little. He was getting a little hot from the many blankets over him, but it was strangely comforting anyways.

"Thank you," he said appreciatively. "I'll try not to. I think words hold a lot of weight and power, and some things go unsaid a lot of the time. I figure if no one else wants to say it, then I will."

"I like that," Bo said. "Oftentimes in life, people assume that others only think negatively about them because that's how they feel about themselves. But in my own experience I often have many fond opinions of others, and when I talk to other people, they experience the same. It's not only encouraging to share them but it can help break down those walls of insecurities and assumptions that happen when people are being people."

Alan nodded slowly. "I hadn't thought about it that way before. I wouldn't say breaking down insecurities or false assumptions is my end goal when complimenting someone-- though, I wouldn't say I have any goal, really. I just try to be kind to others. But if that's one of the after-effects, then it's a powerful one."

"It certainly can be," Bo said. "Though I think there's always the nuance of compliments meaning more from people you really know and trust. And some people don't have 'words of affirmation' as high on their list of love languages as others, so it's not always appreciated as much as, say, someone cooking a meal for them. Or someone spending time with them."

"I completely agree," Alan said earnestly. "I think it's important to adjust for other people's love language preference. It does take time to discover, but it's well-worth the wait to figure out what method brings a person the most joy."

"And that should go both ways, too," Bo added. "Learning how to unlock someone else's heart matters just as much as them seeing and appreciating the way you love too."

Alan nodded again, hesitating briefly. This wasn't new information to him. He knew this too. But he couldn't help but feel a little deflated at this truth.

"Of course," he said with a small smile. "That's important too. Love is a two-way street."

"Always has been," Bo said, and for some reason, based on his tone, Alan knew he was quoting that one astronaut meme.

"How did you meet you wife?" Alan asked with curious tilt of his head.

"Ah yes," Bo said, looking off into the distance as he dramatically placed a hand on his chest. "T'was almost fifteen years ago, now, when I was at death's door and she was the beautiful doctor in the other wing that I would see pass by my room window."

He let out a small chuckle and let his hand fall to his lap.

"It's not a very glamorous story, at the start," Bo said. "I had been in a freak motorcycle accident, and I was on a long road of recovery. She worked adjacent to the doctors who were over my case, and let's just say at the time I was a little rizzed up with the help of some painkillers. It's funny, now, thinking of my first impression, but I was definitely embarrassed about it for a while, haha."

Alan smiled softly, endeared by the story. It was certainly memorable.

"That's quite a story. What were your first words to her, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked.

Bo let out a genuine laugh.

"I don't actually remember but, from her reenactment, I think it was: Dayyummmmmmmm."

Alan huffed through his nose in amusement. "Impressive pick-up line."

"Dude, I was so high," Bo said. "I'd just come out of surgery."

"But you met her again after that, right? How did that happen?" Alan asked.

"Hospital cafeteria," Bo said. "First thing I did was apologize to her. She was very kind about it, though, and it actually sparked conversation."

Alan hummed, smiling. "And the rest is history. That's a unique and memorable encounter."

"That it was," Bo said. "She told me later that she thought it was really cute."

Bo let out a small huff and puffed out his chest a bit with a silly smile.

"Sometimes sucky pick-up-lines work! I am living proof."

Alan let out another amused puff of air through his nose. "I'm glad everything worked out for you. Now you have a beautiful family."

"Wasn't that much of a straight line, but yes," Bo said with a small smile.

There was a small pause.

"So, what about you?" Bo asked. "What's your family like?"

"Oh," Alan said with a faint laugh, caught a little off guard by the question. "Big. My family is big, but they're very warm and loving. You've seen my brother so far, and he's got a heart that's even bigger than mine. We take care of each other. Family means a lot to me."

"I can tell," Bo said. "That your brother has a big heart."

There was a small pause.

"He gave me his number so I could send updates. Since you're doing a little better, would you want to send him a selfie? Show you're doing okay?" Bo asked. "Besides. He needs to see your fire truck cocoon."

"That's thoughtful," Alan said softly.

He paused as he considered the thought of Alistair obtaining a picture of his current state. Yeah... no.

"I think just an update is fine, if you don't mind. Can you tell him I'll see him tomorrow morning?" he finished.

"Totally," Bo said. He pulled out his phone and started typing quickly. When he finished, he turned the screen for Alan to see.

Bo wrote:Hey, Alistair. Alan's doing a lot better this evening and feeling more like himself. He says he'll see you in the morning.

"That good?" Bo asked.

Alan nodded, smiling in appreciation. "That's fine. Thank you."

"Bada bing, bada boom," Bo said as he sent the text and it made a shwoop sound.

Alan hesitantly glanced around the room, taking in more of the surroundings. "Is this not your family's cabin? You mentioned that others lived here."

"Ah, no," Bo said. "Things have gotten switched around a bit. My wife and daugther just arrived a few days ago, so there's some moving parts. This cabin will go back to being Ethan's, Caspar's and Dante's. We just made some space for you for now since you needed somewhere to breathe."

"Ah. I see," Alan murmured, then paused. "Where are they staying now? I wouldn't want to be a bother."

"Oh, it's not a bother," Bo said with a smile. "We were all packed up anyway, and my family's already moved into another cabin yesterday. There's really nothing to worry about."

Alan rubbed his thumb against the blanket, his gaze settled down on it. "I know it's late," he said after a short pause. "But can I stay here for the night?"

"Totally," Bo said. "You want a bed or a couch? You got options."

"This couch is fine. Thank you," Alan said with a small, appreciative smile. "Really."

"You're welcome, Alan," Bo said, getting up off the couch. "Is there anything else I can get you? A toothbrush, maybe, so your dentist approves?"

Alan shook his head. "I'm fine, but thank you, Bo. I appreciate it."

"You're very welcome," Bo said, this time his smile warm and fond as he looked down at Alan. "If you need me, I'll be in the first door to the left down the hall. Bathroom's first door to the right."

"You really don't have to stay here with me. I know you have a family to go back to," Alan said. "I'm feeling a lot better now. I think I just want some time alone to think now."

"We already talked about it," Bo said. "So I'm not going to crash their plans 'til morning. But if you want some alone time, I can give you space. I'll just go get ready for bed and crash."

"I'm... pretty tired, so I'm close to crashing too. I plan on getting up early, but I'll say goodbye before I leave."

Bo smiled again.

"And I'll make sure we get some breakfast before the day begins," he said.

With a little salute, Bo turned to leave, striding across the small living room to the hall. He paused right before turning the corner.

"Goodnight," he said.

Alan smiled, nodding at him. "Good night, Bo. Sweet dreams."

And finally, he was alone.

Alan sighed, falling back on the couch. He wanted to be left alone to think, but too many thoughts were buzzing against his head. He was so, so exhausted, and he just wanted the day to end.

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. Alan should rest now while he can.

"It's not that late," Vik insisted as he set his cleared plate in the sink.

"It's late enough," Hild countered evenly. She wiped down the island counter. "We've all had a full day. There's always tomorrow."

Sliding back into his chair, Viktor flopped over on the corner still yet to be cleaned. "But I'm still awake now," he whined. "And this is so cool! I have never been around so many people with magic at once. And you act like this is totally normal, and just go to bed at your usual 6 as if you don't have friends you could be partying or hanging out with."

The novelty had worn off for her, just a bit. And, frankly, since most of the contestants here aren't in the habit of showing off their abilities in their day-to-day, it was easy to forget that this was in fact all a highly staged setting where she was constantly surrounded by fellow magic users.

"I go to sleep at a more reasonable 9 PM," she chose to retort instead.

"And everyone else is normal," Viktor said, straightening to pat his hands on the counter, "and goes to bed at like. 11. Maybe later." He shrugged emphatically. "And if he doesn't answer, we can assume he's like. Off-duty, which I'd be fine with."

"James has enough trouble resting in general as is," Hild said firmly. She dropped the rag in the sink, and set her hands determinedly on her hips. "You can join for our morning run, if you want to meet him that badly."

Viktor pulled a face. "I don't run. Come on, sis."

She cast the empty living room past him a flat, long-suffering look.

"You know what?" Viktor said suddenly. He hopped out of his seat. "I'm grown! I can walk myself over and say hi."

"Why can't it wait until morning?" Hild pressed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"His place is literally across the way!" Viktor latched his guitar case shut and pulled the strap over his shoulder. He sauntered backwards to the front door. "I'm just popping over for a second to say hi. That's it!"

Hild marched after him. "We both know that a singular second will instantly turn into two hours."

With a silly shimmying dance, he beckoned her along. "Then come with! Introduce us. He'd probably like seeing you too."

"You assume yours is a welcome presence to begin with," she deadpanned. Then waved him down as she pulled out her pager. "Fine, I'll-- I will ask, gauge if he's even up for it."

Viktor stopped by the door, flinging both hands to the ceiling. "Yes, thank you!" He had the gall to sound exasperated with her. "That's all I asked!"

Hild grumbled incoherently under her breath as she poked the buttons.



Well, the preferred response would have been, "I'm tired, how about tomorrow instead." Or something along those lines.

But, nooooooo. Lieutenant Hawke the Insomniac, ever accommodating, just had to give in to Vik's childish impatience and come over.

"Coming," was all he said. As if he was at Vik's beck and call. Hild silently cursed the man for obliging so.

At the quiet tapping, she opened the door with an apologetic smile.

"James," she softly greeted, "hullo. Sincerest apologies about the hour."

"I'm not usually asleep right now anyway," James said with a small shrug, offering her a smile. For a second, dimples were visible in his newly trimmed beard. It was something unnoticeable pre-trim. She took a quick mental note of it as she stepped aside.

"Told you!" Vik said victoriously from the couch. He stopped mid-strum to wave excitedly. "Mister James Hawke! Hi!" He quickly set his guitar aside to dash and meet them at the door.

James's brows shot up, perhaps in surprise at the excitement he was met with, but he offered a small smile as he stepped inside.

"Oh, hey," he said. "You can just call me James. You're Viktor, right?"

"That's me!" Viktor offered a friendly hand in greeting. "It's really cool getting to meet you, James."

James took Vik's hand, giving it a firm shake twice before letting go.

"It's an honor to meet another of the Ashlund family," James said. "Especially one so fondly regarded."

"'Fondly regarded'?" Viktor bumped his whole side into Hild, hands over his heart as he rested his head on her shoulder. "Awh! So you do love me!"

James smiled, but it seemed a bit apologetic, and he met Hild's eyes as if he hadn't been expecting that kind of response. After a quick eye-roll, she cracked him a wry grin in reassurance.

"Your behavior, befitting of a toddler," Hild evenly shot back, "is less 'fondly regarded', however. Make no mistake of that."

"Oh, woes!" Viktor then slumped his full weight on her, as though struck through the heart. "The great, stoic Hild, unable to stomach a little bit of silliness."

She pushed him off. "Can I get you anything to drink?" she politely offered James.

"Sure," James said. "Water's fine."

With a nod, Hild lightly elbowed Viktor as she strode back to the kitchen. "Let our guest in," she said flatly, "he didn't come to be interrogated by the door."

"Oh, yeah!" Vik waved James along as he bounded back to the living room. "What part of Nye are you from?"

James shot Hild a very brief, subtle look that clearly read: Does Vik not watch the news? But he seemed to already reach the conclusion that the answer was no. She only shrugged back in response. He followed Vik inside and stood a bit stiffly for a moment before seating himself on the larger couch.

"I'm from the Moonlight Kingdom," James said. "The southern half of it, basically, if you're unfamiliar with Nye's geography."

Vik flipped around on the couch so that he was sitting upside down. "Ooh! It gets super cold down there, right? Unless it's like... at the equator, because Nye's northern hemisphere or something. Then it'd be hot, right?"

Hild set down the water pitcher with an unimpressed 'clack'. Did Viktor not retain anything from world geography? She kept her judgements to herself, however, as she joined them with a tray of water glasses.

"It does get cold," James said. "Colder than I'd like, honestly. But summers are really beautiful there."

Vik grinned. "You'd be able to visit Fjelstad no problem, then. Weather's about the same where we are up north."

"I can't say I'd make the visit for the weather," James said. "But I'd be more than happy to make the trip to see the people."

Viktor beamed like a miniature sun. "Yeah, that'd be awesome! You could come and visit us during the summer. That's our best season, because it's pretty mild and everything's green and growing again, you know?"

"Naturally," James answered, reaching for the glass Hild had set in front of him.

Taking a glass herself, Hild sat beside Vik. Upright, of course. "I do think you'd like the town," she said, deciding she could also entertain the thought of post-island plans. "It's fairly spread out with lots of natural spaces and fields. And the downtown area has an old library, with a variety of traditional texts and ancient documents--"

Vik huffed a laugh. "You can just Giggle those. The view of the mountains, though, that's something you can't miss!"

"I'd be open to seeing whatever it is you'd like to show me," James said amiably. "But I'd be there for you first and foremost."

Oh. A rather touching sentiment.

Nodding an acknowledgment, Hild quietly sipped her water.

"Sounds like a plan, then!" Viktor said brightly. "Something to look forward to, after your guys' tests are done and stuff. Oh!" He gestured toward James. "Have you guys had any of that yet? I don't know if there's, like... some sort of DMV regulations or whatever that hides anything important. Or something. For some reason."

James briefly met Hild's eyes with an unspoken: "We're not going to tell him."

With Vik's attention fully fixed on James, Hild was able to simply shake her head.

"We haven't had any formal testing, yet. I think the maze was our first taste of it, but it was less to test our current powers and more our adaptability and teamwork," James said, as if he'd had that answer at the ready.

"Huh." Viktor pursed his lips. "Interesting... It's kind of like those summer camps, but. Not, I guess."

"More or less," Hild agreed. "I'd rather not dwell on the delay of this testing, however."

New topics, new topics...

Anything she was genuinely interested in opening up pertained to what was to remain unspoken in Vik's presence. And she didn't want to pursue the potentially real possibility of memory diving. Still, due to Vik being right there. He'd make it an absurd game. And she was in no mood for such nonsense.

"James," she started, tone conversational, "I recall your farm also having horses. Working companions, I presume?"

Vik smiled with awe. "Whoa, you have a farm?"

"Well, it's not my farm," James clarified. "It's my family's. But yes, we have many animals on the farm, with horses among them. Some of them are work horses, yes."

With a low whistle, Viktor finally righted himself, looking a tad dizzy from it. "Sounds like a happening place." Shaking himself steady again, he asked, "How big is your family, anyway? Do you guys need, like, hired hands or something to help?"

"We do have some hired hands. There's a fellow named Dallas and a woman named Margaret. They're good family friends, now. They help with the animals. During planting season we hire out some extra help as well," James said. "But farming equipment has advanced so a lot of things can be done quickly with the machines we own."

Viktor nudged an elbow to Hild's side. "Hey, if we ever move out of country, we should go work for them. Sounds cool!"

Hild swatted at his arm. "It's the eldest we'd have to convince," she said flatly.

"Lyall?" James asked.

Hild nodded.

"Too many critters," Viktor supplied with a snort.

"That's fine," James said. "We can stick him in the potato patch. A lot less critters there."

"He does have that green thumb of his," Viktor agreed. "I think he'd survive and thrive amongst the taters."

Tilting her head, Hild shrugged, unable to dispute. She could in fact imagine Lyall happily tending to a plot of root vegetables.

"Seems like we've found a suitable arrangement, then," James said with a faint smile.

Leaning back, Hild tilted her head to rest against her hand as she considered their guest. Thank the Fates he was no longer in that wretched tie-dye attire, with a layer of duct tape "armor" underneath. Regenerative abilities or no, it was no good for his pores.

He was also notably sluggish for their entire visit. Hardly came as a surprise, however, considering he was this island's very own sleep-deprived mini-Atlas. Bearing the weight of an entire universe on his shoulders on no more than probably 2 hours of actual sleep.

Voice softening, it was Vik who spoke up with an understanding, "Man, it's probably a little late for you guys. I could go for longer, but I won't keep you up." He smiled at James, already with the full adoration of a younger sibling. "Thanks for indulging me and coming over, Mister James. It was awesome meeting you!"

James loosely held his glass of water, his small smile dimming a little.

"Ah," he said. But it felt like there was a lot that was unspoken behind it. "Thanks for inviting me. I look forward to seeing more of you this week, since it sounds like you're kicking me out now."

Standing, Vik raised both hands. "I'd love to talk your ear off more, yeah. I just feel like, if you don't drop dead from exhaustion first, I will from asphyxiation at the hands of my well-meaning sister."

James let out a loud huff through his nose.

Hild glared at the back of Vik's head. "There will certainly be more future opportunities to have deeper discussions," she agreed. Then shrugged with another apologetic look and rose to her feet. "I promise, we're not in the habit of booting guests so soon after arrival. But I'm realizing we could all use some rest, sooner rather than later."

James hummed, but he didn't move from his spot on the couch just yet. Was this too simply exhaustion, or a hesitation?

"Ah. Right," he said quietly. "Sorry. I'll get out of your hair, then."

Something in his voice told Hild this was a hesitation.

With a sloth-like speed, James set his cup back on the table and got to his feet. There was something in the tension of his posture that indicated a lack of willingness to leave - which was odd, seeing as she didn't imagine he was extremely eager to stay.

"I'm sorry," she said aloud this time, mustering a small, empathetic smile as she stepped around the coffee table. "This really is unusual for us. Might I accompany you for the walk back, if only to amend for my lacking judgment before extending the invitation?"

Behind her, she heard Vik very faintly, yet unmistakably draw out a childish, "Oooh!"

James, having stopped at the door to look over his shoulder, cast Vik a look that read like a visual sigh. When he looked to Hild, though, his eyes softened into a subtle look of desperate relief.

"It would not be needed to make amends," James said softly. "But I'd greatly appreciate it."

Inclining her head, Hild joined him at the door. "Once I return," she announced back to Viktor, "I'm taking you up the hill next. Unless you fancy camping out on the couch."

Viktor plopped back down onto the couch, pulling his guitar case up to his lap. "Nah, you kids have fun!" he answered cheekily.

She audibly groaned with irritation at that. "Hydrate, please," she ordered, pulling the door open.

"Okay, mum," Vik answered snarkily.

James stepped out the door first, but waited for Hild, not moving far from the porch. Just when Vik started strumming with intent and opened his mouth to supposedly start an obnoxious song, Hild followed after and hastily shut the door before he could.

"Sorry," James said again, but this time in a near-whisper.

He was standing at the edge of the porch, looking out into the darkness with his hands in his pockets. His posture was stiff and alert, but his face now more clearly wore the exhaustion she realized he'd now been trying to hide.

"I thought I saw something on the walk over here," James said, his voice dropping even more.

But he didn't say more. Instead he just swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on the middle distance.

Hild turned out a concerned gaze to the beachside. All was still, save a warm breeze rustling the greenery. One might have found it peaceful, had it not been for the possibility of...

"The wendigo?" she murmured, looking back to James.

"I'm not sure," James said quietly.

Hild frowned, and clarified, "It's on the island?"

James flicked his eyes to her, and his brows knit together tightly. He nodded.

"He," James said, as if to correct her. "He's on the island."

Ah.

So, the DMV did sink that low.

She tried scanning the darkness from the porch, as if she'd have better luck catching something that a former-soldier would.

"I saw him earlier," James said. "You probably saw him too."

"There were plenty of visitors I didn't recognize," she murmured. With a slight nod, she beckoned him to walk with her as she stepped off the porch. "Which one was he?"

"He was a bit taller than me," James said, following her after a split second. "Slicked back hair. Grey in the temples. Mustache. Physically appeared to be mid-40's. Was wearing a tan linen shirt and slacks. Sunglasses, too. The mustache was probably the most identifiable feature."

Hild noticed that James was... walking pretty closely at her side.

After a second's worth of mental debating, she slipped a hand in his as a quiet form of comfort. She nodded resolutely. "I recall him, then."

James nodded, albeit a bit absently. His head was practically on a swivel, scanning the area.

They quickly reached the front steps of the "bird cabin". Hild awkwardly wondered if... she should let go now, or let James draw away. So she didn't make a move as she offered, "We can delay our runs until late morning, for when the sun is up."

Presuming the wendigo-- this Constantine fellow would stick to the shadows. She didn't imagine someone trying to be careful would be so bold as to attack in broad daylight.

But, she could be wrong...

James stood stiffly by the door, his hand tensing around hers. It felt like he was restraining himself - perhaps from potentially crushing her hand entirely.

He nodded, his response once again delayed.

"What time?" he asked.

"8?" she suggested gently. "8:30? Even 9 is a viable option."

"8:30," James chose with a nod, and his gaze fell down to their hands. As if only now just becoming self-aware, he loosed the tension of his grip and gently slipped his hand out of hers.

Hild folded her hands together. "That works."

Nodding again, James seemed to visibly so exhausted and stressed that words weren't really coming out anymore. She wasn't sure if he was hesitating or just spacing out when he slothily set his hand on the doorknob. Given the slightly glazed-over look in his eyes, she leaned toward the latter option.

"Get some rest, Hawke," she bid him quietly, stepping away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

James nodded, and with that, finally slipped inside.

Well. Now with the presence of an actual monster confirmed, she most certainly had to walk Viktor back now, regardless of his insistence that he was "a man now, and needed no coddling".

Ah. She neglected to check if she should or shouldn't tell anyone else the truth... James was in no state to make such decisions, so Hild decided herself that she wanted, first and foremost, her family informed and thus less likely to get caught unawares by this threat.

On the short return trip to her own place, she caught sight of Vik peering back out. No doubt, formulating every teasing remark about romantic interests under the sun.

Fantastic.

It was night now, though Alistair was far too awake to sleep.

He sat on a bench by the fountain near the mansion's garden, slumped forward with a cigarette that was already nearing its life. With a sigh, he threw the cigarette butt into the convenient nearby bin.

It felt very strange to be here. He almost missed the ruggedness and grunge of home. Here, he just... felt like he didn't really belong. Though, that was also not a new feeling in general.

Alistair slipped out his phone, re-reading the text that Bo sent him an hour ago. Alan was okay and would see him in the morning. That was good to hear.

Andrea was asleep as well, so he couldn't call her, even if he wanted to. He did finally read the walls of text she sent him, and he figured she just wanted to hear his voice and tell him about her day. Alistair had always disliked catching up through written word, so he supposed he'd have to make time to call her in the mornings. If he even got up early enough.

Next, Alistair found himself staring at Lyall's texts. His contact name was saved as "Alan Island (Lyall)", which sufficed at the time, and still did-- even though he had already met Lyall in person. Alistair wanted to ask him questions, especially since he was the closest person to Alan on the island, though he didn't know when he'd get the chance, if ever.

He thought about stopping by earlier, but Alistair figured he was busy with Kaya since she wasn't around. And neither was Vik, for that matter. So... Lyall was probably busy.

Had it been about any other subject, Alistair would let have let it go completely. The subject, however, this gnawed away at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and he'd rather take extra precautions now than learn to regret it.

Deciding he didn't care anymore, Alistair sent Lyall a quick text, figuring he really didn't have anything to lose.

Alistair wrote:Hey man are you awake? I wanted to talk to you about something. Its fine if your with Kaya tho, this can wait

Slouched forward with his elbows on his knees, Alistair dimmed his phone and held it lowly in his hand, running his other hand through his hair instead. He was already getting stressed, and nothing had even happened yet.

It took several moments, but his phone vibrated in his hand. Alistair perked up, looking down at his phone. Lyall responded back.

Alan Island (Lyall) wrote:I can certainly spare a few moments. Where shall we meet?

Alistair bounced his knee, bond hands around his phone now. They should meet somewhere private, probably. Dante certainly stressed that privacy was important.

Alistair wrote:Your cabin fine?

And send. He slouched forward again, waiting for a response. Which came much faster this time.

Alan Island (Lyall) wrote:Superb. Come on over!

And that was that. Alistair sent him a quick follow-up.

Alistair wrote:Be there in a bit

Getting up on his feet, Alistair slid the phone back in his pocket and bounded down the path towards the cabins, grateful that he kept a mental tab of the placed he'd been to so far.

Now he just had to think of how he was going to tell all this to Lyall.



Okay. He didn't actually know which cabin was Lyall's. Alistair didn't exactly get a tour of the living space since a certain someone was missing.

Standing in front of the two rows of cabins, Alistair pulled out his phone to shoot Lyall another text.

Alistair wrote:Which cabin is yours?

He felt really silly standing here. And maybe he should just call, but at this point, he may as well follow through with this since it was the last leg until they met up.

Alan Island (Lyall) wrote: Please hold one moment...

Okay. He was going to stand outside and wave him down, wasn't he?

Sure enough, the door to the cabin behind Alistair opened, and Lyall called, "Good evening!"

Just like he predicted, Lyall waved at him. Alistair mustered a half-smile and weakly waved back, hopping up the steps of the porch.

"Hey, thanks for seeing me," he said, meeting him at the door.

Quickly stepping aside, Lyall beckoned him in with a friendly grin. "Of course!"

Alistair nodded, stepping in the cabin and immediately arching his brows up, taken back by how extra it all was.

"Wow," he said by the doorway, admiring the huge living room and sleek kitchen. "Nice place."

"I can't really take credit for any of it, but thank you," Lyall said amicably, glancing outside before shutting the door. He padded in to the kitchen. "Could I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?"

Right. It wasn't like anything on this island was theirs to begin with, save for the items they brought in.

"I'm good, thanks," Alistair said, then glanced towards the stairwell. "Is anyone else here?"

With a nod, Lyall went and poured himself a cup of coffee. "My beloved Kaya is upstairs. My friend Cyrin has likewise retired for the evening to his own room."

Alistair nodded, meeting him at the other side of the kitchen island, leaning forward on it with his elbows. "Sorry for taking time away from Kaya. I just wanted to talk to you about a couple of things on my mind, if that's okay."

Lyall offered a small, reassuring grin. "Not to worry. She's asleep, anyhow." He sipped his coffee. "What's on your mind, my friend?"

"Well..." Alistair idly ran his hand through his hair, trying to think. "You're the closest person to Alan here, so I guess I'm just trying to gauge what's happening. I'll talk to Alan separately about it, but between you and me, he's going to freak out, so I'm just trying to... figure it all out, I guess." He paused, flicking his eyes back to Lyall. "Does that make sense?"

Lyall set down his mug, breeziness quickly fading into something unreadable. Mixed, even. "Yes. I..." He leaned on the counter with his hands folded. "...imagine it has to do with his absence earlier today?"

"Partly. Yeah," Alistair answered, then frowned, realizing he should have started this conversation with a status update. "He's fine, by the way. I checked in with Bo. He texted me an hour ago saying he's doing alright and that he'll come by tomorrow morning."

Exhaling through his nose, Lyall let relief wash over him as he glanced down at the counter. "Good," he said firmly, looking back to Alistair, "yes. Thank you."

He nodded. "Yeah, no problem." A pause. "I did have to do a lot of digging to figure out where he hell he even was or what happened. I ended up talking to a lot of the staff. And they told me... everything, I think." Alistair paused again, creasing his brows as he considered Lyall for a moment. "Do you know what I'm talking about? Or should I explain it?"

"I..." Lyall set his hands on the counter's edge now, drumming his fingers as he contemplated the fruit bowl between them. "Yes. For the duration of yesterday's 'event', our magics were switched. Somehow. I still don't understand how. But I had your brother's charm magic. And, rather than suffering the consequences of using it myself, the compounded effects were withheld, then dumped on Alan by sunrise. When our magics switched back. Regrettably." Flicking his eyes back up, he less-confidently held Alistair's gaze. "Does that track with what the staff told you?"

Oh. Well. Alistair should have been more specific, though he didn't know how to casually bring up torture into a sentence. This was fine, though. He had been wanting to know about this, anyways.

"That does, yeah," he said with another nod. "Except the staff didn't know why he acted that way. I figured it out after they told me you had his magic and used it against a few people, though." Alistair furrowed his brows in thought, just now realizing that this didn't quite add up with Bo's recent testimony. "I guess I don't understand a lot of it, like how magics are switched around, or why this didn't affect you, and why Alan is back to normal now. I figured he'd be fine, just a little crazy for a month, maybe. Do you know anything else?"

Lyall lifted a hand and furthered, "I was given the opportunity to...repair anything, within the limits of my personal life, of my choosing for having won the last competition. Knowing now that Alan has indeed recovered his former sanity, I can only assume the request was processed fairly quickly."

Alistair stared at him, slowly processing. "You used your gift to repair anything... to repair his brain?" he asked slowly, deciding to gloss over the fact that this gift seemed impossible.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lyall just nodded.

"Huh," Alistair said, shifting his weight to his other foot. "It's like you got nothing from winning. That sucks. Sorry about that."

Lyall shrugged a shoulder. "Alan being back in his right mind is the only thing that matters here."

How sweet. Though, at the same time, this was also kind of Lyall's fault. It seemed to even out in the end.

At least Lyall was a good friend.

"Right. Yeah, thanks for that info. That clears things up there," Alistair said, trying to figure out a way to transition to the next topic that this island was literal hell.

"Are you sure that clears up everything?" Lyall slowly asked. "You mentioned having at least two things on your mind."

"Yeah..." Alistair said slowly, drawing the word out as he slouched forward on the counter. "That clears things up about Alan, I think. But I'm beginning to realize that this is only a small part of the big picture here. Do you have any idea what's going on with the DMV? Like, have you been tested on your magic, or are you all just here to be tortured?"

So what if he used dark humor? It was a dark subject.

With a wry huff, Lyall glanced off. "As far as I know, testing hasn't officially started. It truly feels as though we've been tossed into a jar and shaken about, purely for the world's entertainment."

Oh, god. Lyall didn't know.

"Right," Alistair said slowly. "Maybe... they're testing you through indirect ways."

Head tilted slightly now, Lyall seemed to be catching on. "...Elaborate, please."

Alistair sighed. Okay. He will just rip the band-aid off. There was no better way to say this.

"Did you know that James is getting tortured?" he asked casually.

Lyall blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?" he said sharply, voice pitched with disbelief.

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but then prompty snapped it shut, not knowing how to explain himself. What made it worse was that he hadn't even met James yet. Maybe he should have heard it from him.

Who was he kidding. It would be hard to admit this. Alistair made a mental note to apologize on his behalf later, should he ever meet James.

"Dante told me this," he said instead. "He told me that he's been subjected to horrors like water poisoning and bleaching of the skin. There was no good reason for this to happen, I don't think." Alistair paused, grimacing. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Sorry you had to hear this from me of all people."

"I only regret I didn't know sooner," Lyall quickly offered in a mutter, waving him down. Then stared intently at the fruit bowl as he mentally turned this over. "...There is a potential reason for this horrific treatment, but not necessarily a 'good' one."

"I don't think a good reason exists," Alistair said lowly. "It's just bad, all around."

Lyall nodded grimly as he lifted his coffee. "Agreed."

"That's just another part of the grand scheme of things, apparently," Alistair continued, then winced as he realized he had just walked into being the one to pass the horrific news. "...You know how Tula and Stravos is. Right? Since you used your magic on them?"

Lyall visibly shuddered. "I'm quite familiar with Stravos, yes," he uttered into his mug. "Tula, I still need to gauge."

"Well..." Alistair said slowly. "I think, from the information I've been told... they're both crazy."

"My sister, Hild," Lyall offered, "did approach me about Tula earlier. So, I have more than inkling of her true nature." He looked curiously to Alistair. "What have you been told about Tula in particular?"

"Not too much, and keep in mind I haven't met her yet. But..." Alistair paused, reflecting back to what Shay told him earlier. He could paraphrase for Lyall's sake. "She's putting on an act, apparently. And is the one targeting James."

"Now, that, Hild did not mention," Lyall murmured in thought.

What the hell. Why did everyone know different levels of information? He seriously was in a Whodunnit.

Alistair sighed. "It sounds like everyone knows different amounts of info. But, well-- now you know."

Lyall let out a heavy breath as he inclined his head. "Now I know..."

"And I don't know if it's helpful," Alistair went on slowly, "but you can trust the staff." He paused, slightly frowning. "I'm pretty sure."

There was a short hesitation, indicating Lyall was less inclined to believe this. But he made no comment on it. Alistair didn't really blame him on that, though. He wasn't trying to change his mind if it was already made.

"That's it," he finished. "I don't know anything else."

With another weighty sigh, Lyall glanced back at the stairwell. "Not even here for a full day, and you've done more to keep me informed than anyone else has in these past weeks," he said quietly.

Well, that was... sad.

"I figure you deserve to know what's going on. It's not easy stuff to digest, so sorry I just dumped this on you. But I think it's better than staying ignorant," Alistair said.

Finally, the doctor cracked a faint but sincere smile. "I'm glad we're in agreement on this matter as well, then."

Alistair nodded, standing up a little upright so he wasn't putting as much weight on his elbow. Now that he told Lyall everything he knew, he felt like he was overstaying his stay.

"I'll get out of your hair and let you simmer with these joyous thoughts for the night, then," he said with a forced smile.

Some of his former good cheer returning, Lyall raised both hands in relenting. "Of course. You've had a long journey, no doubt, and could use the rest as well."

Lyall may put on a cheerful act, but Alistair knew it was just that: an act. He couldn't fool him. Alistair knew this bothered him more than he let on.

But he needed time to process. Alistair understood that. His own presence wouldn't help in that. They hardly even knew each other, and the one person that tied them together wasn't even here.

"And, if there's anything else you might need from me," Lyall went on pleasantly, rounding the island now to personally show him out, "or anymore questions, message me or simply drop by anytime. My door's always open to you, Alistair."

Alistair appreciated that. Though he doubted he needed to do any of that.

"Yeah. Thanks, Lyall," he said with a nod, knocking his knuckles on the counter before pulling away. "Alright. I'll see you later then."

Shane looked up from his book, glancing out the window. Above the black sea, the moon was high in the sky, its sliver of white reflecting over the waves. It was late.

Quite late.

Shane inhaled, dropping his gaze back to the book on the desk.

The words were starting to become indistinct in his brain, and he was having to reread the same paragraph over and over just to understand what it was saying. Holding the book closer to his face didn't help, and neither did turning up the brightness of his lamp. The problem was that he was tired.

But not sleepy.

Slowly, like he thought he might change his mind, Shane closed the book, pushing it gently over the surface of the desk. He didn't feel better for having done it, exactly, but his thoughts changed direction once he had.

Right here and now, alone and somehow awake, he felt a bit like a indistinct haze of a person, too. A blur that refused to take on any clear, concrete shape. Something that when put into focus looked awfully like a question mark.

It was only more true now that his own historical record had been accruing inaccuracies for the last seven years.

Shane slumped back in his chair, flicking his gaze back to the moon.

It really was all true, then. Alexandra-- Alex-- was no elaborate hoax or cruel joke the world was pulling on him. She was real, she was on the island, and she knew all sorts of things he didn't.

He could tell-- even without any recollection of it-- how important a seven year relationship would have been in his life. The way it would have been a pillar for all that time. How it would've impacted everything it touched for years to come afterwards. How significant it would've been in his simplest everyday decisions to have another person to consider for every action he took. And somehow, all of that was gone, without any visible trace of those impacts in his memory.

Was that where the quiet void in his heart came from?

Shane rested his chin in his hands, still watching the moon, but it was now with an unfocused gaze.

It felt like some law of the universe had been broken, for there to be no trace left of something he knew mattered in his psyche. It couldn't possibly be as simple as cutting out a person from his memories-- that was a web, not a two-dimensional sheet of paper. He must have lost experiences, feelings, lessons that were entangled and inextricable from the central part of his life Alex must have been. Take her away, and it left a black hole, swallowing up every last part of his life that she'd touched.

There were two thoughts that paralyzed him here. One was that the void was because he was unlovable, something he'd slowly been settling into acceptance with. He'd thought he hadn't had anyone for these last several years, and over time, it has started to look like there was a reason for that. What it was about him, he'd never really pinned down. He either felt like too much, or not enough, a whisper of a person some days and a grotesque collage of overflowing flaws another time. But whatever it was, it had all seemed to lead back to the same idea: he wouldn't be loved. Not really. He would need to be truly known for that, and no one's response to seeing him in full could be one of love.

But that was an older conclusion, one based on the false premise that he hadn't had any sort of love life since high school. And the new evidence led to a worse explanation for that lingering, familiar void-- maybe he had been loved before, but he'd lost it somehow.

That was a far crueler cause. It was one thing to be love-starved because he was after something he wanted, but had never actually had. It was another to be love-starved because he'd had love, then had it torn away once he wasn't worthy of it anymore.

What if it had been that? How could it not have been that? How could Shane have spent seven years in a relationship that had an engagement and ended terribly without him loving them and them impossibly loving him back for a time, before they slowly slipped out of that love the more they saw of him?

He knew that would hurt far, far worse than wistful longingness could. No wonder the tearing ache in his heart didn't make sense with the life he thought he'd led. That life wasn't the truth.

Shane took a deep breath, shuddering.

God, he just wanted...

It was shameful, he knew it. To feel like begging for love. You only begged for what you weren't freely given, and he wasn't meant to receive it. The more he wanted it, the more he knew he wouldn't get it.

It didn't mean that he didn't so desperately want to try.

Shane blinked until the moon was clear in his vision again.

He couldn't be done with this yet. He'd get through this island. He'd hope Alan wouldn't lose interest in him before they even had a chance. And then maybe, maybe, they would work out, and Shane would have a third data set to confirm his desperate wish-- that maybe he could be seen fully and loved despite it.

And then the void would finally be gone.

Shane slowly looked away from the moon, turning his gaze back to his desk. A fountain pen rested on top of one of his dozen or so notebooks, and he found himself focusing on it for whatever reason. It took up so much space in his vision.

He knew the stakes here. Art was confessional, revealing a bit of the creator's soul to the world. And as much as Shane wanted to be seen, it terrified him. Once he showed that part of himself, there was no taking it back. It would be Alan's to know and judge, and all Shane would be able to do was hope that he liked what he saw.

But even if he didn't take this risk, he could be doomed either way. He knew it was most likely, rather than anything else, only a matter of time before he fell for Alan completely. Something in his heart told him it was bound to happen. And when, rather than if, it happened, he needed it to be safe to fall. He couldn't handle being the only one it happened to. He couldn't be alone.

He needed to have it reciprocated.

And he couldn't be truly loved without being truly known first. It happened in that order.

Shane took a deep breath, reaching for the pen and flipping the notebook open.

Time to check off that summer goal of writing a poem.

1 am. James was at the door of the cabin, but before he could knock, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Whirling around, the claws in his hands jumped out a few inches on instinct, but he retracted them when he saw it was just Jay, standing in the dark.

James hadn't even heard him. Didn't Jay know James was on edge? Even in the short walk to Jay's cabin, James felt like his nerves were twitching with each step.

He was so close to just... snapping.

"Do not do that again," James hissed, a little too fiercely as he shook out his hands. They were bleeding, now, but it'd be gone in a few seconds. He still didn't appreciate his fists being all bloody.

Jay frowned, leaning back in visible discomfort, but equally sharing in the tense paranoia.

"We can't meet here," Jay said.

And James hated that Jay was right.

Tula would've been home, at the very least, and they wouldn't be able to have a private conversation without running into her first. James didn't know if she'd bugged her own cabin, either.

Both of them tense, Jay tilted his head.

"Quickly," he said. "Follow me."

And James didn't bother questioning, but he stayed on full alert as he followed Jay into the night.

He knew what they were to discuss, and it was nothing to take lightly.

They were going to talk about how to kill a wendigo.

Finally, he was in bed. He'd taken the sleep-aid with some water, but he didn't know if he actually needed it. He felt more weary now than he had all week, and that was saying something.

It felt like the day would never end. It had been so full, and James's mind now felt so empty. His head hurt, and his body ached, and the moment he laid his head against the pillow, it began to feel like his body was sinking into the mattress. Sleep pulled him under like a wave. He didn't remember even closing his eyes.

But he knew when something changed.

A faint breeze carried over his skin. It alerted him that something was wrong, because there wasn't supposed to be a breeze in his room.

He never had a fan going. He never left the window open.

His eyes shot open, but there was resistance. Normally he could get up quickly, but this was different. His body was frozen. Stuck. He couldn't move his limbs, and even keeping his eyes open was taking all of his effort to maintain. He realized in the struggle what was happening.

Sleep paralysis.

Panic started to set in at the realization, because he knew he wouldn't be able to trust his senses. How much of this was real? How much was he actually percieving?

A creak echoed behind him with the push of a window pane. He heard the pop as it secured open, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to crawl as footsteps shuffled through his room, brushing against the mess of clothing and papers on the floor.

His heart jumped when there was a shift in the bed. He could feel the weight of something climbing on, and hear the creak of the broken bedframe. His heart began to race, but even as he fought against his own limbs, he couldn't move.

Damnit, damnit, damnit.

The weight shifted closer, dipping into the mattres as it came up beside him. He could feel the pressure as if from someone's knees pressed up behind his back, and a shadow fell over him, leaning in.

He wanted to snap his eyes shut. He wanted to believe this wasn't real. He wanted to wake up, to prove to himself that this was just a dream, and someone wasn't lurking over him, about to sink their teeth into his skin, turning him into a monster.

But he couldn't move. He couldn't even fight it.

What felt like a hand crept up his shoulder, now putting on pressure, holding him down as he felt a creature's hot breath against his neck. It made his skin crawl.

Wake up, wake up, wake up!

He strained against his own useless limbs, but a knee dug into his back, pinning him down.

Horrified, he was prone as he heard the cracking of bones and joints and the stretching of skin. The hand on his shoulder was turning into a claw, and the breath against his skin felt so hot it was almost scalding.

"Don't fight it," Constantine's voice purred by his ear. "It'll be over quickly."

It felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest for how fast it was racing. Trying to open his mouth to scream, he failed to even part his lips, and the noise got stuck in his throat, like a muffled cry.

"Alexander," Connie's voice randomly cut in suddenly. "What a pleasant surprise."

There was a very long, tense, awkward pause as James realized what was happening.

Connie had entered his dream and discovered who the nightmare giver was. It was as he and Hild had hypothesized, and yet, James still found himself surprised to hear it.

The presence that had been lurking over him suddenly dissipated, as if it'd never been there in the first place. But he still couldn't move.

"He left," Connie said, then paused. "He has dream manipulation magic."

There was another longer pause. Then a sigh.

"One moment," Connie went on, right before everything began to warp around him.

James expected for the dream to end. But instead, it was like a void opened up beneath him. The moment his feeling returned to him, James was free-falling. Sinking out of one dream and into something else entirely. Panic kicked in and he reached out his hands, fruitlessly looking for something to grab or to brace his fall.

But he spun, and when his back hit ground, it hardly looked like ground at all.

Lying on his back, he stared up at a moving ceiling that blended in with the walls and floor around him. It was clear he was in some kind of "box," but every surface was covered with an ever-shifting painting. Large, muted brush strokes swam around him slowly, like he'd been plopped into a painting of a night sky.

And maybe it really was a painting, because when he slowly sat up, he saw Connie sitting across from him, only a few yards away. He was sitting with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, like he was meditating. He was barefoot, and dressed in all white, like a blank canvas to the colors all around them.

"Alexander placed you under a sleep paralysis. You should be able to talk now," Connie said plainly, unmoving.

James froze where he sat, trying to decipher how much he could trust the "ground" beneath him to stay sturdy.

Was this... Connie's dream? Or was this some in-between liminal space? No. Connie said he didn't dream, so this had to be something different. Like some kind of mindscape.

"...Thank you," James said quietly.

He looked down at himself, wondering if the dream changed him at all. But he looked like himself. Barefoot, in his pajamas and all.

"Let me know when you'd like to leave," Connie said.

"You mean... wake up?" James asked.

"No. I am not able to wake you up. But I can let you resume your normal dreams," Connie said evenly.

His... normal dreams.

Haha.

Even without Alexander's influence James's normal dreams were unsavory, and after his very recent scare, he wasn't sure how much his mind would run with the seed already planted. He had a feeling Alexander wouldn't risk interfering - at least tonight - after being discovered, but James didn't even feel at peace in his own head. Even when there was no one else knocking around in there.

James nodded slowly.

"Are you asleep?" James decided to ask.

"I am," Connie answered. "We both are."

James took a moment to process that. Slowly.

"And all of this... stays in your..." James glanced around them. "What is this, your mind?"

"Within the dream magic network, we call this a mind palace," Connie explained. "In short, it is a visual representation of your mind at its base foundation. Think of it as the home of where your brain goes to rest. You are currently in my mind palace."

A mind palace.

Was that where Cyrin had found James yesterday? In his... mind palace? James had thought he may have been dreaming, but it didn't feel entirely like a dream. More like a state of being.

James didn't want to ask or admit his "mind palace" was a literal battlefield, so he kept that thought to himself. Instead, he decided to go in a different direction.

When James had spoken with Cyrin, that had been a conversation that was truly private, and hidden from cameras. They wouldn't have been able to listen in - this was proven by Shane being able to be frank with Cyrin about their worries in the maze when Cyrin came to Shane's "mind palace" as well.

That meant that this place - Connie's mind palace - was the only truly private place on the island right now.

And it was when he was asleep.

The problem was... Connie was not the kind of person to want to get involved. Yes, he'd agreed to help James find out who was causing the dreams. But he hadn't been the one to suggest it. James had to initiate that, and he had a feeling Connie would need to be asked about this, too.

It would affect the quality of Connie's sleep, after all.

"It's nice and quiet," James decided to say.

Even though Connie brought him here, it still felt like he was intruding.

"It is," Connie said, steadily gazing into the moving walls that depicted the stars of the night. "It's quite peaceful."

James watched Connie for a moment.

He... he felt like he couldn't just ask this question outright. Not because Connie couldn't handle it, but because something about it felt wrong. He didn't want to treat Connie merely as a tool to be used, and he didn't know if Connie would speak up much if he didn't want to be involved at all. Any time James asked him to do something, it felt like he was pulling teeth. It was more than just Connie's personality and manner. James felt like Connie felt obligated.

He wanted Connie to feel ownership. Not just of this situation, but of his choices.

"Can I ask you a question about yourself?" James asked quietly. "Now that... it's certain no one's listening?"

Connie turned away from the wall and back to James, slightly pinching his brows together. "You may. However, we don't need complete privacy for you to ask me questions."

"I know," James said softer. "It's just... nice to have it."

Connie gave him a small nod. "I understand."

"I guess I've been wondering about you," James said. "And why you - at least, outwardly - don't seem to show care for most things. Even people. I know it can't be all true that you don't, but I know that's how it's percieved by others."

Connie repositioned to angle himself more towards James, twisting around a few degrees before settling his hands back on his lap. Still stoic as always, he now gave James his full attention.

"Apathy and indifference are often perceived to be synonyms," Connie began. "But there is quite a stark difference between the two words. Apathy implies that you are uncaring to the suffering of the world. Indifference implies that you do not let the suffering of the world affect you. Happiness and suffering are two sides of the same coin. Peace is the middle-point of enlightenment, recognizing that good cannot exist without evil. I don't intend to come across as apathetic to the wrongdoings of the world, but I pick my battles carefully. The world is far too big to right every wrong."

James listened carefully, wanting to understand him. And, in many ways he did. James knew it was impossible to give your energy to every cause. And yet...

"Where does empathy fit into that picture?" James asked softly.

"Everyone has varying levels of empathy. It depends on several factors, whether it be environmental, cultural, or political. An affluent, well-educated family will offer different levels of perspectives and compassion than a family who lacks food security and housing. If the scale is the entire world, then empathy begins with death. Starvation, sickness, disease, disasters: these are the plights that plague mankind as a collective whole. But individually, for persons like you and me, our scales are much smaller. There is no right answer for where empathy begins or where it ends. For instance, some may view killing insects for invading their home to be cruel, while others view it to be righteous."

...Right.

James felt like Connie, maybe, wasn't hearing the heart of his question. It wasn't that James didn't appreciate hearing Connie's thoughts and where he was coming from, but Connie seemed to be stuck in the hypothetical world of philosophy, while James was considering the physical, here and now.

"How much do you know about what's been happening on the island?" James asked tentatively.

Connie stared at him for a moment. "I do not involve myself in the personal matters of how people spend their free time."

Right. That wasn't exactly what James was referring to either.

"I get that," James said. "And I respect that you honor other people's privacy. I'm just wondering if you'd be willing to get involved in mine."

"We are friends. Correct?" Connie said.

James's expresion softened.

And maybe it was just how bad a day it'd been, but he felt like the exhaustion of the day flooded fully into his features. At hearing the word 'friend,' a wall inside of him broke down, and he was sure that the sadness he'd been trying to push down over and over again all day was leaking through.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I... I care about you a lot."

"I respect and care about you too, James. And unless I am mistaken, friends listen and care about each other," Connie said steadily.

James swallowed down a knot.

"... Yeah," he said, a little weakly.

"I apologize if I have come across as apathetic towards you. I would gladly listen to whatever you want to say," Connie said, then paused. "Even if it is regarding the personal matters of how you spend your free time."

It occured to James, in that moment, that maybe it wasn't that Connie was apathetic.

Maybe he was just extremely socially awkward.

Connie had a way of speaking that was very formal, lacking in the relaxed confidence of someone who'd gone through the ups and downs of having friends from different backgrounds - or even just a variety of friends at all. There was a strong possibility that Connie had never been to a public school, and probably never got to interact with lots of children the way other people might.

He had no shame, but also didn't pick up on social cues very easily, if at all.

It was the mark of a stereotypical homeschooled kid.

Maybe Connie's whole speech on apathy wasn't even because he was ever apathetic himself, but just because he'd been accused of it.

And, to be honest, James hadn't been sure until Connie said it, but... Connie thought of James as a friend.

That was all James really needed to hear.

"Thank you," James said, trying to keep himself from getting overly emotional. But frankly, he was still reeling from the dream, and the abrupt interruption.

Getting turned in his sleep was still a possiblity, even if he was in Connie's mind palace.

"You're very welcome," Connie said, his expression and posture not having changed at all.

James nodded slightly, finally sitting up a little straighter himself, though he tucked his legs up instead of crossing them.

"To say it's about 'what I've been doing in my personal time,' isn't entirely accurate," James said after a pause. "It's more of what I've been putting up with in my personal time."

Not responding, but still watching James, Connie remained attentive.

"It's... it feels like an awful lot to explain, now," James said. "So much has happened in three weeks. Even to sum it up, I'm not sure if it'd even sound believable. And I want to consider if you feel up for hearing it. I don't know if it'd be overwhelming."

"I don't get overwhelmed," Connie said, unphased.

"...At all?" James asked, admittedly in some disbelief at the claim.

"No. Not since early adolescence," Connie said.

That. That felt kind of depressing to hear.

"Did something happen then?" James asked.

"No. Nothing happened," Connie said, then paused. "I'm set to take over a country, James. Heavy discussions like war, famine, and death hardly phase me anymore."

James nodded slowly.

That made sense of a lot of things.

Leaders weren't allowed to let their emotions rule them. They were damned if they did. It sounded like Connie was forced to learn that lesson at a very early age.

Which was sad...

Had Connie ever had the chance to just be a kid? He was probably never given the chance. The imminent position would've been put into his lap at birth, putting the weight of a country in a baby's hands.

It made James's own predicament feel small, for some reason. Almost too small to even bother sharing it.

But he'd already opened it up. It didn't make sense to close the book now.

"Alright," he said softly. "Um. I'll start... at week one."

He glanced back up at Connie, who'd returned to his attentive stare.

"I figured I'd brought it all upon myself at the time when I was put in 'time out' with Stravos, the night after I punched Oliver on camera. But I thought enduring Stravos's company would've been the end of it. Instead, it turned out to only be the beginning of a series of problems... most getting progressively worse."

James hugged his legs a little closer.

"So far," he said. "I've been held against my will, blackmailed threats against my family, humiliated in ways I don't even want to share, shot, tortured, burned, and now my life is at threat of being taken by a wendigo."

He paused.

"And that's not including the near-nightly night-terrors that often replay some of my worst memories and play into my deepest fears," James added. "And that's not... not even everything."

"I'm listening," Connie said when James looked up for a reaction. He was still attentively fixed on him, brows creased together slightly, but otherwise did not react.

James couldn't hold eye contact. He looked down at the void-like ground.

"I used to think it was Oliver's pettiness - getting back at me for a singular altercation. But now I'm not so sure. I mean... they've drugged me. My skin turned pink. I had a day where I couldn't keep any food down, and the next I was sick past the point of even functioning. And now I'm afraid all of this is just a prequel to what they're really trying to accomplish. I-- I don't want them to--"

His throat tightened again, and he held himself even tighter.

"I'm not naive," James said. "My whole life I've been afraid of becoming an animal. Treated like an organ farm, or even worse. I know how dark my future could be, and I'm terrified to think that they may be trying to inch me into it. Desensitize me now. Make me feel like less of a person, so it won't matter to me later."

Connie didn't speak right away, waiting for James to fully finish before he spoke up himself. And when he did, his voice was soft with understanding and compassion.

"You have endured horrors that are beyond comprehension, James," Connie began. "Your experiences are unimaginably harsh and unjust. While I cannot change your past, know that you are not alone, and together, we can find a path towards healing and safety. I want you to understand this before we delve further into this topic."

James wasn't quite sure what came over him. But his eyes were welling up with tears before he could process it.

He stared at Connie, for the first time, actually feeling safe enough to feel the fear and the pain he'd been suppressing all day. All month. All year.

It felt like too much for him. He was afraid it was too much for Connie. He didn't know how much Connie really meant it when he said he didn't get overwhelmed, but he really hoped Connie wasn't lying. Because in that moment, James started to cry.

He couldn't even hold himself up when it hit him. He melted to the floor, face to the ground, and he curled up and wept.

He didn't even have thoughts to think anymore. He was just so, so tired. So tired of everything. So tired of fighting. So tired of trying. So tired of being strong.

He just wanted to go home. He didn't want any of this. He didn't want to fight anymore. He just wanted a break. Instead his life was the hellride that never ended.

Time felt nonexistent in the void of Connie's mind. James couldn't percieve how long he'd cried, but it felt like and eternity. When he finally found the courage to look up, he saw a tissue box, floating over to him.

In stunned confusion, he looked from the tissue box to Connie, who was just... sitting there. Unemotive.

James took a tissue and blew into it. It took him a minute, and he went through a lot of tissues before he finally emptied his nose.

"I see how weary you are," Connie continued after a lingering silence. "It's okay to feel this way after enduring so much. You are not alone in this fight, James. It's alright to rest and let others like myself share the burden for a while. You're not alone. Let me help carry the weight that has been on your shoulders."

James felt his eyes spring with tears again. Still prone on the floor, he couldn't find the strength to get up.

"And that's okay w-with you?" James asked, his voice breaking.

"Of course. We are friends," Connie said like it was obvious.

And that just made James cry again.

"Thank you," James said through a sob, trying to sound coherent. He buried his face in his hands, too tired to worry about how he looked, curled up on the ground.

"Thank you," he sobbed again, wishing he could hug Connie, but not knowing how to ask when he could barely pick himself up from the sobs wracking his whole body.

"Please. Take your time. It's still early in the night," Connie said steadily.

James nodded into his hands, muffling an: "Okay," that sounded more like an ugly sniffle. Realizing he wasn't going to recover from this any time soon, he decided to take another risk, hoping that it would be okay.

"Can I have a hug?" James asked, peeling his hands from his face.

Connie nodded, getting up on his feet. "You may," he said, closing the gap between James to kneel next to him, leaning in for an embrace.

James wrapped his arms around Connie, burying his face into Connie's chest. Connie patted his back, rubbing it over a few times.

"Better?" he asked gently.

James nodded, but he did start crying harder.

God, it had been so long since he'd... he'd been able to cry like this. God, it'd been even longer since he'd felt safe. No one but Connie was around to listen or overhear. To judge or have opinions. Finally, he could just be sad.

He rode out the waves of sadness until finally they began to subside. Even more exhausted than before, he felt himself falling limp in Connie's arms.

He sat, leaning against him for some time before he spoke up.

"I... I don't know how else to say thank you," James whispered.

"You already did," Connie said back.

"I feel like all I've offered you is the mess of my life," James continued. "I don't even know you as well as I wish to."

"Friendship is not transactional, nor is it fully understood in three weeks. I'm perfectly content where we are right now," Connie said.

"You're a really good friend," James said softly, his voice still hoarse. "I'm so sorry I doubted you. It wasn't kind."

Connie patted his back. "I didn't take offense, so there's no need for guilt. Regarding your compliment: I appreciate it. Being a good friend is something I'm striving towards."

James nodded, tearing up again when he'd thought he was done already.

"Well you're doing a good job so far," James sniffled.

Connie let out a soft hum, giving him another pat. "Good to know."

James took in another shaky breath, and even though it felt like the right time to pull away, he didn't want to.

He wished he didn't have to leave this moment and wake up to everything waiting for him in the waking world. He wished he could just stay here.

"...Is it... okay if I sleep here?" James asked faintly.

He was afraid of what dreams might await him if he left.

"You're already asleep," Connie said plainly. "But you may stay here, yes."

James nodded.

"Thank you," he said again.

"Would you like to come back tomorrow night?" Connie asked.

"If it doesn't bother you," James said. "I don't know if this affects your sleep."

"It doesn't affect my sleep. Just my meditation," Connie replied.

James sniffled again.

"I can... I can be quiet," he said.

"I've also meditated here for the better part of the decade. I will be okay deviating from routine," Connie said with another pat on his back. "You may also find your sleep quality increasing if you stay here."

James didn't doubt it.

Finally pulling away, James rubbed his eyes.

"It's not hard to improve from when the standard is rock bottom," James joked sadly.

"Then certainly, this will help," Connie said, now sitting beside him, crossing his legs. "When your body naturally wakes up, you'll be pulled away from my mind palace. Tomorrow night, I will bring you in when I sense you sleeping."

James found himself staring at Connie's shirt, a little distracted by the tear stains on it.

With a tinge of curiosity, he picked up a tissue and reached over, dabbing Connie's shirt. Connie stared down at his hand, but didn't flinch or move.

"Do you think I cried in my physical body?" he asked.

"You are lucid dreaming right now, which gives you greater control of yourself in your dream. Your mind is in a different place, but your body is still connected to you. Your emotions are with your mind in this space, but your physical body follows suit. So yes, you did," Connie said.

"Oh," James breathed, pulling the tissue away. He supposed that the tears on Connie's shirt, then, weren't real tears. "...Guess my eyes will be dry when I wake up, then."

"If I could wake you up, I'd offer to do so you can wipe you eyes now. Unfortuantely, I do not have that luxury," Connie said with a straight face.

James smiled faintly. There was something endearing about Connie's straight-faced deliveries. Maybe he felt it more-so now that he knew where it was coming from.

"It's okay," James said. But he stopped himself from adding: "Wouldn't be the first time."

Because that was just sad.

"Do you want to talk some more? I also don't mind if you'd rather sit in silence," Connie said.

James did want to talk, but not today.

"Right now... I just want to lie down," he said.

"You are welcome to," Connie said, scooching a few feet away to give him more room to lay.

Nodding, James did just that. He laid down on the floor, and while Connie sat and meditated beside him, James closed his eyes.

Finally...

Rest.

Even though sleep felt impossible right now, Cyrin decided they'd have better luck sleeping if they just tried to keep their eyes closed as opposed to staring at the wall. With a heavy exhale through their nose, they rolled on their side to face away from it, closing their eyes again.

He was starting to feel the consequences of his meds running out-- something that had happened in the middle of the last week. Now all he felt like doing was... skydiving. Never mind that they'd never actually gone skydiving before.

It wasn't even skydiving in particular he had the urge to do. He just wanted to have the freedom to be reckless and wild, and lying in bed at... 3 AM, 4 AM, was not fulfilling that need.

At least it didn't feel too constrictive or stuffy in here. The door to the hallway was cracked, and cool ocean air was circulating in through the open window, making him feel as though he could be sleeping outside. Of course, that didn't feel as good as being outside would feel.

He needed to do something more ambitious with his time on the island. Start perfecting a new gymnastics routine, if Casper didn't find the gym first. Or maybe learn a new skill. Using a loom, maybe, since Clanny had so much wool on hand.

No, too boring. Not nearly active enough.

Cyrin internally groaned. But not out loud, because Lyall and Kaya were probably sleeping soundly in the room next to his.

It was a very quiet night. It shouldn't be disturbed.

Then they heard the sound of the cabin wall creaking, very, very softly.

Cyrin stiffened a little.

This cabin was brand new. It didn't creak.

They waited a long moment, wondering if they'd hear it again. Just as they were about to dismiss it as the product of an overactive imagination, they heard it again-- and louder. Like the source was closer.

That was rarely a hopeful thing with strange noises in the night.

Just to make it worse, when listening more closely, he thought he heard soft scraping, tearing noises. Like... claws.

Very, very slowly, Cyrin shifted ever so slightly to unpin his arm, letting his hand rest closer to his pillow. Close enough to reach for in an instant.

More creaking. And then the softest rattling of the open window, which made him freeze.

Did they dare look?

Extremely slowly, as if this tiny action could give them away, Cyrin cracked an eyelid open, just enough to see through their eyelashes without their eye looking open.

A set of long, bony fingers curled over the windowsill. Then another gripped the side as a shaggy, emaciated creature silently hauled itself up. The moonlight behind it outlined the edges of its antlers as it first came into view. Beady green eyes, set deep in the sockets of its stripped-down skull, glowed as it peered through the darkness. It carefully set one foot into the room.

For one long terrible moment, Cyrin couldn't move. His muscles had frozen up, and he thought his heart had stopped.

No. He could move. He needed to move.

The creature lunged, jagged maws wide open.

Shit.

Lightning fast, Cyrin's hand snaked under the pillow, snagging the knives they'd stashed there, while simultaneously rolling to the side and off the bed as fast as he could. The handle of the first knife was hardly in his hand before it was flying through the air, sinking deep into the wendigo's shoulder.

Grunting lowly, the wendigo faltered, stumbling into the side of the bed while Cyrin quickly got to his feet, backing up. Knife still embedded, it leapt for him again, undeterred.

Cyrin didn't notice any thought process happening in his brain telling him he needed to drop to the ground and roll away immediately, but before he knew it, he'd done just that, breathing heavily and getting to the far side of his room. It wasn't far enough. He wouldn't win this fight for his life by dodging the monster over and over. It only needed to get lucky once. Cyrin would have to get lucky every time.

With no thought to what they were doing, Cyrin gripped the second of their knives, clenching their fingers around the hilt-- and then stabbed himself in the arm with all the force he could manage.

Inner arm. By the shoulder. Sensitive nerves running through it. Brachial artery. Their brain rattled off these facts.

The pain was terrible and instant, and he didn't know what he'd managed to do, only that his whole arm was screaming. With a noise of pain, Cyrin ripped the blade out before transferring it to the wendigo as fast he could. The wound sealed up, and the terrible pain vanished.

The creature crumpled to the floor with a pained shriek. Then, shaking its head agitatedly, it started drawing back.

"Stop--!" it choked out, voice familiar. But it-- he didn't seem to be addressing Cyrin when he next roared, desperately, "Get out!"

Aaron.

Sick with dizziness and guilt, Cyrin backed up to their door, one hand on the handle and the other still gripping the knife. They felt sticky with their own blood, heart racing so fast it felt like it was going to escape from their chest.

"I don't want to hurt you!" he shouted. "You need to fight back!"

Writhing and clawing at his own head, Aaron tried to war with the beast that took over. The next glance he cast Cyrin was no longer beast-like. The green had dimmed to reveal dark, tearful eyes.

"Run!" he cried, just before the Monster took over once more.

Cyrin didn't wait another moment. He threw the door wide open, slamming it behind him. Lyall. He needed to get to Lyall. His life quite possibly depended on it.

His brain was a few steps ahead-- bang on his door, demand entry, haul him out-- before it skipped all of them, as Cyrin stopped short of running straight into Lyall.

"Monster," they gasped, unable to come up with any other kind of warning.

"Bridger?!" Lyall's eyes quickly fixated on their arm. With even greater alarm, he added, "Shite! What--"

"There is a monster, in my room, and it is vulnerable to fire," Cyrin breathed, cutting him off. There was no time to spare on explaining that. "I need you to ward it off."

There was a heavy thud against Cyrin's bedroom door behind him, as though to confirm. Immediately, Cyrin slammed his shoulder against it, putting his full weight on this side. He wasn't foolish enough to think it would work. He just needed time. Time for Lyall to act.

For a split-second, Lyall didn't seem to fully understand. Without hesitation, though, determination flashed in his eyes as he tugged on Cyrin's arm to pull them behind him.

"Don't let it reach Kaya," he said, already prepared for the possibility that his defenses didn't work.

"I won't," Cyrin grunted as a promise.

The door shuddered again even more powerfully, forcing Cyrin back, and he let it happen, moving away for what happened next.

Shoulders squared, Lyall took a cautious step closer-- then leapt back when the wendigo tore through the wood of the door.

Taking on a steadier stance, he thrust his open palms forward with a yelled, "Att flamma!"

A short burst of sparks and unfocused flames singed the beast, beating it back into the room. Lyall deftly slipped in through the gap it left, throwing a stronger blast at it as he followed.

Please, please, go for the window, Cyrin begged silently. Just end this.

Crawling back, the wendigo stubbornly searched for another opportunity to attack. When it made to pounce again, Lyall raised his arms in a block, summoning a blinding wall of flames with the motion. When the fire fizzled out, the beast was revealed to be slowly backing away for the window, its glowing eyes narrowed. It seemed to consider attacking again, but thought better of it before crawling out and leaping from the windowsill to the sand outside.

Lyall hopped forward, peering out the window.

Cyrin breathed a sigh of relief. But it wasn't relief. Not really.

He wasn't hurt anymore, but his arm was throbbing with phantom pain, and he didn't want to look at all the blood. It had only bled for a split second. Why was there so much of it?

Whirling around, a foreign, yellow-green light in Lyall's own eyes dimmed as he rushed back to Cyrin.

"The hell happened?" he hissed out, breath short. Tilting his head, he frantically searched where the gash used to be. "Did it catch you?"

Cyrin tried to answer, but his breath felt short, and he felt his gaze tunneling on the open window ahead. Escape. He needed to get out of here. The door had been locked again. He needed to--

"Cyrin." Lyall waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Please, talk to me. What happened?"

"It..." Cyrin shuddered, a shiver rippling down his spine as he clenched his fists.

Every muscle in his body was still screaming at him to move. He wasn't sure what he was seeing anymore. The broken door in front of him looked awfully like another, and his heart raced faster. He had to claw at it, break it down. Why was he forcing himself to stay where he was? He needed to--

"I... need to get out of here," he said urgently, panic flaring into his voice as he looked around helplessly. "I'm going to-- I'm trapped--"

"Cyrin," Lyall's voice gently cut through the panic, "every exit is open to you. But I strongly urge you choose to stay inside for now."

"Oh my god," came Kaya's quiet, horrified squeak from some distant point behind them.

For some reason, Kaya's voice reached him more than Lyall's did. Maybe because her tone wasn't smoothed over with gentleness.

Slowly, Cyrin turned towards Kaya. She stood in Lyall's doorway, hand covering her mouth as she looked on in complete shock. They were keenly aware that they were a terrifying sight right now-- covered in blood, sweaty, holding a weapon and looking like they'd emerged from a war zone. They didn't blame her.

"I'm... sorry," he managed to say. "I'm okay."

Tearing her eyes away from the knife in his hand, Kaya's brows pinched now with worry as she took in his face. "You don't have to be," she stammered.

Didn't have to be sorry or didn't have to be okay?

Cyrin didn't know. He just... wanted out. The window was begging to be leapt out of a second time.

"I'll... stay," he said weakly, even though he felt like he was betraying every instinct that told him to run, run, run.

"My room, or downstairs?" Lyall gently offered.

"Downstairs," Cyrin said quietly.

It was more open, and he didn't want Lyall to close the door of his room for privacy. Kaya might have a chance at resting that way, too.

Although from her face, those odds already appeared to be at zero.

"Downstairs it is, then." Lyall glanced at his fiancee, his steadfastness breaking just a little with concern.

"Cyrin, would it be alright if I joined?" Kaya asked tentatively, before Lyall could ask. "If we all... um, stick together?"

Cyrin hesitated for a moment.

He... no, he didn't really want any more people than necessary to see him this way right now. But he wasn't going to leave her to be scared and alone, potentially even unsafe, upstairs.

"Yeah," he said faintly. "That's okay."

With a nod, Kaya said, "I'll... meet you two downstairs in a minute, then. Thank you." Then disappeared back into Lyall's room.

"You good to walk?" Lyall murmured, looking back to Cyrin. "I'd say carrying you down is an option, but."

Cyrin let out a weak, humorless laugh that faded quickly. "I can walk."

He paused as he remembered something Lyall might not know.

"I'm not hurt," they added quietly.

"Good," Lyall replied firmly. Lifting an arm toward the stairwell, he softly added, "Shall we?"

Cyrin took a deep breath, focusing on the stairs as they slowly took them down, using the railing for support. He quietly hated it. He looked like he was about to panic and crumple to the ground, and he wasn't nearly far enough from that scenario to argue it wouldn't happen.

He was about to sink to the couch-- then remembered his entire side and arm as well as his back were bloody. Shuddering, he leaned forward, keeping those parts of him off the couch.

"Ah," Lyall said from beside him, as though just realizing himself, "I can grab something clean for you to change into."

"That'd be nice," Cyrin said quietly. "Thank you."

Lyall nodded, already rising again. "Sit tight, my friend," he said as he headed back upstairs.

Cyrin already knew he couldn't do that.

Once Lyall was out of sight, he quietly beelined for the kitchen sink, quickly grabbing the neck of his shirt and ripping it off over his head on the way. He held it in his hands, seeing the gash on the sleeve, and felt his mind fog up at the sight. He'd really done that? The bloodstains and the tear where he'd plunged the knife were the only evidence that it had happened at all.

Cyrin silently set the shirt aside, then placed the knife next to it, slowly turning his gaze to his arm. The blood, smeared over his skin, was still glistening, although it would dry soon enough. The metallic, pungent scent made him dizzy.

They groaned, clutching the edge of the sink and leaning over it, shoulders sinking. Cyrin had a rapid moment of déjà vu of them in front of their bathroom mirror, holding onto the sink for support as though it was the only thing keeping them upright, a familiar moment that had happened countless times. Thinking of that only made him feel more sick, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Get clean.

Almost losing their balance from freeing a hand, Cyrin grabbed the handtowel hanging under the sink to use it as a washcloth. Numbly, they watched the water run over it as they turned on the faucet, soaking the cloth until it was dripping. He shuddered again, feeling chilled to the bone, and it wasn't because he'd just lost a shirt.

"Cyrin?" Lyall softly called from beside him.

Cyrin blinked. The faucet was still running, and in a panic, he lunged to turn it off.

Fuck. No one ever crept up on him. What was going on in his brain?

"I got you..." Lyall held up a still-folded shirt.

Cyrin nodded weakly, but didn't reach for it yet, instead squeezing the excess water out of the washcloth and holding it up to his arm. He started by scrubbing gently, almost absent-mindedly, but he was soon doing it forcefully until his skin felt raw with the scraping pressure. It did nothing to weaken the smell of blood. And even though he could tell it was working, he didn't feel any cleaner. He felt almost mad, trying to get rid of the feeling that he was dirty and would never be clean again.

A warm hand rested over theirs, gently bringing the aggressive scrubbing to a stop.

"Can I help?" Lyall asked.

Cyrin closed their eyes, taking a deep breath. "Okay," they said faintly, even though they knew they should be thanking him.

Taking the washcloth from their hand, Lyall quietly rinsed and wrung it out. Then, leaning a hip against the counter, carefully wiped away what remnants of the since-healed wound remained.

"Do you have a preference between, ah, lavender or something citrus-y?" Lyall eventually asked, casting him a gentle grin.

"What's the context?" Cyrin asked quietly, their mind buzzing too much to determine it themselves.

"Scent-wise," Lyall answered. "Whatever came in, reeked. I'm about to Foobreeze the hell out of this cabin."

"Lavender," Cyrin said. Citrus smelled too much like cleaning wipes.

Lyall cracked another faint grin. "Good pick. Especially seeing as that's all I kept us stocked on, anyhow."

Cyrin wanted to laugh or at least smile, but they couldn't. Instead, they just nodded silently again, fighting down another wave of sickness.

"Alright." Lyall dropped the washcloth back in the sink, then unfurled a drying rag with a small flourish. Voice softening further, he asked while gingerly drying off their arm, "Do you think a distraction could help right now? Something like music to fill the silence? Or do you prefer the quiet at the moment?"

Cyrin felt their arms shaking as they leaned over the sink. He didn't know. He wanted to dissolve into nothingness, the numb haze that was currently clouding every thought he had.

"I..." he started helplessly, but there was no answer. What did the outside noises of the world matter when there was static quietly building up in his ears? He needed to be safe.

Lyall tilted his head, trying to lean into view. "Hey, can you look at me real quick?" he murmured.

Cyrin slowly turned his head to him, meeting his gaze bleakly. He didn't want to think about what his own face looked like right now. Quirking both brows with a small, sad smile, Lyall lifted his arms in a silently offer to a hug. And it was like some switch flipped in Cyrin's brain, where they went from not even knowing they wanted it to needing it.

Swallowing a lump that appeared in their throat, Cyrin leaned in, wrapping his arms around Lyall tightly as they took a shuddering breath. It felt like he'd found a liferaft to cling to. Lyall brought his own arms around Cyrin. He kept his hold loose, but it was full of warmth and comfort all the same. Cyrin melted into his embrace, closing their eyes again. Their throat felt painfully tight now, in a threatening way. He wasn't going to--

He was.

A strangled, choked sob escaped their throat, and their shoulder shook with another shudder as Cyrin struggled to keep the breakdown at bay.

"It's okay," Lyall quietly assured him, cradling the back of Cyrin's head to hold him closer. "You're alright..."

Even though he didn't want to cry, he had to. And he did.

Cyrin let out another quiet sob, feeling their eyes burn with warm tears. He wasn't sure when the last time something had gotten to him like this. With Casper, in the forest...? He couldn't remember. And he certainly hadn't been comforted like this then. He held Lyall closer, feeling like he couldn't let go.

They didn't know how long they were there, quietly crying. Maybe it was until their arms got tired from holding onto Lyall. In any case, their hold naturally weakened, and Cyrin ferociously wiped at their eyes in an effort to dry them, their vision blurring between blinks.

Lyall stayed as he was, holding Cyrin a little tighter in turn now. "We're probably not catching another solid wink for awhile after this," he hummed absently.

"No," Cyrin croaked. "Probably not."

Lyall lightly tsked. "I swear, we're all going to turn into insomniacs by the end of all this. For one reason or another."

Cyrin didn't answer right away, instead tightening his hug. Their lungs still felt uncomfortably tight.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," he whispered after a moment.

"No sorries necessary," Lyall promised them, tightening his hold just a little more. Like he needed this too. "I'm... just glad you're alright."

Cyrin took a few more deep breaths. Right. They could do this.

For the first time, he noticed that... Oh. Kaya was sitting silently on the couch. How long had she been there?

Normally, this would never get past them. But it had felt like their mind was in an entirely different place from their body.

"Thanks to you," they said quietly to Lyall.

Lyall let out a quiet breath, something between a dry laugh and a heavy sigh. "Anything," he murmured back, "for my dear friend, Cyrin Bridger."

Cyrin squeezed him a little tighter for a few moments before he slowly let go, pulling back with an unexpected reluctance. He reached for the shirt Lyall had gotten him, but paused before he put it on, his gaze flicking to his arm. Where he'd stabbed through his arm, there was newly formed scar tissue lining his tricep. They stared at it for a moment, surprised.

"Huh," he murmured.

The irony of this happening the same day-- or the day after, at this rate-- he'd told Lyall about it wasn't lost on him. It had only happened a few times, ever, before this. At least he was now informed about it.

Following his gaze, Lyall gave the scar a brief once-over before turning another concerned look back up to him. "Why don't we have a sit, now," he suggested.

"Okay," Cyrin said under his breath, tugging the shirt over their head, before the two of them moved back to the living room.

It was a small comfort to be able to sink into the couch without risk of staining it. Cyrin curled up against the edge, feeling strangely small. Maybe it was Kaya being a witness, or they were still feeling the earlier panic, but there was a small voice telling them in the back of their head that they were inviting danger by being this vulnerable. Cyrin took a deep breath, trying to quiet it.

Lyall first padded over to Kaya across the way. He bent over, whispering something in her ear before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Kaya tugged him closer again by the hem of his shirt, pecking him on the lips next. After another quiet exchange, spoken in a different language, Lyall pulled her up by her hand and walked her over to the couch where Cyrin had curled up.

Dropping heavily beside him, Lyall rested one arm along the back of the couch behind Cyrin, and wrapped his other around his fiancee as she settled into his other side.

"You two try to get some rest," Lyall murmured. "I'll be up for awhile."

Cyrin blinked. No questions? Maybe he was trying not to scare Kaya.

"I don't think I'll be able to," they admitted quietly.

"Me either," Kaya sighed, idly playing with Lyall's hand.

"Oh, I'm quite certain we won't sleep," Lyall agreed lightly. "But, at least rest. Release the tension as much as you can, you know?"

Cyrin let out a non-committal noise, sinking further into the couch. "I could, by a factor of zero."

"Ah," Lyall said woefully, "outwitted by maths. Very well, then." Expression softening once more, he rubbed Cyrin's shoulder. "We'll be okay," he reiterated, kind yet firm like a promise.

Cyrin nodded, trying to will himself to believe it. He trusted Lyall wholeheartedly. But the voice in their brain screaming that they weren't safe was too loud to rest with.

And sure enough, they couldn't even close their eyes. The only times they got close, it was like an alert in their brain went off, and they had to stretch their eyes wider to make up for it. But eventually, he thought he heard Kaya's breathing get quieter, until he almost couldn't hear her anymore.

"That new scar," Lyall eventually murmured after a long silence. "That wasn't from the monster, was it?"

Cyrin blinked, almost surprised to have the silence be broken, before they rolled up their sleeve to examine it.

They'd have to get used to that.

"No," they said faintly. "It wasn't."

Lyall hummed. "...Did it work?" He cast a weary, concerned glance toward Cyrin. "Fending it off like... that?"

Cyrin ran his thumb over the scar, then rolled his sleeve back over it.

"The transfer worked," he said quietly. "As for fending it off... I don't know. I'm not sure what would have happened if I couldn't get your help."

Lyall huffed a weak laugh. His faint grin quickly faded again as he turned his gaze back out to the middle-distance. "...And the knives?"

That was the more difficult question. But he'd known it was on the way.

Cyrin sighed quietly.

"It's a long story," they said. "But the short version is that... Today, I got a tip from James that one, there was a monster on the island, and that two, it could be targeting him and I specifically. I grabbed those from the kitchen." They paused. "I wasn't expecting to need them this early."

With a slow nod, Lyall quietly turned over every implication of this new information in his head. "I'm sorry you needed them at all," he sighed sadly.

Cyrin nodded mutely.

He had no idea how frightening this looked on the outside. How many questions Lyall was holding back. What his feelings were-- disappointment, fear, relief. It was so much to anticipate when he still couldn't get grounded.

"Lyall," he said softly. "What do you already know about wendigos?"

At that, Lyall looked back at him with some surprise. Brows furrowed, he parted his lips to say something. Then shook his head. "Not a lot, to be honest. But." He shook his head again. "We don't have to get into it right now."

Cyrin folded his knees up to his chest, hugging his legs close.

"Are you sure?" they asked quietly. "I want you to be..."

They faltered before finally finding the last word.

"Safe," they finished.

"It's okay," Lyall promised softly, "I can do some reading up on my own time." He let his arm warmly rest around Cyrin's back. "We already know fire is an effective repellent. So, we're alright for tonight."

Cyrin reluctantly nodded, letting his head fall against Lyall's shoulder. "Okay," he said softly.

Lyall leaned ever so slightly back, likely to keep from jostling Kaya. He pulled Cyrin closer into his side. "We're alright," he murmured again.

Cyrin slowly set an arm over his shoulders as well, letting Lyall hold them. He didn't know if they were really alright, but he could trust that this moment was safe. Even if they wouldn't be closing their eyes.

"You did what now?" Ethan said with a raised brow, fiddling with a leaf in his hand. "You made her cry?"

It was a normal night at the good ole DMV. And by normal, Ethan meant he and Cas were having heart-to-hearts at while stalking the cabins at 2am, sitting cross-legged by bushes, as one does. Somethin' about how the all-knowing gods of this island saying that stuff will go down soon enough, and they had to be ready. Real ominous and ~mysterious~. A perfectly normal night.

"I--" With a small defeated noise, Cas visibly deflated. "I think I made things worse, at least."

Ethan hummed, twirling the leaf with his thumb and forefinger. "What'd you say to her?"

They were talking about Eve, one of the few ladies in the pool of contestants of this show. It was a real dramatic showdown yesterday when the visitors came to visit, and she hurriedly ran off when her visitor didn't come. It was kind of sad... so Ethan was glad Cas went after her.

Caspar, however, still seemed quite regretful and guilt-ridden. "Just... tried, uhm. Clearing things up? Wasn't totally sure I saw things right."

Ethan blew out a raspberry, tossing the leaf so he could switch it out with another, slightly bigger one. "I dunno, things were pretty tense yesterday. Maybe it wasn't the right time to approach the subject. It could be really sensitive to her."

"You're pro'ly right," Caspar quietly agreed. "Given... worsened circumstances."

"That's alright, buddy. You have a good heart, and you tried your best," Ethan said with a smile. "Do you think you're going to talk to her again?"

Slowly straightening out his legs in front of him with a stiff old-man's grunt, Caspar flopped onto his back. "Yeah. But maybe not about that again."

"Yeah." Ethan nodded eagerly. "Yeah." He paused, pursing his lips. "It's kind of sad... I haven't really seen Eve happy while on the island. Maybe she just needs a friend who can make her smile."

"There are small moments where she smiles." Caspar folded his hands over his stomach. "Very small, quick ones, though."

Ethan grinned, tossing the leaf again as he leaned back with his palms. "That's a start! You can do it again. What'd you say to her?"

Tilting his head to look at Ethan, Caspar furrowed a confused brow. "...When?"

"What'd you say to make her smile, I mean?" Ethan asked with a silly smile of his own.

"Oh." Caspar shrugged. "I... didn't. We just started talking about illustration." A small, fond grin tugged at his lips. "She was so excited, talking about her favorite kinds of art."

"Oh, really?" Ethan extended his leg to bump his foot against the brim of his hat. "Maybe you can get her to open up with art. Make her smile with it. And tell a fun joke while you're at it."

With a huffed laugh, Caspar re-adjusted his slightly askew hat. "Okay. Yeah, that's a great idea."

"What joke would you say?" Ethan asked.

"Maybe... they'll come to me as we go," Caspar hummed.

"Aw, man. You mean you don't have any fun jokes to crack in that noggin of yours?" Ethan teased.

"Well, not when I'm put on the dot," Caspar huffed.

"Aw, come on," Ethan said with a goofy grin. "You're a funny guy. Hit me with your best shot. Ready, set go!"

Visibly scrounging his brain for something, Caspar hummed in deep concentration. "...Why don't eggs tell jokes?" he eventually asked.

Ethan drew out a long hum, thinking. "'Cause they're already egg-cellent?"

Caspar grinned at that. "Yes, I accept this as an answer."

"No way!" Ethan said with a grin. "Was that what you were going to say?"

Caspar shrugged. "Maybe."

Ethan narrowed his eyes at him, pursing his lips. "Nuh-uh. You're just saying that."

"Mmmaybe," Caspar repeated, a little cheekily.

"Well, do you want to hear one of my favorite jokes?" Ethan asked with a grin, waggling his brows.

"Of course," Caspar answered brightly.

With a toothy grin, Ethan scrambled to his feet, ready to belt the joke out with his whole body since it involved mimicking a sheep. But movement caught his eye from the cabin they were supposed to be staking out, and his face fell grim at the sight.

What the hell? Someone-- something-- was jumping out of the rizz bois' balcony. It was dark, so he couldn't make out too many details, but the creature was bipedal and large, sprinting into the jungle.

"Caspar," Ethan called, voice low and serious.

Ethan only had to share a look with him for them to be on the same page: the situation was not just bad; it was dire. Cas was quick to get up on his feet, and the two of them chased after the creature without needing to exchange words.

It was dark, and the forest was thick. But a trail of dark blood was dripping after the creature, so the creature was hurt. And from the small bits of information Ethan picked up from footage, he knew that this creature wasn't a monster.

The figure far ahead stumbled as it started changing shape. Shrinking, actually, into a smaller, more human-like form. It-- he-- sounded on the verge of hyperventilating, his breaths were that hard and loud. Recovering his footing, he zipped and weaved through the trees ahead in a panic.

"Hey, buddy!" Ethan called out after him, nearly slamming into a thin tree he didn't see in front of him. He pushed away the twigs that sprung out, chasing after him.

Name. He needed a name. Ah!

"Aaron, you're hurt," Ethan called when it came to him, still running after him with huffing breaths, though keeping a respecful distance away to not spook him. "Did you know you're bleeding?"

Aaron only let out a terrified yelp when he heard him. Skidding gracelessly in the dirt, he banked a hard left in an attempt to shake them.

"Man, you're fast!" Ethan huffed, almost running into-- nope, he ran into the tree. "Ow," he mumbled, pressing his hand against his nose, but had no time to recover since Cas then thudded him against the tree, sandwiching him in as he once again slammed his nose against the tree trunk. "Ow!" he yelped out again.

Caspar swored under his breath. "Sorry, sorry!" He pushed off, and pulled Ethan with him.

Ethan felt his hand wet under his nose. Dang. That definitely wasn't snot, since it came out thin.

"It's fine, just a bleeding nose," he said with a little smile to Cas, then beckoned for him to follow after Aaron. "It's okay, Aaron!" he called out. "Don't worry! Night runs are our favorites!"

They fell behind because of the whole tree debacle, but Aaron wasn't too far since he was slowing down. Ethan squinted ahead, following the rustles of the leaves. He slowed to a stop when he saw Aaron bent over next to a log, wheezing from pain. Teeth grit, the smaller man cried out as he clutched at his head.

Ethan's heart ached in pain. Aaron was battling the monster within. He was just some guy. He didn't deserve this pain and suffering.

"Hi, Aaron," he said with a quieter voice, standing a few yards away to give him space. Ethan crouched down, glancing back at Caspar with a nod, indicating that he had this handled.

Caspar obliged and stood back, but kept alert as he watched with open concern and sadness.

"My name is Ethan. My buddy here is named Cas. We're just here to see how you're doing. How are you holding in there?" he said with a gentle voice.

Aaron flinched when he took notice of Ethan's approach. Frantically, he tried scrambling away.

"No," he choked out, falling at the other side of the log with a grunt. "Please-- He's here, you have to go!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe here with us. I'm glad you're looking out for me, but I want to look out for you too," Ethan said steadily. "Is it alright if I stay here?"

Breaths still short, Aaron pressed himself against the log, ducking low so that the stubby remains of his antlers were all that was visible.

"You're hurt," Aaron uttered.

"So are you," Ethan said back with a little smile. "How about this? I can heal you, then you heal me. Does that sound good to you?"

"I can't--"

Biting down a low groan, Aaron thumped his head against the log with a whimpered, "Get out..."

Ethan felt his heart twist with empathy. He wanted to use silly humor and keep things light so Aaron could feel safe enough to draw near, but that approach wasn't going to work. He was suffering with far too much pain to feel anything else.

"I hear you. You're scared," Ethan said gently, inching a little closer. "But it's okay to be afraid. Just know you're not alone." He paused, taking another step forward. "Aaron, you're hurt. I have healing magic. Please let me help. Can I come closer?"

Aaron stilled, indicating he heard, but didn't answer. But he didn't move away, either.

Ethan stood still for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at Caspar. Stance ready, hands on his sides, the cameraman just flicked an uncertain gaze between Ethan and the log.

Right. This was coming back to him now...

Before the visitors came, Shay made sure to sit the two of them down and repeat after her many, many times: "Aaron is a wendigo." Though, neither Ethan or Cas knew what that was, so then she went on to a long history lesson about it. Ethan had no idea how much Cas retained, since he promptly forgot about a lot of it, but he did remember her stressing the infection portion.

Wendigos were infectious, spread by bodily fluids. So, blood and spit. And other ways. Not that that was important.

Okay. Aaron didn't want him to be near because he was afraid he'd hurt him. That made Ethan's heart sink more, but he was even more determined to be with him now. Aaron needed someone now more than ever.

"I'll respect your space. We don't have to touch or be close for me to help you," Ethan went on. "Let's just talk. Can we do that? Talk?"

There was long beat of silence before Aaron drew in a shuddering breath.

"About what...?" he weakly asked.

Ethan hummed. "What's your favorite drink?" he asked.

"...I don't," Aaron said uncertainly.

"Oh, are you a water kind of guy? That's cool too. I like water," Ethan said with an eager nod. "Very tasty."

Off to the side, Cas slowly and quietly took a seat in the dirt, shaking his head in light disagreement.

Ethan gasped. "Cas just shook his head. He doesn't think water is tasty. Aaron, what do you have to say to defend the best beverage known to man?"

Another stretch of quiet.

"...He's not wrong," Aaron eventually spoke up again. His voice was still shaky, but he spoke clearer now. Not so lost to his fear.

Ethan smiled at that, drawing out another hum as he tapped his chin. "Well, okay then. So what's your favorite tasty drink? All beverages are fair game."

"I don't. Have one," Aaron reiterated.

"No problemo. That was kind of a weird question anyways," Ethan said with a smile and a shrug. "Okay. So what's your favorite dessert? You seem like you've got a sweet tooth."

With another shaky exhale, the top of Aaron's head disappeared from view completely. He noisily slumped to the dirt as he quietly answered, "Cake is nice."

"Ooh, cake!" Ethan piped up. "I love cake. My wife and little sister bake a lot of cakes. Oh, and Bo does too." He paused, squinting up at the sky in thought. "Huh, they should really make a baking club..." Ethan shrugged, continuing on with a smile. "Anyways, cake is an important part of my food pyramid, actually. It helps me get big and strong."

"That..." Aaron drew in a slower, steadier breath this time. "You should see a nutritionist, then."

"Ooooh, are you an expert on nutrition?" Ethan asked excitedly. "You seem like you know a thing of two about nutrients. What's your favorite vegetable, doc?"

"I'm not..." Aaron actually sighed now. Then, more hesitantly, asked, "You... you said you're a healer, right?"

"Yeah!" Ethan exclaimed, nodding eagerly again. "I come from a long family of healers, so I think I know a thing or two about owies. Like, did you know most magic healers have some kind of after-effect after healing? Though most of the time, healing just tires them out. You know, uses tons of energy and all that. But the Bennett family?" He balled his fist and proudly smacked his chest once as if he were a monkey. "Not us! We can handle hoards of people before it becomes too much. So you're lookin' at a top-of-the-line healer around, bub. You can ask for my autograph later, though I don't think it's worth very much. Unless you sell it to my wife. She might buy it off you for a nickel, maybe."

After another hesitation, Aaron slowly pushed himself back upright. Wincing, he bit back a pained whine. "Can you...?"

"Yeah, no problem, buddy!" Ethan said with a smile, standing upright again so he could draw near. He slowed to a stop until he was a few foot away, eyes scanning the damage.

Leaning sideways against the log now, Aaron's upper half was finally in view. In the dark, sticky black running down his arm contrasted starkly against his skin. He firmly pressed down on it, staining his hand too.

Crouching down, Ethan offered a smile and a hand. "Mind if I come closer? I've got the magic touch. You might feel a little tingley where I poke you, but that's the healing magic at work."

Aaron squinted hard at him-- but probably just because he didn't have his glasses on. After considering Ethan for another long moment, he wearily nodded once.

"Okie dokie. Coming in hot," Ethan said as he shuffled forward, then plopped on to the dirt in front of him. He scootched an inch closer until he was fully in front of Aaron, smiling. "Hang tight. You'll feel better in no time."

The gashes on Aaron's arm and shoulder looked deep and intentional. From the way the gashes went straight down with a slight angle, this didn't seem like an accident. And there were no bite marks, either. Were these knife wounds? Was it self-inflicted? It could be, it could not be. That wasn't important right now, though.

Blood was pulsing out of the open wound, pouring over Aaron's shaking fingers pressing down on it.

This wasn't good. Aaron lost a lot of blood. That, Ethan couldn't heal.

But he could help.

"I helped a guy named Aaron heal from a gash like this once," Ethan began idly.

He reached his hand out so he could touch Aaron's forearm. Aaron winced, but did not resist, so Ethan focused on healing him, carefully running the magic through his finger with deep concentration, keeping in mind to heal the arterial damage as well.

"Yeah. This was when I worked in the infirmary," he went on as he lined his finger along the gash at a slow and steady pace to minimize pain. "Real stand-up guy, that Aaron was. At the time, he was maybe the same age as you, maybe a bit younger. Blind as a bat, but he wore contacts, so he blinked a lot. Do bats blink? Anyways, this Aaron had big brain. Like, seriously. Big head. He apparently could move things with his mind like a crazy scientist. Apparently scissors were flying through the air, and eesh. Ouch. If he went to a normal hospital, he'd have to get stitches."

By the time Ethan finished speaking, he had fully closed up both wounds, leaving only behind crusted blood. Smiling, he gave Aaron a warm pat as he looked up to meet his eyes.

"But luckily for both Aarons, they saw me instead. So, no stitches. Good news, right?" he said proudly.

Ducking his head, Aaron was unable to meet Ethan's eyes. "...Thank you," he mumbled.

"No prob at all. How are you feeling?" Ethan asked.

Aaron didn't answer. But his slumped position against the log and hand tremors were answer enough.

"Man," Ethan sighed, slouching back with his hands. "You must be beat." He paused, then sat up straight again, a new idea popping in his head. "Oh, I know. You know what we could do? Eat cake. My sister made a vanilla cake with buttercream frosting between the layers. We have tons left over. You have got to try it. What do you say?"

Aaron's expressions turned reluctant, and sad. "I shouldn't. Be around people, that is."

"What about cake?" Ethan asked with a toothy grin. "People aren't cakes."

"I--" Aaron glanced off, falling into an unsure silence.

"Do you like vanilla? Or do you like another flavor?" Ethan asked.

"How will you heal yourself?" Aaron quietly asked instead.

Ethan sniffed, though had to bite back a cough since he realized he had sniffed up blood. Eugh. That went up his nose.

"That's really nice of you to think of me," he said with a smile, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "I'm not badly hurt, so I'll hang in there. But if it helps you feel better, I can wake up my sis. She's a healer too, but mostly for the staff. And she's a doc as well. Like, a legit doc! Very talented."

Aaron nodded, seeming satisfied with this answer, then slid back down behind the log. "...You should go now."

"You too, buddy," Ethan said, still smiling. He hopped up to his feet, offering a hand to Aaron. "Need a hand?"

Curling up small, looking for the world like a mangy stray, Aaron didn't acknowledge him.

"Hey, Cas!" Ethan called, using his hand to wave towards him now. "Do you want to come with us? Aaron and I are going to eat El's cake. Wanna join?"

Straightening, Caspar looked with confusion between Ethan and the log. "Uh, sure."

"Yeah, that's the spirit. Just three guys off to eat cake at 3am," Ethan said with a toothy grin. "What do you say, Aaron? Want to go on a night walk with us?"

Aaron peeked up at him again, trying to muster an irritated glare. It lasted for all of three seconds before he let go of the facade and sighed with exhaustion.

"We can," Caspar slowly offered, "get you some new clothes, while we're at it?"

Ethan nodded eagerly. "Oh, yeah, that's a great idea! You can poke around our closet and pick out what you like. Might not be super trendy though."

They waited another few quiet moments, before Aaron shakily pushed himself to his feet.

"Okay," was all he mumbled, sounding small as he fixed his gaze on the ground.

Ethan beamed, grinning wide as he led the way back where they came from, beckoning for them to join. Cas's heavy steps were quick to follow behind.

"Do you like hats, Aaron?" Ethan idly said as he walked. "I have a hat for you. It's a bucket hat with little antlers on them. My son won't wear it and it's too small for my head. And my wife only wears it for Crimus. Hm. Might be too small for yours too, actually..."

He paused in his steps, looking over his shoulder and again smiling invitingly and motioning for them to follow.

"It's this way, by the way! To the cake!" he hollered.

With a smaller hesitation, Aaron slowly trailed behind the two.

"So, anyways. What was I talking about?" Ethan went on with a cheerful hum. "Oh! Right. About that hat..."

Alan had set the alarm to go off at 5:30am. It was earlier than his normal waking time, but it may as well be his normal waking time while on this island. He hadn't had the chance to tell Hild he couldn't make it to their morning 6am runs, and so he wanted to get up early to tell her this is person.

It was a little ironic, to get there only to tell her that he wasn't going to run with her... but it was the best he could do. It was mostly due to logistics, really. He wasn't dressed the part, and it would be too much of a hassle for her to wait on him. Alan supposed he could have woken up even earlier to make this work, but... it was too late for that.

It wasn't difficult to get up, though. The air through the hall wafted in his room as Alan changed and got ready, and it smelled so delicious. Alan had made brunch enough times for his cabin mates that he could recognize the smell in his sleep: bacon, eggs, and waffles.

After folding the half-dozen blankets neatly on the couch, Alan finally bounded down the hall, poking his head in to see Bo cooking up a feast in the kitchen.

Bo was standing at the stove-top, and he turned around when he heard Alan's footsteps. Flashing a warm smile, he rotated bacon in a pan.

"Oh hey," he said. "Good morning!"

Alan softly smiled, inviting himself into the warmth of the kitchen. "Good morning. I didn't realize you'd be up making breakfast. I'd have gotten up earlier to join you."

Bo waved a hand dismissively. "Psah! No worries. You needed the sleep. I love to cook anyway - work hasn't ruined that for me, which is a blessing."

Alan hesitated by the entrance of the kitchen, hand against the wall. "Are you sure? I'd be happy to help."

Bo waved with one hand, gesturing to the small kitchen table for Alan to sit.

"I'm almost done, anyway," Bo said. "You can help me by eating all of this."

Alan glanced at the table, then at Bo, then gave him a small smile of appreciation, nodding. "Okay. Thank you, Bo. I appreciate it," he said as he made his way to the table, pulling up a chair to sit.

"You are very welcome~" Bo sing-songed pleasantly with a melodic tune.

Alan smiled. "How did you sleep?" he asked.

"Pretty good, actually," Bo said, scooping up a bunch of bacon from the pan and putting them on a plate. "Had a dream about muffins that came to life and were running around my kitchen. Felt like I was Mr. Moopet. Or is it... who's the guy who makes the ginger-bread man that comes to life? Do you know the one?"

Alan shook his head. "Interesting dream. Though, I don't think I know that one."

Bo let out a small laugh. "Oh, well," he said. "I'm just glad food doesn't actually come to life. That'd be freaky."

He came over to the kitchen table with a plate full of bacon and a covered bowl with scrambled eggs in it. It looked like it was mixed with chorizo, too. Bo set them down.

"Wow, this looks really good," Alan said, admiring the food.

"It ought to," Bo said with a little grin. "I went to school for this!"

Alan smiled up at him. "I suppose I'm dining in at a private five-star restaurant, then."

"Ah, yes," Bo said, twirling his hand and giving Alan a little bow. "This morning, I am your private chef."

"This is so kind. Thank you," Alan said warmly, then glanced at the clock. "I... unfortunately, have someone to meet by six, so I don't have a lot of time to eat. I'm sorry, I would have gotten up earlier had I known. But this still means so much to me."

Bo laughed. "It's fine," Bo said, turning around and grabbing a plate with a thick, fluffy waffle. "If you want, you can take some to go."

He plopped the waffle down in front of Alan, fork included.

"You really do know all of our food preferences, don't you?" Alan mused, admiring the perfectly crisped edges of the waffle.

"It's kind of just how my brain works," Bo said with a shrug as he brought in a plate of his own. "If anyone mentions a food they like ever I simply cannot forget it."

Alan quietly hummed. "Your love language must be food."

"That is is," Bo said with a grin, scooping out some eggs onto his plate and then adding some bacon. "There's nothing like making something for someone and then watching them enjoy it. It just makes my heart happy."

Alan smiled again, endeared by his words. He felt the same way.

"What's your favorite food?" he asked.

Bo's face lit up at the question.

"I love butter chicken," he said. "Or any kind of curry."

Bo lifted a finger, interjecting with himself. "But! If we're talking breakfast foods. I'm crazy for omelettes. A good omelette is like a hug for my stomach. Or like Maya says: a huggy in my tummy."

Alan nodded, tucking away this information in his head. "That's adorable. I'm sure you make a mean omelette. Though, I can see you regularly spoiling your family with delicious and healthy meals."

"It's not spoiling!" Bo said, lifting up his bacon-clad fork. "It's blessing!"

And then he plopped the bacon in his mouth.

"Of course," Alan said with a smile. He hesitated, glancing at the time again. "I really should get going, though. Do you mind if I take some food with me?"

Bo huffed through his nose. "Not at all," he said. "Here, let me get you a tupperware container. You can return it whenever - no rush and all that."

He turned around and opened up the kitchen cabinet, taking out a glass tupperware bin with a clipped-on lid. He popped it open and set it on the table.

"Pack in as much as you'd like," Bo said.

"Thank you," Alan said with an appreciative nod.

He picked up the container, packing in a modest amount of food. He slid in the thick waffle from his plate, then added three slices of bacon on top of that, then padded the remaining room with the egg-and-chorizo combination. Satisfied, he clipped down the sides of the lid, satisfied with the amount.

Alan was actually ridiculously hungry. But he could eat later.

"I'm sorry again for leaving so soon, especially after you've been so kind in making me food and caring for me for the full day yesterday. Honestly, I don't know what came over me." He looked down at the lid solemnly for a moment, but then brightened up with a hopeful smile. "But I am better now, thanks to you. I really does mean a lot to me. I won't forget it."

Bo smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Alan," Bo said. "It was well worth it for me. I know you're new to meeting me, but I've seen you from afar for a while - only by nature of my job. You really are such a pure, sincere soul, and I can tell your friends and family treasure you so much. It pained me to see you so distraught yesterday. I'm so glad you've been able to recover and I hope that keeps going. If you ever need anything, my door is always open. And my kitchen, too."

That warmed Alan's heart, even though it did make him feel a little small. He hadn't realized he was being watched, even if it was innocuous.

"I appreciate that. Truly," Alan said sincerely, hand over the container as he stood up, but did not yet move. "We'll see each other again. I promise you that."

"For sure," Bo said. "I'll catch you later."



Giving Bo a final wave, Alan turned around and bounded down the path, quickly running through the list of priorities in his head.

First, Hild.

He had to hurry so he wouldn't be late to meet her. He hadn't told her that he wouldn't be there, and the last thing he wanted was to not show up. He remembered how much it hurt her feelings when James didn't show, and even though she tried to play it off and say it wasn't a big deal, he knew that it still hurt. He could tell in the gloom in her eyes, the slight disappointed frown of her lips.

Fortuantely, Bo gave him a new set of clothes... which was weird, considering that the montage host Mel had outfits for everyone in her closet, apparently. But he didn't overthink it, grateful that he didn't have to walk around and make amends while wearing Shane's flannel pajamas.

Second, his family.

After parting ways with Hild, Alan wanted to see his mom and brother. They were here on the island. Actually here. Bo even proved it by showing him that they exchanged numbers. It was a little surreal, and he almost didn't believe it, so he had to see for himself.

He couldn't wait to see them. He missed them so, so much. It had been two months since he'd seen them, now. And since they were already housed without much expectation to work or hustle, it excited Alan that he now actually had the time to relax and be fully present with one another for the full week. And they could also meet his new friends!

Third, Shane.

Alan winced at the thought of how he left things with Shane. He left with no explanation, not even a goodbye. He no doubt worried him. Plus, he had to give him his pajamas back.

Fourth, Lyall and Cyrin.

It was the same sentiments. Alan left his room in such a hurry, and he must have worried them when he didn't respond or come back for the night.

Fifth... was there a fifth priority?

There were so many others he could consider. Spend even more time with his family. Spend more time with Shane. Create memorable memories with Lyall. Get to know Cyrin on a deeper level. Play more music with Hild. Shower even more appreciation for Clanny. Give Shrimp pets. Give the alpacas pets. Practice violin. Start a new original song, only to throw it away.

There was a lot. But... he could cross that bridge when he got there.

It felt so nice to have the comfort of his own mind again. Finally, he could think with more clarity.

Walking briskly, Alan could see the usual trailhead they meet up at. It was just ahead now, and...

He squinted, second-guessing himself since his vision was so bad right now. It wasn't that he wasn't sure who was ahead. Rather, he wasn't sure if there was no one ahead.

Drawing closer, Alan stood by the base of trail, confirming that he was indeed alone.

Huh. Maybe they were late...? Though, it was very unlike Hild to be late.

Alan waited a minute in silence, tilting his head up to admire how the morning sunlight filtered through the leaves. Taking in a silent deep breath, he sat on the nearby bench, setting Shane's folded pajamas next him on the bench, and the food container on his lap.

He was starving. And he didn't have a fork on hand, but honestly, he didn't care. If James or Hild were to walk up to him and see him eating with his bare hands, so be it.

Alan ate the bacon first, soaking in the morning sunrise and the chitters of the songbirds, taking one bite a time. He moved on to the waffle next, which was a perfect blend of crispy and fluffy. When he finished that, he scooped the eggs in his mouth, totally emptying the container.

Alan stared at the now-empty container, still a little hungry, but grateful for having the time to eat good food made with love. He slowly clasped the lid back on, already forming a plan of when and how he would return this container back to Bo.

He promised he would return, and he intended to follow through with that. And if Bo's love language was food, then Alan wanted to give all of it to him.

Alan glanced around, still not seeing Hild or James anywhere.

Maybe... they cancelled. Ah well. He could still make the best of the day.

With a nod, Alan stood up, reinvigorated with new energy now that he had food in his stomach. Next up in his priorities were his family, and that was a bit of a hike away, so he better get moving now.



The mansion was ahead now. That was where Bo said they were staying. He had given him general direction of where to go before they parted ways, but... well, Alan was sure he could figure it out.

Alan slowed to a stop in front of the doors, hand on the handle to open, but not yet pulling it towards him.

... Wait. It was just past 6am.

His family did not wake up that early.

Unless... maybe... they were boat-lagged from the time zone differences?

Alan groaned, facepalming. He should have considered this earlier. His family often didn't start their day until the later hours of the morning, so unless Alan woke them up, he would have to wait.

That was fine. He didn't want to disturb their sleep. He could come by another time.

Alan turned his heels away, bounding down the same path he came from so he could back-track his way to the cabins.

Okay. So up next on the list of priorities...

"Mister Alan!" an unfamiliar voice called ecstatically.

Mister Alan? This again?

Alan whirled around, trying to locate the source of the voice. Following the same path, someone with big brown hair was fast-approaching.

"Where'd you put your eyes, man?" the person snickered.

Alan stared, squinting at the person. No, young man. Though, the voice didn't sound familiar.

"Good morning," Alan greeted, still a little unsure who he was, but he smiled anyways, waiting for him to come closer.

"Mornin'!" The younger man sprang to a stop, arm held out for a handshake. "I'm Viktor Ashlund. Great to meet you!"

Realization slow sunk in, and a giddy smile tugged on his lips. "Viktor?" he said with a giddy laugh, holding him by the shoulders and tilting him at various angles. Alan grinned, recognizing the familiar features of the Ashlunds he held so dear in his heart.

Instead of shaking his hand, Alan leaned in for an embrace, wrapping his arms around the boy's shoulders and bringing him close. "I can't believe it's you!" he said with another laugh and a gentle squeeze.

Quick to return the embrace and heartily pat Alan on the back, Viktor laughed. "We got a hugger!" he commented, pleasantly surprised. "Very nice."

Alan beamed, pulling away and brushing his shoulders as he met his eyes. "What are you doing here? How did you get here?" he said with a little laugh, finally peeling away. "And have you met your siblings yet? They're going to be so excited you're here."

Viktor grinned back. "Yeah, no worries. I got here on the boat with everyone else. Everyone on the island was there already to meet us when we docked."

"Everyone else?" Alan echoed with a curious tilt on his head. "You mean... there are other visitors?"

Grin never fading, Vik glanced off, as if unsure if he was serious or not. "Yeah, like. 12% of a boatload of people came?" He patted an excited hand to Alan's shoulder. "Your brother was looking all over for you yesterday."

Alan grinned, eagerly nodding. "I heard! I came by to see him, actually." He paused. "Do you know if he's awake?"

Viktor blew a raspberry. "Nah, he's sleeping like a big baby at the moment. I'm rooming with him. He got back about the same time I did. Which was kinda late."

"That's such great news. You're rooming with him. I can't believe this," Alan said, unable to drop the smile and giddiness bubbling inside of him. He glanced up at the mansion, pausing. "Well, I did come by to see him and my mom. But they both are asleep. Ah well. I can come back later."

Vik grinned brighter. "Yeah, that'd be great!" he agreed. "They kinda missed you yesterday. Oh!" He bumped Alan's shoulder with his hand. "I brought my guitar! I want in on one of those jam sessions."

Alan grinned, already excited about the prospect of jamming with all of the Ashlunds. "That's a wonderful island, Viktor! We'll make it happen this week. I can't wait to hear you play. It'd be an honor to perform next to you and your siblings."

"Well." Vik snorted. "'Honor' is a bit of a stretch, but, uh, thanks! I look forward to seeing the great Alan Alvaro perform in person! Both my siblings sounded so impressed when we were chatting over video afterward. And Hild is rarely impressed with anybody."

Alan smiled warmly, taking a moment to revel in Vik's presence. It was so nice to finally meet him. He was as kind and bright as Lyall and Hild.

"Ah, speaking of your siblings: have you gotten the chance to see them this morning yet?" he asked.

Glancing about now, like either would spontaneously appear as if summoned, Viktor tucked his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Nah. I think Hild said she was pushing her run off 'til a little later? And Lyall's probably sleeping in with Kaya." He waggled his brows with a cheekier grin. "Having a good time, I bet."

Alan smiled, huffing through his nose. If Kaya stayed over, then he didn't want to disturb Lyall's morning with her, especially since they haven't seen each other for a month. He was also glad to hear some explanation of why Hild didn't show up for the run, especially because he was worried something may have happened.

"Sounds like they both wanted to sleep in this morning," he said with a hum and a nod, then perked up as he turned back to Vik with a smile. "But we're both already up and at 'em. What are you up to this morning?"

"I was just gonna take a peek at the, uh, hub," Vik answered, pointing his chin past Alan. "See what they got around for breakfast."

"Would you like company?" Alan asked, smiling warmly.

Viktor brightened further, were it possible. "If you're not busy, I'd love to hang out!"

"Not busy," Alan confirmed. "And I'd like that too. I think I accidentally got up too early, but since I bumped into you, this must be fate. We're meant to eat breakfast together."

Clapping his hands, Viktor laughed. "Sweet, yeah! Happy coincidences!" Patting Alan warmly on the shoulder, he hopped around him to lead the way. "Let's get some grub!"



It was a bit funny to have Vik leading the way considering that Alan lived here, but it made him happy to see how happy he was. He was a ball of happy energy, bouncing in his steps with a bright grin, eager hope brimming out of every word he spoke. On their way there, they mostly caught up on what happened yesterday while also being distracted by which place to go. Alan let Vik choose, and that was how they ended up at a bagel shop. It was open to serving themselves, so they rounded the tables, picking out the bagels and toppings they wanted.

"Man," Vik said, scooping out a generous dollop of cream cheese onto his bagel halves, "I used to think this was, like, fanciest brunch food you could have. Like, it's served at the Reetz or something. I don't know, maybe just 'cause we didn't have it in the house a lot?" He shrugged before taking a big bite. "What's your take?"

"What's my take on bagels?" Alan clarified with an amused smile, buttering his toasted raisin bagel slice.

Vik grinned, goofily with his cheeks full. It was strangely adorable, like a chipmunk with cheeks full of acorns. "Yeah!"

"They're okay," he said with a chuckle, buttering his other slice. "There's certainly a lot you can do with bagels, though I like to keep it simple. It is a trending way to eat breakfast nowadays, though. That and fancy coffees."

"'Trending'?" Vik snorted. He took a second to more-evenly spread the cream cheese. "It's so weird when certain foods 'trend'. I guess I'm lucky to be able to eat basically anything with no consequence, and there is merit found in the 'super food' category, but. I don't know." He shrugged again. "I just like carbs."

Alan nodded, setting the knife down and lifting one bagel slice higher in the air. "Carbs are good. Though if you want to eat carbs in style, consider avocado toast." He gave Vik another silly smile before finally eating his first bite.

"I'll eat that anyway," Vik agreed, "but only because it tastes freaking good as it is."

"Definitely. Now's your chance to eat it, Vik. You won't go broke here, so you'll finally have a chance to afford a house," Alan said, taking another bite.

Viktor had to cover his mouth as he barked a laugh. "I'm gonna eat so much avocado toast here. And bagels, obviously. Just breakfast all the time."

"And quinoa bowls. Excellent source of carbohydrates full of super foods," Alan added with a teasing smile.

"Yeah, that!" Viktor took another bite of bagel. "What's it been like, basically living like this for a full three weeks?" he asked curiously.

ALan hummed, taking another bite and chewing through this one more slowly, mulling this over. "It's been a little weird," he admitted. "Especially since I came from the polar opposite setting. I came here directly from a month-long hike, so the contrast is striking. But I'm getting used to it now, and I certainly don't have any complaints. I'm grateful to have an experience like this where I can meet brilliant people around the world in a place I would never have otherwise stepped into."

Vik grinned with fascination. "Yeah, that must be cool! Meeting people with all sorts of different experiences and points of view. The States are a good place to do that, I think, but Hild hasn't branched out a lot. So. I don't have even a secondhand account to confirm."

"You ought to visit her sometime and see for yourself! I'm sure she'd love that," Alan said with a grin. "Maybe you can even help Hild branch out. All she needs is a wingman like yourself."

The youngest Ashlund blew an amused raspberry. "Oh my gods, she would hate having a wingman. I will absolutely do that sometime."

Alan chuckled. "Well, now you have to do that. And let me know when you do, so that I can be there to terrorize her too."

"Ooh, yes!" Vik snickered. "You got yourself a deal!"

"What would be the first thing you'd do when you visit her?" Alan asked.

"Hm?" Vik tilted his head. "Here? Or the States?"

"I meant at the States, but." Alan let out an breezy laugh. "Now I must know both."

"Alright." Tapping his chin, Vik looked up in thought. "I'd... give her a hug first thing when I visit the States. Then demand we explore the city together." He finished the first half of his bagel in two more big bites. "Here, I'll... give her a hug, then demand we explore the island together."

"Simple and consistent. I like it," Alan said with a smile. "Have you gotten the chance to explore the island with her yet?"

"A little bit yesterday, yeah," Vik answered brightly. He nodded to Alan and asked, "What about you? First thing you'll do with your fam when you see them?"

Alan hummed, taking another bite as he tried to quicken his pace in eating since Vik wouldn't have to sit with an empty plate for too long.

"Agreed with the hug. I can't wait to hug both of them." He smiled wider at the thought, sitting up straighter at the edge of his seat. "And I'd ask about their day, then catch up on everything I've missed the last two months. I'd ask them to show me pictures and tell me stories. I'm prepared for it to take all day, but I'll also take them around the island while we talk. Probably around the plaza too, but there's no rush to get anywhere. I'd rather we talk and catch up first because I miss them so much. I can show them other parts of the island another day, if they're interested. But I would much rather introduce them to my new friends first. I think they would like that."

"Ooh!" Vik drummed his hands excitedly on the table. "Yeah, everyone's gotta meet everyone officially. Sometimes it feels a little weird when such... you know, different parts of your life are suddenly colliding, right? But I think it's really fun, too. Like." He gestured to one side of the table. "These people here who are important to you..." He pointed to the other side. "...get to meet these other people who are also important to you. And it's all like a random crossover you never knew you wanted!"

Alan nodded, amused by the thought. "I see what you mean. It does feel like a family reunion, doesn't it? Like in-laws meeting each other for the first time."

Vik snorted at that. "I wouldn't go that far," he said. Then added in a light tease, "Unless you and Lyall actually tied the knot or something."

Alan stared at him processing for a second, then burst out laughing at the silly thought, shaking his head.

"Would it be rude to ask Kaya to be our maid of honor?" he asked playfully, pointing the partially-eaten bagel slice towards him.

Vik bent over laughing. "Dude, no!" he wheezed.

"You're right. Hild would be offended we didn't ask her first," Alan went on, feigning deep contemplation.

"Who'd be best man?" Vik asked through mirthful tears.

"Sorry, Vik," Alan sighed through a playful smile. "You and Alistair are going to have to fight for this one."

"Nooo." Vik flopped over on the table, narrowly missing the other half of his bagel. "He could whoop my ass so fast..."

"I'd normally give you encouragement, but... yeah. He might," Alan said with a laugh. "He used to be a lot stronger a couple of years ago, too. Did he tell you that he was a volunteer firefighter? I'll have to show you pictures sometime. He was jacked."

Vik shot upright in his chair, eyes bright with curiosity. "He didn't tell me anything on the way here! I'm gonna have to ask him about that now. That's so cool!"

Alan grinned, positive that Alistair would love to have Vik ask him more about his life. He wondered what other good things he could say about him. It was an easy list.

"Yeah, you should," he said warmly with a smile. "He's also got the brains, but he'll deny this every chance he gets. And he has great agility skills and is a fierce soccer player. Alistair might not look like it from the outside, but he's got a big heart. He can be a private person, but I think having a friend like you around helps. He may not share much about himself now, but he'll come out of his shell. Especially because you're already so kind and compassionate yourself."

Vik grinned, in awe and excitement and indeed with that compassion, taking such a sincere interest. Eventually he shrugged, and stuffed his face with more cream-cheese covered bagel.

"I kind of, sort of got the sense he's more a private person," he said, tone softening into something more contemplative. He laughed. "I mean, he acts super grouchy, so. Yeah. It didn't help he was seasick, too. We've only got a week here, but I'm okay with not rushing it."

Alan smiled gently, admiring how thoughtful Vik was when considering his brother. He was understanding and sensitive to other people's needs and wants, just like his siblings. Especially for his age, he was impressively receptive and in-tune with his emotions and surroundings.

"You're very kind, Viktor," Alan said, meeting his eyes with open fondness. "I admire how understanding you are of others. You're a bright light that brightens even the darkest days. It's a very strong Ashlund trait. I can see why your siblings are so proud of you."

Waving dismissively, Vik playfully went, "Gah, peeshaw. You flatter..." Smile warm, he pointed with his chin to Alan. "They talk really highly of you too, by the way. Hanging out with you in-person, it's super obvious why. You're a cool guy, Alan."

"Then it must be natural," Alan deduced brightly with a grin. "I can't say I'm expending much effort, so I suppose we lift each other up effortlessly. And that's how you know our friendship is meant to be."

Vik grinned wider. Then abruptly declared, "Ah!" And started laughing at some new thought. Or maybe something Alan had said.

"What is it?" Alan said with an amused laugh.

"Wow," Vik said simply, still cackling. "You really do have a way of doing that. Pulling people into a cycle of compliments. A literal positive feedback loop."

"Is it me, or is it you? That was a thinly disguised compliment, you brilliant man," Alan said, grinning.

Viktor just laughed. "Man, I've got to you and my brother in action," he said, "with my own eyes. It's--" He snickered again.

Alan smiled, waiting for him to finish, but Viktor seemed too preoccupied with laughing, so he continued anyways. "I wouldn't mind seeing him now, if you want to join me. But I know it's still quite early, so we may be waking him. Perhaps another time, then."

Finally recomposing himself, Viktor shook his head. "I mean, I can just text? Check if he is up, for some reason."

Oh. Right. Lyall had a phone, and they worked on the island.

Alan nodded. "That's... yeah, that's a good idea, actually."

Sitting sideways in his chair, Vik whipped out his phone and speedily sent off a quick message.

"I think he usually gets up around nine or ten, so I don't anticipate getting a reply. But you never know," Alan said, quickly eating through the rest of his bagel.

Not too long after, Viktor's phone chirped, indicating a response.

"Well, look-y there!" Vik said with a grin, already texting back. "Shock of shocks, he is awake."

Oh. Huh. Maybe his phone notifications awakened him. No matter, this was still good to hear.

Alan smiled, eagerly sliding his chair back to stand up. "That's great news. Ready to go?" he said with a smile before stuffing his face with the last big bite of the bagel.

Vik followed suit, with an encouraged smile. "Yeah, he says we should pop over ASAP!" He grabbed his other bagel half and launched himself toward the main path to the residence area.

Shane roused awake as the unmistakable weight of a kitty paw pressed down on his chest.

He spluttered faintly, raising his head to see Shrimp walking over his stomach, seeming to put all eight pounds of his weight into every step.

"Hey," he muttered indignantly, but not reproachfully. "I have internal organs that you're squishing over there."

Shrimp, oblivious to human anatomy, stretched out on his chest while making direct eye contact. Okay, maybe he wasn't oblivious. His cat was a rebel.

Shane sighed, holding out his arms, and Shrimp ran into them with a purr. He quietly held the cat close, stroking the fur on the back of his head.

There were worse ways to wake up, he knew.

While petting Shrimp, he focused on his fingertips, finding dark stains there that had since dried. Ink. It was no unusual sight for him, but the reason for it was new. He normally got inkstains from notes-- hours and hours of handwritten notes, because he hated typing those-- but this time, it was from poetry. He'd written late into last night, until he was satisfied, and he had the fountain pen smudges to prove it. His eyelids still felt heavy from staying open until the sky was gray with dawn.

It couldn't have been long since he fell asleep, and he probably could've gone back to sleep if he wanted to. But he wanted coffee more.

With a huff of effort, Shane sat up while still holding Shrimp to his chest and stood to get ready for the day. He was still the owner of twenty-something flannels, so he had no trouble getting dressed, except for having to set Shrimp down despite the cat's protests. He grabbed two things out on his way downstairs: Alan's glasses-- which had been sitting on his nightstand for all of yesterday-- and the paper the poem was written on. He didn't touch Alan's glasses with his skin before tucking them in his chest pocket, using the cuff of his sleeve instead, but he got a quick rush of the heartfelt sadness that had been all he could think about the night before as he folded up the poem to keep with the glasses. Whenever Alan got back-- and hopefully, that was soon-- he would be ready.

He gathered Shrimp up as he left his room, much to the cat's delight, and took the stairs down. He saw Connie in the kitchen, and he was... making a salad.

A salad?

Shane's gaze went to the oven clock. It was 7AM.

First, this was not a time Connie was normally in the cabin. Second, a breakfast salad?

"Good morning," he said, trying to figure out what was up.

"Good morning, Shane," Connie greeted, mixing the salad in a large bowl with two spoons. It looked to be composed of kale, cucumbers, carrots, and tofu. "Would you like a salad?"

...Did he? Did Shane want a salad?

The answer was no, not really. Not for breakfast. His stomach was demanding carbs and grains, and he wasn't a nutritionist, but he felt like... eating kale was negative carbs. Wasn't that mostly water? Connie didn't even have any dressing out.

Hospitality rules demanded he have it, though, even if this was Connie's cabin too. Shane could hear about two hundred family members' voices in his head telling him to just eat the breakfast salad. And two hundred people were a lot of people to bring dishonor to, so, best just go with it.

"If there's enough for two, yes please and thank you," he said.

Connie nodded, already plopping the salad mixture into a new bowl. Now that it was mixed, Shane could see the kale mixed with diced carrots, cucumbers, tofu, and nuts. Connie gave him a heaping portion, sliding it across the counter for Shane. Shane accepted it with a grateful murmur.

Heavy footfalls thomped down the stairs.

James emerged at the bottom of the stairwell. Portions of his hair were sticking up in an amusing case of bed-head and his eyes looked puffy and red. He was - unusually - in plain attire, as his shirt was just. White. Even his sweats were just a dull grey.

"Good morning, James," Connie greeted. "Would you like a salad?"

Squinting into the kitchen, James scratched the back of his head and nodded. Connie turned to grab a new bowl and set aside his salad.

James took a seat at the counter, and the stool swiveled beneath him.

"Hey, James," Shane said quietly. "You okay?"

He didn't look very... okay. At least, not very normal.

James nodded. "I'm still waking up," he said hoarsely.

"Want any coffee?" Shane offered.

James sniffed, nodding again. "Thanks."

Connie set aside the salad into the same bowl size as Shane, but instead of sliding it to James, he slid the giant salad bowl over to James instead, along with a fork. Wordlessly, James took the fork and immediately started eating the salad, looking half asleep. Shane took a bite of the salad just so it looked like he wasn't ditching it before he got up and went to start the coffee machine.

Being just tired didn't really suit James's condition. But for some reason, with Connie around, Shane felt like he couldn't ask the questions he normally would.

"I usually need more protein," James said out of nowhere between bites as he looked down at his salad that was somehow almost already gone.

A beat.

"I regenerate best when I have lots of protein," he added to contextualize.

"Would you like more tofu and nuts?" Connie asked.

James nodded. Connie got up from his seat to open the fridge, taking out two bowls of prepared tofu and nuts, already chopped for salad toppings. He paused, taking out a bowl of kidney beans as well. With the three bowls in hand, Connie walked back to the counter, placing them in front of James.

"Eat as much as you'd like," he said before resuming to eat his own salad.

James didn't need to be told twice. He did eat as much as he liked. Which was. Most of it.

"I adhere to certain nutritional macros everyday, with protein being a fixed amount," Connie went on after a lingering silence. "However, James, in future meals with you, I will keep in mind to triple the protein intake."

James nodded in thanks.

"I'm not much of a cook, so I don't know if you'd want me to offer food in exchange," James said. "But... I could, uh... write you a poem. Or something."

Connie paused in his movements, turning his head towards James with pleasant surprise before resuming. "I'd like that. I am a big fan of poetry."

"Poem it is, then," James said, taking another bite of salad.

"What kind of poems do you write, James?" Connie asked.

Ducking his head down a bit, James seemed to shy away from the question, as if a little embarassed.

"Oh," he said. "Um... just... simple things. I suppose they're more... lyrical in nature. Though they aren't always songs."

"What subject do you typically write about?" Connie asked.

James, with salad still in his mouth, said: "Usually just... processing stuff. Or telling stories."

"That's nice," Shane said softly. "Poems seem good for processing in a way that'll let you get all the thoughts out."

"Writing poetry is a fruitful creative outlet," Connie said with a nod. "What stories have you written in the poetic composition?"

James crouched down over his salad even further.

"Um... mostly like... historical reimaginings," James said a bit vaguely. "Or character exploration."

"Intriguing," Connie said. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was too slow to ask his his question.

"Do you write poetry?" James asked Connie.

"When inspiration strikes, yes," he said with a nod. "They are largely nature-inspired, as that is where I largely source my inspiration."

"Do you write haikus?" Shane asked.

"On occasion. But I prefer expressive, unbounded poetry with less structure," Connie answered.

Shane nodded, taking down two coffee mugs from a cupboard.

"So free verse," James said.

"You can think of it like that, though occasionally I use rhymes and meter counts." Connie placed his fork down, flourishing his hand in front of him. "Inspiration for painting and poetry come from two different stream sources for me. They are both art, but the desire to write a poem is more fleeting. Like a whisper of the heart, if you will. It is the written word based on fickle emotion and expression."

"Mm. You are a poet even when you speak," James said with a small point of his fork.

"Thank you," Connie said with a small head bow and a straight face before resuming back to eating.

Shane stared silently into the coffee machine, absorbing each of the images from the mugs he was holding, seeing himself more than anyone else. He sure did drink a lot of coffee, didn't he.

"Perhaps we can exchange poetry, if you are interested," Connie said over to James. "I would be interested in reading yours."

James nodded.

"Let's do it," he said simply.

"I did not bring my poetry books with me here. But I can certainly show you after the summer, or show you any new ones I've written here," Connie said.

"I'd like that," James said.

There was a longer silence, and Shane drifted back to his breakfast salad, making a mental note that he needed to toast himself a bagel later or something.

"I have good news and bad news," Connie suddenly said, breaking the silence after he finished eating. He slid away his bowl in front of him, folding his arms in front of him as he switched his gaze between Shane and James. "Which would you like to hear first?"

Shane frowned slightly. Oh, not this trope.

"Bad," James answered first.

"Yes," Shane said quietly.

Connie nodded. "My brother, Remus, has requested that he stay here so he has the privacy of his own room. Unfortunately, he does not get along with his current roommate. I have tentatively agreed to temporarily switch places with him for the nights this week."

James slowly turned to look at Shane with a growing frown.

"Who's his roommate?" Shane asked.

"Casper Bridger," Connie answered simply.

"...I can see it," James murmured.

"I'm surprised you agreed," Shane added, grimacing.

"His demeanor is only a mere inconvenience," Connie said.

"You are a better man than I," James muttered. "To willingly sign up for the nuisance."

"You said this was... the bad news," Shane said.

"Before I proceed, I'd like your verbal confirmation that you permit my brother to reside here for the week." Connie glanced between the two of them. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah," Shane said, even though he didn't know what he was getting into. "We'll miss you."

"That's alright," James said. "So long as Remus knows what he's getting into."

Connie nodded. "Thank you. I will also miss your presence." He paused. "Remus is coming by at the bottom of the hour. I will introduce you two then."

James slowly glanced down at his watch.

"So... in 30 minutes?" he asked. "7:30am?"

"That's right," Connie said.

"I'll be on my way out to meet up with Hild, but I can say hi before doing so," James said.

"We will be on a hike that will last well into the day. I can be back in evening if that's preferable," Connie said.

Shane nodded after a moment's thought. "Okay. We'll see you then."

"Yes," James agreed. "Evening would be best. What time?"

Connie nodded. "How's 5pm?"

James offered a thumbs-up. Shane nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Thank you. I'll bring him here then," Connie said, then paused for another moment. "Now, on to the good news. I found out who has been manipulating your dreams with nightmares: Alexander Kingsman."

Shane choked on his coffee as it went down the wrong pipe. James let out a sigh and face-palmed.

"Alex?" he asked, and Connie merely nodded in response.

"He found out last night," James said, lifting his head from his hands. "Alexander gave me a nightmare and Connie entered it. I didn't see Alexander myself, but... I assume Connie did."

"I did," Connie said with a nod. "Dreamwalkers can see dream manipulators and other dreamwalkers."

Shane set down his mug, burying his face in his hands. ...Alex? He hadn't placed a ton of trust in him, but... Saints. It had been enough trust to assume he wouldn't torture them in their sleep.

"I..." he said softly. "I can't believe it."

"I plan on confronting him this morning. I can detect if he is negatively manipulating a dream. I will give him a warning that I will stop him if he does this again. Hopefully, your dreams will be unaffected by his magic from here on out," Connie went on, voice and expression neutral as always.

Shane closed his eyes.

He'd invited Alex over to that first party for James. James had been sleeping. He'd gotten a nightmare, and the two of them hadn't even met yet. Why...?

"He's been at it since day 2," he said quietly, a tinge of anger entering his voice. "That's before he even met James. And why start with me a week into the island? What did either of us do to him?"

"You are welcome to join me if you would like to hear from him directly. However, I can also relay these answers to you this evening," Connie said.

Shane groaned softly, wishing he could escape this moment.

He didn't want neutrality right now. He didn't want this calmness. There was a trapped scream building in his chest and he wanted to let it out. He wanted to shout that his dreams weren't a playground for horrors his own traumatized mind couldn't make up. He wanted to shout that taking no side was taking a side. He wanted to hunt down Alex himself and yell until he got the answers himself.

"If you get answers," James said lowly. "Tell us. I don't think I can handle talking to Alexander myself right now."

"I shall. Please rest for the day instead," Connie said with an inclination of his head.

Shane stared at the salad like he was trying to make it catch fire with his mind. Sure. He'd rest, alright.

"Okay," James eventually said.

Shane contemplated vanishing from this kitchen.

On the plus side, he wouldn't have to sit around and pretend like this was fine. On the other hand, he still had to eat this salad, he'd probably have to stay and greet Remus, and he didn't want to prove to Connie that he was too volatile or something by storming off.

There was another pro to this situation. James was still here--

"I need to go hit something," James said suddenly, stoic as he pushed off his stool and didn't wait for a reply as he quickly paced up the stairs.

His feet thumped faster and faster until his door was heard swinging off its hinges. It sounded like he... ripped it off entirely.

Damn it. Now he didn't even have James.

What they heard next was a series of crashing and thumping noises and what sounded like the utter destruction of what was left of James's room.

Connie stared up the stairwell, listening for a while. Without saying a word, he slid off the chair, picking up the bowls and utensils to place in the sink to wash.

Shane still hadn't lifted his face from his hands.

He took a deep breath, but it felt like something was burning from the inside. He didn't know how he was supposed to handle this, or why he was expected to. All he wanted was some answer at why he deserved this-- or, if he didn't deserve it, why it was happening anyway.

That, and maybe he wanted a hug as well.

He heard a meow, and he saw Shrimp through his fingers, standing on the counter near the sink and nuzzling Connie's arm. Cat hugs sort of counted. But he didn't feel like snatching him away from Connie.

Connie turned off the sink, prompty wiping his hands on a kitchen counter. Gently, he reached out to pet Shrimp's head, sliding his hand down to scratch under his chin. The cat purred.

"I refilled his food bowl this morning," Connie said, still petting Shrimp. "He seemed quite hungry."

Shane nodded, slowly pulling his hands away from his face to rest them under his chin instead.

"I appreciate it," he said weakly. "Thank you."

Connie seemed content in the silence that followed, endearingly petting Shrimp.

Shane watched the two of them interact with a dull gaze, feeling like it wasn't really happening in front of his eyes.

"You're very nice to him," he said absently. "He likes that."

"Of course," Connie said after a glance towards Shane. "It would be cruel to not be nice to animals. Domestic cats in particular are bred to only have pure intentions. I do my best to pet strays when I come across them."

The thumping and crashing from upstairs stopped suddenly. Shane bit his lip nervously.

"My city's well known for its stray cats," he said. "It's a civic duty to take care of them. You'll find thousands of them sleeping in train stations, on cafe tables, in grocery store shelves. And because they're so loved, all of them are healthy, well-fed and cared for, which means they're very friendly. It's a nice glimpse at a world where humans and animals get along well in a way that improves both of their lives."

There was a loud thump as it sounded like something extremely heavy fell over. Shane was pretty sure the only thing that heavy in James's room was James himself.

Connie continued to pet Shrimp, especially as he purred loudly and leaned his head against his hand. "Your cat," he said, patting Shrimp as he turned to Shane. "Was he a stray?"

"He was," Shane said, with affection. "He kept showing up at my childhood home every evening for dinner, and he would beg for pets and food. Soon enough, we were buying cat food just for him, because we knew he'd show up. One day, he stopped wanting to leave our house, and that's when he officially joined us."

"That's a lovely story," Connie said, giving Shrimp behind-the-ear scratches.

Shane found it in him to smile faintly. "A lovely story for a lovely cat."

"Indeed," Connie said with a nod.

An odd noise carried down the steps this time. It sounded like... something heavy being... dragged incrementally? Across the floor? It sounded like it was going into the hall.

Shane glanced concernedly up the stairs, taking a quick bite of salad.

"I'll be right back," he apologized, standing up and pausing to correct himself. "Or just... back."

Connie gave him another absent nod, and Shane rushed up the steps into the hall. At the end of the hall, coming out of his bedroom, was James. His face was flush with the floor, and so was his body. That was, until he scrunched up his legs to his chest, pushing himself forward with his face still in the floor. He pushed his face forward from his knees, lying face-down on the floor once more.

He was moving like an inch-worm.

"Do you..." Shane said slowly. "Need a hand."

"No," James said, but his voice was muffled by his squished nose. He inched forward another foot.

"Does this... spark joy?" Shane asked.

James stretched flat onto the floor again.

"It's making me feel less anxious," he said quietly.

"That's good too," Shane said.

James turned his face to the side, lying in the middle of the hall now.

"I broke my door," James said.

Behind him, James's door had been ripped off its hinges. Now it was lying on the floor with a hand-shaped hole on the side, as if from being broken into with fingers.

"Ah," Shane said, looking at it. "I'll call someone."

"Who needs doors anyway," James said, his face still squished against the carpet. "I'll probably break it again on accident."

"If you want a door," Shane said, "I believe you should get to have a door."

James pouted slightly at that.

"I'm fine," he said without being asked.

Alright. Shane would bring this up again later.

"Are you going to stay fine if I leave you here to worm?"

"Yeah," James said. Then he let out a sigh, pushing himself up. He rolled to the side and sat up, sounding not unlike a bowling ball for a moment. "I'm... sorry. It was all bad news."

"It... was," Shane said, sighing as well as he leaned against the wall. "Or at least, none of it was good news. I'm still not sure why he labeled his brother as bad news."

"Remus is a bit of a brat," James said, rubbing the side of his face. "So... he'll be annoying. Probably."

"Ah," Shane said, more hesitantly. "Well, hopefully he'll be happy with..."

He cut himself off.

"He's not gonna be happy with Connie's room," he finished.

"He'll have to be," James said more sternly. "Because he's not getting yours or mine. And if he complains, I will personally see to it that his privilege gets checked."

A pause.

"Non-violently," James muttered as a qualifier.

"Right," Shane said with a sigh. "Looking forward to it."

"I'm not," James said. "But Remus, I think, it just a bit entitled. Nothing more. And I'd really much rather deal with that than everthing else going on. It's the much lesser of many evils."

"Like Casper Bridger levels of entitled, or...?" Shane asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's hard to beat."

"I don't think it's like that," James said, sighing as he held the side of his face and leaned on his propped knee. "Just... regular rich kid entitled."

"That's a relief, at least," Shane said, sighing again.

James nodded.

"I hope Connie gets answers from Alexander," James said more quietly. "I'm not sure I have to patience to talk to him at all right now."

"I would go," Shane said. "I don't really want to hear the answers from someone else. But... I'm worried I'd break down."

"I'm worried I'll do something rash," James muttered. "I understand. I... wish I could go too."

"Guess we'll have to stay here and..." Shane waved a hand helplessly, a new wave of exhaustion hitting him. "Wait for our report back."

"Yeah," James said, hanging his head low. "Guess so."