Young Writers Society

James found himself really, really missing his phone. With his pager, he could communicate with any of the ladies in their cabin, essentially, but everything else had to be communicated by word of mouth. Which meant he was having the same conversation, again, with Lyall and Cyrin, catching them both up to speed with everything regarding the wendigo. This time, he was more thorough, so that they wouldn't have to speak on this matter again.

James had a chance to apologize to Lyall for not telling him sooner, but Lyall brushed it off, instead insisting that he will be taking point on "solving this monster problem" and that in the meantime, James was not to do anything "stupid." I.E. go after Constantine himself.

Frankly, James was a little insulted that Lyall assumed he would do that. But also, Lyall wasn't completely wrong to make that assumption. James would have done that maybe a year or two ago, but not anymore.

He was fine with Lyall taking over. Honestly, he was relieved.

And yet, now that Lyall was in charge of recruiting help and organizing some kind of defense force, James felt like he didn't know what to do with himself. He still didn't feel safe going out by himself, but he didn't feel safe at home either. Wherever he was, it felt like a death trap waiting to happen, even with Kazimir - who Lyall had pulled into this now, too - guarding the cabin-front.

With his... girlfriend there too.

James didn't bother talking to them much aside from a thank-you, and making sure they had food and water and things they needed. They were pretty easy to please and content with one another's company, so James didn't feel pressured to entertain. Turning into a recluse, he withdrew back into the cabin, feeling utterly useless as he channeled his anxious energy into cleaning and cooking. And he wasn't even good at cooking.

Boxed mac-n-cheese it was.

He stirred it over the stove-top, pouring in the fake-cheese. The smell was familiar, if a bit disappointing, but James was too fried to care. He leaned over the pot and let the cheesy steam warm his face, not sure if doing so was disgusting or normal. Maybe it was better not to think on it at all.

When the cheese was mixed in, he took the pot off the heat and set it on a cool burner so it could cool. Then he busied himself with cleaning the dishes and utensils he'd used, along with a few others that were left in the sink from the morning.

He was just about done when he heard a knock on the door.

Head jerking over his shoulder, he hoped it wasn't any bad news.

He left the kitchen and hesitantly approached the front door, peeking out the window first to see who it was. Instead of seeing Kazimir, however, he saw a man he... didn't quite recognize.

James squinted. Was that Alan? No... it looked like one of the guys from the dock. Alan's brother, maybe. He was wearing a backwards cap and a black, baggy shirt. Well, he was wearing black from head to toe, really, aside from the silver chain around his neck.

James felt a bit embarassed he'd mistaken the man for Alan, considering Alan never dressed like that. Ever.

Hesitantly, James opened the door a few inches.

"Hello?" he asked.

"This guy says he wants to talk to you," Kazimir interrupted from where he sat just out of James's view. "Seems chill."

James poked his head out around to see Kazimir, who was relaxed and sitting on the bench on the porch with his girlfriend, Megan, leaning on his shoulder.

"I can just... come back another time," Alan's brother said, wearily staring at them.

"No one else is home yet," James said. "What's this about?"

He slowly nodded, hands in pockets as he hesitantly turned back to James. "You're James, right?"

"Yes," James answered. "And you are?"

"Alistair. I'm Alan's brother." He paused. "That's not related to the visit, though. Do you have a minute?"

James felt a spring of paranoia eating at the back of his brain that he knew was irrational. He had no reason not to trust Alistair - but he had no reason to trust the man either. Still, Alistair had no motive to cause James any ill that James knew of, so...

"Sure," James said, opening the door and stepping back so Alistair could come in.

If there was any trouble, Kazimir was right outside.

Alistair nodded as a thank you and stepped in, hovering near the door. He glanced around the living room, eyes settling on the half-melted couch.

"Nice place," he said with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

"Flattery is not necessary," James said dryly, closing the door behind him. He walked in a bit further, but only to distance them from the door. "So, what are you here for? I assume it's for more than just to meet me, seeing as we've never spoken prior. You must have some news."

Alistair stood still, only moving to lean back against the wall by the door. "I know we don't really know each other, and that's fine. I don't really have news, either." He paused. "Well, kind of. I've been caught up-to-speed about the shit that has been happening around the island. I heard it from staff."

James slowly put his hands in his pockets as his gaze narrowed, stare intensifying.

"Which staff?" James asked.

"Shay and Dante," Alistair answered. "But mostly Dante. They're not allowed to talk to you, for some reason... so, he wanted me to tell you that they've got your back and are on your side. The staff, I mean."

James continued to stare Alistair down, trying to read into his tone, his body language, and if any of this language was coded. But all he could read was that Alistair felt uncomfortable and awkward.

Ah. The glare probably wasn't helping. But that was fine. James wasn't going to relent on this just yet.

"I don't presume Dante speaks on behalf of all the staff," James said. "Otherwise I'm sure many things would not have transpired. So who specifically is he referring to?"

Alistair faltered. "...Well, I've only met four staff members. I don't know. But..." He shifted his weight to his other food. "I can find out, if you really want to know."

"If you can procure a list for me, that'd be appreciated," James said. "If you don't mind being given a task. It would be helpful for me to know who's supposedly 'on my side.'"

"Sure, yeah. I can do that," Alistair said, then paused. "How many sides are there? Two? You versus the DMV?"

James pressed his lips together.

"I'm not sure life is that black-and-white," James said. "But if it helps you to make it that simple, then yes. For now, at least."

Alistair sighed. "And who's on the DMV side? Is it... Tula? Stravos, Alexander?"

"Stravos is a wild card," James said. "He's not on a 'side.' He just needs serious professional help, and they're taking advantage of it."

He took in a deep breath, casting his glare away from Alistair and out to the windows, where the blinds were shut.

"Tula and Alexander have been causing me trouble, at least," James said. "I can only assume it's by the DMV's prodding. It sounds like they've told you a lot, then, if you know about the two of them."

And he didn't like that. He didn't like that everyone knew all the shit he was going through, because that meant everyone was going to look at him differently. Everyone was going to baby him, and be concerned, and... ugh.

He didn't even know Alistair.

"They did," Alistair confirmed. "What did you even do to be so targeted?"

James cast Alistair a flat look.

"Sorry," Alistair quickly apologized. "Just... trying to wrap my head around this. I know I'm not a part of this."

"You are now," James said gravely. "That's the burden of knowing."

"Well, I'd rather know than live in ignorance. Even if it's a burden," Alistair said.

Then they were alike in that way.

"What do you plan on doing with this information," James said. "Now that you know?"

"Uh, well. What can I do?" Alistair sighed. "I think the best thing I can do is just... tell others, I guess. The more informed everyone is, the better."

Right. James couldn't expect Alistair to actually do anything about it. It was unfair to assume he would, or even could. Alistair had his family on the island to worry about, and even spreading information like this would put him on bad terms with the DMV. Lawyers would call it defamation.

"Then you ought to keep pursuing that conviction," James said with a nod. "Far be it from me to stop you."

"...That also brings me to another reason I wanted to see you," Alistair said hesitantly, visibly bracing himself. "This is my fault completely, so I want to begin by saying sorry first. But I talked to Lyall last night, mostly to get info on Alan, but I also didn't know that Lyall didn't know, well, anything. I mentioned your name and the context, and that was when I found out Lyall didn't know anything. I wanted to tell you so you heard it from me."

James felt like time was slowing down.

"What... exactly? Did you tell him?" James asked.

"Just... that you've been getting... targeted," Alistair said slowly, growing stiffer.

Oh.

So. When Alistair said he knew everything. He meant. Everything. He couldn't even utter the word "torture."

And now Lyall knew too. Well that explained Lyall's adamance to rip away the reins and take control. And Lyall had mentioned none of the extra information he knew - because, well, he didn't have to. Wasn't a wendigo bad enough?

James slowly lifted up his hands and rubbed them down his face, landing his pointer fingers pinched on the bridge of his nose. He took in a sharp inhale and let it out in a huff.

"Okay," James said in monotone after a moment. "Thank you for telling me."

"Yeah... no problem," Alistair said more quietly, pausing a moment before adding with an even softer voice, "Sorry again."

"It's forgiven," James said, dropping his hands from his face. "Now, is that all?"

Alistair nodded, peeling away from the door. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll, uh. Get out of your way."

James just nodded, letting Alistair find the door on his own as he waved him away. James should've bothered being polite, but he didn't, and he walked back to the kitchen, hearing the front door close behind him.

When he returned, he took the pot of mac and cheese and grabbed a spoon, eating straight out of it. Because he didn't feel like grabbing a bowl. And no one was home. And he didn't care.

He sat on the couch with the pot in his lap, slowly eating away at the four-box-full macaroni and "cheese" Craft meal for some time. Enough time for the sun to have gone down since he started.

But what did time matter? At least it was time spent in relative peace.

Until the front door opened on its own, anyways.

James heard the rushed pattering of paws as Shrimp ran to the door just in time to meet Shane, who knelt down and scooped him up with a soft smile. Shrimp climbed onto Shane's shoulder as he took off his shoes, looking back at James.

"Hey, James," Shane said, with a faint, quick smile.

"Hey," James said with a small nod.

Shane closed the door behind him, glancing at James over his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "As much as you can be, at least?"

James looked down into his mostly-empty macaroni pot.

"Hm. I guess so," he said.

"I guess I should be asking if the macaroni makes it better," Shane said.

"It makes it... something," James said indecisively. And then decided it was better to change the subject.

"What did you do today?" he asked.

"I went over to Alan's cabin to see them as well as the Ashlunds and Alvaros," Shane said, before his eyes widened like he'd made some kind of blunder. "Sorry, I really mean Vik, Kaya, and the Alvaros. Everyone was okay, for the most part."

James didn't really know how Shane might've mis-spoke, but he figured it was best to just let it slide.

"Ah. Right," he said. "Cyrin and Lyall mentioned there was an attack last night. Or rather, this morning. I'm glad to hear everyone's okay."

"I heard," Shane said more softly. "It's good you told them when you did."

James sighed.

Yes, he'd told Cyrin, but evidently he should've told everyone when he had the chance. Not that he could imagine any context where everyone was gathered together except for the dock... and...

Well, that had already been dramatic. Imagine him standing on a box and yelling, causing a panic. Then he'd really look crazy.

Then again, maybe that actually was the sane reaction to all of this. To look crazy.

"Lyall came over earlier and spoke with Cyrin and I. He basically demanded to take lead on this whole... situation," James said.

"What did you tell him?" Shane asked.

"Considering he didn't give me a choice, I'm letting him do what he wants," James said. "His current plan seems to be strengthening our defense. I don't know what else he's conspiring."

A beat.

"But he seemed less inclined towards immediate violence," James said. "So. Probably for the best he's... on it."

Shane nodded slowly, seeming to consider that. "Well, it's good he wants to help."

James didn't really have much else to comment on that. It was good, sure, but also he hadn't developed how else he felt about it.

Helpless? Tired? Something like that, but it took far too much energy to put that into more words, nevermind say it aloud, and he had little mental energy to spare. So instead, he lifted his cheesy spoon and pointed with it at Shane.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after an awkward pause.

"I could eat," Shane admitted.

"We should make food, then," James said. Because he could always eat again.

Just as Shane was nodding in agreement, a loud, frantic note played from somewhere, sounding like an emergency alert. Exchanging a look with James, Shane reached into his pocket for his phone, which James could see vibrating in his hand. He read something aloud from the screen.

"'Emergency alert from Dante Weylin,'" Shane started. "'Public Service Announcement: there is a wendigo on the loose pillaging the island. Please stay safe indoors until security has arrived to maintain safety. If you have any questions, please contact Connie Falco or your local DMV representative. Thank you.'"

James blinked.

That... huh. He wasn't surprised that the staff knew about it, but he was surprised that they were sending out this message - delayed for that matter. It seemed like it coincided with when Connie heard about it, which was probably why his name was mentioned. Connie likely pushed for this.

He had told James that he would handle this. Or... something to that degree. James felt like his memory was becoming less reliable.

"That got sent just now?" James asked.

"Just now," Shane confirmed, frowning at the screen. "Connie must have found out and spoken to Dante. I guess we don't have to tell anyone ourselves now."

"I did tell him about the wendigo," James said quietly. "Last night."

He hadn't expected Connie to make a public service announcement, but. This worked, he supposed. It made it easier.

Shane gave him a long look. "You did?" he asked.

James felt like he'd been playing catch-up all day.

"Yeah," James said. "Uh. When he interfered with my dream and found out about Alexander. He took me out of the nightmare into his 'mind palace.' We talked for a bit. I kind of just... caught him up to speed."

"Ah," Shane said, with an eventual nod. "Would he do that again, do you think? That's twice now that that has been a safe place to talk."

"He said he could do it every night if needed," James said. "But... we should ask him if he could do it for you, as well. Since we've both been chronic insomniacs."

Shane's expression slowly got more blank.

"Maybe," he said evenly, as he started to move towards the fridge.

James watched for a moment, wondering if he'd said something wrong. It wasn't a secret within their cabin that neither of them slept much. They ran into each other in the middle of the night often, either sneaking down to the kitchen or to the bathroom.

Maybe it was just the thought of having Connie help? Or maybe James was missing something entirely. He really wasn't feeling like himself at the moment. Normally he was sharper than this.

"I only mean it as a suggestion," James tried to clarify.

"I know," Shane said, opening up the fridge to stare into its depths. "Just... I don't know. I'm not sure I want that."

James nodded slowly.

"That's okay," he said. All he really wanted Shane to know was that it was an option.

And before an awkward silence could ensue, there was an awkward entrance instead. A bit abruptly, at least to James, the front door opened, and Connie entered with his younger brother following just behind him.

"Good evening," Connie greeted, shutting the door behind him as his brother flashed them all a welcoming smile.

"Connie," Shane said, startled enough to close the fridge without getting anything out. "And Romulus. Good evening."

"Remus is fine," he said with a polite nod. "Evening, gentlemen. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Shane offered a slight nod in return.

James looked down at his macaroni pot, still holding the cheesy spoon in his hand like a pointer. Then he looked up at the Falcos.

"Hey," James greeted a bit blankly. "Nice to meet you, Remus." Then he looked to Connie.

"We saw you sent out an announcement," James said.

"I did," Connie affirmed, then gestured to Remus. "As you know, this is my younger brother." He then gestured to James and Shane. "Remus, this is James Hawke and Shane Hawking. They have graciously accepted your request to stay with them."

"Oh yes, I'm quite familiar with you two because of the show," Remus said with another polite smile. "Much appreciated."

James wasn't sure how much to unpack "quite familiar," but he really didn't feel like asking what that meant right now.

"Sure," James said. "You have a good brother, willing to tolerate Casper on your behalf."

"Oh, yes. Brother, I bestow my sympathies to you ahead of time," Remus said as he cracked a smirk.

"Not needed," Connie said. "Shane, James. Do you need anything else from me before I leave?"

James hesitated, glancing back at Shane quickly.

"About the announcement," James said slowly. "You neglected to specify who the wendigo is. I know when we discussed it I wasn't as thorough as I could've been, but you should know who to look for."

"Do you have a name and description?" Connie asked.

James nodded, aware if the irony about to come out of his mouth.

"His name is Constantine," James said.

Remus cracked a laugh, elbowing Connie's side, who otherwise did not react. "Ah yes, brother. you're right. The farmer is hilarious!"

"I... am actually being quite serious. The man who is the wendigo goes by the name Constantine. I'm not speaking about your brother," James said. "I'm talking about a man you would've seen on the ship on your way here. About average height, black hair, white around the temples. Thick mustache. Sound familiar?"

"I don't believe I've met him," Connie said, and it was then that James remembered that he left promptly from the docks after Remus arrived.

"I've seen that sod around," Remus cut in with a frown. "Charming, that fellow is. In the same sense that old chaps are when a lovely young woman passes by."

James could've cringed just at the description. Feeling his skin crawl a bit, he mustered a pained smile-turned-grimace.

"Yeah," James said flatly.

"Would you recognize him?" Connie asked straightfacedly to Remus.

"I would," Remus answered proudly. "But he is not staying in the mansion. It pays to pay attention, brother. You'd know if you spent an ounce giving anyone proper thought."

"Is Constantine not a visitor?" Connie asked.

"He wasn't on the official list that was posted," James said.

Connie nodded. "That rules out the cabins and the mansion. Very well. I can make do with this information."

Well, James wasn't at peace with it. But he wasn't "in charge" of this siuation anymore. So apparently he didn't get to care anymore.

Connie turned his attention back between James and Shane, but mostly focused on James. "Considering logistics, I expect security to arrive in a day or two. If you feel unsafe, I urge you to stay in the mansion. It is well-guarded."

It was also where Ingrid was staying. So. Less desirable than Connie knew.

Remus let out a breathy laugh. "Please, as if anything can happen to us here. Not with two royals and a soldier in the household."

James wanted to wince at that. Instead he kept a straight face.

Riiiiiiight.

"I think I'll stay here tonight," James said.

"Me too," Shane said, a little quieter than him.

Connie nodded. "Anything else before I depart?"

James shook his head. Shane did the same a moment later.

"You'll be missed," James said after a beat.

"I am still on the island, James," Connie said evenly. "I'll be back tomorrow for Remus."

James nodded a bit stiffly, now feeling a little awkward for the small display of affection. He knew Connie was just being practical, but James was trying to say something else. He had to wonder if Connie actually caught onto it or not.

"I'll see you then," James said, a little quieter.

"I'll see you," Connie repeated, opening the door to leave and leaving behind James, Shane, and his brother.

Connie closed the door of his cabin, stepping away.

Introductions seemed to have gone well. Remus will have a good week with James and Shane. After all, he told them their respectable positions within society, even highlighting that they were well-mannered and of honorable reputation.

Hiking back with a canvas tote bag that only held the bare necessities, Connie hardly even made it past the cabins on his way to the mansion when he caught Lyall Ashlund huffing out his name. Patiently standing to wait for him, Connie watched him hurriedly run across the sand towards him.

"I presume," Lyall called out to him, "this 'public service announcement' reached all current residents of the island, yes?"

"That's right," Connie replied.

Skidding to a stop in front of him, Lyall weakly waved a hand while he took a moment to catch his breath. "You sent it out?" he furthered.

"Dante did," Connie corrected. "I merely facilitated the message."

"Alright." Lyall nodded. "Yes. Distinction. Very well." He straightened. "I do in fact have questions pertaining to the monster problem. If you have a few moments to spare."

Connie nodded. "Take a walk with me."

"Now, if you'll look at slide 2033 with me, you'll see a helpful representation of how much of a problem we've got on our hands here," Mireya said, forcefully slamming one hand on the conference table as she furiously pressed the clicker with the other. "I made this very quickly, but as you can see, the data is concise and clear. I would like to bring your attention to the final data point and let it sink in how much my day is ruined."



"Oh my god, Mireya," Maeve grumbled, elbows on the table as she tensely massaged the bridge of her nose with both fingers. A wine glass sat in front of her, nearly finished. "I don't care about your useless graphs. We have to pay for security now. You realize this cuts into your salary..." Maeve dropped her hand, a tired gaze set on her as she picked up the glass by the bowl, swirling it in her hand. "Right?"

"Does it?" Mireya paused. "Well, I see why some cuts are needed. But! I've got a plan for how to minimize our spending."

After throwing back the last sip of the wine, Maeve abruptly stood up, throwing her hair back and patting down her satin dress. In a huff, she stomped to the bottle of wine with her glass, refilling it to the two-thirds mark.

"My stupid brother, ominously telling me that there's a chance this may happen-- right before he leaves to disappear! And for what?"

Maeve slammed the bottle down on the table, and by some miracle, it didn't shatter. With a fierce frown, she pointedly gestured the glass towards Mireya, the wine barely staying contained in the bowl.

"To disappear to train with a professional boxer! What the hell is he thinking, leaving us with this disaster?" She groaned, throwing her hands up in the air, wine finally sloshing out of the rim. "This is going to hurt our budget!"

"If you don't like him very much, you could always say 'great job training, you're now going to be docked to security guard pay, because you're boxing the monster'," Mireya said. "Buuuuuuuuuuuuuut I actually have a better idea than that."

Maeve went on anyways, only half paying attention while Mireya spoke, using this time to glug down the wine.

"I give him credit where it is due: he is not fully incompetent," she said with a snarl, pacing around the room with the glass. "As you know, we hired two professionals who also happen to be the wives of two staff members: a mommy psychiatrist and deaf security manager." She rolled her eyes, crossing an arm and curling the glass towards her chest, finally giving Mireya another ounce of attention-- if only for a moment. "Everything happens for a reason here, darling. Start with the security manager, expand from her network, and hire them."

"Well, not hire just anyone," Mireya said. "We don't want her picking the best of the best, that'd get expensive. Besides, we don't want the best of the best. After all, we're not getting this security team because we're trying to keep our contestants safe. We're getting them because somebody went on camera and made it seem like that was our plan all along, and now we have to follow through." She clapped her hands. "So, we go lower. We hire security who've been fired on multiple instances, who've had behavior issues reported by their employers, or who are just plain bad at their jobs and they know it. They'll be happy to take the pennies we throw at them because they won't be getting paid anywhere else. And their ineptitude causes us problems in any way, we get it on camera and sell it as drama. This could actually bring us more money."

Maeve was grinning by the end of her spiel, already finishing up her second glass of wine and setting it on the table. "My, my," she said in a sultry voice, fingers grazing the table's surface as she walked past it, drawing closer to Mireya. "I like how you think, Mireya. This is why I trust you to be my advisor. Brilliant." Now in front of her looking down, she grinned and booped her nose with the tip of her finger. "You may have just saved your salary."

Mireya grinned as well. "You just said my seven favorite words."

Maeve's searching smirk rested on her for a few moments before the smile faded completely and she turned her heel, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

"Do what you do best," she instructed gravely as she bounded for the door. "Hire the unhireables. Give the deaf mom a useless role, but make her the face of the team." Maeve turned right as she was under the doorway. "Oh, and Mireya?"

"Yes, Maeve?" Mireya asked, lowering her clicker.

"Clean the wine," Maeve said sternly, exiting before she could hear confirmation.

Mireya waited for the clack of her heels to fade before she made a face and let out a quiet, "Ugh," before taking out her phone so she could text Gregg to do it instead.

Connie did not miss many things in life. However, he did miss the simplicity of his room with the large window that introduced ample sunlight. This new room was delightfully small, but unfortunately bore too many furniture pieces.

Connie slipped out his favorite Thoreau book that he grabbed from the bookshelf before parting ways, committed to re-reading the poems so he may draw inspiration to perhaps write another poem. After all, he had agreed to show James whatever he may write.

He sat cross-legged on the middle of the bed, posture straight with the book his his hands when the door to the bathroom opened.

"Good evening," Connie said plainly without looking up from the book, turning the page.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" an angry voice demanded.

Casper Bridger, the man who Remus wanted to avoid, was already yelling at him.

"You may call me Connie. I am staying here for the evening," Connie answered, still reading along.

"I don't recall inviting you," Casper said sourly.

Connie did not respond, attention still fixed on the book.

Casper's steps stomped as he moved in front of the bed. Suddenly the book was ripped from Connie's hands. How unfortunate.

"My time's important," Casper snapped, "and I don't like using it to spend longer than I have to to figure out what the hell you're doing in my room."

"Our room," Connie corrected.

"Since?" Casper demanded, jutting out his chin.

"This morning," he answered plainly.

Casper snorted mockingly. "I could say I became king of all of Amerchihuahua this morning with the same casualness, too. That doesn't mean anything."

"A valid point," Connie said with a nod, sliding his now-empty hands on to his lap with his palms facing up. "Remus is my brother. We have agreed to switch rooms for the week. Hence, this is now our room, as of this morning per our agreement."

"I didn't agree to any such thing," Casper said loftily.

"Unfortunately, the decision is not of your discretion. You may take it up with the owner of this building if you would like to file a complaint," Connie said evenly.

"Oh, I would," Casper said, turning on his heel and storming out the room, taking the book with him. He took care to let the door slam behind him.

Closing his eyes, Connie meditated on his bed, unbothered by Casper's entitlement. In a way, it was like he was still with Remus, if Remus were thirteen years old again.

In the midst of the bickering, Connie noticed that Casper donned an expensive suit and held an ice pack. A broken nose, perhaps. Or recovering from plastic surgery.

The silence was still and peaceful until he returned, when the door swung open with enough force that it slammed into the wall. Casper was fuming, shooting Connie a glare as the door slammed behind him again. There was now a dent where the doorknob had met the wall.

"Really?" he muttered. "I'm stuck with you? I never thought I'd say this, but even your brother's better than you."

"I'll be sure to relay the compliment to him," Connie said with a grateful nod.

Casper huffed. "Don't bother. Is he at your old cabin? Your cabinmates suck ass."

"You may find this information on your own accord," Connie said simply.

Casper's expression contorted into disgust. "Oh, I've seen enough of them for a lifetime."

Connie did not respond, deciding he would attempt to meditate with his eyes open, staring across the wall from him.

"The scrawny one couldn't even keep track of a coat." Casper sniffed with disdain. "A fucking coat. How hard is that? Either he stole it and he's a dirty liar, or they should take back his stupid nerd degree. And I don't know who his friend thinks he is, but he's a dirty liar too. I know he knows what happened to it. He had the fucking audacity not to tell me and then to hit me afterwards."

Connie was listening, but he did not respond. It seemed Casper was talking to talk. It wasn't a particularly pleasant noise.

"You like them at all?" Casper asked bluntly.

"They have my respect," Connie answered.

"Well, they've got my wrath," Casper said, now pacing as he wrinkled his half-broken nose with disgust. "They're going to regret it. No one gets away with that."

"Have you considered contemplating why you were struck?" Connie asked.

"Because your cabinmate decided my stupid brother was too sensitive for some honest thoughts," Casper said stiffly. "It's not my fault he wasn't man enough to handle it."

"What did you say, exactly, that caused him to strike you?" Connie pressed.

"That I would've loved it if he could've died this morning when he had the chance," Casper said flatly, holding his ice pack up to his nose with an expression of deep focus.

"How would you feel if I told you I would love to see you die?" Connie asked.

Casper laughed. "I'd wish you the same."

Connie nodded. Casper suffered from a lack of empathy, it seemed. Though perhaps not all hope was lost.

"Is there anyone you love? How would you feel if they told you they want you dead?" Connie asked.

Casper snorted. "What are you, a therapist?"

"Silence it is, then," Connie said with content, closing his eyes to meditate again.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Casper sneered, moving back into the bathroom and shutting the door heavily behind him.

And with that, Connie was content with the silent peace, even if it was one-sided.

Finally. Alan had already waved at his mom by the mansion, dropping her off. And after that, he hung out with Alistair while he smoked, once again berating him that he needed to stop inhaling that poisonous air. Alan was hoping to spend more time with him, but he was also glad when Alistair suggested he go to sleep. Alan made mental note to spend more time with him later this week, but right now, he agreed he needed to rest.

The walk back to the cabin was peaceful. Lyall had said that he should avoid walks by himself at night, and the PSA text said that too, but... well, it went by fine. With how public the news became about the wendigo, Alan sincerely doubted that anything would happen now, especially if the DMV were sending extra security.

Grabbing his duffel bag and finally sauntering up the stairs, Alan noticed that both Cyrin and Lyall were home with soft light under their doors, indicating that they were awake. Both of their doors were also slightly ajar.

He paused in front of Lyall's door, so tempted to waltz in and dive into their lighthearted conversations, but he wanted to give him space to breathe, especially since it seemed he needed to cool down today. Alan didn't know if enough time had passed for Lyall to be in a better headspace, but he had a plan to check this in a more subtle way.

Finally entering his own room, Alan was quick to loosely shut the door and then plop the bag on the ground, zipping it open. Alistair said his phone was in here somewhere... Ah here it was, along with the charger.

He hadn't checked his phone in two months. He didn't really use his phone outside of texting and calling, but after unplugging from technology this long, Alan had a feeling he missed a lot.

Plugging the charger in the outlet, Alan plugged his phone and then set it against the bed, stretching out his back as he waited.

Then, finally, his phone turned on. And when it did, it froze from the sheer amount of messages that came in.

His phone wouldn't stop vibrating, so Alan stepped away from it for now, folding away the clothes that Alistair had packed for him. It was very thoughtful for him to pack things that were more familiar with him, even though Alan was starting to get used to his new wardrobe. But it was nicer to get back to wearing... really, any color. And with clothes that were actually slim fit rather than loose.

After putting away his shirts, Alan noticed an envelope on top of his folded pants that was neatly tucked in his bag. He stared at it, unsure of who this could be from, but Alistair said... did he mention this? Alan wracked his head on their conversation, feeling so ashamedly scatterbrained that he couldn't remember, because when he did, the words, "By the way, Maria gave me a letter to send you. I didn't know what to do with it, so I placed it in your bag," played in his head like a haunting tune.

Okay. So this was it.

Alan picked up the letter, stared at it, then placed it on his desk.

He'll look at it later, when the time was right.

After placing the clothes in the dresser and closet, Alan bounced back on his bed, laying on his side on the edge so that he could charge his phone and use it at the same time.

1218 messages total.

All things considered... that wasn't that many, since it included group chats.

Briefly scrolling through it, Alan had to sit up from the sheer amount of people who even decided to text him.

His family group chat was active, yes. That was a given. So was the trail chat, with the last message being an eggplant emoji. He would open that later. But there were also texts from... Maria. And not just her. Santiago, too? And Julia, his first girlfriend?

Well.

That wasn't important right now. Alan will open all these later.

He scrolled to the top of the unread message list, finding the unknown message number with the only text being "Lyall Ashlund". Alan saved his name into the contacts list and then tapped away on the keyboard, composing his first message.

Alan wrote:Knock on the wall three times if you'd like to see me.

And send. Alan went back to his texts, assigning contact names to others when suddenly he heard three soft knocks on their shared wall. An almost musical tap, rest, tap tap. Alan grinned.

Alan wrote:Knock on the wall two times if you'd like me to barge into your room in the most delightful way possible.

Sent.

Alan peered up at the same wall they shared. Silence. Then a quiet, singular thud.

Okay. Well. That was not part of the instructions, but Alan could work with that. Typically, Lyall indulged any type of banter, serious or silly. But if he was not entertaining this, then Lyall must be in a concerning headspace.

Leaving his phone on the bed, Alan sprung up to his feet, padding out into the hall until he stood in front of Lyall's door.

"Hey," he said softly with a smile, opening the door an inch. "Can I come in?"

The door drifted open a little wider, and Lyall looked up at him with a faint smile.

"Sure thing," he answered, stepping away to give him room to enter. "Doctor's in, and whatnot."

Alan hummed, closing the door but leaving it slightly ajar, just like he found it, then turned around to study Lyall for a moment, offering an amused smile. Even though he was mildly worried.

Especially because he had never seen Lyall, for lack of better words, this much of a mess. And so, so tired. Though, even if Alan stepped away to sleep, he had a feeling Lyall wouldn't be doing that anyways.

"Maybe I should be feeding you apples so Doctor Lyall can be replaced with Friend Lyall," he said with a slightly playful yet sincere voice.

Lyall cracked a grin at that. "You can just kindly ask the doctor side to shove off a moment," he said with an amused huff. He dropped back into his desk chair and beckoned him in. "No fruit necessary."

Well, he wasn't going to do that either. But message received.

Just like their last conversation at their desk, Alan invited himself to sit-- but this time, on the desk itself, since the chair was taken. There were papers strewn around the desk, but he paid no mind do it, hopping up with a swing of his legs, hands set behind him to lean back.

"How have you been holding up, Friend Lyall?" Alan asked casually.

"Well, taking stock," Lyall answered, turning his eyes up to the ceiling in thought. Then eventually answered, "I'm fine."

Alan hummed. "I've heard more convincing words. Try again."

"You talked with Shane?" Lyall asked instead, folding his hands together as he leaned back.

"I did," Alan said, holding his tongue so his friend wouldn't get side-tracked here. "And you talked with James?"

"I did," Lyall lightly confirmed with a nod. He rested his chin in one hand. "I think I actually managed to talk him down from taking any sort of action. For the time being, anyhow. A true accomplishment, I feel, given his generally immovable nature."

Alan nodded, listening along attentively. "And how did you manage to do that?"

Lyall huffed a laugh through his nose. "I haven't the foggiest. But I'll take it."

"Well," Alan said with a sigh. "If you ever find out what the secret is, please let me know. A friend of mine could use it."

Lyall's expression slowly fell flat. "I don't believe I shall," he retorted half-heartedly.

"That's a bummer," Alan said with a small smile, turning away to rest his gaze on the plants on top of the bookshelf on the other side of the wall. "For the friend, and for me. I think I rather like to see him as himself, not bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, refusing to accept love even though that's all he's ever wanted. But I suppose I'll wait to tell him this another day."

Tilting his head to rub his fingers over his eyelids, Lyall sighed quietly. "I'm sure he'll better appreciate it after a rest, anyhow."

"And do you think he will rest?" Alan asked. "Or will he say he will, but be unable to do it?"

"I'm quite sure he will," Lyall insisted, letting his hand drop to the arm of the chair.

"Lyall," Alan chided, turning back with a gentle smile.

"Alan," Lyall said back, tone bordering obstinate.

Alan huffed through his nose, lightly shaking his head. "Lyall, you look like shit. You've been through a day. What's really running through that stubborn head of yours?"

Lyall's next stare was blank, slow to process. He huffed wryly. "I feel like shit," he agreed, "and I have been through a day. As we all have."

"Yeah. Maybe." Alan shrugged. "It doesn't make your day any less shitty. Do you want to talk about it?"

Leaning forward now with his elbows on his knees, Lyall glanced off. Lips pursed as he internally debated with himself. "I was hoping to not give much thought quite yet," he murmured, looking down as he idly rubbed his hands together.

Yeah. This was not good. Though, Alan had a feeling that not talking about it was not the answer here. It was possible that if someone didn't instigate the conversation for him, then Lyall would never begin to process it.

"Is it about Kaya?" he asked softly, daring to ask even if Lyall wasn't ready yet.

Letting his head droop, Lyall let out a heavy breath, like the question knocked the wind out of his lungs. But Alan was patient, watching him and waiting for a response, even though the context and his body language already gave the answer away.

Wordlessly, Lyall reached over to the topmost drawer of his desk. He drew it open, picked through the pens, and slowly placed a golden band with a small diamond discretely embedded within it on the desktop beside Alan. Brows raised, he gestured a hand before slotting his fingers together again, turning up an expectant look back to him.

Alan felt his heart sink deeper and deeper the longer he stared at the ring. "Is this..." he began, but the words were stuck in his throat as the heavy implications of the situation sunk further and further in, like a pickaxe thumping against ice, until his heart broke for Lyall.

"We've broken off," Lyall whispered in confirmation, finally letting the pain show in his eyes.

Alan stared at the ring with wide eyes, trying to say something that could console Lyall-- but he didn't think those words existed. There was nothing that could be said to mend a freshly broken heart. Nothing Alan said could fix this. Nothing he said could possibly even put his heart back together, like puzzle pieces glued together.

Only time could do that. Time and comfort.

But Alan wasn't ready to give up yet. Especially since it was only days ago that he heard Lyall talk so fondly of Kaya.

"Perhaps it's only the marriage," he said with hope. "Your relationship may not be completely over, Lyall. Maybe she only wants to take a step back. Temporarily."

"She--" Lyall sighed out through his nose. "Kaya said she's... done."

Alan opened his mouth to speak, but he realized: there wasn't anything to be said. He couldn't possibly keep instilling false hope if she explicitly said she was done.

He turned away, sliding off the desk to sit on the floor, back against the drawer as he contemplated the weight of the pain Lyall was carrying by himself. The pain, the heartbreak, the heartache. Alan understood. It would have been less painful to be physically stabbed through the heart.

"Oh my god," Alan whispered, staring down at the floor he sat on. "I can't believe it. I'm so sorry, Lyall."

"It's--" Lyall stopped himself short of saying 'fine', and looked away.

"No," Alan said, shaking his head. "No, it's not fine. I can't..." Alan trailed off, trying to compose himself.

He needed to find better words than this. He was usually better at this.

"Then please," Lyall begged softly, only briefly meeting his eyes again, "just. Don't. Please..."

Alan felt his heart sink even further seeing his friend like this. He couldn't just say nothing.

But if it wasn't words Lyall wanted, then perhaps it was action that could help instead.

Alan sprung up on his knees, arms out to embrace Lyall. It was sloppy, given that he was on the floor and Lyall was leaning forward on the chair, but Alan didn't care. He wanted to hug his friend and show that he cared, even if it wasn't explicitly said.

Without hesitation, Lyall wrapped his arms around Alan, clinging to him like a lifeline as he buried his face against his shoulder.

"We don't have to talk," Alan said softly, rubbing his back up and down with his hand before giving him a gentle squeeze, inclining his own head over his shoulder. "But I'd like to be here with you anyways. Even if we say nothing."

His hold quickly loosening, Lyall drew out a long, shaky breath. He sank deeper into the embrace with a barely audible, "Thank you."

"Of course," Alan whispered back, keeping his hug tight and giving him another squeeze. "I'll always be here for you, Lyall."

Lyall sank into the hug with more and more of his weight, and Alan could feel the tired weariness weighing on him. He needed a lot of things. A hug. A friend. A talk, maybe. But especially sleep.

And Alan was glad to hold him. He was. But he would be remiss to say that his knees weren't starting to hurt while Lyall leaned forward into the hug, still on the chair.

"Let's get you on the bed. Come on," Alan said as he stood, keeping one arm around Lyall so he could stand with him.

Stiffening for a split second, Lyall shook himself more awake and slowly pulled away. His hands slid off Alan's shoulders as he righted himself. "Sorry," he murmured apologetically, "of course. Your poor knees."

"And your poor brain, running on so little sleep," Alan said with a smile, taking his hand to guide him towards the bed. "Just lay down. That's all I ask."

After a short delay, Lyall allowed himself to be pulled along at a shuffling pace. "You should rest too, then," he said softly. "It truly was a full day for everyone."

"It was. And I will," Alan agreed, stopping at the edge of the bed and poking him to go on and finally lay down. "But you first. Maybe I'll even read you a bedtime story."

Lyall mustered a small grin. "That won't be necessary."

Alan continued to poke his back to prod him to lay down. Lyall only jumped slightly and arched his back away. So he resorted to a gentle push when he didn't get the message. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

Weakly swatting at his hand, Lyall turned on his heel and flopped back, arms spread out like a starfish. "I insist you don't," he mumbled stubbornly.

Alan realized too late that he should have thrown the covers back before Lyall flopped back. But as he tried to pull the cover out from under him, Lyall grasped the edge of the blanket and rolled to the other end of the bed until he was completely covered like a burrito.

Alan blinked, pressing his lips together to repress a bizarre laugh. This should not be funny. Not after the disheartening and heavy news he shared. But something about this was bizarre in the best of ways.

"Comfortable?" Alan asked.

"Incredibly," Lyall answered, slightly muffled.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Hot? Cold?" Alan went on.

"I'm okay." Lyall curled up on his side. "Thank you."

"I'm going to get you a glass of water," Alan said anyways, turning to bound for the door. "Be right back."

Alan prompty left the room, turning on the stairwell light so he could scurry downstairs and make his way to the kitchen. Taking out a glass cup from the cupboard, Alan filled it up with filtered water from the sink, then carefully rushed back upstairs, turning off the lights behind him.

Coming back into Lyall's room, the soft light of the lamp illuminated Lyall, properly curled up beneath the blankets now with his back to the door. All that was visible of him was the top of his curly hair.

Good. He was asleep. Presumably.

Quietly, Alan entered his room and set the glass of water by his nightstand. For a moment, he watched Lyall breathe slowly under the blankets, not reacting to his presence.

It was nice to see him resting, for once. Though, for some reason, Alan had a hard time believing that he was actually asleep.

Perhaps he could conduct a small test for this, then.

"I still want to say that we're two peas in a pod," Alan whispered. "Even in front of Hendrik."

Silence fell over the room. Just when it started to feel like the comment had fallen on deaf ears, Lyall stirred and mumbled, "Please, god, don't..."

Alan huffed out an amused laugh, turning off the dim light emanating off the lamp by his bed so that darkness engulfed the room. But instead of leaving, Alan sat on the floor, back against the bed with his elbows propped on his knees.

"Go to sleep," he said gently with a smile. "I'll go to sleep after you."

There came a small sigh from within the nest of pillows and blankets behind him.

"To be frank," Lyall murmured, "I don't think I will be able to. Go rest."

"I know," Alan said patiently. "Stop talking. I'll leave when you're asleep."

Muttering incoherently, Lyall shifted noisily in bed and poked the back of Alan's head. "Go sleep," he demanded.

But Alan ignored the demand, paying him no mind as he sat, contemplating his day and the giant list of things he had to carefully think about now. He didn't mind sitting here, really. This forced him to think.

There was a lot to think about. After-- when-- if-- Lyall fell asleep, then Alan wanted to check up on Cyrin next. He felt like he barely talked to him today, and they also seemed so distant today... though that made two of them.

Three of them, really. All three of them in this cabin could do a better job at communicating and being there for each other. Cyrin was more reserved in comparison, and given the news, Lyall was in no state to be the one spearheading this effort. So that left Alan, which he was happy to bridge.

Priorities. He had to re-shuffle his priorities.

Alan just had to think through what those priorities were. He felt like there were a lot. Maybe he should write it down.

So Alan sat down to really think through it. There were... a lot.

Since there were too many priorities to keep track of, Alan forced himself to go back in his room, pick up paper, a pen, and his partially-charged phone so he could keep track of everything. Quietly shuffling back into Lyall's room, Alan was glad to not see him move a muscle or otherwise react by his entrance. He wandered to his desk, quietly pulling back the chair and setting everything down. It was dark, but Alan had the light from the screen of his phone to work from, which was enough.

Priorities. He had to write this down.

First priority: Lyall.

As much as Lyall tried to discount himself, he was internally suffering with so much emotional pain. Alan couldn't imagine how it must feel to mourn the loss of a four-year relationship, especially after plans of commitment. This wasn't about Alan, but it was so important to him that Lyall had someone to fallback on, especially since he was already so scatterbrained and panicked by the safety of the island.

But how? Alan didn't want to give this little effort. He wanted to pour careful time, effort, and consideration into this. He had to. Lyall needed someone, and Alan didn't want to see him self-destruct.

Second priority: family.

His mother and brother were here. Alan was so glad to see them again, though he wished he could give them the proper time and attention since so much other things were happening at the same time. He wanted to give them quality time, reassurance, and love.

Especially Alistair, who Alan was growing more and more concerned about with each passing month. He just seemed more... distant with him. But perhaps that was Alan's fault, considering he had been side-swept into his own drama with his own relationship, at the time. He didn't want to make the same mistake. He wanted to be there for his brother.

Third priority... the others on the island. Cyrin, who Alan wanted to reach out to soon, whenever Lyall went to sleep. Hild, who he promised would spend more time with, and had already committed to seeing her tomorrow. Shay, who was a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was grateful for how understanding she had been when he was a complete mess. Bo, who showed only kindness and compassion when he was only pushing him away, and who Alan promised to return to soon. And Shane...

That was a whole other topic, but Alan wanted to set the time away to give this proper thought, time, and energy. Right now, he had to get his list of other priorities in order.

He needed... a calendar, maybe.

No. First, a list. Then he could expand the list. Then he could make a calendar, setting aside time to give to people he cared about.

Focus. He had to focus. But, god, it was a little hard to focus when he would rather not do any of this and instead wanted to think of things that weren't important.

Like writing a song, rereading Shane's poem a hundred more times, and committing it to memory so it would truly be timeless.

But he had to focus...

Furiously scribbing down notes, Alan lost track of time as he willed himself to commit to a list of priorities, writing down details so he wouldn't lose sight of the bigger picture.

Suddenly, well into the hour, the bed behind him gently creaked under shifting weight, disturbing his concentration. A bit startled, Alan turned around to watch Lyall shuffle slowly over to the side of the desk, leaning a hand on the edge as he reached in front of Alan for the lamp. Alan blinked in the sudden light, and for a second there, he wondered if he was hallucinating.

No. He was not. Lyall was just stubborn enough to not go to sleep.

Alan empathized with him, but a the same time, he couldn't help but give him a tiredly flat look. Leaning back, his hand still supporting him on the desk, Lyall merely mirrored his expression.

"Bloody hell," Lyall eventually said. "Why are you still here?"

"I..." Alan began, but he found himself short-circuiting since he had not considered the possibility that Lyall would actually wake up and disturb him. He cleared his throat, covering the page he was writing on with a blank paper. "I was waiting for you to fall asleep, obviously," he replied defensively.

Lyall huffed wryly. "Well, you'll be waiting all night for that."

"Alright," Alan said more enthusiastically, shuffling the papers to be in one pile, and then slapping the pen on top. He swiveled the chair towards him, flourishing his hand. "You won't sleep, and I won't sleep. Why don't we talk it out?"

"What's there to talk about?" Lyall said obstinately, turning to lean back now with his arms folded over his chest.

"Why don't we begin with what's keeping you up?" Alan asked patiently.

Lyall's gaze flicked toward the window, then back to Alan. "Matters of safety," he answered coolly.

Alan felt his brows pinching closer together, knowing that Lyall was once again ignoring his true feelings. Maybe it didn't hurt Lyall, but it certainly hurt Alan.

"I know that's not what's truly keeping you up," Alan said softly. He let out a quiet sigh, relaxing his hands to set on his lap as he fixed his attention on his friend. "I get it. It's hard to talk about. And I want to be there for you, because you're my friend, and I care about you. But I can't reach you if you're stonewalling me. And I get it: this all so, so raw... And I know this isn't about me... but honestly, Lyall, it's killing me to see you like this. But I have to also say: I don't really care if it does, because I want to be there for you anyways."

Maybe it was because it was late into the night, and Alan was already a jumbled mess trying to untangle the string of thoughts in his own mind, but he hoped to god he was coherent enough for sleep-deprived Lyall to understand.

"So maybe my actions are stupid, and maybe I'm not making much sense right now," he continued. "But if there's one thing I ask: please, let me listen to you, and let me be here for you. That's all I ask for."

Regardless of whether or not he was making any sense, something in his words finally reached his friend. Enough for the walls to quietly come back down again. The tension in Lyall's shoulders slowly loosened as he listened, brows twitching inward as he started taking Alan's words to heart. He let his hands drop with a quiet huff and perched on the desk.

"You're very kind to worry this much," Lyall murmured, mustering a weak grin that faded again the next instant. "I do value your companionship, Alan. Truly. I simply... don't have it within me to talk about it right now. It was just this morning..." Voice wilting at the end, he idly bounced a leg as he glanced off toward the book shelf.

"That's alright," Alan said gently, heart sinking as he deeply empathized with his friend. "I don't need to know what happened. I'm not asking you to process what happened with me. I just... want to be here. So you're not alone. Especially because it happened this morning."

Falling still, Lyall stared blankly at the books across the way. The next look he cast Alan was one of mild surprise, like the concept caught him off guard in some way. This only made Alan sadder.

Having a dependable person by your side should not be a foreign concept.

It made Alan's heart sink that Lyall looked at him like it was. Like he had to register what he was even saying to him, because the words and concept were so unfamiliar to him.

"Lyall," Alan called softly, reaching out to set his hand on his knee as he desperately tried to meet his eyes. "This is just part of the deal of being friends-- especially close ones. It doesn't matter how long this takes. You could feel this way today, a week, a month, or even a whole year. I'll be there for you because I care about you. That's part of the deal."

In the next beat of quiet, it was evident that Lyall was holding in a mess of loud thoughts that he didn't know how to articulate. He blinked himself back to the present, focusing on Alan's eyes as if to search for something hidden. Then eventually asked, voice soft, "You're not even... going to try to sleep?"

Alan smiled softly, maintaining his gaze. "I can't sleep knowing that my friend is in pain."

Lyall dropped his gaze to the floor then. Drawing in a breath, he sat straighter and said, a little firmer, "For what it's worth, I am also legitimately concerned for our security." He picked up Alan's hand in both of his to give a warm squeeze, holding his gaze once more with earnest. "Your presence means more than I can ever express in words. Thank you, Alan, for bearing with me. Even as I only served to further complicate matters for you with my poor behavior."

"Didn't I already tell you?" Alan said as he gave a gentle squeeze back with his hand, not realizing how cold his hand was until he absorbed Lyall's warmth. "I know you'd do the same for me if the roles were reversed."

Lyall's expression further softened, and he offered a true, touched smile in response. "Thank you," he murmured again.

Alan smiled, then slowly began with, "If you're not going to sleep--"

"Gods," Lyall cut in, seeming to not hear him anymore. His brows furrowed with open concern as he vigorously rubbed his hands over Alan's. "You're an icicle. This is a tropical island, for heaven's sake."

Mouth still open, Alan narrowed his eyes then promptly pulled his hand back from his grasp, idly rubbing his hands together. "I'm not that cold," he huffed. "You're just really warm."

"Agree to disagree," Lyall said with a shrug.

Alan clapped his hands together, brightening up. "If you're not going to sleep," he said again, "then consider this proposition: we go downstairs, see if Cyrin is awake at this ungodly hour as well, then get you both some food. My mom made plenty of leftovers. Consider this a light night feast."

Brows raising, Lyall glanced at the door. "It's not out of the realm of possibility that they're still awake," he said softly, hopping off the desk. "Perhaps something wouldn't hurt."

"One step ahead of you," Alan murmured.

He unlocked his phone and having to rub his eye from how might brighter the screen was than the dark. He ventured over to his messaging app, sending a quick text to Cyrin, whose only text was also his name, sent three weeks ago when they all exchanged numbers.

Alan wrote:Send me your most used emoji if you're awake. (Though I would rather not know this, because I really hope you're asleep)

"Alright. I sent them a message," Alan announced, dimming his screen. "I hope he's not an insomiac and is actually sleeping, though."

"Rich," Lyall murmured, "coming from you."

Alan cast him a flat look. "Not an insomniac," he reminded him.

Before Lyall could retort back, his phone buzzing caught their attention again.

Sure enough, it was an emoji from Cyrin.

Cyrin wrote:💅

"Well," Alan said with a sigh as he swiped the notification to dismiss it, standing up on the chair. "Looks like we're having a 2am party."



"Hey Cyrin," Alan called, knocking on their door. "Mind if I come in?"

Lyall patted the back of his hand to Alan's shoulder. "Why don't you set up downstairs, I'll extend the invite."

"Oh, yes, splitting up is always a good idea," Alan said with a nod. "I've got this. We can meet you downstairs."

Lyall huffed. "My plan, my play," he insisted. "The food was your idea."

Alan scoffed. "All of this is literally my plan."

"Fine," Lyall conceded. "Yes. But I called dibs. I'm going in."

"Dibs?" Alan repeated. "What are we, twelve?"

"You certainly argue as if you are," Lyall retorted, keeping his voice low.

Alan let out a long suffering sigh. "Hey, Cyrin. We're coming in," he announced through the giant hole through the door. It wasn't like the door gave them privacy, anyways.

Quite done, Lyall was already ducking in through the hole of the door, softly calling for their friend's attention. Alan, meanwhile, was decent enough to actually use the door, though came to quickly regret it since the door was partially off its hinges, so it was a bit of a nuisance to set back.

Finally shutting the sad excuse of the door, Alan whirled around. He followed Lyall as he slowly padded around the bed, one hand hidden in his pocket while he gave a weak wave with the other.

"My dear Bridger," Lyall greeted softly. "How art thou faring?"

Cyrin was staring blankly at the wall ahead-- no, the window, which was open, letting a cool breeze in. They were sitting on the bed, back to the wall, with their legs folded up to their chest. There was no sort of visible reaction to their arrival, and they made no response. Their gaze was fixed on the broken windowsill.

Lyall perched on the edge of the bed, with one leg drawn up beneath him and the other hanging over the side. "We're about to make unwise decisions with 2 AM snacking," he said, voice still gentle but with a touch of lightness. "Care to join?"

"Sounds risky," Cyrin murmured, without moving.

Lyall's light-heartedness faded a little. "Cyrin," he started again, voice softer, "we'll be alright. I'm going to do everything within my power to keep that from happening again." He extended his hand to Cyrin. "You can rest."

"You can't make that kind of promise," Cyrin said, unblinkingly.

Lyall huffed quietly, hand still held out to them. "But I just did."

Cyrin turned their head at a fraction of an angle to him. "No one can," he said quietly.

There was a slight pause. Head tilted, Lyall kept his expression soft but steady as he considered their friend. With his brows twitching slightly inward, it looked like he was trying to kick his brain back into gear.

Alan really didn't want Lyall to be over-exerting himself in this state. He was already carrying so much.

"If you're concerned about safety, I think any room in this cabin would be equally safe and unsafe," he said gently. "And if we're all awake, I think it would be nice if we all spent time together. That's all. You don't have to join if you don't want to. But... I thought it would be good to extend the invite. So you are welcome to join, if you'd like."

Cyrin slowly buried his face in his hands in a weary motion. His shoulders sank, and he didn't respond. Alan hesitantly turned to Lyall with a quizzical look.

He felt like, maybe... he was missing important context here.

Scooting a little closer, Lyall cautiously reached out, gently patting a hand to Cyrin's knee. Cyrin tensed slightly, but didn't try to get rid of him.

"I'm not trying to promise anything beyond my control," Lyall said honestly, with a new heaviness in his tone. "Only what I can. Thus, I can promise that I am going to do everything within my power to keep us safe."

Alan glanced at Lyall, growing more concerned by this repeating sentiments.

Cyrin was right. Lyall couldn't make this type of promise. And yet, he did. And Alan knew he would much rather run himself to the ground before even thinking about breaking this promise.

"And if that's not possible?" Cyrin asked quietly.

Alan gingerly sat down on the corner edge of the bed, fingers lining the satin sheet. "Safety isn't guaranteed any day," he said. "Every day there are dangers. Sometimes there are chronic dangers, like breathing in toxic fumes that slowly poison you. Other days, the forces of random chaos sends an unfortunate accident your way, and you become someone known as being at the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Alan lightly shrugged, leaning back with his hands before continuing. "I don't know, I'm just thinking out loud. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, if there are dangers every day, no matter how big or small... it makes me better appreciate being here, alive in the present, right now, with the people I love."

Slowly, Lyall turned a curious, if slightly blank, look over his shoulder to Alan. Though, Alan had no idea how to interpret that.

Not that it mattered. He said this for Cyrin, not Lyall.

Cyrin let out a faint sigh as a breath through their nose, rubbing their face tiredly.

"I care about you both," he said hollowly. "But my brain... isn't letting me focus on anything else."

"And if you want, you can stay unfocused with us. I don't think that really bothers either of us. You don't always have to stay fully present to enjoy the company of another," Alan said gently. "But if you feel safer here, I can come back with food and water for you. And of course, an open door to talk any time."

Cyrin didn't answer for a few moments.

"Maybe in the morning," he said quietly at last. "Right now, I... can't."

"That's alright. We can come by in the morning again," Alan said with a small smile, getting back up on his feet. "Invitation is always open. In the meantime, I hope you can get some rest."

"Thanks," Cyrin said faintly. "You too. Don't stay up too much longer."

Alan nodded, tapping his foot against Lyall's to signal their leave. With a nod and final reassurring pat to Cyrin's knee, Lyall silently slid off the bed to his feet.

"We'll see you in the morning, yeah? Text us if you need anything," Alan said with a small smile and wave, stepping towards the door.

They both said their final goodbyes and then bent down to enter through the door's hole again. Alan exited first, quietly waiting for Lyall as he exited. Straightening, Lyall let out a quiet sigh, his gaze drifting aimlessly down the hall. His mind visibly settling into relative static once more.

Alan offered a small smile, taking his hand to lead him down the stairs. "Come on," he beckoned. "This way."

Snapping back into focus, Lyall managed to mirror his smile as he quietly allowed himself to be tugged along.



Alan led Lyall to the couch, instructing him to stay and let him bring food, but of course, Lyall didn't listen, quick to get up on his feet to heat up the leftovers well.

"I can talk to Cyrin in the morning," Alan offered, taking out a plate for Lyall as he took out the leftovers in the fridge. "You should probably, you know, sleep. Even if you start doing that in the morning."

Lyall nodded as he poked around for utensils. "The same goes for--"

"Me," Alan cut in before he could finish. "I know, I know. Don't worry, I know."

Lyall cast him a wry grin over his shoulder, then carefully set what they needed on the counter to keep quiet. "You spent time with your family. Hopefully for most of the remaining day."

"Pretty much, yeah," Alan said idly, scooping out the portions from the heated containers on to his plate. Rice, potatoes, carrots, and chicken. "My mom cooked a giant meal. That's what I'm feeding you now. She kept telling me to make sure you ate some of it."

Lyall's grin melted into something more fond as he watched. "I'll have to thank her personally tomorrow."

Alan slid the full plate his way. It was honestly too much food for a single meal, but he had a feeling Lyall didn't eat much today outside of the breakfast Alan also forced him to have.

"Well," he hummed as he took out a glass cup to fill up with water, "you'll have plenty of opportunities for that. I might even have to offload her to you to get some space."

Which, normally, Alan wouldn't just do. However, based on Lyall's earlier reaction with his mom... maybe a day with her was just what he needed. She had a way of giving so much pure love that could radiate someone's day.

Taking a seat at the counter, Lyall huffed with amusement. "I'd love nothing more," he said warmly.

Alan set the cup of water beside his plate, along with a napkin in case he needed it. Sliding on to the chair beside him, Alan briefly swiveled to stretch out his back, turning around the other direction for the same stretch.

"Well, she does seem to like you a lot," he said idly. "We can definitely make that happen. But I can guarantee she'd be sad by how tired you look, so she might guilt you into sleeping." He hummed, tapping his finger against the counter. "Actually... that's not a bad idea..."

Mouth already full, Lyall paused to level him with his most unamused stare. "You wield no such power over me," he said, jabbing his fork in Alan's direction. Then turned back to his food with an appetite as ravenous as expected. "I refuse to rest until I know you will too."

Alan hummed, perching his elbow against the counter so he could slouch with his cheek perched over his hand, watching Lyall plow through the food. "How do I know you're not just saying that so that I rest first?" he asked innocently.

Lyall raised a pointed brow that could be summed up best with "ditto".

Alan huffed a laugh. "I think we need to call a truce."

"Nope," Lyall chirped, stabbing at the potatoes. "There must be one victor. A truce is too dissatisfying of a resolution."

Alan half-rolled his eyes, an amused smile tugging his lips as he dropped his hand, sitting more upright. "So dramatic," he muttered.

Halfway through the potatoes, Lyall finally started to properly pace himself. As he chewed, Alan sighed and slowly ran his hand through his hair, thinking.

"In all seriousness, I'm not just up for you-- though that is a large part of it," he said. "I'm not trying to make this about myself, and it's not really that important, but I don't think I can just will myself to sleep anyways. Though I definitely wish it were that easy, sometimes."

Looking back up from his plate, Lyall's gaze turned the most attentive it had been all day and night. "No, please," he said, tone softening, "I want to know what's on your mind." Setting his fork down, he quickly wiped off his face as he fully turned toward Alan. "What's keeping you up?"

Definitely... a lot. But Lyall didn't need to hear about all of it right now.

Alan fell back to perching his cheek against his hand, drawing little circles on the counter while feeling Lyall's gaze on him. "The short answer is basically prioritization. I've mostly been thinking of when and how to talk to other people, while also taking the time to think about the future. Stuff like that."

Lyall nodded slowly. "So you're... re-prioritizing? Is that right?"

Alan nodded back. "Yeah. I'm just listing things right now." A pause. "I think I might need to actually use a calendar again. I'd rather be smart about this than come in blind, especially since there's a lot going on right now. I want to try to remain focused with the little time we have with each other for the remainder of the summer."

Glancing off, Lyall fell quiet for a moment as he let this sink in.

"As a fellow disaster organizer," he began, "I'd say you're on the right track--"

"I'm stopping you right there," Alan said with a flat look. "I am not a disaster organizer. I just..." He loosely waved his front in front of him. "Only sometimes adhere to it. The organization."

Lyall grinned faintly, but relented with a sincere, "Yes. My bad."

"I guess I didn't think I'd need to stay organized since this was supposed to be a vacation or whatever," Alan went on, sighing. "But we're one month in, and I'd like to make an impact when I can. So might as well seize the moment."

With another small nod, Lyall's grin faded. "How does this look, exactly? Making an impact?"

"That's different for everyone," Alan answered, tapping his finger along the counter before turning back towards him. "But I'm not trying to accomplish certain goals. I just want to be mindful, being there and making the time for others. That's all."

"I see," Lyall said, voice warm and gaze contemplative. "...And you'll leave some time for yourself as well, correct?"

Yeah... predictable. Alan offered a little smile, wondering if he ought to start a counter for the number of times Lyall was overly-worried about his health when that wasn't even the topic of discussion. Perhaps it was the doctor in him, or perhaps it was because he knew him. Perhaps both.

"I try to leave some time for myself to think, yeah," Alan answered. "Hence, nights like these, contemplating the meaning of life and whatnot. The usual."

"Thinking time scheduled in place of sleep is not sustainable either," Lyall murmured.

"Funny. I can say the same to you," Alan teased, kicking his foot under the counter.

"Nay," Lyall said, almost defensively, holding up a hand, "no! These are very different circumstances."

"I'll make the time for myself," Alan said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about that."

"Don't worry about that," Alan had said.

Unfortunately. Not worrying was simply not in Lyall's nature.

Lyall looked at him with mild disbelief. But opted to further inquire instead as he drew his knees up to his chest, "So, oh great and masterful organizer. What pray tell does this list of priorities entail?"

"Ah. It's just a list of people and how I want to spend time with them," Alan said with a small smile. "That's all. And yes, I'm on that list, so no need to fret over that."

Lyall hummed a laugh, lifting both hands placatingly. "Alright, I shall rest assured, yes. Would I be crossing a line at all if I asked who else populates the list?"

Alan hesitated, but was quick to answer before the silence could feel too drawn out. "No. I'm fine with sharing." He paused, then gestured to him with his free hand. "But you should know that you're the first one on the list."

Oh.

Blinking in mild surprise, Lyall huffed a laugh. "Indeed, very flattering to hear," he said lightly, then suppressed the urge to grimace at himself.

Dammit, Alan. Lyall was trying to turn the tables on him. In a friendly manner. He wanted to know what exactly within this list of priorities was bothering Alan to such an extent that he'd keep himself awake for it.

And here Alan was, still making the sole focus of a conversation about. Not Alan. Infuriating man.

"I," Lyall said slowly, and cursing his brain for it, "certainly wasn't... fishing for that kind of answer."

"I know," Alan said with a gentle smile, meeting his eyes. "I just thought you should know."

Lyall mustered a small grin, but fiercely batted down the growing warmth in his chest.

Nope, no. No more distracting, Mister Alan. Mister "I'd Rather Overcommunicate". How about Mister Irony, hm?

Though, the fact that trying to turn their focus back on Alan was thus far such a battle, was hardly a real shock. Given his pattern thus far of not being able to as effectively prioritize himself.

Picking up his plate, Lyall remained sitting sideways in his chair as he finished off the last of the rice. "Alright, so, we're both unquestionably on this list," he went on determinedly. "Who else is there?"

Alan stared at him for a moment, smile slowly growing as he followed along, nodding. Taking an interest on a grain of rice lying flat on the counter, Alan poked at it and said, "The list is quite long. But I think my name would interest you the most." He paused, flipping the rice grain over. "It's just a list of topics I've set aside for myself. Even if you said that's not really 'time for myself,' I still reserve that time anyways."

Lyall fought the urge to clarify what he'd meant earlier.

"You're right," he affirmed gently, finding Alan's smile to be inexplicably infectious, "I do find yours the most compelling bullet point."

"And I know that if I want to move forward in life, I have to think through it, because I have to grow," Alan went on, letting out a deep sigh. "I don't know, I guess it's easy to get distracted by the chaos of life. But I'm tired of running into the same dead ends. I feel like I have to find a solution, otherwise I'll wilt and die."

Lyall tucked away further questions about how this "chaos of life" looked for Alan, since that would be in the moment counter to what Alan was actively trying to focus on. And so opted to ask instead, "Which dead ends exactly?"

"Just... I don't know. Dead ends from being stupid enough to repeat the same mistakes, again and again," Alan said with a loose flourish of his hand, like it was supposed to be obvious. "Failure. Heartbreak. Loss. Things like that."

Lyall offered a soft, sympathetic smile. "We fall into patterns," he tried assuring him, "but that doesn't mean you're stupid."

"It is if you never learn from it. So..." Alan sat up straighter with another flourish of his hand. "That's what I'm trying to do. At least, I'll take the time to think about it. To learn and grow."

"Progress," Lyall warmly reaffirmed. "What kind of solution are you looking for here? Something related to your career?" A pause. Voice softening, he furthered, "Relationally?"

"No... well, maybe," Alan murmured, rubbing his face. "I can't really change any of that, but I can change myself. So it's mostly a lot of self-reflection."

"Self-reflection is good," Lyall said with a nod.

However, the shift from "growth" to "change" was interesting. Especially since it diametrically opposed Alan's earlier statement on the pier. How people ought not change themselves for even a relationship. Lyall let it go then, but now felt like a good time to finally dig into the matter of semantics.

"So, which is it?" he asked, leaning an elbow on the counter.

Alan paused, dropping his head as he turned his head towards him. "Which is what?"

"Are you looking to grow yourself," Lyall clarified, "or change yourself?"

Alan stared at him for a moment, drawing his brows together as he considered the thought. "Growth is about change. So, is it not both?"

Pursing his lips, Lyall tilted his head side to side in thought. "Growth leads to some change. But, recalling the endless wisdom of a very good friend of mine, one shouldn't alter themselves as a person. Not for anything." He shrugged a shoulder and gently asked again, "So, what are you seeking here exactly?"

Alan huffed out a soft laugh, softly smiling as he studied Lyall. "I didn't think you remembered that," he murmured.

"Full functionality of the brain has steadily returned," Lyall answered lightly. "Thanks to the efforts of that same wise friend."

"I see." Alan smiled a little wider, but then turned away to slouch forward again, squishing his hand against his cheek and flicking away the grain of rice. "To be honest, Lyall, I don't really know what I'm seeking," he began, the smile fading and washing into an expressive melancholic look of hope and longing. "I know you like to think more in logical steps, but I don't really have logical answers for you. I have a list of things to process, I'm relying on my feelings to self-reflect, and I'm reacting accordingly. That's all."

"You don't have to have logical answers," Lyall relented, turning his attention to some invisible speck on the counter. "I just... want to help as you process. Only if you want it, though."

"I know. And I appreciate it. Really," Alan said with a small but sincere smile. "But I'm trying to help you process." He tapped his foot against Lyall's as he emphasized the word 'you'. "You went through a big event today, and I know you find talking to be a pleasant distraction, but I don't really want to make this about me, especially about my own baggage. I really think that's the last thing you need right now."

Grinning faintly, Lyall bumped his knee to Alan's in turn. "To be perfectly honest," he murmured, "I think what I need most right now is a friend who understands." He lifted a hand in a loose shrug and continued, speaking slowly as the thoughts came to him, "Maybe, instead of viewing of it as weighing each other down with baggage, we're supporting each other as we both try to figure things out."

Alan was quiet for a moment, his smile fading as he seemed to scan for answers in his eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked softly. "Is that really what you want?"

Grin turning fond and reassuring, Lyall warmly set a hand on Alan's shoulder. "I'd love nothing more."

Alan smiled, gaze fixed on his hand before he faced forward again, already getting lost in his head. "Well, what are you interested in hearing? All of it, or the topic that's higher priority?"

But Alan continued on without even giving Lyall a chance to respond. He straightened up on his chair, expression contemplative as he also spoke with his hands.

"There's a lot, even in just the three weeks here, since we're living in a micro-society," Alan began. "I already told you that I am making a list of priorities, and they are mostly centered on people. But outside of that, there are a lot of other things I need to carefully consider. I'm still trying to make sense of things during Ooktoberfest. Namely what this means to me and what this implies. And I'm not talking about Shane-- though, that's a whole different topic. Romance is in general, and it all feels interweaved like a makeshift tapestry secured on the wall by mere tape.

I feel so much pressure in general, and I don't really think I'm ready for romance again, and yet, I'm stupid enough to be easily won over by a sweet poem. I hate that it's like the whole damn world dolls me up, like I'm only a body to them. And maybe I am, I don't know. I don't know what it all means. I don't know what got into me yesterday. I don't know why I keep dreaming that I hurt other people. I don't know why I keep disappointing people. I don't know why everyone has an opinion of me without even knowing me. I don't know what I did."

Alan sighed, running his hand through his hair as he buried his face in his hands, sinking into the counter. He only took a moment to breathe before he continued again, speaking lowly.

"I don't know a lot of things, and I think that's fine. But it's starting to be aggravating. I feel like I'm missing important context to recent events, which again-- it's fine. I don't need to know everything. But where does the line end? I wish I could know everything, or I wish I knew how to help without being so useless. I don't know, I'm just sick and tired of not being good enough, and I know it's my own fault.

"And it's not just that. Obviously, at the top of my mind, is you, because I want to help you navigate the pain of a breakup, because you're my friend and I care about you, and I understand. Yet at the same time, I don't even know if I'm qualified to do that. I haven't even processed my own breakup, and just before seeing you, I stumbled upon a letter she wrote me. And some texts. And I haven't opened either of them. I don't even know what there is to say, yet at the same time, I know this is my own undoing.

I'm putting everything on pause-- I have been for the past two months-- and I'm sick and tired of it. I need to move on. Think about how I'm actually going to face my real life when I return. Maybe I'll finally sell my instruments and get a real job. I know I'm young, but I'm so tired of being lost, running into the same dead ends again and again. I thought, maybe, there's a place for myself, somewhere. But I'm naive, and that's why I need to change. To adapt to a world that will actually accept me."

At the end of Alan's long spiel, he sighed and lowly hung his head, hair between his fingers as he distantly stared at the counter, unreacting.

Lyall blinked. This was a lot, but the quantity of the information wasn't what he was tripping up on.

What struck him speechless for a moment was Alan's spiel in its entirety. The man was seriously contemplating changing himself as a person to appease even strangers he'll never see, give away his passions in order to give in to the demands of a cruel and unforgiving world. All because he'd lost his sense of self. Was losing faith in himself.

And maybe Lyall was supposed to simply keep his mouth shut unto the promise of listening. But he couldn't let that last thought go unchallenged.

"Do not change yourself," Lyall murmured, more firmly this time as he fixed his eyes on his friend. "Adapt, wizen up so people don't tread over you, stay vigilant unto your safety, yes. But do not ever-- for anyone or anything-- change what makes you Alan Alvaro."

But Alan didn't respond to that, nor really had much of a reaction, his face still hidden in his arms on top of the counter.

Lyall pressed on anyway: "If you give in to the demands of this world, give even just a little bit of yourself up, it will only continue to take. And take, and take, until you have nothing left to give. I have seen it happen too many times, with too many people I've cared for. Old friends, my mother-- I'm seeing it with even Hild now." He gave Alan's shoulder a light squeeze, and finished softly, "I don't want that to be you, too."

Alan didn't react right away, slow to sit up more upright so his weight wasn't full on the table. Leaning forward, he rubbed his eye from under his glasses and briefly met Lyall's eyes, only offering a small, half-hearted smile.

"I know. I'll try not to," he said quietly.

Full of sympathy and affection, Lyall kept his gaze fixed on Alan as he offered a small smile in turn. "Good."

He had a feeling he hadn't quite gotten through to the musician. That was fine. This kind of thing needed time to truly sink in, anyhow.

Dropping his hand down to his lap, Lyall leaned back out of Alan's space again with a quiet exhale.

"Seems," Lyall slowly began again, "we're both at a crossroads, then. Young, full of promise, with the world wide open before us, and nary a clue where to go."

Alan sighed, leaning his head against his hand as he distantly stared across the room, murmuring, "Like two peas in a pod."

Lyall cracked another fond, if dry, smile at that. "Fine, yes," he mumbled, feigning indignance. "Like two peas in a pod."

Alan sighed again, only giving a faint smile back in return. "Anyways," he breathed out. "Are you feeling tired yet?"

Lyall huffed out through his nose. "I could go on forever like this," he answered lightly. "I'm invincible. I shall never sleep again."

"I think I may be getting tired," Alan answered, rubbing his other eye.

Legitimately, Lyall wondered, or was this an act? As Alan had earlier accused of Lyall.

Well. He had just unpacked a lot, and neither of them still were nearly well-rested enough.

"Was that everything you wanted to talk about?" Lyall asked, tone softening as he watched Alan closely.

"Yeah," Alan said tiredly as he leaned away from the counter, eyeing the couch. "That's it."

Heart sinking slightly, Lyall suppressed a sigh. He was getting a vague sense that he might've done something wrong again. "I won't keep you, then," he said quietly. "You should rest."

Without another word, Alan slipped out of the chair to bee-line towards the couch. He patted down the cushions a few times, gaze turned towards the stairs before he began to move again, muttering, "I'm going to grab some blankets and pillows."

Lyall only nodded. Still facing the kitchen as he was, he wasn't sure if Alan saw.

Regardless.

Once Alan reached the top of the stairwell, Lyall leaned forward on his elbows, burying his face in his hands with true exhaustion starting to weigh on him again.

They were both tired. They both needed rest. Even so, he was fairly certain now he did something wrong. Dialogue between them never got cut so quickly, unless something had deeply rubbed Alan the wrong way.

Maybe he hadn't let The List sink in and settle between them for long enough. Lyall was still too quick to fill the silence. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling now like the fool who never learned.

Alan came back with the promised comforts stacked high in his arms. There was a pause in his steps when something fell to the floor with a lightweight "thud". Lyall glanced over his shoulder to quietly watch as the musician then bent down. Only to lose another pillow. With a groan, he abandoned the pillows altogether to first drop off the blankets in the sitting room. Then he circled back to the pillows with fierce determination.

Under any other circumstances, Lyall would've laughed. Aloud, maybe. He just quietly turned back to the darkened kitchen and his thus his mildly guilt-ridden thoughts, putting his face in his hands again.

After finally dumping the pillows and blankets on to the couch, Alan stepped back, one hand on his hip as he scratched the side of his head, staring down at his work.

"I probably should have asked you first if you planned on staying down here," Alan said distractedly before turning to Lyall. "Are you?"

Without thinking, Lyall simply said, "I'm. Sorry. I..." He sighed aloud now and finished quietly, "Have issues, I think."

Alan stared at him, dropping his hand before slowly asking, "About... the living room?"

Lyall punched his brows together. "No, I-- No." Dropping one hand to the counter, he waved his other in vague, frustrated circles. "This is what... Kaya meant. I can't just sit and listen. There's..."

Something wrong with him. And he still didn't know how to fix it.

"I'm sorry," he tried again quietly.

"Hey, it's alright," Alan said with a gentle smile, meeting him across the counter. "Don't beat yourself up over this."

"I promise," Lyall said more emphatically, "I am hearing you, I am taking everything in, I am here for you."

"I know," Alan emphasized back with an understanding smile, reaching out to place his hand on top of his, meeting his eyes. "You don't need to convince me of that. I don't doubt that at all, so there's nothing to be sorry about."

Guilt still unassuaged, Lyall only quietly nodded, averting his gaze to the marble countertop.

"...I don't feel like contending with stairs," he mumbled, "so. I'll stay down here."

Though... As soon as he said that, he wondered maybe if he should go up anyway. Poor Cyrin was no doubt still sitting like a gargoyle in their darkened room, fixated on the open window--

Alan gently tugged on his hand. "Come on. Let's get you to the couch, you sad sap."

Lyall gave in, and followed him out to the living room. Slipping from Alan's grasp, he helped himself to a pillow, and promptly wrapped himself in one of the blankets. Then fell back onto the couch facing the windows of the room.

"Are you actually going to go to sleep?" Alan asked, leaning down to scooch the pillow towards Lyall so it was fully under his head.

"I make no promises there," Lyall said honestly, half-heartedly shooing Alan's hands away to adjust the pillow himself. "But I'll try."

"Well. That's a good start," Alan said with a little smile.

He turned away, grabbing the spare pillow and blanket before setting it down on the spare couch. Alan sat down much more gracefully than him, spreading the blanket over him before fully laying down, back against the pillow. He paused, then rustled again, pulling away his glasses and stretching his arm out in front of him to just barely set it on the coffee table.

"If it's any consolation," he began, cozying himself back on the couch, "I'm not upset with you. I don't really like processing with people because I need some time to sink into the thoughts and emotions. Thank you for listening, Lyall. It means a lot to me."

Curling up tightly on his side, the small storm in his chest settling a little, Lyall nodded slightly. "Anytime," he murmured with full sincerity.

Alan jostled once more, turning so his back was facing away. "Good night, Lyall. Sweet dreams."

Lyall hummed softly as he fixed his gaze on one of the windows just past his friend's resting form. "Night, Alan."

Alan had so missed the sound of his phone's alarm.

Before sleeping, he made sure to set the alarm at 9am, giving him a full six hours of sleep. He usually didn't constrain himself to specific sleep intervals or amounts, but if he was going to be successful at prioritizing his time on the island, he had to be more accountable. Starting with his sleep.

To do anything right, he had to rest. Even if his heart didn't want to.

Quick to turn off the alarm, Alan thrashed under the blanket, scurrying on his feet so he could reach towards the ceiling and stretch. Feigning back a yawn, Alan turned towards the other couch, eyeing Lyall who was barely visible from under his blanket. He curled up tighter with a quiet groan.

Ah. Still asleep. Or... was. Well, maybe the alarm wasn't such a good idea.

"Sorry," he murmured with a smile, quick to pad over to the windows and close the blinds.

There you go. Blinds of one window closed, then another, then another-- until they were sitting in total darkness in the midst of a beautiful 9am day. Lovely.

Using the screen on his phone for light-- which was dangerously low on dying, since he hadn't charged it while he slept, so he had do that soon-- Alan filled up a glass of water, contemplating making coffee while he drank it.

Hm. No, coffee was too slow. There was a better, more efficient way.

Quickly but quietly hopping up the stairs, Alan first went to his room to charge his phone, setting it safely on the bed. Satisfied, he next entered the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and pulling out the caffeine pills that he noticed were stocked on day one.

This would have to do. Dry swallowing two pills, Alan took in a deep breath, staring at himself in the mirror.

"Week four, day three," he said out loud with a silly smile. "Action."



Teeth, brushed. Face, shaved. Hair, styled. Clothes, changed.

His clothes too. Not the DMV's.

It was very nice to feel like himself again. Whatever the hell that even meant.

Satisfied and now feeling more focused and determined with caffeine in his system, Alan took in a deep breath and made his way to Cyrin's room, poking his head through the hole and waving.

Cyrin showed no reaction, somehow more still than the last time Alan had seen him. He was still in the same pose as when he'd left him, eyes wide open and bloodshot. There was more tension in their shoulders than in a rope about to snap.

"...Good morning, Cyrin," Alan said with a small smile, bending down and stepping in through the hole on the door. He invited himself in, eyes on Cyrin as he sat on the edge of his bed. "Another night of insomnia, I assume?"

Cyrin was completely response-less. Alan gently reached out, hand on their knee.

"Cyrin," he called softly, searching his vacant eyes.

And then very slowly, with no possible way of it being deliberate, Cyrin keeled over to the side, falling over on the bed.

Baffled, Alan again called out, "Cyrin?" through a confused laugh. Although... the laugh seemed more of a reactionary measure, instead of the situation being humorous.

Cyrin's eye finally twitched, and he blinked a few times, not seeming to see what was in front of him. He didn't turn his head so that Alan would be in his line of view either.

"Turn it off," he croaked.

Alan blinked, trying to understand, but coming up blank. He followed Cyrin's gaze, but was fairly sure that the words he was saying and the things he were seeing were not lining up.

"Hey, Cyrin," Alan said with more concern, giving their knee a few gentle taps. "It's Alan. Can you hear me?"

"It's too loud. Turn it off," Cyrin repeated with a tremor in his voice as he shuffled away from Alan, not waiting for him to answer before he attempted to kneel on the bed.

Maybe... they were talking about the window? It was still open, and a lovely, summer breeze pushed at the curtains.

Alan backed away, getting to his feet and taking the initiative to close the windows shut, locking it in place. Alan barely had time to note the mysterious claw marks by the windowsill when Cyrin caught his attention again, yelling at him.

"Stop!" Cyrin shouted, trying to stand, but their knee seemed to buckle under them with their first step off the bed, and instead of lunging for the window, they tumbled to the ground, barely catching the floor with their hands instead of their face. As they did, some metal item clattered loudly to the ground.

A bit frantically, Alan was quick to open the window again, whirling back around with hands placatingly out in front of him. "It's open," he said with assurance. "Is that better?"

Alan only barely registered the item that dropped to the ground, mostly focused on Cyrin. But then it hit him: was that a kitchen knife?

Cyrin pushed himself up to all fours with a tired grunt, snatching up the knife and tucking it back in his blazer-- which he'd never changed out of for the night. Without answering Alan, they staggered to their feet and rushed out the door, racing down the stairs.

Alan opened his mouth to say something, but honestly, he didn't even know what else to say besides: what the hell?

Quickly shaking out of his stupor, Alan raced back out the door, sliding across the floor as he pattered down a few steps just in time to see the front door slamming behind Cyrin.

Alan rushed down the rest of the stairs, stumbling a bit in the dark as he skidded to a stop in front of a window, pushing back the blinds just in time to peep Cyrin running down a trail before completely disappearing from view.

Where... was he going...?

Lyall muttered incoherently from the couch behind him before asking with clear concern, "Everything alright, Alan?"

"Yeah," Alan said with a smile, turning around and letting the blinds fall back into place. "I'd say good morning, but you should go back to sleep. Are you comfortable?"

Lyall only sat upright with an unconvinced frown. "Was that Cyrin?" he pressed, trying to shake himself back to wakefulness.

Alan was already being proactive, moving quick to slip on his shoes by the door. "It was. I think it's my fault, so I'll go after him and make amends. I'll send you an update. Is your phone charged?"

"It's-- Yes, but." Lyall slid off the couch and joined Alan by the door. "I can help find them?"

"Hmmm." Alan tilted his head up and tapped his lips, then grinned and tapped the tip of Lyall's nose. "No."

Lyall only blinked in response, then wilted a bit. "...Alright," he tiredly relented. "Best of luck to you."

Hand on the doorknob, Alan was about to swing the door open, but then paused, an idea coming to him. "Oh, Lyall. That reminds me." He slid his phone out of his pocket. "You saw yesterday's PSA, right? Let's share our locations with each other at all times. It'd bring me peace of mine if you knew where I was."

With another slow blink, Lyall furrowed his brows in thought. Then, digging through his pockets, he huffed dryly as he further yielded, "Very well. Anything for your peace of mind."

Alan smiled, unlocking his phone and tapping through the location app, sending a request to share locations using Lyall's contact information. "Sent. Did you get the request?" he asked.

"Indeederoo," Lyall hummed, skimming his notifications.

"Got it," Alan confirmed, dismissing the notification that they were both able to see each other's location now.

Slipping his phone back in his pocket, Alan smiled back at Lyall and considered the possibility that, despite his word and being able to see his location, Lyall would still leave the cabin to chase after Cyrin and do a million other tasks besides sleep.

"Do you promise to stay back and rest?" he asked gently with a soft smile, meeting his eyes.

Hands in his pockets, Lyall further deflated, expression somewhat flat. "...I promise," he eventually murmured.

"Alright. I trust you," Alan said, opening the door and then turning back with an appreciative smile.

"Do me a favor, though, while you're out?" Lyall said, leaning against the wall by the door.

"I'm listening," Alan answered with a raised brow.

Scanning his face, Lyall's voice softened as he said, "Stay safe, Alan."

Alan smiled warmly, appreciating his friend's concern. He just wish he'd listen to his own damn words sometimes.

"Always. See you later?" he said as he widened the door.

"Hopefully sooner," Lyall answered with a bow of his head.

And then he was off with his first mission: spend time with his family.

... After making sure Cyrin was okay.

He stepped through the door, shutting it behind him, walking towards the direction Cyrin went off to.

...Though, to be honest, Alan had no clue where Cyrin went off to. And frankly, he did not know what happened, and he wasn't sure he was the best person for the job to help Cyrin see reason.

Of all people, Alan understood. He wouldn't trust himself dealing with himself when he felt his own mind break. Which was... a whole other topic to consider. For later.

So that was why Alan opted to tell staff about the situation first. He spotted Caspar fiddling around with the lens at the camera station, and Alan was quick to bee-line towards him, knowing he had already wasted so much time from drawing out a conversation with Lyall.

Though, that wasn't necessarily a time waster. If he actually showed panic, Lyall would panic too. It was better to keep calm with these manners.

"Hey, good morning, Caspar," Alan greeted with a smile.

Brows raised in mild surprise, Caspar tipped his hat and answered, "Morning, Mister Alan. Something wrong?"

"No, nothing wrong," Alan answered, but then hesitated. "Well... maybe a little. Did you see Cyrin running off, by chance?"

The cameraman's brows pinched with confusion. "Ahm, no? But I can, uh, check for where they went?" He tapped the camera in front of him. "And or keep an eye out."

Alan nodded, gesturing towards the trail he witnessed Cyrin running down. "I think they went that way, actually. I confess that's not the real reason I'm coming to you, though." He dropped his hand, sighing. "I don't understand it well myself, but I think something is troubling Cyrin. I can't help but feel like he needs help, similar to when I needed help a few days ago too. Is it possible to send someone after them?"

"Oh!" Caspar worriedly looked down the trail, already taking some shuffling steps to abandon his post. "How urgently...?"

"I think it's urgent," Alan said softly. "I don't think they were seeing or hearing me before running off."

With a nod, Caspar quickly broke into a sprint down the trail. Then quickly backtracked and asked a few paces down the path, "Anything I should know before approaching?"

Alan was glad he asked, because it dawned on him that he ought to also warn him of he obvious. "Cyrin has a knife. Please be careful!" he called out worriedly with a louder voice, hoping he heard him.

Caspar gave a quick thumbs-up, then turned and disappeared into the foliage.

Alright. That took care of that. Alan made a mental note to check in on Cyrin later, whenever he could. Perhaps a text, though realistically, he didn't know how well that would work out since Cyrin wasn't sound of mind.

Though... Alan didn't have Caspar's number. But Alistair mentioned that he connected with staff. He'd have to ask him for Caspar's number, or at least ask him to ask someone else about it.

But first, Alan had to see him first.

Alright. Now he could see his family.

Alright. Chase after crazies, round 3.

This was urgent, according to Mister Alan. Caspar wasn't unfamiliar with trauma responses such as this. But that certainly did not make him qualified in any way to help someone through it. So, as he wandered the trail, scanning bushes and trees, he quickly dialed for his friend Ethan. Who probably was actually qualified to help someone through a panic response. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing when reaching out to Mister Aaron.

Ethan was quick to respond, saying he'd bring Hugo to help sniff anything out. Caspar provided coordinates for a meetup point so they could watch each other's blindspots. Then hung up to get in touch with Shay, who was at the recording studio with Mel.

Shay checked every working camera feed for him. Once Ethan and Hugo caught up, she recommended the they simply go straight for this week's dead zones since she wasn't able to find anything. Just in case Cyrin happened to still be on the move, she stayed on the line.

It wasn't until they reached the western jungle that Hugo finally picked up a trail. With a small whine, he took off like a shot, nearly colliding with a narrow tree on his way. What was worse was that Caspar also almost collided with the same tree.

It was a full ten minutes before Hugo finally skidded to a stop at the base of a larger trunk. With his nose pointed straight up, he sat down determinedly. Bending down to give his dog a praising ear scratch, Caspar scanned the foliage.

"I think I see him," Ethan murmured as he squinted up, hand against his forehead to shield the sun from his eyes. "There, up on the tree." He lightly smiled and dropped his hand, turning to Caspar with a soft voice. "We shouldn't startle him. Sounds like they're rattled by something."

Caspar squinted up through the leaves. Well. He couldn't see Cyrin very clearly because of the greens, but he could at least pick out the sounds of their even breathing amidst the soft breeze.

"I think he's asleep," Caspar murmured slowly.

"Yeah," Ethan said with a nod. "Let's let him sleep." He squinted back up, humming. "You said there's a cam up there? Or is it dead?"

"Dead zone," Shay quietly confirmed over the phone.

"Oh, hey, Shay," Ethan said with a smile and wave over to the phone even though she couldn't see him. "You been on the whole time?"

"I've been your eyes this whole time, my guy," Shay said with a snicker.

"Smort," Ethan said with a grin, plopping on the ground with his legs spread out.

Caspar silently picked his way through foliage on the forest floor and slowly lowered himself to sit against the trunk at the base, next to Ethan. With a faint click of his tongue, he beckoned Hugo over, who was quick to plop himself down onto Caspar's lap. Ethan bent sideways, reaching out to Hugo so he could aggressively pet his head.

"Hey, Cas, wanna play cards?" Ethan asked, sitting up and pocketing out a deck of cards. "Oh, wait. Hold that thought. I'm going to text my wife first. She'll wanna play too. Do you mind if she and Finn camp out here with us?" He paused, pursing his lips with his phone in his hand. "Well, maybe not Finn... I'll see if Flor can set him up with a play date with Maya. Heh. Little guy's not going to like that."

Caspar huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, it may be best if the little champ sits this one out."

"You okay if Flora come by? She baked zucchini bread last night. I'll ask her to bring it," Ethan went on, distractedly tapping away on his phone. "Fair warning, though. She's a killer card player."

"Yeah, absolutely," Caspar whispered with a warm smile. "I just hope she won't get bored of winning every time."

"Don't come looking for me." Some of the stupidest words he ever heard.

As if Aaron could handle being out in the jungle on his own, cowering from the man who'd been enslaving him for how many years, now? Yeah. That wasn't going to happen. Not long after he and James talked he determined to head out early in the morning to find Aaron. Screw sleeping. He hated sleeping in his cabin anyway, with all of the activity always going on in the gods-forsaken hours of the night with Alex and Tula conspiring and whatever the hell else they were always up to.

It was 6am. The sun was almost up. Jay headed out while it was just creeping over the horizon.

Fortunately for Jay, he was decent at tracking, but it still took him a little bit to find Aaron. When he said he went out into the jungle, he really meant deep out into the jungle. The island wasn't really that large, but it certainly felt so for how much was still undeveloped on the left-most side, where the only real signs of human interference were the dirt paths trailing around the beach-front. Inland, though?

Untouched.

At least, until Aaron plowed through it. That was what made him easier to find.

Following the path of smashed and broken plant-life, Jay finally happened upon a sleeping Aaron, tightly curled up under a winding palm tree.

Jay approached slowly, aware that Aaron was at one of his lowest moments since being on the island. He knew he'd be touchy.

"Aaron," Jay called out at a moderate volume, standing a few yards off with Meanie-Mo poking out of his poncho, perching on his shoulder.

Aaron's small frame tensed in an instant, but he didn't make a sound.

"Hey, it's just me," Jay said. "I know you said not to come out here. But you were wrong. So. Here I am."

"Why the hell..." Trailing off into a tired mutter, Aaron started to push himself upright, arms shaking beneath him.

"You need to eat. And take care of yourself," Jay went on. He approached slowly, holding a blanket and a big tupperware of soup.

Aaron held out a frantic hand to stop him. "No," he said, low and sharp, "don't."

Jay stopped. Mostly because he'd never seen Aaron be that genuinely assertive before.

"...Okay," Jay said stiffly.

Breaths turning short as he curled his lip in pain, Aaron let his hand drop to the dirt again and held his head low. "Turn around," he uttered. "Go back."

Jay frowned.

"I brought you something to eat," Jay said with a stubborn sigh.

"Leave." Aaron finally met his eyes directly. "Now."

Jay carefully set down the tupperware onto the ground, intending to just leave it for him alongside the blanket. But the moment he bent over, he heard a crack. Of bones.

Falling heavily to the ground, hands clutching his head, Aaron writhed and snarled as his body tore slowly itself apart.

"Aaron," Jay said, abandoning his gifts on the jungle floor. "I'm sorry. But you have to fight this--"

Aaron let out an agonized, animalistic cry as his flesh rapidly stripped from his bones. The fear in his eyes was taken over by something different. Something predatory.

Jay realized in that moment that this wasn't Aaron. This... this had to be Constantine doing this to him. And that stung, because Jay realized now that him coming to Aaron really might not've been the best idea after all. Not if it meant Aaron was going to be tortured just so--

Jay's eyes went wide as Aaron lunged, fully transformed. Instantly going ghost, he flew into the air. Aaron's claws passed through Jay's intangible, invisible legs, but Meanie-Mo remained solid on his shoulder, squealing and cowering in fear. Jay panicked as the little stoat leaped off his shoulder and onto the nearest tree. His hands shot out to grab him, but the stoat wiggled out of them and began to scramble across the forest floor at lightning speed, darting out like a bullet.

Aaron bypassed Jay's incorpeal self and dashed after Meanie-Mo.

Jay froze for a moment, the realization paralyzing him.

No, no, no, no.

He'd made a mistake.

His body flickered in and out of existence like a dying light, and then he began to fly after them, but he was already too far behind. Meanie-mo was leaping out towards the beach and the open air. Aaron was quickly gaining. Jay felt like he was watching it all happen in slow motion. In one fell swoop he was losing his friend to a monster, and his only living remnant of his former friend as well. "Panic" didn't even sufficiently summize the dread and the pain that suffocated his heart as he failed to close the gap.

Aaron's maw was hanging open, about to scoop Meanie-mo up.

And then, out of nowhere, a torrent of water rose from the shore and blasted Aaron with a wave that had the force of a tsunami behind it. Completely at the mercy of this new mysterious force, Aaron was thrown far off course, putting a great distance between him and Meanie-mo.

For once not questioning the mysteries of this island, Jay bee-lined for Meanie-mo, who'd cowered in shock from the wave, and he finally snatched him up in his hands. It wasn't until he was corpeal and reunited with his stoat that he realized the source of the wave was the woman nearby: Clarity, who had her eyes locked on Aaron. Her hands were still raised from wielding the wave, and there was a fierce glint of light in her eyes.

"That's Aaron!" Jay said, voice rising in panic as he held Meanie-mo close. "Don't hurt him, please!"

Dazed, Aaron shook the water from his head as he unsteadily righted himself. Then, his gaze fixed on Clarity, charged for her instead.

"Come on, the one morning that I go out on a walk," Clarity muttered, flicking her wrist. As she did, the water that was starting to rush back into the ocean rose up again, this time folding itself into a hollow sphere that wrapped around Aaron before he could get to her.

Jay watched in awe as Aaron was encapsulated and lifted in what was essentially a gigantic bubble prison. But there was also an enourmous amount of relief that hit him when, after several poor attempts to pop said bubble, Aaron finally collapsed on the bottom of it, heaving, but finally returning to his human form.

Jay's heart sunk.

Was this his fault? No. No it wasn't. It was Constantine. But damnit if Constantine didn't want to guilt him into thinking it was. And Constantine wanted Aaron to think it was, too.

Jay looked over to Clarity with a hesitant glance. She was still focused on maintaining the bubble while Aaron's body reshaped.

What a way to find out Aaron was a wendigo, huh.

Jay looked between Clarity and Aaron, once again feeling the tug of empathy as Aaron's body went limp with exhaustion. He must've passed out.

"I think you can let him go, now," Jay said softly.

Clarity gave Aaron one last doubtful look, but she conceded, lowering her hand. The bubble popped, splashing to the sand.

"Wait here," Jay said. "And... watch him for me. I'm going to grab something really quick."

Because poor Aaron was lacking any real clothing, and he at least deserved the dignity of being covered.

Clarity stared at him for a second, but shrugged. "Okay."

With a nod, Jay ran back off to where he'd dropped his gifts, and it took him a few short minutes to gather them back in his arms, coddle Meanie-mo on the way, and return with his blankets and a spare outfit he'd pillaged from Aaron's room.

When he joined Clarity again, he hesitated for a moment before coaxing Meanie-mo out of his poncho. Meanie-mo hung his head low, curling up in Jay's hand with his tiny ears flattened in fear. Jay's brows pinched a bit as he looked over at Clarity, clearing his throat.

"Can you hold him?" he asked. "I can handle Aaron. He can't hurt me. But Meanie-mo doesn't have powers."

He offered Clarity the stoat, having to hope and trust that she'd be willing to protect the stoat as she had only moments before.

Slowly, Clarity reached out with a nod. "I've got him," she promised.

Jay nodded, grateful for Clarity's help. He extended his hand to her, and Meanie-mo curled up tighter.

"He's just scared," Jay said softly. "If you're gentle I think he'll go to you."

Clarity nodded, loosening her posture a little and making a coaxing movement with her hands. "Does he like being petted?"

"He does," Jay answered. "Top of his head."

Clarity carefully reached out to stroke Meanie-mo's head, her movements slow and light. "It's okay, little guy," she murmured.

Meanie-mo ducked his head at first, but upon hearing Jay and Clarity's voices, both soft and quiet, he finally started to loosen up a little, and he cautiously leaned into Clarity's touch. Meanie-mo's nose twitched and his eyes closed as Clarity pet his head, and it was then that Jay motioned for Clarity to scoop him up. She had his affections, now.

With care and without sudden movements, Clarity took the stoat, letting him lie on one of her hands as she kept petting his head with the other. Meanie-mo seemed appeased and distracted enough that Jay could make his getaway, so he took his chance while he could.

Hurrying over to Aaron on soft feet, he cautiously set down a set of clothes beside him. Then, out of respect, he draped a blanket over Aaron's frame to cover him, wishing he could do more without fear of disturbing Aaron and waking the beast inside.

When he placed the food down, his arms were empty, and there was little else he could do at the moment to help Aaron, so he reluctantly made his way back over to Clarity. When he approached, Meanie-mo became aware of his absence and began to squirm in her hand, wriggling out to jump onto Jay's shoulder. There, he proceeded to burrow down into Jay's shirt and hide.

Jay looked up to Clarity with a sigh.

"...Thanks," he said stiffly.

"Don't mention it," Clarity said, glancing back towards a sleeping Aaron. "Happy I could help with... whatever this was."

Jay pressed his lips together, letting out a small sigh.

"You heard about the wendigo, right?" he asked.

"Right," Clarity said, nodding.

"Aaron's a victim," Jay said. "He doesn't deserve any of this. Unfortunately I don't think there's anything we can do for him right now until the real wendigo is gone."

He paused, frowning slightly as he looked off at Aaron.

"Until then I don't think Aaron will have much control over himself," Jay said. "So it's best to keep our distance."

"Are we doing that by... leaving him here?" Clarity asked uncertainly.

Jay shrugged helplessly.

"I left him food and clothes. But... I don't want to make this harder for him by waking him up when I'm around. The monster might take over again, and I don't want to do that to him," he said.

Clarity nodded.

"In that case, you should be able to check back on him at a later time," she said. "Since this island doesn't really have any dangers except for..."

She shrugged, as a way of ending the statement on an obvious hint.

"Yes," Jay said, picking up on the obvious. "That's what I'm hoping."

An awkward pause. Meanie-mo poked his head out of the collar of Jay's poncho, and the little stoat stared at Clarity with beady eyes.

"So, uh," Jay said. "Bye, then."

Meanie-mo squeaked.

"Bye," Clarity said, raising her hand in a wave as she stepped back, before offering a faint attempt at a smile and tucking her hands in her pockets as she started to turn around.

Jay didn't know what came over him, but he... he tried to smile back. Whatever his face did, it seemed to make her smile by the tiniest fraction more as she turned and started to make her way back towards the ladies cabin.

Jay wasn't sure if that meant he'd succeeded or not, but he found himself walking away... strangely thankful for having run into her.

Weird.

Throughout the next few hours, there were moments where Alan truly felt like he was on a family vacation.

Which felt a little bizarre, because he never imagined to spend a family vacation in a place like this. Tropical, artificial, and upper-class. Alan did feel a little out of his element on Day 1, but now, it felt like this was becoming his every day.

It really was nice to see mom and Alistair again, chatting and eating, with absolutely nothing stressing them out. Not about other family members, not about money, not about jobs.

It was nice.

And that was why he devoted the bulk of the morning with them, staying in the present as they perused the plaza for food, then the beaches for talks.

Alan enjoyed dumping wet sand on Alistair and seeing him get grouchy whenever the unsuspecting waves rode over his ankles, wetting the hem of his pants. And of course, Alan loved to talk with his mom, catching up with her on absolutely everything.

He talked about how he watched the sun rise and set everyday, using it as his clock. He talked about how he bonded with his trailmates by sweat and blood. He talked about how he swam across a frigid lake with no clothes, drank water from the troughs of cattle, rode an alpaca across a field, and ate two tubs of peanut butter every week. He was living in the moment every day for that month, and he loved how his mom lit up at every detail.

She was always such a good listener, prodding for excessive details to share the same joy he felt when he experienced these treasured memories. It felt good to relive them through her, even if it was brief.

Time was passing by quickly.

While Alistair bickered to his mom about how it was annoying that they were tracking sand everywhere, he checked his phone, pulling out his texts with Lyall.

He sent him a message at noon that said:

Alan wrote:Call me when you're awake?

And there wasn't a response yet. Which was good, because it meant he was sleeping. His location confirmed it as well. Alan planned on going back to the cabin only after Lyall woke up, so his lack of response meant that he had more time with his family.

Then, as fate would have it, his phone buzzed with a reponse. Or rather, a call-- with Lyall's name across the screen. Alan smiled, picking up the call and bringing the phone to his ear.

"Everything alright, mate?" Lyall asked in a sleepy mumble. Further confirmation that he had indeed finally given in to the demands of sleep deprivation.

"Yep, I'm on my way back. Just wanted to hear your voice," Alan replied, waving for his family across the beach to come closer.

There was a quiet sigh-- a long yawn, actually-- before Lyall huffed with amusement. "If you're heading back, you would've found the opportunity within minutes anyhow."

Alan smiled. "Alright. See you in a bit, Lyall."

He hung up the call before Lyall could respond, waving for his family again to follow.



Even though Alan lived in the cabin and had the keys to enter, he knocked on the door anyways, looking over his shoulder and to give a smile of acknowledgement to his mom.

Maybe Alistair saw through his plan of using mom to cheer up Lyall, or maybe he wanted to do his own thing-- but either way, he was off, somewhere. Which worked out well, because Alan was doing exactly that: to use his mom to cheer up Lyall.

The door opened, revealing a still very-mussed Lyall wrapped in a blanket. Upon seeing Alan's mom, he rapidly blinked himself to full alertness and smiled brightly.

"Natalie!" he greeted. "What a fantastic surprise!"

"Ly-all!" she called back with a warm smile, arms out for an embrace. She kissed both of his cheeks and hugged him again, asking, "How are you, my dear? It's good to see you again!"

As he managed to return the second embrace, Lyall briefly cast Alan a deeply unamused grin over her shoulder. Alan repressed a cheeky grin as it dawned on him that his intentional surprise may have caught his friend off guard. Not because he wasn't wanting to see his mom, but because Lyall was still dressed in his pajamas.

Typical Lyall to care so much about his appearance. Though, Alan thought he was fine as is. And his mom did too, he was sure. If anything, it only made Lyall appear more genuine, swept by the moment.

"I'm alright," Lyall answered, pulling away to smile with sincerity at Natalie. "Fantastic, even, now that you two are back!" Shedding his blanket cloak, he bundled it up in his arms and stepped aside for them to come in.

"Oh, wait, I'm getting a call from Alistair," Alan said as he picked up his phone, holding it up to his ear and stepping back with a grin. With a very fake acting voice, Alan gasped and said, "Oh, Alistair. You're in trouble? You were attacked by a squirrel? That sounds awful. I'll be right there."

Natalie's expression washed with worry as she pinched her brows together. "Oh, no. Alistair is in trouble?"

"I'm sure it's fine. I'm more worried about the squirrel, actually," Alan said with a breezy grin, then nodded at Lyall. "Can my mom stay with you?"

Genuine excitement quickly turning flat once more, Lyall tilted his chin up as he shrugged incredulously at Alan from behind Natalie. "Of course," he answered warmly anyhow, "you ought to go give that squirrel backup."

"Backup?" a voice boomed behind him, completely startling Alan.

He whipped around, nearly running into Hendrik who was dressed in all camouflage, holding a military-styled gun. Frankly, the sight was so baffling and so random to Alan, he didn't even know how to react.

"Backup's here, laddies," Hendrik said gruffly, patting his shoulder so hard, it felt like a slap.

Alan shuffled towards the door from the sheer momentum of it, opening his mouth to speak, but having nothing come out.

Backup? Gun? What the hell?

"A stay at home order's being enforced," Hendrik went on, nodding to the three of them at the door. "I'm guarding your cabin. Cyrin needs protection."

"But--" Alan protested, barely getting in more than a syllable before getting interrupted again.

"That's an order, comrade. Stay inside," Hendrik said with a threatening frown, holding his gun up a little higher.

Alan faltered, glancing back at Lyall standing with his mom. Before he could say another word, Lyall gently pulled Alan in by his hand, pulling him in the door.

But... Cyrin isn't even in here, Alan wanted to say, but Lyall shut the door before he could even think to form the words.

"So, a squirrel, was it?" Lyall asked, putting on a small grin. But the look in his eyes urged for Alan to urgently address Alistair's absence.

A stay at home order...

Alan hurriedly walked past Lyall and his mom, pulling out his phone to talk in the corner with a hushed voice, quickly calling Alistair. It rang once, twice.

"Hey," Alan said lowly, hand pressed against the wall with the phone in his ear. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Alistair responded, though there sounded to be a lot of shuffling and movement on the receiving end. "I'm back at the McMansion with Vik. You hear about the lockdown?"

Alan let out a relieved sigh. "Yeah. We're stuck at the cabin. I'm with Lyall and mom. I guess we'll be here for a while."

"Joy. Too bad I'm stuck in luxury instead of hanging out in the danger zone with you," Alistair deadpanned.

Alan swept his hair back with his fingers, turning around to lean against the wall, idly eyeing Lyall walking her to the kitchen. "Alright. I was just checking in. Can you keep me updated if anything happens?"

"Sure. I'll let you know every time I decimate a card game with Vik."

"Alistair," Alan chided softly.

"...I'll let you know. Don't worry," he said with quieter voice. "And same to you."

"Yeah." Alan paused, eyes still fixed on Lyall exchanging cordial, quiet conversation with his mom. "Okay. Good. I'll see you later then."

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

Alan hung up, phone still in hand as he tried to think about how he would reach Cyrin. He barely gave it any thought when an unknown number was calling him. Not thinking about it, he picked it up.

"Mister Alan," a quiet low voice greeted, and it took Alan a moment to realize that it was Caspar. "Are you alright?"

"Hi... Mister Caspar," Alan greeted back, leaning against the wall again. "I was just thinking about how to reach you. Thanks for giving me a call. Did you find Cyrin?"

"Yep," Caspar chirped, though his voice remained hushed. "No worries, alright? They're asleep in a tree right now."

With relief, Alan sighed deeply, pressing his forehead against the wall. "You found them. Good." He paused. "Is it just you two? Are you planning to stay there with him?"

"Myself," Caspar answered, "plus two friends. Yeah, we're camped out while they rest."

"Are you all safe?" Alan asked. "A stay at home order is being enforced."

"Ah. Um." There was audible scratching through the speaker. "We're safe right now, yes."

"Okay." Alan took a deep breath. "Thank you. Can you call or text me with any updates?"

"Sure thing."

"Thank you, Caspar. I appreciate it."

Alan hung up the call, taking in a deep breath joining his friend as his mom went along to talk about possible lunches she could whip up.

"Oh! Alan," she said with a smile at his arrival in the kitchen, smiling brightly. "Did you talk to your brother?"

"Yeah, don't worry, he's fine. He's actually with Cyrin," Alan said with his own smile, tapping his knuckles against the counter. "Looks like it'll be the three of us for a while."

"That's alright by me," Lyall said warmly.

When her back was turned, though, Lyall raised both brows in questioning at Alan, concern flashing in his eyes. Alan softly smiled, bumping his elbow against his side.

"Everything is fine. Don't worry," he said softly in Argent.

Alan didn't know how much Argent Lyall had learned in the short amount of time he applied himself, but if he didn't know this phrase, then he was sure Lyall would focus in on this until he found out.

These were words Lyall needed to live by, anyways.

Nudging him back, Lyall huffed dryly and responded in kind, "Okay. I trust you."

Alan couldn't help but grin at that, strangely endeared by this brief conversation, though he couldn't explain why.

"Alright," he said enthusiastically with one slap on the counter, gathering his mom's attention as well. "Let's make lunch."

Even after the first solid rest in a couple days and thus renewed clarity, their current circumstances still felt quite surreal. The island was now officially on lockdown. Even though Alan quietly informed Lyall via text that Cyrin had in fact been found, the fact remained: the athlete was gone with the wind. Lyall had no way of knowing for sure that they'd be alright outside, with the monster still on the loose, since Lyall himself probably couldn't sneak around Hendrik outside their door.

Or. Well, he could. But, then he'd be leaving Alan and Natalie. And, truth be told, the man scared Lyall. He was too unpredictable to confront during a time like this. Needless risk.

Further exacerbating just how bizarre their lives were at present, was the sheer amount of dissonance between the planned visitor week and this monster issue.

Hild and Vik insisted they were fine. Hild was inside with two other cabin mates, and Vik had been fortunate enough to be caught inside the mansion when the lockdown was issued. Then their youngest sibling proceeded to overshare about his whereabouts, and sent a ridiculous image of a small cartoon man dancing nude in a shower.

Lyall had to laugh just from the ill-timing of his bizarre sense of humor.

Whilst Vik and Hild were bickering over group messaging etiquette, he went on to confirm with Shane that he and James were within their own residence. With Connie's brother, too, since Connie himself had taken Remus's place up in the mansion. Which struck Lyall as quite odd, given the prince's reputation for a level of minimalism on par with mountain monks, but he didn't have time to press for details right now.

He still sent out a message to Connie to confirm he was in fact inside and thus safe. Then moved on, since. He didn't anticipate a timely answer anyhow.

Scrolling through his list of island contacts, Lyall paused when he caught Kaya's name.

Frankly, he simply disassociated as he sent a neutrally-worded message, asking that she was in the mansion for the lockdown. And, again, quickly moved on since he was sure he wouldn't receive a quick answer--

Ah. Nope, he was wrong.

"Yes," was all she sent in response.

Fabulous.

Lingering on their chat a moment, Lyall let out a short, quiet sigh before moving on once more. He'd neglected their guest long enough, he figured, and so pocketed his phone when he caught mention of his name between Alan and Natalie. And put on an easy grin, to keep from worrying Natalie.

Over lunch preparations, the three effortlessly kept engaged finding anything and everything under this sun to talk about. At some point by the time they were finished eating, Lyall made mention of instruments. Which prompted Natalie to launch into how Alan had always been involved in the musical arts since a very young age.

As she scooted closer with her photos app up, Alan was quick to excuse himself and take refuge amidst the soapy dishes.

Naturally, trying to find a particular video took Natalie along little detours about the twins' earlier days in general. Very early days. Good gods, the sheer amount of gold in her family album.

There was a substantial number of photos spanning from infancy into their toddler years. The matching lion costumes of course made a reappearance. She showed Lyall short recordings of a small Alan putting on various little impromptu plays. Then the wild, imaginative plays of a five year old gradually evolved into more organized, collaborative endeavors such as choir and elementary-level stage productions. His passion for music was further fueled by Natalie's own work at a jazz club. No doubt, Alan initially took an interest in the piano because his mother primarily played it.

On the subject, Lyall silently made a mental note that Natalie in the baby photos had to have still been in her teen years. Working his way backwards from knowing that Alan had multiple jobs and gig work through the family timeline to his mother's job as a piano player in what seemed to be a dive bar, he felt he could reasonably conclude that they had not known financial security as well as a large loving family ought to.

That said, Alan did seem close with extended family, so there wasn't a complete vaccuum where a good support network should have been.

That said. Based on pre-established patterns just here on the island, Lyall knew Alan wasn't the type to lean on his family in return.

Ponderings aside.

Alan turned out was also a theatre kid. Which hardly surprised Lyall, actually. It was vindicating more than anything to have it confirmed. Natalie had snagged somewhat grainy photos of his performance as the leading role in a school reproduction of East Side Story. The man was a jack of artistic trades, it seemed. Wore many looks, different roles, brandished a wide variety of theatrical props.

The most consistently found object in Alan's hands, though, from as young as probably six, was the violin. It followed him from living room plays, well into his teen years-- a time of utter delinquency, according to Natalie, which was a delightful revelation.

"Oh, Alan was such a peaceful baby, but such a handful as a boy!" Natalie huffed with a fond grin, showing Lyall a picture of Alan around twelve years old, rolling through a muddy field. "Especially when he entered middle school. My goodness, my baby was such a troublemaker! Did he ever tell you about how he folded his bedsheets together into a rope so he could sneak out of the second story window in the middle of the night?"

Grinning with unabashed amusement, Lyall quirked both brows at the back of Alan's head from the kitchen. "He did not."

"He did, and on a school night, no less," Natalie went on, practically pouting as she reminisced. "Thirteen years old, and he sneaks out with his cousin's scooter so he can smoke cigarettes with his friends. Thirteen years old!"

"What a little scoundrel!" Lyall agreed with a huffed laugh, so very much entertained by the mental image. "I never would've guessed."

Natalie eagerly nodded, quick to scroll through more picture of Alan as a young teen. "Yes, he was! And imagine my surprise when I got a call from the--"

"Mom," Alan quickly cut in with a frown, whirling around with a slightly flushed face, clearly embarrassed by this conversation. "I really don't think you need to share that."

Natalie smiled but deflated a bit, nodding. "You're right, my love. I'm so glad that those days are over now. Now, where was I..."

Lyall had to momentarily face away from the two, unable to bite back his smile anymore. He did take pity on his friend, but he honestly had no idea how to stop this freight train. So he had to simply try and divert, expedite the process at the very least.

"His very rich, fulfilling musical career by high school?" Lyall gently reminded her as he turned back.

"Oh, yes!" Natalie said with bright eyes. "I have more pictures."

Conveniently, it was at this point that Alan then excused himself from the kitchen entirely to take a call. Resting his chin in his hand, Lyall tilted his head to cheekily wave him farewell. Natalie waved him goodbye as well, then happily dove straight back into it.

There were so many photos of recitals, Alan dressed down for persisting living room performances for his family, dressed up as concertmaster at fifteen, standing for his very own solo piece at eighteen.

Natalie mentioned Alan's father as his primary teacher. But didn't expand much farther beyond the fact that Mister Alvaro was a talented violinist himself. It wasn't a lack of warmth in her voice so much as the lack of detail that made Lyall intentionally tuck away this bit of information for safe keeping.

Once they hit photos from his teen years, she detoured once more to delve into his time as "spring king". Which. Also did not surprise Lyall in the slightest. Of course charming, outgoing Alan Alvaro was spring king.

This was also apparently his "straight" era, when he dated a young woman named Julia, who was spring queen. They lasted approximately two years, before things broke off between them when she left for uni in the States. A heartbreak that Natalie felt reassured did not sting too deeply, since she was under the impression Alan simply played for the other team anyhow. Lyall desparately fought the urge to laugh aloud at Natalie's candidness on the matter.

"And that's the end of the album!" Natalie announced as she concluded at the smiling high school graduation photos of the twins. She smiled wide, zooming into their faces and pointing at the ribbons around Alan's neck. "Look at that, I'm so proud of him. He graduated top of his class and worked so very hard to get into college. He applied to so many and received three offers from international schools, with scholarships too!"

Well, now this was a bit of surprising news. Not because Lyall didn't believe Alan would be able to reach such heights, but for the fact that he did reach for it, but then...

"Which did he pick?" Lyall asked curiously, though he felt he already knew the answer.

Natalie's expression softened into a longing smile, setting her phone down on the table. "Alan didn't end up going. Oh, it would have been so lovely to see him go on to study violin performance at Guilliard in Talia, but he didn't want to be so far from family." She sighed, turning back to Lyall with a soft but sad smile. "He's such a good son. Even if he didn't go to college, I am so very proud of the man he's become."

Lyall felt his own grin soften in turn.

Matters such as these were always deeply multifaceted. Surely there was some information here and there that was being left buried. Something too personal, probably, or hard to face.

But the fact remained: Alan was a man who loved deeply, to the point of extreme self-sacrifice. From little things such as refusing to let others help with the dishes, to things as large as turning down three international scholarships. And thus only confirmed Lyall's sentiments toward his friend, which was that he was a far better man than Lyall could ever hope to be.

Alan's heart was both his greatest strength as well as his greatest downfall. And it was something to be closely guarded and cherished like no other.

"He's a wonderful man," Lyall warmly agreed, meeting Natalie's eyes, "who adores his family." He offered a slightly brighter smile. "Clearly, fantastic qualities he got from you."

Natalie's smile warmed, reaching her eyes. "Oh, you're so sweet, Ly-all," she said as she patted his shoulder. "He is such a family man. I just wish he can relax and enjoy spending time with his friends and family! Alan is such a hard worker, but I always tell him to take the time to be with the people he loves." She smiled brightly. "I'm so glad that he has you around. He speaks so highly of you! You're a good friend, Ly-all."

Well. Undeserved praise aside.

Lyall snapped his fingers with a more amused, very vindicated grin. "I knew it! The poor sod works himself into the ground, even when tossed out onto a tropical island. Has to be rerouted like a river sometimes."

"Awww..." Natalie smiled with a slight purse of her lips, tilting her head. "At home, he works three jobs, so he sadly doesn't visit as often. He doesn't have to work here, does he?"

"No," Lyall answered, "but he certainly has days where it feels like he's still working three jobs. Don't get me wrong, the majority of his time is spent in the company of friends. But he hardly leaves enough time for himself."

"Oh, Ly-all," Natalie cooed with knitted brows, worry washing over her. "Sadly, he listens to his friends more than family, sometimes. Can you make sure he leaves time for himself? I'd want nothing more than my boy to enjoy his summer."

Oh? Did he now? Lyall must have most recently caught Alan in one of those less-than-amenable seasons, then.

"I shall do my best," he promised her with a bow of his head.

Alan crashed back on his bed with a big sigh.

He didn't like to be stuck at home. It drove him a little crazy, especially since he had a full day planned. At the very least, being stuck at home meant that he could keep Lyall company for the whole day, though it sounded like his mom was doing a fine job of doing that.

Though... it was very weird that his mom was basically giving Lyall a rundown about his life. Frankly, Alan was glad that he distanced himself from the conversation, because he was embarrassed by how embarrassed he felt listening in, hearing her so casually brag about his life as if he was some musical child prodigy... and was so casually uprooting his whole image with dumb stories of his past.

He laid on his side, fumbling to find the cord to charge his phone. Pulling up his calendar with blocked time slots he set aside for other people, Alan moved them all to the next day, reprioritizing his schedule for the week.

And even though it wasn't entirely needed outside of consistency's sake, he made a new box called "Spend day with Lyall and Má" and dragged it down so it encompassed the whole day.

Satisfied, Alan stared at his week's schedule then sighed. Okay. It was finally time to open the hundreds of text messages.

Starting with Alistair, though his was fairly barren since he knew Alan hadn't had his phone for the last two months. Regardless, that didn't stop him from dropping random memes with no context. Some of them were even about the show, though he hardly gave it much thought or even understood it since he quickly swiped through it.

If he were here right now, Alan would be giving him a look that was flatter than the Annexed Midwest.

Finally reaching the bottom of the text message chain, Alan realized Alistair sent him a text an hour ago.

Alistair wrote:Hey Vik told me the news about Lyull. Mom still thinks hes engaged. Make sure she doesn't bring it up

Alan huffed out an amused puff of air, admiring the thoughtfulness behind his brother's mildly panicked words as he put together a reply.

Alan wrote:One step ahead of you, bro

Tapping back to his messages, Alan scrolled down until he found Shane's name. He tapped on the message box, watching the cursor blink, the box as empty as his mind.

Alan did want to send a message. He did. But first impressions-- texts-- were important, and he didn't want to give this little thought. Though, at the same time, he knew he couldn't wait too long.

Alan's gaze drifted over to his desk, where he was keenly aware the poem Shane gave him still sat folded on top, not having been opened since he read it. He also wanted to give the piece of art the thorough attention it deserved, and just when he began to wonder if that should be now, his phone buzzed again.

A text from an unknown number.

YO ALAN shay here

weirdo club meetup is postponed for obvi reasons. will text u mor info when things settle again

stay safe booger brain B)

Alan squinted at the screen as the messages rolled in one by phone. If she were here right now, he would be giving her a flat look.

Well. Maybe he could still do that.

Alan wrote:😐

With a sigh, he saved her contact information as "Shay," mostly because he wasn't fully sure how to spell Shaniece, and he'd rather not guess.

Shay wrote:;)

Shay wrote:also, if u try anything stupid, remember that i got eyes on u, kay?

Alan wrote:Do you have a camera pointed at my balcony, by chance?

Shay wrote:two for good measure

With a dumb grin, Alan hopped out of bed, quick to open the balcony door and step out. He had no idea where the hidden cameras where, but after a brief sweep to ensure no one else was around to see, he stuck out two middle fingers in the air, swiveling around for all angles to make sure Shay could really see it. He felt his phone vibrate again, which was his sign to step back inside, close the door, and draw the curtains back so he could get true privacy.

Bouncing back on his bed, Alan checked his phone and pulled up her reply.

Shay wrote:🖕🖕

Alan wrote:;)

Alan took a moment to bask in his victory, but it didn't take long for him to flop back on the bed, readying Hild's contact information.

He told her yesterday that she would check up on her, especially after witnessing a tense arguement between her and Lyall. Obviously, he couldn't see her in person now, but that didn't mean they still couldn't spend quality time with one another.

Alan sat up against the headboard of his bed, stacking the pillow vertically on top of one another to cozy into a spot. Opening up Hild's contact information, he skipped the text message entirely and rang her number, hoping she at least took a moment to fill in his own contact information so it didn't come up as a random number.

Then again, this was Hild. Of course she did this.

It rang only twice before the call was picked up.

"Alvaro," Hild greeted plainly, "you are evidently a mild menace when armed with a phone."

Alan grinned. "Good to talk to you too, Hild." He paused. "Actually, I'd rather say it's good to see you. One moment."

There was a quiet groan on her end, and Alan pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up and video call her instead. It took a little more time for her to pick this one up instead, and either she wasn't presentable and used the time to get ready, or she was making him wait. For some reason, he wanted to believe it was the latter.

Finally, she picked up the call, and the screen split between them. Alan grinned, holding the camera in front of his face as he eyed Hild, whose hair was a tad frizzier than normal. Other than that, though, she looked as put together as always.

"Finally. Now I can say it's good to see you," he teased. "It is so good to see your face again, though. How are you doing?"

She cracked a dry grin. "You say this as though we didn't just see each other yesterday."

"Doesn't matter how much time has passed. I can miss seeing you minutes, days, hours, or days after I part ways from you," Alan said with a smile, shrugging. "There's nothing wrong with that."

The flat look she gave him suggested she disagreed. She flopped back, supposedly also in bed, and her dog Buster popped in beside her face. "I presume you're calling to have that family insights talk?"

"That's not why I'm calling," Alan corrected, amusedly watching the dog lick her face. "I'm calling because you're my friend, and I want to follow through with my word and be there for you. We don't have to discuss that if you don't want to, though."

Hild huffed quietly, but with no real annoyance behind it. "It's nice to see you too," she sincerely offered in reply.

Alan smiled, taking a moment to appreciate her sincerity before asking, "How have you been holding up? Between the announcement yesterday and the stay-at-home enforcement today, the situation on the island sounds worrying."

"That," Hild started slowly, "is rather an understatement."

Alan let out an amused puff of air, smile growing. "You didn't answer my question."

Even with her next even expression, there was still a softness in her eyes. "I'm quite alright, thank you. Lyall mentioned you and your mother had the good fortune of being locked within your own place of residence?"

Ah. So Lyall already reached out to her. That was unsurprising, considering that he always seemed to be concerned about others' safety.

"That's right," Alan said with a small nod. "He's currently downstairs with my mom as we speak, exposing my whole life to him. So naturally, I had to run away and call you."

"I will gladly provide refuge," Hild said.

"Tell me about your day, though," Alan went on. "How are you going to spend it, now that you're stuck inside?"

"I figure I'll practice sometime," she answered simply, but not without flashing another flat expression. "You?"

Alan sighed wistfully, sinking back against the pillows but keeping the phone steady in his hand. "I'd love to practice, but it's hard to without disturbing others, so music isn't on my radar today. Though, being present with others is." He smiled, shrugging one shoulder. "Hence, why I'm calling you. But after this call, I'll probably remain with Lyall and my mom, appreciating the time I have with them."

Hild nodded once. "A plan," she said contentedly.

Alan's smile lingered, though he was truly getting the sense that Hild was tired of the small talk. Regardless, it didn't sit well with him to call for a "reason" that he ought to dive into. After all, he wanted to enjoy her as a person, not as a wealth of information.

"I wouldn't mind sitting and watching you practice," he offered sincerely, "if you're up for it."

Humming, she seriously contemplated, "I suppose I could shift things around on my schedule." Tucking a wiggly Buster under her arm, she rolled out of bed to scan her room. "Seeing as time no longer has any meaning within this micro-society, anyhow."

Alan grinned, sitting more upright to prepare for the performance. "I'd love that. It's always so nice to hear you play, and it's been a while, so I'd like nothing more."

After setting Buster down, his pattering could be heard in the background of Hild setting up the corner of her room for a mini-recital. She propped up her phone on a music stand, stepped back to give a small formal bow before taking a seat, and grandly announced, "Bock: Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major." Then smoothly dove right in.

Alan couldn't help but light up at the announcement, recalling that if she wanted a challenge, she could pick up this classic cello piece. And seeing her focused not from the sheet music, but rather, by the music... it made him really happy. Her bow moved across the strings seamlessly, and her finger pattering easily kept up so that her cello was a medium to a beautiful song, singing its low notes spectacularly for his ears to hear.

Alan so loved the cello. It had a vibrant and low sound that the violin couldn't quite match. The humble instrument was the backbone of an orchestra, but also a strong and independent player by itself. One to be admired and adored.

It had been a while, but Hild playing this challenging piece with great focus and determination reminded him of the beauty behind this string instrument.

Hild closed out the piece, indulging in a small flourish of her bow as she inclined her head with finality.

"Bravo, Hild. Bravo," Alan said with an admiring grin, still soaking in her presence. "That was a beautiful performance."

She smiled warmly with another bow of her head. "Thank you."

"Thank you for indulging me. You've been practicing. Keep it up, and soon you'll be the leading cellist in the world's best philharmonics," Alan said warmly, catching on to her own sincerity.

"You flatter," she said plainly, grin turning amused as she set her bow across her lap. "Desist, immediately."

"Nonsense," Alan said with a wave of his hand, grin growing. "Instead, I demand that you play more songs, because it is literally music to my ears, and I want to hear more."

"I'd rather you take centerstage instead," she countered, her smile sincere once more. "Only if you felt so inclined, anyhow."

Alan let out a quiet hum. "Maybe if we were in the amphitheater. Violin sounds unfortunately carry through walls because of its higher frequencies, and I'd rather not disturb my cabin mates."

"So you've stated," Hild conceded. "A respectable line of reasoning. Very well."

"Are you done playing?" Alan asked.

Humming, she picked up her bow once more. "Requests?" she offered with a quirk of her brow.

Alan pursed his lips, briefly looking up towards the ceiling in thought before grinning, settling on an answer. "Are you up for a challenge? I have a duet piece in mind."

Hild grinned faintly. "Bring it."

"There's a violin and cello duet version of Vivaldee's Four Seasons, Summer movement. Have you heard of it?" Alan asked.

Squaring her shoulders, Hild poised her bow over the strings. "I have."

"I can text you the sheet music. What do you say to duetting this together when you're ready?"

"An excellent plan," she agreed with a full smile this time.

Alan beamed, already excited about playing with her again. "In the meantime, do you know the next set of Bock suites? I wouldn't mind listening some more."

"As fate would have it," she said, grin a bit teasing at the mention of 'fate', "yes. I've been trying to expand my personal repertoire." Straightening again, she declared, "Suite No. 2 in D minor."



Alan so adored hearing her play. She played song after song, but he was prepared to hear her play all day if she wanted to. Unfortunately, she seemed to grow tired, since she denied his request for another song, instead placing her cello bow on the stand and then carefully set aside her instrument on its stand beside her. Understanding, Alan conceded, expressing more appreciation as she trotted back to her bed.

With another genuine smile, Hild replied she enjoyed performing for a fellow appreciator of the strings.

"Quite like you, however," she went on, flopping back on top of the bed covers, "I do enjoy duetting far more than solos. I wouldn't quite liken it to a spoken conversation, but sharing in music with another human being is certainly a language of its own."

"Music is a language," Alan agreed. "It's just expressed in a different way, through notes and emotions. You can have an entire conversation with someone without exchanging a single word. Music is certainly one way to do that."

Glancing off with a more distant grin, Hild hummed, "Fine, yes, I rescind my previous statement." Tone softening, she added, "Sometimes it was the only way Lyall and I could communicate that... we were still alright. After some ridiculous disagreement or other, when all spoken words were spent and unable to bring us back to our right minds."

Alan was quiet for a moment, his smile fading as he took in the implications of her words. He briefly imagined what life was like between them in their younger years, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was tense, especially if they had to resort to music instead of spoken words.

"How would you do it?" Alan asked softly. "What would you play to communicate this?"

"He would initiate with some classical piece," she answered in thought, "since that was primarily what I studied. I learned a few songs from the popular music genre-- primarily jazz-- translated for the cello to reach out to him."

"So you both played each other's favorite genre, which was out of line with what you usually played. That signaled 'we're okay,'" Alan said, thinking out loud. He was also taking mental notes.

Hild nodded quietly.

"Did this happen a lot?" he asked.

"Not too often to begin with," Hild answered. "More so after our mother's passing."

"And what about now?" Alan asked, more gently this time.

"Most recently, we haven't been able to." She shrugged. "We sold our instruments before moving farther north."

For some reason, that pained him. And maybe that showed on camera, since he couldn't help but knit his brows together as a silence fell over them.

Gaze turning more attentive, Hild hesitated. "I've been overseas for my studies, anyhow," she continued as reassurance. "We haven't had such a bad argument for a time."

Alan took a deep breath, mustering a small smile. "Sorry. It's okay. You don't have to soften your words for me. It's just..." He leaned against the headboard, bringing one knee up to lean his hand and phone against. "I care about you, and I care about Lyall. Of course it's disheartening to hear about times you both don't get along. But I also understand that family dynamics are complex, and I want to know what you're truly feeling. Don't let my selfish emotions get in the way of yours. I want to hear what you have to say."

Nodding, she pressed her lips into a thin line. "I only feel that... context is in order, especially given our most recent conflict. Which you had to witness." She let out a short, quiet sigh. "Perhaps it's not 'fine', but it is our normal. We've weathered worse and made it out the other side intact, and we will likely continue to do so for the foreseeable future."

"Just because you've been through worse and came out okay, doesn't mean that your current situation isn't bad. It's okay if things aren't fine. These things happen," Alan said gently. "I'm sorry that things are so tense between you two, though. I didn't realize until yesterday." He paused. "He does love you, though. He told me himself. He cares about you a lot. I wish he would tell you himself, but I think he thinks you're not open to hearing it."

Hild's eyes saddened. "I know," she said softly, "and that is my own fault. I allowed bitterness to compromise our abilities to effectively communicate with each other."

"You speak as if it's too late to do anything," Alan said just as soft, wishing he could reach out and giving her a comforting touch. "He's right here. All you have to do is play your song."

Hild cracked a fond grin at him, but it was fleeting. "A well-placed song won't suffice anymore," she explained gently. "At the start of my previous semester, I actually began researching family counselors. Scouted what might be the most viable options available to us, and given the distance of our current living situations, an online counselor may be our only option. And I think Lyall could be convinced. The true battle will just be getting him to prioritize it."

Family counseling...

Hild was smart and rational. If she felt like this was the only solution, then the history she glossed over between them must have been tenser and more complex than Alan could imagine.

"Have you talked to him about it?" he asked.

"I've yet to finish my presentation," she answered simply.

Ah. Of course Hild would be presenting this to him. This didn't surprise him at all.

"When are you going to pitch this to him?" Alan asked.

"Honestly," she said with a slow exhale, "it occurred to me to simply tell him the first week. And that..." She pursed her lips. "That would've been the better time, anyway. Given..." She waved her hand in vague circles.

Alan slowly nodded. They didn't need to explicitly say out loud that there was so much drama already happening on the island. Between this supposed "monster threat" and Lyall sinking into a negative headspace due to the current news between him and Kaya, it was easy to see how the deadline could be pushed more and more. And with Hild and Lyall parting ways by the end of the summer, it would only become harder to pitch this idea to him.

"Though," Hild murmured slowly, glancing off in deeper contemplation. "Perhaps he'd benefit more from a grief counselor..." She glanced off the other way. "Hm. I may need to rework my presentation."

"Grief counselor?" Alan echoed, ending with a higher-pitched note to signal a question.

He didn't get the feel that Lyall was grieving, but grief took on many forms. And the Ashlunds had experienced loss, with their mother passing, and their aunt not being fully present in their lives anymore... Perhaps he had never processed this loss.

"With the new distance from homelife," Hild explained, "and in speaking casually with my advisor, I was able to take better stock of everything that had happened, our responses individually, as a family, to each major event leading up until the present. Having a fresh perspective from someone I trusted provided quite a bit of clarity. And. Yes, I do feel we all underwent significant losses that have been neglected for far too long. Hence, seeking out professional guidance."

"It's alright. You don't have to justify your line of thinking to me," Alan said with a small smile. "I respect and admire you for being proactive. This is a lot to carry by yourself."

"It's not justification," she assured him, mirroring his smile. "I'd rather not leave you to have to fill too many gaps yourself." She shrugged a shoulder. "And, I have spoken with Vik about this, so I'm not handling this by myself."

Alan nodded with relief. "Good. This is far too big of a responsibility to bear by yourself. Regardless, I have to ask you to be honest with me: how are you feeling about all this?"

"Apprehensive," she answered honestly. "Relieved that there are steps that we can take forward." Hild sighed. "A touch of needless guilt that it's come to this, but nothing to be concerned about. I know there's only so much I was able to do, given my own maturity levels and being caught in the midst of all the turmoil alongside him."

"You're doing your best. That's all you can do, at the end of the day. And, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you. It's not easy to step forward and direct solutions to complex, tumultuous problems," Alan said softly, leveling his eyes with hers. "You're doing an amazing job, Hild. I'm so proud of you."

Her level-headedness melted into a deeply appreciative smile. "Thank you, Alan," she said softly.

"Of course," he said warmly with a smile. "And I know this is a personal matter, but considering I spend a considerable amount of time with Lyall every day... if you'd like me to bring up any these subjects with him, I'd be happy to do that. I care about you, and him, and Vik, and the rest of your family. If he is more likely to listen to a friend more than family, then I'd gladly step into the role."

"I." She hesitated as she thought about this. "...I'd like to try and broach the subject myself, first. But, you're right, he may be more inclined to listen to a friend." Hild cast him another look of gratitude. "I may take you up on that."

"Well, you have my number now," Alan said with a breezy smile. "There's no rush. You can reach me any time, even if it takes months. I'm here for you. For both of you."

Well. Alistair felt like a fool.

Apparently, the windows in the room were not able to be opened. And they were not allowed to leave, either. So. In the midst of leaving his family to get cigarettes, only to realize now he was stuck inside and couldn't leave to smoke it... well, what the hell else was he supposed to do?

And that was why he had peeled away from Vik to be on the quest to find any respectable place to smoke.

Which was the private lobby bathroom, in front of a thick, tiny window that was open just a crack. God, Alan hoped that it was enough, and that the smoke detectors wouldn't activate.

There was a knock on the door. "Hey man, you good?" Viktor quietly called.

"Yeah. Yeah," Alistair said quickly, biting his lip to not make a crude joke. "I'm good."

Though, he was so tempted to make one. Yeah, I'm just taking a fat dump right now. Please leave me be. Thank you.

Instead, Alistair stamped out the cigarette, throwing it away in the bin. With a sigh, he closed the window and hopped down from the windowsill, running his hands under the sink as he stared at his dead-eye self in the mirror.

He'd seen better days of himself. Alistair couldn't wait to see him die more and more every day the longer he was on this hellish island.

Finally exiting, Alistair unlocked the door and swung the door open wide, stepping out to immediately see Vik happily waving at him from the lobby sofa. Alistair sighed.

There was something very ironic about the two of them being apart from their siblings, and so here they were now, pretending to be each other's brother from another mother.

At least he was chill. Talkative and energetic, but chill.

Sauntering on over, Alistair was quick to melt into the sofa next to him, slouching down with a big sigh.

Flipping around so that he sat upside-down on the sofa, Vik spread his arms out at either side as he studied Alistair with an exaggerated squint. Alistair simply pretended he wasn't there as he got stared at.

"My bro used to smoke too," he said casually. Then snickered as he added, "Kinda had to stop when a patient called him out on it."

Well. Figures. As much as he tried, he couldn't prevent himself from smelling like smoke.

"Did he now?" Alistair said with no enthusiasm, still looking ahead with a dead stare. "He must have been one of the cool doctors that endorsed smoking. Too bad he changed his ways."

Vik shrugged by flopping his hands. "Meh. He just made a pact with Joe to get him to quit."

Alistair gave him an irked side-eye. "Who's Joe?"

"Uhhh." Viktor snorted. "The patient?"

"Oh. Of course. Joe the patient," Alistair replied flatly.

"Short for Johanson," Vik went on. "Nice dude. Taught me klaberjass."

Alistair sighed. "I have no idea what that is."

"It's a card game," Viktor said. Then smiled brightly as he predictably began to offer, "I can teach--"

"No thanks," Alistair quickly cut in. "But. Yes. It's good Lyall quit. Thanks to Joe. The patient."

Viktor thumped a fist to his chest. "Yes, all thanks to Joe the patient. May he live a long and healthful life. Which. He should. Probably. Because he quit too."

"Oh, good for them. Now their lungs will live to a hundred years old," Alistair dead-panned, still unmoving.

"And yours are gonna live until like. 60," Viktor said plainly, letting his hand drop to the couch cushion again.

Alistair flatly hummed a low note. "If I'm lucky, it'll be fifty."

"You're gonna have to chug two packs a day for that," Viktor said, grin actually turning wry.

"Hm." Alistair tapped his finger against the cushion, now seriously contemplating smoking another cig to ease his nerves. "Not a bad idea. You're on to something here."

"Why do you smoke?" Viktor asked curiously.

Alistair sighed, tiredly removing his cap so that he could ruffle his hand through his hair. "Apparently, I'm addicted to slowly killing myself," he dead-panned.

"Okayyy," Viktor hummed, narrowing his eyes slightly with a grin. "Rephrase: why did you start?"

Alistair paused, turning his head towards him to steal a side glance. He sat a bit more upright, setting his cap against his knee. "I dunno," he said with a shrug. "Peer pressure, I guess. I didn't really get addicted until I graduated."

Vik nodded. "Huh."

"...What?" Alistair pressed, staring at him from the lack of response.

Viktor blinked with genuine confusion. "...Do you want judgements?"

He sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa. "Sure. Hit me."

Viktor blinked again, mildly surprised. "Uh, okay. You kinda strike me as someone who smokes to ease stress and anxiety. But the relief nicotine provides is only short-term. Long-term, it'll only induce more stress and anxiety. Thus making it a self-fueling cycle of chasing short-term solutions that only leave you with less mentally and financially than what you started with."

Yeah, yeah. This wasn't anything new. Alistair had heard every reason under the sun from some nag who wanted to provide reasons why he should quit. He knew all this already.

"Also, you know when you get a stupid cough from like. Swallowing wrong, or from getting sick?" Vik went on. Reaching out to the coffee table between them, he took the decorative orb from the middle and tossed it up like a baseball. "And you try and say stuff, but you keep getting interrupted because of that stupid cough? I imagine at some point it'd probably be like that, if you keep it up long enough."

How nice. Alistair sighed.

"I've tried to quit," he added on. "Addiction's a bitch."

"Yeah it is," Viktor agreed, offering a small, empathetic smile now. "Anyway. That's it. Got nothing else up here." And he pointed circles around the side of his head.

"Well... thanks, lil doc," Alistair said with a huff of a laugh. "We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll become a douchebag and transition to vapes. Who knows."

Catching the glass ball again, Viktor snickered quietly. "That'd be a great start!" he said sincerely. "I'd really like for you to live at least past fifty. You're a cool guy."

Alistair was quiet for a moment, stealing another hesitant glance towards him, though he was far too focused on his one-man game of catch.

"...Well. Thanks," he said softly. "You are too."

Viktor tilted his head to grin brightly at him. Then he tossed the ball to Alistair as he asked, "So, where next?"

On instinct, Alistair reached out to catch the ball, smoothly falling into his hands. He hummed, tossing it between both his hands.

"Do you play football, lil man?" he asked with a small smile.



Turned out, Vik wasn't really a football player, though that wasn't a big concern for Alistair. He did learn that Vik wasn't a big sports guy, but he participated in casual intramural sports for whatever was available, though mostly watched. Coming from Fjelstad, winter sports were more of his jam, so things like like hockey and ice skating. Though, Vik admitted that he played whatever, as long as it was with friends.

Which was what they were doing now. Really, Alistair only played football, and he could get competitive against his family and friends, but between the kid and himself, he decided to just have fun with it.

Plus, they were in some backroom in the lobby. It was fine; Alistair was sure they wouldn't get in trouble, considering that two guys kicking around a ball was way more important over a literal fucking monster roaming this island that could kill them all.

But hey. Football.

It was fun to steal the ball from Vik who was unsuspecting every time, then kicking it between to tables as an imaginary goal. Though, Alistair went easy on the kid, having fun to pass the time.

And that they did. They tired each other out, and they both fist bumped to a good game when they agreed to stop.

Even so, Alistair hardly even broke a sweat. Which was nice, really. He would like to give a special shoutout to the air conditioners for preventing him from suffering in the hellish humidity.

With the both of them now hungry, they wandered to the dining area to scope out the food selection. Alistair recognized a few other visitors spread across the room, chatting with one another. But what caught his eye specifically was Kaya sitting by herself on a table with an empty plate, staring longingly out the window with her chin resting in her hand.

"Hey, Vik," Alistair called quietly as he followed him to the buffet line, still stealing glances behind him towards Kaya. "Do you know how Kaya's been doing?"

Vik's contemplative gaze fixed on the hash browns turned sad. "Oh, uh." Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced over his shoulder too. "I don't know, man. Probably not great. I want to check in on her, but it feels like that'd be... weird, you know? I don't want to cross any lines."

"Yeah..." Alistair lifted the ball a little higher since it was sagging under his elbow. "But does she... you know. Have anyone? Here?"

"I mean. We came together," Vik answered, "but." Then shrugged helplessly.

Damn. Damn. Alistair couldn't bite back the next words to crawl out of his mouth.

"I could check in on her," he said casually, looking away. "If you think it'd be helpful. It's not like I really know her, though."

"That'd be awesome, man," Viktor said, nudging Alistair with his elbow. "You guys already know of each other at least, and that's way better than nothing."

Alistair sighed. "Yeah. Okay." He offered the ball to him. "Here, take my ball. I'll catch you later."

Vik happily did so, and after he parted ways, Alistair stood still for a moment, staring at the back of Kaya's head as he contemplated how the hell he should approach her without it seeming weird.

He was overthinking this. He should just approach her.

Alistair sighed, stamping out the weirdness and mustering up the courage to walk towards her. He didn't get into her field of vision until he sauntered past her, gesturing towards the open chair across from her.

"Hey," he greeted. "Mind if I sit?"

Blinking with some surprise, Kaya sat straighter, hand dropping the table. "Oh, um." She mustered a small smile. "Yeah, you can."

A bit awkwardly, Alistair pulled up a chair, sitting down in front of her with his elbows on the table.

... Well.

Now he regretted not bringing a plate of food over. He felt so awkward not having anything to do with his hands, in front of a person he barely knew, but was going through a tough time.

"So, um. Uh," he stammered, internally cursing at himself for not thinking this through. He already felt his face go hot, and he barely even said anything.

"Uhm," Kaya echoed, folding her hands as she glanced off. "The... hash browns are really good here. So. If you haven't eaten yet. There's. That."

"Oh. Uh, yeah." He nodded, casually turning away to follow her gaze towards the food selection. "Good to know. I'll have to get some." He paused, wincing. "Later. Yeah."

Kaya's weak smile melted into an awkward grimace. Alistair kept on talking before they could talk about more hash browns with excruciating pain.

It was best to just... get this over with. Be honest about his intentions.

"I just wanted to say hi and ask how you're doing," he said, trying not to mumble as he turned towards her again. "Hopefully that's fine."

"Oh. Ah." Kaya nodded slowly, brows raised in thought. "Vik told you, huh?" she asked, voice quieter.

Alistair's gaze landed on the white tablecloth between them. "...Yeah. I'm sorry to hear," he said quietly.

"I... Thanks," she mumbled. Then shrugged with another unsure smile. "I appreciate the concern, but. You don't have to, we're not. We don't really know each other."

"I know," Alistair said quickly, flitting his eyes back up. "I know. That's kind of what sucks, I think. You don't really know anyone else here. So... yeah." He paused, getting stuck in his own head. "No, you're right. I'm not really helpful, but... I don't know, I guess I thought it'd be nice for you to have an ally."

"Oh." She scratched behind her ear. "...Thanks, Alistair," she added, still uncertain but sincerely appreciative.

"...You're welcome," he said back, though honestly, he was just trying to wrack his brain for something else to say.

Was there even anything else to say?

"How are you doing?" Kaya eventually asked. "What with the, um. Monster problem."

Alistair let out a long suffering sigh. "Do you want the filtered or unfiltered answer?"

She pursed her lips. "I guess for the sake of an honest dialogue, unfiltered?"

"Well." He set one arm on his lap, the other elbow still perched on the table, rubbing his thumb against the tablecloth. "Frankly, I'm fucking terrified. I feel like we just got here and the whole island is already a dumpster fire. Everyday just keeps getting worse and worse, and no one is freaking out. It's like we're all just ignoring there's a man-eating monster on the loose."

Kaya blinked. Then let out a short, surprised laugh. "I... Yeah, it's really a weird place already. And feels super weird just waiting around like this. But, I don't know. Maybe think of it as like. Taking cover from a storm? There's nothing we can do about it, so. We just have to wait it out."

Alistair weakly knocked his fist against the table, trying not to sigh again. "Yeah, I guess so. That's all we can do. It still sucks, though. And honestly, ridiculous. Bizarre, even."

"Yeah," she agreed again, idly bobbing her head as she looked out the window. "I... feel bad. The timing of it, you know? So much is already happening, everything's stressful as is. But it felt like if--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head. "Nope. No, sorry." She weakly laughed and said with forced cheer, "I'm... I will not be the kind of person that dumps their troubles on unsuspecting strangers."

"No... no, it's fine," Alistair quickly assured, sitting more upright with both of his hands on his lap now, giving her more of his attention. "I'm kind of a black hole of edge. You can dump it on me, if it'll help you feel better. I don't mind." He looked down and added more quietly, "But... thanks. That's considerate of you. I try not to do that too."

She bit her lip, brows pinching slightly with apprehension. "...You sure?"

Alistair nodded, truly giving her his undivided attention so he didn't come off as someone faking sincerity. "Yeah. Positive. Seriously, don't keep it in. It doesn't bother me."

Kaya nodded. Then leaned her elbows on the table as she slowly scrubbed both hands over her face, trying to find her bearings before she began.

"I... felt like, if I didn't end things now," she finally started, dropping her hands to the table again, "there was never going to be a good time. So we'd get stuck with-- Okay, I don't know if." She shrugged both shoulders. "Is context needed? Maybe a little bit? Uhm. We dated for a few years? He proposed, like, several months ago. So. Yeah. We really love each other.

"This isn't the first time there's been a, uh. We've been far apart, for an extended-ish period of time before. So, it's not the long distance that strained anything. It was the fact that. Long distance didn't actually feel much different from short distance, I realized.

"And. Don't get me wrong. Lyall is... so sweet and funny, and spent time with me, yeah. Maybe he got a little scatterbrained and distracted sometimes, but. I don't know, I thought it was kind of cute?" She shrugged again, tilting her hands like a weighing scale. "But then the ditractedness kind of. It either evolved, or I just started getting a better understanding of it with time. He didn't know how to... talk about certain things.

"He was invested in me, yeah. But then, with this... reality? Show? It only became more glaring just how much he hid of himself." She patted a hand to her chest. "From me. Then I started realizing with the distance, and watching him every once in awhile from a sort of outsider's perspective that. I don't know whether intentionally or unintentionally, but he covers up his own problems with others' or external things--"

Visibly deflating quite a bit, she let her forehead drop to the table with a quiet "thunk". "Sorry, I'm not making much sense. I'm not explaining any of this right..."

Alistair listened attentively, realizing as she spoke that the anxiety and uncertainty in her voice only increased with each passing sentence. It didn't help that she hardly knew him, and she was practically dumping her entire tragic love story on him.

He really didn't mind, though. He knew what he signed up for.

"It's okay. You don't need to apologize to me, Kaya," he said softly. "I'm fine with listening." He weakly shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think there's a 'right' way of explaining this. If anything, explaining a messy situation in a messy way seems more 'right' to me. Don't let me get in the way of that. I'm hearing you. Really, it's fine."

Kaya sighed deeply before pushing herself back upright. "Okay," she murmured. Then, drawing in a steadying breath, started again, "I try not to be a high maintenance person, and tried to be patient? He was going through a really rough time when we met, and things haven't let up for him since. But, the things that are important to any kind of relationship started to slide. There was less... transparency, I guess. He stopped being open about himself. Stopped relying on me as a life partner, got more tunnel-visioned on work.

"So I started pulling back. Emotionally. Subconsciously, I guess." Kaya's gaze was fixed on some undetermined point now, not quite on Alistair anymore. Face pinched now, in visible pain as she sank into her own words, she quietly finished, "What really hurt was that he didn't even seem to realize in the end."

Alistair could feel her pain and anguish, and it really got to him. She probably felt weird sharing all of this to him, but... she really didn't have anyone else here. And it would be so awful to process this by herself.

What was done, was done. She didn't need to hear logic or reasoning of what happened.

Kaya just wanted Lyall to connect with her. And now, that spot was open to anyone. She was only human, after all. She didn't want to be lonely, even if she was in a room full of people.

"Not that this really means anything, but... I think you're very brave," he said quietly, breaking the short silence that followed. "It takes so much strength to leave a relationship, especially one you're invested in. It was brave of you to see all this and break it off for good."

Meeting his eyes once more, Kaya's lip started to tremble. She quickly looked down, covering her face with her hand. "...It feels terrible," she whispered. "Like I'm just... giving up on him."

"Maybe now. But... I think you did the right thing. I don't think it's bad to think about yourself here," Alistair said. He paused before softly adding, "You're important too."

Looking up again, Kaya glanced sideways toward where other people milled about. She sniffed loudly and bobbed her head in little nods, trying to recompose herself. "Thanks, Alistair," she murmured. "Seriously. I... really appreciate you listening."

"Of course. I appreciate you telling me," he said quietly, brows sadly knitted together in heartache seeing her like this. "Does it help? To talk about it? And have someone listen?"

Kaya quickly wiped at her eyes, laughing for lack of any other way to release the buildup of emotions. "I... think so, yeah. I." She threw her hand up in an incredulous half-shrug. "Strangely? Yeah... Thank you. I, uhm. I hereby release you from your duty as a human stressball." Then she winced awkwardly.

"I..." He weakly laughed, rubbing the side of his neck as he glanced off to the side, unfocused. "Well, I'm not trying to be a human stressball," he mumbled. "But... yeah. There's not duty either. Just... you know." He dropped his hand, flicking his gaze back over, but finding it hard to retain eye contact with her. "A human being looking after a human being. Tribal societies and all that. In our blood. Tribalism. Yeah."

Alistair tried so hard to not inwardly cringe at himself.

Kaya huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Humans being humans." She shrugged a shoulder and softly repeated, "Thanks."

"It's, uh--" Alistair bit back a laugh, trying not to feel so panicked about filling the silence with something now that she said all of that. He sighed, taking a deep breath. "I know what you mean, though. Or, er... kind of." He loosely shrugged. "I don't know. I'm in a relationship that isn't so great either. I guess I just... respect you. For calling it off just like that. You know?"

Her unsure expression melted into open sympathy. "Do you... want to talk about it?" she offered. "I don't mind. Either way. Don't feel obligated to, but. Yeah."

Alistair, leaned back against his chair, casually peering around the room: to the side, above her, to the other side. Just. Thinking. Playing it cool, since she was staring right at him.

"Uh," he stammered when the silence started to feel too drawn out. "Yeah, no. That's fine." He sat up straighter, elbow on the table, arms folded on top of each other. "But. Uh. Well, the similarities end there, so I don't know how much you could relate. I'm just saying, I get where you're coming from. It's tiring, being in a dead-end relationship."

Kaya nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I." She deflated a bit again, and offered a sincere, "I'm really sorry to hear that. It's. Really a bummer of a way to first relate to someone..."

"It's fine," Alistair quickly assured. "Better than relating to getting eaten alive by a monster."

Kaya snorted. "...It's. Not fine, though," she said tentatively.

Alistair paused, looking up to meet her eyes, then turned away again, now feeling bad. "...Yeah," he relented with a sigh. "You're right. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot now."

"Oh. No! I meant." Kaya grimaced. "I meant, it's." She smacked a hand over her face, sinking back now with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I just. It's not fine, that. Your relationship." She sank even lower. "I'm done. Yup."

Alistair blinked, now feeling very stupid that he misinterpreted this. "Oh. No. It's... yeah," he said with an awkward laugh, feeling himself blurting out the next words just so he can save her from the embarrassment and guilt. "I mean, Andrea and I-- I wouldn't say we're serious. We keep breaking up. We just got back together a few weeks ago. I know we're not good for each other, but I don't know. Maybe I'll marry her too. Or maybe an asteroid will hit the earth and we'll all die tomorrow. Who even knows?"

Peeking out through her fingers, Kaya somehow looked simultaneously saddened and on the verge of laughing out loud. "...An asteroid sounds nice," she sighed.

"Yeah, that'd be a nice and painless way to go out," Alistair idly thought out loud, then winced as he realized that maybe he shouldn't casually be joking about death in front of her. "Uh. And it'd be..." He sat up straighter, trying to think of something else to say. "Pretty, maybe? Like a meteor shower, maybe?"

"Maybe?" she agreed, cracking a wobbly, amused grin. "A super up-close meteor shower."

Alan forced his body to relax and lose the tension. "Yeah. A killer meteor shower." He paused, then murmured, "That'd be a good band name, I think."

Kaya winced, almost playfully this time. "I think... because it already is one?"

Alistair shrugged. "Maybe. Or it could be a new one. Vik seems hellbent on playing in the island band, but at the rate of disasters that's happening on this island, I doubt that will happen."

"I don't know," Kaya said, "it's. Early? Things could turn around."

"Doubtful. We're on day three and it's already a shitshow," Alistair dead-panned.

"Well." She shrugged and sighed. "Four more days. We'll see."

"Well, how are you going to spend the next four days?" he asked.

Still sitting low in her chair, Kaya loosely folded her arms as she looked up at the ceiling. "...I have no idea."

Alistair slouched back in defeat as well. "Yeah. Me neither, honestly." He sighed. "Guess we'll wait to see if an asteroid hits the earth."

Shrimp, for the sixth time, attempted to end the study session by loafing on the open textbook. Shane, for also the sixth time, responded by scratching behind the cat's ears and opening up a new book. He now had seven books open on his desk.

"You know, Shrimp," he said, petting the cat affectionately, "if you're trying to get me to stop, you should probably try something that'll have me start closing books."

Shrimp meowed.

"Is that a challenge?" Shane asked playfully. "Be careful. I have three bookshelves in here."

Shrimp rolled over on his back now, sticking all four paws in the air.

"Oh, fine. What are books to belly rubs anyway." Shane smiled faintly as he reached forward, rubbing the kitty's tummy, which earned him a warm purr that went on for several seconds-- long enough that he nearly missed his phone buzzing.

Hmm. He hadn't gotten many texts on the island, so it always felt a little important when his phone buzzed now.

Shane kept petting Shrimp with one hand while he flipped his phone over on the desk so it was screen-up. And then he paused, disbelieving of what he was seeing.

Alan wrote:Look out your balcony.

This was Alan's number, wasn't it? But it was meant to be for after the island, since he didn't have his phone here. Unless...

He'd gotten a delivery.

"Come along, Shrimp," Shane said, tucking his phone in his pocket and scooping the cat up as he rushed towards the balcony. Shrimp willingly accepted the free transportation.

He pulled the sliding door open, then closed it behind him without looking, eyes already fixed on Alan's balcony across the beach. There, he saw Alan leaning on the railing, waving at him. With a grin, Shane waved back at him.

His phone rang again, and as he took it out to look at it again, he saw it was a call from Alan. He accepted it and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Is this truly the one and only Alan Alvaro, calling me?" he asked, still grinning.

"And is this truly the one and only Shane Hawking, picking up my call?" Alan shot back playfully with a grin of his own.

"No, this is his cat," Shane teased, cradling Shrimp in a way that the cat's head was close to the phone. "Let him hear it, Shrimp."

Right on cue, Shrimp meowed, batting at the phone.

Alan gasped. "Wait, it's coming to me. Translating..." From across the beach, Shane could see him continually grin ear-to-ear as he tapped his palm against the railing. "Ah yes, I miss you too, Shrimpcito. I wish I was there to give you pets."

"I'll have to give him double," Shane said, smiling as Shrimp purred contentedly. "He's probably the happiest of us all at the lockdown. I've been with him all day."

"He's a good lockdown buddy to have," Alan said, then paused. "How have you been doing, though? I wish I can see you in person, but this will have to do for now."

"It's been a little rough," Shane admitted, allowing a little wistfulness to slip into his voice. "Quiet and kind of lonely, not to mention that it makes the situation that much more scary."

"I'm sorry, Shane," Alan said softly, sincerity in his voice. "It is scary, but I'm here for you. I care about your well-being, as do others. You're not alone."

"Thanks," Shane said softly, with a bit of a sad smile as he let a wriggling Shrimp perch on the railing next to him. "I'm here for you too, Alan. How's it been for you over there?"

"Oh, it hasn't been too bad," Alan said as he leaned over the railing, attention still fixed on Shane across from him. "I was with my family this morning, which was really nice. Alistair separated from my mom and I before they started to enforce the stay-at-home order, so he's at the mansion. My mom is with me in the cabin, though. She's giving Lyall a full rundown of my childhood life, so that's fun, and also very weird to listen to."

Shane laughed softly, pressing his phone closer to his ear as he leaned forward, letting his elbows rest comfortably on the railing. "Careful. He's going to be sitting on a gold mine of blackmail material."

"Yeah," Alan said with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, he will. I already accept my defeat." He paused. "Do you have others with you at the cabin, at least?"

Shane let out a melodramatic sigh. "Oh, yeah. James is here, but instead of Connie, we have his little brother Remus staying her for the week. And let me tell you, he is--" He waved a hand around, knowing Alan could see it. "Shall I begin?"

Alan chuckled, dramatically waving his hand in front of him, signaling for him to proceed. "I'm ready. Tell me everything."

"Here goes nothing," Shane said, shaking his head with a smile. "Within five minutes of when he got here yesterday evening, he demanded James and I drop everything to cook him a five-star caviar dinner."

"No," Alan said with an amused gasp. "He did not."

"Yes, he did," Shane said with a laugh. "Of course, that was impossible, because we only have one type of eggs in our fridge, and they sure weren't sturgeon. He wasn't very happy when I suggested he tried writing 'caviar' on the shell of the chicken eggs as a substitute."

"No. Seriously?" Alan said with a laugh. "How'd he take it?"

"He then told me he can't cook eggs," Shane said with an amused groan. "Which is Cooking 101."

Alan barked a laugh. "Oh my god. Sorry. I shouldn't be laughing."

"No, please go for it. I'm not sure where my self-control to not laugh at him comes from," Shane said with a grin. "And that's only the start of it."

"Goodness. You've endured war. You're practically ready for fatherhood now," Alan teased.

Shane huffed a laugh. "Oh, whatever model of parenting that produced this brat is not one I hope to subscribe to. The silver spoon he was born with must have been a shovel. He then tried to have us wait on him by bringing him glasses of milk from the fridge to the counter because he couldn't dream of standing up."

Alan facepalmed, biting back another laugh. "I'm sorry. Did you say milk?"

"Milk!" Shane exclaimed, to emphasize the absurdity. "It's all he'll drink. I thought maybe he'd be one of those picky water types who only hydrate themselves if the water in question was from the finest Feejee spring, but... no. Just milk."

"That's... huh," Alan said with another laugh. "That's quite bizarre. Maybe he's trying to bulk up with the extra calories? Or maybe he likes milk." He did an exaggerated shrug that Shane barely caught. "I have a personal request for you, Shane. Please find out why Remus likes to drink milk. This is vital information, and I must know."

"I will report all my findings," Shane said, with solemn drama. "Although I suspect the bulking up reason can be eliminated, if he can't bother with the exercise of walking four steps to the fridge and back."

"Oh, come on, Shane," Alan teased with a playful voice. "Princes are above walking. You of all people should understand that only peasants are allowed to use their legs."

"Well, what does that make me?" Shane asked, raising a leg with an exaggerated motion, and then, as if it were very bold, took a single step to his right.

Alan drew out a hum. "Somewhere between a humble prince and a charming peasant. I'm having a hard time deciding, honing in on specifics."

Shane laughed. "You can get back to me when you come up with it. In the meantime, there's much more that's happened with him."

Alan waved him on. "Oh, yes. Please. Proceed, my handsome prince."

Shane felt his thoughts sputter and stall for a moment there. Okay. Getting back on track.

"After that," he started with a smile, "he tried to turn James into his personal bodyguard. It did not work. Neither was James impressed."

"I'm sure Remus was delighted to hear that," Alan teased.

"Oh, he was ecstatic," Shane said playfully. "He was so thrilled that he stormed up to Connie's room and only came back to tell us that it wasn't good enough for him."

"Really? And why's that?"

"Connie has minimalist tastes that are not shared by Remus," Shane said with a laugh. "I guess Remus got all the extravagant genes."

Alan hummed. "That's interesting. Two polar opposite tastes, despite being brothers. And being royalty, no less."

"It is interesting," Shane agreed. "It does lead me to wonder why. Maybe that's just me as a historian-- wanting the historical context for everything."

"Well, you have the privilege of being with them. You can put that wonder to good use and ask," Alan said. "Though, you may have better luck asking Connie than Remus."

Shane let out a light laugh. "Once this lockdown is over, and once I find a better way to phrase the question, 'Why is your brother like this?', I'll begin my research."

Alan chuckled. "There are definitely better ways to soften that. Though, from what I've gathered, I heard Connie is a direct and straightforward man. Maybe you don't need to spend too much time on this."

"Perhaps not. He might appreciate it," Shane admitted, before leaning forward on the railing with more of a smile, still watching Alan. "Alright, enough of me and my princely woes. I want to hear what's on your mind."

Alan mirrored his movements, tilting his head as he kept his gaze on Shane. "There's nothing much on my end. Just enjoying hearing you speak and thinking about how we'd spend time with each other later. The usual."

Shane grinned slightly. "It's mutual. What are your thoughts?"

"No fair," Alan teased. "You asked me for my thoughts twice in a row. Can't I ask for yours first?"

Shane chuckled. "Okay, you win. You may ask."

"Please indulge me, dearest Shane," he began dramatically with a swoop of his hand. "What is running through that beautiful mind of yours?"

Shane paused, holding the phone close to his ear as he watched Alan, feeling like he was trying to absorb every detail of him from across this distance. Something felt different today. He had his phone, his family, and a new level of boldness. Even his outfit-- though this wasn't something he had the best view of-- seemed new, with actual colors, black and green, in place of the neutrals he'd seen him wear this whole time. What was the cause? The fallout from the effects of his magic? His family's presence? The poem, even? It seemed like the tides were always changing on him, and he didn't make the time to wonder why things were different before the next wave arrived.

Even if it was new, or startling, it was far from unwelcome. Dearest. Beautiful. Those words made Shane want to truly share and respond in kind. Maybe that was Alan's intention. He didn't know. But surely he knew it would touch Shane's heart.

Shane took a deep breath, keeping his gaze on Alan.

"I'm thinking about how to best use the remainder of this island," he said. "And I'm thinking about how I want to prioritize you in it, Alan. You're a beam of light that can brighten any day, and I want to make the most of this time-- with the comforting knowledge that our time can extend past this summer. I'm just starting to get to know you, but I'd already describe you as priceless, and every moment with you is as well. I think that if I can use this time deepening friendships and knowing those I care about here more deeply, I'll emerge a better person." Shane smiled softly. "And you make me want to be a better person, Alan."

Alan was quiet for some moments, keeping his gaze steady on Shane, unmoving. That was, until he softly said, "Tell me how. How you want to spend our time together. Tell me everything. All your thoughts. Leave no detail left unturned."

Shane hesitated.

"It could be at any time and place," he said softly. "What matters most to me is that I get to know and appreciate you as you deserve to be known and appreciated. The setting, the activity-- that's nice and all, but ultimately it's about being with you. And I want to leave adoring a new part of you that I didn't know about before."

"I couldn't agree more, Shane. The sentiments go both ways," Alan said back, just as soft. "It doesn't matter where we are, how far apart we are, separated by the beach or the skies. As long as I can hear your voice, and you can hear mine, I'll so happily tell you how much I adore you."

Shane smiled softly. "It seems like we both want the same thing, then."

Alan hummed. "I don't know about that. I'm doubting that you want yourself as much as I want you."

Shane huffed a laugh. Under any circumstance, for any level of anyone else wanting him, that was probably true. His old refrain of I would leave me if I could came back to mind.

"Consider it more of an equal and opposite desire," he said. "Of me wanting you as much as you want me."

Even with saying that, he had the urge to add on, and possibly more so.