Young Writers Society

"Shrimp, no. Shrimp, no," Shane protested as he lunged across the counter.

Too late. His cat had already dunked his paw in the coffee mug-- which was thankfully iced today-- causing the liquid to splash all over the counter. Flattening his ears in obvious distaste of the wet substance, Shrimp withdrew his paw, shaking it out and sending more droplets flying.

"Well, what did you think was going to happen? Silly baby," Shane groaned, but he went to pet the cat's head before he got a paper towel, lifting up the mug and smacking it down on the wet surface underneath.

"Nothing but fluff between those ears," Shane went on more affectionately, scratching the back of Shrimp's neck. "Certainly no brain in there."

Shrimp meowed at him.

"You're right. I am jealous of that," Shane said. "What wouldn't I give to have three thoughts a day and for two of them to be about food."

But no, he was cursed to have stuff on his mind. All the damn time.

At least right now, at this very second, the problem on his mind was how to keep petting his cat while also reaching for the coffee pitcher for a refill. Shane eventually managed it with a wide stretch that would've had any yoga instructor beaming with pride. He poured out the remainder of the coffee (with some regret) and was refilling it when his phone rang.

He swore to the Saints, if it was Flint--

Shane took out his phone, staring at the screen. It was Alan.

Ah. Wasn't that better?

He didn't feel immediately relieved, though. He'd checked earlier this morning, and the message he'd sent him a few days back had still been on delivered. Granted, it was far from an important text, but the silence didn't sit well with him. At least Alan was breaking it now.

Shane put a smile on his face as he answered the call so it would sound clear in his voice.

"Hey, Alan," he greeted. "How's it going?"

"Hey, Shane," Alan greeted back, his usual friendly tone present in his voice. "It's been going, for a morning on this island prison. How about you?"

"About the same here. Nothing particularly hellish, except Shrimpcito is being diabolical by stepping in my morning coffee." Shane moved the phone over to Shrimp. "Say good morning, you fiend."

Shrimp meowed and then tried to bite Shane's phone.

"There you have it," Shane joked, pulling the phone back to his ear.

There was soft chuckling on the other end. "It's too bad I can't understand cat anymore," Alan mused. "But my gut tells me I just heard a guilty confession."

"Thank you, Your Honor. I was worried because otherwise I would've been the only witness to the heinous act," Shane said, smiling a little more easily now.

"Hm, yes. Consider me your witness then," Alan hummed with another faint chuckle. He paused. "Oh, by the way Shane, I'm sorry I didn't get to respond to your text. I admit I prefer calling way more than texting. I appreciate you checking in though. It's been a hell of a week." Another pause. "Do you have free time this morning, by the way? I've been meaning to connect and talk to you about some things."

Talking was certainly good, even when it was bad. Shane nodded thoughtfully, then remembered Alan couldn't see that.

"Don't even worry about it. It's a cat picture with a silly caption, not an urgent request for backup troops or something," Shane promised. "And I get that things are hectic. I'd love to talk to you too. I shouldn't have anything going on today, so I'm quite free for that."

"Sweet. I'm free all morning," Alan said. Then promptly asked, "Where do you want to meet?"

Good question.

"No preference. But," Shane added, with a slight chuckle, "do you remember how I ate all the berries in your cabin on our second day here and promised to return the favor sometime? The berry debt's growing old, but I could finally pay it off if you wanted to meet here."

"Oh yeah?" Alan huffed out a laugh. "I do remember that, but I don't think I like blackberries as much as you, so please eat as much as you want, save for maybe one or two. Meeting at your place is fine by me, though."

"Great," Shane said with another smile. "Does coffee sound better? I can attempt to keep Shrimp away from it."

"Leftover coffee and whatever stale breakfast foods you have lying around sounds fantastic," Alan said, more clearly with a smile in his voice now.

"Stale?" Shane clicked his tongue, speaking in a tone of fake outrage and indignation while he grinned slightly. "I don't know what to be more offended by, that you underestimate my hospitality or our cooking. You've just earned yourself a full breakfast for that comment, sir."

"Oh noooooooo," Alan drew out with feigned defeat. "Woe is me. I guess I'll just have to go to your place hungry, then. Good thing I haven't eaten yet."

"You'll rue the day you implied the food would be stale," Shane said. "Prepare for the best waffles of your life. No pancakes here."

"Can't wait. I'm looking forward to it." Alan paused. "Thanks, Shane. Can you text me when you want me to come by?"

"Of course. It'll be as soon as the food's warm," Shane promised with a smile. "See you soon, Alan."

He turned on the waffle oven (which was already plugged in) the moment they each hung up, then darted to grab a mixing bowl. It took longer, but he'd never used a waffle mix before in his life and he wasn't starting now. He made the batter from memory, and quickly set out the toppings before grabbing a pack of whipping cream from the fridge. He set the stand mixer to work on this, adding in some vanilla sugar from time to time until the cream was perfectly light and fluffy. Last, while the first waffle was cooking, he reheated coffee for Alan, regretting that he'd never heard from him how he liked it best. He'd seen him drink it black before, but remembering their orders at the plaza cafe, he took a gamble and made him a latte with rosewater. Once he'd made the rest of the waffles, he plated everything and set the counter ready for two, then texted Alan.

Shane wrote:Ready for you!

Ignoring the silverware set on his plate, Alan picked up a fluffy waffle, tearing off a quarter-piece and dipping it on the homemade whipped cream he had slopped on the side.

"Are your cabin mates home?" Alan asked glancing towards the stairwell and as he munched the waffle.

Shane grinned softly at the action, deciding to take it as a sign that the waffles were good-- or at least that Alan had showed up hungry. "James and Hild are here. But they got back from their run, so I think they're upstairs for a while," he said, cutting off a bite from his very berry-heavy waffle.

"Ah, okay," Alan said with a nod, tearing off another piece of his waffle. With brows slightly furrowed, he stared at the piece with more focus, a contemplative expression washing over him. "Well. I appreciate your time, especially with this breakfast you cooked up. Really." A pause, and he hesitantly glanced back at Shane. "I've been meaning to talk to you about some things, mostly about myself. Is it fine if I have the floor and talk?"

Hopefully this was fine. Shane had to remind himself that it was always fine for Alan to share what was on his mind. Even if any mention of a serious talk always sent a flicker of panic running through him at first, regardless of whether it turned out to be good, bad or neutral.

"Of course," Shane said invitingly, taking a quick bite of his waffle and setting down his fork. "More than fine. I'll listen to whatever it is. That's what friends do."

"Yeah..." Alan smiled slightly, casting Shane another appreciative glance. "Thanks."

Alan sighed, setting his elbow on the counter, lightly nibbling at the waffle piece before shoving it entirely in his mouth, his cheeks now ballooned to be full of waffle. It felt illegal not to smile at the sight, so Shane did for a moment, watching with amused patience. As Alan ate through this bite, he repeated this action, idly tearing off another piece.

"I feel like I've been doing a lot of soul searching," Alan finally said after he finished through the bite. "Maybe that's not the right term. I don't know." He fiddled with the waffle piece, bringing it closer to his eyes, squinting at it. "I feel like I've been searching for something for the past few years, endlessly chasing a ghost of a feeling. And..."

Alan sighed, bringing his arm down to be flushed on the table, waffle piece pointing up. "Yeah, I don't know. I feel like I'm facing this head-on now, though. And it's staring at me right in the face." He turned back to Shane, uncertain. "Does that make sense?"

"It does," Shane said with an understanding nod. "Going through introspection from time to time is valuable. Even if not always easy."

Alan nodded, briefly awash with relief. "I agree. And I think..." He turned his focus back on the waffle piece he held, fiddling with it. "Well, it's hard for me. I don't know why. But..." He trailed off, scrunching his brows together, frowning. "Okay, well."

Alan waved the waffle loosely in the air. "Let me backtrack. I don't have troubles being introspective. I want to be introspective. To grow and improve. But there's a difference between thinking it... and acting on it."

Looking defeated again, he slumped forward, stretching his arms against the counter, still pointing the waffle in the air. "Does that make sense?" he finished with a mumble.

"Yes," Shane confirmed, flashing him a faint smile that he knew he was awash with some concern. "Everything you've said so far is fine and clear, Alan. I'll let you know if it isn't, trust me."

Alan let out a long, deep sigh, his chest moving with his breath. He abruptly sat back up, now with newfound determination to keep on going. "So that's where I'm at right now," he said pointedly, intensely focused on the cabinets directly in his line of view. "I am acting on this thought I've had for a long time, that, well--" He faltered, squinting. "It sounds silly to say, so I won't say it. But point being: I realize I need to be honest with myself. I need to figure out what I want. Even if it's not easy. Even if I can't please everyone. I need to be honest with myself, first."

He emptily stared down at his plate, weakly sliding the waffle piece back on. "That's it on that," he finished, just above a mumble. "I wanted to preface with that."

Shane watched the side of his face attentively, taking in every familiar feature as well as every new expression he took on. His was a face he wished to be able to read like a book someday. For the time being, he wanted to hear it from Alan rather than piece it together himself.

What was he to brace himself for? That question should've unnerved him. But for now, at least right now at this particular moment in time, his concern for Alan outweighed the concern he had for himself.

"I'm listening, Alan," he promised softly. "What you're doing is good. I want you to have whatever it is you want, too. I mean it."

"You may mean that," Alan began, holding his head with his hand, "but how can it hold any merit if I don't know what it is that I want?" He let out a long, tired sigh, continuing on lowly. "I'm tired of being a mosaic of other people's wants and desires. Yet at the same time, I'm afraid of stepping into the dark, starting this journey blind. Sometimes I wish I can run away or burn my metaphorical life into the ground, start anew from the ashes. But if the roots of my seed are rotten, I'll always be doomed to be a poison."

Shane felt some sadness wash over his expression as he kept watching Alan. It felt a bit like an extended stolen glance, to be looking at him for this long without being looked back at, to study the sharp curve of his jaw and the shine his eyes caught the light with and feel like he was finding more beauty in his soul moment by moment. It was good Alan was discovering himself. It pained him to think that he might not like everything he saw.

"You'll never be doomed to anything, Alan," he said with soft sincerity. "Not as long as it all leads back to your heart."

Finally, Alan cast his gaze in Shane's direction, searching his face for a moment. "I used to think that too," he said quietly, mustering a faint smile before turning away again.

He didn't leave much room for a response, continuing on. "Shane, if it's alright with you... I'd like to talk about what happened during Ooktoberfest. I feel like this conversation is long past due. I know that's my fault."

Shane felt his heartbeat thudding in his neck all of a sudden. For a moment, he'd forgotten anything could happen here that could scare him. He'd forgotten he might need to be brave today when he felt so, so tired and small.

What would happen if his bravery didn't go far enough? If it didn't cover his heart all the way?

It would have to do. The question was asked. And he was already committed to wanting what Alan wanted.

He prayed he had this in him.

"Okay," Shane said quietly, steeling himself and keeping his voice steady as he kept his eyes on Alan. "If you think we should, then we should. I'll do my best to stay present with you. But please don't hold yourself at fault for the conversation's delay. I... haven't wanted to talk about it much either."

"That's alright. I haven't either," Alan murmured in response. He picked up the waffle piece, spent half a second nibbling it, then pressed on, waving the waffle in his hand as he motioned around them. "And I think there are so many-- too many-- subjects I don't want to talk about. Because it's uncomfortable. But, I don't know..." He bowed his head towards his food, looking defeated again. "If I don't talk about it, or think of it, or take action-- I'll never grow. And I'm so sick and tired of being so fucking stagnant. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know if I ever have. Because I've bought into the idea, for so long, that..."

Alan groaned, slumping forward and slapping both hands over his face. "I feel like I'm incoherently rambling," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"No," Shane said slowly, with a shake of his head. "You haven't lost me yet."

It was true he wasn't confused, but there was some talking in circles happening here. And although he didn't want to feel this way, he felt a little like cornered prey, a rabbit that a fox was now slinking around. The distance could be closed in a heartbeat and the teeth could sink in then. But the moment before the strike was being drawn out, stretched out to the point where ending it all almost like the kinder path, as Alan remained in silence for several moments.

Shane could almost look forward to the hunt being over.

"Shane," Alan gently called, breaking the short silence. He meekly turned toward his direction, lowering his hand. "You said your effect during Ooktoberfest was a confidence boost. Right?"

Shane took a steadying deep breath, rubbing at his face.

"Right," he said. "It must have been, or else it had the same result. It wasn't a boost to 'normal' confidence levels, either-- it felt like it went farther than that. I couldn't hold on to doubt for more than a few seconds, and it was like everything I wanted to be true... was true. No second thoughts, no skepticism. Just unwavering faith."

It had felt perfect, to be in a world where he knew what people meant and they meant what they said for a few hours. Now it just felt cruel. He'd never live that way again.

Alan quietly listened, still holding his head with one arm, and fiddling with his fork with his other hand. He seemed focused yet distant, like he was waging a war in his mind, only showing Shane the surface of its depth.

"I don't know how the DMV manages to do such a thing," Alan continued on distractedly, voice just above a murmur. "Then again, I don't know how the hell they manage any of this. I should have questioned things when Kazimir acted like a shark. It's like, somehow, they know all our insecurities. And then dangle it in front of a camera for the world to see. Like they're testing us. But I thought we were here for magic? And yet..." He sighed, sinking into his hand. "None of this makes any sense to me. I wish I could understand."

Shane bit his lip. Thanks to James, he did think he knew a little more about what the DMV was trying to do, but that would be a lot to divulge right now, and only tangentially related to the topic at hand.

"Yeah," he said a little quieter. "I don't know why. If this is a test, I've already failed."

"Yeah..." Alan sighed. "Me too."

But when had Alan failed? Shane couldn't spot when that had happened, or what he was referring to. He swallowed.

"Why do you ask?" he asked finally.

"About..." Alan fidgeted again, pulling himself to sit straighter. "...Ooktoberfest?"

"What effect I had," Shane clarified quietly. "It sounded like you had some purpose by that."

"I..." Alan weakly nodded, thumb brushing against the counter as he stared down at it. "Yeah. I do." He took in a long, deep sigh. "I was curious, because I wasn't sure, exactly. And thought, maybe, considering what happened, it would give me some insight into what mine was. Which..." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, I don't think it really told me anything. I don't really have any hints. I'm just guessing here. Filling in the blanks. Making sense of things. Weeks later, because I keep delaying everything, but at least I'm doing this now. Being introspective. Talking, taking action. Whatever."

Shane tried to think back to what Alan had said that very day after Ooktoberfest, but he'd been vague then and he was vague now. He wasn't saying enough.

"You told me you were acting rash and impulsive," he said quietly. "Saying, doing things you weren't ready to mean. Do you still think that?"

Alan barked a sharp mirthless laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed his face. Shane jumped a little in surprise, not expecting that reaction. What had he said?

"Did I say that?" Alan lowly hummed. "Well, I don't need a DMV dictator spell to do that. I do that plenty. Which, I feel like, has been greatly exacerbated on my time in this stupid prison. Maybe, this is all part of the plan!"

With a scoff, Alan threw his hands up in the air in annoyance before leaning forward again, hand squished against his cheek. "So, yeah. Maybe this is all part of the grand plan. Who even knows anymore. I don't. Whatever," he went on, then sighed, the end of his breath turning to a frustrated groan. "Sorry. I'm taking out my frustration over my dishonesty out on you. Or, um..." Alan weakly shrugged a shoulder. "Being a crazy mess, I guess. Though what even is the difference? Corporate says it's the same fucking picture."

"Alan," Shane said softly, watching his face again. He wasn't sure what he hoped to achieve by saying it. Maybe to settle him, or to just buy himself time to say something more in depth. Either way, he spoke his name with gentleness, almost short of breath on the word.

Hesitantly, Alan flicked his eyes towards his direction a few times, visibly relaxing. He briefly closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Sorry. I'll calm down."

"It's okay. You're okay," Shane promised softly, taking a deep breath.

He felt the instinct to reach out, for some reason, but instead folded his hands into his lap. It felt as wrong as it felt right.

"I know. I know I am," Alan said quickly, frowning down at the waffles again. "It's not that I don't feel okay. I'm just..." He circled his hand in the air, searching for his next word. "Confused, I guess? I don't know." Alan sighed in defeat. "This is strangely difficult to articulate, and I don't know why. Thanks for bearing with me here."

Shane managed the barest sad smile for a heartbeat, even though Alan wasn't looking at him. "Of course," he said quietly. "This isn't easy for you, and it's really not easy for me either, but... I'm glad you're doing it, you know?" He swallowed. "Confused is alright. I'd be surprised if you had all the answers already. It still means something that we're talking without you knowing everything yet."

Alan was sat still, frozen in time as he seemed to be deeply pondering his words. With a bare smile, he cast Shane an appreciative glance, quietly uttering, "Thank you, Shane."

Alan turned back, taking another deep breath, now with more focus and determination in his eyes. "Okay. Yes. I should get to my point." He sat up straighter, elbows on the table as he motioned with his hands, gesturing ahead with stiff, straight palms.

"I wasn't myself during Ooktoberfest," Alan finally said. "I lost my inhibition. Though... well, I don't think that was my effect, but that's not really important right now. What is important is that, after this was all said and over, I committed to a role that wasn't..." He squinted ahead, dropping his hands before finishing with: "...me."

After the mumble of the word, Alan hung his head and sighed. "It was like... acting. But I know real life isn't some play. I don't need to appease the characters to satisfy the audience. I don't have an audience." He frowned, mulling that over. "Okay, well, this setting is a bad place to make this point. But life isn't supposed to have an audience. You know? I could-- should-- just be myself. Without worrying how others will perceive me.

"But my god, this is easier said than done. Especially when I keep minimizing myself. Thinking this isn't important. But it is important. I know it is. But again, there's a difference between thinking it, feeling it, and acting on it, and..."

Alan trailed off, shaking his head. "Yeah. Never mind. I'm getting ahead of myself here. That's the point I was trying to make." He paused. "I think so, anyways. I hope that made sense."

It did. It just took some processing around the backtracking and the filler. Shane nodded carefully.

"Yes," he said. "You should just be yourself. I do want that for you."

It still felt like the fox hadn't bared its teeth yet, though. Like they might've uncovered something, but not the thing.

"Is it, though?" Alan asked weakly. "What if what you want isn't what I want, or vice versa?"

Shane blinked, watching him closely. That... okay. What if?

"How might those be in conflict?" he asked instead.

"I..." Alan rubbed his fingertip against the counter, distracted. "I feel like you don't really know me." He paused, wincing. "But that's okay. I don't even know myself. I'm still discovering it."

"I want to," Shane said quickly, then ducked his head for a moment to indicate for him to keep talking. "Sorry. Go on."

Alan hung his head even lower, still idly brushing his fingertips against the counter. "This isn't your fault, Shane. I am telling you all this now so you aren't kept in the dark, and I want to be honest with you. I take full responsibility for... leading you on. For being dishonest. Not being true to who I am affects not just me, but you too. And others. And that's why... I'm here. To be more open. More honest. To have uncomfortable conversations. To change." He paused. "That's a part of life, I guess."

Shane kept scanning his face, but this time he was searching for something that gave more meaning to the words. Not hoping to find anything that disproved them, just... looking for any kind of context. An emotional footnote. A nuance that might mitigate the sinking feeling he had now.

He was looking. He wasn't sure what he was finding.

"The dishonesty..." He pursed his lips, fighting to keep his voice and words as calm as he could. "What were you dishonest about?"

If any of it was a lie, he needed to know which parts were. Then readjust accordingly. Process. Plan again. Figure out what the hell to do with his heart.

He was so tired of bad data and false hopes.

Alan hesitated before finally responding, "About myself." He took in a deep breath before resuming. "I think I was working on autopilot, where I was telling you what I thought you wanted to hear, rather than say what I really mean and risk hurting your feelings. I find myself walking away later with an uncomfortable feeling I can't really name, but I... ignore it. And have been, for years. Until now. But..."

Wearily, Alan stared down at the pile of waffles growing cold. "But I know this isn't about me," he continued. "I'm not here to dump you my problems. I just... wanted to give you closure. I didn't want to leave you in the dark, forever wondering. That's all."

So the teeth had found the flesh. Shane closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain pressing into the back of his head.

This was his conclusive evidence, then? That he should've just been a pessimist all along? He'd made this so much worse since this had started. Because goddamn it, he couldn't just listen when he heard he wasn't wanted, could he? No, he had to go back in time, take the parts where it seemed like he mattered, and stitch them together into a memory that meant it. Because the only times he could be cared about were when someone was out of their mind or guilty enough to act the part.

And he had guilted Alan, hadn't he? He'd never meant to. That was just another example of him being pathetic and in denial. Of course Alan had been the reasonable one all along, just trying to make up for whatever lapse in judgment he must've had to see anything in him at all. And Shane was the fool digging in his heels, clinging on to his own lapse in judgment that had him briefly believing in his own worth.

His worth. Shane wanted to laugh, but his voice might've cracked. And he should hold on to whatever dignity he had left in accepting this news rather than looking any more pitiful than he already was.

What was there to do, then, besides own up to his own foolishness?

Shane took a deep breath that shuddered in his lungs, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to block out his setting.

"I've been an idiot," he muttered. "And it's hurt you. I'm sorry."

Alan rustled, shifting in his seat. "You didn't hurt me," he said softly. "I never said that."

"I didn't leave you room to be yourself. That's harmful." Shane pursed his lips again. "So is causing you to feel bad, because you have a wonderful, soft heart that can't help but feel guilt, and making you do things you didn't want to."

"I--" Alan stopped, the one syllable drawing an uncertain edge in his voice. "No, that's not what I'm saying. That's not what happened. Don't take responsibility for my patterns. This really isn't your fault. I'm not casting blame. Truly, that's not my intention here."

"You don't have to," Shane said quietly. "I get it. Really, I get it. I got it all along that you were the reasonable one and I was the fool. Like you, I was putting that off. You don't have to pretend I'm not anymore. Please, don't."

"I won't," Alan said softly. "But..." There was another hesitation. "I don't think you're hearing me, Shane. That's not what I'm saying at all. I want you to know that."

Shane opened his eyes, but he didn't look Alan's way. If he did, his face would give it all away. He was sure of it.

"What is, then?" he asked faintly. "With honesty."

"Of course. With honesty," Alan said back quietly, and Shane felt the weight of his gaze trained on him. "You deserve that much." He took in a deep breath. "I think the foundation of our friendship is weak, dictated and molded by the inauthentic, hostile environment of the island. For me, personally, it has made me unstable. And I know this means that I have to work on myself. I must work on myself." He paused again. "I think both of us-- me, especially-- could use time to do this. To work on myself. To figure out who I am, what I want-- and in a healthy, sustainable way. Does that make sense?"

It did. And it hurt.

Setting his jaw, Shane nodded silently, focusing his gaze on the counter.

His bravery was running out after all. He wasn't strong enough for this. There were only a few things he could still do.

Slowly, Shane turned his head to finally look at Alan again. Likewise, Alan had been searching Shane's face, expression softened. Even he seemed a little hurt, with pensive sorrow awash in his deep brown eyes. And Shane might've been avoiding looking his way, but now that he was, he wasn't sure how he could look away again.

"As that happens," Shane started quietly. "Can we still be friends? Friends who made a mistake and started over? Or is that impossible now?"

Alan lifted the edge of his lip into a faint smile, nodding faintly. "Yes. We can still be friends," he confirmed with a quiet voice. "I think we will need to establish firm boundaries, but we can certainly remain friends."

Shane nodded faintly, letting the tiniest wave of relief wash over him. A tiny one. This wasn't over yet.

"What kind of boundaries?" he asked softly.

"Just..." Alan turned away, idly brushing his hands together. "You know. Friendship boundaries. As friends." He paused, clasping his hands together. "Friendship and romance can get muddled in my mind, so... that's why I brought it up," he finished quietly.

Shane kept his gaze settled on him, meaning to nod, but not sure how to. He managed it after a moment.

"No more poems, probably," he said in quiet agreement. "You can... get rid of the one you have, if that helps. I don't want you to feel like you have to hold on to that."

He didn't know why that came to mind. Maybe he just wanted the evidence gone.

"That's not what I'm saying," Alan said gently, but there was a hint of weariness in his voice. "I'm pretty sure friends can write friends poems. That's alright. It's just about intention."

"You're right. Sorry," Shane apologized softly. "It gets muddled in my mind too."

Alan faintly nodded. "That's alright. We can just try our best. That's all we can do. Try our best."

Shane nodded as well, taking a deep breath.

"I'll be trying," he said softly. "You only deserve friends who try, Alan. I want to care for you in the way you want and actually need, and you're worthy of every bit of effort I could put into our friendship." Shane managed a faint, sad smile, before letting it slip into a softer resolve. "I'm sorry you feel like I don't really know you. But if I don't, I want to. And I hope I get there, because every step of that would be an honor and joy. Even in the dark times." He paused. "The more you are of yourself, the more delight I'll have. I hope I can see everything you've ever wanted to change about yourself and care for you anyway. That's the way you deserve to be treated. You deserve to be embraced in the most unconditional and all-encompassing love I can give you."

Alan was quiet for a moment, softly smiling. He glanced at Shane, his gaze lingering for a few seconds before he turned away again, smile abiding. "Thank you, Shane," he said with a quieter, but sincere voice. "That's very kind of you." He paused, hesitantly glancing back at him with a wider, fonder smile to say, "You deserve that too. Always remember that."

Shane found it in him to smile fondly as well, but he didn't believe it. Not really. Or-- really, not at all. Maybe, if he didn't know any better, he could've. He thought he'd heard something like this from Ooktoberfest, and he might've begun to embrace it then. But he'd learned since then. Today settled it.

"I'll try to," he said softly nonetheless.

He didn't like that it felt like a lie of his own. He was running out of reasons to try, frankly. And maybe this was bad for a conversation all about being honest, but Shane didn't have the heart to admit he disagreed and risk guilting Alan all over again. He deserved to not be weighted down by any more pity for him. Because of course Alan would disagree with him in turn, and then he'd have to say good things about Shane that he didn't mean all over again. They had to move away from that. That was being honest.

Shane knew it. He just felt so... ill. Sick of himself. And while maybe it was selfish, he was aching for some comfort.

Shaking his head clear, Shane looked back at Alan's face with soft uncertainty. It wouldn't kill him to ask... would it?

"Would a hug lie within your boundaries?" he asked quietly.

Tenderly, Alan's smile grew, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. He nodded, spreading out his arms. "It is," he affirmed, but didn't wait to lean forward and embrace him, wrapping his arms around him, thumb gently brushing his back.

Shane leaned into the embrace, hugging him back with a gentle tightness. He let a silent deep breath leave his chest to relieve the tension there, then slowly, almost hesitantly, let the side of his head rest on Alan's shoulder. It did something to help the crushing weight that seemed to press on his own shoulders. He held on, hoping Alan felt every bit of the appreciation and the faint relief this brought him, as well as all the affection he had for him.

"I think I'm going to look forward to this," Shane said softly.

"Oh yeah?" Alan continued to rub his his back in gentle, rhythmic motions, softly humming. "I'm glad. And I'm sorry that this is so messy. I wish things were easier..." He paused, now keeping his hands still. "If it's easy, then it's not real. And I think both of us could use something true and authentic... even if it's hard. Especially when things are hard."

Shane nodded quietly, letting himself melt into the security of the hug just a bit further.

"I'd much rather have something real with you," he said softly. "You're right, I certainly could use it. If this is built on stable ground that we can both rely on because we trust that the foundation exists, the hard times can be dealt with. I'd gladly embrace any messiness that came with truly knowing you-- the reward of that is worth every bit."

He paused for a moment, trying to determine if he could hear Alan's heart. There it was. It thudded evenly against his chest, like a steady rhythmic drum. Nothing like the rapid fluttering of Shane's heart, like a scared bird in a cage of ribs, although that was starting to slow and soften. He tried to match his breathing to the march of Alan's heart.

"I once said that what matters most to me is that the you I know is really you as you are. And I stand by that even if my intentions are different now. Who you are is too precious to keep behind smoke and mirrors, Alan."

Alan held on to Shane tighter, pressing his palms into his back and hanging his head lower against his shoulder. After taking in a deep, shuddered breath that moved with his body, Alan sat still, embracing the peace and quiet, as well as Shane. Shane closed his eyes, likewise holding still. He wouldn't flinch at this shred of tenderness that felt like far more than he deserved. He could act like it didn't feel overwhelming to his heart, like it didn't pain him to think he shouldn't be held like this. In hindsight, he could see that he could be given very little and he would try to build a whole future with it.

It was not enough to be briefly beloved. It was not enough to love more in hopes of earning that back. He was not enough except for when he was too much.

But in this battle between craving tenderness and wanting to reject it, this felt just right, just for a moment.

Finally, Alan heavily pulled away, his hand lingering on Shane's shoulder for a few seconds longer before he pried away, taking another deep breath. It was only a hug, but deep exhaustion weighed heavily in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said softly with a small, tired smile. "I really appreciate you. Truly."

Shane smiled back faintly, letting his hands slip from Alan's shoulders. "I appreciate you too," he said in the same soft tone as Alan. "Thank you for still wanting a friendship."

Alan looked down at his plate of now-cold waffles, soft smile lingering. "And thank you for listening over a plate of delicious waffles."

Shane dropped his gaze to the plate that had one bite taken from it in front of him, with some surprise.

"...I kinda forgot my berries with a side of waffles were there," he admitted with a slight laugh.

"It's alright. I did too," Alan said with a growing smile, but it immediately began to fade. "I can, um..." He paused, lining his fingertip along the plate. "I can stay here, if you'd like. Or I can leave. It's up to you. Either is fine."

Shane paused, feeling his smile drop as well. He hadn't considered Alan might want to leave before breakfast was over. Or that Alan thought he wanted him to leave, if that was the case instead.

"If you didn't know I wanted you to stay," he asked gently, "what would you want to do?"

"Shane," Alan said with a small smile. "Your opinion matters just as much as mine. I can tell you if I do or don't want to do something, but I care about your opinion too. So.." He set his elbows on the table, picking up the waffle piece he tore off a while ago, finally biting into it.

Even with a full mouth, Alan went on to say, "I'm staying here to eat this," even though his words were muffled from the bite.

Shane felt a new smile slowly spreading over his face again. That didn't really tell him that Alan wanted to be here. But if he was sticking in the earlier theme of the conversation of doing what felt right to him, and he hopefully was...

Well. There was some hope that he actually did want it.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," he said, smile warming a touch. "Host's rules say no kicking you out."

"In that case," Alan said with a smile as he pointed the remaining waffle piece at him, "we have more waffles to eat."

Shane tucked the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and started it, feeling a quiet sigh leave him as he did. So, that was a wrap on breakfast. He was now solidly friends with Alan, but he also knew in no uncertain terms that he was never going to be loved in the way he craved. And that knowledge left a sour taste in his mouth.

Which begged the question: now that he was definitely unlovable, what did he do next?

Shane took a deep breath through his nose, staring into the sink and folding his arms over his chest. He didn't know the answer to that. It felt wrong to carry on with his way normally, but doing anything dramatic felt... scary. Maybe he needed to sit on this. Even if this was hardly news and really just a confirmation of something he'd feared all along.

"Hey," James's voice suddenly called beside him.

Shane blinked, turning his head to his friend in surprise. James... had gotten down the stairs without Shane hearing him? Damn. He didn't know he was that kind of zoned out.

"Hey," he greeted, and lest the pause that followed it got too long, he hastily spoke again with the first thing that came to mind. "Do you, uh... want some breakfast? Or lunch? There's waffles from today in the freezer."

"I'm good," James said. But it was strangely out of character. Normally after his runs he'd consume five meals' worth of food. And he had gone on one of those with Hild, hadn't he?

Shane nodded, but it was a little uncertainly.

"Did breakfast go okay?" James asked. "You seem... abnormally absent."

Did he? Shane pursed his lips, turning away from the sink to face James.

"It's a mixed bag," he muttered, deciding that was the best, shortest way to describe it.

James hummed softly, leaning slightly onto the counter. His attention was still fixed on Shane.

"Are you still processing?" he asked.

Shane shrugged, ducking his head slightly as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"No," he opted to say, since the conversation hadn't really brought him any news. Just something he could've-- and somewhat already had-- seen a long time coming.

"Then... what's on your mind?" James asked gently.

Shane closed his eyes, feeling like the walls of the kitchen were closing in on him. Too many weighty conversations had happened here. He wasn't even using his psychometry and it still felt like he was getting hit with all of it at once.

"Can we... not talk here?" He asked quietly, opening his eyes again.

James nodded. "Your room or mine?" he asked.

"Mine," Shane said. "I think Shrimp's there."

With another nod, James motioned for Shane to lead the way. Shane glanced back at the fridge, feeling like he should double check if he wanted any food, but decided to take James at his word and turned to go up the stairs.

Shrimp was indeed curled up on a pile of books on Shane's desk. Shane thought he was asleep, but the cat lifted his head at their entrance, then stretched his paws out before gracefully hopping off the desk and scurrying over to meet them with a purr. Shane knelt to pet the cat's head.

"Hey, buddy," he murmured, having to admit he felt a little better now.

James closed the door behind them, kneeling beside to greet Shrimp as well. The Shrimp tax.

"Hello, friend," James said, scratching under Shrimp's chin. The cat purred even louder, raising his chin happily.

Shane felt himself smile faintly, but he had no idea how to not look sad. Standing up, James walked across the room and found a home sitting at the base of Shane's bed, on the carpet.

Shrimp seemed willing to be moved, so Shane scooped him up and joined James there. He let out a quiet sigh, setting down Shrimp on his lap. He might've been done processing, technically, but it didn't mean the words were coming easily.

"What did you and Alan talk about?" James asked softly after a beat.

Shane took a soft deep breath as he settled his hands on Shrimp's back. No distracting readings, even from the floor, would be great right now.

"I guess he's done some soul-searching," he said quietly. "He talked a lot about how he's trying to figure out who he is, live more authentically, be more honest. All good stuff for him that I can get behind, for sure."

Shane swallowed, dropping his gaze to the floor in front of his feet.

"But along with that, he's also trying to address the times where he wasn't being himself," he said. "Through words and actions. He apologized for being dishonest before. Leading me on. And apparently that dishonesty extends to anything he said after, maybe during, Ooktoberfest, because he was just saying things he thought I wanted to hear in order not to let me down." Shane raised his eyebrows. "So. We talked about closure and about friendship, I guess."

James was quiet for a moment, and his eyes dropped to the floor in thought.

"And what was your response?" James asked.

"To his admission, or friendship?" Shane asked.

"Admission first," James said.

Shane sighed quietly, absently smoothing Shrimp's back fur.

"I just... apologized for being an absolute idiot, I guess," he muttered. "Even when I saw it coming, I didn't. Now it's just glaringly obvious that I've been a fool this whole time."

James looked over at Shane, almost hurt.

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Because I am, I mean," Shane insisted, a little taken aback by the question. "I found myself in a hole and all I did was keep digging. I really had every chance in the world to realize this was going on-- even my gut told me this couldn't be right. And you know what I did? I put my faith in it anyway. Because apparently the only thing stronger than my certainty that I'm unlovable is my stupid, hopeless, utterly baseless desire to be otherwise."

The more words spilled out of Shane's mouth, the more James's expression saddened. He watched Shane with empathy, his eyes flicking down for a moment as he fell quiet again. Shane felt his stomach turn a little at the thought that maybe, James was pitying him. He hoped not.

There was a heavy lull between them before James filled the silence.

"Unlovable," James said softly. "What makes you think you're unlovable?"

"Please don't make me answer that," Shane said quietly.

"I'm sorry," James said. "I just want to understand what's going on in your head."

Shane closed his eyes, feeling a pained expression overtake his face. He didn't want to go over this, but James was upset and that upset him too, dammit. It felt too much like the other day when they'd talked about a similar thing, but in a different context. For some reason, this time felt more agonizing.

"I wish I knew what it was for sure," he muttered, reopening his eyes. "It could be that I'm clingy, that I don't know when to let go, that I'm needy, emotional, too much. But whatever it is, it's got to be obvious to everyone but me. How else would everyone know about it without me being able to do anything about it? If I could find it, I'd cut it out-- or better yet, leave all of myself behind. But I'm stuck with me. I'm jealous of anyone who walks away from me because they're doing what I want to and can't."

James, with his eyes fixed on Shane, said steadily: "Shane, you're not a burden."

Shane shook his head slightly. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"Who you are is not what people make of you," James said, softer. "And sometimes, even our own hearts deceive us. I know there are many people out there who may not understand you, or have the capacity to meet you where you're at. But that doesn't mean you aren't worth the investment. That doesn't mean you aren't worth loving. That doesn't mean you're too much, or too little, or too you. You can't help to be anything but you. I know that the opinions of others can mean much to us -- but at the end of the day they don't change the truth."

James paused for a moment, then turned - scooting to the side across the floor so he was no longer sitting beside Shane, but now facing towards him. He leaned forward just a tad, with his arms folded across his criss-crossed knees.

"People do not exist in a vacuum. Everyone was made for connection. Everyone could be written off for any list of faults or shortcomings. But we don't have to earn love, or be something we're not to be worthy of it. We have the joy of giving it, and getting it."

He paused, looking like he wanted to say more, but didn't.

Shane let his head fall weakly against the bed, staring aghastly at the point directly in front of him-- that was, where the leg of his desk met the wall. That was nice and all, but wouldn't he have seen it by now? If this was a theory, where was the evidence? He'd thought he'd seemed worthy of the investment before to Alan, maybe even to Tristan. But if Alan had ever seriously thought that, he'd clearly changed his mind, and...

Honestly, it was about the same for Tristan too. So maybe he only seemed worthy of it for a time until someone learned better of it. He felt a flash of terrible fear that the same thing was bound to happen with James.

Suddenly unable to answer, even though he meant to, Shane could only shake his head weakly in a way that meant more like I don't believe you than No, pressing his lips together tightly and swallowing around the lump forming in his throat.

"You don't have to believe me," James said. "But I hope you can, because I mean it when I say I love you. And it's been a joy to get to."

And then, James reached around Shane's shoulders, and pulled him into a hug.

He held him close.

Shane didn't know what he looked like, but he felt his expression crumpling into something incoherent as James wrapped his arms around him. It was all he could do at first to hug him back, his heart hurting out of nowhere.

"You're worth it to me," James said softly, and Shane could hear that James's voice was tight with tears. Tears he was holding back.

Shane blinked his suddenly-stinging eyes, holding on tighter to James. He wanted to breathe, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. Maybe he could still speak what he so badly wanted to say.

"I love you too, James," he said in a quiet, trembling voice. "I really love you."

James hugged Shane just a little tighter too.

Shane didn't really want to let go, at all, anytime soon. But after a long time, he gradually loosened his embrace, pulling back ever so slightly, and they moved apart again.

A moment passed before James spoke again.

"I'm sorry it didn't go how you'd hoped with Alan," James said softly. "I don't think you were foolish or stupid. We all want to be loved, and he admitted he wasn't being genuine. It's not your fault you believed it was real, and that he betrayed that trust. I'm glad he apologized, though. Hopefully you can both be honest with yourselves and each other going forward."

Shane started to nod, but he felt a weak, sad laugh bubbling past his lips, and he had to clamp them together after a few seconds to cut it off. He didn't mean to laugh-- really, he didn't-- but the hopelessness of his situation had just occurred to him. He was still utterly, completely screwed.

"Yeah," he said faintly. "That would be really nice. Maybe I could, if my feelings stopped here. But I don't think they're going to." He shrugged helplessly, letting out another humorless laugh. "I'm in too deep, and he's just fine. He got to be honest and say he doesn't care, so now I have to be dishonest and pretend I don't either."

James frowned.

"Who said you had to be dishonest?" James said softly.

"No one said," Shane said faintly. "That's just what it has to be. He's practically let me know in advance what would happen if I shared it. That crosses a line, one he doesn't want me on the other side of." He shook his head. "I could be honest about platonic feelings. Those are there, and I have them. But anything more, anything we don't have in common-- forget it."

"I understand wanting to protect your heart - but it helps no one, not Alan, and least of all you to lie about where you're at or to be in denial. Or worse; force your heart to be somewhere it isn't," James said. "I think there's a healthy way to acknowledge that you're in a different situation than he is, and while I don't think either of you have to have an in-depth conversation about your feelings for him, I think it should be said. It's good for him to know, so he can be mindful. Clearer, and more intentional, even. He doesn't have to want to reciprocate. But to cut off that topic entirely in the name of boundaries... I don't think that's helpful. Not if you still want to stay in friendship with one another - or even have any kind of meaningful relationship hereafter."

Shane swallowed.

"I've been the one who matters less while caring more enough already," he said, very quietly. "And I just don't think I can do that anymore."

"You matter just as much as Alan does," James said. "I -- listen, I know it's hard. It's hard as hell caring and caring when the other person doesn't. And it hurts like hell too. But if Alan's trying to be true to himself and be honest you deserve to do the same. You do not have to shut yourself down to make room for him. You matter. Your feelings matter. You get to have a say just as anyone else. And I know it's scary and vulnerable to say what you actually feel, but there's no way you're going to have real connection with Alan and maintain a genuine friendship if you don't. I'm not saying you don't have to do it now, and you don't have to do it today, but I believe you have the strength inside of you to be honest too. And no matter how he responds - whether he likes where you're at or what you're feeling or not - that doesn't mean it doesn't matter or is any less valid than what he's going through."

James reached across the small distance between them and picked up Shane's hand, holding it between his firmly, giving it a fervent shake.

"You deserve to be heard too, Shane," James said. "Your voice matters."

Shane felt his shoulders droop.

"What the hell am I supposed to say?" he asked quietly. "'Hey, I know you literally just cleared things up for me by saying that you don't care about me, and I just suggested a friendship that I don't even know that you want with me, but I fucked up and kept caring anyway, so how about you reject me again and decide even a friendship makes you too uncomfortable so that I lose you entirely?'"

"I'd leave out the part where you assume his reaction and decision for him," James said.

Shane rubbed at his face with his free hand. "He was implicitly pretty clear that whatever I felt, it wouldn't be reciprocated," he said with a mirthless laugh. "That seems like the only reaction to have. What else could he even do?"

"I don't think it's fair to Alan to assume he's unwilling or incapable of maintaining a friendship with you with the knowledge you still have feelings for him," James said. "It's entirely possible. It just depends on both of you if you are willing to hold space for each other in that."

Shane sighed quietly. Yes, he knew that wasn't fair.

"That's my best case scenario," he said. "One where he might not hold it against me or cut me out of a friendship for it, but where he'd still know. That's still a losing situation."

"Why?" James asked.

"Because when you have feelings, and you know with certainty they're not reciprocated, the only way you can make things worse for yourself is ensuring they know about those feelings." Shane shook his head. "I can't be too hard for them to love and too in need of it."

"Or maybe," James said. "There are some people out there willing to love even when it is hard or complicated without seeing it as any less worth the effort."

"Sure there are," Shane said quietly. "But..."

He didn't know anymore if Alan fit the bill. At least when it came to him.

"If he can't do that," James said, soft but firm. He set his hand on Shane's shoulder. "Then he doesn't deserve you."

Shane blinked in confusion, knowing he heard that right, but in disbelief nonetheless. Alan wouldn't deserve him? Not the other way around?

He opened his mouth to speak, but the thought was so counterintuitive he couldn't even fathom the idea for a few seconds. He held on to James's other hand.

"There's only really been maybe one time where I wondered if I didn't deserve something," he mumbled to himself.

James tilted his head to the side.

"Do you want to tell me what it is?" he asked.

Shane dropped his gaze to the floor between them. No, he never really wanted to say any of it out loud. But he knew it'd be safe with James.

"In my first relationship, which I guess would've been soon before Alexandra," he started softly, "I got cheated on. I found out the hard way, through my psychometry. I wasn't expecting it at all, and..." He took a deep breath, focusing on the floorboards. "I confronted him about it."

Shane could swear he could hear Tristan's voice rising, the sound no fainter after eight or so years. Arguing, his tone unpleasant and harsh. He felt his shoulders tense, like he was about to get shoved here too.

"He had plenty of excuses for me. That it was just one time, that he was only bored, that it didn't matter. And when he said that last part, I had this crystal clear realization in response-- I remember thinking, but neither do I. I don't think I'm ever going to get that moment out of my head." Shane took another deep breath. "I've never really figured out whether I deserved to be treated like that. All I know is I didn't value myself very much back then, so I wanted to see if someone else thought differently. So I let them do the math and they-- they came up with zero."

"Not all of the thoughts we have are true," James said. "And I'm so sorry that happened. And I'm sorry the pain of it's stuck with you all these years. But you didn't deserve that, Shane. That guy didn't deserve you either. He was selfish and didn't treat you with care, and he cheated. That speaks volumes about his character, not about your self worth."

Shane flicked his gaze back up to James, with a bit of hesitation and uncertainty.

"Maybe," he said quietly. "As much as it felt like I must've done something to cause it, I-- I was angry for myself. There was still something in me that felt like I'd been wronged. But more and more now, it's like..." Shane trailed off. "Someone hurt my feelings? They're probably justified. In fact, how dare I be upset at all? It's-- it's like I can always find a reason for them doing it that pins the blame on me."

James took in a deep breath for a moment.

"Sometimes, when we've been wronged, and we're hurting and angry, we get stuck," James said. "For whatever reason - no one's listening, caring, or no way to get it out - we take that anger and direct it elsewhere. Because it has to go somewhere. And it ends up being internalized and directed at ourselves. If we don't allow ourselves to be angry we're missing out on an integral part of processing loss and the function of human emotion. You were angry because you were hurt, and it hurts where you care. And you cared about your partner, and you cared about broken trust."

He paused, looking up to meet Shane's eyes.

"You're allowed to be angry, Shane," James said. "You're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to feel."

Shane felt a little like dropping his gaze and looking away to avoid the vulnerability he felt for a moment, but didn't. He forced his shoulders to relax again.

"I understand what you mean by allowed," he said quietly. "But it feels like there's never a time or place for that where it wouldn't be inconvienient for someone else."

James's expression softened. "Even now?" he asked.

Shane glanced down in shame for a moment.

"Less so than normal," he said gently. "I feel safe with this around you. But you're still... taking something on by being here with me, and I feel bad about that."

"That's part of friendship," James said. "And I don't want you to feel guilty for it. I want to bear this burden with you, if you'll let me."

A sad somewhat-smile flickered over Shane's face for a moment, and he squeezed James's hand. "I'm not so used to that," he said softly. "But I appreciate it more than you know."

"And I feel honored that you'd trust me with this," James said. "With all of this."

"Of course I would, James," Shane said quietly, looking back up at him. "You've been nothing but a safe, steady presence with a kind heart this whole time. I trust you, wholeheartedly."

"I trust you too," he said softly, then added after a slight pause: "Do you want another hug?"

Shane nodded silently but firmly. James pulled Shane in again, hugging him firmly. Shane leaned in, tiredness sinking over him as he let his head fall on James's sturdy shoulder.

"I don't know if I'm angry now," he said quietly. "Or even if I'm still angry from back then. It's not something I feel much for myself, only really on behalf of others. But I managed to feel it then."

"Did you let yourself feel it?" James asked softly.

Shane hesitated, furrowing his brow in thought.

"I did," he said. "To go a step further, I didn't know how to not feel it for a few months afterwards. It was hand-in-hand with the hurt."

"What changed?" he asked.

"It wore off over time." Shane paused. "Any thoughts related to how unfair I felt it was, how I felt cheap, how I'd been betrayed... Things didn't get much better in my life, and those thoughts sort of filtered themselves into thoughts that passed the blame back to me. Like, maybe he was still wrong to do it, but I felt like I saw why he wanted to..." Shane trailed off. "And then I couldn't be that angry at him anymore, because in my mind, I was the more awful person."

"Did you feel like that had to be true to make sense of it?" James asked.

Shane shrugged a little. "Maybe. I don't know if I needed to, but... it did cause everything to make more sense when I thought of it."

"Shane..." James said with a small sigh. "It makes just as much sense that the guy who cheated on you was just an asshole."

Shane huffed faintly. "Does it," he said, not as a question.

"Yes," James said. "Yes it does."

"He wasn't mean," Shane insisted quietly. "I'll accept there were red flags I overlooked, but I wouldn't say he was an asshole all around. He wasn't unkind, and he wasn't heartless. He just secretly thought I was worthless all along and acted based on how important I was to him. That's different than him being a terrible person."

James looked at Shane with a long, hard stare.

"Shane, I mean this is the most loving way possible, but how are those not the same thing?" he asked flatly. "If he thought you were worthless and wasn't interested in you why on earth was he dating you? You don't date people you don't like. That's dating 101. And if you do, you're a prick. It's cruel to toy with people's hearts like that."

Shane quietly sighed. "Do you actually want to know the why?"

James took in a deep breath, then nodded.

"Because he thought I was good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love." The words tasted sour in Shane's mouth. "And while I never really wanted the first part at all, I definitely only got less and less comfortable with it. So of course he stayed but lost interest. Yes, it was cruel. But I don't know that he was wrong for it."

James continued to stare at Shane intently.

"If all he wanted was sex, he wasn't treating you like a person from the start. That doesn't mean you're unlovable. It means he was using you, Shane," James said. "Using you to meet a desire he had while ignoring yours. And that's profoundly unkind, and not the basis of a real relationship. So yeah. He was wrong for it. Very wrong."

Shane felt himself sinking against James's shoulder a little deeper. Poking at old wounds very much made it feel like even after time, distance and thought, they were being pulled wide open all over again. Or maybe like they'd never quite healed. Whatever it was, he swore he felt an old but familiar ache in his heart, like a branding iron was being slowly pressed into it.

"I don't see how it couldn't have been at least partly my fault," he said quietly. "Even in a small way. I hear you, but what if it's not all black and white?"

"I'm not saying that you were perfect," James said, softer. "But if someone cheats on you, there is no good reason they couldn't have at least had the decency to break up with you before seeing someone else. It's dishonest, and harmful, and wrong."

Shane's heart clenched some more at that. He knew there was no valid excuse for it, and that was the harder part to reconcile with his thinking. It just... still didn't make sense that he had absolutely no part in it.

"It was pretty messed up," he said faintly at last, in partial agreement.

"It wasn't your fault," James said quietly.

"That feels too easy," Shane murmured.

"Not easy," James said. "Just true."

"I'm always wary of the simple answers," Shane argued weakly. "They don't take everything into account. It's easiest to say that he was just a jerk and it had nothing to do with me, but does that mean he would've done the same to someone else if they were in my place instead? If it's no, then that's not a factor I can be blind to. People don't just wake up one day and decide to cheat on their partner. At least, that's what I'd rather believe."

And instead of answering right away, James went quiet.

"What?" Shane pressed quietly.

Finally, James pulled away slowly, holding Shane's shoulders instead of letting go completely.

"I wish you were right, Shane," James said gently. "I really do. But some people really do live their lives for themselves and don't stop to think about how their actions will affect others. And some of them just don't care. I know it hurts, and I want to believe those same people can change, too. And I think they are capable of it. But they have to want to change. And... some people don't. Sometimes people really do wake up and cheat on their partners because they just don't care - when they should."

Shane's shoulders sank in tired acceptance. He didn't want it to be that way. It was much more helpful to think he was the problem in every situation than believe people were cruel on purpose to others undeserved.

"But then there was still a time when he reached the point of thinking that, because I don't think he always did," he said quietly. "I don't know when that was because I don't know if it went beyond what I found out about, but didn't there have to be a why that he didn't have at the start?"

"Why do you want it to be your fault?" James asked softly.

"It's a nicer thought to me that I just deserved any cruel act towards me than to lose my faith in people as a whole," Shane said faintly. "It's fewer people to blame that way."

"So you'd rather lose faith in yourself?" James asked.

"Yes." Shane shrugged, but his shoulders felt heavy. "It's not that hard, after a while. I don't have to think twice about it now."

James took in a deep breath.

"And you said you were wary of simple answers," James said quietly.

Shane frowned, scanning his face, but didn't answer.

"Sometimes, in order to live a life full of love and connection, you have to take risks," James said. "Over and over. Yes, we can learn warning signs. We can learn how to better ourselves, and how to help others. We can learn a lot. But it doesn't have to be that black and white. Sometimes we have to hold caution and trust in tension. And we're never going to do it perfectly, but we have to try again."

"And what if I don't want to try again?" Shane asked in a faint voice, scanning James's face. "What if I've decided enough is enough?"

James's expression softened with empathy.

"Do you really want to live that way?" he asked softly.

A familiar stabbing pain echoed through Shane's heart again.

"I'm worried it might be the only way for me to live at this point," he said, just above a whisper.

"I'm not going to tell you it's not an option," James said. "It is, if you want to close yourself off to connecting with others truly. If you'd rather self-protect, and merely function. But there is another way. It's harder, and there's more risk - but it's more real. Opening your heart again, trusting again, trying again... it's always going to be scary. But without it, you're also missing out on something I think you were made for."

James took in a deep breath, sighing as he let go of Shane's shoulders and held Shane's hand again between both of his.

"You feel things deeply, Shane. And that's a gift, not something to be despised. You have a capacity to love and be loved so beautifully, and it would be such a loss for you and others if you chose to close off and deny that part of yourself," James said softly. "I don't think you actually want to live a life like that. It may feel safer, for a while. But it's also so isolating. And I don't want to see you withdraw like that because of fear. Not in the long-term. Not forever. I know it's hard to hear, but you'll never know acceptance if you can't risk rejection."

A lump formed in Shane's throat as James talked, and by the time he was done, he felt like he'd have trouble speaking. He held on to James's hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to existence, seeing his knuckles turn white through his skin. He might be shaking. He wasn't sure.

James's expression softened even more.

"Come here," he said, gently prying his hand from Shane's before pulling Shane into another hug.

Shane hardly waited to hear it, leaning in and wrapping his arms tightly around James. He felt his eyes burning, and he closed them shut.

"I'm so tired, James," he whispered, feeling his voice crack.

"I know," James said softly. "You've been carrying this for a long time. It's exhausting."

Shane shuddered as he breathed out, realizing that his cheek felt wet. So, apparently, he'd needed to hear this, and it was even before he could've admitted he already had a plan for it. James had intercepted it, thinking it was an idea instead of something he was nearly resolved to do, and thrown it aside. Part of Shane still wanted to do it, and that voice was screaming in his brain that none of this was worth it. But James had just given voice to the whispers that maybe, maybe he shouldn't take this step. That the greater sacrifice not worth the rewards here was closing his heart, and not leaving it open like he thought.

He let his forehead fall on James's shoulder.

"No," he whispered through the tears. "I don't want to live a life like that."

James pulled Shane a little tighter. Shane could feel James nod slightly over his shoulder.

"I'm glad," was all he said in a quiet whisper.

Shane felt more tears sliding down his cheeks as his heart clenched again. But the pain felt like a sign of something better this time.

"I really love you, James," he said quietly after a few moments.

"I really love you too, Shane," James said softly.

Shane's next breath was a bit stabler. He took a moment to feel glad they'd both said that today.

"And I am so, so glad you want to join me after this is all over," he added, with a bit of a sniff. "I hope it helps you. I know it'll help me. I couldn't hope to have a more trustworthy, steady, caring, and incredible friend by my side."

"I'm looking forward to it, too," James said. "Who else would scrub off the pink sparkles on my skin if that happens again?"

Shane found himself laughing quietly, smiling faintly for a moment despite himself.

"I would," he said. "But only after calling you Pinky Pizza from My Little Horsie."

"Oh my god," James said with a laugh. "Please, no."

"A flamingo at a sequins convention," Shane went on, his smile growing just a bit wider. "Bubblegum princess eyeshadow. A disco ball dipped in cotton candy."

James pulled away.

"Now you're bullying me," he said, but he was clearly joking.

"You better get used to it," Shane said. "You might be living with these jokes for a while."

"Okay," James said, lifting up a finger and pointing at him. "Just not within earshot of my family. If Larrel hears about any of this she'll run with it."

"You know, I wasn't even thinking of that before you said it," Shane said, "but now I definitely am."

James leaned his head back and let out a groan.

"I've done this to myself," he said to the ceiling.

Shane patted his shoulder. "Hang in there, Princess Peach."

James sighed, but he looked over to Shane with a small grin. Smacking his hand on Shane's shoulder with his other arm, he said: "You too, Princess Daisy."

Shane snorted, wiping at his face to dry his eyes. "Orange is not My color."

Pulling his hand away, James grinned in amusement.

"How do you know?" James asked. "Have you ever tried wearing it?"

"Have you ever seen an orange flannel?" Shane asked.

"I'm about to ask Mel to invent one," James said. "Just for you."

"Saints," Shane groaned, facepalming. "Don't tell the press."

"Hey, if you wear it," James said, raising his brows. "I'll wear a pink flannel. It can be a whole bit."

Shane made a show of considering. "You'll probably have to ask Mel to get that custom-made too."

James squinted and shrugged his shoulders.

"At least it'd fit right," he said.

"Deal," Shane said.

James offered his hand for a shake. With the most serious expression he could manage, Shane took his hand and shook it as if they'd just signed a world-changing peace treaty and not resolved to wear unnaturally-colored flannels.

"Can't wait to make TV history," James said, pulling his hand away.

"Me too," Shane said, flashing a smile at his friend and having the strange realization that in this moment-- he felt okay. Actually, truly okay. And that spurred his heart with a shred of hope.

"Great," James said, and then his stomach let out a loud growl.

James looked down at it.

"...I might be ready to eat, now," he said.

"You can eat waffles while we make lunch," Shane suggested.

"Sounds perfect," he agreed.

And even Shrimp, who had kept still and sleepy so far, raised his head with a meow at the word waffles.

Today felt good. James was full of food, several good conversations had been had, and now the kitchen was clean again. James turned around to Shane after putting away the last clean dish, clapping his hands together.

"Voila," James said. "Clean, for another three hours."

"The endless cycle of doing dishes will begin anew," Shane said, closing up a cupboard.

"Now, to decide what to do with the rest of the day," James thought aloud, leaning back on the counter as he looked around the living room. He ended up watcing Shrimp at Shane's feet, pawing at Shane's knee. "Feels like it's been a minute since we've had nothing to do."

"Feels odd that there's still so much of the day left," Shane added, scooping up Shrimp like a ragdoll.

But just as James was about to propose something, there was a knock on the door.

Hm. That was... unusual, considering the people who lived here had keys, and they weren't exactly expecting anyone. But it could just as easily merely be a friend.

James made his way out of the kitchen first, beating Shane to the door. When he opened it, he honestly expected to see someone like Lyall, or Clanny, or Connie. Someone who actually came by often to visit them or their cabin-mates. Instead, he saw...

What was this guy's name again? He was one of the camera-men. Not Caspar. The other blond-haired guy.

"Uh," he said. "Hi."

"Heyya!" The man grinned, waving with his palm facing outwards. "How's it hanging, Jame-io? And..." He peeked his head to the side, just past James, finishing with a satisfied, "Shane-io. E-I-E-O."

James slowly looked over his shoulder at Shane. Shane looked a little baffled, but seemed to be attempting to cover it up with a polite smile. He looked back at the man with an expectant stare.

"Sorry, I don't know if we've formally met," James said. "Can you remind me of your name again?"

"Ohu!" Still with a toothy grin, the man straightened up, saluting James with three fingers. "Name's Ethan Bennett, your official doc of the island." Humming, he tossed a bouncy ball in his hand. "So apparently, there's new island protocol to check in on you all now. But also, am not sure why I saluted you just now. You were part of a military too, right? There's somethin' 'bout that, eh?"

"Yeah," James said slowly, not sure where this was leading. But he had a feeling Ethan was just the chatty type. Talking, before actually getting to the point.

"Sunlight Kingdom, right?" Ethan prodded.

"Moonlight," James corrected. "Not sunlight. But, close."

"Oh, Moonlight?" Ethan hummed in agreement, nodding a few times. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. That's a good one."

"It's... just its name," James said with a shrug. "Where did you serve?"

"Americhihuahua," Ethan said proudly, grinning broader. "I was Second Puppy in Command, right after the Big Dawg. You know the one?" He caught the ball, waggling his brows.

James had to process for a moment, realizing that Ethan was joking about ranks, but probably not joking about serving in the military. It was a joke. A play off of "chihuahua." Right. Okay. Was he allowed to laugh?

"So, whatcha up to?" Ethan loudly sniffed, like a large dog. "I smell waffles."

"Just finished eating some," James said, glancing over his shoulder once more, then looking back at Ethan. "Are you... here just to say hello? Usually you guys stop by with some kind of..."

He twirled his hand a bit. "...Announcement," he finished.

"Oh! Aha!" Ethan nodded briskly, again peeking over James's shoulder to point the ball at Shane. "Hey! That reminds me. Shane, my man! How good are you at catching stuff?"

Looking confused, Shane shrugged, starting to pull his sleeve over his palm. "Um, moderately?"

"CATCH!" Ethan announced loudly, underhand throwing the bouncy ball towards Shane.

Shane dove for it, catching it in his covered hand. Upon impact, the ball he caught exploded in a burst of confetti. Instead of it simply being confetti, however, a tiny box was left behind in Shane's hand. Without Shane touching it, the lid lifted up, revealing two tiny dancers spinning in a music box.

The music playing was a classical sonata, but there was also a holographic display that lit up above the dancers that began to read in a slow-scrolling script:



The script kept going with more information, but James missed some of it looking between Shane and Ethan. He caught the time, though. 8pm to midnight.

"Huh! Neat!" Ethan nodded approvingly, absorbed in dazzling lights and music. "Every cabin has had a different invitation. This one is cool. A music box, like that one movie."

James didn't know the movie.

"So, there's an event tonight," he murmured, looking back at the box.

It read:


"Yup!" Ethan eagerly nodded in confirmation. "It's that time of the week. This one seems pretty relaxed though. You both gonna dress up?" He waggled his brows at them again.

"Is that part optional?" James asked.

Ethan drew out a hum, stroking his the stubble on his chin. "I'm not sure, actually," he murmured, engrossed in his own thoughts.

James had a feeling it wasn't. Or, at the very least, would be frowned upon. He remembered what happened the first day after their silly shirt fiasco. Apparently, it wasn't appreciated. Probably best to go with the instructions this time.

"But!" Ethan grinned brightly, snapping his fingers. "Mel's the best. She can make anyone look spiffy. You guys have nothin' to worry about."

James glanced back at Shane, who was still holding the music box, staring down into it with a curious look.

"Right," James said. "And this... dance. It's not going to be a competition, is it?"

"Probably not. Or..." Ethan stroked his chin again. "Maybe it will be. Hm..."

Well, that wasn't promising. The past few events had all had high stakes. Even if it was just dancing, James didn't really expect it to really, truly just be for fun.

Ethan shrugged. "Anyhoots. Are you two doing okay? We're on week five of your DMV. How are you two holding up? And oh, where are your cabin mates? Eve and Hild, right?"

"I think Hild's out with Clanny," James said. "I'm... not sure where Eve is, at the moment."

She has a tendency to just pop out without saying where she was going. And, well, she didn't really have to. Partially because most of the time, her self-made schedule was pretty predictable anyway.

"Well, she's gotta have a buddy!" Ethan said with a smile. "You know. Buddy system and all that. Can you check in on her when you get the chance? Otherwise, I can. No prob."

"I'll get a hold of her," James said. Mostly because he didn't want to say he was going to page her, and end up sounding odd.

"A-yup." Ethan nodded. "So you two will let those two gals know, alright?"

"Yes, we'll let them know," James promised.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Ethan fished through his messenger bag, somehow-- miraculously, magically-- pulling out a big slice of cheesecake, covered in plastic wrap. He offered it to James. "Here you go. My wife made this for you."

James blinked.

"For... me?" he asked. "Me in particular?"

He didn't really want to admit that now he was extremely wary of foreign foods of which he didn't truly know the source.

Ethan nodded eagerly. "Yeah. I told her you like cheese, so she made a cheesecake." He hummed, squinting at it. "Though... it doesn't really have cheese, huh..."

The idea of it, of course, was very kind. James just wasn't sure if he should trust it, after all of the... well...

James took the cake.

"That's very nice of her. Who's your wife?" Shane asked politely.

"Oh right! Can't forget about the Shanester," Ethan said instead, ruffling in his bag to pull out a new plate of chocolate eclairs, wrapped safely in plastic. He grinned, motioning with the plate for Shane to come close. "Here you go, bud."

Shane's eyes widened in first surprise and then excitement as he saw the eclairs. "You got eclairs?" he exclaimed, walking around James.

"You got eclairs," Ethan said with a grin, offering the plate for Shane to take. "Looks pretty good, eh? Almost had to take a bite myself."

"Who's your wife?" James asked again when Ethan forgot to answer, as Shane took the plate with a grateful smile.

"Oh, maybe you've seen her around. Flora is head of security," Ethan answered, leveling his hand parallel against the floor, lowering it until it was just below his chin. Then squinting and lowering a few more inches. "She's thiiiis tall. And has long brown hair. Frowns a lot. Real pretty gal. Doesn't say a whole lot. Real handsy, though! And did I mention she's pretty?"

James frowned slightly, mostly at the 'handsy' comment. He thought he could recall seeing someone of that vague description sometime after the Constantine incident...

James nodded.

"You did," James said. "I remember her. Didn't know she baked."

"Well, free free to come by and say hi sometime if ya want. You look like you can yap all day. And eat a lot of cheesecake," Ethan said.

James did not personally think he gave off the apperance of having an inexhaustible "yapping" ability. But, Ethan was right about the cheesecake bit.

"I do eat a lot," James admitted with a shrug. Then decided to just be blunt. "There's nothing in this cake that's going to mess with me, is there?"

Ethan flicked his eyes to the left and right, then beckoned for James to come closer. James wasn't sure that this was a good sign. He did not come closer.

So Ethan leaned in instead, not-so-discreetly whispering in his ear to say: "The secret ingredient is carrots."

James had to keep himself from frowning severely at the discomfort of having someone lean in close and whisper in his ear. He leaned back just a little.

"You could've said that at a normal volume," James said. Since Ethan practically already did.

"Shhhhh!" Ethan shushed, bringing a finger to his lips. "We can't have the DMV know."

James narrowed his eyes slightly.

Hm.

"Sure," he said.

"It's good for eyesight," Ethan explained.

"Secret's safe with me," James offered.

"Because really." Ethan frowned. "Why would that be in cheesecake, but not cheese? Makes no sense."

"Right," James said, admittedly not sure if he was following anymore. "Well. Thank you for the treats. It was very thoughtful."

"And your secret ingredient," Ethan went on, leaning in closer to Shane to whisper in his ear. He side-eyed James, narrowing his eyes before bringing a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't read his lips.

Even though his whisper was loud enough that James could clearly hear him say, "Beans."

That was... okay, James wanted to question that. But also, they didn't know how the eclairs tasted, so. Maybe it was fine.

"Cocoa, I hope," Shane said in sotto voce.

"Whoa, how'd you know?" Ethan said with a grin, offering a fist for him to bump. "Smort."

Shane cracked a faint smile as he bumped his fist back. "Lucky guess."

Ethan pulled back his hand with a explosive sound under his breath, dramatically letting his hand fly. "I do that handshake with my son," he said proudly. "Which, by the way. How are you two with kids?"

James glanced at Shane. Shane glanced at James.

"Decent," he said. "Or I'd like to think so, anyway."

"Me too, I think," Shane said.

"Noice!" Ethan grinned. "Well, I heard through secret channels that you both know sign language. How do you feel about babysitting a very disciplined, very angelic baby boy sometime? I think Flor could use a break some time, you know? Kinda weird they don't have a daycare on the island, though."

'Very angelic baby boy' sounded like quite the obvious exaggeration, and James didn't even know the kid.

"How old is he?" James asked.

"Finn just turned six two months ago," Ethan said proudly. "Hey, wanna see pics?"

Hm. Well. James could handle a six year old. Maybe if he was watching a child the DMV wouldn't pester him with anything. Because, you know. Children.

"Sure," James said. "And, I'm open to babysitting. That is, if Flora is fine with it as well. Since I don't know you well."

"Yet," Ethan corrected with a waggle of his brows. "Well, no pressure. Feel free to come by the staff cabins if you want. Our cabin is purple. You can't miss it." He snorted. "Finn found some purple paint and doused the outside of the cabin with it. Good times."

Quite the feat for a six-year-old. Finn sounded like a handful.

"Thanks, Ethan," James said. "I'll... follow up on your invitation. Probably after this whole dance things is over, though."

"Cool beans. Cool carrots," Ethan said with a silly grin. "Okie dokie, artiechokie. I'll leave ya to it, then. Sounds like you dudes have dates you gotta prepare for." He shot them two finger guns and tsked.

Well, James wasn't going to call them 'dates,' since this was another DMV event set-up. But they certainly would have to prepare for something.

"Thanks," James said. "We'll see you later."

"Have a good one," Shane agreed.

Ethan waved goodbye, finally taking his leave. "See ya!"

After a quick wave, James nodded for Shane to back up, and he closed the door. As soon as he did, Shane poked at the plate, presumably checking for interference or bad intentions. He pulled his hand back to give him a thumbs up for the all-clear. James leaned back on it for a moment, looking down at the cake in his own hands.

Maybe he should be careful. But he was having another "to hell with it moment," so he just lifted the slice of cake and took a big bite. When he pulled the remaining cake away, he noticed there were "carrot" designs inside of the cake slice. Pieces of the cheesecake were dyed orange.

So that's what he meant by "carrots."

James chewed, surprised at how genuinely delicious it was, hoping that it wasn't a trick in disguise. After swallowing, he looked to Shane.

"Tastes amazing," he said. "Want to try a piece?"

Then if it ended up bad, maybe they could suffer togther. Solidarity.

"I can't say no to that," Shane said, getting out a fork for the both of them. "I'd trade you, but this probably wouldn't be your speed." He pointed to the chocolate glazing the top of the eclairs.

James pursed his lips. "Hm. Probably not," he admitted.

Shane slid a fork over to James, then used his own to snag a bite of the cake. He gave it an approving nod, then picked up an eclair. It was probably the fastest James had ever seen Shane eat anything besides berries.

James realized he hadn't even touched his cake. He was just... entranced by how fast Shane inhaled the eclair.

Impressive.

James nodded to himself for a second before turning his attention to his cake. In the time he inhaled the cheesecake, Shane had magically finished all of the eclairs on his plate. It was the first time they'd ever finished something at the same time.

"Now that we're full of sugar," James said, pushing the plate away. "I guess we'll be ready for this... dance thing."

Which, in honesty, he wasn't sure how to prepare for. He'd need to be home at 6, apparently, to "get ready," or what have you. But until then, they still had a whole afternoon. And they still needed to make sure Hild and Eve knew.

"Can you text Eve and Hild?" he asked. "It's probably the easiest way to make sure they're in the loop."

"Sure," Shane said, taking out his phone and opening a group chat to send out a message. "You think they'll make your outfit pink?"

James winced. "I hope not," he said.

It would be a bit like throwing salt into an old wound. But if they did, he supposed he could bear it.

"Do you think it'll escalate like the past few events?" James asked. "I'm just not sure what to expect anymore."

Then again.

What made the event prior to the maze difficult was more Tula, than anything. If she hadn't been there, it would probably have been normal. As normal as a forced speed-dating event could be, anyway.

Speaking of Tula, though...

"I would hope not," Shane said quietly after some thought. "It depends how interesting they think dancing is and whether it's enough engagement."

There was something James needed to do before the event tonight. If anything, to at least get a pulse on where things were with Tula. Because she was a ticking time bomb.

James turned to look at Shane more squarely. He told Lyall he'd keep him in the know, but Shane ought to know too.

"I think I'm going to try to clear some air before this event, then," he said. "It's been almost two weeks since I've had any direct contact with her, but I think I'm going to talk to Tula."

Shane frowned, raising his eyebrows.

"Tula," he repeated.

"I know, I know," James said, lifting up his hands. "I just -- listen, if it completely backfires, I'll tell you. I just... I want to give her a chance, okay? I don't want to just write her off as crazy. Maybe I can get through to her. I at least want to try."

"What do you want to talk to her about?" Shane asked carefully.

"I... I just want to understand her," James said. "As to her motivations. What's her end goal, here, behind her behaviors overall. I can't say I have a specific question off the bat. It really depends on her temperament."

Shane gave him a searching look.

"Please be careful," he said gently.

"I plan to be," James said. "I'm not going in blind, here. I know what she's capable of."

Shane nodded quietly.

"I don't mean to suggest you don't know what you're doing," he said softly. "I'm just worried."

James nodded.

"I... I know," James said. "And honestly, you should be. I just would rather have you know. It... well, I don't expect it to be long."

He shrugged a little.

"I know it's a little crazy," he said. "And I may not be the best person for this. But in some ways... I mean, if she does get violent. At least it's not going to do any lasting damage."

James cringed a bit inwardly as he said that.

"I know, the standards are abhorrent, but, I'm hoping that after enough 'trying to get a reaction' and me not giving her what she wants that we could have an actual conversation. Especially now that I don't feel like I have to bear any of this alone. It make a big difference. She doesn't hold the same kind of power over me anymore," he said.

"You're not alone," Shane agreed softly. "I'm glad that helps to know. Whatever you need when you get back, I'll be here for."

"Thank you, Shane," James said with a faint smile. "That means a lot."

James stood in front of the cabin where Tula stayed. Inside, he knew Clanny, Robin, and Kazimir also resided. Between the four of them, three were solid, decent people. And yet, behind the door, he heard muffled shouting.

Tula really had that power, didn't she? Here's to hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake.

James knocked.

There was a second where James wondered if anyone heard him, but just as he was about to knock again, the door opened wide, revealing Clanny - who looked quite done already with whatever was going on.

Wearily, she met his eyes, and there was a flash of confusion and surprise.

Behind them, James heard Robin shout louder than he'd ever heard the man speak before.

"If you want to be treated with respect, you must first stop acting like an ignorant, insolent child!" Robin yelled.

"Shut up, you stupid dog!" Tula snarled back.

"I'm a man!" Robin shouted, gesturing down to his human frame with two hands. "Is that really so hard for your pea brain to understand?"

"A snotty-nosed, stupid, ugly, good-for-nothing dog!" Tula shouted bag, infuriated.

"Awwwh come on," Kazimir drawled as he started walking down the stairs. He looked like he'd just woken up - his hair was sticking up in all directions, and he was shirtless and barefoot, leaving him only in sweats. "Can't go one day without a shouting match."

"If Tula would only be reasonable--" Robin tried to defend himself at a more moderate volume.

A plate flew through the air, thrown like a frisbee from Tula's hands, aiming straight for Robin's head. Instead of dodging, Robin instantaneously shifted into a wolf, making him a good two feet shorter. The plate shattered on the tile floor behind him.

"DOG!" Tula screamed, pointing at him with a crazed grin.

"This is unproductive!" Robin snapped, shifting back into his human form.

Kazimir muttered something unintelligible as he shuffled past the two and their bickering into the kitchen. Clanny winced as she looked at the broken plate on the floor and then looked back to James.

"Did you want something?" she asked quietly.

James could only manage a "sorry" with his eyes at the moment.

"Oh, and now the ugly farmer is here!" Tula drawled, rolling her eyes and stomping away, towards the stairs. She threw her hands up in the air, strands of curls falling out of her low ponytail. "Fuck you all. You're all useless."

James watched Tula stomp off for a second, but met Clandestine's eyes with his lips pressed together.

"I'm sorry. I'm... actually here for her," he said with a sigh.

Clanny's brows shot up slightly, and she looked over to the stairwell.

"...Good luck," Clanny said under her breath. "She's in a mood."

"A severe understatement," Robin said from across the room with a broom, apparently having heard it.

Right. James nodded as Clandestine stepped out of the way, and he made a bee-line for the stairs, leaving the living-room in silence, apart from the scraping of broken ceramic being swept up off the floor.

James hurried up the steps, following after Tula. It only took him a second to find her door, because it was labelled, at the top of the stairs. He hesitated for only a moment before rapping his fist against the wood.

"Tula," he said.

"Fuck off, bitch-boy," was all he heard back through the door.

"I want to talk," he said.

"Fuck. Off. Bitch. Boy."

Okay. This was beginning poorly.

"I understand that you'd rather be left alone," James said. "If now is an inconvenient time, I can return later, but I was hoping to have a word with you before the event tonight."

"Say one more word and I'm going to murder all your friends while they sleep," Tula said with a threatening tone, louder now, like she was up against the door.

"That wouldn't make for good TV," James said flatly. "I can't see your bosses letting that fly."

"I'll start with Shane first. Such a sensitive boy, isn't he?" she taunted.

"Well, now you're going to make an enemy of Aphirah. Not sure that's the best move for you," James answered.

"Then I'll twist a knife into Hild's chest and watch her die!"

"Pretty sure the DMV's a little too invested in the Ashlunds at the moment," James said.

"No, they're not," she said smugly. "I did this to Lyall. Nothing happened."

"How do you know that isn't what's happening now?" James asked.

"Fuck you!"

Okay. Wrong answer. Best not to taunt her. Sigh.

"I'm just saying -- you're not going to--," James started to say, but then his vision was overtaken.

Ah. He anticipated this might happen. Now, he was looking through Tula's eyes as she held up a picture of Hild, stabbing it and laughing. Maniacally.

Well. James had his work cut out for him.

"You realize that's just a picture of her, right?" James asked flatly.

But she just kept going.

"I can tell you're right against the door," James went on. "If you don't open it, I'll have no problem pushing through. But I'd really rather not break your door."

At that, Tula burst open the door. But she didn't quite turn over the vision, and so James was still seeing through her eyes, which was like looking through a mirror. He was looking at himself.

Although he couldn't see her, he could hear the menacing snarl in her voice.

"Be careful of who you taunt, farmer," she said cooly. "I can do this any time, at all hours of the day, at all hours of the night. Taking your sight. Your will to live."

"I'm not here to punish you," James said. "Just to have a conversation. If you must share your sight with me for that to happen, so be it."

He took a step forward, watching himself do so. He used Tula's own vision for reference so he didn't run into her.

But, since he couldn't see her, he also couldn't anticipate her own actions. He watched as she jolted her arm forward with the same knife piercing Hild's picture, stabbing his stomach. She twisted it, a joyous laugh escaping her mouth as she took great pleasure in him seeing her inflict pain against himself.

Sigh.

He'd expected this too.

James stood stiffly, aiming not to react. Instead, he reached out and found the door - pawing for it for a second - and pushed it shut.

His body was already healing itself, but the pain still registered. She was keeping it in there, too.

Yeah, it was better that he was the one talking to her and that no one else was here.

"Did that... help?" James asked flatly. "You get it out of your system?"

Dissatisfied, Tula jostled the knife around his stomach, twisting and turning it, clearly not yet finished.

James forced himself to not react.

"Clearly not," he said, intentionally sounding dissapointed, but unfazed. He was honestly a bit underwhelmed.

It was kind of just... sad. Pathetic, even, how Tula felt she had to exert power over others to what, have some kind of meaning? Feel like she was safe? That she had meaning?

"Did you take painkillers? What the hell is wrong with you?" Tula scoffed, trying a different spot to stab. James steeled himself to take it unflinchingly.

"I don't really need painkillers what with my powers and all," James said flatly. "But it's unfortunate that you felt the need to elicit pain from me at all. I'm not sure what you're doing it for, either."

"Is stabbing not effective on you? Perhaps I should try shooting again," Tula said evenly.

"I don't think that's the logical change of pace," James said. "Why are you trying to hurt me? Have I done something to make myself a threat to you, Tula?"

"You fucking exist! Die already!" she said in exasperation, now stabbing him repeatedly.

"See, that's the one thing I can't do," James said, kind of getting tired of seeing himself be stabbed through Tula's eyes. It did, however, allow him to accurately assess how he was taking the damage, so it actually made it easier to hide the pain. "Can I go sit down, at least?"

"Oh, you will die," Tula said through a crazed laugh. "I'll make sure of it. I'll be sure you watch the life leave your eyes. And all your itty bitty friends and family will see too."

James let out a long, long sigh.

"Okay," he said softly. "I'm sorry you're having a bad day and I imposed on your space. I'll leave you alone, now."

He lifted up his hands, turning despite the repeated stabbing motions of the knife.

Yeah, he was going to have to trash this shirt pretty quickly. Wouldn't want Shane to have to see all of that on accident.

"I'll try again tomorrow," he said, reaching for the door. It took him a second to find the handle.

"No, you won't," Tula said firmly, slamming the door for him on his way out, just in time for her to end her magic vision-sharing.

Well, at least he could see out of his own eyes again.

With the door shut, James glanced down at his shirt, which was now covered in plenty of blood - making it look like he'd walked out of a massacre. Anyone other than him, and they'd be very, very dead.

The pain lingered, but it would subside soon. Just... give it a minute.

James began to walk heavily down the stairs, unsure of how much the others heard of that interaction. But if they heard any of it, it surely wasn't good.

At the foot of the stairs, all eyes looked up to stare at him.

Robin was holding a vacuum hose, about to turn it on where the broken plate once was. Kazimir was sprawled out on the couch with a large bowl of cereal. Clandestine was seated on the other end, looking out the window absently.

That was, until she looked at him, eyes widened with horror.

"She fucking--" Robin spat.

"Woah, woah, woah," Clanny said quickly, holding out her hands as she got to her feet, running up to James. "Hold on. Are you--?"

"Healing as we speak," James said. "I'm okay."

"You look like a modern art painting," Kazimir said gravely.

"Have some tact, Kazimir," Robin chided.

"Sorry," Kazimir mumbled.

Clanny, meanwhile, was giving James a look-over. Not that it would do much good to assess the damage that was quickly disappearing.

"She-- I'm so sorry," Clanny began. "She hasn't gotten violent like that before!"

"She knows she can do it to me without consequence," James said with a sigh. "That's probably why."

"That's not a good fucking reason!" Robin spat again, pointing the end of the vacuum hose at James. "What were you trying so hard to talk about with her? She's psychotic! What it worth getting stabbed ten times over for? Goddamn, you might as well be half as crazy as her. And no, that's not a good thing."

James stood tiredly, holding up a hand to keep Clanny from doting any closer.

"I told you," he said. "I'm going to be okay."

"Fucking okay in what world," Robin huffed. "I heard what fucking happened. She had you talking in circles. She's like that with everyone, you know. Any time you try to have a real fucking conversation."

"Hey, she talked to me once," Kazimir spoke up with cereal in his mouth.

"She was trying to play you, Kazimir," Robin said flatly. "She wasn't being genuine."

Kazimir wilted where he sat.

"Yeah, but she was nice..." Kazimir murmured.

"Until she wasn't," Robin emphasized, then turned back to look at James, narrowing his eyes. "I don't want you coming here again to fulfill some sick, masochistic desires. I don't need you spilling blood all over our floors because you're letting yourself be her free-of-consequence torture doll."

James held up his hands. Hold on, now.

"That's not what I'm trying to do," James said carefully.

"Then what are you trying to do?" Robin pressed. "Worry poor Clandestine to death? The woman's got enough to worry about already!"

He gestured with both hands and the vacuum hose to Clanny, who'd stepped back a bit and suddenly froze in place when put on the spot. She stared at James wide-eyed, then let out an awkward laugh.

"Hang on, Robin, no need to bring me into this," she said. "I just--" she turned to James again. "I wanted to make sure you're okay, is all. Do you want me to, um. Get you a new shirt, maybe?"

"You can take one of mine," Kazimir offered.

"Yes, we're very generous with shirts, here," Clanny echoed. "Everyone must be clothed. Well. Okay, maybe must is a strong word--"

She looked over at Kazimir, who was still shirtless.

"There's a dresscode?" Kazimir asked.

"It's called common decency, Kazimir," Robin said flatly. "You could use some."

"Hey," Kazimir said slowly.

"It doesn't bother me!" Clanny said, putting her hands up in surrender. "Really, it's fine! I imagine this is what it might be like to live with brothers."

"Clandestine, love, this is the worst possible example," Robin replied in monotone.

"Okay, minus Tula," Clanny said with an unspoken question-mark at the end. She winced, as if she was hoping Tula didn't hear that from upstairs.

Robin let out a long sigh.

"Kazimir, go get yourself and James a shirt," Robin said, pointing with the vacuum.

"I don't need another Hendrik bossing me around," Kazimir said with a small huff.

"It wasn't bossing, I'm just suggesting," Robin said with a fake, plastered smile. "Nicely."

Kazimir stood up, setting his bowl on the side-table. He looked over to James in indignance.

"Do you want a new shirt?" Kazimir asked pointedly.

James blinked.

"Um," he hesitated, watching Robin's tired reaction. "It... yes. It would be nice actually."

"Then for you, man, anything," Kazimir said, hurrying past the three of them to run upstairs.

James watched for a moment.

Then the vacuum started. Robin turned his attention away and focused on vacuuming the floor, effectively ignoring James and Clanny. James looked over at Clanny, feeling a strange obligation to say something in the interum before Kazimir returned.

"Sorry about the blood," he said.

Clanny stammered. "What? No, pff- why are you apologizing? It's not-- I doubt you went in thinking--"

"Well, I did kind of forsee it as a possibility," James said.

Clanny opened her mouth, looking helplessly lost for words. She shook her head and rubbed her face.

"God, I don't know how to help her," Clanny mumbled.

"Same," James murmured.

"You're trying to help?" Clanny asked, looking up at him.

James weakly shrugged. "Key word: try?" he said.

Clanny let out a long sigh.

"I... I'm so sorry," she said. "Listen, I've been trying for weeks, and now every day since I've lived with her. She's a really tough nut to crack."

"I hope you're not bearing that weight on your own," James said, a little softer. His voice almost got lost to the whirring vacuum in the background.

Clanny hesitated, and her face fell into a frown. She looked at her feet.

"I mean," she said queitly. "Hild knows a little... and... Robin..."

James tilted his head to the side.

"...Do you need to air something out?" he asked.

Clanny shrugged with her mouth, but the sadness in her eyes said yes.

"I don't know," she said. "I just wish I--"

Kazimir came stomping down the stairs.

"Two fresh shirts!" Kazimir said, patting his now clothed chest. "One for me. One for you."

He tossed the shirt James's way. James caught it quickly with one hand.

"Thanks," he said.

He'd... well. Change out on the porch, maybe. He didn't know. He didn't feel like the odds were good for going back upstairs again to the bathroom. Not if he might run into Tula again. Best not to aggravate her more.

Kazimir walked back over to the couch, returning to his former laid-back position with his bowl of cereal. Robin finished vacuuming and started carrying the vacuum upstairs.

James looked to Clanny again.

"My door's always open," James said quietly. "If you need a respite, you can always stay at our cabin."

Clanny's eyes softened at the offer, and from the look of relief, he could tell she really needed it.

"I'm sure Hild would be happy to have you stay with her, too. But it'd be better to ask her that directly," he mentioned.

"You think that'd be okay?" she asked.

James huffed. "Of course," he said.

Clanny nodded, smiling sadly. "Okay," she said quietly. "I... I might ask her about it, then. That could be nice."

"For sure," James said. "Hang in there, Clandestine."

Clanny nodded faintly.

"Thanks, James," she said. "You too."

Cyrin checked the fill line on the watering can-- still plenty left. Which still wasn't nearly enough for the forest of plants in Lyall's room. Seriously, the man had it all. Had the DMV bought an entire nursery just for him? A lot of plants meant a lot of water, and since Lyall had been out all day so far, they figured his plants could use some more.

Well, that wasn't why they were here. Cyrin had planned to pay him a visit, intending to show up at his balcony in a friendly fashion. But the layout of the cabin had change since the rearrangement, which meant Lyall's room no longer occupied the same side, and they'd alarmed a certain Leilan Akamai with a knock on the glass door of his room. No harm done, though, because after explaining, Leilan had let them in and informed them Lyall still hadn't gotten back from the night before. So Cyrin had waited in his room for a while, but after some time they'd gotten bored and started tending to Lyall's mini ecosystem.

The Heir's dog started barking from downstairs as Cyrin watered Leafy Plant #36. What was the dog's name again? He thought he was named after some kind of bean. Refried? No. Kidney? No. Oh well, it'd come back to him sometime.

"Gah!" Lyall's voice started irritably from downstairs. "Down, you beast! Back!"

Cyrin grinned softly as they moved on to Leafy Plant #37. The barks tamed after a little bit, replaced by a sort of excited panting, and he imagined the dog sitting back while hopefully watching Lyall.

There was an urgent pattering up the stairs, then a sigh of relief out in the hallway as it turned into a slow shuffle. The door to his bedroom nudged open, and Lyall stood in the doorway. His hair was like a bird's nest, and he was dressed the most casual since they rock-climbed together, in sweatpants and even a hoodie with the acronym of an Annexed States university.

Upon seeing Cyrin, Lyall blinked away the exhaustion and lit up in an instant. "My dear Cyrin!" he greeted in surprise.

"Lyall!" Cyrin grinned, setting down the watering can and holding his arms open in case Lyall wanted to go in for a hug.

An offer Lyall immediately swooped in for, grabbing him in a quick, tight embrace. "What brings you here, to my humble miniature jungle?"

"See, I was thinking I'd find you," Cyrin said, squeezing his friend tight. "But then your plants told me they were thirsty." He started speaking in a high-pitched, squeaky voice to imitate the plants, like he might've done for Magnus when he was younger. "Oh, Cyrin, please help! We're languishing in the brutal drought! Please water us, you're our only hope! So fear not, your jungle has been saved from your absence."

"Ough!" Leaning back, Lyall dramatically held the back of his hand to his forehead. "Our saviour, indeed! However could we repay you?"

Cyrin grinned. "Well, spending some time with you would be nice."

Dropping the theatrics, Lyall grinned back with warmth. "T'would be my pleasure." He gestured vaguely around the room before picking up the watering can himself. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Cyrin let go of him, spreading out their arms and letting himself fall straight back. He flopped onto Lyall's bed, folding his hands behind his head to look like the spitting image of comfortable.

"The extended visitor week is almost concluded," Lyall started after a few moments of contented silence. He cast Cyrin a small, fleeting grin. "The week in general, which has felt like it's gone on for an eternity. How are you doing amidst it all?"

Cyrin hummed, crossing one ankle over the other. "I've been hanging in there," they said. "Taking a breather, getting to know my new cabinmates. But it's different without you and Alan."

Lyall moved from Leafy Plant #38 to Leafy Plant #39. "A good different?" he asked, brows quirked curiously at him.

"They aren't bad," Cyrin admitted. "But... well, I miss you guys. I would've rather stayed with you."

Setting down the watering can, Lyall let out a quiet, saddened sigh. "I feel the same," he said. "I mean, Alan's still here, of course. And Leilan's been lovely."

He rounded the corner of the bed, then threw himself face-down across Cyrin's middle, so that they made a sort of 't' shape. "But they're no you," he grunted.

Cyrin let out a soft oof sound at the weight and then chuckled, looking at him fondly. "I am pretty fun if I do say so myself," they said.

"A true master of fun. The GOAT," Lyall hummed in affirmation. He turned onto his side and leaned his head in his hand. "Verily."

Cyrin let out a laugh, both at the funny "draw me like one of your french girls" pose and the old inside jokes coming back. "Thank you kindly," they said, pressing a hand to their heart. "How's your week been, cabin arrangements being turned on their heads aside?"

"In a word." Lyall rolled onto his back to look up at the ceiling. "Dense. But that's about everyone's week in summary."

"Not mine," Cyrin admitted. "What did you have going on?"

Lyall furrowed a brow slightly. "Well," he murmured, "you know." He waved a hand in vague circles. "All the things book-ending the cabin changes, and... the bizarre fantasy event."

Cyrin poked at the top of Lyall's head. "You must miss your horns," he teased gently.

With an affronted huff, Lyall batted at their hand. "I most certainly do not," he countered pleasantly. "Though, I do somewhat miss the healing magic."

"You should ask the DMV if you could get that back," Cyrin said. "You'd be the richest doctor on the planet if you could heal with a snap of your fingers."

Lyall hummed in amusement. "Perhaps," he said, a bit wistful. His brows twitched inward as he seemed to lose himself to some thought or other.

"What's that?" Cyrin said, pointing to his face. "I know that look. That's the signature trademark Lyall thinking face."

"It's--" Lyall huffed again, but couldn't help his self-conscious smile. "I was just. Pondering." He playfully swatted at Cyrin's outstretched hand again. "Well, what about you? Anything from your other, DMV-granted form that you rather liked?"

"Well, they did do my hair pretty well," Cyrin mused, but he kept pointing with his hand. "I approve of any cosmetic and fashion choice they made for me."

"T'was certainly a flattering look," Lyall agreed. "I'm still convinced you somehow cheated with your height. Illusion magic or elevator shoes, or what have you."

"Have you heard of the five stages of grief?" Cyrin said with pitying sadness. "You appear to be in the first one: denial. You might simply be just that short."

"I'm average height!" Lyall huffed defensively.

"Aaaaaaand you're stepping into anger territory," Cyrin teased. "Next you'll be haggling for what vegetables I eat to get this tall. It's a slippery slope."

Sitting up, Lyall reached over Cyrin to pick up a throw pillow. Then smacked their face with it as he demanded, "Well, what is your secret to your gigantism, hm?"

Cyrin swatted the pillow away as he grinned, snatching another pillow to bring it down on Lyall's head. "Genetics!"

"I refuse to believe these falsehoods!" Rolling off of Cyrin, Lyall armed himself with two more pillows. "Surely you use some sort of sorcery."

"My father is six foot two and my mother was five foot nine or something, of course it's genetics!" Cyrin shielded himself with the pillow, then went in for another attack at Lyall's side. "What, do you want to hear they spoonfed me some potion at the tender age of four so I'd grow strong and tall or something?"

Lyall dramatically fell sideways with the hit. "Sure, that'll do," he amicably accepted. "Anything that isn't the truth."

"O ye of so little faith," Cyrin grumbled good-naturedly, lowering his pillow. "Or rather, ye of so little height."

Aghast, Lyall gasped. "How dare--" And he took the opening by launching the pillows in hand directly at Cyrin's face. "Average! Height!"

"I said what I said!" Cyrin hollered, succumbing to the volleys and flopping back to the bed.

Throwing the remaining pillows over top of his face, Lyall scoffed. "Pillow prison for you! For ten years!"

"Nooo," Cyrin groaned, going limp on the bed. "Is it a crime to speak the truth now?"

"On this island dictatorship?" Lyall flopped back to lie beside him. "Yes. Yes it is."

"O cruel world," Cyrin sighed. "Fine, you're not as short as you could be."

"Thank you kindly," Lyall chirped contentedly. "Your sentence is hereby shortened to ten minutes."

"I can't not talk for that long," Cyrin protested, but he pointed at his mouth and made the zip it, lock it, put it in your pocket gesture.

Feigning a put-upon sigh, Lyall lifted his head to glance at the alarm clock on one of the bookshelves. "Very well," he relented, "the jury is amenable. Your sentence has been officially lifted, thus you may speak to your heart's content."

Cyrin breathed a sigh of relief. "How kind of you. I'd like to thank the mercifulness of the jury."

"Very wise choise of first words," Lyall hummed. He clasped his hands behind his head as he let out a long breath, quietly and contentedly deflating the way a sleepy dog would.

Cyrin let a comfortable silence pass between them, since he actually could go without talking for some amount of time. It was nice to be back in what still felt like his cabin. They too folded their hands behind their neck and looked up at the ceiling.

It felt like a comfortable, short eternity of quiet until Lyall's elbow bumped theirs.

"Why lock picking?" he asked, completely out of the blue.

Cyrin blinked, turning their head to look at him in confusion.

"...What?" they asked slowly.

Lyall blinked back expectantly, before flicking his eyes back up to the ceiling. "Like..." He pursed his lips, the gears grinding away in his head, before he lamely repeated, "Why?"

"Why, um..." Cyrin waved his hand, trying to follow his thinking. "...is it a thing? I don't know."

Lyall let out a small huff. "Okay, um."

Flipping over onto his side, he re-assumed the French girl drawing pose as he stared at the ceiling in intense thought. His brain clearly needing to buffer.

"When my back was turned, you unlocked the door to Alan's room with ease, but no proper key," Lyall finally said, pointing at one line of stitching on the duvet. "And then..." He poked his finger two rows over. "...proceeded to lie about it. So clearly, it's a skillset in your repertoire that you do not like to advertise. But why would you, esteemed Cyrin Bridger and all that, need this skill to begin with?" He lifted his hand in a shrug and repeated once more, "Why lock picking?"

Cyrin frowned softly. Ah. They'd almost forgotten they'd done that, partly because they had assumed Lyall never noticed. He hadn't seen them-- they were sure of that. They were too good to be noticed at it. But it wasn't impossible to deduce that the door really had been locked, and Lyall was smart. If this detail had bothered him, he'd keep thinking about it until he had some kind of answer.

They sat up slightly so they could lift their arm from under their head and hold it out. There was little use in denying it. With a soft sigh, Cyrin shook out their arm just so. The lockpick pins that they'd fashioned themselves tumbled out from the pocket sewn in their sleeve and into their palm. They set the picks on the bed.

"It does raise some questions, doesn't it," they said, in a slightly quieter tone.

Brows furrowed with intrigue, Lyall plucked one of the picks and twisted it around to examine closely. Then flicked a gentle gaze back to Cyrin's face at the tone of their voice.

"Mostly just 'why'," he hummed softly. "A natural follow-up, I suppose, would be 'when have you needed it?' But you, of course, reserve the right to remain silent."

Cyrin huffed quietly through their nose, watching him with caution and curiosity. "What do you do if I don't stay silent?" he asked.

Lyall attentively held his gaze, catching Cyrin's hesitation. He cracked a small, reassuring grin as he answered with gentle lightness, "How about an exchange of trade secrets?"

Cyrin hummed with a thoughtful smirk. "I'm listening."

Quirking both brows, Lyall watched him closely for another quiet beat. Then huffed a dry laugh and asked, "Oh, I have to start?"

"I think you volunteered," Cyrin said, poking at Lyall's elbow.

"I." Lyall lifted his hand in another shrug. "Not to go first explicitly," he laughed, "but fair enough."

Propping himself up more on his elbow to clasp his hands together, he hummed in thought.

"Alright," he started, voice dropped to a serious murmur as he poked Cyrin's elbow back, indicating his underlying playfulness, "the information I'm about to share with you cannot leave the confines of this room. Ever. Okay?"

Cyrin sobered up, nodding seriously. Lightheartedness aside, he needed Lyall to know what he said was safe with him. And he needed to know the same for what he said later.

"Likewise for what I'll share," he said softly. "You have my word."

There was a flash of sincerity in Lyall's eyes as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Alright. Here it is." He drew in a breath. "First year of college overseas, in an effort to track down my father in Americhihuahua, I may or may not have utilized less-than-legal means. Including, but not limited to: document forging and impersonation of security personnel, as well as accessing restricted corporate and state data. Successfully, might I add."

Cyrin watched him with gentle curiosity, tilting their head. They didn't mean to be relieved by this information, but... they actually were relieved. It was a small comfort and security to know his admission of illegal activity was being matched by Lyall. And they couldn't lie that it intrigued them very much to hear that Lyall would do this.

"How did you do it?" he asked gently.

"Tedium," Lyall said with a dismissive wave. "The important thing was, I finally found the bugger. And it was..." He idly tapped his fingers against his own knuckles. "It ultimately lead to a rather disappointing revelation. He was not the man I had built him up as in my mind."

Cyrin felt his expression sadden gradually. He reached out to place an arm over Lyall's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Disappointments from parents are brutal. And no one ever really tells you what to do about them."

Lyall shrugged, dropping his eyes to his folded hands. "It wasn't... quite the worst part of that year. Anyway."

Ducking his head, he briefly bumped his forehead to Cyrin's and settled back to somberly grin at them. "I gave you the scoop. The dirt. Worms and all." He poked Cyrin's shoulder. "Your turn."

Cyrin hummed, giving Lyall's shoulders a side hug by squeezing his arm around them. He had some more questions on this, but now that he knew about it at all, he could always follow up on it. And he sensed Lyall was curious.

They looked over to the lockpick in Lyall's hand.

"You ever heard of those marbles that got stolen from the Great Brootish Museum?" they asked.

Lyall's brows rose and his eyes lit up with confuzzlement and open intrigue. "I did, indeed."

Cyrin raised his eyebrows at him too, waiting to see if he'd get it. And, sure enough, Lyall furrowed his brows again as the pieces slowly clicked into place for him. Doubt flickered across his face a couple times. Then, mouth hanging open, he stared at Cyrin in lingering disbelief.

"No," Lyall finally uttered.

Cyrin snorted and did some jazz hands. "Yes."

Lyall cast an intense look up at the ceiling. "No!" he repeated, turning that same look back to Cyrin. "You're shitting me right now, right? Just pulling my leg?"

"I am not," Cyrin said. "Although this would easily be the funniest thing to say in two truths and a lie."

Affronted at the concept, Lyall huffed. "So, you're actually serious?" he pressed. "The marbles? And [/i]you[/i]?" He intensely considered this once more. "Why?"

"It's an extremely long story," Cyrin said. "And the lockpicks start well before it. But the short version is-- well, you mentioned my status. But I've actually been..." He waved a hand around. "...Disowned, in all but public knowledge, for about five years now. And I figured out I was pretty damn good at stealing things that weren't rightfully owned by the people who had them. Turns out there's plenty of people willing to pay for their cultural heritage to be returned."

Lyall gawked at him. "How do you just 'figure out' that sort of thing? What lead to that?"

"I learned how to climb difficult surfaces starting around age ten," Cyrin said. "The lockpicking's from age fourteen. And I've always been a very quiet treader. It just didn't take much thinking to realize I had the skills for it." He snorted. "Not that I started with the marbles. That would've been too much heavy lifting."

Lyall's bafflement lingered for another long moment. Then it faded away as another thought took hold, and his expression softened.

"What do you..." he started in a saddened murmur, trailing off uncertainly.

"What?" Cyrin asked, frowning gently as he tried to read his face.

Lyall hesitated again. Then quietly asked in turn, "Disowned?"

"Oh." Cyrin sighed heavily after a moment. "Yeah. That happened. My father and step-mother weren't too happy that I went into sociology after telling them I'd be majoring in business, so, apparently that merited a consequence." They shrugged. "Honestly, if I'd known that counted as a rebellion against their authority, I'd have acted out far earlier."

His friend's saddened frown lingered for a second longer. Then he cracked a wry grin with a huffed laugh.

"A rebel, through and through," Lyall said fondly.

Cyrin cracked a faint smile. "Does it surprise you less now?"

"A little," Lyall answered honestly. "I'm starting to see how everything fits together."

"To answer your very first question..." Cyrin pursed their lips, staring into the ceiling. This was harder, but not because he was admitting to anything bad. "I didn't start carrying lockpicks for theft, and that's not why I have them here. They're more of an emergency tool. To get out of situations where I might get trapped." He shrugged again. "The skill carried over, though."

"Oh." Lyall nodded slowly, and his voice softened with understanding as he repeated, "Oh..."

He sounded like he got it. Cyrin wasn't sure that he could get it with his limited information.

"Well," Lyall gently started again, poking them once more, "you, my friend, have made a proper Roobin Hood out of yourself."

Cyrin chuckled. "Oh, yes, my role model. They haven't yet given me a cool code name, not even after the marbles. Obviously I have to make more rich jerks angry."

Lyall hummed. "I don't know. Isn't it the mark of a truly skilled thief, that no one is able to name you?"

Cyrin shrugged. "True. Maybe it's reassuring they haven't tied every case together and pinned it on me, too. I could get more than one cool name if they don't think it's all the same person."

"That's the spirit!" Lyall said with an amused grin. "For instance, pertaining to the case of the missing marbles, one alias might be 'the Calacutta Collar Thief'? Though that's a bit long." He tapped his chin in thought. "'Mason Mercenary'? 'Lost Marble Man', though that just makes you sound more deranged than anything."

Cyrin snorted. "Sorry, I'm vetoing the last one. If anyone tries to call me that, I will personally expose myself just to say 'don't call me that'."

"Too late," Lyall chirped cheekily, "it's already decided. 'Lost Marble Man' is official. Thieves don't get to choose their own aliases, that's a well-known fact in the criminal world."

"Noooo," Cyrin groaned. "Now I have to come out about it."

"Noooo," Lyall teasingly countered, "you don't. You just need to embrace it!"

"Oh, but no one's going to hire the Lost Marble Man to steal back an artifact they've been clamoring to have returned for ages," Cyrin said, pointing at him. "It's marketing!"

"It's out of your hands!" Lyall said with a laugh, pointing back at them. Then playfully raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I don't make the rules."

"You've toppled my career," Cyrin sighed. "I hope you're proud."

"Proud? No." Lyall grinned, self-satisfied anyway. "Sorry? Also no. I'm sure Cyrin Bridger, if anybody, can re-invent and make a new name for themself anyhow."

Cyrin chuckled again with a nod. "It's been a laborious process. But," he said, poking Lyall again. "I do much prefer my life post-reinvention, where it's at now. Even if I have to steal a sculpture every few months to sustain it."

"A small price to pay," Lyall hummed with a sage nod.

Cyrin smiled, but they felt it soften into somberness after a few moments. They shifted onto their side to look at Lyall.

"If I can ask," they started quietly. "What happened when you found your father?"

Crossing his ankles and idly twiddling his foot, Lyall glanced down at the duvet and shrugged a shoulder. "Honestly, it was just... anticlimactic? The choices I made were no small stressors. I was nearly caught a couple times. Even..."

He trailed off, contemplating. A troubled look in his eye flashed, then was gone as quick as it came. He moved past whatever thought it was, to finish simply, "All for some low-level con artist who preyed upon the less-fortunate."

The more Cyrin watched him, the more their heart hurt. They squeezed their arm around Lyall comfortingly again.

"He doesn't deserve you," he said quietly. "But that must have been one of the worst ways to learn that. I am so sorry."

Tilting his head to press sideways against Cyrin's shoulder, Lyall let out a short breath. After a long beat of silently drawing comfort, he murmured appreciatively, "Thank you, my good friend."

Cyrin held him there, letting out a quiet sigh through his nose.

"And you took cautions to protect yourself?" he asked gently after a minute.

"Haven't been caught yet, have I?" Lyall asked in response, quirking a fleeting grin.

Cyrin cracked a smirk as well. "Touché."

Lyall allowed himself another, self-satisfied grin. "T'was but a one year stint, anyhow, which helps. I've put such criminal ways well behind me."

"Nothing like a short side gig into illegal territory," Cyrin said, patting his shoulder. "Good job getting out of it."

Lyall huffed a laugh. "It wasn't even for--"

The urgent, repeated ringing of a doorbell cut him off, and Cyrin tensed, sitting up rapidly. They didn't think it through, though, because they promptly smacked their head on Lyall's headboard and fell flat again.

"Fuck!" they shouted, wincing and placing their hand to the sore area.

"My gods!" Lyall said, both in shock and unabashed amusement as he slid off the bed. "I'll grab that, you recover."

"Noooooo, I'm fine," Cyrin grunted, sitting up more carefully this time and joining him. "Why'd they make the doorbell sound like a monkey going into cardiac arrest?"

Pulling Cyrin down to quickly look over their head, Lyall barked a bewildered laugh as he then ruffled his hair when he seemed to not find anything. "A what?"

"Monkey," Cyrin said, making his best chimp expression, "going into cardiac arrest. You see, doc, a cardiac arrest is a fancier term for a heart attack."

With a scoff, Lyall tousled their hair again so that it covered their face, then lightly pushed them away. "Alright, wise-ass. Let's go see about that dying monkey, then."

Cyrin shook his head out to untussle his hair as they both went down the stairs. The doorbell was still ringing, obviously being pressed over and over by someone. Maybe it was because he was a percussionist, but it almost sounded like it was following the beat of a song. Another One Chomps Da Dust by King, perhaps?

Lyall opened the door, revealing... Ethan?

At least, Cyrin was sure that was his name, considering he wore a crinkled sticker name tag with his name nearly illegible in thick, red Sharpay. Ethan grinned, waving at them.

"Heya, Cy and Ly! How goes it?" he greeted chipperly. He then squinted at Cyrin. "Wait a sec. You still live here?"

"Visiting," Lyall answered, reaching out a hand to shake with a friendly smile. "Greetings, Mister Ethan. How can I help you?"

"Salutations, good sir," Ethan said with a bigger grin, taking his hand to give Lyall an exaggerated floppy shake of his hand. "Are your cabin mates home?" He was still shaking his hand.

"Ah, our new friend Leilan should be around," Lyall said amicably, glancing down as he politely tried withdrawing from the continued arm-jostling.

"Nice!" With a goofy smile, Ethan finally let go, peeking his head in instead. "Mind if I come in?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Stepping back, Lyall welcomed him in with a grand sweep of his arm.

"Inside, probably!" Ethan answered, happily stepping in. He strode in, humming a nondescript melody as he idled towards the kitchen.

"Hey," he began, tapping his forefinger to his lips a couple of times, in thought. "Have you ever noticed that, if you combine Lyall and Alan, or Lyall and Leilan, it's Lylan?" He snatched up an apple sitting in the fruit bowl, tossing it in the air.

Lyall quirked a mildly curious brow.

"I have not," Cyrin answered honestly.

Speaking of Leilan, though, he heard some creaking from the stairs.

"What's a combination of Leilan, Lyall, and Alan, though?" Ethan went on, going on to take a giant chomp of the apple. At the creaking, he turned his attention to Leilan descending, waving at him with his apple hand. "Ey!" he greeted, word muffled from his bite of apple.

"Oh, hello," Leilan greeted warmly, making his way to them with a curious tilt of his head. "I'm Leilan. I don't think we've met yet, Mr...?"

"According to Ly, I'm Mister Ethan," he said proudly. "Nice ta meetcha!"

"You as well, Ethan," Leilan said with a smile, folding his hands behind his back. "You're staff, right?"

Ethan nodded, spinning the step of the apple with his thumb and forefinger until it snapped off. "Yes siree." He pointed the stem towards Leilan. "I'm actually a doctor, but somehow got demoted to cameraman. Man, economy's real tough nowadays, huh?"

Leilan chuckled. "It's a funny world we live in."

Cyrin casually scanned him. Leilan acted distinctly more Heir-like than Shane, from the self-assured speech to the confident, proud posture. He looked more expensive, too. Cyrin doubted Shane's flannels were designer, but that shirt definitely was.

"That is a true shame," Lyall hummed with an intrigued spark in his eyes.

"Oh yeah!" Ethan grinned, pointing a finger gun at Lyall. "You're a doc too. Hey, do you want to do more doctor stuff? Or are you taking a break from doctor stuff right now?"

Lifting a hand in a shrug, Lyall answered with a grin, "I'm certainly not opposed to diving back into 'doctor stuff' during our stay here. Is there someone in need of assistance?"

"A-yup." With a goofy grin, Ethan pointed a thumb towards himself. "Wanna join me in making weekly check-ins with everyone? 'Cause that's a thing now. And you know what they say." He lowered his hand and waggled his brows. "Two docs are better than one."

Cyrin had never heard anyone say that himself, but it was no false statement, at least.

"Who could disagree with such age-old wisdom?" Lyall agreed with a laugh.

"Totally. I got tons of wisdom. Like..." Ethan left his one-bite-eaten apple on the counter, bringing both of his hands together to pointedly gesture. "Did you know that your fridge is a portal?"

Leilan blinked. "What?"

That... alright. Was that how the food got there?

Slowly, Cyrin glanced over their shoulder, starting to make their way to the fridge with a frown.

"Oh! Speaking of doctoring, I got drugs for you all," Ethan continued on distractedly, rummaging in his messenger bag and pulling out an orange container with a white lid. Cyrin snapped his head around again.

"Cy, catch!" Ethan announced, throwing it in the air.

Throughly confused now, Cyrin caught it, bringing it to their face. He recognized the brand as his prescription for ADHD meds. Quickly, and with a flash of embarrassment, he lowered it out of sight.

"Oh, you too, Ly." Ethan brought out a similar container, tossing it to Lyall with no warning. "Welcome to the ADHD club!"

The container bounced off his forehead. Startling, Lyall fumbled with it for a second.

"Oooooh, foul throw. My bad," Ethan said with a silly albeit apologetic smile, both palms in the air.

"I beg your pardon," Lyall said, voice cracking with indignance as he turned the plastic jar over in his hands. "I don't..." He looked up at Ethan, aghast. "No thank you?"

"Aaaaand one last delivery for Lei-lo!" Ethan said in a sports announcer voice, tossing another container to him. "Here ya go, sugar!"

Leilan, looking extremely uncomfortable, made no move to even accept the bottle. It clattered and rattled noisily at his feet.

"Man." Ethan hummed, stroking the stubble on his chin. "Maybe I should come by more often so you can practice your catching skills."

"I can't accept this," Leilan said calmly but firmly, holding out his hand. "From a legal point of view. Thank you, and I appreciate the intent, but I don't need this and I can't take it either."

Well, yeah. Cyrin glanced down at the bottle in his hand. If he'd ever been born into the possibility of holding federal office, this-- or the first time he'd ever taken this-- would've immediately barred him from occupying it. He might as well have been holding heroin.

"No prob," Ethan said breezily with a smile and a shrug. "Sugar pills probably aren't the best for you anyways. Makes you hyper and all that."

Cyrin watched as Leilan's eyebrows nearly took flight into his hairline.

"Sugar pills?" Leilan asked slowly.

"Yeah, isn't that such a weird way to call sprinkles?" Ethan sighed, tsking. "Wife calls them sugar pills, though. Dunno why."

Slowly, Leilan scooped up the bottle. Cyrin knew he shouldn't, but he felt a little like laughing when he saw he was still holding it at arm's length.

"Apologies," Leilan said with an easier smile, setting the bottle aside. "I thought you were calling me a name and handing me the same thing as them."

"Hah!" Ethan snorted, hefting himself up to sit on the counter. "Hilarious, Lei. I would never. Just wanted to make you feel included in the drug distribution. Sprinkles and all." He swung his dangled legs, humming. "Anyways, what were we talking about? Oh, right. Are any of your other cabin mates home?"

"They're out, still," Lyall answered, gingerly setting aside the pill bottle gifted to him. "Could I relay to them for you whatever message you've come bearing, upon their return?"

"Totally." Ethan briskly nodded. "Who here likes confetti?"

Lyall's expression turned a little uncertain.

"I like when it goes off," Cyrin said, a little carefully as they tried to anticipate where this was going, "but I do hate cleaning it up."

Ethan grinned. "Well, then you'll like this!" Rummaging through his bag again, Ethan brought out a long, thin confetti cannon stick that seemed too big for his bag, and yet it did not appear to be bent. Still grinning, he pointed it at Cyrin. "Here, take this and pull the trigger! It's self-cleaning and all in good fun, I promise."

Cyrin took it, exchanged a glance with Lyall, and pulled the trigger.

The minute he did, it was like a confetti firework had gone off in the living room. As the paper confetti fell around them in a rainbow of colors, a hologram appeared between them all. Bright fanfare music plays as letters appeared in the air to form an announcement. Something about a dance at 8 with outfits that would arrive at 6, where all were invited.

"Neat," Cyrin remarked as the confetti faded away before it reached the floor.

"Yeah, I wonder who invents these things," Ethan said with wonder, mesmerized by the shimmering words.

"'All are invited'," Lyall slowly read aloud, stroking his chin as he squinted at the words. "This likely encompasses visitors as well, correct?"

Shit. Cyrin looked to Ethan for confirmation.

"Hmmm..." Ethan pursed his lips, in thought. "I think so, though I'm not sure. That'd be a safe guess, though."

Stepping closer to the hologram, Lyall waved his hand through it. "Is there... a footnote?" he murmured. "Some conditions or exclusions?"

"Ooh, great idea!" Ethan said with a smile, waving him towards the words. "Try leaning in and squinting into the words."

Shooting a hesitant glance Cyrin's way, Lyall obliged and haltingly inched even closer. His brows knit together as he uttered a curse under his breath, then added out loud: "'Visitors are included'." He stepped back again. "And... that's all that's said on the matter."

"Hm," Ethan hummed. "I didn't think that'd work."

Blinking, Lyall glanced blankly at Ethan.

Fantastic. Cyrin felt a headache brewing, and they didn't think it was because they'd nearly concussed themselves earlier.

"The more the merrier, right?" Leilan offered hopefully. Either he didn't understand why this was bad news to the two of them, or he did and was just trying to cover for their apparent lack of enthusiasm.

"Not always," Ethan replied, drumming his hands against his lap. "There may be some awkward moments when you see Casper or Kaya. But." He smiled, glancing between Cyrin and Lyall. "You have buddies who support you. You always gotta remember that." He shrugged. "Also, the ballroom is really big. Plenty of space to roam around too. Thankfully. Wouldn't want to be bumping into people while dancing. Then it'd be like bumper cars."

"True," Lyall agreed with some hope. Then went quieter as he repeated, "True."

"Though..." Ethan hummed, stroking his chin again. "Bumper cars would be pretty fun on a dance floor, don't you think?"

Lyall huffed a laugh. "Could potentially get out of hand."

Cyrin nodded, though he wasn't really in the mood to entertain the tangent right now.

"Well, thank you for bearing the news, Ethan," Leilan said politely. "Will you be there later?"

"Indeedaroo," Ethan said with a grin. "They don't really give 'fits to the staff, but my wife and kiddo will dress up. And I'll wear my nice pants, so hey, it'll be a good time. You looking forward to it? Hey, maybe you can bring your dog! Lil Pint can wear a bowtie. I'm sure there's one you can use."

Pinto! Right, that was the dog's name.

"I think he might be too wild if he was there," Leilan said with a chuckle. "Too many people and too much excitement."

"Sounds like a doggie paradise to me," Ethan said with a waggle of his brows.

"He'd love it, but others probably wouldn't. I don't want people stumbling over a comet of a dog as they dance," Leilan explained.

"True, true," Ethan replied, stroking his chin in thought again.

"Hopefully you'll be off the clock," Lyall commented, a brighter grin returning. "That way you and your family might actually enjoy your time."

"Sure will," Ethan said with a smile. "Feel free to say hi to us in the night, if you want. Or if you want a little chaos. Or want my wife to make you carrot cheesecakes or bean eclairs. She's real good at that. I think you'd like her. And my kid, too." He nodded, satisfied. "Yeah, come by and say hi anytime."

"Absolutely," Lyall agreed warmly. "There should be more opportunities to do so in the future, what with impending check-ins now, too."

James ended up tossing the bloodied shirt in one of the public wastebins near the docks, hoping no one would find it. On his walk back to his cabin, he shot Lyall a paged message, but because it was a page, he had to keep it short.

Saw Tula

It read.

Went poorly.

Hm. One more.

Not dead.

Maybe it was a bit of dark humor, but it was what it was. It went about as well as James expected it to, and of course, not as well as he'd hoped. With a sigh, he pocketed the pager once more and walked up to his cabin in Kazimir's plain white tee.

He walked in, and Shane was in the living room, reading. Cat on his lap. He looked up, closing the book over his hand as James entered.

"Hey," James said, closing the door behind him.

"Hey," Shane said, his brow already furrowing in concern. "Did she... shoot you again? I smell blood, and that's a different shirt."

"Stabbed," James said weakly. "So... different, but. Yeah. It didn't go well."

Shane moved over on the couch, making space for him.

He walked over, slumping down beside Shane. The couch creaked.

"I got her frustrated, at least?" James said.

"Is that good?" Shane asked, as Shrimp crept over from his lap to James's. The cat's nose was twitching, probably also smelling the blood.

"It's at least different than baseless hatred," James said. "So, I'll take it."

Shane hummed. "Funny how that's progress."

"When you're starting at the bottom," James said. "You can only go up."

"Does it look like it will?" Shane asked. "Or just... well, not get any worse?"

James pressed his lips together.

"Too soon to tell," he answered honestly.

He didn't want to lose hope just yet just because of a few stabbings. But maybe that was a bit insane to think. Robin could be right, and he was a bit crazy after all.

Still, he didn't plan on changing that.

"Their cabin is in disarray because of her, though," James said. "I walked into a shouting match between her and Robin. Poor Clanny was caught in the middle."

Shane's expression abruptly saddened. "Is she okay?"

"I think she's been having a hard time. I told her she could stay with us whenever needed. I figured no one in our cabin would have a problem with that -- seeing as Eve and Hild already lived with her the first month," he answered.

"She should always be welcome here," Shane confirmed, reaching over to scratch Shrimp's ears. "Our fifth house member surely wouldn't protest either."

James smirked slightly, looking down at Shrimp.

"I'm sure Shrimp would like having someone around who can understand him," James said.

"I bet he would," Shane said. "He can only politely tolerate it when I pretend to understand him for so long."

Shrimp let out a mrrp.

"No, dinner's at six," Shane corrected.

James snorted. "For all we know, he could just be meowing," James said.

"I choose to believe," Shane said, patting the cat's back. "It makes sense, he's always hungry anyway."

"Same," James said, reaching over to pat Shrimps head.

Shrimp happily purred, straightening.

A knock at the door drew his attention. That was the second one today.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Shane tapped his watch. "Six already."

James blinked. Huh. That went... fast. He still had to eat dinner, too. Maybe he'd just... consume something uncooked.

Getting up from the couch, James went to the door, this time opening it up not to a person, but to a rack, with four black bags zipped up on hangers. On each clothing bag there was a label, predictably with all of their names. He glanced back at Shane.

"Right on time, then," he said, turning the rack and rolling it into the living room.

Shane stood up with an interested look. "What have they got for us?"

James shut the door, pushing the roller-rack further before stopping it a few inches short of the couch. He searched for the bag with Shane's name on it, then took the hanger off, offering it to Shane.

Shane took it, holding it up. His curious expression turned impressed, probably from the reading that revealed what it was before the bag was even off. He then removed it from the hanger, showing James a fancy dark green suit with an emerald pin in the shape of a feather on the lapel. The suit at first looked opaque and unsaturated in color, but Shane moved it to reveal the fabric had an iridescent, prismatic sheen.

"This is actually pretty neat," Shane said.

James hummed, looking at the suit Shane was holding with interest. Well, now was the true test to see if his was pink or not.

He took the hanger with his name on it, and unzipped the side, just enough to see the color.

Black.

Well, James didn't know if he was disappointed, underwhelmed, or relieved. Regardless, it seemed they'd given him something standard, so maybe he'd actually blend into the background for once. Nice.

He zipped it back up.

"Guess we should start getting ready," James said.

Shane chuckled quietly. "This feels like a prom."

"Oh god, I hope it's nothing like it," James muttered, taking his hanger off the rack.

"Same, quite honestly," Shane said, carefully draping the suit over his arm. "Unwanted high school throwbacks are no fun."

It would be just like "island hell" to do that to them, though, wouldn't it? James looked over to the stairs.

"Well," he said. "Here's to hoping this is better."



James didn't really know what he was doing. He spent a lot of time cleaning himself up for what felt like no reason, and he couldn't help but think back to the first day, where he'd intentinally dressed like he didn't care at all. Now, he looked like he very much did.

With a freshly trimmed beard, his hair clean and tidy, and a sleek, three-piece black suit, James felt out of place in his own home. And it wasn't even his home - but, the cabin had been the closest thing to it these past five weeks.

He was antsy. The shoes that came with the suit were so new he was afraid to scuff them. He didn't know what was going to happen at the event, but he couldn't help but worry about being wasteful. Hadn't all the previous events been such? It wasn't like the DMV cared, but James still had his parents' voices in the back of his head speaking up.

Don't get food on the brand-new clothes.

For all James knew, this suit was worth hundreds of dollars. Hopefully not more. He didn't know if he'd want to wear it if it was more.

Nervous, James found himself drawn to the kitchen. Eve and Hild had come in a little after the clothes arrived and they'd gone upstairs to get ready. Shane was busy too. James, comparitively, hadn't spent as much time and he tried not to overthink that.

So he made dinner. In a suit. Yes, he wore an apron over it. Should he have changed to cook? Probably. But he didn't. He was hungry.

So, he spent about 20 minutes inhaling pasta and vegetables while he waited, and then cleaned up quickly. He double-checked his teeth, though, making sure they were clear.

Finally, maybe 30 minutes 'til, James heard footsteps descending. They'd all agreed to head to the event together.

Shane came down first.

James went out into the living room, watching as Shane came down, looking dapper in his green suit.

"I think this is only my second time seeing you in something other than a flannel," James said with a smirk.

Shane grinned gently, joining him there. "I can handle it once a month."

James let out a little laugh. "You're building up a tolerance, I see."

Shane chuckled. "You look good," he said, waving a hand at his suit. "Very classic."

"I guess we'll save the pink suit for another day," James joked.

Shane huffed. "You may have missed your chance, but I'm not forgetting."

And then, another set of footsteps, but these ones lighter and evenly measured. James turned his head to see.

It was Hild. Lifting the skirt of a elegently minimalist, flowing green dress, she practically floated down the steps. James felt his heart skip as time seemed to slow down.

Stepping aside to leave room at the base of the stairway, Hild adjusted the braids she'd wrapped around the loose bun of her hair. Then idly adjusted the long, somewhat sheer sleeves of her dress as she turned a polite grin toward James and Shane.

"The DMV has accomplished one good thing," she said pleasantly. Her smile warmed as she first made her way to examine James up close. "They've at last made properly-dressed gentlemen out of both of you."

James couldn't find words. He found himself staring, and he couldn't get his bearings.

He... he had to pull himself together.

Her grin faintly lingering, Hild gently adjusted, then smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. James felt his face get hot.

James felt Shane sneakily nudging his foot with his own to bring him back to reality.

"You look really nice, Hild," Shane said warmly, with a gentle smile.

Right. Words. Use words. Be normal.

"You look lovely," he finally managed in agreement, trying to pick a modest description so he wasn't too transparent. But he probably already was.

Flicking her hazel eyes back up to meet his, Hild's own cheeks were dusted pink. She averted her gaze again to tidy the pocket square.

"Thank you, James," she answered, ducking her head in a modest bow. "You are quite dashing yourself." Then added as she turned another bright grin toward Shane. "Both of you."

She glanced over Shane, down at herself, then warmly commented, "That's a very flattering shade of green on you."

Shane grinned softly. "I could say the same for you."

James desperately tried to pull his attention away from Hild so he wasn't openly gawking. He ended up flitting his eyes over to Eve, who had finished quietly descending down the stairs in a classic black high-neck, backless gown.

She, too, looked quite nice. But James was still admittedly very distracted by Hild's beauty. It felt embarassing to admit it to himself.

"We, um," James started, unsure why he suddenly had a stammer. "Should. Um. We don't want to be late. Right?"

"Unless we have further preparations," Hild said in agreement, "then we might as well be on our way."

And after a few echoes of agreement, Shane was the first to lead the way to the door. Eve followed behind him, looking back with a faint smile, and James found his attention stuck on Hild again.

Quietly, with a small amount of hesitance, he offered her his hand. Chin tilted up, she smiled faintly as she rested her palm on his. Feeling strangely giddy, he smiled in return, walking with her through the door.

Earlier that afternoon...

This was beginning to feel like a group project in which Eve did all of the work and her partners did none of it, and yet, they all shared the same (good) grade and received credit equally. Except this group was only of two people, and one of them was Lyall, who was absolutely incompetent.

To put it simply: Eve had the receipts. She had proof-- written documentation-- that they would meet at a set time, at a set location, to go over a set plan. And yet...

Eve scrolled through the latest reminder texts she sent an hour ago, having read it at least a dozen time now, along with the detailed emails she had composed detailing the plans. Because this was the third postponed meeting and, yet again, she was waiting due to his tardiness.

Eve wrote:Reminder that we meet in 1 hour at the new location. Do you still plan on joining? We have a lot to cover since you were not here yesterday.

Lyall wrote:yes yes

Lyall wrote:hold your horses, woman, i WILL be there

Lyall wrote:i'll presume a hundredth "sorry" or edible arrangement won't begin to cover my ever-growing pile of sins

To which Eve ignored his text until it was 15 minutes before the meeting.

Eve wrote:We meet in 15 minutes.

And then, a full ten minutes after the reminder:

Lyall wrote:on my way

Lovely. He had forgotten that the new location was not a five minute walk away. They were in the multipurpose cabin towards the edge of the island, which was about an hour commute from the cabins, or a forty-five minute commute from the plaza. Of course, Eve was able to get here instantly due to the island-specific teleporter gizmo that Oliver had gifted her, but she recalled Lyall saying he "ran out of confetti."

Which meant he had to walk.

Eve stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by patiently until it was one whole minute past the hour. She resisted the urge to send him another text, calling him out that he was late. There was no need. She already did this two times before.

If Lyall wasn't going to take this seriously, then this job was not for him. She wasn't supposed to convert the multipurpose cabin to a classroom where magic tests can be safely administered and observed, and yet, she did. She wasn't supposed to write up procedures and criteria for testing each contestant's unique magic, and yet, she did.

Because Lyall was incompetent enough to not follow a simple task of showing up.

All because he was "too busy" with trivial affairs with others. Annoyed, Eve had reviewed hours of video footage during her spare time, determined to find out what exactly took higher priority for him.

Most of it consisted of his friends. They were the biggest distraction for him. Lyall had spent countless of hours mindlessly talking with them, drinking with them, playing or listening to music with them.

Among other things. Eve had extensively studied the footage of Lyall's night with Alan yesterday, uncomfortably learning too many intimate details about him. Eve was, of course, annoyed that her so-called chosen colleague was supposed to be smart and resourceful enough to perform the DMV's duties, and yet, fell prey to the biggest romantic fraud of the island. So much, in fact, that he had completely ignored all her communications, not showing up to a crucial meeting yesterday.

But that was none of her business. She was just annoyed.

Though, Eve also had to give him some credit. She caught plenty of footage of him researching about magic in his spare time. She noted all the titles of the books, subjects including: DMV magic training manuals, theories of magic connecting to the brain and body, various groupings and categorizations of magic, trauma impacts on magic, and so on.

Eve sifted through each contestant's notes, all of which were printed and neatly organized in a binder with color-coordinated tabs. She dedicated the last two weeks to this, and although she wasn't the main tester, she was curious to know the results.

Because she had to know others' potential. This was all part of her grand plan.

Of which the DMV would never know. No one could know until she had all the information in her hands.

To truly stop the DMV, her plan had to be executed perfectly. And she didn't trust anyone to do this except herself.

Knowing that she had about an hour before Lyall's arrival, Eve skipped to his chapter, deciding to fill her time with more extensive research on fire magic.

Because after all... Lyall could not test himself.



Finally, there was movement and rustling outside of her own page turning and note taking. The door of the cabin eased open around the time she anticipated his arrival, to which Eve calmly swiveled around on her chair with her hands neatly crossed on her lap, greeting him with a frown.

Gently closing the door shut behind himself, Lyall met her disapproving look with a plastered-on grin. "Afternoon," he said, his pleasant tone thinly veiling just how out-of-breath he was.

He'd donned dark joggers and a grey pullover hoodie with the letters "ASCC" emblazoned on the front in bold red letters. And the bird's nest that was his mess of curly hair seemed only half-washed from the night prior. All indicators that Lyall had hustled from the latter part of the morning spent with his brother, straight here.

This was uncharacteristic of him. Since he spent the night at the pool, she wondered if he left any time for himself and cleaned up at his cabin before arriving. It was likely no.

Lyall really needed to improve his time management.

"You're late," Eve said sternly, crossing her arms.

Lyall raised both hands in yielding as he slowly approached. "And I'm sorry," he said in a sigh. "I am here now."

Eve decided to dive right into the heart of the matter. "Are you even taking this seriously?" she asked cooly, frown deepening. "The first truancy is forgiveable, even if it was due to poor time management. The second truancy is unacceptable, especially when it was due to poor time management and impulsivity."

He stopped in his tracks halfway between her and the door, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I am. Quite seriously!" He set a hand on his side, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "My behaviour hasn't reflected it, I know."

Eve shook her head. "That's not enough justification. You may want this, but perhaps you aren't fit for this job."

"I am," Lyall countered firmly.

"Then prove it," Eve cut in sharply.

"I--" He threw his hands skyward. "I'm here now," he repeated emphatically. "I swear, I've been researching the hell out of this, to ensure we're starting with the right basics, and individualizing testing plans the right way." He threw his hands outward again in a defensive shrug. "They just happened to pick a half-certified doctor rather than someone specifically in the field of magic study, so forgive me if I needed time to prepare myself first."

Half-certified doctor? Eve tucked away that unsettling detail for now, deciding to pity him for now and not enable to self-deprecating insults. Even if she agreed with the insinuation that, yes, he was not qualified for this.

Instead, Eve pointedly gestured towards the chair across the table from her. "Fine then. Sit," she said evenly. "We have a lot to discuss."

With some skepticism, Lyall angled his head a degree to the left. "...'Fine, then'?" he echoed dubiously. "That's it?"

Tiredly, Eve sighed, loudly dropping her hand back on her table. "Did you instead want me to judge and criticize you out loud, scolding you for your irresponsible, reckless, and immature actions?" she asked flatly.

"Please, don't," Lyall cut in, sounding weary himself. "I'm just..." He shrugged, lamely this time, as he obliged and took the seat across from her. "You're usually harder to convince."

Eve wasn't that stubborn. Was she?

She opened the binder, pressing her fingers against the edge so she could gracefully spin it around to be facing him. "I put this together for you," she said more slowly, carefully watching his reaction. "All we have to do now is review and revise. We can start next week."

With a slightly furrowed brow, he kept his curious gaze on her for a moment while he pulled the binder closer to himself. Either satisfied with what he found, or still mystified by a lacking conclusion, he dropped his studious gaze down to the pages.

"Oh my god," he murmured in awe, more intently scanning the text dense with technicalities. He turned the page, tilting his head as he read on for another long beat of quiet.

The first few pages were an introduction, mostly consisting of meticulous details that involved all contestants. Eve wanted to preface with the commonality, that way, the proceeding chapters would pore over each person's unique circumstance and approach.

Which is what she wanted-- needed, really-- Lyall's review on.

Though, they had to be on the same page first, physically and figuratively.

"There are two testing definitions," she began, tapping the top margins of the second page where she had written out lengthy definitions. "As you are already aware, a traditional DMV, consists of 'magic testing' that includes thorough examinations of a user's magical capability. You may reference the DMV manual that lists every situation, scenario, and criteria for all the different magic examinations. It is quite extensive and thorough, with centuries of research, citations, and revisions of all the different possible types of magic."

"Do you have one on hand?" Lyall asked. "A DMV manual, that is."

Eve nodded. "It is quite lengthy with hundreds of pages. I filtered to only the relevant pages to the magic types you are testing and included it in the appendix of this report."

With a quiet "ah" Lyall gingerly lifted just the bottom corners of the middle pages to check for himself.

Eve flipped to the next page that detailed exceptions, tapping its margins. "Of course," she continued, "there are exceptions. Rare cases. Outliers consist of unknown magic types that have not been researched due to novel genetic mixing between mages. There are also cases of early and late bloomers, those who exhibit magic much earlier or later than their pubescent years, which would be expected. Other cases include those who have unexpectedly strong magic capability despite weak magic genes, or even rarer, mages who unexpectedly demonstrate magic despite having no magic genes. The few documented cases of these state that they were triggered by a severely stressful incident, which catalyzed the beginning research of hidden magic potential. This brings us to the second definition of magic testing."

Pausing, Eve frowned, pulling her hand back. "Are you following so far?" she asked.

Deeply engrossed with the text she presented, Lyall, delayed, glanced back up at her. "Closely, yes," he affirmed, sitting straighter to give her his full attention again.

Eve nodded, flipping to the next page to point at the concise definitions that she bolded and bulleted. "Although they're both called magic testing, there are two definitions of them," she continued on. "Typically, 'magic testing' represents the traditional DMV method, which is referenced in the manual aforementioned. This type of testing examines magic capability, which includes training and practicing of the user's magic to hone their use."

Eve slid her finger down the page, moving on to the next definition. "The second definition of 'magic testing' represents an experimental DMV method. This type of testing examines magic potential, which includes a small population of the world with a dormant magic-recessive gene that, under the correct conditions, could be activated to harness new, unlocked magic. There have been decades of private research done by the DMV, but we are the first ones undergoing a public trial."

She tapped the margins of the next page, continuing on. "These next few pages include common types of stressors and stimuli that are present with new magic is activated. There typically includes an intense emotional, psychological, and/or physical experience. Examples include a fight or flight response, grief or loss, heartbreak, and near-death experiences-- which is categorized separately from a fight or flight response since the situation is more nuanced.

"Examples of cases that are less common but still documented include anxiety disorders and emotional dysregulative behaviors, which are more unpredictable in nature, but closely tied to chronic stress. And finally, the least common and documented cases mostly include mind-related magic by therapaies, typically mostly cognitive behavior therapy. This implies that intense distress is not a necessary factor to unlock new magic, but it is the easiest, most efficient, most understood method we have."

In a burst of elation, Lyall smacked his hand on the table, declaring, "I knew it!"

"Again," Eve said sternly, leveling with him, "this is uncommon, rare, and the least understood. You are not here to research. You are here to test."

"Is research not testing the principles and boundaries of the world that we've already observed?" Lyall countered, a victorious grin still lingering.

"You have to test everyone's new magic potential," she reminded him. "If you don't, you and the testee cannot leave the DMV. It's why we're here to begin with. You have to finish by the allotted time."

Looking her dead in the eye, Lyall firmly assured her, "And I will."

Then he quickly turned his attention back down to the text, intently poring over the pages.

Eve made a mental note to circle her early observation on Lyall that he was overconfident with a big ego.

Reaching over, Eve interrupted his reading by skipping a few pages into the binder, forcefully flipping the page to the first colored tab. Lyall pouted, quite put-upon by the interruption. The tabs were in alphabetical order with each relevant contestant. The large, bolded header of this page read "ALAN ALVARO".

Eve pointed at the name. "You're testing everyone, including him," she reminded sternly. "Will this be a problem?"

Leaning back in his chair, he pursed his lips. Hesitating.

"...That depends," he murmured honestly, idly tapping his finger on the edge of the page, "on the methods on which we land." He flicked his eyes back up to her with a grimace. "I'll presume... you know well enough why."

"With whom and how you spend your time outside of working hours is none of my concern," Eve replied neutrally. "I just need to know that you can do your job. Is he the only conflict of interest, or are there others?"

Nodding slowly, Lyall fiddled with the edge of the page. "Probably Cyrin as well," he answered. Paused, then hastily added, "For. An entirely different reason."

"I... okay." They were getting sidetracked. Eve clasped her hands together neatly on the table, once again asking, "Are you confident that you can hone into both of their magics, challenging them outside their comfort zone to harness new magic potential?"

Another pause as Lyall gave it more thought. Then amended more confidently, "I can work with Alan."

"And Cyrin?" Eve prodded.

"No," Lyall answered quietly. "Not Cyrin."

Eve furrowed her brows, not quite understanding the reasoning. From her own view point, she'd have thought it would be the opposite. "Why?"

"Because..." He leaned his elbows on the edge of the table, eyes trained on the binder between them. Likewise unable to fully comprehend why, based on the intent crease of his brow as another silence lapsed.

And so Eve answered for him. "You don't even know why," she said blandly.

"Give me a second," Lyall countered with an irritated edge to his tone, "so I can properly articulate."

And so Eve did. Many seconds, in fact. She almost wanted to move on because they had much more important matters to discuss, but she steeled her patience, filling the silence in her mind with the implication.

That if Lyall was not able to test Cyrin, then who would? It would fall on her, most likely. And she was not exactly the best tester for Cyrin's magic, considering that no amount of his magic would work on her.

"I don't," he started again, carefully, "fully know how far I should-- how far I could push them." He finally met Eve's stare head-on again. "I know what Alan can and can't handle."

"With that logic, you would also not be comfortable with testing others you don't know well," she commented.

"I can read most everyone else well enough to adjust in the moment," Lyall replied.

They were getting side tracked again. Eve noted this for now, deciding to move on. She tapped Alan's name again.

"We have insight into his new magic potential," she began, recalling the events earlier this week. "During the fantasy event, he charmed monsters using his violin." She paused, retracting her hand. "Though, this may have coincided with the new fantasy archetypes and magical powers temporarily given to us. Those actions may not be related to his potential magic at all, but it's a starting point."

"Hence," Lyall furthered, "we have to start by confirming who truly has or has not experienced any magic growth. I originally thought privately conducted written surveys, but since..." He vaguely waved a hand. "...we're running short on time, that might not be as efficient anymore."

"James, Cyrin, Hild, and Stravos are the only confirmed cases," Eve answered, flipping back a page to point at the paragraph she wrote about this. "Alan is the only skeptical case as of now. Everyone else is unknown."

Lyall nodded his agreement. "I figure we-- one of us, will confirm during first meetings. Conduct full evaluations on the matter."

Eve stared at him blankly. "You," she corrected. "You will confirm. I will not be present."

"Why not?" Lyall asked, suddenly quite curious as he folded his hands together.

"I will only take your data," she answered instead, flipping back to Alan's section. "Now, back on topic." Eve pointed to the methodology section.

"Is it stage fright?" Lyall pressed. "Or some... form of it? There's no need to be shy, you exude such confidence and genuine competence."

"This is not my job. This is your job," she reminded him.

"Right," Lyall drawled, pointing a finger gun her way, "and your job is to manage me from the shadows."

Eve stared at him again, not deciding not to comment further since Lyall often resorted to unproductive teasing. She tapped the page again. "There are a few scenarios that could happen. His magic is already dangerous as-is, and I am concerned about the after-effects that could happen. If you're not careful, you may have a repeat of what happened the morning after the maze event."

Head tilted, he hummed evenly. Then put on another close-lipped smile as he answered, "I can handle his crazy just fine."

Eve was sure he could.

Moving on, Eve flipped to the next sections. Alexander was next, and then Clandestine, Clarity, Constantine, and Cyrin. The discussions were lengthy and fruitful, and Eve was pleasantly surprised to hear Lyall asking thoughtful questions. Perhaps she underestimated him after all.

Thankfully, since Cyrin's new magic potential was already documented, the next steps with them involved extensive testing of new abilities, which Lyall was more comfortable performing. He was still hesitant, to which Eve didn't quite understood why, but she received confirmation that he would do his job, and that was enough.

They moved on to Hendrik next, which ended up being a tough conversation considering that it was hard to test an alcoholic with alcohol powers. That and it seemed that Lyall was afraid of Hendrik, leading Eve to once again ask if he was confident he could do this.

Next was Hild. Another conflict of interest.

To which Eve mentioned, promptly after flipping to her section, commenting: "You didn't mention Hild when I asked you if there were other conflict of interests."

Brows quirking up, Lyall turned his palm to the ceiling in a small shrug. "Similar logic with Alvaro," he said. "I know what she can or can't handle, if-when push comes to shove."

Eve tapped the beginning paragraphs detailing the developments of her enhanced magic. "Fortunately, she already exhibits symptoms of developed magic. Like Cyrin, you don't need to add any more stress. You only need to extensively test the limits of her new magic, like a traditional DMV."

Lyall blinked, seeming to not fully understand right away. "She does?" he asked, utterly incredulous.

To be fair, not many knew. Eve only knew because she extensively studied the video feed. Hild had mentioned to James, Shane, and Clanny about her new magic. From what Eve knew, there was tension between Hild and Lyall, so it did not surprise her that he was kept in the dark.

"Yes," Eve said simply, not wanting to repeat herself. "She does." She again tapped the paragraph, more impatiently this time. "Everything you need to know is here. You can take this home and study it. I have a copy."

"A copy," Lyall echoed under his breath, a mix of bafflement and awe as he followed with his eyes back down to the page.

"So you're comfortable testing her," Eve said instead. "Correct?"

Blinking again, he looked back up to her. "Yeah. Yes, of course. I... know her quite well."

It took some time for Eve to go over Hild's section since Lyall was unfamiliar, and she could tell that he had many questions. To which she reiterated that everything he needed to know was written in her chapter, and there was not much to discuss, considering that her tests included magic capability of her new potential, which was already discovered.

Next on the list was James, who, like Hild, already exhibited signs of unlocking new magic.

"We are both aware of his new magic," Eve said, eyes drifting over to his case study, delving into the background of the events leading up to his new magic being discovered. "I believe that Hild fell into a more uncommon category of chronic stress being the driving force of unlocked new magic. However, because James lives a life of repeated chronic stress, his criteria were more... extreme. I don't believe that anyone else will need to experience the same extremity as him to unlock their hidden magic."

Humming as he leaned over the file himself, Lyall agreed, "I think we can move him straight along to honing his new magic. Learn how to use it at will, since he didn't seem as able to during the..." He waved a hand in an erratic eight in the air. "...scorpions, and such."

Eve nodded. "Yes." She paused, frowning as she stared at him, in thought. "Which," she continued on slowly, "you will do. Correct? You are comfortable with this?"

He met her eyes again, brows twitching inward. "Of course," he answered simply. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just verifying," Eve answered simply, turning the page to move on.

Inquisitive gaze lingering on her, Lyall slowly turned his attention back to the pages.

Now that they had a rhythm, they went through the next sections seamlessly, discussing Jay, Kazimir, Leilan, and Robin with great detail, staying neutral and pragmatic. Based on their back-and-forth discussion, there were a few revisions that needed to be done, of which Eve redlined in the margins.

The next section was Shane.

"Before diving into Shane's magic, I'd like to first talk about Stravos," Eve prefaced, skipping to the next section. She eagerly tapped the bolded findings on the page. "You may have noticed that Stravos has not bothered anyone the last two weeks. Not only has he been behaving, but he has been easier to tolerate and work with, proven by his competency during the fantasy event, which involved a group-wide effort."

A look of genuine hope flickered across Lyall's face.

She slid her forefinger across the top margin of the next page. "You can read a synopsis of his development here, which I summarized from my own observation of video footages, as well as internal DMV reports found in the database. In short, Dr. Mel Aradis has been hired to be the island's psychiatrist of the island, and Stravos has been seeing her every day for the last two weeks. His official mental disorder diagnoses are documented in this report, and he is prescribed the medication necessary to be a functional member of society.

"More importantly, however, he is undergoing extensive cognitive behavioral therapy. This is an extensive process, one that takes more time, patience, and healing. However..." Eagerly, Eve turned the page. "Look here. In Dr. Aradis's notes, she observed that Stravos is able to control when he is able to hear thoughts. He is able to block out Dr. Aradis's thoughts completely, choosing when he can or cannot read them. This goes against his genetic report. Subconscious mind reading is extremely rare, and there has not been a documented case world-wide of this being controllable."

Eve tapped the figures of his brain scans highlighting the different colors. "Until now," she said with a hopeful tint in her voice. She focused her gaze at Lyall, pausing until she had his rapt attention so she could lowly finish with: "Stravos's magical genetic makeup changed with therapy, Lyall. It looks different, and the end results are often small-scale, but regardless, this implies magic potential. He is another..."

Eve trailed off as Lyall leaped from his chair to pace out into the room, pumping both fists in the air.

"Oh my god," he exclaimed at the ceiling with intense excitement and relief as Eve slowly swiveled in her chair to watch him closely. Bursting back, he took her by both hands and swept her along with an elated smile on his face.

Eve was not prepared for this. She was caught way off guard, stiffening and freezing up as he took her for a ride, rolling her across the room while spinning her. His hands were warm and soft.

"A one in a million chance!" he declared, letting go to let her spin freely in her seat. "Which we happened to have the good fortune to document ourselves-- No, per fate."

Eve stopped the spinning momentum by skidding her shoes across the floor, coming to a slow stop. Her back was faced towards him, to which she frowned, feeling her face warm as she forcefully peddled her foot to spin herself back around.

"No," Lyall hastily corrected himself again, raking both hands over his hair as he looked out the window to her left, "per human clairvoyance-- but what does it matter?" He laughed brightly. "We only need one rare case, right here under our own observation, to convince enough of the masses to push for testing reform!"

"That--" Eve cleared her throat, brushing back a loose strand of hand that flew in her face as she ungracefully stood up, sending the chair skeetering back. "No," she said calmly, hands clasped together. "This is already a statistical anomaly, but the DMV already accounted for this. With my clearance, I was able to access limited information in the Trieu algorithms, which include infinite forecasts of everyone and everything."

She paused, standing up straighter. "The confidence rating of Stravos being a therapy case is 97.5%. And..." Eve glanced at the binder at the table they abandoned. "The rated likelihood of there being one additional contestant who would unlock their new magic via therapy is 89.5%. But the rated likelihood of there being two additional contestants..."

Eve took a deep breath, staring at the floor before finishing. "...1.3%."

Hands set on his sides, Lyall twisted around to face her, grin never-ceasing. "What I'm hearing," he said, replacing her empty chair as he walked backwards to the table again, "is there's still a chance."

"No!" Eve said frustratedly, frown deepening. "That's not what I'm saying. There's a near-zero chance. We should not be relying on luck here. Especially when there's a greater than 10% chance that the second contestant will not unlock their new magic via therapy."

"Near-zero is still a chance," Lyall argued determinedly, grin turning cheeky. He retook his seat. "The worst that can happen is that testing goes a little longer, right? So why not take that chance?"

Eve heavily sighed, repeatedly shaking her head as she briskly walked back to her chair, sitting down while planting her feet firmly on the floor so she would not roll away again. "No," she replied calmly, sitting upright. "You have limited time. Specifically, you have six weeks to test fifteen contestants. That's hardly enough time. That leaves you less than three days per contestant for the entire testing process."

Lyall hummed, folding his arms as he leaned back. "We can figure this out," he insisted. "There's so many hours in a day, we can try to fit multiple contestants-- let's say two to three--"

"No," Eve said more firmly, interrupting him. "You're being naive. This isn't reflective of reality. We cannot do this with everyone. You need to be more realistic and listen to the numbers."

"Maybe the numbers are more flexible than you think?" Lyall tried.

"No!" Eve said frustratedly, resisting the urge to facepalm from the absurdity of the suggestion. Instead she tensed her jaw and said partly through her teeth, "That's not how statistics works. This is based on decades of data." Weary, she pointed at him. "And you have zero data. None."

"We'll revisit scheduling, then," Lyall insisted diplomatically.

Eve released a tired sigh, relenting. It sounded like the idea did not truly seep into his thick skull, but she was sure it would eventually. Reaching over, she turned back a few pages, landing back on Shane's section.

"Like I said," she began neutrally, neatly folding her hands on top of each other, "there is a high probability that there is one additional contestant who would benefit from therapy-induced testing instead." She gestured to the binder with her chin. "I believe this person is Shane."

Lyall nodded, slowly and quietly. He looked ready to say something, but held his tongue for the moment.

"There is evidence to suggest that stressful events lead to a decline in performance for him," Eve continued. "Extreme psychological, emotional, and physical distress could lead to awakened potential magic, but the forecasts point that, due to the makeup of his psychometry abilities, the results would not be fruitful. As in, the distress implies that his magic potential would be stronger, but due to the constraints of the magic categorization that psychometry is in, such expansions would be more small-scale in nature. For example, the barrier of touch may be removed completely, relying only on sight and focus to activate. In comparison, a therapy-driven approach for unlocked magic may result in more incremental change, such as being related to control, but the delta difference between the two potentials are small."

Eve clasped her hands together. "So," she concluded, nodding once, "not only does this make logical sense, but it is the right choice to make. We should target Shane for the therapy approach."

"Alright then," Lyall agreed, after mulling over the data presented for just a short minute. "The other and only remaining slot for a therapeutic approach: filled."

"Then we are in agreement. Correct?" Eve asked.

"On the method, yes." He raised a finger. "Just one question, though."

"Yes?" Eve said, waving him on. "What is it?"

"Would it be..." He pursed his lips. "...entirely wise if such sessions were lead by me in particular?"

Eve stared blankly at him. It appeared they were not on the same page after all.

"Considering." Lyall looked askance. "Circumstances."

This? This was what he was thinking?

"...Circumstances," Eve repeated slowly, still staring by at him, ceasing her brows together.

Lyall's expression turned flat, and he huffed, "Of which I'll assume you're well aware of."

This felt so irrelevant to the bigger picture here that Eve honestly to think about what exactly he was referencing.

"Clearly I'm asking the wrong person," Lyall quickly said under his breath. Then he raised both hands. "Not to worry, I'll figure something out."

"Is this in reference to the supposed romantic conflict of interest?" Eve asked.

Lyall dropped his hands flat on the table. "...Yes."

At this point, Eve had furrowed her brows so much that she was nearly squinting. "You are not the therapist, Lyall," she deadpanned. "Dr. Mel Aradis is."

"Alright." Lyall nodded once. "Yes. Good."

"Although," Eve continued, now giving this subject more thought, "I believe it would be wise if you held no tie to him at all. You may be a reason he's distressed. The goal here is to lessen that."

"Right," Lyall murmured. "We're in further agreement, then."

"Does he even know what happened?" Eve prodded.

"No," Lyall answered quickly. "At least, I hope not." Then he shook his head and asked incredulously, "So now you care what I supposedly am or am not doing?"

Eve's state turned flat at that. "You did not show up to our meeting yesterday or respond to any of my messages. So of course I did my due diligence and had to see what took higher priority for you."

"Rather than asking me?" he pressed, just as flatly.

"You were passed out at the pool until the early morning hours with someone else," Eve snapped back. "That was enough of an answer."

"Something else I still don't fully understand," Lyall went on, folding his hand together, "is why you have access to such resources on the island. And use them-- quite extensively, might I add-- and yet I had your disdain for a mere burgeoning relation to the DMV, and a bottle of confetti."

"Maybe if you focused and stopped creating so much drama, you'd be given more opportunity and resources!" Eve said thinly, voice rising. She was losing her patience with him. This was absurd.

"'Creating drama'," he echoed, affronted. "Excuse me, madame, but what you've observed from the shadows is merely called--"

"Love?" Eve cut in. "Romance? Infatuation?"

"Investing in my friendships," Lyall determinedly bit out.

"Of which, you are being not only reckless, impulsive, and irresponsible, hurting Shane in the process, but you are also--"

"I don't need your judgements!" he cut in, tone sharp like a knife, throwing his hands toward the ceiling. "Spare me your judgements of my personal life. You of all people on this godforsaken island are the least qualified to have them!"

Even though Eve knew that Lyall knew very little about her own life, that still stung. Because it was true.

She tightened her jaw, silently glaring at him, deciding to choose mercy and bite back the last unsaid words. They had to steer this back to a productive conversation.

"Tell Shane," she warned lowly. "If you truly don't want to create drama, you and Alan should better communicate. Your actions and words affect other people."

Lyall's gaze, clouding with frustration and anger, quickly cleared. Sharpened, then tamed with sudden understanding.

Eve made another mental note to add to her list: volatile emotions.

"You're my manager," he huffed without much real heat anymore. He leaned back in his chair. "Which pertains to work. Not my personal life."

Eve had said all she needed to say here. Sliding the binder closer to her, she turned to a tabbed section in the middle that she had purposely skipped earlier. The header said "LYALL ASHLUND" in big bold lettering.

"That leaves us to talk about you," she said neutrally, sliding the binder towards him again. "You cannot test yourself. Therefore, I assigned myself as your tester. You will be the only one I will test."

At first, a look of resignation fell over Lyall's face. He stopped himself short of what would likely have been a sarcastic retort, though, and eventually cast her an almost hopeful look.

"Should be interesting," he relented pleasantly.

Eve closed the binder. "Yes," she agreed neutrally. "I have my own notes on you, not shared in your copy. Please study this binder and put together a schedule that includes everyone's testing period, allowing time for research and analysis. And of course, please account for your own test period as well."

"Yes, ma'am," Lyall answered with a small flourish of one hand.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked.

He shook his head. "A comment, though," he answered, "if I may be so bold."

Eve had a feeling this was going to lead to more unproductive conversation. But still, she waved him on. "Go on."

Lyall graciously inclined his head in thanks. Then, voice unexpectedly softened, said, "Your actions and words could affect others too, you know."

Eve stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she turned away, brows knitted together. "Did..." She glanced at him uncertainly.

What purpose did he have in telling her this?

"Have I hurt your feelings?" she asked bluntly.

Lips quirking with fleeting amusement, Lyall shook his head. "I should like the opportunity for our words to carry such weight with one another, though. Someday."

It felt like Eve's mind was lagging. What she was hearing and processing did not align with what she knew and assumed of Lyall. She didn't mean to stare, but this almost didn't feel real.

Pushing his chair out a bit, Lyall sat straighter and turned both palms skyward inquisitively. "Meeting adjourned?"

"Why do you say that?" Eve blurted out.

It was Lyall's turn to quietly and blankly stare back at her in the next pause.

"I..." He folded his hands on the table again. "...only think you should have company in the shadows. Perhaps venture out of them from time to time."

"But..." Eve turned away, squinting at the spine of a DMV manual from forty years ago that sat nearby on the shelf. "Okay." She paused, only taking half a second to think through her next words. "But why are you saying this to me now?"

"I realize," he answered slowly, picking at the grains of the table, "I should have far sooner."

Glancing back up at her, Lyall poked at the corner of the binder. "This doesn't just happen over the course of a night or two." He shrugged, tilting his head back and forth in contemplation, then concluded, "You need to get out more."

Eve's mind raced to make sense of this. It was only some minutes ago that they were raising their voices at one another, tensely arguing. She had noted that Lyall's emotions were volatile, and she wondered if this was an effect. For him to say words that sounded kind and pretty, but lacked any true conviction and sincerity. Words that were empty and hollow, only delivering false hopes and promises.

She still didn't know if she could trust him. Especially after everything she had seen of his personal life on the island.

"I thought, as your manager," she began, just as hollow, "that we only discuss work. Not personal life."

Lyall raised both brows, in a show of being struck heavily by this point. Then he pursed his lips in thought and said, "Personal life-- or, lack thereof-- can and does affect work performance."

How presumptuous of him.

"Yes," Eve agreed calmly, frown deepening. "And likewise, personal life-- specifically, an excessively hedonistic lifestyle-- can and does affect work performance."

"Touché," Lyall conceded in a hum. "I know, at least for me, its been a hard balance to strike."

"I have noticed," Eve said dully.

"Of course you have," Lyall said wryly. "But by what means have you been able to keep tabs on me?"

Eve deeply sighed, weary of Lyall continually talking in circles. This was unproductive and a waste of time.

"We are done here," she said instead, rolling back to stand up from the chair.

"What I'm trying to say," Lyall sighed, though with an amused grin as he waved her back down, to which she ignored, "is we don't have to restrict our conversations to work matters. We ought to spend some time outside of work hours."

Still standing, Eve glanced at him uncertainly again, knuckles grazing the edge of the table. "...Should we?" she questioned with a higher pitch.

"Between you and I," Lyall answered lightly with another grin, "we could conjure a hundred reasons as to why not." He shrugged again. "I heartell there are positive aspects to working with friends. For example: the likelihood of getting struck in the face by a stapler is drastically decreased."

Eve pressed her lips together tightly, too skeptical to buy into this act. She didn't understand how he could go from only seeing her as a work manager, to wanting to be friends-- all in a matter of minutes. She didn't buy it.

"You don't," Lyall went on, "have to reach any decision or conclusion on the matter, by any means. Though I'd say, with our limited time here, the sooner the better."

"Why the change of heart?" she decided to ask, crossing her arms.

With a dry huff of a laugh, Lyall pulled the binder closer to himself and flipped it shut. "Because this--" He demonstratively patted both hands on top of the cover. "--should not be the only thing in which you invest your time and energy."

"I..." Eve frowned, trying not to show too much of her indignance. "That is not the only thing I invest my time and energy in," she finished defiantly.

"Oh?" Tilting his head, Lyall pressed a hand over his heart. "Pardon my uninformed assuming. What are these other investments of yours?"

"I don't..."

Eve trailed off and scoffed, annoyed that even entertained the idea of explaining herself to this incompetent, infuriating man. Lyall had no right to waltz into this room, perform zero work, and then tell her how to live her life. Irritated, she loudly pushed the chair into the table, turning her back away from Lyall so she could leave via the teleporter.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," she said defiantly, throwing a hand in the air. "We are done here."

"Tell me another time, then," Lyall amicably called after her. "Perhaps over lunch!"

"No," she said stubbornly, quickly walking to the corner of the room.

Lyall's chair was pushed out too as he presumably stood, but didn't follow. "You can pick where we eat!"

Eve pressed her hand against the portal activator, the machine waking up from her prints. It whirred to life, taking a few seconds to turn on.

Eve turned back towards him with an aggravated frown. Lyall was still by the table, still a disheveled mess, still wearing the same smug smile, still overall incompetent and difficult.

"You can walk back," she flatly replied instead.

His smirk quickly fell into a look of betrayal and exhaustion at the mere mention.

"We will talk again soon," Eve said more pleasantly this time, right in time for the portal to be ready.

With a flop of his hand in a meager wave, Lyall sighed, "Ta."

Without another word, Eve stepped through, leaving Lyall and the cabin behind her.

Lyall had proved to be even more of an irritant for her, but... at least this was one of their more productive meetings. They were getting somewhere.

After all, she needed him to succeed as part of her larger plan-- because she could not overthrow the DMV by herself.

Overlooking the ocean, at the edge of the plaza, the DMV crew had cleared out what was normally an open seating space and built a stage, and laid out a dancefloor. Colorful lights shone off the tiles, calm, classical music played over the speakers, and closer to the entrance there was an array of table and benches, presumably for seating.

To the right of the tables, there was a bar set up. James thought he recognized the temporary pop-up stand from Ooktoberfest, but this time it'd been made to look classy and sleek. Beside it, there was a long table with an array of foods ranging from small appetizers to full entrees.

It seemed James hadn't had to worry about food. Oh well. He could easily eat a fourth meal with no consequence.

They fortunately hadn't had to walk up to the plaza all this way. At the bottom of the hill, several staffers had goolf carts, shuttling people up to the event so no one got too sandy or sweaty before they even got there. James found himself only vaguely taking in the other attendees' arrivals, feeling a bit lost in the momemt.

Or maybe he was just lost in holding Hild's hand again.

Was that kind of pathetic? He wasn't going to label that. It was just... nice. Really nice.

At some point, Shane split off to greet others. James turned to Hild, spotting her brother across the way. He nodded in Lyall's direction.

"Green and blue," he said, noting that they both had cool colors.

Hild softly snorted when she likewise caught sight of her brother. "And not an ounce of shame," she commented under her breath.

Just withdrawing from a hearty half-embrace with Kazimir, Lyall grinned broadly as he locked eyes with and weaved between contestants and visitors toward them. James offered Lyall a smile in greeting.

The next eye-catching thing was the odd glinting off of his feet: the sparkly red kroks from the first week. James stared at them for a moment, honestly equally amazed and amused - but he smiled even wider.

"A well-dressed Mister James Hawke!" Lyall exclaimed lightly in greeting, closing the distance with an outstretched hand. "A rare sight, indeed."

"You're wearing the shoes?" James asked with laughter in his voice as he pulled away from Hild to open his arms for a hug.

Smile brightening, Lyall happily accepted. After a quick, affectionate squeeze, he gave a small pat to James's back as he pulled away. "Purely for a memorable entrance," he explained. "I brought regular shoes for the actual dance."

Hild hummed. "A stroke of forethought. Even rarer."

Her brother's smile turned flat. "A sincere compliment, from you to me? Practically unheard of."

"If I'd have known," James said. "I could've worn mine in solidarity." He cast an assuring glance to Hild. "With a spare set of real shoes as well, of course."

"A relief," Hild deadpanned, her grin betraying her amusement. "I'd have allowed it in that case."

"See, this is more incentive for me to get a functioning phone, soon," James said, a little quieter to Lyall. "Then you can text me these things. We can commit fashion crimes together."

Leaning in a bit in a show of intently listening, Lyall's grin returned full force. "We'll have to create a group chat for Silly Shirt Society," he said with a silly grin.

"If that's going to work you're going to have to obtain more silly shirts," James said even quieter, leaning in with a quick side-eye to Hild. "But don't worry, I know a guy. A gal, actually."

Lyall lifted a hand for a fist bump. "It's nice being well-connected."

James bumped Lyall's fist in return.

"Let's not get carried away here," Hild drawled, slipping an arm around James's at his other side.

James glanced over at her, silently and internally pleased she'd drawn closer.

"Ah, yes!" Lyall agreed. "We still need to plug you back into the broader cellular scheme of things for said connections, hm?"

"That is true," James said.

"And," Lyall brightly exclaimed, "I believe we at last have a suitable solution." A pause. "One that is drastically superior to the pager."

Hild's faint amusement quickly dropped at that. James raised his brows.

"You mean...?" James asked with an incline of his head.

Lyall beamed. "That I do, my dear friend."

And, without further build-up or prompting, searched an inner pocket of his suit jacket and revealed with a flourish an intact phone. It looked exactly like James's old one, before island hell trampled all over it. With a slow-growing smile, James reached out and took it gingerly from Lyall's hands, once again feeling the sting of how much he missed being connected to the outside world. And now, he could finally do it again.

James pulled Lyall into a tight hug. With a quiet "oof", Lyall was quick to return the embrace with a laugh and warm pat to his back.

"You'll have to start from scratch," he explained. "The old one was far too pulverized to extract anything from it."

James pulled away, his smile brightening. "I'll set it up after the dance," James said. Then he glanced at Hild. "Or... well, it wouldn't take that long, would it? Everyone's here. It might be easier..."

Hild met his eyes with a warm grin. "That would be most efficient," she agreed. "In which case, would you like to start with our contact information?"

James smiled a little brighter as he turned the phone on.

"That I would," he said.

Folding her hands, Hild stood a little straighter. "Whenever you're ready," she prompted.

James pulled up his contacts the moment the phone was on and created a new one called "Hild Ashlund." He nodded to her and she recited her number, and he typed it down. A moment later, Hild gave Lyall's number from memory, and he saved that as well.

"There," he said. "Congratulations, you two. You have the honor of being the first contacts in my new phone."

"A privilege," Hild said with a hummed laugh.

Lyall pressed a hand over his heart in a show of overwhelming emotion. "Truly," he agreed, "the highest honor there is. Thank you."

James huffed a laugh, pocketing his phone away. He'd add his family and everyone else to it later.

"And thank you, too," he said. "It's... well, it'll be nice to be able to contact my family again. And keep in touch with you guys too."

Lyall waved a dismissive hand. "It's the least I could do." Then added, more sincerely, "Anything for a good friend."

James only had a chance to offer Lyall another small smile before Lyall changed the subject.

Pivoting on his heel to stand beside him again, Lyall went on, "There is one more thing, though."

With another flourish, he jokingly offered his arm to James as he politely requested of his sister, "Might I steal him for a moment?"

Hild huffed, shooting him a dry look. "One moment?" she echoed, quirking a brow.

"Maybe three," Lyall amended. "Or... more, I'm not counting."

"I am," Hild countered.

"I'll be back," James assured her.

"He'll be back," Lyall echoed pointedly.

Hild cast him a flat grin, before turning her attention to James again. "Of course, it's entirely up to you."

"We'll try to keep it short," he said, a little softer. "I'll circle back to you soon."

"It's truly fine," she replied in assurance as well with a softly hummed laugh. "I was only jesting, and will gladly wait patiently."

Resting a hand on his shoulder, she leaned in and mock-whispered, "If you need saving from his circuitous ways of vernacular, though, blink twice."

James smirked. "Noted," he said, then he pulled away, flashing her a small smile before looking to Lyall, nodding to another end of the slowly-crowding dancefloor to chat. Together, they walked a small distance until they were out of immediate earshot of the others.

"What's on your mind?" James asked.

"Your 'not dead' message," Lyall answered plainly. "Which was at once a comfort, yet still a cause for mild concern."

James clicked his tongue, nodding slightly. Ah. Right.

"Sorry, I was trying to be concise with the limited wordcount," he said. "It uh."

He pressed his lips together for a moment and then let out a sigh through his nose.

"She... stabbed me," he said slowly and a bit awkwardly, his face pinching in expectation for Lyall's response.

Lyall only pursed his lips.

"Several times?" James added a little quieter, his voice raising in pitch a bit. He smiled, but it wasn't really a smile. More like he was just flashing grit teeth in more of a pained expression.

Pressing his eyes shut, Lyall pinched the bridge of his nose with a quiet groan. "But..." He held out a hand in a weary shrug. "Just. Why."

"Why did she stab me?" James asked to clarify.

"No." Lyall huffed. "I mean, yeah, sure." He clapped his hands together and pointed his steepled fingers at James. "I more mean, why put yourself through that?" He narrowed his eyes slightly. "I assume you intend to talk to her yet again, anyhow."

James let out a small sigh.

"Yes," he admitted, putting his hands in his pockets. "It's..."

He didn't really feel like saying this wasn't the worst thing he'd been subjected to. He knew that wasn't necessarily a "good" reason to justify the means. It did, however, explain how he was able to bear it, but he knew that wasn't the kind of answer Lyall was really looking for. Lyall wasn't really asking how strong he was or how much he could endure. He wanted to know why.

"I don't want to give up just yet," he said.

He needed some time to think. Tula needed some time to blow off steam. She needed enough time to realize that she wasn't going to get what she wanted through violence. At least, not with him.

Once that sunk in, she was going to either try avoiding him, or actually have the balls to face him head on. In an adult conversation. Not that he expected her to act like an adult, of course, but hopefully it'd be as start.

He looked past Lyall for a moment, scanning the crowd and spotting Tula across the way, gravitating to the liquor bar.

"I know no one else really agrees with me. But I think she's worth it," he said.

Which admittedly felt like an insane thing to say, but he believed it regardless.

With his hands set on his sides, Lyall closely studied James. Thoughts like doubt and bafflement could be read as they flickered across his face, as well as every plausible theory as to what and how it could go wrong. It all eventually culminated with a look of resignation.

"Clearly you cannot be dissuaded from your..." Lyall waved in vague circles. "...this idea, so I'll spare you the details of my confuzzlements. And will merely offer you my support. Against any and all better judgement."

James hummed softly, nodding as he pressed his lips together.

"If you feel like berating me," James said, putting his hands up. "You are still free to. But I appreciate the restraint."

Lyall mimicked the gesture. "Believe me, I would love to. You have no idea how much it pains me to hold it all in."

James snorted faintly. "Oh, I can imagine," he said. "I guess I'll be due for it if this all doesn't work out. But... until then, I'm grateful for the support."

Lyall nodded, sobering a bit from his own amusement. "I mean it when I say 'anything for a good friend', James." He gave his shoulder a pat, before tucking his hands into his pockets. "I may be confused as hell, but you will have my undying support. Even if I'm convinvced you've finally lost it."

James couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Like, completely off your fucking rocker," Lyall furthered, grinning as well. "Marbles all unaccounted for."

James shrugged, smiling innocently. "Maybe I am," he said. "It's entirely possible."

"No doubt from sustaining head injuries," Lyall snorted.

James tapped the side of his head. "Heals up fast," he said. "No brain damage, I'm just that way."

At that, Lyall let out a short laugh too. "Honestly? The more plausible cause, yes."

James huffed, lightly tapping Lyall's shoulder with his fist. Lyall raised both hands in surrender.

"I misspoke," he said in feigned apology. "You've the IQ of a very humanly billion. I shan't question your mysterious ways any further."

A little more serious, James said: "I don't mind the questioning, really. I mean -- that's part of why I want you to know in the first place."

He knew the importance of having friends who didn't agree with him. It helped keep him in check.

Grin naturally fading, Lyall inclined his head. "Good." He briefly glanced off, seeming to contemplate right then and there. But eventually opted for a quieter, "I really do have larger concerns. But for another time, alright? Here and now isn't..."

As he trailed off, he cast a quick look over his shoulder, toward the bar in the back.

James nodded.

"I understand," he said. "We can talk more later." Tilting his head to the side, he tried to grab Lyall's attention again.

"Maybe try to have some fun tonight, relax a bit, if you can," he said. "I know these kinds of events are up your alley."

Lyall huffed wryly and looked back to him. "I'll certainly enjoy most of my evening." He idly tugged at his tie. "The whole visitor aspect complicates it for a lot of us, though."

James blinked.

He almost forgot about that. No. He had forgotten about that. For some, brief, blissful moment, he'd forgotten that Ingrid was on this island at all.

"Right," he said through his teeth.

Lyall looked back once more, more attentively. "You've got support, if you want it," he said quieter.

"I... don't know what that looks like in this circumstance," James admitted faintly.

"For now," Lyall answered, "it looks like your friends."

"Are we talking... like, a human shield?" James asked, drawing a circle with his fingers. He was only partially joking.

Tilting his head to the side, Lyall hummed, "No. More like, a buffer. A deterrent, of sorts. There's strength in numbers, after all."

James nodded. Right. Okay. So... just. Stick to friends. He could do that.

But now he was nervous. Which felt unecessary. This kind of felt like a set up. Then again, it'd been a set up from the start, when they sent her here.

"Okay," he said.

Lyall nodded. "It's just one more night," he said in reassurance, "then she's out of here."

James wanted to say something along the lines of "Thank God" but in that moment had the presence of mind to fear any potential cameras or microphones picking up that comment and airing it on tevelvision. So, instead he just nodded again.

At this point, he'd potentially already made a bad impression for whenever Ingrid inevitably saw this footage - if it was aired. But he could at least try not to completely bury that grave.

Unless...

He pressed his lips together, realizing, he actually might have to.

Reaching out, he gave Lyall a light pat on the shoulder.

"Right," he said. "Good talk. Would you like to go mingle more, then? I've got your sister waiting on me."

"Ah, yes," Lyall hummed sagely, "mustn't keep the woman waiting." He quickly pat James's back as he began stepping away with a playful grin. "Save a dance for me as well?"

James raised his brows, but smiled.

"Sure," he said. Though he wasn't sure what kind of dancing would be occurring, he certainly would give it his best try.

Brightening with amusement, Lyall inclined his head as he took his leave. With a small nod of goodbye, James realized he needed to close any windows of opportunity for Ingrid - whenever she arrived - to uh. Find him.

Shit, it was inevitable though, wasn't it? It was inevitable.

He hurried back over to Hild, finding her at the food table.

"Hey," he said, as he came up alongside her.

Looking up from the selection of sliced cheeses, Hild gave him a faint grin. "Hullo," she greeted simply, her brows twitching inward in questioning.

James impulsively reached out and picked up maybe more than a moderate handful of cheese. No, he didn't really pay attention to what kind he picked up either.

"I may have forgotten that the guests are still on this island," he said. "And are apparently attending this thing as well."

Hild's eyes flicked down to his handful of cheese. "Regrettably," she murmured, "nothing nice here is without strings."

She peeked around him toward the doors. James shoved more than a normal amount of cheese into his mouth the moment she wasn't looking.

Stress eating. It was fine.

"Would you prefer," she started, only quirking a brow when she looked back in time to catch him, "someone accompany you to avoid an unwanted situation? Or should we try to leave entirely?"

James couldn't respond right away because he had to chew and swallow all of the cheese. Regretting his decision to eat it in this moment, he couldn't really do much else but stare at her and. Chew. While he thought, of course.

Forcing himself to swallow a bit sooner than comfortable, he managed to recover enough to speak after a few awkward seconds of wait time. With a hand over her mouth and her brows pinched, Hild desperately fought to hide her amusement.

"I think that would be best, yes," he said. Then realized he did not clarify which thing he was responding to. "Someone... keeping company, that is. I'm doubtful that just leaving is a viable option."

"True," she agreed with a sigh. "A ridiculous restriction. For which they did not note any circumstances for exemption, such as a medical emergency or..." She pursed her lips. "...great mental distress."

"Pretty sure I'm an exception in either of those deliniations," James said, looking down at the smaller portion of cheese still in his hand. "Since..."

Well, mostly because no one had really seemed to care. Of course, Lyall now had some influence, but James didn't think either of them truly knew of far it'd go in this regard. He was doing testing, not running the whole DMV. James was pretty sure the event organization was under someone else's responsibilities and approved by Maeve. Not that they'd ever been given a formal breakdown of the DMV's infrastructure.

James waved a hand with a sigh.

"Yeah," he said, deciding not to finish his thought. He was, admittedly, still a bit defeated in this whole matter. Getting a working phone again was nice, but at this point, he was just waiting for this whole thing to be over.

"I'm wondering if it may not be the best idea to eat a lot if there's going to be dancing," James pondered aloud as he considered eating more again.

Hild hummed quietly and slipped her hand in his. "Perhaps pace yourself, at least," she suggested, gently tugging on his hand in beckoning.

James could always depend on Hild to be reasonable. With a nod, he tossed the cheese in a nearby bin - because he wasn't going to put it back on the plate after touching it.

"If I'm to eat anything next," he said. "Within a reasonable time, of course. Please remind me that it should be green."

"Will do," Hild answered pleasantly.

She moved them along to the next table over, where the refreshments were spread out. Disentangling their hands, she poured from an iced water pitcher and wordlessly wrapped his hands around the glass with an expectant quirk of both brows. James huffed through his nose a bit, kind of enjoying her moving his hands more than the practical need that was being met. Trying not to smile, he let her hands linger on his just a second more before taking a drink.

"Thank you," he said, as he pulled the cup away.

Hild tilted her head with a fond, close-lipped smile. "We'll make this work," she quietly assured him.

"I hope so," James said, glancing over his shoulder.

She brushed her hand over his arm as a silent gesture of comfort. James tried to smile, but it didn't really work this time. The anxiety was getting to him.

"You know," Hild spoke up again after a short beat of quiet, gently cutting through the building stress, "I don't believe I ever asked you what types of dance you know."

James had looked down at his feet, but looked up at the question.

"Oh. Well... I know how to waltz," he said. "But mostly grew up doing traditional group dances in larger social settings with my family."

Hild hummed in a show of contemplation. "I'm familiar with the waltz as well," she said. "And might know of some of the same group dances."

"Sounds like we have some common ground, then," James said, then tilted his head to the side with a faint grin. "A waltz with you would make my night, honestly."

Folding her arms, Hild smiled at the floor as she idly swished her hips, almost shyly.

"Why don't we start with that, then?" she asked, mirroring his head tilt as she looked back up at him.

James felt his brain stall a bit, but simultaneously felt giddy. Feeling a smile slowly crawl on his face, he couldn't help but wonder if he was as transparent as he felt.

"I'd love that," he said.

And, internally, he realized he'd found the perfect moment to ask her on a date.

Right after the dance, he'd ask the question.

Today had turned out to be a great day, actually. Alan felt like he accomplished so much, and it was the type of accomplishments that had him feeling good. Like a long run, or a good grade after studying. Except instead of exercise or academics, this pertained to productive conversations with people important in his life.

And it felt silly, but now Alan was walking into a gala-like event in a tailored tan suit, elbows linked with his best friend in an equally snazzy suit, both of them wearing the epitome of fashion.

Not their suits. Their shoes.

Donning the holey rainbow rubber shoes Alan bought in week one, he and Lyall entered the ballroom with their dazzling kroks, waving at the cameras. Alan hadn't really imagined himself as a celebrity despite the large viewer count of this show, but he had to admit that it was illegally fun to walk on a red carpet like this.

It was all over-the-top and absurd, but Alan committed to the bit. Or rather, they both did. Alan made one dumb suggestion to pose in front of the cameras as if they were paparazzi, and Lyall ran with it.

So. There existed photos of them with ridiculous poses, such as being back-to-back like Charley's Angels, both their arms wrapped in an overhead arc to make a heart, and the both of them holding each other's leg to point at each other's shiny krok. Alan wanted to say he was not sober when he went with this, but unfortunately (or fortunately) he was.

Others joined in for camera fun, and it was all in good fun, though Alan peeled away first, on the lookout for his brother. Alistair said he'd be here, though he didn't see him anywhere yet. Then again, Alistair was almost always late. Perhaps he was making his grand entrance later. He couldn't wait to see him in a suit considering he never dressed up.

Alan also noted that there were no visitors in general yet. Everyone here were the other contestants so far, but considering the massive dance floor, it felt empty with just them.

With a drink in hand, his eyes drifted to Hild and James across the room. They had stuck together since the beginning of the event, and it made Alan wonder...

Well. Were there other romances being developed around the island? He knew about Alex and Hendrik, considering their room were across from his and they were awfully loud sometimes. But were there others?

And did any of them involve Hild?

No... he'd know. Or would he?

Alan pursed his lips in thought, mulling this over as he took a slow sip of his drink.

Sliding in beside him, Lyall lightly bumped their shoulders together as he said, "No signs of the brothers yet, hm?"

Alan smiled, glad to see his friend again. He shook his head and playfully elbowed him back. "No, not yet," he said, gaze drifting across the empty dance floor. "It's a big room, though. I'm sure they'll come soon, along with others."

Lyall's only response was a quick hum. With his hands folded behind his back, he quietly followed Alan's gaze.

"Have you talked to Hild yet?" Alan asked with a smile, attention back on Lyall again. He gestured towards Hild's direction with his glass. "She looks really nice. I haven't spoken to her yet today, though."

"Earlier today," Lyall answered, a little quieter as he looked Hild and James's way, "when I met up with Vik. She didn't stay long, though. Something about cats..."

"Well," Alan said with a soft hum, "maybe you both can share a dance later today, to make up for lost time because of cats."

"I think we shall," Lyall agreed, casting him another quick grin. "In turn, I politely request to see a shared dance between yourself and Alistair."

Alan grinned, tsking as he set his gaze back across the empty dance floor. Still no sign of visitors yet. "You don't need to request that," he said playfully. "I already have plans to do that. He might say no, but he doesn't have a choice. He's going on the dance floor whether he wants to or not."

"I'll be sure to capture what will undoubtedly be a show-stopping performance," Lyall said pleasantly, "and send you the footage."

Alan huffed through his nose, amused by the thought of their dance being captured. It would be nice to have, though.

"Please do," he said with a smile, bumping his elbow against his. "And if you want to make my mom's day, send her the video and ask her to dance. She'd be over the moon."

Lyall brightened at the suggestion. "That, my beloved friend, is a promise."

Still smiling, Alan raised a brow, openly intrigued. "Are you making promises on dances, now?"

Glancing out over the dance floor, Lyall hummed as he bounced on his heels. "Only for a very select few," he answered with a feigned air of haughtiness.

"That's a funny coincidence," Alan replied nonchalantly, taking a small sip of his drink. "I am too. At least, for special dances. Can't just have anyone on that list."

Lyall playfully quirked his brows in intrigue him. "Might I inquire who's made this illustrious list?"

"Oh, you know." Alan casually shrugged, idly swirling his drink. "Just a beloved friend."

Grin turning close-lipped, Lyall flicked his gaze down to their ridiculous shoes, then met Alan's eyes again with excitement sparking in his own green ones. He shifted his weight to one foot, so their shoulders just brushed.

"Do I know this friend?" He dropped his voice to a mock whisper and added, "Who must I challenge to a dance battle in order to defend my title?"

Alan smiled wide at that, tilting his head and slightly narrowing his eyes at him. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing?" he said playfully, nudging his side with his elbow. "Well, now I must say another name so I can witness this dance-off."

Looking away, Lyall playfully scoffed, "No, never jealousy." Folding his hands together, he shrugged nonchalantly. "All in good fun."

Alan nodded, keeping his gaze on his friend, smiling never waning. The colorful lights swayed and danced in the otherwise empty floor in front of them, only slowing when the song transitioned to a slower, relaxed song.



Alan had heard this song a couple of times and thought that, maybe, it was bold and a little cliche to ask someone special to him for this dance. But...

It was a west coast swing song, they had just finished bantering about meaningful banter, and Lyall was right there.

The guitar introduction had finished when Alan peered over the empty dance floor, knowing that the best motivator to get other people to dance, was to dance first. Casually, he glanced at Lyall, wondering if the same thought crossed that scatterbrained mind of his. But he would never know if he didn't ask.

Huffing a quiet laugh through his nose, Alan nudged his elbow against his side and offered his hand. "Do you want to dance?" he asked directly, just as the artist began singing the lyrics.

Flicking his attention down to Alan's hand, then up to his eyes, Lyall seemed to only register the question after a second's delay. With that same wry sort of scoff-laugh, he grinned out at the dance floor again. "Now?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

"All in good fun," Alan echoed with a grin, nudging his hand towards him again. "Right?"

Lyall tilted his head at him, grin still dry but eyes brightening again as he quietly obliged. He set his hand in Alan's, and strode out onto the open floor beside him. It was a little daunting to be the first ones under all of the spotlight, but none of that mattered. Alan let the background melt away until he stood in front of Lyall, just the two of them, hand-in-hand.

Briefly, Alan thought back to the last time they danced. Out in the pier, weeks ago. Though it felt like a lifetime ago now as they were only getting to know each other then.

"You lead and I follow?" he asked with a soft smile, locking eyes with him.

Genuine excitement lit up Lyall's next smile. He took Alan's other hand and rested it over his heart. "Sounds good to me," he agreed warmly.

Lyall should have known better than to step aside for refreshments by his lonesome. T'was by the punch bowl-- gods, an actual punch bowl, as if this was fucking prom-- where loners oft became easier pickings for less-than-savory folks.

He knew about Eve's past connection with Oliver Trieu. For some reason, it never really clicked that he'd be attending until he saw the smug, tuxed-up bastard himself.

"Lyall Ashlund," Oliver called cordially as he advanced, a thin champagne glass in hand. "How are you enjoying the evening so far?"

"Mister Trieu," Lyall greeted with a polite nod and grin. "It's a bustling scene. Which I do rather enjoy." Under more normal circumstances, however.

Ladling himself a cup of juice, he pointed with his chin to the island co-director. "Praytell, what's drawn you out of your ivory tower, down to our level?"

"Our level?" Oliver raised a brow, lips curled up into a half-smile. "I believe we are on similar levels, at least relative to the others on this island. Do you disagree?"

Lyall hummed pleasantly. "Strongly, actually."

Should he be antagonizing the man who was essentially his boss? Probably not. But, damn, if it wasn't cathartic.

Amused, Oliver swirled his glass, smile growing. "Care to indulge me and explain?"

"It's purely technical reasoning, I assure you," Lyall half-fibbed. He leaned a hip against the refreshments table. "While we're both allied under the same broad-reaching umbrella of the DMV, there's still a very multi-leveled hierarchy." He tipped his cup Oliver's way. "One that you are, of course, quite senior within-- at the top of, in fact. Which makes perfect sense, since you're, what..." He hummed in thought. "At least a decade older than myself?"

Oliver's smile waned as he slightly narrowed his eyes at him. "Not quite," he said simply.

"Two decades?" Lyall amended.

"Tread carefully," Oliver said sternly, all amusement fading away. "Maeve may like you, but I have the final word for all orders." Cordial demeanor returning, he flourished a hand in front of him, continuing on. "We are on similar levels, not the same level. Always remember your place."

Lyall's own grin darkened. Such reminders were never needed; he was already keenly aware.

"Alright, Mister Trieu," he obliged in a more chipper tone of voice. "In that case, I'd like to repeat my original question: Why exactly have you decided to at last grace us with your highly esteemed presence?" He sipped at his juice. "Surely not to fish for flattery or make small talk."

"Surely not," Oliver confirmed pleasantly, lifting his champagne glass up, but not taking a sip of it yet. "You are my employee. I would like to know how your far along you are with your work. Are you aware of your tasks, or would you like me to go over them with you?"

"Since I was given no more than a vague goal, I'm currently writing up some lightweight curricula," Lyall answered smoothly. "Some study materials to aid the physical testing process."

"And you have been collaborating with your colleague, Eve, I presume?" Oliver asked with a slight quirk of his brow.

"Of course," Lyall half-lied. "Most recently, she arranged a proper testing facility-- which you neglected to provide to begin with."

"I see." With another fake, pleasant smile, Oliver glanced down at his glass, studying the bubbles. "And what, pray tell, are each of your roles?"

It occurred to Lyall that he never really did press for Eve to more clearly define her job title. He'd just taken the liberty of slapping on the label "micro-manager".

New note: ask Miss Eve during their next meet-up.

"What, do you not know?" he asked instead, tilting his head in feigned confusion.

"Au contraire," Oliver replied pleasantly with a smile and a flourish of his hand. "I know everything. And I know, for a fact, that you do not know this answer."

Lyall didn't quite hate Oliver, but he was certainly liking him less and less with every passing minute.

"I'd rather not disclose in public," Lyall politely rebutted, turning his eyes back out to the vast, empty dance floor beside them. "I've found she's a very private person, and I'd rather respect that."

"You are quite a gentleman," Oliver commented.

"Unlike you," Lyall smoothly shot back.

Oliver kept his feigned smile, lowering his glass. "Your insults do not bother me. Remember, I know everything. Everything that you could say, would say, or will say..." He innocently shrugged. "It is already forecasted. With the DMV, you lose the element of surprise. A shame, isn't it?" He sighed, overlooking the empty dance floor. "Ah well. Such is life."

Trying not to grip his cup too tightly (it was plastic), Lyall drained the rest of its contents to keep from visibly bristling.

Smug, rich bastards were one thing. Smug, rich clairvoyant bastards were a whole new level of irreparably insufferable.

"Eve has access to these futures as well," Oliver continued cordially. "Limited access, but access nonetheless. To your future and many others, in fact."

Lyall slowly set the cup aside on the table, gaze unfocusing as the implications gradually sank in.

What did Oliver hope to accomplish by telling him this? Sow seeds of doubt? That made no sense, the Trieus intended for Eve and himself to work together to begin with.

He didn't want a rift to form between them so easily-- especially at the hands of this drama island tyrant. But he couldn't put his blind trust in someone so extremely guarded either. Someone who she herself scorned Lyall for even the slightest hints of optimism, insisted on correcting his "naivete" every chance she got.

Oliver hummed, and Lyall felt his gaze trained on him in the brief ensuing silence. "She hasn't told you," he said disappointingly. "Understandable. She is quite territorial about information. Knowledge is power, after all." He gestured towards Lyall with his chin to add, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"No, thank you," Lyall abruptly said, suddenly disconnected from the surface level of the conversation. The feeling of his skin curdling under the clairvoyant's gaze was starting to seep in to his bones.

The man was getting to his head, pressing all the right buttons, flexing his true power: manipulation. Lyall abhorred it.

"Ah." Oliver tapped his finger against the glass, smile turning into disappointment. "Here I was, on the brink of offering you the same services: to peek into your future, eliminating all future uncertainties of pain, failure, romance, and power. However." He sighed, lifting his glass, swirling it in front of his face. "I would never in my right mind give this power to anyone who would not appreciate it."

Casting the bastard a hardened side-eye, Lyall clenched his jaw in refusal to answer.

Because he feared he might actually take Trieu up on such an offer.

"Perhaps one day, you will prove yourself," Oliver went on smugly. He offered another pleasant smile his way, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Or perhaps, today. Your task of the day is to test Eve's magic and her vast potential. You only have one day. Your failure rate is forecasted to be 45%." He hummed, taking a small sip of his drink. "Mostly due to a lack of knowledge, unfortunately. Again, quite a shame."

New new note: get some real dirt on this prick. Sometime. Soon.

"I've faced higher odds," Lyall said with fake confidence and burning spite.

Finally facing Oliver again, he stepped closer, drawing himself to his fullest height to darkly mutter, "Answer me this first, though--"

"I did," Oliver cut in, amusement washing over his face. "Remember, Lyall: I know everything."

"Oh?" Lyall quirked both brows in disbelief. "So, not only did you knowingly put your wrinkled face directly in the flight path of James's fist, but you decided to take a good blow to your precious reputation as well? Over what?"

"Butterfly effect," Oliver answered matter-of-factly. "You may not understand it now, but you will someday."

Lyall scoffed. "You give yourself far too much credit. You may be a human algorithm, but you're still only human. A mere man, desperately trying to shield his fragile ego."

Oliver clicked his tongue disapprovingly through the mirthless smile, shaking his head. "Remember your place, Lyall. You are flying too close to the sun. You may very well fall and lose it all."

Remember your place.

The repeated reminder of the power Lyall never once had over his own life stoked the coals in his gut. Fueled a burning, age-old frustration that underscored every left turn.

He had to step back again, before he did anything impulsive.

"Enjoy your evening, Mister Trieu," Lyall bid tersely, finally tearing his attention away from the troll. "And keep it as far and separate from mine as you are able."

"I fully intend to do so," Oliver replied, amicable tone and smile returning. He gave Lyall the barest of bows. "Have a pleasant rest of your evening, Lyall. Best of luck to you as well. You will need it."

Well, this was about to get spicy, wasn't it? Alexander could already tell, knowing that the visitors would be here any minute, also dressed to the nines like everyone else. He felt more for Hendrik, knowing that Luka would be around, but fortunately, Luka didn't seem the vengeful type. He was clearly just here to have fun, which Alex could respect. Hopefully Hendrik didn't feel too uncomfortable, though. He'd successfully avoided contact with his ex thus far, but Alexander had a feeling this whole dance would be a drama-filled-reckoning for anyone avoiding their visitors this past week.

Well, lucky for him, his visitor was just his mom. Whom he loved dearly.

No drama for him. It was a bit of a bummer, actually, but at least he got to watch everything else play out with a front seat.

I mean, sure. He did feel bad. Sort of.

He was gettting there, okay?

Standing next to Hendrik, they'd bee-lined for the bar pretty much at the start. Alexander expected this of his sort-of-not-date, but to be honest, he was a little dissapointed that Hendrik was already, what, like five shots in? They'd barely been here ten minutes and he was already drunk.

Guess that's what should be expected having an alcoholic with no consequences and an open bar.

Alexander leaned against the bar, looking over at his very-soon-to-be-drunk sort-of-maybe-boyfriend. They still needed to define that, didn't they? Technically they'd already gone on some dates and been around the bases. They just hadn't labelled anything.

Alexander let his eyes linger on Hendrik's endearingly ridiculous camo suit. Even though all of their outfits had apparently been perfectly tailored to their bodies, somehow, Hendrik's still hung just a little too tightly. As a result, his musculature was more visible, which Alex couldn't really complain about. But it was still comical.

"Dear," Alexander said, trying to get Hendrik's attention as he was halfway through a beer. "If we're going to be dancing, it'd be really nice if you could at least stand on your feet."

"Hmph!" Hendrik gulped the rest of his beer, slamming the empty glass down with a bellied laugh. "You want me on my feet, or you want me on my ass?"

Alexander sighed. Yeah. He'd expected as much. Maybe Alex should get a drink too, if this was how the night was going to go.

Just as he was about to wave to the bartender, though, he caught sight of a green-clad man headed in his direction with some strange sort of timid intent.

Shane. They'd dressed him like some sort of classy leprechaun. For some reason, even though Shane was averagely tall, it felt right.

Alex decided to hold off on the drink, not sure if he needed to be sober for this.

"Alex," Shane greeted politely, offering him a faint smile and giving Hendrik a wave.

Fortunately, since Hendrik was mid-massive-chug, he didn't have an opportunity to spout a potentially offensive greeting to the mild-mannered man. Yet.

"Sorry if I'm barging in, but can I steal you for a moment?" Shane asked. "It won't be long."

"Flannel! Just the man I want to see," Hendrik butted in, immediately frowning as he looked up and down at Shane's outfit, clearly disappointed. "Where's your dress at, Cinderella?"

"I..." Shane spread his hands, waving his outfit up and down uncertainly with a baffled expression. "I don't think there were plans for me to wear one." He paused, then added, "Sorry, I guess?"

Alex forced a small smile, trying not to let his dissapointment show.

"Lead the way, Shane," Alex said, turning to Hendrik to brush his arm. "See you in a bit."

"Make sure to shoot more kroks!" Hendrik replied loudly, another bellied laugh escaping him.

"I-- sure, will do," Shane said, clearly giving up on trying to understand where Hendrik was coming from.

With a small nod and a suppressed sigh, Alex looked to Shane, who flashed him another faint smile through the lingering confusion and started to lead him a short distance away, just around the corner at the edge of the bar, where they could be out of everyone's way. As they stopped, Shane turned to meet Alex's eyes with sudden sincerity.

"I wanted to thank you for getting me back to the others during the event," he said gently. "You saved my life, without a doubt. I don't know how hard that must have been-- you had to make your way through a jungle that was still actively killing to kill you, plus part of a mountain-- but I know it took a lot of resolve, bravery, and empathy. And I'll always be thankful that you made that sacrifice. It didn't serve you in any way, but you still did it." Shane paused. "To me, that's not just a mark of growth, but that you're a much better person than you think you are. I hope you start to believe it someday."

Alexander found himself staring at Shane for a moment, a little surprised and caught off guard. He hadn't had any expectations for what this was all going to be about. If he'd had any, it might've been that Shane needed something, or wanted to talk about the whole nightmare issue again. Not this.

Somehow this... this soft little man, had imprinted on him. As a thankful baby bird.

And frankly, Alex wasn't really used to getting thanks like this. Not at this level of thought or sincerity. Hell, it almost felt rehearsed with how well-written it was. It was like Shane thought all of this through, trying to check all of the boxes or something. How was it possible to list out so many compliments in a row? Did Shane really mean all of it, or was this just the survivor's guilt talking?

Trying to take this with some sort of grace and give Shane the benefit of the doubt - because he really was trying to be better - Alex finally pulled himself out of his unbroken stare.

What was he supposed to say to that?

"Uh..." he vocalized without really meaning to. "Yeah. You're... well, I'd have to be a pretty shitty person to let you die."

Hm. Maybe not the best thing to say. Oh well.

Shane's lips quirked briefly in a faint, solemn smile. Did that mean he'd said something wrong? "And you're not that. I know that was the easier option, with no consequences coming from me, and you definitely didn't get any reward from carrying me for half a day. But you took the hard path knowingly anyway, for someone you're not even close to, and that's bigger than you realize. That shows commitment to being better."

Okay. Maybe he should just say thank you? Then Shane wouldn't feel the need to keep going.

"Yeah, I-- I know," he said, hating that his words came out so stilted and awkward.

God, he was never like this. Awkward was never a word he used to describe himself. Now all of a sudden, trying to be "better," he felt so goddamn out of his element. It was the worst.

"Thank you. For all of..." he spun his hand. "The nice words. I'm glad you're okay now and hopefully you're not too traumatized."

Hm. Should've left that part out. Too late.

"Besides," he added. "You're not that heavy. It'd have been a different story if it was Hendrik." With a shrug, he hoped it sounded like a joke as he intended. "He's like, twice my size in mass. Even as a dwarf."

Thankfully, Shane did chuckle quietly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. "I guess it's good they picked the string bean to be the dead weight for a day."

Alex huffed.

"It wasn't fair that they put us against a fucking panther," Alex said. "Especially since it sounds like we were one of the smallest parties."

"It certainly wasn't," Shane agreed. "They must have known you could handle it, but that was pretty fucked up."

Alex pursed his lips. "Yeah, just because I kill these things for a living doesn't mean I like facing one unprepared," he said. "It's different when I'm doing it professionally and I'm armed with a real gun instead of a spear. I'm a sniper more than anything. I don't like getting up close to the big monsters. It's not smart. Not when you're alone."

"I don't know if you need a resume for hunting experiences, but if you do, this should go on there," Shane said. "'Fought off a panther in its own territory with nothing but a spear, while purple.'"

"Yeah, sure, and I'll put you down as my reference," Alex said with a chuckle.

Shane cracked a smile. "If anyone calls me, I'll be sure to hype you up."

Alex felt a genuine smile come to his face. Okay. That was actually really nice.

"And be sure to add some embellishment about how strong and heroic I was, too," he said, lifting up his arm in a brief flexing pose, even though his muscles weren't exactly visible through his gaudy suit jacket.

Shane grinned slightly. "Will do. The panther could also breathe fire and had ten heads, too."

"And then I killed it with my bare hands," Alex added.

"Didn't even need the spear," Shane confirmed.

Alex let out a little huff through his nose, looking down at Shane with a grin for a moment.

"...I like you," he said, reaching over and patting Shane's shoulder twice.

He thought about adding: "You're not as twiggy as I thought," but maybe that was better left unsaid.

Shane kept grinning, chuckling again. "I like you too."

Alex raised a hand. "Hey, don't get too fond of me, though," he said. "I've got an alcoholic waiting on me."

He paused, glancing quickly back at Hendrik. Good. He didn't hear that. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice.

"Don't tell him I said that, though," he said. "Got it?"

"Got it," Shane said, his grin softening into a tamer smile. "I should let you get back to that. Have a good rest of the dance, Alex."

Alex did a little salute with two fingers off the noggin. Shane imitated the gesture in response.

"You too, Shane," Alex said.

With another nod and flash of a smile, Shane made his way towards the dance floor, signaling Clandestine with a friendly wave.

Alright. Little green man overwith. Time to address his camouflaged muscle-man. Alex turned to look at the other end of the bar, watching Hendrik chatting up a very tired-looking bartender - or rather, lecturing him on something something about homemade brews as his booming voice carried.

Alex took just a moment to take in a breath, watching Hendrik yap away.

Maybe... things did need to be defined. Because, well... Alex felt he'd made it clear that he wanted to change for the better. And in honesty, part of that was because he cared enough about Hendrik to try. For himself, but for Hendrik too.

What Alex didn't know was... did Hendrik care enough to try? Was he willing to change? Because Alex didn't think he could stick with something long-term if Hendrik was more committed to his alcohol than to a person.

Hell, it'd be just like marrying his father. And he didn't want to do that. Not at all. And his mother would be heartbroken if she just saw the same cycle continue with him, too.

Standing up straight again, he walked back over to Hendrik, putting his arm over the man's shoulders in greeting while Hendrik was mid-rant.

"What's got your panties in a twist this time?" he asked.

Hendrik pointed at the poor bartender across from him. "This man said he served in the military. Believeable, hm? Big guy, he is." Hendrik drunkenly slammed his fist down against the counter, gritting his teeth. "But this poop machine cannot follow directions. I said bourban straight, not any of this sugary crap!" Angrily, he gestured to the pink cocktail in front of him. "The hell is this? I can't drink this!"

Alex put up his hand to the bartender, trying to graciously wave him off and silently say: I'll deal with this. Fortunately, that was all that was needed to get them some space.

"Hendrik," he said, taking the stool beside him. "You know you don't have to drink it."

"Hmph!" Hendrik aggressively slid the drink towards Alex. "You drink it, then. You like this crap." He waved the thought dismissively, grumbling, "Even though the sugar will give you diabetes."

It would. If Alexander drank every day like that. But he didn't have Hendrik's drinking habit.

"I don't want to drink right now," he said honestly, and he cast a longing glance to the dancefloor. "What I want to do is dance."

Hendrik merely glanced behind him with a slight frown. "Yeah? Lots of room to do that," he said with a nod, waving for the bartender again, likely to harass him for another drink.

Alex frowned.

Hendrik could be so, so dense.

Did he have to spell it out for him? Did he really have to say: Hendrik, I want to dance with you? It felt like, at this point, that Hendrik was only here for the bar, anyway.

Alex felt his anger starting to fume as he looked out at the dancefloor. Lyall and Alan had been the first ones to grace it, but Alex bristled even more at the sight. He should've been the first person out there, but instead he was stuck with a date who only wanted to drink the night away. Not actually have a good time.

When Alan and Lyall stepped off the dancefloor in laughter, and Hendrik got another hefty drink beside him, Alex audibly said: "Fuck it."

Pushing off from the stool, he left Hendrik behind and strutted over to Alan, who was in the process of switching into real shoes. Thank god, because the kroks were atrocious. Especially for dancing.

Alex stopped beside Alan, who was seated and lacing up his real shoes now.

"Alan," Alex said. "I do believe now is a perfect chance for us to dance as we were destined to from the start."

As if the fates aligned, rhythmic tumbao drums started to play from the speakers, along with a melodic run on the piano. Alex knew the song well from childhood. It was one he'd heard hundreds of times.

"Listen to that," Alex said. "It was written for salsa."

A bit baffled, Alan sat up slowly, staring at Alex, then out to the open dance floor, hesitant. Trying to understand, given their history.

"Just one dance," Alex said more firmly. "Then I'll leave you alone the rest of the night."

Alan studied him, slowly standing up from his chair. "Just a dance?" he repeated.

"Just a dance," Alex emphasized.

"One condition," Alan said with a smile and a lifted finger. "I lead you. Is that alright?"

Alex rolled his eyes, smiling wryly in acceptance.

"Lead the way, then," he said, extending a hand for Alan to take.

With a playful smile, Alan grabbed his hand and led him to the dancefloor, stopping in the middle of the dance floor. He grabbed Alex's other hand, tapping his thumbs against his hand to the dance beat of the the salsa song. Wordlessly, they moved on the one.

Alan was a gentle lead, one who led with connection and grace rather than force. He could tell that Alan was testing him, staring with simple turns and movements, ramping up the difficulty with each passing measure. In turn, Alex would follow with style, adding embellishments with his arms and legs wherever possible, and diligently following prep steps for maximum momentum. It was in no time that Alan evolved from single to double to triple spins.

They were both grinning, their dance connection surprisingly strong. Alan moved him fast, following the pacing of the song, slowing or quickening his movements when the beat called for it. By the end of the song, Alan dipped him for a dramatic dip, which Alex leaned back for-- though not too much that he let Alan hold his full weight.

There was a roar of applause on one side of the ballroom, which Alex remembered was where his mom was last at. Perhaps Alan's mother as well.

Well, he had the attention of his mother. But that wasn't what he cared about at the moment.

As he got back to his feet and they both returned to standing, Alex looked over to where Hendrik sat, at the bar. Swiveled around on the stool, he was sitting with his arms folded. Fuming.

Good.

"That was a fun dance," Alan said beside him with a smile, briefly patting his upper arm. "You're a great dancer."

"Thank you," Alex said. "In another life, we could've torn it up at competitions. But I shall settle for this. Thanks, Alan."

Patting Alan's shoulder, Alex made to walk away, not being subtle in where he was heading.

Right back to Hendrik of course.

Sitting back onto the stool he once left, he spun around on it, facing opposite Hendrik.

"You're right," he said smoothly. "There's plenty of room out there to dance."

"Did you do that to make me jealous?" Hendrik asked sternly, diving right into the subject.

Alex leaned over the bar, looking at Hendrik with a pleading expression.

"Did it work?" he asked.

Hendrik's frown deepened. "Alex," he said even more sternly. "You're too old to be playing childish games. If you want to dance with me, why don't you ask me? I would have said yes. It wouldn't be nice of me if I did that to you, dancing with someone I have history with, just so you can see. What makes this different?"

Alex deflated like a balloon. Right. Being... mature.

He rubbed his face in exasperation.

"Of course, when I'm trying to get your attention you have to make a fucking point," he muttered. Throwing his hands up in the air, he said: "Sorry. Sorry. God."

Hendrik scoffed, pointing at him. "Apology accepted. And yes, I'm fucking jealous. Don't let this be the lesson you learn from this, but get your ass out of that chair. We're going dancing."

Alex stared at Hendrik, his eyes widening at first with genuine surprise, and then genuine excitement. He started to smile.

Hendrik stepped on to his feet, one hand on his hip, the other extended out for Alex to take. "Back in my day, they called me the square man. Because I have the meanest square dance."

Alex took Hendrik's hand, suddenly feeling giddy. Even though Hendrik said that this wasn't a lesson to be learned, he couldn't help but feel like he'd stumbled into a reward, even if it was for wrongful behavior. Sorry. He couldn't help but be happy about getting what he wanted.

"I can't wait to see what the square man has to offer," he said with a smile, trying not to laugh.

"Well, come on then," Hendrik called, taking Alex's hand and marching him to the middle of the dance floor.

Alex followed, having no idea what he was signing up for, but the moment Hendrik started moving, Alex couldn't help but watch.

It was ridiculous. So, so, ridiculous, and yet, Hendrik's energy was contagious.

Alex wasn't quite sure how to define it. It was like if a human were exposed to dance as a concept, and with no inhibitions, just started moving in whatever ways suited their fancy with no intentionality. Hendrik was moving, and swaying, and going up and down, but it was graceless, more like an exercise than an art. And yet, it was so entertaining.

Alex just wished he knew how to dance with him.

You know what? Sure. He could do this. He could be silly.

He mimicked Hendrik, trying to interpret his "dance" moves into ones that actually existed.

"YEAAAHHH!" Hendrik bellowed extremely loudly, now dancing even faster and gracelessly.

Alex couldn't help but laugh.

"What dance move is that even supposed to be?" Alex said through laughter, watching Hendrik do a squat and a jump.

In response, however, Hendrik got back to his feet and swept Alex off the floor, sloppily pulling him to a dance. Alex admittedly had to cling to Hendrik to keep from falling at how jarring the yanking was. Steadying himself, he tried to follow what became Hendrik's attempt at a "square dance."

Alex didn't know if he'd call Hendrik "square man" in the way that Hendrik meant it. But he certainly was a square.

Since he had no grace whatsoever. Alex couldn't help but find it endearing, though, with how hard Hendrik was clearly trying. Footwork and rhythm clearly wasn't Hendrik's strong point - so Alex accepted the many spins and lifts and dips that followed, doing what he could to compensate for Hendrik's jerky, stiff movements.

Eventually, after one too many lifts into the air like a disgraced ballerina, Alex chuckled and put a hand on Hendrik's chest.

"Okay, okay," he said. "Now let me show you something, okay? One of these days, I'm going to make you a salsa dancer, and that journey starts today."

He didn't have hopes that Hendrik would be amazing, but he could at least make him good. Or good enough.

Hendrik came to a stop, lifting a brow. "I don't have the hips for that, comrade."

"Please," Alex said, putting his hands on Hendrik's hips. "Yes you do. You just have to sway. Come on. Just try. Here. Put all of your weight on one foot."

Skeptically, he quirked both his brows expectantly. "Yeah? Just weight?"

"Just do it, square man," Alex said.

To which Hendrik did so, placing all his weight on his left foot. Alex felt the weight transfer based on the angle of his hips.

"Now switch to the other leg," Alex said.

Hendrik switched legs, placing all his weight on his right foot. With the slow movement, his hips swayed naturally.

"Now do that again. Switching the weight from one to the other," Alex said. "See? Your hips are swaying naturally."

And so Hendrik did this again and again, transferring his weight between his feet, surprised by the natural sway. The frown turned to a grin as he looked at Alex with pleasant surprise. "I can salsa dance," he said overconfidently, taking Alex's hands. "Take me away, flamingo."

Alex smiled and shook his head.

"Let's start small," he said. "I'm fine with this victory. Let's just stay like this for a minute and sway."

And, unashamed that it very much looked like the "prom sway" people did to every slow song in existence, Alex leaned his head on Hendrik's chest, swaying with him.

Hendrik patted Alex's head, careful to not rifle up his gelled hair. "I'm fine if you want to dance with others," he said with a much more serious voice. "Just be mature about it."

Alex huffed a small laugh.

"Fair enough," Alex said.

"And not romantic," Hendrik added, a frown in his voice. "He's relationship trouble."

Alex snorted. "Alright. Not Alan."

Jay stood stiffly at the edge of the dancefloor, looking around the most bizarre arrangement of people with too-powerful magic and too-raging of hormones. The lights were bright, the dancefloor was shiny, and everything felt reminiscient of a highschool dance except the fact that it was televised. That made it all the worse.

Jay watched uncomfortably as Lyall and Alan took the dancefloor first, and the DJ at the booth started the first song of the night, turning it up.

He did not like this.

The required social events were getting tiring. He didn't know if he should be grateful that there was no life-threatening situation in this set-up or if he missed it. For some reason, facing a giant spider or a horrific star-man seemed preferrable to the agony of having to put on a mask and be...

Well, what was he supposed to do, anyway? Talk to people?

This was awful.

He hated that he felt pitiful in this moment; small, overdressed, and hiding in the shadow of the stage, where the speakers were held up by large poles. He hoped he was hidden from the cameras, what with everyone else preening like mating birds. That should be enough to keep the camera's attention.

Content to hide and wait out the night, Jay was just about to tuck in further when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

No one ever texted him.

He didn't have any friends.

Well... except for one, now.

Pressing his lips into a line, he felt like he could already anticipate what the text would read before he even read it. A bit stubbornly, he put off pulling out his phone until it buzzed again. And again.

Well now, Aaron was just spamming him.

With a huff, he pulled out his phone to see the messages. Yeah. Three in a row.

Aaron wrote:You, in the shadows of the audio equipment.

Aaron wrote:It's been five minutes.

Aaron wrote:Find a partner already.

Jay glared at his screen.

Jay wrote:No.

Aaron wrote:Coward.

He glared at the screen even more.

Aaron wrote:I have located all island contestants' numbers since obtaining this device, and I WILL utilize them ALL on your behalf if you keep standing there.

Jay hated that Aaron was giving him trouble just like he'd given Aaron because he knew he was well within his rights to after Jay pushed Aaron at Ava. With no good defense and only having Aaron's physical presence as a hindrance for one final push, Jay took a moment to take in a deep breath and suck it up.

You know, for all of the shit Aaron went through to get a decent life with a new and hopeful relationship, Jay could put on his fucking big-boy pants and ask a simple question.

Ugh.

Fine. Fine. Fucking fine.

Psyching himself up, he shook his head quickly and decided to just go for it. He wasn't going to overthink it, and he wasn't going to do anything crazy. If Clarity was going to say yes she would be saying yes to him, and that meant knowing she'd be signing up for what he was, not who he was pretending to be. And God knew Jay didn't know how to pretend. Lying was different. This wasn't that.

He made a bee-line for Clarity.

There she was, standing against a wall, looking like a fucking goddess. And of course she did. She did on a regular day, without the dress, or the hair-do, or the makeup. But now she looked like she didn't even belong on this earth, and it wasn't fair that he was just some guy in a suit in comparison.

And he hated the suit. He really, really hated the suit.

But it didn't matter. Too far to turn back, Jay stood behind Clarity and with the world's stiffest arm he reached out to tap her shoulder to get her attention.

Except his hand went through her.

Fucking powers malfunctioning because of nerves. Of course. Of course they would now.

He had her attention now, though, as he pulled his invisible hand away as it blinked in and out of existence like a glitching screen.

Come on, pull it together.

Clarity turned to him in mild confusion and curiosity. She was dressed like a main character, in a floor length silver gown. Had she added more waves to her hair, too? It seemed to have extra volume today.

And of course now he had to find words when she was staring at him like that.

"Hello," he said in the most robotic way possible, despite himself. No, that wasn't his intention, damnit.

"Hey," Clarity said, with a flicker of a smile.

His brain stopped working when she smiled. This was bad. Maybe it was better Aaron wasn't here to laugh at him.

"I want to dance with you," he stated, except he meant for that to be a question, and now it sounded like a demand, which he hadn't intended at all.

"I mean will you," he corrected quickly. "Would you."

Was that better?

"...Please," he added after a second, feeling like that only made it worse.

Clarity seemed surprised for a moment, her eyes searching his face. But then the smile returned, a little shyer but stronger than before.

"Sure," she said, sounding touched. "Let's dance."

Jay wasn't expecting her to actually say yes.

Oh god. What was he suppposed to do now?

Staring at her for another too-long of a second, Jay pulled himself together again, just enough to get his head on straight and start thinking ahead. Dance. Dance on the dancefloor. In public. With Clarity. Where everyone could see.

"Do you..." he started. "Know any dances in particular?"

He was not going to admit he knew how to dance, nevermind mention how many styles of dance he knew. Not even held at gunpoint. No. No he was not.

"Not really," Clarity admitted. "Do you?"

Ha. There was the gun.

"Yes," he said, his voice squeaking.

And, having no courage to elaborate, he instead offered her his hand, trying to find the most succinct way to handle this with the least amount of internal suffering.

So.

"You follow, I lead?" he proposed.

Clarity nodded, her smile brightening slightly as she took his hand.

"Let's do this," she said.

And so, he let her onto the dancefloor, panickedly scouring his brain for a dance to lead Clarity through that would make her shine so that neither of them would look like fools.

A hustle.

He took her hands, mentally noting the bpm of the song playing. The song had just changed, and the beat was picking up again. This one was a little faster.

"You know how to spin?" he asked.

Clarity nodded. "I can do that," she said, holding onto his hands.

Jay nodded. "All right. It'll be simple. Just like a wave. Push and pull," he explained, leading into the first pull.

She followed his lead, swinging around to his side and twirling gracefully outwards. Her hair lifted with the movement, swirling in the air between them.

And from there, it was a series of spins. In and out, out and in. It took them a moment to get into a rhythm, matching the music, but before long, they were moving seamlessly, and it all felt strangely familiar. Just like lessons, again, but smoother.

He knew what he was doing when it came to dancing. Far less so when it came to having someone he was actually interested involved.

But as they got into it more, he slowly felt a small smile forming on his face.

It was... fun.

As he spun Clarity away for the dozenth time, he saw that the smile on her face had brightened and warmed into a soft grin, and there was an excited look in her eyes. And in that moment, he decided that it was worth it.

Whether or not anything came of this. It was worth it for that smile.

Jay pulled Clarity in again. He was pretty used to the height difference with dance partners, but as she spun back into his arms the difference didn't seem that great. Within seconds, she was spinning back out again, and hopefully she couldn't sense just how hard his heart was beating - not from the exertion, but... well, like hell was he actually going to say it.

When the song started to finally wind down, Jay led her in a slower series of movements, eventually leading in to a final spin outward. They came to a stop hand in hand, holding one another at arm's length. Both of them were breathing a little hard, but their grins lingered.

Realizing he didn't quite know how to end this, Jay probably held onto her hands just a little too long before letting go with a small nod.

Clarity was still smiling as she let her hands fall to her sides. When she met his eyes, there was still some lingering, unusual shyness to her expression.

"That was fun," she said gently. "Thank you for that."

Jay's smile tugged in a way he wasn't used to. For some reason, he also felt shy. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

"Yeah," Jay said. "I liked it too. You're welcome."

He glanced at the others on the dancefloor for only a moment before returning his eyes to Clarity. He wasn't going to think about what other people saw.

"If you... want to dance again," he said. "I'm pretty sure we have all night."

"I'll let you know," Clarity promised with a nod. She paused before adding, "...You're a pretty good dancer."

Jay stared at her, and his face grew hot.

"Oh," he said dumbly. "I mean. Thanks. You're a natural, yourself."

Clarity chuckled quietly, then stopped to give that more thought. "Really?"

"Really," Jay said sincerely. "I've danced with people with far less natural grace. You've the opposite of clumsy feet, so. It made it easy."

Clarity's smile flickered a touch wider. "Thanks. It's good to hear I didn't make you look bad."

Make him look bad?

"Clarity, I don't think it's possible to make you look bad," he said.

And then he wished he hadn't said it aloud. At least he hadn't added that he looked bad all the time.

Clarity seemed at a loss for words for a moment. Crap. Now they both were.

As Jay panicked to fill the ensuing awkward silence, he felt a shuffle from inside his suit jacket. Unable to stop the little stoat from protesting, Meanie-mo had clearly become fed up with the restrictive suit hiding spot after so much movement, and he popped his head out from the jacket collar.

"Oh!" Clarity awwed in sudden surprise. "I didn't even know he was there."

Typical Meanie-mo. Stealing the attention. Not that Jay mattered anyway.

"Oh," Jay said, looking down at the tiny stoat. Meanie-mo twisted his head around to stare up at him with his beady little eyes. Jay gently tapped the top of his head. "Yeah, he... comes everywhere with me. He protests if I leave him at home. Separation anxiety."

"He's very well-behaved," Clarity said.

"That's what he wants you to think," Jay murmured.

In defiance to the slander, Meanie-mo suddenly scrambled up Jay's chest and then leaped over to Clarity in the air. Panicked, Jay tried to catch the wiggling little beast, but Clarity had the instinct to hold up her hands, neatly catching the squirming, antsy stoat. Unsure what to do, she patted his head.

Meanie-mo made a high pitched chirping noise.

"Hi," Clarity said to the stoat. "Nice meeting you again."

Meanie-mo squeaked again, spinning around her hand in a circle.

"I guess he remembers you," Jay said.

"It's good to see he's doing well," Clarity said.

As Meanie-mo happily roamed over her hand, she looked back at Jay with a trace of concern.

"Speaking of," she said. "How have you been? Since... things with Aaron?"

Jay blinked.

"Aaron?" he asked. "Oh. I mean. He's doing well. We keep in touch."

"What about you?" Clarity pressed gently.

Jay suddenly felt a little wilted under her gaze. He looked to the floor.

Damnit, Aaron was going to be watching this live, wasn't he?

Jay shrugged weakly. "It's... weird that he's gone," Jay said. "But I know it's for the best."

Clarity nodded with some solemnness. "I hope he's doing better now."

"He is," Jay said, not really knowing how to elaborate without sharing too much about Aaron. "What about you?" he decided to ask instead. "How have you been with... everything?"

Clarity shrugged, stroking Meanie-mo's head again as the stoat proceeded to nibble on her pinky finger. "Everything's felt very quiet since the event," she said. "I'm not sure whether it's more good or bad."

Jay hummed. The comment felt dissonant with the upbeat party music still steadily filling the air around them.

"Me neither," he agreed.

Clarity looked back to the stoat, then held him out for Jay to take again. Jay opened his hands, and Meanie-mo jumped back into them, wriggling up Jay's arm until he perched by Jay's head, on his shoulder.

"I should probably get some water," Jay said after a second. "For Meanie-mo," he qualified. "He's... been in my jacket for a while."

"Right," Clarity said quickly. "Of course."

A beat passed.

"I'll... see you later tonight?" she asked.

She sounded tentative. But also, just maybe, hopeful.

Jay smiled a little bit. Nervous. Hopeful in turn. He wasn't sure which.

"Yeah," Jay said. "I won't be hard to find."

Not anymore, anyway.

Clarity cracked a smile too. "Cool. I'll see you around."

Jay cracked a small smile in return.

He guessed he would.